Angel of Mercy (2 page)

2

Heather swiped at her moist cheeks. She turned to face a young man with red hair and eyes the deep blue color of the ocean. He wore a sympathetic smile and held out a clean white handkerchief. Dazzled by his smile, she said, “I—I’ll be all right.”

“Here.” He tucked the white cloth into her hand. “I’ve never met a lass who had a tissue when the waterworks started.” His tone was gentle, his accent musical.

She dutifully dabbed at her tears to please him.

“Come, walk with me,” he said, offering his arm. “It’s better on the far side of the ship where you can look out over the water. Makes you forget your ties to the land.”

She tucked her arm into his, and his large, warm hand clasped around hers. Together they strolled toward the ship’s stern, away from the sight of her family’s cab driving off.

“Your first trip over?” he asked.

“Yes.” Heather was certain he thought her a big baby. Here she was bawling like a kid whose mommy had left her on the first day of school. “How about you?”

“My third.” He nodded at her. “Ian McCollum, Edinburgh, Scotland.”

She introduced herself.

“Heather . . .” He rolled her name around on his tongue as if tasting it. “Like the heather on the moors. And just as pretty, too.”

She blushed, and he grinned. “In a few days you’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss anybody.”

“I know you’re right. I didn’t mean to get all sentimental. I’ve been wanting to do this for years, so please don’t think I have any regrets about leaving.”

“It’s a good cause,” he said. “I keep coming back to work between semesters at university.”

“Where do you go to college?”

“I’m a medical student at Oxford,” he said, then added, “Seminary student, too.”

His soft accent fascinated Heather. She caught herself staring at his mouth as he spoke.

“Is something the matter with my words, lass?”

She felt her cheeks flush. “Uh—no . . . of course not. A doctor
and
a minister?” she asked quickly. “My parents are both doctors in Florida, and believe me, their practice keeps them busy all the time. How can you do both?”

“In truth, I cannot separate the two callings. To heal the body and not touch the soul—well, I could not do it. Physical healing is a fine thing, but to open the gates of heaven for a person . . . ah, well, that’s the greater thing.”

“I guess it’s a little different for me,” she said. “Mom and Dad were both in the Peace Corps—it’s where they met, and they’ve always taught my sister and me that those who have been blessed by God should be generous. And I don’t just mean by giving money away either. I think it’s important to give of yourself, to do something worthwhile for others. I think of people as God’s hands on Earth. A person shouldn’t waste her life, or her blessings. You know what I mean?”

“Yes. It’s more blessed to give than to receive.”

“Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to make a difference in the world. I’ve wanted to go out and
do
something meaningful with my life. When I was a kid, at Halloween—” She broke off. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling.”

“No. It’s interesting. What did you do on Halloween?”

By now they had reached the far side of the ship, and they stood at the rail, looking out at the sea. “When other kids were out collecting candy, I collected money for UNICEF. It always made me feel really good to mail in that donation. I’d think about all the starving children I was helping. Kids in my classes thought I was crazy, but I didn’t care. It was what I wanted to do.”

“You have a sweet and gentle spirit, Heather.”

She shrugged self-consciously. Sometimes she wished she were different. More like others her age. In grade school, she had been known as the school’s do-gooder and was often teased about it. In high school, kids seemed more understanding, especially when she’d organized a food drive for a Miami homeless shelter and organized a clothing drive for hurricane victims and had been written up in the newspaper for her efforts. Two summers before, she’d been a candy striper at her community hospital and had loved it.

“I get sappy over a Hallmark card commercial,” she confessed, then wondered if he even understood what she was talking about. “You know . . . I cry over anything that gets inside my heart. Sad movies, sad books.”

“Don’t think badly of yourself because you have a tender heart. Such hearts are needed in this world today. You will be touched many times when you go into the bush, Heather, lass. There are many in great need.”

“I guess you’d know since you’ve done this before.”

“Like you, I can’t help myself. It’s my destiny. To make people’s bodies whole. To tell them about God and his love for them.”

Ian McCollum’s purpose sounded loftier than hers because it was double-edged. Once, when she and Amber were younger, in a fit of jealousy, Amber had hurled an accusation at Heather: “You just do this to get attention, you know. It’s your way of getting Mom and Dad to take the time to notice you.”

“And what’s your way? To be as bad as you can be?” Heather had fired back.

Over time, she had often thought that there was a grain of truth in both her words and Amber’s. She turned toward Ian. “What area of medicine are you interested in practicing?”

“Hands-on,” he said with a grin. “I could never be stuck in a stuffy laboratory, or even an operating room, day after day. Out in the bush, children die every day from things that are totally preventable. Stomach parasites, measles, whooping cough—illnesses that a simple vaccination or the right antibiotic can prevent.”

“That bothers me, too. Knowing that kids die from things that are preventable. Mom told me how it frustrated her when she was in Central America to see little kids die from dehydration. They couldn’t drink the water because it was contaminated. When they did, they died.”

“It’s a sad thing to see. When I’ve come before, I’ve stayed here on the Great White Ship—that’s what the locals call the
Anastasis
— but this time, I’ll be taking vaccines and supplies into Uganda.”

“You’re going to Uganda? So am I.” The news pleased her. She liked this man from Scotland.

“Then we’ll be seeing more of each other,” Ian told her with a broad smile. “Once people in the bush know we’re there, they’ll come for miles, walk for days to see us.”

“My mother told me not to expect to find much access to a phone. How does the news get around?”

“We’re spoiled in the West. We think phones and computers and television are the only ways to communicate.” He laughed dryly. “But news can travel in many ways, and in Africa, it travels quickly. Legend has it that the wind carries it along. And that only the ears of those born in Africa can hear it.”

“I wish we could start tomorrow,” she said impatiently. It would take a month to sail around the Cape of Good Hope and into the port at Kenya. “I can’t wait to get there.”

“It’ll be here soon enough. In Africa time, as we keep it, doesn’t exist. It drives Westerners crazy. No one sticks to a schedule.”

She thought of her life in America, which ran by the clock. There were bells for class changes at school and schedules for planes, buses, movies, TV programs—the list was endless. She got tired of it. “Schedules are overrated,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Maybe the people of Africa are on to something. The sun and the moon are the only clocks we need. Moontime—I like the sound of that, don’t you?”

“You’re smiling,” Ian said, lifting her chin. “Makes your face even prettier.”

She blushed. “You know, an hour ago my six months away from home seemed like forever. Now, after talking to you, it hardly seems like enough time to get everything done.”

“Ah, lass,” he said with a bemused shake of his head. “A lifetime isn’t long enough to get everything done. The time you spend here will change your life. It changed mine. You will not go back the same girl as when you left.”

Already Heather felt different. Having him talk to her as if her ideas and plans mattered, as if her feelings were normal, not weird, made her feel wonderful. Back home, none of her friends understood her. Why, not even her own sister had caught on. How odd that here, a world away from all she had ever known, she had found someone who felt and thought the way she did.

She rested her elbows on the ship’s railing and stared outward, her mind filling with a sense of purpose and commitment. “Thanks for talking to me, Ian. I feel much better now. All because of you.”

He too leaned against the rail, his large, rough hands inches away from her soft, smooth skin. “It was my pleasure, Heather. We’re all on the journey of a lifetime. God is our shepherd, and we have only to do what he asks of us. Kindness for one another, love for each other, that is what will change the world. Medicine can heal the body. But only God can make well the human soul.”

His words touched her, and her heart swelled. “I think we’re going to be good friends, Ian McCollum.”

“You can count on it, lass. Yes, you can count on it.”

3

Dear Amber,

We’re out to sea a week now, and is it ever awe-some. Nothing but dark blue ocean and gray sky. Seagulls followed us for two days, then flew away. I miss their sounds. Out here there’s nothing but the sound of water, not a speck of land in any direction. This morning, the sun’s come out, and it sure looks good. I can hardly wait until we get to Africa.

BTW, regular e-mailing is tough. The captain rations the time any one person can be on the special hookup, so I promise to write a long letter and mail it when I can. I’m so busy during the day that by nighttime, I just fall into bed and pass out.

My roomie, Ingrid, is truly cool! This is her second trip on the ship, so she’s a real source of info for me. We’re in the galley (that’s the kitchen) together. Can you imagine me cooking? It’s true. I can do scrambled eggs for almost two hundred in no time!

Most evenings, after all our chores are done, a bunch of us sit on deck and talk. The kids on board come from all over, and they’re MAJORLY interesting. Plus, they’re really knowledgable. They talk about world events like TV newscasters. They have opinions and ideas. I think of my friends at home who may know the hottest fashion trends but can’t tell you what’s going on politically in Bosnia, and I’m embarrassed. Yikes, did I just call my friends shallow? (Sorry.)

Miguel (he’s from Madrid) has a guitar and after we finish talking and solving the world’s problems, we sing while the stars twinkle down. I can hear the waves slapping against the hull of the ship and everything is so peaceful, it makes me want to cry with happiness. I’ve never been happier. And I haven’t even gotten to the REAL work in Africa yet!

Hate to cut this short, but others are waiting in line for the modem plug. So, hang in there and try not to have too much fun without me. Hugs to Mom and Dad.

Heather hit Send and stared thoughtfully at the screen. She thought of all the things she hadn’t written. She hadn’t mentioned Ian. In other e-mails, she’d told Amber about meeting him, and about how cute she thought he was, but she hadn’t confessed just how much she was liking him. No matter how long her day or how tired she felt, her spirits soared whenever she was around him. She couldn’t call it a crush exactly—she’d had crushes on guys back in high school, so she knew what a sweaty-palms, racing-heart crush was like. This was different because
he
was different. She could hardly explain it to herself, much less to her sister.

Heather sighed and unplugged her laptop. She told herself that maybe she should give up sitting on the deck in the moonlight talking and listening to Miguel play the guitar. Maybe it would be best to turn in early rather than talking into the late hours of the night. Maybe staying away from Ian was the best thing to do.

She stood and shook her head decidedly. Then again, maybe it wasn’t.

Each Monday and Wednesday morning, Heather met in the ship’s conference room with Dr. Henry, the coordinator for her group, and the fifteen others assigned to the inland mission team. Dr. Henry, a surgeon and internist from Boston, stood six foot three and made a dramatic first impression. He was in his fifties, wore round, dark-rimmed glasses, and had a head of thick white hair. He was a veteran of the Mercy Ship and of Ugandan expeditions, telling the group that this was his tenth trip aboard the ship in twenty years.

“Uganda is a country that’s been heavily influenced by the British,” Dr. Henry said in his first lecture. “In fact, English is the ‘official’ language of the country, although you’ll hear a lot of Swahili and Lugandan. Swahili has been spoken for over a thousand years in Africa, so it’s good to know some words and phrases.

“When you meet an African, it’s customary to open with
‘Habari,’
which means ‘What news?’ And the standard reply is
‘Mzuri,’
‘Good.’ This formality is considered good manners, so try and remember to follow their protocol. All right, let’s practice.”

The group repeated the words, memorizing the inflections.
“Mzuri,”
Dr. Henry said with a smile. “Another plus is that most Ugandans are literate. The best schools have waiting lists and are connected with the Anglican Church. The British influence in Uganda carried over into their schools. Children are sent off to boarding schools when they turn six. They live on campus year-round, partly because the roads within the country are so poor that it’s impossible for children to return home daily. Kids have three traditional holidays a year. Formal education ceases in the seventh grade, but the brightest go on to upper-level schools. University abroad is for but a chosen few.”

Heather knew two girls who’d gone away to private boarding schools, but each of them had a car and could come home when she wanted. Heather tried to imagine being a first-grader and not coming home from school every day. Or being cut off from her family for an entire school term.

Because Heather was to become a hospital aide, she also participated in basic first-aid courses, including CPR and trauma training. “Safety first,” Dr. Henry told his team. “Double-glove at all times, especially when coming in contact with patients’ body fluids. I know each of you has had basic inoculations, but we can’t inoculate against HIV, so always be careful.”

Before leaving the States, Heather had received an armful of vaccines, as well as a shot of gamma globulin to boost her immune system. She was taking typhoid and malaria medications by mouth daily. Her parents also had insisted that she carry a package of syringes in her luggage. Her father had said, “Medical supplies are at a premium in these countries. It isn’t unusual for syringes to be reused, which runs a risk of contamination from other illnesses. Let’s hope you don’t need them, and when you leave, you can donate any of your leftover supplies to the hospital.”

During a break, Heather turned to Patrick, a student of Dr. Henry’s and an Ugandan. He had participated in their late-night gabfests. “Glad to be going home?”

“Yes. I have not seen my family for three years.”

“Really? How come?”

He smiled. “It is a long way. And my father is not a rich man.”

Of course. Why had she asked such a dumb question?

“My father is a teacher,” Patrick said. “He has many children but only one wife.” He laughed heartily, as if he’d made a hilarious joke. Heather didn’t get it. “Because he teaches children, he has many,” Patrick supplied, as if hoping she might finally catch on.

“One wife? Has he been married before?” That was the part that baffled Heather.

“In my country men take more than one wife,” Patrick explained. “It is not unusual for a man to have two or three wives and ten, maybe fifteen children.”

“But aren’t there laws? Rules about bigamy?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. And that is one thing the Christian church is trying to change.”

“I should think so.”

Patrick regarded her with intense brown eyes. “Not for the reasons you may think. A man usually has only a small farm to grow food and make a living. If he has several wives and many children, how will he leave a proper inheritance when he dies? So then, the children are fighting over an acre of land. This is not good, brother against brother, woman against woman. The ground in Uganda is very rich, but how can an acre support a family of twenty when each is claiming a portion as his inheritance?”

“So if a man only has one wife, then he can pass his property down more efficiently,” Heather said. “I understand.” Patrick’s logic was simple, but Heather was shocked to think of its being acceptable for a man to take several wives. Yet Patrick acted as if it were nothing extraordinary.

“This is true. And also, can you picture living in a house with many women, each thinking she is the best wife?” His expression was one of mock horror. “What man can stand the pressure? He might go off and meet another woman and marry her!”

She laughed.

Patrick sobered. “But there is even a far more serious problem with taking many wives. In my country, the HIV virus is spreading like a fire on the Serengeti. Dr. Henry will tell you, one in three Africans test positive for HIV. It is true. And when a man sleeps with many women, the virus is spread even faster. So my father keeps just one wife.”

Heather had heard the lectures in school— unprotected sex and IV drug use were among the primary causes of the spread of HIV. Now she was hearing it again from a young man whose entire country was at risk. She looked into Patrick’s eyes and said, “Your father’s a very smart man.”

“And my mother is a very jealous woman,” he said with an impish wink.

One of the things Heather missed most of all was seeing green grass and bright, tropical flowers. The ocean world was beautiful, but the vast sea of blue sometimes depressed her. And some days, in spite of the bright sun, the sea air was cold. She stepped out on deck one morning to brilliant sunshine, but a northwest wind blew along the length of the deck, making her shiver.

“Would you like my sweater, Heather?”

Ian stepped up beside her. He wore a cream-colored cable-knit sweater of Irish wool, and his hair looked windblown.

“Thanks, but I’m headed down to the galley, and it’s nice and warm down there. We’re baking bread today. Maybe some pizzas too—food of the gods.”

Ian laughed and rubbed her arms briskly. “That’s a strange dish.”

“You don’t like pizza? That’s un-American.”

“I’m a Scotsman, remember.”

She dropped her head dramatically onto his shoulder. “Of course you are.”

“If it’s bread you like, you’d better eat your fill on the ship, because Ugandans have no equivalent.”

“What? A land with no bread? What do they eat instead?”

“Rice.
Matoke.
That’s a cooked plantain, a kind of banana.” She made a face. He added, “It’s served in a mushy pile, like potatoes, but it doesn’t taste like potatoes.”

“Oh, the hardship of service.” Heather placed the back of her hand against her forehead and pretended to swoon. “Well, you can’t scare me. I’m still going to Africa—with or without my daily bread.”

Ian laughed heartily. “Your enthusiasm is noted. And you will need it once we get there. When the power goes down and there’s no hot water to bathe yourself or the patients, you may feel different.”

Heather bristled. “I can take a little hardship. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“I’m certain that’s true. But I don’t want you to get discouraged.”

“Then why are you trying to discourage me?”

His expression grew serious. “Because I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I’m not just talking about your safety. Sometimes the dreams we hold in our hearts don’t always measure up to what we must face in our life.”

“You’re afraid I’ll become disillusioned? You sound like my parents.”

“Is that who I remind you of? Your father?” He pulled back, pretending to be horrified. “I would hate for you to think of me as your kin.”

“Then stop treating me like a baby sister.”

His smile turned soft. “I have a sister, Heather. I don’t need another one.”

She gave him a grudging smile, not certain what to make of his teasing. Did he like her? Or was he just worried that she might weaken the team because of her inexperience? She was prepared to sacrifice her personal comfort. She knew her time of service in Africa wasn’t going to be a picnic. She said, “Well, I feel sorry for your sister because you probably watch over her like a hawk and criticize every guy she brings home. You should give her the benefit of the doubt. She just
may
know what she’s doing.”

“Yes, maybe that’s so.”

Heather knew they weren’t really talking about his sister, but it seemed the best way to get her point across. “Now, I’ve got to get down to the galley, or you’ll be begging for your lunch and it won’t be there.”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

Neither of them moved. They stood looking into each other’s eyes while Heather’s heart hammered. Ian reached out and softly ran the back of his hand along her cheek. She shivered, but this time it didn’t come from being cold.