Authors: Lurlene McDaniel
14
"I can’t stop thinking about Kia.” Heather was sitting on a bench with Ian outside the hospital.
“I know what you mean, lass. I think of her often myself.”
It was a rare afternoon when they had both finished their day’s work a bit early. Heather thought he looked exhausted, but she’d been wanting to talk to him about Kia for days. “I talked to Jodene with some ideas about getting Kia to open up,” she said. “Back home, when I worked at the hospital as a volunteer for a summer, I helped with some autistic children.”
“I don’t think Kia is autistic.”
“I agree. But I asked Jodene if I could try some of the things that worked with those kids.”
Ian shut his Bible, which had been lying open on his lap. Sun dappled his hair through the trees. “What things?”
“Well, every afternoon this past week, I’ve visited Jodene’s and sat myself down on the floor next to the cot. I just sit there and hum to myself, paying no special attention to Kia, who stays hidden. I stay for about thirty minutes, and when I go, I leave a piece of candy. Jodene says Kia’s been eating it.”
“Yes, but she eats all food placed by the cot.”
“I know, but I worked late on Friday, so I was late getting to the house. Jodene says Kia crawled out from under the cot and went to the window and looked out. She thinks Kia might have been looking for me.”
“That’s a good conclusion.”
Encouraged by Ian’s approval, Heather added, “I want her to trust me. She needs to trust someone again. She needs to come back into the real world.”
“You’re right, lass. She can’t spend the rest of her life hiding under a cot.”
“I feel so sorry for her. But I don’t know if I’m the person to help her. I mean, I’ll be leaving in another few weeks, and I can’t take her with me. Maybe I should leave the job to someone more qualified.”
Ian tilted his head, appraising her with his intelligent blue eyes. “Have you ever read the Book of Esther?”
“Not for a long, long time. But what’s that got to do with Kia?”
He opened his Bible, which was stuffed with notes on bits of paper. “It tells of how the Jewish people came to celebrate the festival of Purim, a celebration of their deliverance from annihilation at the hands of the Persians.
“At the time, the Jews were captives of King Xerxes, but they’d been living in Persia for so long that they had their own cities, homes, businesses, and normal, everyday lives. Anyway, the current queen fell from the king’s favor, so he had all the young women of his kingdom brought in so that he could choose a new queen. He chose Esther, without ever knowing she was a Jew.
“The king had a wicked advisor, Haman, who hated the Jews, especially Mordecai, who, unknown to him, happened to be Esther’s uncle. Haman plotted how he could destroy every Jew in his country, devised a plan, and even got the king to agree to it. So Mordecai sent Esther a message, asking her to plead with the king for mercy and spare their people.” Ian opened his Bible and read, “ ‘For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place.’” Ian glanced up. “You see, Mordecai believed God
would
deliver them, one way or another, but he believed Esther was their best hope.
“Mordecai asked her, ‘And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?’ ” Ian turned to Heather. “But in those days, no one—not even the queen— could come into the king’s presence unless the king summoned her. Queen Esther would be risking her life to go before the king without being invited. It would take phenomenal courage for her to leave her life of comfort and security in the king’s court and face possible death.
“So Esther asked all her people to fast and pray for her, saying, ‘When this is done, I will go to the king, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.’ ” Ian closed his Bible. “You know the rest of the story, don’t you, lass?”
Heather, caught up in his telling of it, nodded but didn’t speak.
Ian said, “Esther went to the king, and he received her. He heard her petition and granted it. In the end, Haman was hanged on the gallows he’d constructed for Mordecai, and Mordecai, the Jew, rose to a position of power and honor. Because of Esther’s courage.”
“Why are you telling me this, Ian?”
“Because we must always look at life in the grand scheme of God’s sovereignty. Perhaps you have come to Uganda ‘for such a time as this.’ To help bring Kia back into life.”
Tears misted Heather’s eyes. “Maybe to balance out the baby I couldn’t save,” she whispered. “Maybe this one and not that one.”
Ian’s hand closed over hers. “God’s given you a heart for caring, lass. I learned that almost from the first time we met. It’s a wondrous gift, and I can’t think of anyone I’d like to see use it more than you.”
Their fingers intertwined, his flesh warm and firm in hers, and the moment seared itself into Heather’s heart—the sunlight on the grass, the shadows flickering through the leaves, the soft breath of a lemon-scented breeze. All came together. She knew it would be a memory as vivid as any photograph. And one that she would hold in her heart forever.
For the next three weeks, Heather went to Jodene’s every day after work, sat on the floor in front of the cot, and pretended to be interested in everything except Kia. She played board games with the three boys, bounced balls, played jacks and Pickup Sticks by herself. She sang and talked, and she laid a piece of wrapped hard candy under the cot when she left. Kia never ventured out.
“I’m running low on candy,” Heather confided to Jodene one Sunday evening after the group dinner. “And I don’t think I’m making any progress.”
“I think you are. Kia crawled out yesterday and watched us eat dinner. She’s never done that before.”
Heather felt a spark of encouragement. “Did she do anything else?”
Jodene thought a moment. “She still peeks out the window if you’re running late. And while she always goes outside to go to the bathroom, she’s staying outdoors longer. She sits and plays with the dirt, lets it run through her fingers, like she’s reconnecting with it somehow.”
“That sounds good.” Heather thought for a moment. “Listen, I have an idea. Tomorrow, instead of coming inside, I’m going to sit under the tree in your front yard. If she looks out the window, she’ll see me. Maybe she’ll come outside to be with me.”
“It’s worth a try.”
Over the weeks, Heather had grown to admire and respect Jodene. She cooked her family’s meals on a hot plate, or on open coals in the cooking hut outside her kitchen door. She washed dishes with rainwater under a hand pump mounted on her kitchen sink— which was a wooden counter with a large plastic bowl. She washed clothes, including Amie’s diapers, by hand with the help of some of the older girls living on the premises. There was an endless line of laundry hanging out to dry.
“You need a washing machine,” Heather told her.
“How would I plug it in?” Jodene answered with a grin. “Believe me, gas for the generator costs more than the energy to do it by hand.”
Kevin and Dennis went to school with the Ugandan children, and after school they all played together, as carefree as colts romping in spring meadows. Heather compared them with herself as she was growing up. She’d had plenty to do—Montessori school, dance lessons, even two years of gymnastics for her and Amber— but she never recalled the sheer joy she saw reflected in the boys’ faces.
In November, Jodene told all the Americans in the compound to prepare to come to the house for Thanksgiving dinner. “It’s when I miss home most of all,” she told Heather. “I come from a big family, and every year we’d gather at my parents’ home and have a feast fit for a Roman orgy.”
Heather had all but forgotten Thanksgiving was approaching. At her house, the holiday meant going away on ski trips out West. She hadn’t had a turkey dinner at home in six years. “I’ll spread the word,” she told Jodene. “But won’t the others feel left out?”
“Thanksgiving is uniquely American, so no one cares about it but us. My mother sent me a care package with the missionary group that stopped by in October. So I have goodies to share.”
Heather had learned that the missionary circle was small but well connected. No missionaries came through without goods from the States for those serving in Uganda. Whenever possible, reliable travelers hand-carried mail stateside for the missionary community. Nobody mailed packages in or out of the country because they never made it out of the airport, where local police, guards, and other officials helped themselves to whatever they wanted. As for Heather, she had written several letters home, but mail pickup and delivery were sporadic. So she didn’t hear from home often, and when she did, the news was weeks old. The last word she’d received had been all about October’s homecoming and how Amber had been chosen for the court.
“I have something to bring for the feast too,” Heather told Jodene.
“What?” Jodene’s eyes lit up.
“I’ll surprise you. In fact, I’ll tell everybody to bring something to share.”
No one was more ecstatic about the upcoming dinner than Boyce. “Hot dog,” he drawled, “count me in. I’ll find something to bring besides an appetite.”
Thanksgiving.
Now that she was so far from home, how special it seemed to Heather. She didn’t care if they ate
matoke,
she just wanted to be with everybody for the holiday. It didn’t even bother her that Ian would not be there. After all, he was Scottish, and the celebration meant nothing to him. “I’ll work,” he said. “You have your special day, lass, and enjoy it. Tell me all about it later.”
Four days before the holiday, Heather went to Jodene’s to help make table decorations: cutout paper turkeys, pilgrim hats, and cornucopias. They were working at the kitchen table by lamplight when Paul came out of his and Jodene’s bedroom, looking excited.
“I’ve been on the ham radio,” he said in a low voice as he leaned over the table. “I talked with Ed Wilson. He’s located Kia’s sister.”
15
Heather’s heart thudded expectantly. “He found her? How is she?”
Paul glanced toward the cot. “I’d rather not talk in here. Let’s go outside, and Heather, can you find Ian and bring him to hear this? He wanted to know when the baby was found.”
She wasted no time in locating Ian, who was having a Bible study with some of the older Ugandan teens living in the compound. By the time the two of them had returned to Paul and Jodene’s, Paul had dragged four chairs into the front yard, and Jodene had put some candles on the windowsill. The flames flickered and danced, casting a pale yellow light into the circle of chairs.
“Heather says Kia’s sister’s been found,” Ian said as he settled into a chair.
“It’s true. I heard from Ed tonight.”
“How is she?”
“Not good.”
Heather’s stomach tightened with the news.
Paul continued. “She’s in the clinic at the camp, but conditions there are pretty grim. If not for the kindness of a nun, who’s been feeding her with a special syringe several times a day, the baby would be dead already.”
Heather recalled Dr. Henry’s saying that babies with cleft palates didn’t suckle well, so Kia’s sister probably couldn’t take a bottle. Heather realized that hand-feeding her had to be painstaking work, and she silently blessed the nun for taking on this labor of love.
“What about IV feeding?” Ian asked.
“Ed’s got her on a drip now, but equipment and supplies are in high demand, and frankly, they’re needed for more critical patients. He says the situation at the camp is chaotic. People line up under a tree for immunizations, and a few cases of cholera have broken out. Some nights they can hear rebel gunfire in the distance.” Paul stopped talking, as if to let the bleakness of the situation sink in.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Jodene asked. “It sounds as if, if we don’t do something, she’ll die.”
Heather saw Paul and Ian exchange glances.
“We’ve been discussing it beforehand,” Ian said. “Ever since I learned about Kia’s sister.”
Heather sat up straighter.
“I know that I have much to do here,” Ian said, “but we all know that choosing to help this one is a special thing for all of us. So I’m going to fetch her. My mind’s made up.”
No one said anything.
“Isn’t there anyone else who can go?” Heather finally ventured.
“I’m the best candidate. I have medical skills she’ll need.”
Paul nodded. “I agree.”
“How will you get there?”
Paul said, “There’s an air service—Mission Air—in Kampala that flies old DC-3s left over from World War Two into Sudan and Rwanda. They fly in most of our workers for the refugee camps, as well as World Health professionals and volunteers.”
Heather knew that commercial airlines flew only into Entebbe; this was the first she’d heard of any other air service in the country. But World War II planes? They were ancient!
“The planes are old and without any refinements, but the pilots keep them in good mechanical condition,” Paul explained, as if he’d read her mind. “Plus, they usually don’t get any flak from authorities for doing humanitarian service. Of course, if there’s shooting going on and a person absolutely must get in or out of either country, well, he can hire mercenary pilots. They fly small Cessnas under the radar. It’s risky and expensive, but it’s a way to get in and out.”
Heather felt the blood leave her face.
Shooting? Mercenaries? Evading radar?
She didn’t want Ian facing those kinds of dangers for any reason!
They talked some more, laying plans, but Heather could hardly bear to listen. And when Ian walked her back to her room, she told him how she felt.
“Please, don’t concern yourself for me. Think about the look on Kia’s face when she sees her sister. That’s the prize for going.”
They were almost to the room when they ran into Dr. Henry and Patrick coming from the village. Ian quickly filled them in on what was happening. It maddened Heather that neither of them spoke a single word of discouragement.
“I’ll drive you into Kampala myself,” Dr. Henry said. “When do you want to leave?”
“Paul says the planes only fly once a week, on Tuesday around noon.”
“We’ll leave on Monday, stay at the guest house.”
“Why can’t Patrick go?” Heather blurted out her question. “He’s Ugandan and he’s studying medicine. Why can’t he go?”
The three men regarded her, but it was Patrick who spoke up. “I am Hutu, not Tutsi,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Kia and her sister are Tutsi. The officials would not let a Hutu take a Tutsi child from the camp. Ian is white. And a doctor—or almost. People will look the other way.”
“What are you talking about? What’s a Hutu?”
“It is my tribe. In Africa, a person’s tribe is most important, and the Hutu is one of the largest tribes. Most Ugandans are Hutu. The fighting in Sudan and Rwanda is due to militant Hutu rebels killing Tutsi.”
Heather just stared at the three men. “They
kill
each other just because they’re from different tribes? Why doesn’t someone stop them?”
“No one can stop them,” Patrick said.
“It’s genocide. Ethnic cleansing,” Dr. Henry added.
“But why do they do it?”
“It’s about power,” Patrick said. “Control of the land. The Hutu rebels have killed thousands. Sudanese villagers have fled, looking for safety. Some get into neighboring countries. Most flee to the refuge camps, hoping to return to their villages . . . what’s left of them. The world governments cannot police every country. They can protest and step in to help the victims, but Africa belongs to the Africans, the different tribes, and they must work things out among themselves.”
Heather didn’t know what to say. She had heard about the fighting in Africa, but she hadn’t realized how much of it stemmed from tribal roots. “But you’re different, Patrick. You’re not that way. You’re not going to kill anyone.”
He gave her a kindly smile. “I am a Christian, Heather. When I became one, in my heart, I put away my tribal history and differences. But I cannot put away who I am to the Tutsi. They hate me on sight. In your War Between the States, brothers killed brothers. Our two countries are not so different.”
She looked from one face to the other, seeing the big picture in ugly clarity. People in Africa were dying, murdered by their own. Kia’s entire village had been destroyed simply because she belonged to the wrong tribe. Heather felt foolish—incredibly stupid. She had wanted to come to Africa to save starving children. Save them for what?
“It’s getting late,” Ian said.
Dr. Henry shook Ian’s hand. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Patrick bade them good evening and left.
When they were alone, Ian took her hands in his. “I will bring the baby here, lass. Don’t be afraid for us.”
She nodded, fighting tears. “You must go get her, Ian. Without you, she has no other hope.”
Once word got around that Ian was heading off to rescue Kia’s sister, friends came to wish him well. Boyce told him, “If you want company, I’ll come along.”
“I’ll need to travel light,” Ian said. “But thanks for the offer. And I’ll need you to stay and keep a watch over everyone.” He looked straight at Heather as he said it, and it made her heart beat faster.
On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, during church, prayers were said for Ian to have a successful mission. There was always a possibility that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be able to get the baby out of Sudan. Her health was fragile, and that was also worrisome. What if she was too ill to travel?
Once evening had fallen and Heather found herself finally alone with Ian, she was hesitant to say good night.
Ian told her, “The plan is to fly in Tuesday and back to Kampala on Wednesday. Dr. Henry will stay in Kampala, pick us up as soon as we land, and we’ll come here on Thursday. We’ll be home before you finish with that holiday dinner Jodene has planned.”
“You think so?” Having him back on Thursday would be the best Thanksgiving blessing of all.
“Yes.” He smiled at her, his face bathed in moonlight. “And while I’m gone, you keep working with Kia. Her sister will need her eventually . . . once her palate is repaired. They can live here with one of the overseers and be a family again.”
The image of Kia and her sister staying at the children’s home, growing up safe and happy within a new family unit, made Heather feel better. They deserved the chance. “All right, I’ll keep trying to reach Kia. And I’ll count the minutes until you return.”
Ian was gazing down at her, and she couldn’t control the beating of her heart. She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He caught her elbows and pulled her closer. “You know, lass,” he said, his voice but a whisper in the night, “I would not forgive myself if I went so far away and didn’t do what I have wanted to do since I met you.”
“And what would that be?” Her words trembled with emotion.
“I would like to kiss you, lass. If I have your permission, that is.”
“Not only my permission,” she said, “but my blessing.”
He held her face between the palms of his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft, his kiss breathtaking. Heather felt her knees go weak while pinpricks of light spun behind her closed eyes. She poured her soul into the kiss, hoping to tell him how much she loved him, how much he meant to her.
He pulled away, his breath ragged, and wrapped his arms around her. He held her against his chest, and she felt the thumping of his heart. She buried her face in his shirt, clinging to him like a flower needing rain. He smoothed her hair, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Heather. I didn’t want to speak of it, but I can’t help myself. I love you, and when I come back, we must speak of it together.” He lifted her chin, and she saw that his expression was worried. “You don’t mind that I kissed you?”
She smiled then, unable to contain her joy. “One question: What took you so long to get around to it?”