A Legacy for Bryan

by Marlene Bierworth

  Bryan pulled himself up. “Wait here—I’m going to see if I can find your chart.”

  Jerrod never answered.

  He could feel Jerrod’s eyes on his back as he hurried toward the door. Bryan felt an urgency spurring him forward and straight to the small receptionist’s desk where Shirley was leafing through the remaining applications.

  “Do you see a Jerrod in there?” Bryan asked.

  “Yes. He’s five people down the list.”

  “Can you speed him to the top? I have a bad feeling about him.”

  “How so, Dr. Charter?” She chuckled playfully. It cracked the solemn expression on his face.

  “He says his cattle are sick, just like him. Maybe there’s an epidemic out there. He’s been in the city at least three times that the clinic has been open. Who knows how many are sick now?”

  “Good observation, Bryan. He should be quarantined. Bring him in, and I will put him up in one of the sick rooms.”

  Bryan hurried outside, but when he got to where he’d left the child, the boy was gone. He scanned the area but did not see him. Suddenly, he heard him, behind a tree, vomiting up the chapatti he’d eaten for lunch. Bryan rubbed his back to comfort him until he’d finished.

  “Come with me, young man,” Bryan said.

  Inside, Shirley whisked him off to another room, and Bryan stayed put, watching after them. He noticed the doctor slip into the room moments later, and his heart stood still. The boy was so young, tall, and skinny, with chocolate brown pupils peering through eyes as big and white as golf balls. He’d seen faces like this before, pleading in the television advertisements, but they hadn’t moved him in the same way as had staring into the boy’s lost expression. Had old-money and booze dulled his heart so completely that he couldn’t see the innocence?

  He could have been born to such poverty, but—dare he say, the Lord—had seen fit to place him in an affluent society. And for what—to drink his senses numb until he was unable to respond? An unfamiliar sense of shame overshadowed him, and he winced inwardly.

  Katelyn had at least one victory in her corner; it appeared he possessed a semblance of ethics, no matter how deep it had been buried.

  A few minutes later, Shirley came out and passed him a note. “Go to the offices and find Katelyn. Give this to her.”

  He set off running out one side of the building and through a second, front-facing door, but then halted, unsure of where to go once he’d entered the main reception room. He saw bronze plaques with names on them and ran his finger down to find that Katelyn was in Room 103. He saw a hallway to the right and started down it. When he’d reached the correct door, he heard her voice—she was still on her conference call. He peeked his head around the corner to see her relaxing in a leather chair, facing a computer screen. He tapped lightly on the door he’d opened, and she beckoned him over.

  “I want you all to meet, Bryan Charter. He will be a part of our team for the eight days you are here.” She laughed at his hesitance to come around her desk, and she pulled him in. “The man is pretending to be shy, but don’t let him fool you.”

  Bryan waved to the strangers on the screen while passing her the note. She read it quickly, and he watched the blood drain from her glowing cheeks.

  “Oh, my! This is not good news. It appears we may have a medical and agricultural crisis with the Maasai. I hope you don’t mind if we cut this meeting short. I will have the bus meet you at the airport in two days. We should know more about the outbreak by then. Keep in prayer.” She waved and disconnected from the Zoom meeting.

  “This boy came in this afternoon?” she asked Bryan as she closed her computer. Katelyn stood quickly and swayed in place. Bryan stopped her from tumbling, headfirst.

  “Yes, the doctor is with him now,” Bryan said. “And you need to learn to pace yourself. You won’t help the Maasai by arriving overtaxed.”

  They were standing so close, he thought he saw her lip tremble. Was it the effect he had on her or her anxiety over the new case?

  Katelyn found her poise, straightened, and turned away before he could figure it out.

  His mercies are new every morning.

  Chapter 8

  “The lad traveled to the city with an older sibling who does not stand in line and wait with him but arranges to meet up at the gate at closing time,” Shirley said.

  Katelyn glanced at her watch. “Another hour. I suppose we’ll just let him lie in the room and rest until then. I’ll go outdoors to see if I can tend to some minor ailments and speed things up.” She beckoned to Bryan, who stood listening close by. “You can be my assistant, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like,” he said.

  Katelyn felt a blush creep up the back of her neck and wondered what on earth had triggered that. She turned away.

  After gathering her supplies into a bag, she went outdoors and set up with a small table and two chairs. “Any minor cases here today? Trying to help the doctor out.”

  One of them had a red-stained rag wrapped around her arm. She came forward first.

  When the young woman with the bloody arm responded, Bryan went indoors to get her worksheet, without being asked. He was catching on, and Katelyn couldn’t be more pleased.

  Upon examination, Katelyn said, “This is a deep cut, and you’ve used a dirty cloth to wrap your arm. I will clean it, stitch you up, and send you home with antibiotics to fight the infection that’s already started. You must be more careful.”

  Bryan came back and handed her the information he’d collected earlier, and as she took the paper from him, he nodded in the woman’s direction as if he knew something she ought to know. Katelyn scanned the page and noted his comment on the bottom, ‘looks and sounds like abuse to me.’”

  She studied her patient and watched a shadow of despair cross the woman’s face. Her name was Miriam, according to the form, and she quickly bowed her head low to avoid transparency.

  “Miriam, who did this to you?”

  “I’m plain clumsy, or so my man says.”

  “We both know you are lying,” Katelyn said. “Does he beat you?”

  “I deserve it most times.”

  “No one deserves to be cut like that,” Bryan said. “You must defend yourself. Some men can be bullies.”

  “I started my own business, sewing clothes for people. He doesn’t like it.”

  “He is old-school thinking. You are to be commended for starting up your own business,” Katelyn said, unsure how far to take this discussion. It was not her place to change years of stifling propaganda that kept women under a man’s authority, although everything within her wanted to join that fight. She supposed just being a working woman here in Kenya, clarified her position in the matter.

  “The men in my family sabotage my efforts and scare my customers away. There is no one to defend me.”

  Her answer was so final, the empty tone causing Bryan to stiffen at her side. He was obviously finding new places in his heart, perhaps some he didn’t know existed.

  When she left, Bryan asked, “Do African men not like women entrepreneurs?”

  “Women, in general, have little say over their bodies and how they spend their days. Usually, they stay at home, and mind the house and children. If they get sick, they must ask their husbands’ permission to receive medical care at the city clinics, and if the physician has it in his mind to report her for prostitution or using drugs, he will do it. There is more freedom for women in Christian families, but history has her living under his thumb for the most part.”

  “Sounds dreadful. The authorities agree with all that?”

  “They made the laws, and they enforce them,” Katelyn said. “Few females have a secondary education, so they are left behind in a world of enterprise run by men.”

  Bryan looked at the few remaining patients. “Who’s next? Spare me another abused female, okay?”

  That night, Bryan’s head barely hit the pillow when he felt himself drifting off. He groaned, remembering that
he hadn’t fastened down the net, so he pushed up and looped the elastic edge of the heavy netting around the corners and along the bottom sides of his bed. When it was tight and secure, he plunked back down on the mattress. He was exhausted.

  So, this is what it felt like to go to bed tired from a day of toiling in the labor force. As he fell asleep, his mind couldn’t determine if it had been worth it or not, but his heart rested well.

  Katelyn was on the phone first thing in the morning, arranging transportation and loading supplies into crates. Dr. Jonas and his wife, Shirley, would accompany her to the Maasai village.

  Bryan wouldn’t hear tell of his not tagging along on the excursion, and she was pleased to see him take a personal interest in the children’s welfare. She could see his concern not only for the individual, but for the corrupt system that held people back from achieving their full potentials. The man had what it took to move mountains, if only he could get his priorities straight. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to welcome him aboard the foundation, like his father? The thought caused her cheeks to heat, and she realized that muse had come from a different place in her heart than the gratefulness she’d felt for the late Bryan Charter III.

  Katelyn’s strength was in the knowledge of what made her tick—her passions and abilities and that she was only one person, one hand extended to these masses of people. She was not a world thinker, finding her comfort in small groups or with individuals.

  She’d witnessed countless of the poorest, sickest Kenyans on her doorstep, and the disappointment of never enough hours and energy only worsened with time. Yet each time she healed a body, soul, or mind, it sparked a new compulsion within her that kept her living this semi-nomadic lifestyle. Traveling back and forth from Africa to America was wearisome and terribly lonely, and sometimes she wished she could just settle for a normal life with a home and family on her Carolina estate, but that’s where the fantasy ended. Come the light of a new day, the Lord would strengthen her to move forward.

  A tap sounded at the door, and she called out, “Come in.”

  Bryan stood in the doorway with a duffle bag packed and ready to go. He was dressed in tan khaki pants and a short-sleeved shirt. His hair was dark, thick, and wavy, with that serious pucker between his brows that made her want to wipe his cares away. The dark bristle of his meticulously shaped beard made his features appear almost mysterious. His entire countenance made her heart skip a beat, and she lowered her eyes to continue with her task.

  He seemed to have read her thoughts. “Thought I’d pack some things in case this investigation turns into a long stay at a makeshift hospital in the wilds. I left the sports jacket behind and packed a working man’s clothes for the journey. Are you impressed?”

  Katelyn chuckled. “Listen to you! You are, indeed, a working man. Congratulations on yesterday. Shirley and Jonas raved about your contributions to the day-clinic and are pleased you’ll be joining us at the village.”

  “Nice couple. Do they live here?”

  “Yes. They are full-time volunteers doing what they love to do; serve needy people.”

  “Nice to be so sure about your place in life,” Bryan said.

  “We’ve all learned to lean on the Lord’s guidance, and it changes to accommodate the seasons in our life.”

  “So, are you saying this adventure might someday be put on a shelf?”

  “Never! This foundation will last as long as I breathe air and hopefully beyond. but that is not to say I will be in this role forever…or maybe I will. I’m open to—”

  “I know—wherever the Lord leads,” Bryan said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” She decided to let it lie. The party-boy had come a long way, and she did not want to spoil the work the spirit was doing on the inside.

  “Let’s get the Jeep loaded,” Katelyn said, picking up an armload and heading for the door. “I am eager to bring you outside the city to see wildlife in their natural habitat and just let you drink in the sheer beauty—it will take your breath away.”

  “And I have come to think you will never leave Kenya,” Bryan said. “Do you realize your eyes light up every time you talk about this place?” He laughed. “But that’s just a human observation. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable hearing that from the Lord.”

  She was surprised that he belabored the subject. “Perhaps you’re right. The Word says He will give me the desires of my heart, so, as long as my desires stay focused, I’ll be here.”

  Katelyn had slowed her steps, and now she stood next to Bryan. Their eyes met and held one another captive longer than necessary. His voice was low as if fishing for an answer. “Desires do change. I can vouch for that.”

  “I see you changing at least, on the outside. And the Word says, ‘out of the heart a man speaks,’ so there is hope it will last.” She bumped him playfully. “But today, we have work to do. Sick cattle will be a devastating blow to the Maasai, and I pray the boy’s sickness is isolated, and the illness has not spread rampantly through his village.”

  “Did he go home last night with his brother?”

  “Yes. Dr. Jonas says the brother would not leave without him.”

  “Good brother,” Bryan said. “Let me take this load for you.”

  “Thank you, sir. All the boxes in that corner are ready to go. I’ll run to the clinic to see if there are any medical supplies Jonas and Shirley can’t fit in their vehicle.”

  “You’re going armed—expecting the worst, I see.”

  “I’d rather be prepared than have to come back for supplies. Even if there isn’t a breakout, I’m sure someone could use a house visit.”

  A half-hour later, they were on their way, traveling south through Nairobi toward Maasai Mara National Park.

  “Sometime while you’re here, we will go on a safari,” Katelyn said. “The Maasai village is three kilometers from the Sekanani Gate. The Indigenous ethnic group is spread out to cover a huge area along the Great Rift Valley. It always boggles my mind how they raise cattle on such arid land.”

  “So, they’re cattlemen,” Bryan said.

  “Not your typical John Wayne version with the Stetson hat, cotton shirts under vests with pockets, and wool trousers to keep warm.”

  “You forgot the chaps, slant-heeled cowboy boots, spurs, polished buckles, and guns dangling from a belt at their hips.” Bryan said. “I like to watch old western movies too.”

  Katelyn laughed. “The Maasai have their own version of a cowboy, a much more colorful variety than in the Old West. And they don’t carry guns, but they use shields and spears and can throw an orinka—a club made of solid olivewood—up to seventy paces, which is approximately one-hundred meters, or three-hundred and thirty-eight feet in American measurements.”

  “Best stay on the good side of these folks,” Bryan said. “Do they speak English?”

  “Yes, mostly, but also Nilotic and Swahili, too. They are known worldwide for their unique culture and tribal dress and because of their close links to the national parks and reserves.”

  “Sounds like an interesting bunch,” Bryan said.

  “Some travel to Nairobi all spiffy in their traditional dress, and by the time they leave, they’ve donned Western clothes. Yet, as soon as they get to the village, the garments are tossed aside, and they return to their age-old garb.”

  “Guess you can take the boy out of the country but not the country out of the boy,” Bryan said.

  Katelyn laughed. “Did you want to be a cowboy when you grew up?”

  “No, they work too hard, but I did have the pleasure of attending one of their country hoedowns once. They certainly know how to party.”

  Katelyn frowned. “Maybe you should concentrate on the scenery instead of walking down party-memory-lane.”

  She pointed out the river where the surrounding terrain was lush and green and other stretches where the land was semi-arid and grew only sparse puffs of grass. Wildlife dodged in and out of sight around
trees and bushes and over hills and mounds.

  “Look over there! Those things are huge,” Bryan exclaimed.

  “Giraffes? Yes. They are tall enough to munch the rich tops of foliage and trample the poor trees at the base near to death.”

  “But they are rather majestic, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Stand beside one, and all I’ll see is your backside running in the opposite direction.”

  He chuckled. “You’re probably right. I suppose you’d stand your ground and tell them who was boss.”

  “Never on purpose,” Katelyn said, “but they have wandered rather close to the Jeep, and they can step over us in one easy stride.”

  “Hopefully, not today. Don’t think I’m ready for a close encounter of that kind.”

  God has ordained a time to be born and a time to die.

  Chapter 9

  When the two vehicles pulled to the outskirts of the village, they stopped, and the group climbed out. The little boy that Bryan had met the day before came running out to greet them, tugging on his hand like he was a long-lost friend.

  “Jambo,” Jerrod yelled. “Haraka—You must come now.”

  Bryan looked at Katelyn for guidance, fearing the urgency in the youngster’s face. He’d rid himself of yesterday’s casual attire and wore a colorful get-up that seemed to better suit his proud stature.

  “The medicine seems to be working for him,” Bryan said to Katelyn as the medical team followed close behind him.

  Jerrod had tugged him into the heart of the settlement before she answered. “Yes, but he looks worried. I fear there are more cases.”

  Their homes appeared to be constructed of readily available materials and old-school tribal construction, making their appearance unusual and impermanent in nature, as if they could pack up and move at a day’s notice.

  Katelyn’s prediction proved to be accurate, for as they entered one of the shelters, they found a man and a woman lying on mats in the corner. Dr. Jonas and his wife dropped to the ground, knelt close to the couple, and opened their medical bags.