Natalie swung her legs over the side of the bed and put her head in her hands.
“Mom.” Natalie’s voice broke, and something in her tone made Daria’s heart beat faster. Natalie lifted her chin. Their gazes met, and Natalie opened her mouth as if she meant to say something.
“What’s wrong, honey? Just let it out. Cry if you need to; scream if you need to.”
But then her daughter turned away again and sat motionless and mute on the edge of the mattress, her eyes fixed on some monster that Daria could neither see nor slay.
Eleven
Timoné, Colombia, South America
The clouds rolled in and the afternoon rains threatened as Nathan Camfield crossed the village commons and began loping toward the hut across the stream. He jumped the brook and almost made it to safety before the skies broke open to wash the jungle canopy. But the rainwater quickly pierced layers of palm branches and lush jungle foliage and ran in tiny rivulets on Nate’s skin, trickling down to larger streams on the forest floor. Drenched and out of breath, he scaled the stairs two at a time and burst into the relative dryness of the hut that served as the mission office.
David Chambers looked up from the makeshift desk where he’d been engrossed in some document on his laptop computer screen. He laughed as he watched Nate try to dry himself with a thin rag not much bigger than a washcloth. “You’ll never learn, will you, man?”
Nate gave his coworker a good-natured grin as he rubbed his close-cropped hair with the rag. “I always think I can get just one more thing done before it pours, you know?” He turned his head to one side and jabbed a corner of the towel into his ear, then turned his head and dried his other ear.
He hung up the towel and went to a small shelf in the corner. Picking up a grimy thermos, he shook it gently. “Is there any coffee left?”
“If you can call it that,” Chambers muttered, already deep into his translation work again.
Nate poured a stream of the vile brown liquid into his stain-spattered mug and took a sip. “Man!” he complained, giving his head a shake. “How do we drink this stuff day after day?”
David Chambers looked up and smiled, stroking his neatly trimmed beard and taking a sip from his own cup. “I’ve been telling you, homegrown Colombian coffee ought to taste better than this. We’re doing something wrong.”
“At least it’s hot. So how’s it going today?” Nate asked him, indicating the laptop.
“Pretty good. I found some great info on that database I downloaded in San José. I’m just starting to sort through it all, but I think it’s something I can really make use of. I want to try to get Tados in here for a few days this week and nail some of the intonations.”
“Good luck,” Nate said wryly. “You think he’ll agree to that with a fishing expedition on the calendar?”
David shook his head glumly. “Good point. Oh, hey, don’t forget you’ve got some e-mail.”
“That’s right! Did you print them out?”
“No, they’re on the hard drive. Lucretia was griping about their paper supply as it was, and I’d already printed all these word lists.” He patted a stack of wrinkled paper covered in what looked like an alien language. Looking sheepish, David said, “Sorry. I hope that’s okay—”
Nate stopped him with an upheld hand. “It’s not a problem. Just let me know when I can get on the computer.” He crossed the room and sat down at his desk.
“I can wrap this up in a couple of minutes,” Chambers told him.
“Thanks, Dave. No hurry.”
If anyone had told him even ten years ago that he would be reading e-mail and watching his coworker use a computer here in Timoné, he would have told them they were crazy. But he had to admit that it did make their work easier. Of course, they weren’t online in the village yet, but with the new airstrip at Conzalez just half a day away on the river, David could fly into San José del Guaviare every few weeks. There he had access to up-to-date computers and could download linguistic information and software for his translation work, along with an impressive array of medical data for Nate. In addition, it allowed them to order medical supplies and their own personal provisions with ease. Best of all, it made it possible for them to keep in closer touch with their families back home and with other missionaries, both in Colombia and around the world.
Nate sometimes regretted that he had been so obstinate with Daria when they’d first come to Timoné. He had been determined to win the hearts and minds of the Timoné people by becoming a part of their culture. He’d come to realize that with judicious use of technology, he had much more to offer the village. Though he still thought there was merit to his concept of living as one with the culture, he realized that he’d probably carried it too far those first years he and Daria were here. And she had suffered for it. Not that she’d ever complained, but he knew that as a woman and a homemaker, Daria had made far more sacrifices than he had for his precious philosophy.
He shook off the thoughts of Daria—it was a dangerous place for his mind to wander. Though nothing could ever make him stop loving her, Daria belonged to someone else now. He was grateful when, across the room, David Chambers shuffled some papers on the desk, closed the laptop, and stood.
“It’s all yours,” David said. He stooped to look out the window, then yawned and stretched his six-foot-five frame as much as the low ceiling of the hut would allow. “I think the rain’s let up enough. I’m going to go home and do some reading, and if I should just happen to fall asleep in the process, well, so be it.”
“I hear you,” Nate laughed. “I might rest my eyes for a minute myself after I read my mail.”
“Do you want me to check on Monni’s baby on my way back?” he asked, referring to an infant Nate had delivered yesterday morning.
The little boy had been born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. They had almost lost him. Nate had enlisted David’s help with the difficult delivery, and now he smiled to himself as he realized that his colleague felt a special bond with the child he’d helped bring into the world.
“If you want to, that’d be great, but don’t feel obligated, Dave. I was planning to check in on them on my way home tonight. They were both doing just fine when I stopped in this morning.”
David nodded and smiled at the news. “That’s good to hear.” He gathered a few books off his cluttered desk and waved before ducking beneath the door frame.
Nate went to the shelf and drained the last of the thermos of muddy coffee into his mug. He got the laptop and settled in at his desk again. Through the window, he watched David dodge puddles as he made his way next door to the small hut that served as his living quarters.
Nate thought again, what a blessing the young man had been to him. David Chambers had been here just over a year now, sent by Gospel Outreach to begin the task of putting the New Testament in the Timoné dialect. It was a daunting assignment, given that Timoné had no written language and that the dialect had its roots, not in the Castilian Spanish spoken by most of Colombia, but in a peculiar mix of Portuguese and Spanish with a bit of Swahili thrown in for good measure.
David was in his late twenties. He had taught French and Spanish at an American university for several years before answering the call of the mission field. He had picked up the Timoné tongue quickly and was making amazing progress on an assignment that promised to take years to complete.
Nate crossed an ankle over his knee and propped the laptop in the resulting triangle. He began clicking on icons, rearranging the computer desktop, which David had left in disarray, as usual. Then, opening the email program, he leaned back in his chair and scanned the short list of posts David had received in San José yesterday.
He was surprised to see Daria’s name in his in box. She occasionally sent him news of Natalie, but more often that came via his parents or Betsy. He hoped everything was all right.
He opened the file and began to read.
Dear Nate,
I need to let you know
what’s going on with Natalie. I don’t want to alarm you, and I don’t think it’s necessary that you come home, but she needs your prayers (and so do we). Last Saturday night Nattie was in a car accident. Physically she has recovered very well, but two other teenagers, including Natalie’s best friend, Sara Dever, were killed in the wreck. The boy who was killed had been drinking. He ran a stop sign, and his pickup broadsided Natalie’s car. Another boy riding in the pickup was critically injured.
Natalie’s Camry was totaled, which seems a petty thing in light of the tragic deaths, but since your father bought it for her with your blessing, I thought you should know that.
We haven’t been able to get her to talk about it much, but even though the accident wasn’t her fault, I know Natalie is struggling with the fact that she was driving when it happened.
Nate tensed and scrolled to the top of the screen to check the date the e-mail had been sent. The accident had happened more than two weeks ago now. He read Daria’s description of the events, and tears filled his eyes.
His heart broke as he thought of Natalie’s pain and despondency over the tragedy. He vaguely remembered Sara Dever. The girl had come with Natalie to his parents’ house once while he’d been home on furlough. They had been at that silly, giggly stage of adolescence at the time, but he remembered thinking that she seemed to be a sweet girl, and it had been obvious that Natalie adored her. He sent up a prayer that the Lord would comfort his daughter and help her to heal emotionally as well as physically. He wondered if he’d done the right thing. Wondered if he would’ve been able to comfort the daughter he loved, had she not been a world away.
He forced himself to pause and pray more intently. But an arsenal of troubling thoughts assaulted him. These were the times when it still hurt—even after all these years—not to be a part of his daughter’s life. He wished with everything in him that he could hop on a plane and go to Natalie, go to Daria. But another man had taken the place of protector and defender in their lives. Yet, in spite of the pain that was still raw at times, he never doubted that he had made the right decision in abdicating his role as Natalie’s father, in coming back to Timoné and leaving Daria to continue the new life she had begun without him. From what he could tell from his conversations with Daria and his limited correspondence with Natalie, he believed that Cole Hunter was doing right by his family. Nevertheless, he sent up a silent prayer that the Lord would give the man an extra measure of wisdom now. That God would help Cole be the father that Nate could not be to Natalie.
He read the e-mail once more, lingering over Daria’s final words:
Please don’t worry too much, Nate. I hated to even have to tell you the news, since there’s little you can do from there. But it didn’t seem fair not to tell you. With God’s help, I know Nattie will get through this. We all will.
Please pray for us, as I know you do. We’ll keep you posted, and as always, we are praying for you.
Love and prayers,
Daria
His mind racing, Nate skimmed the other e-mails, and seeing that there was nothing urgent, he closed the laptop and bowed his head over the desk. The tears flowed freely as he placed his precious daughter—along with all the families involved in the tragedy—before the throne of the heavenly Father.
When Nate finally lifted his head, the village was just beginning to come alive with the smells and banter of the supper fires. With the heavy heart of a father far from his hurting child, Nate closed up the mission office and headed across the grounds to his hut.
He knew that tonight the silence would fill the empty space like thunder.
Twelve
You sure you don’t want me to come in with you, Nattie?” Cole Hunter asked as he pulled the car up to the drop-off zone at Bristol High.
“No, Daddy. I’m fine.”
Natalie eased out of the car, her muscles still aching and stiff from the accident. She hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder and gave her father a halfhearted wave. His forehead was furrowed with worry lines, but he blew her a kiss—which she ignored—and drove out of the parking lot.
Monday morning. She had missed a whole week of school, and now, coming back for the first time since the accident, she was terrified. She couldn’t remember when she had ever felt so alone. Every day of her life since the middle of sixth grade, she had arrived at school with Sara Dever by her side. Now, not only was Sara gone, but she had to face the entire school with the guilt of Sara’s death on her head. It was all she could do to keep walking toward the wide front doors of the building, to not turn and run in the opposite direction.
It struck her what a cruel irony it was that she didn’t even have a car in which to run away. Her Camry had been crushed almost beyond recognition. She hadn’t seen it herself—hadn’t wanted to. But the Wichita Eagle had run a photo of the scene of the accident, and Daddy had brought the paper into her room one night, saying something about what a miracle it was that she had survived.
Well, she didn’t feel like a miracle survivor. She felt like an outcast—and one very deserving of the position.
She heard a commotion behind her and turned to see a gaggle of sophomore girls walking up from the parking lot. She turned away quickly, but she could tell by the way their voices dropped that they had spotted her and were making a wide berth around her. When they’d passed, she didn’t miss the furtive glances over shoulders and the uneasy whispers. She knew what they must be saying.
She took a deep breath, went through the door, and started toward the office, head down, pretending to rummage for something in her bag.
In the office, Mrs. Oswell, the secretary, greeted her with the same pity in her voice that Natalie had heard a hundred times over the last ten days. “Oh, Natalie … Welcome back, honey. How are you getting along?”
Natalie shrugged and fought back the tears that sprang unexpectedly to her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said evenly. She handed in the permission slip from the doctor and waited while the secretary read it.
Mrs. Oswell looked up from the paper. “Thank you, honey,” she said, as though Natalie had given her a diamond tiara. “This is just what we need. Now do you have money on your lunch card and everything else you need?”
Natalie forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she said, patting the pocket of her jeans where she kept the card.
“Okay, honey. Well, you just let us know if you need anything … anything at all.”
“Thank you,” Natalie muttered.
She had to get out of here. She turned away from the counter and hurried to her locker. Rebecca Jimison was working the combination on the locker beside hers.
“Natalie!” she shrieked when she saw her.
Rebecca pounced on her and gathered her up in a warm hug, but the pressure on her incision caused her to wince and take in a sharp breath.
Rebecca pulled away quickly, a hand to her mouth. “Ooh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Natalie laughed uneasily. “I’m fine. Just a little stiff and sore still.” She hugged the girl back to give proof to her words, and relief flooded through her at her friend’s response. Rebecca was in her first-hour class. At least she’d have someone to walk into the room with.
“Oh, man, Natalie. I’m so glad you’re back,” Rebecca said as they started toward the biology lab. “We were getting worried about you. You know Evan is still in the hospital.”
“Yeah, I heard. I guess he’s hurt pretty bad, huh?”
Rebecca nodded solemnly. “A couple of the guys went and saw him this weekend. I guess he might get to come home Friday, but he’ll have to have a bunch of therapy and more surgery to get a pin out of his ankle or something. They’re not even sure he’ll be able to graduate with us. I still can’t believe it happened,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know … Me neither.”
“It’s been terrible here, Nattie. Everybody’s been crying all the time. The wreck is all we can talk about. The teachers have been pretty cool about it, though. Masters even
canceled a test ’cause he said our scores wouldn’t be accurate, with everybody so emotional and everything.”
As they made their way down the hall, other students and teachers started to notice her, and friendly shouts of “Hey, Nattie!” and “Welcome back, Nattie” greeted her. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She looked around the halls. “It feels weird to be back,” she said, almost to herself.
“It won’t ever be the same without Brian and Sara, will it?” Rebecca said, her face darkening.
A lump lodged in Natalie’s throat, and she turned away.
“Oh, Nattie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”
The bell interrupted her, and Natalie willed a smile to her face. Grabbing Rebecca’s arm, she said, “Come on. The last thing I want to do is be late for class.”
Natalie sat on her bed that night, her American history textbook spread open in front of her. Although her eyes were trained on the book, her mind was reliving the day at school. The hard knot that had bound her stomach since the accident loosened a bit. The kids had all been really nice to her, and by the end of the day things had actually seemed almost back to normal.
She remembered something funny Dr. Hart had said in fifth-hour English, and she picked up the telephone. She was halfway through dialing Sara’s number when she realized what she was doing. The force of the truth took her breath away. She dropped the receiver back in its cradle and sat, numb, staring at the wall.
A knock on her bedroom door shook her out of her trance. “Who is it?” she asked in a monotone.
“It’s me,” Nicole’s muffled reply came from the other side of the door.
“What?”
“Can I come in, Nattie?” Her sister’s voice had the same gentle, sympathetic tone that everyone seemed to use with her since the accident.
“Sure … come in.”
The door opened slowly, and Nikki’s head appeared around the corner. “You busy?”
After the Rains Page 9