She had been holed up in the apartment listening to the recordings for three days, and her excitement had grown each day. She knew it was unfair to expect Evan to share her enthusiasm or to comprehend the profound effect that listening to this account of her parents’ life in Colombia had had on her—especially since she barely understood it herself.
But an idea was germinating, one that seemed more real and more possible every day. She had thought she might share her thoughts with Evan tonight, but something caused her to keep silent.
Evan stretched and yawned as if he were getting ready to leave. She knew he still had unpacking to do, and she didn’t blame him for wanting to get back to his dorm, but still it frustrated her that he hadn’t reacted the way she’d hoped he would.
She fiddled with the cassettes, struggling to get over her annoyance at his lack of interest.
“Hey,” he said, letting the word hang in the air until she finally turned to look at him. He beckoned her with a curve of his finger and a glint in his eyes. “Come here.”
She went to him, and he pulled her down onto his lap. “I missed you,” he said, brushing her hair off her forehead.
“I missed you too.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and the irritation she’d felt toward him earlier dissolved. But his kiss didn’t make her forget the dream that had been kindled by her father’s recordings. As they sat, cuddling and talking quietly, she couldn’t stop the plans from forming in her mind, taking on a life of their own. She knew that Evan sensed her preoccupation, but he didn’t press her for an explanation.
It was barely nine o’clock when he gave an exaggerated yawn and picked up his coat from the back of the chair. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to get done before I can even go to bed tonight, Nattie. I’d better get going.”
She didn’t argue with him, but she walked him to the door and returned his good-night kiss.
“You want to have lunch tomorrow?” he asked from the landing of the stairway outside her door.
“Sure. Meet you in the union at noon? Usual place?”
“Okay. Good night.” He leaned to place one more gentle kiss on her lips.
Natalie wondered if he was sensing the same odd feelings that she was. She couldn’t put a name to it, but something was changing between them.
Classes started for Natalie the following Wednesday, but she attended in body only. Every minute she could, she went back to the apartment and listened to the tapes. As she played tape after tape, for hours on end, she’d found herself in an almost trancelike state while she relived her parents’ early life vicariously. She played the cassettes until she had some of them memorized. She rewound certain sections, delighting in Nathan Camfield’s wry sense of humor and in the musical sound of his laughter. She realized that in the brief periods of time she had spent with her birth father over the years, she had seldom heard him laugh in the unfettered manner she heard on these tapes. Yet the recordings were marked by frequent expressions of this mirthful side of him. On some of the tapes, Nate had persuaded a reluctant Daria to say a few words. Natalie played those sections, too, over and over again. Her mother’s voice sounded younger and more callow. But what startled Natalie more than anything was the love for Nathan Camfield that—even dimmed by the wear and tear of twenty-five years on the cassettes—came across strikingly. The subtle nuances of her mother’s voice brought yet a deeper understanding of how profoundly the tragic events in her parents’ lives had shaped them—and herself.
She went to the library and searched out everything she could find on Colombia. Though there was almost no information about the village of Timoné, she almost cheered to discover National Geographic stories about the Rio Guaviare, and Newsweek articles that mentioned San José del Guaviare, the town her father flew into from Bogotá. She made copies of everything she could find and, on a whim, even called her mother and asked her to send the books and tapes they’d used in the Spanish class she’d taken at the junior college a few years ago.
The following Sunday night Natalie sat down at her computer to compose an e-mail to her father. She hoped to convey the new sense of respect and admiration she had for him. She started and deleted half a dozen paragraphs. Nothing she wrote seemed to adequately express the deep emotional chord that had been struck within her.
Finally, she decided just to write honestly what she was feeling and to quit worrying about how he might interpret—or misinterpret—her words.
Dear Dad,
Mom gave me a bunch of cassette tapes you made when you guys were first in Colombia, and I’ve been listening to them ever since I got back to Manhattan. Don’t worry—I’m not neglecting homework or anything.
Dad, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed getting to know about your life there in Timoné—and especially the life you and Mom shared before I was born. I’ve even learned a few Timoné words (which I’d try to cleverly slip into this e-mail if I had the faintest idea how to spell them! How is that guy coming with the translation? Sorry but I forget his name now. David something-or-other, wasn’t it?).
Anyway, I can’t believe everything was so primitive when you lived there twenty years ago. Not even an airstrip nearby! It’s kind of hard to picture Mom living like that. (Or Grammy Haydon letting her!) But at the same time, it explains a lot about the way Mom is. I mean that in a good way, of course. Now I know why she was always after us for wasting stuff! You wouldn’t believe how much trouble we’d get in for throwing out three kernels of corn or half an old brown banana! “That would have been perfectly good in a soup,” she’d say. Or “I was going to make a banana bread with that.” Ha! I guess I probably do take the luxuries we have here in America for granted.
Which brings me to something I want to ask you. I’m almost afraid to put this in writing because I don’t know if it would even be possible, but listening to the tapes makes me realize that I want to come and visit you. I know Aunt Betsy has visited you in Bogotá before, but I want to come all the way to Timoné. Could you send me some information and let me know what it would take for that to happen? I’ve been studying about Colombia, and I’ve even brushed up on my Spanish. I know what I learned in high school probably won’t get me far—and I know they don’t actually speak Spanish in Timoné—but Señor Edmonds always said I had a knack for languages, so I think I could learn Timoné pretty quickly.
Natalie stared at the words she had just typed. Until she saw them on the page in front of her, she hadn’t realized just how strong her longing was. But now, daring to give her yearning voice via the keyboard of her computer, she realized that this was exactly what these days of introspection had culminated in—a deep desire to go visit her father in his village. There was no way she would ever truly get to know him unless she visited him on his own turf. And her world was far too small, her perspective on everything limited by her myopic view.
Before she could chicken out, Natalie clicked the send icon in her email program.
And thus began the wait. She knew that it was sometimes weeks before her father could get to San José del Guaviare, where they were able to receive e-mail and letters. But that didn’t keep her from anxiously checking her e-mail the minute she got back to the apartment after classes each day.
And though there was a twinge of fear in the waiting—fear that he would deny her—the predominant emotion was still that shadowy anticipation that something, something big, was about to change in her life.
Nathan Camfield turned up the flame in the lamp that sat on the crude table in the mission office. It was late, and the rest of the village was asleep. He read Natalie’s e-mail one more time, and a sinking feeling roosted in the pit of his stomach. What had he done? It had never been his intention to influence Natalie to come to Colombia. That had been the furthest thing from his mind in all the time he had been writing to her, telling her of his life here in Timoné. Yes, he was delighted to be corresponding with his daughter more frequently. It had been wonderful to finally feel he had a connection
to this child he’d never been privileged to parent. But he had never meant to encourage her to want to come here.
He heard a sound on the stoop outside the door and called out, “Who’s there?”
The door opened, and David Chambers stuck his head in. “I thought I saw a light. You’re still here?”
Nate sighed. “Oh, I’m just reading my mail—and praying.”
David looked at him, a question in his eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s nothing serious. Natalie seems to think she wants to come and visit me.”
“Here?”
He nodded.
“I take it you don’t think that’s a good idea?”
“No. Of course not … not with the political situation the way it is. I think she has this image of some tropical paradise vacation spot. I don’t think she has a clue about what things are really like here. It … it just wouldn’t even make sense for her to come. This place isn’t set up for a woman …” He knew he was rambling, but he also knew that David would listen patiently and perhaps help him sort through his emotions. “I don’t know what her motive is for coming, but there are a million reasons why this isn’t a good idea. And if something happened to her while she was here, or on the way, I would never forgive myself. She’s not even twenty-two, Dave.”
David cocked his head. “How old were you when you came to Timoné, Nate?”
Nate rubbed his brow sheepishly. “Okay … not a whole lot older than that.”
“And your wife?”
“Okay, okay … I get your point. But it seems like Natalie wants to come for all the wrong reasons.”
“What are her reasons?”
He flung out a hand in frustration. “Oh, I don’t even know exactly. Maybe I’m making more of this than I should. I think maybe she has this desire to connect with the father she’s never gotten to know.”
“Would that be so bad … if she got to know her father better?”
He looked hard at his friend and shook his head. “Don’t tempt me, David. I haven’t even dared to imagine that I might get a chance to … to know Natalie like that. I’m afraid her mother will think I’ve put her up to this … or persuaded her in some way. I think that’s what’s bothering me the most about this whole thing. I gave up my rights to my daughter a long time ago. I’ve trusted Daria and her husband to do right by her. And I don’t mind telling you that it wasn’t easy when this whole thing with the accident happened. But I didn’t make waves then, and I sure don’t intend to start now.”
“So you’re going to tell her no?”
“What else could I say, David? I don’t know …” He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Maybe if I just ignore it, this will all blow over.” He blew out his cheeks in frustration. “I’m probably making too much of it. She hasn’t even graduated from college yet. She surely didn’t intend to come before that. I’m probably getting all worked up over nothing.”
“Well, don’t just dismiss the idea out of hand, Nate. I don’t think it’s all that impossible. For all you know it’s just a little vacation.” David reached out and gripped Nate’s shoulder. “I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks, Dave. Go on to bed. I won’t be much longer.”
“Okay. Good night.”
David latched the door behind him. Nate thought about the things he’d said. The truth was, his heart beat with excitement at the possibility of Natalie coming to Timoné, of getting to know her better, of finally being able to share his life with his daughter. He hadn’t dared to even imagine that he might someday have a relationship with her, and now the opportunity was staring him in the face. All he had to do was say yes, offer a little encouragement.
He reminded himself that, as David pointed out, Natalie was not a child anymore. He could tell from the thoughtful letters she wrote that she had grown—both spiritually and emotionally—in the years since the tragic accident that had taken her friend’s life. But this couldn’t be his decision. He didn’t want the responsibility of having said yes, if anything should go wrong.
He rose from the table, feeling a heaviness in his spirit that he hadn’t felt for many months. He closed the laptop and straightened his desk, then put the copy of Natalie’s e-mail in a folder for safekeeping.
He locked up the office, and holding the lamp high, he walked through the village to his hut. He undressed and crawled onto his sleeping mat, arranging the mosquito netting over him. Reaching underneath the net, he turned the knob to extinguish the lamp. The flame inside the glass chimney sputtered and faded. But he lay awake for many minutes, staring into the blackness, composing replies to his daughter’s request—none of which seemed right.
For—he realized with clarity as he finally drifted off to sleep—the answer he wanted to give with all his heart was, Yes, daughter! Yes, please come.
“Evan, it’s not a crazy idea! Why can’t you support me in this?” Natalie glanced around her and realized that she had raised her voice to a level that was attracting the attention of fellow diners in the food court at the student union. She pushed her fried rice around on her plate with a plastic fork and lowered her tone to a whisper. “Can’t you understand why this is so important to me?”
Evan held his palms face out to her, and she recognized the long-suffering look that came to his face. He was going to pretend he understood even as he tried to talk her out of it. She was too tired to call him on it.
“Natalie, he’s your father. Of course I understand why you’d want to go see him. See him ‘in his element,’ as you say. But, come on, admit it: Your timing makes no sense whatsoever. Why don’t you at least wait until summer—or better yet, wait until the following summer. Then you’ll have your degree under your belt and possibly even a job to come back to. You have less than three semesters to go. I don’t see why—”
“Evan Greenway,” she broke in, “you know as well as I do that there’s no way I’ll graduate in three semesters.”
“Well, if you hadn’t changed majors ten times …” His voice trailed off and he remained silent.
“Hey, can I help it if I still don’t have a clue what I want to do with my life? But don’t you see? That’s just it. Maybe this will help me decide.”
“What are you talking about, Natalie? Decide what? What is it you want?” The look on his face was that of a frightened boy, and she decided this would not be a good time to voice the thoughts that had refused to leave her alone for the last two weeks.
Instead she looked pointedly at her watch. “You’re going to be late.”
He looked at his own watch, and she could tell by the way his eyes darted between her and his book bag that he was seriously considering skipping class to finish their discussion. But she knew if he missed this economics class he would regret it later, and that would add a whole new dimension to their argument.
“We can talk about this later, okay?” she told him, sliding out of the booth and picking up her tray of half-eaten vegetables and rice from the tabletop.
He sighed and slid out behind her. They emptied their trash into a nearby receptacle, and he gave her a quick kiss before he melted in with the throng of students headed for afternoon classes. Natalie watched him walk away, and her heart twisted.
Though he was finished forever with casts and crutches, Evan still walked with a mild limp. Though many wouldn’t even notice, she saw it clearly—more pronounced when he was tired or troubled, like now.
Watching him until she could no longer find him in the crowd, her heart ached.
She cared deeply for Evan. So why did she feel so melancholy watching him walk away? She wasn’t sure. And yet she suspected that it all had to do with this unknown impending something in her own life.
As she walked back to her car, and later as she drove to the apartment, she prayed. Lord, I’m not sure what’s going on, but help me sort it all out. Help me find what I’m looking for, Father. Please.
Twenty–Five
Natalie brought her fing
ers down hard on the keyboard of her computer and harrumphed under her breath. Nobody ever took her seriously. She deleted the errant alphabet that had skittered across the computer screen at her outburst of anger, and, sighing, she read her father’s e-mail again.
Well, at least he hadn’t completely ignored her question this time. The first time she’d written to him about her desire to visit him in Colombia, he had sent back a friendly e-mail that discussed the weather and not much more. She had e-mailed him back promptly, telling him that she was quite serious and that she was, in fact, thinking about coming soon.
This time he had started his reply with the usual news and thoughtful questions about her life, but at the end he’d placed a carefully worded response that seemed to purposely misunderstand the fact that she wanted to visit soon—and that seemed intent on discouraging her. It was almost as though he’d discussed it with Mom and Daddy, and with Evan.
Once again, she read his words.
Naturally I’m delighted that you want to visit me, Nattie. Of course, things are always very volatile in Colombia. One never knows from day to day whether the airports will be open, or whether it will be safe to navigate the Guaviare. We’ve had paramilitary at the airport in San José del Guaviare routinely throughout this year, although there haven’t been any violent incidents recently. The mission’s airstrip at Conzalez has not been affected so far, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to say the same next year.
I assume if you come it would be the summer after graduation. I’d hoped to surprise you and come for your graduation. Maybe we could arrange to fly back together. And perhaps I can help with your expenses as part of your graduation gift. At any rate, I am excited to think of showing off Timoné to you, and I do hope it will work out for you to visit. But we have plenty of time to work out the details.
I assume this is all acceptable to your mother and to Cole. I’m sure you can understand that I want to be certain they have given their go-ahead and their blessing to this before I get involved.
After the Rains Page 21