I snapped the seat belt in place. “Something did happen. Something profound and unchangeable. I lost Sam.”
“You gave him up.” Her eyes shifted to Sam’s letters tied in a neat bundle in my lap. “You need to open those, Johanna. I don’t know what they say, but I can guarantee Sam isn’t going to give up on you easily.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I turned to look out on the cold spring day, snowflakes mixed with rain swirling through the air. Late April was always iffy in Saginaw; snow one day, spring the next. Cold. Slush. I couldn’t get warm since I’d gotten back.
Nelda slid the transmission into gear and pulled away from the patient loading area. Her words were more of a grumble at the dash than addressed to me. “How would you know how he feels unless you talk to him?”
I wasn’t sure about Sam’s feelings, but he couldn’t argue with my conclusions. So talk was cheap and answers were nonexistent.
At home, Nelda settled me in my recliner, turned up the thermostat, then left to do grocery shopping and retrieve Itty Bitty. I wandered around the half-empty rooms at a loss. After a while, because there was nothing else to do, I took a shower, reveling in the driving needles of hot water and the soft fragrance of sweet pea shower gel. Afterward I dressed in clean pajamas and climbed into bed.
Nelda returned and called up the stairway, that she was putting the perishables in the refrigerator. I heard the click of nails on the hardwood stairway and then Itty Bitty dashed into my room. With one enormous leap he landed on the bed, wiggled his way across the bed covers, and burrowed under my outstretched arm. I hugged him tight, scratching the backs of his ears and roughhousing for a minute. He licked my face clean, lunging to give me kisses over and over.
“I’ll be back in the morning!” Nelda shouted up the stairway. “You get a good night’s sleep!”
“Thanks, Nelda!”
Itty crawled between the sheets and my arms came around him. He felt good, like home. We lay that way for over an hour. I could hear his even breathing, the tiny doggy snorts. My bed was soft, comfortable … and unfamiliar. I couldn’t sleep.
I got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea. Dropping a bag into the boiling water, I carried the cup to the den and settled on the couch. I nursed my mug of steaming liquid, thinking of Sam trying to sleep on a narrow cot in a steamy jungle hut. How he would welcome the forty-eight-degree temperature I was trying to ward off. I closed my eyes, picturing the lagoon surrounding the hut. I heard the cry of night birds in the saga palms, saw the moon coming up over the lagoon, surprised to find that memories I once thought dreadful weren’t so bad — were even pleasant, almost.
What was not surprising was that I missed Sam so much it was a physical ache. And Poo. I missed her visits, her chaotic chatter. Even those grubby hands and dirty face.
Tears coursed down my cheeks, and for the thousandth time I begged God to send Sam a woman who shared his passion. He deserved more than a Saginaw librarian with Monday morning faith. The village people deserved more. Poo and the village children needed missionaries who cared, whose love overflowed and transcended cultural boundaries. The villagers needed medical care and a chance — a chance that godly men like Sam, Bud, and Frank provided.
During my ruminating my tea had grown cold, but it didn’t matter. I’d lost interest in the drink. I rinsed the cup, set it in the sink, and climbed the stairs to my room. I stretched out on the bed and pulled the electric blanket up around my shoulders. Staring into the dark, I thought about this house. I’d have to find an apartment. Mom and Pop would need the sale proceeds to stay at The Gardens.
Sleep claimed me sometime during the night, and I woke to sunshine streaming through my bedroom window and the cheery weatherman’s voice promising moderating temperatures. Outside birds sang and traffic moved up the street with an unfamiliar roar. Why did I feel like a visitor in my own home? I pulled on my housecoat and went downstairs to read the paper Nelda had left for me.
I caught up on the news while I ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs, milk, toast, and apple butter.
I wanted mangoes.
According to the flyers, there was a big sale at the mall. I didn’t really care, but I’d lost so much weight my clothes hung on me. I needed to make a few cursory purchases.
This house was filled with possessions. Poo would have been bewildered by the bounty. I fantasized about taking her to the mall to buy a dress and maybe sassy slacks and a few colorful ribbons. Wouldn’t she be wide-eyed at all the riches? Little Poo, the child who, by my standards, had nothing but who loved with all of her heart.
Late in the afternoon I pulled myself together enough to dress and take a short walk. The doctor had warned it would be another two weeks before he’d release me for work. I wandered into the local grocery, even though I knew Nelda had restocked my pantry. My eyes scanned the bulging shelves, the fresh produce, and the neat packages of meat. Guilt was almost a physical force. Did Americans realize how fortunate they were?
I picked up a few items Nelda had failed to put on her list and pushed my cart to the front of the store and started unloading my purchases.
The checker recognized me. “Johanna! Welcome back. I heard about your ordeal. I’m so sorry.” She frowned, then bent closer and lowered her voice. “You look like death warmed over. You’re so skinny!”
Not a very tactful observation, but true, judging by what I’d witnessed in my bathroom mirror that morning. My reflection might not stop a clock, but it would give an unwary stranger a moment of alarm.
“I’m much better — lung parasite,” I reported as if I were talking about a head cold.
“You were in Papua New Guinea?” She shook her head, eyes wide. “How fascinating. I’ve never been much more than out of the city limits.”
My response was a lame smile.
I stopped by Chinese Wok and ordered General Tso’s all-white-meat chicken and ate the whole thing in honor of Eva. The iced Pepsi tasted almost as good as the pineapple juice I’d grown used to. Would Mary and Eva appreciate a cold Pepsi?
Afterward I lost the whole meal in the restaurant bathroom.
Back home, I arranged the cans and bags and boxes in my pantry. Nelda had bought enough food to last two months.
The television programs I’d once enjoyed now seemed shallow and empty. After a while I switched off the set and looked for something to read. One book caught my eye — it was one I’d checked out of the library about Papua New Guinea and had forgotten to return. I stretched out on the couch and opened it. Soon I was lost in the tropical climate, lush vegetation, and beauty of that island nation.
The phone rang and I reached for it, marking my place by inserting one finger between the pages. “Johanna? Just checking on you, dear. Are you all right?”
“Of course, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
“Ummm — not hungry.” No need to mention the plate of General Tso’s I’d consumed four hours earlier but lost. Apparently it would take awhile to regain my piggish nature.
“Honey, Pop and I were wondering if you’d feel up to coming here tomorrow night. We want to hear all about your trip.”
“Not tomorrow, Mom. I have other plans.” I didn’t, but it was too soon and my wounds too raw to talk about the trip and the villagers … because someone would ask about Sam, and I couldn’t bring myself to talk about him.
“Day after tomorrow, maybe? If you’re strong enough, we’ve invited a few people to hear your story. You can sit; it’ll be almost like being at home. Our friends are interested in you and Papua New Guinea and the mission field.”
“Let me think about it — oh, sorry, Mom. Someone’s at the door.” Fibbing again, Johanna. You’re getting good at it.
“I’m worried about you, dear. Are you sure you’re all right? And Sam — ”
“I’m fine, Mom. Call you later.”
I hung up, lay back on the sofa, and burst into tears. Sam! God, how can I let him go? If this is your will,
can’t you make it not hurt so much?
He could, of course, but apparently he’d decided not to make things any easier for me. I pulled myself off the sofa and moped to the kitchen. I wanted fish, sweet potatoes, and mangoes. I wanted my Sam.
A week passed, then two, and I still couldn’t bring myself to leave the house. I suspected I’d drifted into depression. Mom and Pop had started coming over every afternoon, but I resisted all entreaties to visit them.
Nelda refused to let me wallow in pity. She either called or came by every evening. At first she’d been gentle with me, even when I’d hid a couple of days and pretended that I wasn’t home. Now she’d gotten to the point of belligerence.
I cringed when I saw her car pull into my drive and she got out carrying a dish I supposed held another casserole.
She knocked and I let her in. “You own anything besides that rancid bathrobe? I’m right sick of seeing it every time I come over.” She brushed passed me, carrying the dish to the kitchen.
“Then don’t come back.” Rude, Johanna. But she had it coming. Who did she think she was coming in here insulting my dress? I shut the door.
“If you’d quit babying yourself and get up and get on with your life, I could quit worrying about you.” She set the casserole on the kitchen burner with a thump. “Chicken and rice. Got mushrooms, peppers, onions, and rich gravy. Put some flesh on your scrawny bones.”
“What happened to the Diet Guru? Did she choke on a carrot stick?”
“She took one look at you and decided there are more important things in life than worrying about weight. Girl, if you stood sideways you’d disappear.”
“In case you missed it, I’ve been sick.” Let the sarcasm roll.
“I didn’t miss it, but know what I do miss? The Johanna I used to know. Look at you! Glasses held together with surgical tape, hair looking like overcooked spaghetti. Is there some law that says you have to look like you crawled out from under a rock? How long has it been since you washed that robe? I could grow tomatoes on that thing.”
I glared at her. I resented what she said, resented her. Resented life. But I knew she was right. Since I’d been back I’d been suspended between two worlds, belonging to neither. No longer sure of myself, I had no desire to face people.
Nelda shifted, her lips firming. “What am I going to do with you? You have to try, girl. You can’t mope around here for the rest of your life.”
“I can if I want to.”
“No, you can’t. I love you too much to watch you do this to yourself. Now I’m giving you an order.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“You watch me. We’re going shopping and get you some clothes that don’t hang on you like feed sacks — ”
“I’ve bought a few things — ”
“ — and then you’re going back to work. I talked to your folks. We think the change would be good for you, provided you don’t overdo. And I’ll see to that. We need you at the library and you need us. Whatever happened in Papua New Guinea needs to stay in Papua New Guinea. You have a life to live here in Saginaw, and it’s time you got down to living it.”
“You don’t say.” I shoved my glasses up on my nose, then crossed my arms.
Nelda knocked my arms free. “I do say. You’re coming back to work tomorrow morning. Be there or I swear, Johanna Holland, I’ll come over here and drag your carcass out the front door and throw you in your car.”
She would do it too. My heart hammered. “Don’t threaten me, Nelda Thomas. I may be weak but I can still whip you in a catfight.”
Nelda left, slamming the door closed behind her.
TWENTY-THREE
Nelda was back the next morning. She rattled off a string of orders the moment I climbed in the passenger’s seat.
“All right now, we’ll take a long lunch hour today and work over tonight to make up the time. First, we’re going to get those eyeglasses fixed. You can’t run around with your specs held together by surgical tape. How’d you break them anyway?”
I told her about Bum and how he took my glasses, the fight we’d had, and Sam’s intervention. “Sam taped my glasses and I’ve not had a chance to get them fixed.”
“You mean to say the villager came right into the missionary hut and stole your glasses?”
“The tribe seemed to feel that the missionaries want them to have their personal possessions.”
She winced. “It gives me the creeps to think of that half-naked native standing there staring at you while you’re sleeping.”
“He was harmless.”
An eyebrow shot up. “Then why did Sam have to drag you two apart while you were getting your glasses back?”
I shrugged. Nelda wouldn’t understand. At the time it was happening, I hadn’t either. Possessions had been much too important to me then. Somewhere along the way I had lost the desire to accumulate stuff.
The library staff welcomed me back with hot donuts and fresh coffee. Smiling faces greeted me throughout the morning, and visitor after visitor stopped by my office to wish me well. So many friends, so many people who cared about me. I hadn’t realized what caring meant. Several times during the morning I’d look up the corridor, hoping to see … who? Sam? I knew that was improbable. Sam would give me my space; if I wanted to talk to him I could call the satellite phone, but still I held out.
I didn’t need to talk with him. I’d adjust to a life without him. Good heavens, I’d known the man less than seven months — that wasn’t a lifetime.
It might as well be.
It was true. How could one person get so engrained in another person’s heart in such a short time?
At five minutes after twelve, Nelda poked her head in my office doorway. “Ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Optometrist first, and then to the mall. They’re having a big sale and you need clothes.” She squinted, sizing me up. “What size do you wear now?”
I bent over a ledger. “Eight.”
“Say what?”
“Eight!”
“No way!”
“Way. I bought this suit two days ago. Eight. Read the label yourself.” I hadn’t worn an eight since I was born.
Her expression softened and a grin crept over her mahogany features. “And it looks good on you, girl. It’s nice to have you back. You scared me when they unloaded you off that plane.”
“Scared me too.” I leaned over and slipped on my old Nikes, remembering the pair the villager had stolen and the way he’d looked hobbling around in shoes too small for him. Odd how everything reminded me of the village and the people there. When I was in Papua New Guinea I hungered for home. Now that I was home I thought of Papua New Guinea. It didn’t make sense.
I had the earpiece on my glasses replaced, and then we were off to the mall. I hadn’t worn the disposable contacts since I’d been ill — gotten out of the habit. While I hated to admit it, I was enjoying wearing my glasses. My life seemed more normal again.
Nelda paused before the Victoria’s Secret window. “Mmm. Would you look at that white negligee and robe? Wouldn’t that look good on this ole body?”
“I’ll hold your packages while you try it on.”
She sighed, eyeing the lacy confection. “I’d love to, but if I did I’d buy the thing and we can’t afford it.” She stared at the pure frivolity and then shook her head. “No, better not.”
“It would look great on you; Jim would appreciate it.”
“Get thee behind me, Satan. Don’t tempt this weak-willed woman.” We walked on.
“I’m hungry. Let’s eat at the food court.” Other than the Chinese dish, I’d eaten only healthy food since I’d been back. It was time for a junk binge.
“You’re getting your appetite back, are you?”
“Pizza sounds good. Seems like every day I get a little stronger. You’re right. Getting back to work was the best thing I could do for myself.”
“Well … not the best thing, but you’re right; g
etting back to a routine will help.”
I overcame the temptation to ask what she thought the best thing was, but I knew what she’d say and I didn’t want to hear it. Sam was out of my life. Forever.
I smiled. “Look, there’s an empty table.”
“Grab it, and then we’ll decide what to eat. Lunch is on me today.”
We savored every bite of the pepperoni pizza we’d ordered. Not a word was mentioned about calories or dieting. When she finished, Nelda blotted her mouth with a napkin. “So, tell me, what was it like living in a jungle?”
“Well, it was hot, and there are no modern conveniences. Our huts sat in a lagoon that was full of some kind of catfish that could spike you and cause painful if not fatal injuries. The huts were built on stilts; we had to take a rowboat to the village. The villagers we worked with didn’t speak or understand our language, and we were just as ignorant about theirs. The missionaries are working to break the communication barrier, but it is so difficult since the people speak a mixture of Leiny Kairiru, Leiny Tau, and their own strange dialect. They’re in desperate need of medical help and a better quality of life. That’s what Sam and — ”
Suddenly I heard the excitement, the enthusiasm in my voice. My eyes narrowed. Nelda the Sneak had tricked me into talking about Sam. I should have known. I toyed with a piece of crust, eyeing her, resentment growing.
With a tube of lipstick paused midair, she raised a well-defined brow. “What?”
“What?”
She applied bright red to her lips. “You were saying?”
“I was saying the missionaries work very hard to reach the people and meet their needs. They aren’t able to present the gospel because of the language differences.”
“Then they’re there to do medical clinics?”
“And gain the villagers’ trust — pave the way, so to speak, for future missionaries.”
Working her lips back and forth, Nelda shook her head. “You got to hand it to those people. Not everyone is called to the mission field.”
Monday Morning Faith Page 24