“Grades are important,” Brenda said.
“I know they are, but it’s not the same. When I make an A at home I know I’ve really done something. And Mom, on the days that you’re at the hospital with Joseph, Daddy will still be here. And you can give us assignments to work on while you’re gone. We won’t waste time.”
“Yeah, and if you have to spend the night in the hospital, we can make our schoolwork up on Saturdays,” Rachel added. “I wouldn’t care.”
Brenda laughed at the drastic compromises they were offering, and messed up her daughter’s hair. “I’ll give it some serious consideration, okay?”
As the girls took their books in, Brenda sat down at the picnic table. Maybe it was time to bring the kids back home, after all. They hadn’t been in public school but two months. It had been a positive experiment, but maybe it wasn’t necessary anymore.
She did miss them, after all, and if she had to work nights, she could get as much out of the days as possible.
Maybe it was time.
CHAPTER Nineteen
The baby section at Tory’s favorite bookstore had way too many books on birth defects. She pulled a number of them out and carried them to a table near the stacks, hoping to choose a few before her children emerged from story hour. She could handle this pregnancy, she thought, if she only had enough information. A couple of books to read. A strategy. Information was everything.
But she knew that, no matter what she learned, it wouldn’t change Barry’s mind.
She made three trips with the books to the table, careful not to strain herself She supposed a real miscarriage would be the perfect answer for Barry, and then they could move on with their lives and never look back. But the damage had been done. Barry wasn’t the man she thought he was, and that was all there was to it.
It had broken her heart and made her so bitter.
She began flipping through the pages, searching for something that would ease her worries, help her to organize her thoughts. She was having trouble sleeping nights, and her nausea was coming more and more frequently. She spent the day walking around like a zombie, her mind on anything but what she was doing.
Funny, she thought, sitting back in her chair and scanning the books stacked around her. Just a couple of weeks ago, she had come in here and lingered at the fiction shelf, once again considering the thought that she might be able to tackle a novel.
Now she wondered if that day would ever come again, when she’d be able to get lost in her thoughts, bask in the silence that fed her creativity. She didn’t know, but some part of her said it didn’t matter, that if God had given her this child to love, then love it she would.
She put her hand over her stomach, as if silently barricading the baby that had caused such a problem in her marriage. She wasn’t the heroic type, nor the stoic kind of mother who sacrificed all things for the good of her children. No, on the scale of motherhood, she supposed she was near the bottom. She loved her children, took care of them, but so often got impatient and frustrated, and selfishly begrudged every hour of time or energy that took her away from her goals. She supposed the Lord was going to have to do a powerful work on her to equip her for this baby.
Defeated, she dropped her forehead into her palm and tried not to cry.
The sound of children’s laughter and chattering came from the back of the bookstore, and she knew that children’s hour was over. Quickly, she made a decision and picked three of the books from the stack in front of her. Before she could put the other ones back, Spencer was at her side.
“Mommy, can I buy a book? They got one about horses.”
“Not today, Spence,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “Mommy’s got to buy some books today.”
“Then a dog book.”
Tory laughed. She knew that Spencer wouldn’t give the book a thought once she got it home. She considered buying it just to appease him, then bring it back tomorrow, but she knew it wasn’t good for him to get everything he thought he wanted.
“No, we’re not gonna buy a dog book right now.”
He saw the books spread out on the table in front of her. “Then a baby book.”
She frowned. “You want a baby book?”
“Yeah, one of these,” he said.
She breathed a laugh. “Well, as it happens, I was just about to buy a couple of these.”
“Cool,” he said, jumping up and down as Brittany reached them. “Britty, we get a baby book!”
“Me, too?” Brittany asked.
Tory pulled her daughter into a hug. “Yeah, you, too. If you want a book about babies, you got it.”
As she drove home, she listened to them chattering in the backseat about the storyteller’s poofy hair and glittery fingernails, and the way she poked at the air and bared her teeth when she read the part of the monster. Her mind wandered as they went on with the grand story that she supposed bore little resemblance to reality.
She looked down at the bag of books she had bought about Down’s Syndrome. What would Barry think when he saw them?
She jerked her thoughts back. She didn’t care what he thought. She was going to prepare for this baby whether he liked it or not. She glanced in her rearview mirror to her children in the backseat, and wondered when she should break the news to them. Wouldn’t they be thrilled to know that their mother was expecting another baby?
But Barry didn’t want her to tell them, not when he was hoping she would terminate the pregnancy and it would all go away. As she thought that over, she realized how binding it would be to tell the children. If she did, then Barry certainly couldn’t keep pressing for an abortion. He could never explain to his own children what had happened to the baby their mother was carrying.
She glanced in the mirror again. Maybe it was something she should consider. Usurping his timing, and telling the kids they had a baby sister. She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. Sylvia would know, she thought as she drove up Survey Mountain to their home. She wished Sylvia were home so she could tell her about Barry’s heartbreaking rejection of this child, and find out what her mentor thought she should do.
She didn’t have Sylvia here, but she did have e-mail.
When they reached home, she sent the children to play in their rooms, and hurried to the computer room. She had to e-mail the neighbor who meant so much to her but lived so far away.
CHAPTER Twenty
Sylvia wasn’t reading her e-mail these days. There wasn’t time. The damage from Hurricane Norris had been much worse than she’d expected. Power lines were down all over the city of León, and several areas were completely wiped out due to the tornadoes spawned from the high winds.
Floods had killed many who lived near Lake Telica River, and had driven thousands from their homes below the Cerro Negro and Telica volcanoes and other hills around the city. Meanwhile, mud slides had buried dozens of homes. Still it rained, threatening to start more mud slides. Word was that many of the people living in high-risk areas refused to leave. They were putting the little property they owned above their very lives.
She and Harry visited the hospital in León, hoping to send some of their injured and sick to be cared for there. But already it was overcrowded. The limited staff was trying to make the best of a very difficult situation, but even their best was far below the standards Harry was used to. Every wall needed painting, and many of the ceiling tiles were missing. The fire hose cases were empty, and every clock in the building had stopped working. The rooms, the halls, and even the treatment areas were dimly lit, which made the place look even dirtier. Most of the beds were without sheets, and patients were lying on plasticcovered mattresses. Even the babies being treated had no diapers. Sanitation was obviously low on the hospital’s priority list.
Harry and the other American doctors decided that they would need to make the proper request of the Nicaraguan government to set up their own makeshift hospital. They knew that they would have limited supplies and equipment, but something had
to be done to try to accommodate the increasing number of patients waiting for emergency medical care. Even though it would be poorly equipped, they were determined to make it bright and sanitary, a place of hope instead of dread.
Sylvia and Harry prayed earnestly that permission would be granted quickly, even though the government of Nicaragua was not known for quick decisions. They knew God had intervened when the officials, who saw the need for quick action, granted almost immediate permission.
With the help of several local churches, Harry and the other doctors shifted into high gear and put the hospital together. White paint, scrub brushes, cots, clean sheets, bright light bulbs, and many hours around the clock began to turn the unused building into a bright and acceptable place for caring for the medical needs of these people.
Many of the first patients were sick with dengue fever, a sickness that comes from being bitten by a mosquito that is carrying infected blood. Since the floods had encouraged the breeding of mosquitoes that spread the disease, more and more people were being brought in for immediate care.
Adjacent to the hospital building was the old schoolhouse they were using as a shelter. Already, Sylvia and the other missionaries had crammed as many as they could into the makeshift shelter. They were having trouble gathering enough food to feed everyone. Even on good days in León, the supermarkets were poorly stocked.
There was an overabundance of things like vinegar and ketchup, brooms and rakes, but for Sylvia to get the food she wanted she often had to go to the outdoor markets where meat hung out in the heat with flies swarming over it. The outdoor markets had not been open during the storm, but several storekeepers had had the marketing savvy to come by with tortillas, onions, and cream, which made the quesillos that would sustain them until the next day. The vendors had insisted on payment in “green parrots,” their name for U.S. currency. Sylvia, Harry, and Jim had given up all the cash they had to pay for the food, but didn’t know how they would pay tomorrow. Until the banks opened, cash would not be available in either currency.
Sylvia had spent the night trying to make sure they each had something to sleep on, but now, in the aftermath of the hurricane, she saw the extent of their grief and mourning as they realized the degree of devastation around them. Many of their homes were gone, and the sense of despair hung heavily in the air. Even she had begun to wonder if God was covering his ears to block out their prayers.
“Sylvia!”
She turned around and saw Harry through the crowd, trying to get her attention over the mass of people just outside the shelter. He looked tired, and she doubted he had slept even two hours last night. He’d been patching up wounds and treating illnesses all night. She pushed through the crowd and made her way to her husband. “Harry, what is it?”
“Jeb Anderson’s here,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her along with him as he pushed through the people. “He said the rescue workers have been bringing them children. There are so many, just wandering around the streets, filthy and soaking wet. We can only assume their parents were killed or injured, but something’s got to be done with them. The rescue workers heard about the school they were working on, so they brought the children to them.”
“The school?” Sylvia stopped in her tracks and looked at him. “Harry, I thought they were crazy when they started working on that place. They didn’t have teachers or books, but they were sure God told them to get it ready.”
“Don’t ever doubt God’s call on people’s lives again,” Harry said over the noise. He started walking again, and she came beside him. “He did tell them to get it ready. It just wasn’t for what they thought. They thought it was a school, but it may well turn into an orphanage. God knew it would be needed. He was providing for the children in advance.”
Sylvia had trouble seeing through the tears that came to her eyes, reminding her that she had been so unfaithful that she had felt sorry for the Andersons, who were only being obedient to God. “Where is Jeb?” she asked. She owed him an apology.
“He’s inside. He brought some of the kids to the clinic for me to examine. A few of them have minor injuries, and some have dengue fever from the mosquitoes. Most of those have been hospitalized. But we have to send people out to look for more survivors. The government is loaning us a helicopter so we can search. We can’t leave them out there.” As they reached the building that Harry was using as a clinic, she saw the group of filthy, injured children of all ages.
Her heart felt as if it had suffered a fatal blow. She suddenly wished she’d worked harder at language school so she could speak to them more fluently. As it was, her Spanish was broken and she doubted they could understand her. They came upon Contessa, a Nicaraguan woman who helped Harry translate at the clinic. She was trying to clean a child’s gaping wound, and the little boy was screaming and trying to pull away.
“Have you asked each one about their parents?” Harry asked her.
Contessa nodded. “Some saw parents to hospital,” she said.
Sylvia tried to follow her English. “They saw their parents taken to the hospital?”
“Si. Others, they don’t know.”
“How could this happen?” Sylvia demanded. “How could anyone take a parent to the hospital and leave their child behind?”
“I guess if the parent was unconscious and couldn’t tell them,” Harry said, bending over to pick up the screaming boy. “Or if there was chaos, and they were trying to save a life.” He bounced the boy and tried to calm him, then nodded to the perimeter of the group of children. “Sylvia, I want you to help with the kids. Help me get their wounds cleaned, and rank them according to the most needy first. Oh, and if you would, take that baby down there.”
Sylvia’s eyes scanned the hopeless, crying, filthy children, and she saw the baby he spoke of. She was in the arms of a girl who looked no more than twelve and who had a huge gash on the side of her head. She wondered if the two girls were siblings, or if the girl had just been put in charge of the infant since she was one of the oldest of the group. The girl looked weak and pale, and Sylvia wondered if she had the energy to endure the baby’s crying and squirming much longer.
The baby was wearing a filthy shirt. Her diaper was the only clean thing on her, and Sylvia assumed that Julie Anderson had been able to do that much for her before sending her with Jeb.
Sylvia motioned for the girl to give her the baby. The girl surrendered her gladly. Sylvia took the baby, whose face was caked with dirt and mud, except for the places where tears had washed the dirt away. Her nose was crusty, and her long black eyelashes were webbed with tears. She looked no more than eighteen months old. Black hair strung into her face. Several cuts and bruises marked her dark skin.
Sylvia pressed the little head against her chest, and the baby seemed to relax instantly. Sylvia’s heart burst. This poor child. Where had she come from? Where had any of them come from?
She tried to shake her thoughts back to the matters at hand. “Contessa,” she called to the Nicaraguan woman. “Can you ask this child a question for me?”
Contessa came over and looked at the child’s head wound. “Si. What question?”
“Ask her if she is this baby’s sister.”
Contessa asked, and the little girl said no and muttered some things Sylvia didn’t understand. “She don’t know this bebe,” Contessa said. “She just holding her.”
“Tell her I appreciate her taking care of her, especially when she’s not feeling well.”
Contessa spouted that off, and the little girl looked up at Sylvia. Sylvia swung around and found her husband. “Harry! This girl has a bad head wound. Can you see her first?”
Still holding the boy, who had quit crying now, Harry came to the girl. “Let’s get her into the clinic.”
As Harry ushered the girl inside, Sylvia spotted Jeb. She made her way to him. “Jeb, what’s the story on this baby?”
Jeb was wrapping a bandage around a little boy’s leg. “She was alone at the site of a house tha
t had been flattened, probably by a tornado,” he said. “No parents anywhere around. She was sitting alone in a ditch when they found her. Apparently there were quite a few casualties in that area, and they’ve taken a lot of them to the hospital. They’ve already dug out a dozen others who were dead. They found her when they came back for one last search.”
“But is anyone trying to find her mother?”
“Not yet. We haven’t figured out how to get the word out. Electricity is down, so we can’t use the television. If we could get film and find someone to develop it, we could take pictures of them and post signs all over León. Maybe that would be a start in getting some of them back together with their families. But we have our work cut out for us, and a lot of these children are orphans now. That’s just all there is to it.” He blinked the tears back, as if he didn’t have time for them. “But Julie and I are ready. We have the building. All we need is blankets and cots. Food…”
She didn’t know if he realized what a tall order that was, but then she kicked herself again. God would provide. He had already proved that.
She looked down at the baby in her arms, and realized that the child had been so tired that she had drifted to sleep in Sylvia’s arms. Oh, the poor mother who was missing this child, Sylvia thought. If she was alive, she must be turned inside out with worry.
The thought of sending this little one back to the school with Jeb was more than she could bear. But she couldn’t think of that now. Keeping the baby clutched next to her heart, she went from child to child, giving each one a cursory examination so she could get the most injured ones in to see Harry first. But she was having trouble concentrating with the child asleep against her breast.
Oh, Lord, she prayed. Please don’t let this baby’s mother be dead.
There were others out there, she thought. Other stray children wandering the streets, looking for hope and help. How would they find them all?
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