by DiAnn Mills
“You may need to hold him while I clean this.” She wrapped her fingers around the bottle of antiseptic.
Paul bent over Ben’s side. The moment she attempted to clean the wound, Ben jerked and swore. When she touched the wound again, his body went limp.
“Good thing,” she said. “Don’t know how he’s stood it this long.” She glanced up at her husband. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She hesitated. “Was it really a mamba or a member of your family?”
* * *
At 3 a.m. Paul made coffee. Without caffeine, he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Larson had given Ben something to take the edge off his pain, and he was sleeping.
“Can you get some rest?” Paul said to her. She sat on the concrete floor beside Ben’s cot.
“Don’t think so. I’m afraid he’ll wake up and need something.”
“I wish you’d try. You look exhausted.”
She wiggled her nose at him. “Thanks. Haven’t seen my husband for over a week, and he has nothing but good things to say about me.”
“You always look beautiful to me.” He bent down and kissed her. “If I don’t watch, some Dinka chief is going to want you for his own.”
His hand caressed her cheek, and she kissed it. “Talk to me about what’s going on in Xokabuc.”
He eased down beside her with his cup of coffee. “I was able to get food and supplies into the other villages too. The chief in Xokabuc thanked you for the medicine.”
“Any new cases of malaria?”
“A few.”
“What happened, Paul? You might as well tell me.”
“It’s not important.”
“Right. This is your wife. The one who knows you better than anyone else.”
He pondered lying.
“The truth.”
“All right. The GOS attacked Xokabuc. I went back later and helped with the dead and wounded. Ben picked me up there, but I need to get back.”
“I’ll go with you.” She patted his chest. “Once the plane arrives for Ben, I can leave.”
“I figured so. Another reason for you to get some rest.”
“What about you?”
“I have other things on my mind. Some of which will have to wait until later.”
She kissed his whiskered cheek. “We’re not likely to have more privacy than this.”
“True, and finding time together never stopped us before.” He took her hand, the hand that healed all she met, including him.
“Which of the other millions of things that keep you awake are you thinking about now?” Concern capped her words. Not her usual way of handling their hectic life.
“My family.” He shrugged. “The genocide in Darfur. The Janjaweed militias are murdering those people right and left, and we both know the government is behind it all. The fate of Sudan with this flimsy new government. My wife, whom I leave alone much too often.”
“Oh, honey, must you bear it all? God is bigger than all of this.”
He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. “I have to do my part. He’s saved my wretched hide, and now it’s my turn.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s take one matter at a time. What have you heard from your family?”
“Nothing new. Nizam’s letters still have me wondering. I’d like to believe he’s interested in Christianity, but I don’t want to walk into a trap. His last letter said nothing about my suggestion to read a Bible.” He would not mention the proposed meeting.
She gasped. “Please, Paul. You’re not thinking of a trip to Khartoum.”
“Not today.”
“Not ever. Promise me. It’ll be a trap.”
“We’ll talk later. I’m thinking of going to Darfur. Every time I drop food and supplies, the Janjaweed or one of the fighting tribes snatches them up.”
“Another dangerous trip.”
“Are you upset about something?” he said.
“No. But if you’re going, I am too. We’re a team, remember? And we’ve been there before.”
“We’ll go together after I make this next trip. And there’s nothing to discuss about the new government. John Garang is the best man for the job.”
“I hope he’s been assigned more than one bodyguard.” She sighed.
“I’m sure he has the biggest, meanest-looking bodyguards around. He’s been defending the rights of the southern Sudanese for over twenty years. He knows how to take care of himself.”
“Your confidence makes me feel better. Any word on the international community stepping in to force Khartoum to honor their promises?”
“Not yet.” He kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep, habibti. I’ll keep an eye on Ben. My guess is the pilot from AIM will be here at the crack of dawn.”
She relaxed against him, and he continued to sip coffee. He was fully awake now, and his mind sped with all the things he needed to do. But there weren’t enough hours in a day. Plus, he had a gorgeous wife who needed him. She was upset about something—perhaps one of her patients wasn’t doing well.
Nizam. He’d love to see his brother. They’d been close as boys. But that was before Paul’s family wanted him dead. Since he and Nizam planned to meet outside the refugee camp in Darfur, Larson must stay behind . . . just in case something happened. Used to be he didn’t care what reckless things he did in the name of Jesus Christ. Things changed when he and Larson married. His beloved wife softened his resolve to do whatever it took to feed the hungry of Sudan and tell them about Jesus. Now he wondered if he’d let God down by running from the village today.
Ben groaned. Paul studied the rugged man’s face, but his eyes were closed. Coming here had to be hard on him. His wound. Seeing Larson. The ring on her finger. War brought strange people together—united enemies and tore apart families. Heal him, Father. So many people killed and maimed. Sudan desperately needs lasting peace. When will this end?
CHAPTER 4
Ben clawed his way through a pain-filled stupor. He had to be alert. His men needed him. A thick fog held him in the midst of a surreal world that threatened his hold on reality. The firefight played before him, and he remembered the moment when the bullet pierced his arm. Through his muddied senses, he heard voices and the hum of a plane engine. Had the GOS found him? Would they finally be able to take him out in a slow torture that would rival the horrors of the ghost houses?
A singular voice called his name, sweetly, urgently, as in his most private dreams. If he concentrated on her voice, he’d not feel the white-hot fire in his arm or speculate on what the enemy planned to do to him.
“Ben, can you hear me?”
He fought through the maze that held him captive. Moving toward her voice, he struggled for consciousness. The GOS must have her too. He needed strength to protect her. He blinked and attempted to focus on Larson’s face.
“Ben, the plane is here to take you to a Nairobi hospital.”
He licked dry lips and attempted to push away what the sound of her voice did to him. She stirred him still, and he despised the weakness. Then the details of the past several hours unfolded, and he remembered his wounded arm and the long ride to the clinic. “Thirsty.”
Larson gave him a sip of water. “A nurse is here to care for you while you’re on the way.” She touched his uninjured arm. “Don’t try to move. I’ve inserted an IV. It will make you sleep and take away the pain.”
He nodded. Anything he said at this moment might give away his emotions.
“We’re praying for you, so let God and the medical team fix your arm,” Paul said.
Yes, Paul was there too. Now he remembered more. “Thanks. I . . . need it.”
“Don’t try to talk.” Paul adjusted a loose sheet over him. “Rest and hurry back. We’re going to lift you onto a gurney and into the plane.”
Ben closed his eyes. Good friends. That’s all he had left, except for his commitment to the people of southern Sudan. Larson touched his cheek, and he held his breath. Her touch meant more than a
double shot of morphine.
He took a ragged breath. “Tell the chief at Xokabuc I took revenge . . . on what the GOS did to his village. Tell him I’ll be back.”
“Of course you will.” Larson stroked his cheek. “We all need you. Besides, who will Paul and I argue with? Who will I tell my stories to?”
“I’m ready for new ones,” he whispered.
“I’ll work on that while you’re gone.”
“The Rhino Battalion. I—”
“I’ve already contacted Commander Okuk,” Paul said. “Larson and I will stop there en route to Xokabuc and return your truck.”
“That man isn’t ready to lead my soldiers.” Ben gritted his teeth as the pilot and Paul moved and shuffled him about. Gradually the pain diminished, and a gnawing fear took its place. A recurring nightmare threatened to strangle his very purpose, and he wondered if it was an omen.
He feared he’d never lead his men again, and he’d never know his son.
* * *
Larson watched until the plane disappeared across the star-studded sky, and its midpitch whine faded in the distance. A number of the villagers had watched the goings-on from a distance. She knew the terror of planes filled with GOS soldiers. The enemy raids had affected all of them, sending them racing into snake-filled bunkers. The horror of the bloodbath never became any easier to bear.
Tonight she’d seen a vulnerability in Ben not evident in all the years she’d known him. And he’d uttered two words: Larson and David. At the time, she’d cringed, thinking how Paul must feel.
“Who is David?”
“I have no idea,” Paul said. “On the way here, he mentioned a son. Maybe that’s his name.”
“I’m sorry he called out for me.” She bit back the tears. Hormones must be kicking into gear.
“Habibti, beloved, you can’t control his emotions.” He took her hand. “Love isn’t something you turn off because it didn’t work out. Ben will be okay. Time is a big healer.”
“I know, but it makes me feel guilty for loving you so much.”
“No need. I’m glad he called us to help him. Once he’s feeling better, he’ll be his old self, arguing over everything from politics to fighting tactics.”
She managed a soft laugh. “I couldn’t think of a single story to tell him.”
“Have you exhausted every one from your farm days in Ohio?”
“Probably.” Weariness tugged at her entire body. “I should clean up the clinic. There’s blood everywhere.”
“We both need rest. I’ll help you later.”
She’d sleep well with him beside her. “I’m so glad you’re home. I can’t help but worry about you.”
“We’re here together right now. God gave us today, and He’ll take care of us tomorrow.”
She sniffed. I don’t ever cry. If I’m not careful, he’ll find out about the baby. “I’m glad we’re going to Xokabuc. It’s lonely when you’re gone. How many died in the raid?”
“We buried nine men, women, and children. Too many wounded. I was in a hurry and didn’t count. They took two of the girls.”
“Animals.” She remembered when Ben’s younger sister had been abducted and how difficult it had been to find her. Praise God the girl was now safe in California, along with a fifteen-year-old boy who had lived with Larson after his parents died. “You’ll do what you can?”
He squeezed her hand. “I already sent a runner to the slave traders. We’ll get the girls back. Money sings a strong song.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder if what you and I do really makes a difference.”
“You’re tired, upset about Ben and our friends in Xokabuc.”
“I’m not complaining as much as I’m simply stating how I feel. To make matters worse, your family still wants you dead.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. “One day, true peace will come to southern Sudan. Until then, I must do all I can to help these people. I can’t let fear stop me, any more than you can stop risking your life to give others medical attention.”
“My Indiana Jones,” she whispered. Would he avoid the danger if he knew about the baby? She shivered. A distraction might cause him to not take the necessary precautions and to make mistakes. She couldn’t tell him until she had a plan of sorts.
How would a baby change their lives? Would Paul be angry? Resentful? Send them both away? Larson wished she knew, and the unknown bored into her soul like a parasite.
Neither of them could deny their calling. Paul’s dangerous flights with Feed the World led him into remote areas of Sudan where neither the United Nations nor the Red Cross dared fly. The mere thought filled her with dread and pride. God had protected both of them so far, and she must pray that He continue. Yet she was afraid for Paul . . . afraid of losing him.
* * *
Paul woke with urgency in his spirit. It always happened when he had more things to do than time allotted. While Larson slept, he cleaned and disinfected the clinic. She didn’t need to awaken to the blood-coated instruments and rags. He glanced up at the pipe leading to the roof. A rooftop reservoir caught rainwater for Larson to wash up before procedures. Primitive, but they had no choice. Many times, patients watched her perform surgery while they waited their turn. He finished the preparations for the day by spraying for mosquitoes.
His mind sped on to other things for which he had no solution: Ben’s injury, the horror in Xokabuc, Larson’s obvious weariness, his desire to share Christ with his Muslim brothers, Commander Okuk’s inexperience leading soldiers, and the tremendous amount of work for them to do today. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.
Am I a poor husband, allowing my wife to live and work in these conditions?
He carried the medicinal supplies and Larson’s sterilized instruments to the Hummer, making sure he included plenty of bandages, sutures, Betadine, and lidocaine. Then he snatched up a bottle of Tylenol and added extra antibiotics for the always-flaring malaria. Before their marriage, Larson had needed to ration her supplies. At least that was one thing he could do for her—that, and purchase the armored Hummer H2 SUT Lux and build the clinic. When he’d barely escaped Khartoum with his life, he’d managed to transfer his wealth to the States. His dream was to one day build Larson a hospital equipped with everything she could ever need, but not until peace arrived. The GOS would destroy it simply because she was his wife. Love thy neighbor, while soldiers kill them . . .
He gathered up the soiled rags and towels that had been soaking in a bleach solution and washed them in a bucket of well water. Once rinsed, he hung them up in hopes they’d dry before the rains began. A menial task, one Sarah would scold him for doing, but his mind sped too fast for him to sit idle. Usually Larson was up by now. She must have worked around the clock in his absence.
Paul took the familiar path to the river, where Sarah and a few other women washed clothes and children played. The happy sounds were a grand diversion from yesterday—and from what lay ahead. Praise God the villagers didn’t drink from the river. Living Water, an aid organization from the States, had dug them a good well about two years ago. And Larson had taught the women health and hygiene. Since then, disease in Warkou had been cut in half.
Paul waved and greeted the women and children.
Knee-deep in water, Sarah straightened. “What is Larson doing this morning?”
“She’s sleeping, and I wanted her to get all the rest she could after last night. We’re heading to Xokabuc later this morning.”
“People sick?”
He shook his head. “GOS attack.”
Grief and sadness swept over her ebony face. “And Colonel Alier wounded too?” She climbed to the riverbank.
“Keep that to yourself. The GOS will speed up their efforts if they learn he’s been shot.”
“I understand. How badly?”
“Through his right arm. He needed more than what Larson could do. That was the plane you heard early this morning.”
“I’ll pray,
even if I don’t like him much. And I still believe that John Garang will help our people. He’ll make sure the fighting stops.”
“I pray so, Sarah. If anyone can get the job done, he’s the man.” Paul didn’t mention how long true peace might take, especially after what had happened yesterday.
He sat on the bank to watch the splashing children, and she joined him. From deep inside him came a rise of indignation. These children deserved to grow up without fear of government soldiers and disease. They had a right to a good education.
“My nephew Santino Deng serves with Colonel Alier, but he plans to leave soon,” Sarah said.
“Had enough of fighting?”
“With the peace treaty, he wants to attend the University of Nairobi and study government and politics.”
Paul smiled and nodded. “Good. Sudan needs strong leaders.”
“First he plans to spend some time with me.” She clasped her hands, excitement evident in her tone.
He studied Sarah, uncertain about how to voice his concerns. “Larson looks pale to me. Has she been working a lot?”
“Not any more than usual.”
“Would you make sure she eats and rests when I’m gone?”
“I always do.” Her voice took on an edge.
“I’m sorry. I know you do. It’s just that she works so hard.”
Sarah smiled. “Dr. Larson is like a daughter to me. I take care of her.”
“Has she complained of not feeling well?”
Sarah laughed. “Not any more than most women.” She pointed behind him. “She looks fine to me.”
“Good morning. Is everyone up but me?” Larson’s damp hair hung about her shoulders, and her blue eyes sent him a silent message. One that made him glad to be her husband.
She’s only tired, nothing else. He could erase this worry from his ever-mounting list.
“While you were keeping the ladies company, I showered and made our breakfast.” Her eyes sparkled. “Sarah, was my husband giving you problems?”
“Not yet. But he was thinking about it.” Sarah chuckled. “I was ready to throw him into the middle of the river.”