Angel of Mercy

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “What are you talking about? What’s a Hutu?”

  “It is my tribe. In Africa, a person’s tribe is most important, and the Hutu is one of the largest tribes. Most Ugandans are Hutu. The fighting in Sudan and Rwanda is due to militant Hutu rebels killing Tutsi.”

  Heather just stared at the three men. “They kill each other just because they’re from different tribes? Why doesn’t someone stop them?”

  “No one can stop them,” Patrick said.

  “It’s genocide. Ethnic cleansing,” Dr. Henry added.

  “But why do they do it?”

  “It’s about power,” Patrick said. “Control of the land. The Hutu rebels have killed thousands. Sudanese villagers have fled, looking for safety. Some get into neighboring countries. Most flee to the refuge camps, hoping to return to their villages . . . what’s left of them. The world governments cannot police every country. They can protest and step in to help the victims, but Africa belongs to the Africans, the different tribes, and they must work things out among themselves.”

  Heather didn’t know what to say. She had heard about the fighting in Africa, but she hadn’t realized how much of it stemmed from tribal roots. “But you’re different, Patrick. You’re not that way. You’re not going to kill anyone.”

  He gave her a kindly smile. “I am a Christian, Heather. When I became one, in my heart, I put away my tribal history and differences. But I cannot put away who I am to the Tutsi. They hate me on sight. In your War Between the States, brothers killed brothers. Our two countries are not so different.”

  She looked from one face to the other, seeing the big picture in ugly clarity. People in Africa were dying, murdered by their own. Kia’s entire village had been destroyed simply because she belonged to the wrong tribe. Heather felt foolish—incredibly stupid. She had wanted to come to Africa to save starving children. Save them for what?

  “It’s getting late,” Ian said.

  Dr. Henry shook Ian’s hand. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  Patrick bade them good evening and left.

  When they were alone, Ian took her hands in his. “I will bring the baby here, lass. Don’t be afraid for us.”

  She nodded, fighting tears. “You must go get her, Ian. Without you, she has no other hope.”

  Once word got around that Ian was heading off to rescue Kia’s sister, friends came to wish him well. Boyce told him, “If you want company, I’ll come along.”

  “I’ll need to travel light,” Ian said. “But thanks for the offer. And I’ll need you to stay and keep a watch over everyone.” He looked straight at Heather as he said it, and it made her heart beat faster.

  On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, during church, prayers were said for Ian to have a successful mission. There was always a possibility that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be able to get the baby out of Sudan. Her health was fragile, and that was also worrisome. What if she was too ill to travel?

  Once evening had fallen and Heather found herself finally alone with Ian, she was hesitant to say good night.

  Ian told her, “The plan is to fly in Tuesday and back to Kampala on Wednesday. Dr. Henry will stay in Kampala, pick us up as soon as we land, and we’ll come here on Thursday. We’ll be home before you finish with that holiday dinner Jodene has planned.”

  “You think so?” Having him back on Thursday would be the best Thanksgiving blessing of all.

  “Yes.” He smiled at her, his face bathed in moonlight. “And while I’m gone, you keep working with Kia. Her sister will need her eventually . . . once her palate is repaired. They can live here with one of the overseers and be a family again.”

  The image of Kia and her sister staying at the children’s home, growing up safe and happy within a new family unit, made Heather feel better. They deserved the chance. “All right, I’ll keep trying to reach Kia. And I’ll count the minutes until you return.”

  Ian was gazing down at her, and she couldn’t control the beating of her heart. She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He caught her elbows and pulled her closer. “You know, lass,” he said, his voice but a whisper in the night, “I would not forgive myself if I went so far away and didn’t do what I have wanted to do since I met you.”

  “And what would that be?” Her words trembled with emotion.

  “I would like to kiss you, lass. If I have your permission, that is.”

  “Not only my permission,” she said, “but my blessing.”

  He held her face between the palms of his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft, his kiss breathtaking. Heather felt her knees go weak while pinpricks of light spun behind her closed eyes. She poured her soul into the kiss, hoping to tell him how much she loved him, how much he meant to her.

  He pulled away, his breath ragged, and wrapped his arms around her. He held her against his chest, and she felt the thumping of his heart. She buried her face in his shirt, clinging to him like a flower needing rain. He smoothed her hair, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Heather. I didn’t want to speak of it, but I can’t help myself. I love you, and when I come back, we must speak of it together.” He lifted her chin, and she saw that his expression was worried. “You don’t mind that I kissed you?”

  She smiled then, unable to contain her joy. “One question: What took you so long to get around to it?”

  16

  On Monday afternoon, Heather went straight from the hospital to Jodene’s, where she sat down under a tree in clear view of the house. She placed a ring of candy in plain sight and opened a book. Time passed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kia looking at her through the window. Heather waited expectantly, but Kia never came outside. When Heather finally gave up, she left a piece of candy on the ground for the child.

  On Tuesday, the same thing happened. On Wednesday, she heard a movement in the bushes and looked to see Kia peeking at her from the foliage. Heather made eye contact, smiled and beckoned to the child to come. “I have candy,” Heather said, holding open her hand. Kia lowered her gaze, then ran back inside the house.

  Disappointed, Heather returned to her room, where Ingrid was grading papers.

  “No luck?” Ingrid asked.

  “She was off like a scared rabbit,” Heather said, flopping onto the sofa. “I’m not reaching this child.”

  “Do not blame yourself. You have worked hard and tried your best.”

  “But time’s running out. We’re leaving in two weeks.” She looked at the calendar Debbie had hung on the wall. The days were marked off in red, with the second Thursday in December circled and labeled D-Day. That was the day the minivans would come to pick them up for the drive to Entebbe airport. There they would board the British Airways plane that would take them to London, and from London they would each go their separate ways. At least Heather would be traveling on with the other Americans into Miami’s airport—her final destination. All in all, the trip took two long, hard days.

  Heather fluffed a pillow and stretched out. “Maybe when Kia sees her sister she’ll begin to trust us. I keep telling myself how hard it must be for her. Ripped from her home and her family and plopped down with a bunch of strangers. And white strangers to boot.”

  Ingrid smiled. “Ja, we are a scary bunch.”

  Heather laughed. “I’ll miss you, Ingrid.”

  “Same here.”

  “Will you come again?”

  “I am not sure. My parents want me to finish at the university. I need to get my teaching license; then I can come as a real teacher. How about you?”

  “I want to come back, and I don’t want to wait until next summer.”

  “Could it be because of Ian?”

  Heather sighed. “He’s returning to school in Scotland.”

  “But you will write each other, ja?”

  “I’ll sure write to him. We’ve been together every day for almost six months. I can’t imagine getting up every day and not seeing him.”

  “I will write to Boyce too. I have
grown accustomed to him and the funny things he says. I will miss him, too.”

  Heather sat up, hugging the pillow to herself. “I didn’t come over here to fall in love. It just sort of happened.”

  Ingrid nodded and grinned. “Ja. Love is like that—it just happens. I wish you and Ian much luck and happiness.”

  Heather knew she would need it. Miami was an ocean away from Scotland and a lifetime away from Africa.

  On Thanksgiving Day, six Americans showed up at the Warrings’—all except for Dr. Henry, who had remained in Kampala to await Ian’s return. Paul said, “Before we eat, we’re going into Lwereo to watch a soccer game. I mean, what’s Thanksgiving without football?”

  When they arrived, the stands were already packed with local fans, people who’d walked for miles through the surrounding countryside to get to the game. Heather and her friends squeezed into the pack and quickly chose their favorites.

  “I’ve got to go with the guys in red and white,” Boyce said. “Alabama’s colors.”

  “Good choice,” Paul said. “That’s the local team, and if you cheered for the other side, you could cause a riot.”

  The playing field was rough and uneven, the goals’ nets had large holes in them, and the players spanned a wide age range, but the crowd treated the team as though it were composed of superstars playing in the World Cup. Heather tried to get interested, but her thoughts kept returning to Ian. She was seated beside Jodene, and during the half, she asked, “Has it been hard to raise your kids so far from home? I see how hard you work.”

  Jodene pushed back her blond hair and smiled. “I came from a family of seven brothers and sisters, and my folks own a buffalo ranch. We always had a generator for electricity because the winters are pretty harsh and the ranch is miles from anywhere. My whole family’s used to hard work, so coming to Africa hasn’t been that big an adjustment for me. Except that it’s a whole lot warmer here,” she added with a laugh. “Paul was raised the same way. We met in high school, and I never really cared about any other guy.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  “I love him and we both love doing the Lord’s work. Neither of us care that our kids are missing TV and car pools.”

  “I watch them playing with their friends. They seem very happy.”

  “They are happy. We’ll go home because we want them to be educated in the States, but once they’re grown, Paul and I will return to Africa. We love it here.”

  “I love it here too. And I always thought I could ‘rough it’ and not mind. My sister, Amber, well, she’d have a hard time over here. No malls.”

  Jodene laughed. “There are certainly things I miss. Like snow. And cooking on a real stove.”

  “I—I guess I’m wondering if I really could give up the things I’m used to in order to live over here. Maybe I like my life of comfort more than I suspected.”

  “You’re smart to examine your values before making a commitment to serve over here.” Jodene toyed with her wedding ring, a simple gold band that caught the sun. “I’m guessing all this introspection has something to do with your feelings for Ian.”

  There was no use in denying it, Heather thought. “I am attracted to him,” she confessed.

  “As he is to you.”

  “You can tell?”

  “Only every time he looks at you.”

  Jodene’s comment made Heather feel good, as if an all-over glow had settled on her. “Well, we’ll be going our separate ways in a couple of weeks, so that’ll be the test.”

  “People do it all the time. They get separated by going away to college, or by being in the military, or by jobs in separate cities. If you and Ian want to keep the flame alive, you can do it.” Jodene paused. “What you have to ask yourself, Heather, is whether you want to do it. You’re correct when you say this life is hard; it isn’t for everyone, but the rewards are worth the sacrifice. And I’m telling you, a man like Ian will need one hundred percent dedication from the woman he chooses to work by his side. Anything less will rob you both. And make you both miserable.”

  Heather believed Jodene, and she wanted to talk more about it, but the teams trotted back onto the field, signaling the end of halftime, and Heather’s questions were drowned in a sea of cheers.

  After the game and back at the house, they all squeezed around the table—Paul’s family and Heather and her friends. Plump roasted pigeons commanded the center of the table. “In place of turkey,” Paul explained. “They’re good.”

  Jodene also served large bowls of mashed sweet potatoes and green beans, platters of tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce, all fresh from her garden. “I saved the best for last,” she said, setting down a bowl of cranberry sauce. “All the way from North Dakota, compliments of my mother.”

  Everyone stared at it for a long reverent minute.

  “Here’s my contribution,” Heather said. The plate she set on the table held the contents of a full jar of peanut butter, beautifully sculpted to resemble a turkey.

  “Wow,” Boyce said. “Can I have a leg?”

  He stretched out his hand, but Heather swatted it away. “Not so fast, buster. Where’s your contribution?”

  He grinned, reached into a knapsack, and pulled out an unopened bag of Oreos.

  Debbie draped her hand across her forehead dramatically and pretended to swoon. “Be still, my heart.”

  The three Warring boys squealed in delight.

  “They’ve had Oreos once before,” Jodene said. “They’ve never forgotten.”

  With a flourish, Bob Hoover set a large box of Fruit Loops cereal on the table. “Barbara gave it to me when I left the ship. Part of our private stock.”

  The whole table applauded his generosity.

  One by one, the others laid their food gifts on the table. A bag of microwave popcorn made everyone burst out laughing. “What were you thinking?” Debbie asked.

  Jason Walsh, who was on the construction team, was the donor. “Hey, my mom packed it in my gear,” he said. “Who knew I’d be coming to a place that didn’t have stoves, much less microwaves?”

  Once the table was fully laden and the laughter had died down, Paul said, “Let’s thank the Lord for this wonderful bounty.”

  They all clasped hands and bowed their heads, and as Paul asked the blessing, Heather’s heart swelled. She’d never known a better Thanksgiving. All the ski lodges in the West, all the fancy restaurants and banquets, had never been as wonderful as the simple pleasures of this table. For this table held not just food, but gifts gathered and offered from the heart of a family born not of flesh and blood but of service and commitment.

  Once the table was cleared and board games were set up, Heather made up a plate for Kia, who was tucked securely under her cot. Heather tried to lure the child with Oreos and candy corn. Kia refused to take anything from Heather’s hand, but once Heather set the treats down and scooted away, Kia quickly dragged them into her hiding place.

  “There’s too much going on,” Jodene said, in an effort to make Heather feel better. “She’s probably confused by all the noise.”

  “Probably,” Heather said, but she was disappointed.

  Outside, night had fallen. Still in a mood of celebration, Paul turned on the gas generator so that they could see to play by electric light. The guests cheered, then took up a collection among themselves for Paul to buy more gas.

  Heather thought of her family, wondered if they had gone skiing this year or opted to stay in Miami. She wondered if Amber was still on the outs with their dad, wondered if any of her friends had come home for the holiday from college. She wished she could call home, but of course, she couldn’t.

  “Checkmate,” Boyce called out from a corner where he was playing chess with Bob.

  Heather halfheartedly joined three others in a game of Monopoly. Dr. Henry and Ian should be returning at any time, and she was a bundle of nerves. She couldn’t wait to throw her arms around Ian and tell him how much she’d missed him. Neither could she wait to se
e the baby and to show her to Kia. Perhaps seeing her rescued baby sister would be the breakthrough they needed with the child.

  “You landed on my property,” Debbie said, intruding on Heather’s thoughts. “Let’s see, you owe me two thousand dollars.”

  Heather was paying off her debt when she heard a knock on the door.

  “Enter!” Paul shouted.

  The door swung open and Dr. Henry came inside. Alone.

  The second she saw him, Heather’s heart began to thud with dread. Dr. Henry’s face was the color of chalk. Everyone in the room froze. Something was terribly wrong.

  “What’s happened?” Paul crossed the room with giant steps.

  Dr. Henry looked at the group mutely, his gaze darting from face to face, his eyes tearing up. “There was an accident,” he said finally. “Ian’s plane has gone down. There are no survivors.”

  17

  Grief. Heather discovered that it had a taste: bitter. It had a feeling: cold. It had a color: gray. Grief was an abyss devoid of dimensions, and she was its prisoner, trapped within its life-crushing walls with no way out. Days later, she could not recall the sequence of events from Thanksgiving night. She remembered only images, snatches of questions and answers, sounds of crying. She remembered only pain.

  Dr. Henry’s story lay broken and fragmented in her mind. A Mission Air pilot, too sick to fly his regular route. Cancellation of the Tuesday flight. Ian, desperate to make it into Sudan and rescue the baby. A deal struck with a pilot of a two-seater plane.

  Dr. Henry saying, “Perhaps it’s best to wait until the DC-3 can go.”

  Ian answering, “Ed’s expecting me. I need to get the baby out.”

  “I hear there’s fighting. It may not be safe.”

  “It won’t get any safer.”

  Ian’s plane lifting off with an engine that sputtered. Dr. Henry watching until it disappeared into a cloud bank. Hours later, a mayday call from the pilot. Radio static. Radio silence.

  Reconnaissance flights. A burned-out hole in a grassy field. Smoking rubble. No survivors. They’d never even made it out of Uganda.