Bertha's Resolve: Love's Journey in Sugarcreek, Book 4

by Serena B. Miller

  “Do you remember Rosa as a little girl?” Bertha said. “We used to babysit her, although she wasn’t that much younger than us.”

  “She was a lot of fun,” Lydia agreed. “Always laughing.”

  “Maybe a little too much fun,” Bertha said. “It’s a pretty big step from Old Order Amish to Beachy. I always liked Rosa, but I dread making such a long trip. Maybe we could just take Anna to a store or shopping mall every day. Someplace where she can walk inside until things warm up outside.”

  “No.” Anna stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen listening to their conversation. “I want to go to the beach.”

  “It’s a very long trip,” Bertha was surprised to find Anna so adamant. She’d barely shown any interest at the doctor’s office or the trip home.

  “I want to go to the beach.”

  “It will take a lot of arrangements,” Bertha said.

  “I can find seashells.” Anna paused a moment to gather her words. “I don’t want to sleep all the time anymore.”

  Lydia and Bertha shot a look at each other. This was a long sentence for Anna to utter. Apparently, she had understood more about what was going on with her health than they had realized.

  “I don’t think I can leave Joe without any pies,” Lydia said. “The girls who help me are good, but I don’t want to leave them completely unsupervised. It will have to be you who goes, Bertha. I’m sorry.”

  Bertha sighed. “Of course it will.”

  “Just think,” Lydia said, encouragingly. “It will be warm and sunny. You can go barefoot. You might enjoy it more than you think.”

  “I won’t enjoy it,” Bertha was emphatic. “But I will do what has to be done.”

  “You always do what has to be done,” Lydia said, with sympathy. “You always have.”

  Bertha sighed. It was true. She had always done what had to be done, but Lydia’s words made her sound like an old plow horse. Plodding along. Doing her duty.

  Well, it was too late to change things now. She was headed to Florida whether she wanted to go or not.

  Chapter 30

  Their first night in Haiti was uneventful, and Bertha slept well despite the heat and unfamiliar surroundings. She almost always slept well and awoke refreshed. This morning was no exception.

  They had not been awakened by screams during the night, so apparently, nothing had slid or crawled across Darlene. Although judging by the dark circles beneath Darlene’s eyes when Bertha awoke, she doubted the other nurse had slept at all during the night.

  Remembering the young woman’s revelation the evening before, Bertha gave her the benefit of the doubt about whether or not she would stick it out. Like most people who found themselves in uncomfortable situations, Darlene was probably doing the best she could.

  The breakfast Charlotte made them of oatmeal porridge was bland and tasteless, much like her lackluster attitude as she served it. The moment they were finished, Dr. Lawrence loaded the three nurses into his jeep and drove to the hospital.

  “Is your wife all right?” Bertha asked. “It seemed like she didn’t feel well this morning.”

  “Charlotte has migraines,” Dr. Lawrence said. “Often, like last night, if she overdoes, she’ll awaken with one.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bertha said.

  “I’ve done all I know to do to help her,” he said. “I wish the Lord would take this pain from her—it can be very inconvenient—but so far, our prayers have gone unanswered.”

  Bertha was sorry Charlotte dealt with migraines. She knew they were painful, but she could not fully relate. There had been so little pain in her own life. She’d had a headache only once that she could remember, and then it was quickly dispatched with a couple of aspirin.

  Schweitzer Albert Hospital in Desjardins was primitive compared to the hospital in the states where they had trained, but it was a great deal better than nothing—which was what the Haitians had before its inception.

  At the hospital, she quickly embraced Jane and Darlene and wished them Godspeed before climbing back into the jeep.

  As they left the hospital, it was disturbing to see the line of patients lined up outside, stolidly waiting to be seen. She hated the fact that Dr. Lawrence had to take time away from the hospital to drive her to the children’s home. Still, she was grateful to have his presence and knowledge as they entered through a gate into the small compound.

  “Why the fence?” she asked. “To keep the children in?”

  “Partially, but mainly to help keep thieves out. There are always people willing to steal when there is poverty and hunger.”

  “I can’t imagine being so hungry that I would steal food from a child.”

  “Then you have never been starving,” Dr. Lawrence said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Hunger can drive even good people to desperation and violence.”

  As they walked around the compound, Dr. Lawrence showed her the clean wooden buildings where the children lived. The sturdy cinder-block kitchen in which their meals were prepared. And of course, the schoolhouse where she could hear chanting as they approached it.

  She peeked in the open window and saw children of all ages, dressed in crisp uniforms, books open in front of them, and a young woman who appeared to be about twenty-years-old standing in the front.

  “That is Mimose,” he said. “She came to this children's home twelve years ago as a child and stayed to help. She’s rather extraordinary. I’m not sure what we would have done without her since Erma had to leave.”

  At the sound of his voice, Mimose looked up, smiled, and waved. Bertha saw that the girl was quite lovely. Mimose gave some instructions to the children, and as their heads bent down to their work, she came to the open door to greet them.

  “Mimose,” Lawrence said “This is Bertha Troyer. She is a nurse from America who is willing to fill in for the headmistress.”

  “Hello,” Bertha said.

  “I am so glad you have come,” Mimose said, gracefully.

  “Mimose speaks three languages fluently,” Dr. Lawrence said. “French, Creole, and English. This is a great thing for the school because even though the government insists that the children be taught only in French, Mimose can help the little ones who only know Creole.”

  “Why would the government do such a thing,” Bertha said. “When Creole is the national language.”

  “Prejudice,” Dr. Lawrence said. “Creole is based upon a combination of languages that developed between French settlers and Congo slaves with a little English thrown in. Therefore, French is considered the language of the elite, the educated. Even the president uses formal French when he addresses the nation, although most of the population does not understand it. Some of us are trying to get this changed as it applies to our school children, but so far we’ve not had much success.”

  “I’m grateful that you are here, Mimose,” Bertha said. “I’m afraid I would be quite overwhelmed otherwise.”

  Mimose looked relieved. “I am happy to help.”

  Bertha suspected that the girl had been worried about the person who would replace the previous headmistress. She hoped Mimose sensed that they would work well together.

  As Dr. Lawrence showed her around the children’s home, she began to have the same feeling of panic she had experienced once as a child while wading in the creek behind their home. She had accidentally slipped into water over her head and nearly drowned until her father fished her out.

  She was in charge of all these young lives whose language she could not understand, a culture with which she was not yet familiar, in a foreign country where the political situation was far from ideal. She knew there would be difficulties in coming to the aid of this country, but suddenly, the overwhelming importance of her task left her practically gasping for breath.

  “It will be okay,” Dr. Lawrence said, as though reading her thoughts. “These children have been used to so little. Many have been rescued from terrible situations. Even if you cannot communic
ate with them in words at first, love seldom needs much translation. More than education, almost even more than food, the children will need to be loved.”

  “But how do I communicate love to them if I can’t talk to them?”

  “Hold them,” Dr. Lawrence said. “Try to make sure that each child, depending on their age, is touched by you each day. Hold the little ones on your lap, or carry one of the smaller children around on your hip. Braid a little girl’s hair. Wash a child’s face and kiss their forehead. Put an arm around the older children, or a hand on their shoulder when you talk to them. It does not matter whether you speak in French or Creole or English, speak to them with love written on your face, and it will translate just as well.”

  Bertha began to breathe a little easier. “I can do that.”

  “Mimose can take care of what little discipline or instruction is needed for now. She knows what sort of rules are in place, and she knows the type of discipline that is appropriate—assuming that it is even necessary. I would suggest that your job at first simply be to let the children know and be reassured that the person in charge, the strange blonde white woman who looks so different from them, has the love of Jesus for them in her heart.”

  As they stood in the middle of the small, baked-earth courtyard, Dr. Lawrence looked deep into her eyes as though trying to penetrate her soul.

  “Can you do that?” he asked. “Can you love them? Can you cuddle those little black bodies with as much affection as you did the little white Amish children back home? If you cannot, I need to know now and I will arrange for someone else to come who might not have your medical training or knowledge, but who can genuinely care for them. I can always find a place for you at the hospital, but if you have any misgivings about your ability to love these precious children, you must tell me now.”

  Without answering, Bertha walked over to the school window again. Mimose had resumed teaching. She could hear Mimose’s lilting voice helping some of the little ones count.

  It was easy to see why Dr. Lawrence would be concerned. Where she lived in Ohio, there was a great sameness in their northern European background. To see a person or child from a different race was rare.

  She honored Dr. Lawrence’s wishes by seriously searching her soul as she peered through a window of that primitive building at the neat rows of children. She saw the pigtails and barrettes, the earnest little faces, the trusting eyes, as they listened and responded to their teacher.

  She turned to Dr. Lawrence and saw that he had been watching her, waiting.

  “It will not be difficult for me to love a child,” she said. “Any child. Any color. Thank you for your advice. Be assured that I will follow it. I’m very grateful for the chance to serve.”

  She saw him visibly relax.

  “Then let me show you where you’ll be staying,” Dr. Lawrence said. “I need to get back to work, and you need to get settled. Let’s go get your luggage.”

  Dr. Lawrence was stronger than she expected for such a slender man. He seemed to have no problem helping her with her luggage, although it was heavy. After all, she had packed with the idea of staying two full years.

  The room that she would be using was small, but it did have a washbasin, a mirror, a desk, a chair, and a bed so narrow that it was more of a cot than a bed. She was not a small woman, and she knew that the cot would be uncomfortable, but she had no intention of mentioning it. She would make do. Remembering how sparse his and his wife’s home was, there was no way she was going to complain about anything.

  Dr. Lawrence noticed it, too. Silently, he stared at the small bed, and then his eyes swept her from the top of her head to her toes.

  “That bed is not going to work,” he said. “We’ll have to find you something bigger.”

  It shamed her a little. She knew she tended to be larger than most women. At least she was taller.

  “I will be fine,” she said. “You shouldn’t have to try to find something else. It isn’t your fault that I’m such a big horse of a woman.”

  Dr. Lawrence shot her an angry look. “Don’t talk about yourself like that!”

  His words startled her because, in her mind, she had just been making a self-deprecating joke, but he seemed to be genuinely disturbed by her words.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I see too much,” he said. “There are so many diseases and so much hunger here. To have a fine, strong body such as yours is a gift, especially on this island. You should cherish it and take good care of it. With your education, your health, and your training, you should be able to do much good here.”

  “I apologize,” she said. “You are right.”

  It interested her that although a man not too far from her age, Dr. Anthony had only commented on her health and abilities. He had seen her body only as a tool for good. A tool for saving lives and for caring for the children who were now in her charge. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Part of her wished he had said something a bit more complimentary than telling her that she was strong and healthy. But anything more than that would have been inappropriate. After all, he was a married man.

  He left soon after, and she was relieved not only because she was anxious to get settled but because she felt so sorry for the line of people who were waiting patiently for him to get back.

  There was no chest of drawers to tuck her things away in, but there were some shelves on the wall that she stacked the items she had brought with her. There was no closet to hang her clothes in, but there were nails that had been randomly nailed into the walls, upon which she hung her nurse’s uniforms and her few pieces of off-duty clothing.

  Once everything was unpacked, she squared her shoulders, put a smile on her face, and marched out to acquaint herself more fully with the small compound. She did not want to disrupt Mimose’s teaching any more than she and Dr. Lawrence already had, so she stayed away from the school.

  Tomorrow morning she would visit the classroom and ask Mimose to introduce her to the children. Then she would begin her ministry of getting to know and love each one.

  Chapter 31

  “How is our angel baby doing?” Joe washed his hands in the restaurant’s stainless steel sink and dried his hands on his apron before taking it off, hanging it on a hook, and reaching for little Holly. She had fallen asleep in her car seat on the drive from the aunts’ home to the restaurant. Now, still half-asleep, she tried to suck her thumb, but as sleepy as she was, she didn’t have quite enough muscle dexterity to pull it off. With her eyes closed, she blindly worked at getting her thumb in her mouth.

  “She was a trooper,” Rachel said. “Bertha says she’s an exceptionally good baby.”

  “Well, Bertha would know.” Joe cradled their baby in his arms and crooned down at her, “Are you Daddy’s good little girl?”

  In answer, Holly screwed up her tiny face and passed gas.

  “Well, I guess that answers that.” Joe laughed. “How did Anna’s doctor visit go?”

  “Okay, I guess,” Rachel said. “This one had a much different viewpoint about what Anna should be doing to get better.”

  “Oh?” Joe retrieved Holly’s pacifier from its clip-on holder and successfully got it into her mouth.

  Watching Joe with the baby in his arms, so tender with her, made Rachel’s heart turn over. He had been one of the greatest pitchers in the world until repeated shoulder injuries took him out of the game. Instead of being bitter, he now flipped burgers and ran his own restaurant. No matter what Joe did for a living, he was still Joe—a family man who passionately loved his wife and son, and now also loved their daughter. There was just something about the image of this good man holding their baby that sent a powerful surge of love sweeping through her.

  “Her old doctor emphasized the need for Anna to rest,” Rachel said. “To not over-extend herself physically.”

  “I know,” Joe said. “And?”

  Joe’s brother Darren walked in from busing tables in the dinin
g room.

  “I want to hear this, too,” Darren said. “When I picked up the pies yesterday, Lydia told me about how concerned everyone was about Anna.”

  “Her old doctor recently retired, and a much younger doctor has taken over his practice,” Rachel said. “He has a very different viewpoint about Anna’s health.”

  “Did he change her medicine?” Joe asked.

  “Not exactly,” Rachel said. “He is keeping the medication the same for now, but he is recommending mild exercise. He does not feel that having her rest so much is a good idea.”

  “And how do you and Bertha feel about that?” Darren asked.

  “Anna isn’t getting any better,” Rachel said. “She’s getting worse.”

  “I’ve been so busy with the restaurant I haven’t seen her for a few weeks,” Joe said. “In what way is she getting worse?”

  “She’s tired all the time,” Rachel said. “And she seems withdrawn and sad.”

  “I’ve noticed the sadness,” Darren said. “I’m there nearly every day picking up pies. What did the doctor say?”

  “Well, it’s quite a prescription he wrote,” Rachel said. “He knows a few things about the Amish, and he is recommending she go to Florida for the rest of the winter. He specifically mentioned Pinecraft.”

  “Isn’t that the place where so many Plain people go for a vacation?” Joe said. “They’ve sort of established an Amish community there?”

  “It is,” Rachel said. “It’s been an Amish destination for a long time.”

  “What made him think of sending her there?” Darren asked.

  “While they were waiting for the doctor, Anna was playing with her seashells. Bertha said that when the doctor came through the door, he introduced himself, and then he started talking to Anna about them.”

  “He sounds like a very perceptive doctor,” Joe said.