“Because you are one of the most competent people I know.” Dr. Lawrence said. “And you have the constitution of a horse when you remember to take your malaria medicine.”
Despite her respect for Dr. Lawrence, she wondered if he had lost his mind. Didn’t he realize how much work she had here? Widelene and Mimose couldn’t handle this alone.
“The children need me,” she said.
His face, ravaged with worry and overwork, softened. “Of course, they do, but Darlene has offered to come take your place temporarily.
“Darlene?”
Despite Bertha’s original assessment of Darlene, the woman had stayed. Once she got over the culture shock, Darlene had shown herself to be a competent nurse with a flair for administration duties. She also loved the children and visited frequently.
“Darlene is trying hard, but she isn’t as emotionally strong as you. I have found her to be quickly overwhelmed by the never-ending stream of hurricane victims. It isn’t easy for any of us, but she’s broken down crying repeatedly. I can’t depend on her.”
Bertha thought it over. She had noticed that Darlene had a strong maternal side. Whenever she visited the children’s home, she reveled in interacting with the children.
“What does Darlene say about this?” Bertha asked.
“She’s more than willing to come,” Dr. Lawrence said, “In fact, she’s eager, and I desperately need nurses with me who have the stomach to help without falling apart.”
“You honestly think this is best?” she asked.
“I do. Pack only those things you truly need and can carry,” he said. “Before this is over, you will have a chance to apply every last ounce of nursing knowledge that you’ve ever learned. I’ll be back with Darlene within the hour. Be ready.”
When he came to drop off Darlene, he picked Bertha up in the dependable old jeep he drove.
“Thank you for changing places with me,” Darlene told Bertha, gratefully. “I couldn’t have taken much more at the hospital.”
The children seemed pleased to see Darlene as Bertha left with an impatient and focused Dr. Lawrence.
“How is Charlotte?” Bertha asked. “Was she ever okay about leaving the island?”
“No.” Dr. Lawrence raised his voice over the whine of the hardworking vehicle as he shifted into a higher gear. “But she understood the necessity. I am willing to sacrifice much for this country, but not the lives of my sons and their mother. They were not the ones who chose this work. I did.”
“Where are they staying?” Bertha held on tightly as he maneuvered around several potholes.
“Charlotte’s family owns a home near Sarasota, Florida. There is room for her and the boys. When things are clear here, they can come back.”
“How long do you think that will take?”
“A month, maybe.” He shrugged and glanced around at the devastation. “Here we are. This is where we are setting up our field clinic for now.”
Canvas tents had been erected in some places, just tarps, and poles in others.
As Bertha, Dr. Lawrence, and a team of Haitian helpers fought their way through the damaged island, Bertha’s heart broke repeatedly. There were times when she wondered if the search, rescue, and need for immediate medical relief would ever end.
It would have been hard for anyone not to have admired Dr. Lawrence during this time. Never had she seen a man more passionate about caring for others. Two days passed before he even allowed himself a quick nap, and then only because surgical instruments began to slip from his hands.
“Let me finish,” Bertha whispered, as he swayed slightly.
It was not usual for a nurse to finish stitching a patient up, but these were not normal times. As Dr. Lawrence stumbled to his sleeping tent, she dealt with the victims the best she could until he had napped and returned, and then she took her turn to collapse into her sleeping tent. She had hoped to lose consciousness immediately. She was beyond tired. Nearly numb with fatigue, but her mind wouldn’t quit. It kept playing the past two days over and over, while she mentally calculated how much she, Dr. Lawrence, and the others could do.
Long lines of wounded made their way to their makeshift clinic over ravaged mountain paths. Untrained and ill-equipped search and rescue teams did what they could. The number of desperate people who came to them seemed endless.
Her stamina was extraordinary, but it did have its limits. Every now and then, she would almost literally crawl into her tent, collapse onto her pallet, spread the mosquito netting around her, and simply lose consciousness for a few blessed minutes. Her waist-long hair came undone and badly tangled. She did not want to take the time to comb out the knots. Instead, she took a pair of surgical scissors and asked one of the Haitian women to hack it off until it was shoulder-length. Then she pulled it back with a handkerchief and forgot about it while she struggled on.
Her dresses became dank and torn, but she covered them with hospital gowns and kept working. She watched Dr. Lawrence wipe his forehead with his shirt sleeve so many times, it grew dark with grime. He kept his hands clean and was careful to wear sterile gloves, but she was reasonably sure he hadn’t washed his face or his hair since they’d set up. People were dying. They had the skills to save some of them. There was no time for niceties like showers.
Her respect for him grew with each hour that they worked together. Because her energy and endurance were better than most, she soon became the one he depended on and preferred to have at his side.
As she grew able to anticipate what he needed, sometimes before he even asked for it, she began to feel like they were working together as one person. Never had she felt so close to anyone. Never had she admired anyone more. It was an honor to be by his side in this desperate struggle. As they fought together to save lives, her habit of calling him Dr. Lawrence fell away. He simply became Anthony.
She was too smart not to see the danger in this, but she assured herself that she was strong enough and moral enough to be content with the honor of merely getting to work with such a man.
As many women had discovered about themselves from the beginning of time--when it came to the man she loved, Bertha was a fool.
Chapter 61
It took several weeks, but there came a time when the frantic pace of all the humanitarian efforts began to drop off.
It was a Saturday night, very late, when Anthony prepared to go to a nearby village to attend a long-laboring Haitian woman. It was her first baby, and her husband came to the clinic, begging someone to help her.
“I’ll go instead,” Bertha offered. “It’s been a long day. You need to rest.”
“As do you,” Anthony said. “But I want to go. I think it will be healing to help bring new life into the world after all the death we have experienced.”
She quickly gathered some supplies and prepared to accompany him. They took the long-suffering jeep, hoping it would hold together long enough to get them there and back. The rest of the staff stayed behind.
“Let them sleep,” Anthony said. “They’ve earned it.”
Five hours later, in a poor farmer’s hut, with an anxious father looking on, Anthony gently eased a slippery baby into the world. After clamping and cutting the cord, he placed the squalling, healthy baby boy into the towel Bertha held out. As she wrapped the baby in the clean cloth, they shared a look that was so intimate with joy over the miracle they had experienced that she felt shaken by it. Had they gotten so close that a mere look was enough to make it feel as though they shared the same soul?
They finished their task, and as night lightened into day, they drove into the early dawn. Suddenly, as they crested a hill, they saw the most magnificent sunrise spread out in all its glory upon the ocean below.
It was so sudden and so beautiful, she gasped and grabbed Anthony’s arm.
“Oh!” she said. “Please stop! I want to get out.”
“Of course.” He pulled off the road, threw the jeep into park, and switched off the ignition.
They climbed
out and stood at the top of the hill, reveling in the majesty of the view.
Bertha knew that as soon as they descended back to their life below, they would be hemmed in by people, most of whom would need attention for one reason or another. Up here, there were no houses, no people, only fresh air and that brilliant view. Their lives had been so staggeringly harsh since the hurricane, she craved just a little more time here before they went back.
“A new day,” she said. “A fresh beginning. Do we have a few minutes to spare so we can just enjoy this show God has spread out for us?”
“Of course,” Anthony said. “I think we’ve earned a few minutes?”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” she said. “How vicious the ocean and weather can be one day, and how perfect and beautiful it can be the next?”
He didn’t answer.
She turned to look at him and realized he wasn’t drinking in the beauty of the sunrise at all. He was drinking in the sight of her. Bertha had never seen such a raw look of longing on a man’s face. It was so intense, she immediately knew that this incredible man wanted her. Not as a nurse, not as a helper, but as a man wants a woman. It both frightened and thrilled her.
In that moment of revelation, she finally acknowledged to herself that she desperately wanted him too. It had not been deliberate. Never had it been deliberate. Her feelings for him had transpired slowly, unconsciously, but the fact was there. She was absolutely sick in love with another woman’s husband.
Frantically, she tried to distance herself emotionally.
Anthony was a good man. A spiritual man. A disciplined man. A family man. A man who deeply loved his wife and children.
And yet…
He took a step toward her. There was such depth of love in his eyes that it made her feel weak. She should have backed away and insisted he take her back to camp. Instead, seeing Anthony looking at her with such hunger made her stomach churn with anticipation.
She needed to get away from him. She was better than this. Better than what she was feeling right now.
And yet…
He was exactly what she wanted. More than she had ever known could exist in a man.
And yet…
Intimately being with him was impossible. As long as he was married to Charlotte, it was wrong to even think of him in those terms.
And yet…
She stood perfectly still. Trying to will herself not to touch him. Thinking of the devastation it would cause if she were to give in to her love for him.
And yet…
She was so lonely! Even with the children filling every moment of every day, she had reached an age where she longed for a true mate. Someone with whom she could share every aspect of her life. Someone like Anthony.
“Bertha?” His voice was halfway between a question and a caress. He reached out and gently touched her face with his fingers.
At the touch of his hand, those skilled hands that alleviated so much pain and healed so many people, she could not help herself. She took his hand in both her own and kissed his palm.
She heard his sudden intake of breath. Then he pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her and held her close—so close.
“Every time you came to my house, it felt as though a streak of sunshine had somehow entered my home, and my life,” Anthony said. “I find myself thinking about you constantly. I’ve tried to keep my love for you hidden. I’ve fought it. Lord knows I’ve fought it. But today…” His voice broke. “I’m just so tired of fighting.”
Bertha’s mind echoed with his words. It felt as though she had been starved for them. Visions flew across her mind, memories of his many kindnesses, the intelligence in his eyes, the way they flashed if he thought a child was being neglected or mistreated.
She had always taken pride in her strength and integrity. She had always had contempt for those weak women who gave into men’s advances without the advantage of marriage, and she had judged them severely. But at this moment, she had nothing but sympathy for the women to whom she had once felt superior. She never had, until this moment, experienced the type of passion that could cause a woman to throw her morals, beliefs, and good intentions to the wind.
For one moment, she felt a hot rebellion against God rise in her heart. It was fiery and deep, surprising in its intensity. What right did someone else have to be with this man, to be loved by him, to bear his children?
Everything she had seen and endured during these past horrific weeks, all the heartbreak they had experienced together, had created a deep knowledge of how fragile life could be, how quickly it could be over. That knowledge was like dry kindling thrown upon living embers, so strong was her need to live and express her love for him.
This moment in time, this precious bit of privacy was so rare. If she did not grasp this opportunity, she suspected Anthony would make sure such a moment never came again.
It was almost as though Satan, himself, had created this opportunity for them, catching Anthony in a moment of weakness. Oh, the devil was most definitely alive and well this morning, roaming about seeking whom he should devour, but at this moment, she simply did not care.
She almost didn’t hear the sound of a vehicle coming toward them, but Anthony did. He lifted his head.
“That’s George’s truck!”
George was one of the volunteers from the Mennonite Central Committee who had come to help during the hurricane rescue. He was also head of the MCC relief agency. If he so much as caught a whiff of what was in Bertha and Anthony’s hearts, he could have Anthony’s funding cut immediately. The Mennonites did not play around when it came to adultery or even the possibility of it.
Anthony stepped away from her.
“Get in the jeep.” All traces of love for her drained from Anthony’s voice. “We have to go!”
The road was narrow. Less than a minute later, Anthony inched the jeep around George’s truck as they tried to pass one another.
“I have brought good news to you,” George said, as their vehicles came to a stop and idled beside each other. “Charlotte just got word to us that they are flying back tomorrow. One of her father’s friends made arrangements for military transport to bring your family over. I came to camp to tell you as soon as I heard, but the rest of the staff said you two had left late last night, headed in this direction, and hadn’t returned.”
“One of the local women was having a difficult birth,” Anthony said. “Her husband came to get me. Bertha was awake and offered to come help.”
Bertha immediately saw that Anthony was making a mistake in adding that last bit. Assisting him was her job. To explain her presence sounded suspicious.
George looked at Anthony, and then he looked at her. She knew she was disheveled from the long night. She could feel that her cheeks were flushed. There had been no time to go from being passionately in love with a man to professional nurse mode.
“Does your house still stand?” George asked Anthony.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt like the older man was asking a question far deeper than inquiring about the state of Anthony’s physical home.
“I have no idea,” Anthony said. “I’ve been too involved in trying to save as many lives as possible. I have not taken the time to check.”
“That’s understandable,” George said. “But I think it’s time you go home—if you still have a home—and begin getting it ready for Charlotte and the children.”
“Of course,” Anthony said. “You’re right.”
“Good,” George put his truck in gear. “I would hate for that good woman to have nothing to come home to.”
As they drove off, Bertha hoped it was only her guilty conscience reading more into those words than George intended, but she couldn’t get over the feeling that he was quietly giving her and Anthony a warning.
Chapter 62
As the day drew on and the temperatures rose, the heat of Haiti felt like a living beast hovering over her, breathing down on her neck with its hot breat
h. She went about helping break down and pack up the field hospital and camp, deeply aware that Anthony had barely glanced at her since George had interrupted them. She was sick at heart with the guilt of what she had almost done, how quickly and utterly she had responded to him—and yet despite her shame, Bertha was still a woman in love.
Methodically both she and Anthony helped finish up, acutely aware that George’s eyes were upon them. When they got ready to leave, she deliberately chose to catch a ride back with George. She hoped it would deflect any suspicions he had formed.
“I’ll go check on the house for you before I go back to the children’s home,” she told Anthony in George’s hearing. “You have so much else to do. If there is anything I can do to make it more habitable for Charlotte and the boys, I will.”
Anthony’s and Charlotte’s house was still standing but damaged. A small portion of the roof was torn off, and two of the windows were shattered. The rain had gotten in, and the boys’ beds were sodden, but all in all, they had been lucky.
“I have some tools in the truck,” George said. “You clean up inside, and I’ll see what I can do about the roof and windows.”
Although hot, the day remained clear. Bertha spent the day washing bed linens and hanging them out to dry. With the laundry water, she scrubbed the mud off the worn, tile floors and set to rights what else she could. It was a humid day, and it took the sheets and blankets longer to dry than she’d expected. They still weren’t dry by the time George finished.
“That ought to hold things for a while,” George said. “Are you ready for me to take you back to the children’s home?”
“I had hoped to have clean beds all made up for the children when they got home,” Bertha said. “They’ll all be so tired from their trip. I’ll wait until the linens are dry, and then I’ll find another way back to the children’s home. It isn’t so far that I can’t walk.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I’ve had word that Darlene and the rest of the children’s home staff are managing well, and Charlotte gets migraines. If she gets one during the trip, I don’t think she’ll be able to manage, plus she’ll be exhausted.” ”
Bertha's Resolve: Love's Journey in Sugarcreek, Book 4 Page 23