Long Walk Home

by DiAnn Mills

  “Yes, it is. Gives a whole new meaning to paradise,” Paul said. “How about taking up residence here? We can be Tarzan and Jane.”

  “I’ll have to work on my Jane call.” Larson laughed, the first time since she had left Warkou. It felt good, really good.

  “And we’ll have to make a trip to New York for a new wardrobe,” Paul added.

  Larson leaned her head back. “Thanks,” she said. “You have a way of making me forget about reality.”

  “At your service, ma’am.”

  She needed to bring up their relationship—get it out in the open and settled, then forgotten. Taking a deep breath, she searched for the words.

  Paul’s cell phone rang, sending the wildlife into another tizzy. He jerked it out of his backpack. “Hey, Tom.” He grinned at her.

  Tuning out Paul’s conversation, she watched a mother monkey yank on the arm of her little one and thought of Nyok. The boy might have seen fighting, but he knew nothing of the life of a soldier. Keep him safe, her thoughts pleaded before she realized a prayer had formed in her heart. She would gladly turn to God if He returned Rachel and Nyok unharmed.

  “Now that’s a twist of events.” Paul dropped the phone back into his backpack and interrupted her tormented thoughts.

  “What did you find out?”

  “FTW offered me a directorship for all of Africa. I’d work in California and fly here occasionally.”

  “Sounds like a great opportunity.” She forced optimism into her reply, when in reality she missed him already.

  He pressed his lips together and tilted his head. “Possibly, but I don’t feel God’s in it.”

  “What do you mean? Oh, I know. You have to pray about it first.”

  “Exactly, and I don’t feel the least bit inclined to accept.”

  Irritation snaked up Larson’s back. “You’re going to pass this up, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, unless God sends a banner across the sky telling me otherwise.”

  “What about the brain He gave you?”

  Paul drummed his fingers on the cracked, split dashboard. “The brain He gave me is to be used for His purpose.”

  “I seem to remember God wants the best for His children. Dying of disease or at the hands of the GOS or SPLA is not the best for an intelligent man. Do you have a martyr complex?”

  Paul chuckled. “No one sets out to be a martyr, Larson. It happens when a follower loves Christ more than his own life.”

  “Right.” She knew he spoke the truth. Deep down she envied his faith, but not enough to embrace it. She dared not.

  “Seriously. I’m scared to remain in Sudan, but I made a commitment to help find Rachel, and I’m sticking it out.”

  “Of that, I’m glad,” she said.

  “And now Nyok is missing,” he added.

  “But we know where he is.” Larson’s stomach twisted and threatened to unload its contents.

  Paul turned and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m here until both of your charges are returned. If God wants me directing the African lines for FTW, then the job will still be there.”

  “You’re a good . . . dear friend.” There, she said it.

  “Do we need to talk about that?”

  “I’m not in the mood.” And she wasn’t.

  “Neither am I. Basically I’m a little embarrassed. I apologize for taking advantage of you.”

  Battling the twister inside her, she concentrated on the road. “I apologize too. So it’s settled. We’re friends.”

  “Until Nyok comes back, I’ll stay with Sarah. If Nyok told any of the villagers about our . . . encounter, they will gossip, and she’s highly respected.”

  “I agree. It’s a good idea.”

  “Staying apart helps with the temptation.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “No, Larson. If I got started on my confusion when it comes to you, I don’t know how I’d stop.”

  Heat rose in her face. Dare she be so honest? Larson chose not to reply. They would both placate Ben. She’d endure the inconceivable, and Paul would suffer through his bruises.

  CHAPTER 27

  Paul finished unloading the truck while Larson prepared a maize mixture resembling mush for them to eat. Not exactly a five-star menu, but it provided the necessary nutrients and filled the ache in the stomach. Most of Africa had survived on it for a long time. Paul craved rest, and surely Larson felt worse.

  He stepped into the clinic, where she sat waiting for him. A lantern rested on the table. If he had felt jovial, he would have said something about a romantic dinner. Two cracked bowls and two tarnished spoons rested on the small table. She looked exhausted, but she usually did.

  “Sorry about the cuisine,” she said.

  “I’m not complaining.” Paul took a seat opposite her. “I’d like to pray.” She said nothing but bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for getting us back safely. We appreciate the food before us. Take care of Rachel and Nyok, and bring them home safely. And, Lord, bless this country and all those who are struggling to make it free. Amen.”

  “What kind of government best suits Sudan?” She cupped her chin in her hand and leaned on the table.

  “For the entire country or a separate North and South?”

  “That’s part of the question.” She stirred her spoon through the thick mush while steam rose from the bowl.

  “I’m sure Ben has given you his viewpoint.”

  “Of course. He’s for a totally independent southern Sudan. I wondered about your thoughts.”

  Paul took a spoonful of the mush. She had thrown in a little butter substitute and some salt, which helped tremendously. “And what is your opinion?”

  Her eyelids looked as though they were weighed down with lead. “I asked you first. Besides, I’m not sure yet.”

  “I believe Ben’s right. I don’t see how the GOS would ever allow other non-Muslim religions to practice freely. Their beliefs encompass government and people control.”

  “So you’re saying independence is the only way to establish democracy?”

  He shrugged. “Third-world countries don’t comprehend democracy. The one who wins is the one with the power. I think the same people would be voted back into office.” He stared into her face, the tired lines more evident than usual. “The key is education for the South.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. “So who governs the country while the people obtain an education? You’re talking years.”

  “And we’re back at ground zero.” He took a long drink of water. Weariness settled on his neck and shoulders.

  Larson rubbed her face. “I’m too tired to discuss politics. I simply want to see an end to this mess. I know it’s a complicated war, all of the fighting over religion, politics, and oil. Both sides agree to peace talks, while the GOS bombs the civilians and takes slaves. Then the SPLA fights back.”

  “I know.” Paul didn’t try to muffle his impatience. “Little boys carry guns and are exposed to atrocities most adults hope never to encounter. The way I see things, the SPLA is the only hope for southern Sudan. I think the leadership there is good, but who am I to say? A public policy expert is the best person to answer your questions, Larson.” He glanced at her, wondering what weighed so heavy on her mind. “Why did you bring this up tonight?”

  She pushed back the half-eaten bowl of mush. “Rachel, Nyok, and the air raid at the Red Cross station. For openers.”

  “Why don’t we talk in the morning when you’re rested?”

  “You’re right. Tonight is one of those nights when I’d like to give up.” She forced a laugh. “Trouble is, I don’t know where I’d go.” No home of her own. “I’m envious of you.”

  He met her gaze. Curiosity moved him to ask more, but they were too tired.

  “You’re so confident of everything.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Don’t tell me it’s God. With you it has to be more. Nothing shakes you. You’re always in control.”

  He leaned back in
his chair. Kissing her hadn’t been part of his control, but the subject wasn’t to be brought up. “If I appear so, it’s the Lord shining through me.”

  Larson stood. “Great. You and Marty should get together.”

  Paul watched her head out of the clinic toward the hut where she slept. “See you in the morning,” he called after her. “I’ll spend the night in the truck until I make arrangements with Sarah.”

  “Suit yourself.” She kept right on walking.

  Had he heard sobbing in her words? The past four months were etched on her face. First Rachel, and now Nyok.

  If the emotion was her inner struggle with the Father, perhaps she’d been reached.

  * * *

  Larson woke, groggy and achy. She’d dreamed of the farm again. Twice she’d told Paul about her childhood. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could venture back there again. At least she would be assured of more sleep. Soon, someday soon, she would take a morning off and sleep until she was rested.

  She pulled herself from the cot and spread back the netting. A new day, she told herself, more rain. Blinking to force her eyes to focus, Larson remembered the bits and pieces of conversation with Paul the previous night. He’d made her angry again with his talk about God. She held her breath and crossed her arms. He didn’t make me angry. I made myself angry. The subject of God always infuriated her. Those lies were far behind her. If she didn’t believe in a Supreme Being, then why did her heart pound at the mention of His name?

  Massaging her shoulder, Larson bent to straighten the cot and gather up her clean clothes. As she tucked in the thin coverlet at the bottom, she remembered a topic she did want to discuss with Paul.

  After a quiet bath in the river, Larson found Paul in the front seat of the truck, all scrunched up with his head under the steering wheel and his knees at a ninety-degree angle. Staring at him through the window, she elected to let him sleep, but right then Paul opened his eyes.

  “Let me out of here.” He reached over his head to the door handle. “This metal cocoon has got to go.”

  “It’s your own fault.” She laughed. “You had a perfectly good bed in a snug hut.”

  He climbed out, his hair tousled and the imprint of the worn seat on the left side of his face. Combined with the bruises and black eye, he looked like a candidate for plastic surgery.

  “First thing I’m going to do this morning is down a pot of coffee,” he said. “Then I’m going to jump into the river for a bath.”

  She wiggled her nose. “I’ll make your coffee while you bathe.”

  “Thanks a lot. Have any other requests?”

  Her earlier questions resurfaced. “Seriously, I do, but they can wait till breakfast.” She staged a wide grin. “Not much today but oatmeal. Marty gave me some instant packets with bits of apple and cinnamon.”

  “Wonderful.” His flat tone told her volumes about how he felt about oatmeal.

  “I expect you to sound more enthusiastic come breakfast.”

  “I’ll do my best. Maybe I’ll catch a fish.” Paul pulled his backpack from a hole in the front floorboard. He scowled and sauntered toward the river. He waved to Larson without turning around.

  The sounds of the village broke through her thoughts. Children chattered, and the rustle of movement felt strangely comforting.

  This is home. The farm is gone. Granddaddy and Grandma are resting beneath a huge maple tree near the old place. And Mom and Dad, they’re still praying for me to find my way back.

  Larson fought back the tears. Too many regrets. All these emotions she could deny while Rachel and Nyok shared her days. But they were gone, and she hated the loneliness, the lack of purpose. To make matters worse, she had feelings for a man that could get him killed if the wrong person found out.

  Paul stepped into the clinic soon after the coffee finished brewing and hot water awaited the oatmeal.

  “I’m ready for the day.” He smoothed his wrinkled clothes. Leaning his backpack against the mud wall, he settled his gaze on the coffeepot.

  “It’s done.” She handed him a cup. “I had some of the oatmeal yesterday morning, and it’s quite good. No more mangos until the dry season.”

  He took a sip of the coffee, its steam rising above his nose. “I appreciate your sharing Marty’s gift. Sorry not to sound grateful.” He peered into her face, and she glanced away for fear he saw how far her emotions had taken her.

  “How long before we talk about the problem?” he said, his voice like a gentle breeze on a steamy day.

  She ran her finger around the chipped bowl. “You mean finding Rachel and Nyok?”

  “I agree that’s a problem, but not the one driving us both crazy.”

  She blinked but couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

  “Larson, look at me.”

  She slowly obliged. “Ben would kill you.”

  “At the moment, I don’t care.”

  “I do. I care too much.”

  CHAPTER 28

  That night, Larson endured hour after hour of little sleep and horrible nightmares. She and Paul had kept their distance today, but her thoughts returned repeatedly. She swung on a pendulum between the past and the present. She had no purpose, no focus, no meaning in life, except to continue what seemed to be a futile existence. Everything had become so complicated. A constant lump in her throat and a cramp in her stomach revealed the truth. She had to get rid of this poison. But how? God was not the answer. He’d tricked her, and she would not fall prey to that deception again.

  Rising from her cot, Larson realized she had a friend who would listen without pretense or judgment, someone who would keep her confidence and possibly even understand a little. That friend was Paul. She’d talk to him this morning—bare her soul to him. Perhaps then the nightmares would stop, and she would have some peace.

  Paul had started coffee by the time she stepped into the clinic. He had the patient charts ready, and everything was neat and orderly.

  “Good morning,” he said, then frowned. “Nothing personal here, but you didn’t sleep well, did you?”

  She avoided his gaze. “Not really.”

  “Worrying about those two won’t bring them back a moment sooner.” Paul’s words were kind, as though coaxing her to tell him everything. Thankfully, he didn’t mention the two of them.

  “I know.” She slid onto a chair and tilted her head back. “I need to talk.”

  Paul handed her a cup of hot sweetened karkadé tea, made from a variety of crushed hibiscus, and sat in the chair opposite her. “I’m a great listener.”

  “Can you keep dark secrets?”

  “I’m a master at it.” He smiled, and she braved forward.

  “I need to talk about the real reason I came to Sudan. The part you know about the missionary’s child dying merely sealed my decision. There’s more, and if I don’t tell someone soon, I’m going to explode.”

  She stood with her cup and walked to the doorway. She blinked at the sunshine streaming its light and warmth. “When I was in medical school, I met a man—a wonderful man. We were both active in church, did all the Christian things. I soon learned to love Nathan very much. In fact, I took him for granted. He was strength, patience, and love—all the things my grandfather and my dad were. I expected those special qualities, and Nathan gave them without question.”

  Larson took a sip of her tea. It burned all the way down. “I was spoiled by his lavish attention. I’m not so sure I gave much back. I prepared myself for life as a pediatrician and a wife. He was in law school at the time, and I knew we were not headed for any financial worries. I even found plans for my dream house. We set a date for the wedding. I selected a dress and picked out the china and silver for the bridal registry.”

  She turned to face Paul. When she saw no condemnation, she took a deep breath and continued. “One afternoon he came to see me, all excited. He said God wanted him to practice law among the poor. You know, the kind of lawyer who takes the cases for those who can’t afford legal fees.
I couldn’t believe it. I reminded him of our plans for our future together, and I told him I didn’t feel I deserved to have to support both of us for the rest of our lives. He was firm, and I was livid. We got into a horrible argument, or rather, I did all the screaming. I asked him to leave my apartment.”

  The silence seemed deafening before Paul spoke. “I’m sorry, Larson.”

  “Oh, there’s more. I called my parents and told them what an unfair decision Nathan had made and how he had jeopardized our future. They fueled my anger by commending his choice.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, on his way home, he was killed.”

  “Oh no.”

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “A drug addict mistook my Nathan for someone else and shot him.”

  Paul stared into her face, and his brown eyes radiated sympathy. “Is that when you walked away from God?”

  “Wouldn’t you? He killed a good man, a man who loved Him and obeyed Him without question.” The old familiar throb in her head pounded. She thought stating the truth might bring peace, but it hadn’t.

  “God didn’t kill Nathan,” Paul said. “The man who shot him made a choice to pull the trigger. Sin killed the man you loved.”

  “God is sovereign. At least that’s what I was taught as a kid.”

  “You’re right. We don’t know why God allowed Nathan’s death. This is just one piece of a huge puzzle. We don’t have the whole picture, but we know Nathan is in heaven.”

  “Whatever the reason for his death, it was wrong, and I blame God for it.”

  Paul started to say something, but she waved her hand in his face. “Don’t preach at me, Paul. I thought you were the one person who’d understand my feelings.”

  “I do understand, and I want to help, but I can’t take away your burden. I can only encourage you to trust in God.”

  Anger tore through her like wildfire. “How would you know about my burden? I sent a good man to his grave. Every day I face the same guilt—the same horrible shame. Every day I see the look on Nathan’s face when I told him I hated him. I even told him he could rot in hell. Every day I hear his father’s voice telling me Nathan had been murdered. Every day I see the car with his blood all over the front seat. I never had a chance to say I was sorry.”