Out of the Shadows

by Melanie Mitchell

  She didn’t answer but turned to gaze out the window, bewildered. She wasn’t sure Ben was much better than the thugs.

  Ben huffed audibly at her response. When she glanced back to face him, he rolled his eyes and said, “And what was I supposed to do? Demand to see some paperwork? Appeal to their softer side?” His tone grew more impatient and his words grew louder. “Explain my rights as an American? Dazzle them with my charm and good looks?”

  He was practically shouting. Hell, he thought as he finished the tirade—that was pretty much what he had done. He’d ingratiated himself with fast talking and jokes, along with a couple of bottles of bourbon and about $200, to be allowed to leave. He was simultaneously glad that she didn’t realize the precariousness of the situation and irritated that she didn’t understand how lucky they were to get away for only a couple hundred dollars and two bottles of cheap booze. He mirrored her response as he turned to stare out of his window.

  Leslie recognized that she was being unreasonable. She sighed. “Ben, I’m sorry. I know I should be happy to be out of there. I just wasn’t expecting...well, I wasn’t expecting that.” She rubbed her forehead with her hand and sighed again.

  Ben’s temper evaporated. He glanced at her. “Look, I get it. I know it’s a shock, but that’s just how things are done here.” He took another swallow from the flask.

  Her irritation returned in a heartbeat, and in the sternest voice she could muster, she said, “I really wish you wouldn’t drink any more of that until we land.”

  Ben simply grinned and held the bottle out to her. “Here, have a drink. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Leslie ignored the offered bottle and said flatly, “I don’t think so.”

  Ben persisted. “Come on. Just one sip and you’ll feel much better. I promise.”

  Leslie considered that the more she drank, the less would be available for him, so she grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the cap. Bracing herself, she took a gulp and immediately choked on the contents. She coughed repeatedly, and tears filled her eyes. Despite the noise of the plane’s engine, she heard him chuckle.

  “I’ve never seen anyone react quite that way to sweet tea.”

  Trying to clear her throat, she took another sip. When she could speak again she asked, “You mean this stuff has never been anything but tea?”

  “Did you actually think I would drink and fly?”

  “You know I did! And you said nothing to make me think any differently!” She crossed her arms and glared at him, “I can’t believe you wanted me to think you were drinking!”

  “Let me get this straight. You were mad because you thought I was drinking, but now you’re mad because I wasn’t?”

  “Yes! I mean, no! I mean...oh, never mind.” She took another drink, and the irony of the incident suddenly hit her. She began to giggle. The tension of the day abruptly eased, and she laughed out loud. She glanced back at Ben and shook her head. “You know,” she managed to say, “I really hate to admit it, but you were right. I feel much better now.”

  The glint in his normally piercing green eyes softened, and his reluctant smile was genuine. “You should laugh more.”

  He held her gaze for a few seconds, then stopped smiling. “Leslie, contrary to village rumor and popular belief, I don’t have a death wish. Although I hesitate to use the word never, I would never fly under the influence of alcohol. Please rest assured.”

  Leslie knew he was attempting to make her feel safer. Despite her original misgivings, her opinion of him rose a little. She tried to think through this revelation. She hadn’t been the only one to see him “drinking,” and he hadn’t done anything to disabuse others of the notion. Why would he put up that kind of facade? Obviously he went to considerable lengths to have people think the worst of him.

  They continued the flight in silence, and she studied him surreptitiously. As usual, his long hair was held back from his face in a neat ponytail. No doubt it was much neater than hers just now. His white cotton shirt was considerably sweat stained from waiting for her in the sweltering heat and then talking with the officials. Likewise, his khaki pants were dusty from the events of the day, but had probably been freshly laundered when he donned them that morning. Growing progressively less discreet in her observations, she noticed his hands. The nails were well trimmed, and there was no hint of the inevitable grease and dirt often associated with aircraft mechanics or men living in the African bush.

  There was no doubt that Mama Joe and Paul and Judy were comfortable with Ben and even respected him. She had been troubled trying to understand why—but now she was starting to see.

  * * *

  AS THE FLIGHT CONTINUED, Ben was lost in his thoughts. His opinion of Leslie had also shifted during the afternoon. Through the high windows and frequently opened door of the mud hut, he had remained attentive as she cared for the young woman in labor. Her words were authoritative without being judgmental. She had not scolded the young mother or her attendants; nor had she acted condescendingly. She couldn’t change generations of tradition in an afternoon, but there were things she tried to do to improve the health of the people, and he respected her for it. She understood that centuries of tradition, superstition and misinformation had left the villagers extremely vulnerable. She knew there were some things that could not be changed and some that did not need changing. She just wanted to help.

  She hadn’t commented on the heat and the dust, and she didn’t utter a word of complaint. Nor had she asked him for anything. He knew she was uncomfortable with him, and, rather than putting her at ease, for some reason he wanted to irritate her, and he wasn’t really sure why. He glanced at her and saw that she was watching his hands. He wondered what she thought of him. Normally, he worked very hard to preserve his carefully cultivated image, but he had let her know one of his closely guarded secrets. Again, he wasn’t sure why. Had he shared the bottle with her to ease her mind, or did he subconsciously want her to know that he wasn’t a drunk? He didn’t want to explore his motivations any further, so he focused on getting home instead.

  Beside him, Leslie slowly relaxed, leaning against the plane’s door, both emotionally and physically drained. Minutes later, she fell asleep to the drone of the engine.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, LESLIE related most of the day’s events—omitting the part about the non-bourbon-containing flask—to Mama Joe as she helped the older woman pack for her early-morning departure. Trying to sound casual as she folded a sweater, she commented, “Ben’s a little unusual. Why does he live out here?”

  Mama Joe placed the sweater inside her suitcase and gave Leslie a side glance. Turning back to the pile of clothes, she answered the question with one of her own. “So, Ben Murphy has got you curious, huh?”

  Leslie didn’t really want to admit her interest, but after a little pause, she said, “Yes, I guess.”

  Mama Joe sat down facing Leslie. “Leslie, I truly don’t know. It’s like he’s come here to get away from things that happened to him at home.”

  “What things?”

  Mama Joe looked pensive. She seemed to be trying to gauge how much to explain. “I knew Ben when he was a kid. He was sweet and easygoing, with a wonderful sense of humor. He got along with everyone. As I told you, he was a gifted athlete at the Air Force Academy, and he graduated near the top of his class. He did so well that his first assignment was to learn to fly bombers.”

  She took a breath. “When he was about twenty-five, he married a girl named Glenna. According to gossip among the missionaries here in East Africa—unfortunately, we do gossip sometimes—she was a lawyer, and gorgeous. And she and Ben were supposed to be a perfect couple. But something happened early in their marriage, and Ben gave up flight training and was transferred to Washington. For about two years, he worked at the Pentagon and went to graduate school.” She paused, as if for effect. �
�Then Glenna left him.”

  Mama Joe shifted and sighed deeply. “Leslie, most of the rest is rumor and conjecture. I’m only telling you this because you’re going to be here, working with him, and you deserve to know as much—or as little—as everyone else does. Evidently Ben was devastated. He distanced himself from his friends and became a loner. Despite those changes, everyone who knew Ben was amazed by what happened next.”

  “What happened?” Leslie’s voice was very quiet.

  “Well, about six months after Glenna’s departure, there were allegations of an affair between Ben and a married female officer. I heard that Ben was accused of insubordination and fraternization. There were rumors of actions being taken and charges being filed. The story is that he was dishonorably discharged and barely escaped charges of sexual harassment and a court-martial.”

  Leslie was taken aback. But, on reflection, it wasn’t a stretch for her to believe that Ben had been engaged in some type of affair with a married woman. After all, she had seen him in action. And yet, vaguely, she was aware of being disappointed.

  “Do you believe the rumors?” Leslie asked. She did not want the story to be true.

  Mama Joe shrugged. “I’m not sure. He’s changed a lot. It’s as if he’s here because he has nowhere else to go. Like I said, maybe he’s trying to escape from something. But now that I think about it, I wonder if he’s looking for something instead....”

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO MONTHS PASSED in a blur of activity. Leslie was relieved at how easily she settled into the lifestyle and the work. For the most part, she was comfortable providing care to the clinic patients. Occasionally it was necessary to ask Naomi for assistance or advice on how to manage a problem, but those instances were becoming rarer. And although she still relied on Elizabeth or Agnes for help with translation, she was pleased that her command of Swahili, while still limited, was growing.

  Early one workday near the beginning of her third month, Leslie was summoned for an urgent phone call. “It is Dr. DeMerode from Médicins Sans Frontières,” Elizabeth explained. “He and his wife operate a clinic in Nyeri.”

  Before leaving, Mama Joe had briefed Leslie on other clinicians with whom she had occasional contact. Among those she mentioned were Dr. Jean-Baptiste DeMerode and his wife, Christine, who were on the staff of Doctors Without Borders.

  “Nyeri?” she asked.

  “It is about one hundred kilometers on the other side of Nairobi,” explained Elizabeth as she passed the phone to Leslie. “Near the Rift Valley.”

  “Hello. This is Leslie Carpenter,” Leslie said into the receiver.

  “Mrs. Carpenter, I am Dr. DeMerode. Mama Joe told me to contact you as I would her, should we need assistance.” His French accent was heavy and his word usage a bit odd. “We have a problem with a measles outbreak in three villages. Many ill children are contracting pneumonia. We are trying to contain the outbreak and prevent serious complications.” He paused and then added, “My wife and our assistants cannot cover all of the needs. We have lost two children and fear that we may lose more. Will you help?”

  Desperation and fatigue were evident in Dr. DeMerode’s voice, and Leslie quickly answered, “Yes. I’ll be very glad to come help you. Let me arrange transportation and I’ll call you back to let you know when to expect me. Where do I need to go?”

  He gave her the location of the hospital and contact information. “I will await your call,” he concluded.

  Since Mama Joe’s departure, Leslie’s practice had stayed primarily near the clinic in Namanga, though twice she had been called on to travel to points more distant. On both of those occasions she had flown with Ben. After the incident with the corrupt officials, their relationship had thawed a bit. Although he was cordial, he seemed to want to maintain distance, which was fine with her. For the most part, their encounters were relatively formal, with few social niceties and little conversation.

  Leslie was still not completely comfortable in his presence. On those few occasions when he was near, she’d been disquieted to catch his light green eyes closely monitoring her actions. Why was he watching her like that? Did he think she was going to do something stupid?

  Leslie tried to contact Ben, but she learned from Mr. Endebbi at the airstrip that Ben was away and not expected back for a week. “Shoot!” Leslie said as she hung up the phone, vaguely aware that she was sorry he wasn’t available. “Elizabeth, where are the names and numbers of the Mission Aviation Support pilots Mama Joe told me about? Let’s see if we can find someone else.”

  They were able to reach Andy Singleton, who informed Leslie that he would be at Namanga’s airstrip in two hours. He assured her that they would be able to make the trip to Nyeri by dusk. Leslie called Dr. DeMerode to let him know the arrangements. With mingled excitement and apprehension, Leslie gathered supplies and a few personal items and in short order was flying to northern Kenya.

  Andy Singleton was the direct opposite of Ben. He was in his late fifties and very friendly and talkative. He and his wife had lived in Kenya for about ten years, and he was both knowledgeable and competent. Flying with Andy was calm and nonthreatening. The trip to Nyeri went smoothly, and he assured her that he’d be glad to come collect her when she was ready to return.

  The DeMerodes were in their late forties, and they were not French, as Leslie had assumed, but Belgian. Jean-Baptiste was tall and quite thin, with salt-and-pepper hair and a reserved, somewhat pessimistic demeanor. Christine was a very attractive woman with chin-length black hair and pretty, amber-colored eyes. Unlike her husband, she was gregarious and cheerful, despite the dire circumstances of their meeting. Fortunately, their English was excellent, and they were able to quickly assimilate Leslie into the care of the children who had contracted measles.

  The next several days sped by. The team was responsible for dozens of sick children and surrounded by panicked parents and relatives. The first day Leslie worked directly with Dr. DeMerode or Christine, whom she learned was also a nurse. After that, she worked either with them or with one or two of the Kenyan nurses.

  The team labored through waves of fatigue to battle the scourge of measles. They dosed children with medications to reduce fever and treat secondary infections. When children were struggling with pneumonia, they constructed oxygen tents and suctioned their airways to allow them to breathe more easily. They also took turns roaming through the nearby villages in concentric circles, moving outward away from the hospital. In the villages they gave measles booster shots to children as they searched for cases that had not been diagnosed.

  The workdays lasted eighteen to twenty hours. When she could no longer function safely, Leslie retired to their temporary quarters, a small tent that had been erected behind the hospital. She ate when she could and washed her hands dozens of times each day, until they were raw from the abrasive soaps and disinfectants.

  The first morning Leslie was in Nyeri, one child succumbed to pneumonia. But the hard work and round-the-clock care proved to be successful, and no other children died from the dreaded disease, although many became very seriously ill.

  Late one evening after the outbreak had begun to wane, Leslie shared a rare moment of relaxation with Christine outside of their tent. The two women had become friends during their brief but busy time together. Each sipped a cup of tea as they lounged in relatively comfortable camp chairs, their tired feet propped on a wooden box that served as a table. Although it seemed like forever, Leslie realized that only five days had passed since her arrival. No new infections had been identified for more than forty-eight hours, and all of the children with pneumonia and other secondary infections were recovering. While the women rested, Jean-Baptiste was making the final rounds of the evening, examining the children who were still hospitalized. Thankfully, their number had dropped to only a handful.

  “We must have a celebration,” declared Christine. She
placed her cup of tea on the box and leaned forward. “Jean-Baptiste and I will drive to Nairobi tomorrow to pick up supplies.” Her lively amber eyes were more animated than Leslie had seen them before. “We can take you with us, and your pilot can meet you there. We will go to dinner and have a nice wine to celebrate the end of the outbreak. You can stay at your mission.” She grinned at Leslie and added in a conspiring manner, “And I will make Jean-Baptiste take me to a hotel for the night! I want a proper bed with linen sheets and room service!”

  Leslie chuckled at her new friend’s plans. After a very busy three months, followed by the exhausting past several days, an evening at a restaurant and a night in a converted mansion sounded like a vacation. “A good restaurant and wine would be wonderful right now.” She rose and gestured toward the office located in the hospital building. “I’ll go contact Mr. Singleton to see if he can meet me in Nairobi the day after tomorrow.”

  * * *

  AS PLANNED, LESLIE traveled to Nairobi with the DeMerodes. They dropped her at the headquarters for the East Africa Mission, where she would spend the night. That gave her a few hours to visit with Connie and Dennis Williams before dinner.

  Since she’d only brought work clothes with her, Leslie borrowed a dress from Connie for the occasion. The violet linen sheath was a little large, but it complemented her eyes beautifully. Connie also had a pair of black sandals that Leslie could wear comfortably. They were much more fashionable than the dusty loafers and athletic shoes she’d brought with her from Namanga.

  Deciding to celebrate in style, Christine made reservations at the French Room, an exclusive restaurant located within the Serena Hotel. Dinner was set for seven, and the Williams’s driver, Marcus, dropped Leslie off at the hotel after making arrangements to return in three hours.

  Leslie sighed in appreciation of the comfortably air-conditioned hotel as she passed through the lovely lobby and descended the marble stairs to the lower level. Entering the restaurant, she paused to look around and absorb the ambience. After spending the previous five days caring for critically ill children in fairly primitive conditions, it was jarring to stand in a beautiful room surrounded by well-dressed patrons. The tables were covered with crisp, white linen cloths and featured real silver, lighted candles and fresh flowers.