“When did you become such a coffee aficionado anyway?” her father wanted to know.
“College. My roommate had an espresso machine, a fancy grinder, the whole enchilada.” She grinned. “It’s the one thing I learned in college that I’m really putting to use.”
“What were you studying, Natalie?” David seemed genuinely interested. “Nate’s probably told me, but I’ve forgotten.”
She gave a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “He probably hasn’t told you since I never had a clue myself what I wanted to be when I grew up.”
“Well, what kind of courses did you take?”
“Oh, Jogging 101, Women’s Issues, Basket Weaving …”
“Well now, there’s one you could actually use here,” David laughed.
“Oops, that’s the one I was kidding about,” she said. “I guess I have used the jogging, too, though.”
“It does come in handy fleeing from our ferocious lizards,” David joked.
She laughed and, from the corner of her eye, took note of the satisfied smile on her dad’s face. She had to admit it was kind of nice to have a civil conversation with the man.
Anxious to present the grand finale to the meal, Natalie casually excused herself from the table. “I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying off to the clinic where she’d stowed Dad’s surprise. She slid a pan of frosted cinnamon rolls from the cupboard where she’d hidden them. They weren’t perfect. Even though she’d borrowed Tommi’s wife’s mud oven to bake them, the yeast rolls had emerged lopsided and a little too brown on the bottom. But they smelled heavenly, and the frosting alone would be a treat. She could scarcely suppress a smile as she carried the pan outside.
“Ta-da!” she sang, placing the rolls on the table in front of her father.
“What’s all this?” The expression on his face when he realized what he was looking at was worth every minute she’d sweated in the airless utta kneading the dough and waiting for it to rise.
“It’s Grandma’s recipe,” she told him proudly.
“Oh, Natalie …”
For a minute, she was afraid Dad was going to cry. But then he eagerly scooped a roll from the pan, licked a drip of frosting from his fingers, and took a generous bite.
“Mmm.” He closed his eyes in exaggerated ecstasy. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had one of these? Honey, they’re delicious. Here, Dave, you better have one. Aren’t they great?”
David took a bite and agreed while Natalie beamed. She poured another round of coffee for everyone, and the three of them visited until it was almost dark.
Finally David rose, gathered up his dishes, and took them to the stoop where the dishpan sat ready. She and Dad followed suit. David took the kettle off the fire and heated the water in the pan.
When he started to wash the dishes, Natalie protested. “Let me do that tonight, David. You’re probably exhausted from your trip.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, seriously, I’ll do them.”
Reluctantly he dried his hands. “Thanks.”
She took his place at the dishpan. “Ouch! How can you stand the water so hot?”
“I don’t like germs,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Hey,” she said, “was there any e-mail?”
“Tons. It’s back at the office.”
“Oh, good!”
“I printed it out. Do you want it tonight? I’d be glad to bring it back over.”
She shook her hands dry. “I’ll just walk over with you. It’ll give this water a chance to cool a little bit. Dad, do you want me to bring your email back too?”
“No. I’ll read it in the office in the morning. I’m going to hit the hay. Thanks again for the rolls, honey.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him, then she grabbed the lantern from the table and started off through the village with David, feeling a bit uneasy now that they were alone together. Lord, guard my mouth, she prayed silently. We did so well all night. Don’t let me blow it now.
It was only a few minutes to the mission office, but the silence between them made it seem like an hour. Finally, in the interest of making conversation, Natalie asked, “So is it good to be back? Or do you like it in San José?”
They’d come to a narrow place in the path, and he was walking a few steps in front of her. He didn’t turn around when he answered, “Oh, I enjoy San José, but I’m always glad to get back here.”
“How is your work coming along?”
“It’s going very well. Some linguistics books I ordered a couple of months ago finally came in, so I’m anxious to dig into those tomorrow.”
“Oh … well … good. This might be a stupid question, but how long do you think it will be before you actually start translating anything?”
“As a matter of fact,” he warmed to the subject, “I’ve tried out my preliminary alphabet with a couple of the worship choruses we sing. Simple ones, of course, no more than a dozen words, but Tommi could actually read them.”
“Wow, really? That must be so exciting.”
He nodded, and though his back was still to her, she could almost see the enthusiasm change his demeanor. “I don’t know who was more excited,” he said, “Tommi or me.”
“Did it take a long time to teach him the alphabet?” They had reached the office, and she waited in the doorway holding the lantern high while he gathered her e-mail.
“Tommi’s a fast learner,” David explained. “And according to your dad, he’s always been interested in books, so I’m trying not to gauge what the learning curve of the rest of the village might be based on his. I’m especially anxious to start working with Tados. His English is so good that I think he’ll catch on even more quickly. He’s actually been reading a little in English.”
They stood on the stoop outside the office for almost an hour while David talked about his work and Natalie asked questions. Though he spoke English, she almost got lost in his references to dialects and pidgins and creoles and mother-tongue cotranslators. But a new respect for his skills and his calling to Timoné grew within her, and she found herself caught up in his excitement about what he hoped to accomplish here.
Finally David looked at his watch. “Your dad is going to think the lizards finally got you.”
She laughed and put her hand out to turn his arm toward her, trying to read his wristwatch upside down. “Oh, my goodness. I’d better run.”
“Let me walk you back,” he said. “There’s no moon tonight.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got the lantern.” She held it up as though he needed proof.
“I’ll go at least partway with you,” he insisted.
He lit a lantern from the office, and they walked back to her utta in silence. “Good night, Natalie,” he said softly, as he stood at the bottom of the steps that led to her covered porch. “See you tomorrow.” But he made no move to leave and, instead, stood there clasping and unclasping a fist as though he had something else he wanted to say.
She cocked her head, questioning.
“That was …” He cleared his throat and started over. “That was really sweet—what you did for your father … the cinnamon rolls.”
The compliment took her off guard. “Oh. Well, it was fun to surprise him.”
“I’m glad I got to be in on it too.” He grinned. “They were delicious.”
Natalie smiled. “Thank you. If Dad doesn’t polish them off for a midnight snack, there might be enough left for breakfast.”
“Mmm. I’ll be there.”
“Well, good night, David. Thanks so much for walking me all the way back. And for the e-mail—argh!” she whined, putting a hand to her forehead. “My e-mail! I left it on your desk!”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “You want me to go back and get it?”
“No,” she sighed, appreciating the offer. “I’ll get it in the morning. It’s too late to read it now anyway.” She affected a yawn. “And I’m sleepy. But man, I can’t believe I did that.”
He laughed softly and turned to go, still shaking his head.
She left the supper dishes to soak in the now tepid water, and a few minutes later, she crawled into bed. She rolled onto her back, smiling up into the darkness. Her conversation with David Chambers played over and over in her mind. It seemed that, for once, she had managed to spend more than ten minutes with the man without putting him in a bad mood—or vice versa. Let’s hear it for small victories, she thought, growing drowsy.
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought of all the good things that had already happened in Timoné. She was getting to know her father and developing a relationship with him that she’d never thought she could have. She was contributing to the work here, slowly learning what her part was in easing the burden on her father and on David. Yet, even now, in that groggy twilight between sleeping and waking, the black tentacles of blame—the irrefutable truth of her guilt—reached out and attached themselves to her. On too many mornings, she still awakened with a strange heaviness of heart, empty of the peace and hope she longed to claim for her own.
Thirty–Four
Okay … how about this word?” David Chambers said, pointing to the letters he’d printed on a scrap of paper.
“Kopaku,” Tados read.
David smiled, and his pulse quickened. Tados had gone down the list David had printed, easily deciphering over a dozen simple words. The modified alphabet they were experimenting with seemed to serve the language well. Of course, Tados had an advantage, since Nate had taught him to read a bit of English, and he spoke English quite passably. The true test would come when they began to teach this alphabet to those who had never read a word of any language. David uncapped his pen and scratched out a five-word sentence across the page, using the new alphabet.
Tados looked at the paper and scratched his head, then looked up at David. “Ques briach?” Is this a trick?
David smiled and shook his head. “No. It’s a sentence—a complete thought,” he explained. David covered up all but the last word.
Immediately Tados recognized it. It was the word for “please.”
“Kopaku,” he recited, looking back to the matching entry on the list of individual words David had just given him.
David uncovered another word in the sentence. Tados sighed and stretched.
“All right, I can take a hint.” Reluctantly, David began gathering up the word lists and notebooks. “Let’s call it a day, Tados.”
Wide lips parted to reveal a gleaming smile. “Yes, coffee break now,” Tados said in English, obviously pleased with himself.
David laughed. “Right. Coffee.” He tipped an invisible coffee mug to his lips and rose, dismissing the man. “And thanks for your help,” David told him, reverting to Timoné. “I think the words are working well, don’t you?”
Tados smiled and tapped his head. “The words are working well. Tados’s mind not so well.”
“Oh no, not at all, Tados. Seriously, you are catching on very quickly. I’m pleased with the way things are going.”
Laughter floated up through the office window, and David scooted back his chair and bent to peer out the window. Natalie was kneeling by the stream, playing some sort of game with a group of children.
David followed Tados outside. Natalie spoke to the native man as he walked by, then she looked up and waved at David. He waved back and remained on the stoop, watching her with the children.
They were floating little boats of some sort under the footbridge that spanned the stream. He, Nate, and Natalie had worked together all last week to rebuild the washed-out bridge, and now the children had commandeered it as a playground. Natalie and the children were dropping something into the water, then racing to the other side, screaming and cheering and splashing in the water. David watched their gleeful play, and though it only emphasized to him how young Natalie was, he couldn’t help but be caught up in the delight she found in such a simple game.
“What are you racing? Boats?” he called out after watching them for a while.
“No. Sticks,” Natalie called back.
“Poohsticks!” a small boy exclaimed, his shiny black hair bouncing as he ran to the other side of the bridge.
“Come again?”
Natalie turned and looked up at him, shading her eyes from the bright sun. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Poohsticks?”
“Sorry. I’m going to have to plead guilty on that one.”
“David! You can’t be serious. You’ve never heard of Poohsticks?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Poosticks? As in P-O-O?”
“Pooh. As in ‘Winnie the.’ You know … the game Christopher Robin and Pooh played on the bridge at the edge of the forest.”
“Ohhh … sure, Winnie the Pooh. What’s the object?”
She placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes in dismay. “Get down here right this minute. You have obviously lived a life of complete deprivation.”
He stood, smiling at her, but unmoving.
“Come on,” Natalie coaxed. She put her hand on the smallest boy’s head. “Manuel, casi alimocu por Mr. David,” she commanded. All the children squealed and scurried to find suitable sticks for their new six-foot-five-inch playmate.
Reluctantly David came down the steps of the office utta and walked to the bridge. Before he knew what hit him, half a dozen twigs of various sizes were thrust into his hand.
Natalie came to his side. “Here,” she said, opening his hand. She sorted through the children’s offerings and picked out one pale, slender stick. “This is a good one.” She took the others and placed them carefully on the ground beside the stream.
“Okay, Chago, tell Mr. David how it’s played.”
David smiled at Natalie over the head of a slight boy who excitedly described how they were all to drop their sticks into the water on the upstream side of the bridge. Whoever’s stick came out on the other side first was the winner.
“Okay, guys. Everybody ready?” Natalie asked the children. “Go!”
A dozen sticks hit the water, and David was almost left behind in the mad rush for the opposite side of the tiny footbridge. Almost before they reached the other side, a stick floated out from under the bridge, bobbing on the current. “Hey!” he shouted, “that’s mine! I won!” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous, getting so worked up over a silly child’s game.
But the Timoné children cheered for him and Natalie clapped him on the back, and he couldn’t seem to help the smile that stretched his jaws until they ached.
At the children’s insistence, he raced his winning stick against theirs again and again, until finally he insisted that he needed to get back to work.
“I guess I’d better go too,” Natalie said. “I promised Dad I’d help him in the clinic this afternoon.” She looked up at him with an inquisitive expression in her eyes. “You’ve really never played Poohsticks before?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t grow up like you did, Natalie.”
She tilted her chin toward him, brows knit in a question.
“I didn’t have parents who read books to me or played games with me.”
“Oh … I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I survived.”
“Yes, but … it must have been difficult.”
“We made our peace before they died,” he told her. “I think my folks did the best they knew how.”
“Were they just … too busy?”
“I suppose that was it. My father traveled a lot, and my mother filled her time with her social clubs and volunteer work. What I didn’t have in their time and attention they made up for in material things. I never lacked for any tangible thing.”
“It’s not the same though, is it?”
He was drawn to the sympathy in Natalie’s eyes like steel to a magnet, and yet it made him uncomfortable. “No, I don’t suppose it is,” he said. “Just … don’t ever take for granted what you have with your father … and with your family back ho
me.”
She gazed up at him, and he felt as though she could read his deepest longings.
“Oh, David,” she said, dropping her head. When she spoke again, her voice quavered. “I have taken it for granted. Thank you for reminding me how much I have to be grateful for.”
“My pleasure,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat, anxious to lighten the moment and turn the focus away from himself.
She seemed to sense his desire to change the subject. Smiling softly, she said, “You have to admit, Poohsticks is a lot of fun.”
“It was fun,” he said, meaning it. “I’m glad you made me play.”
“I didn’t make you.”
“Whatever you say.” He smiled so she’d know he was teasing, but suddenly it felt too much like flirting. He looked at his watch. “I really need to get back to work.”
“Okay. See you later, David.” She told the children goodbye, jumped the stream, and jogged down the path toward the clinic.
David watched her go while the two halves of his heart warred.
Natalie sat bolt upright on her sleeping mat, her blood racing, her mind in a state of near hysteria. She felt like she was falling, flying through the air. She heard sirens, and then she was falling into a ditch on a cold Kansas night.
“Sara! Sara!”
The sound of her own screams brought her awake, but the sensation of falling remained strong. She flailed her arms, as though to catch herself, but her hands became tangled in the mosquito netting over her head, which only caused her panic to escalate. She put a hand to her chest and felt her heart thumping against it. She forced herself to calm down and disentangled herself from the gauzy fabric.
She looked around. It was dark, but she could make out the shadowy, familiar forms of her table and chairs, the cane bench in the corner. She was in her utta in the village, far, far from the scene of the accident. The jungle night was still except for the white-noise chirr of the insects, which she scarcely heard anymore.
She lay wide awake now, trying to put the dream from her mind. It had been so long since she’d thought of Sara. She felt guilty at the realization. She lifted the mosquito net, got up, and went to the window. The village slept all around her. She stood at the window and said a quiet prayer for each member of her family before she lay down again. But sleep eluded her.
After the Rains Page 29
