“I— I know God forgave me,” she answered.
“And Sara’s family?”
“Yes. They’ve forgiven me. At least that’s what they said.”
“Then why are you still trying to make things right? Why are you still looking for forgiveness? Whose forgiveness are you really looking for?”
She contemplated his question and finally replied, “My own, I guess. Everybody else was somehow able to forgive me, but I just can’t forgive myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” The tears were close to the surface again.
David sat forward on the bench and leaned closer. “Do you realize how arrogant that is?”
“What do you mean?”
“By your own admission, you made a terrible mistake, committed a terrible sin. And the God of the universe, in his great mercy and unfailing love, forgave you. But you’re not satisfied with that. That wasn’t good enough for you. You’re still holding out, trying to obtain forgiveness from one last source.”
He wagged his head back and forth, and the tone in his voice was close to disgust. “I’m sure glad my salvation doesn’t depend on forgiveness from the great and mighty Natalie Camfield.”
She stared at him, appalled at his audacity, yet convicted. “I— I don’t mean it that way. I know my salvation is in Christ alone.”
“Then why are you still struggling—what is it now … four years later? Why are you still trying to make things right?”
“Because I killed somebody,” she shouted, throwing off the blanket and jumping to her feet.
“That’s right, Natalie. You did.” His eyes had turned to steel, and his gaze pierced her. “You committed one of the worst sins a person could possibly commit. And it was your best friend you killed. Someone you loved more than anyone in the world. You’ll never make things right.”
“Why are you doing this?” she shouted. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”
“I don’t know, Natalie, have you? How much do you think you need to suffer before it will all be okay? It’s been four years now. Do you think another four might do the trick? Or do you think this crime might take nine years? Or ninety? How long—”
“Stop! Stop it!” She slumped back to the bench and put her head in her hands.
But he wasn’t finished with her yet. “Your problem is that you think you’re the only one who’s ever sinned that bad. Well, let me tell you something, Natalie, you’re not. And as much as you want to go back in time and change what happened, you can’t do that. You will live with regret for the rest of your life. Join the club.”
His voice was trembling, and in spite of her fury at him, she wondered if he had just made a veiled confession.
He stood up—as far as his height would allow him under the boat’s topper—and came to sit beside her on the bench. His whole demeanor changed abruptly, and when he spoke, his voice was as gentle as a spring shower. “I’m sorry, Nattie. I didn’t mean to be so rough on you. But do you understand what I’m saying?”
She refused to meet his gaze.
He put his fingers under her chin and lifted it gently, forcing her to look at him. He put his hands on either side of her face, then put the back of his hand to her forehead. “Natalie? You’re burning up!” What she saw in his face, heard in his voice now, was alarm.
His fingers felt cool and soothing against her skin, and she slumped against his broad chest. He kept her head cradled in his large hands, and she wanted him to hold her that way forever.
“No wonder you were shivering under a blanket. You’re burning up with fever. Do you feel sick?”
“I … I thought it was just all the stress,” she muttered.
“Are you still cold?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not okay. We’ve got to get you something to bring that fever down.” He pushed her gently away from him and went to fetch a bottle of water from the cooler. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. “Here, drink as much as you can.”
She took a few sips, but her throat ached, and the water tasted brackish on her lips. She handed it back to him.
“More,” he insisted.
She obliged.
David left her and went to speak with the boat’s pilot. He came back with a battered first-aid kit and rummaged in it until he found a packet of aspirin. After she’d swallowed the tablets, he helped her stretch out on the seat. He offered his knee for a pillow and covered her with the blanket. “We’ll be to Conzalez in just a few more minutes. Meghan will know what to do.”
With the shore bumping by in her line of vision, her mind flitted from one thought to another, none of them seemingly connected.
She thought of her mother in a much cruder boat, long ago on this very river as she left Timoné for the last time. It hit her like lightning: She had been on the Guaviare then too. For Daria Camfield had discovered that she was pregnant with Natalie shortly before she made that trip. The realization startled Natalie and made her feel closer to her mother than she ever had. And more a part of this savage land that she had grown to love.
She thought about what David had said to her moments ago. She knew his angry words had revealed a truth she desperately needed to hear. But how did one forgive oneself the unforgivable? How could she ever hope to live with the regret of what she’d done?
She wondered what Dad was doing right now. She missed him already, and suddenly she understood how hard it must have been for him to send her back.
She tried to pray, but she felt lightheaded and detached from her own body. Slowly, she closed her eyes, and soon the rhythmic sway of the boat and the cool, masculine hand pressed to her face lulled her into a deep sleep.
Thirty–Nine
David’s heart sank when Conzalez came into sight. The small Quonset hangar sat gaping and empty at the end of the airstrip. He spoke quietly to Juan Miguel as the Colombian steered the eighteen-footer into the shallow inlet that served as the village’s harbor. He went back to check on Natalie. She was breathing evenly, and not shivering so violently as she had been a few minutes ago, but her skin still felt as though it were on fire. He shook her gently. “Natalie, we’re here.”
She stirred but did not sit up. David patted her arm again. “Natalie … wake up, Nattie.”
She squinted against the sun and gave him a frail smile. “Are we there?”
“Yes. How are you feeling?”
She pulled herself to a seated position, moaned, and put a hand to her forehead.
“Your head still hurts?” he asked.
She nodded almost imperceptibly. His pulse quickened as he noticed how pale she was. Many a missionary had been felled by malaria or dengue fever or one of a dozen other diseases that thrived in the mosquito-ridden jungle. He prayed that the raid on Conzalez had not depleted the Middletons’ supply of medicine as completely as it had Timoné’s. They had to find something that would lower Natalie’s fever.
As Juan Miguel moored the boat, Hank and Meghan came running. “Hello!” they shouted, waving and smiling widely.
David lifted his hand, but said soberly, “Natalie is sick. She’s burning up with fever.”
Meghan, who was just over five feet tall, tipped her head back and looked at him with a nurse’s keen observation. “Hurry, let’s get her inside,” she ordered her husband and David. “Has she been drinking plenty of fluids?” she asked David.
“I made her drink most of a bottle of water on the way here, but she’s gotten worse. And she’s complaining that her head hurts. Do you think it’s malaria?”
“I don’t know, David. It sounds like it could be.”
Natalie offered Hank and Meg a weak smile, and even thanked Juan Miguel for his services, but it was obvious that she was not herself.
David grabbed the cooler and another box of provisions he’d brought from Timoné and followed the Middletons as they held Natalie up on either side and helped her into their small bungalow.
He placed his burden on the floor
in the galley kitchen and followed the three of them into the guest room at the back of the house. In spite of his grave concern over Natalie’s health, he smiled to himself, thinking how happy she would be to sleep in a real bed.
The young missionary couple helped Natalie into the bed, while David watched anxiously. By now she was almost incoherent. Hank turned to leave the room, but David hung back, watching Natalie closely for some sign that she would be all right. Please, he begged heaven, please let her be okay.
Meghan turned from Natalie’s side to look up at him. Her soft brown eyes searched his before she said quietly, “Go on now, David. I’ll take good care of her.”
Twenty-four hours later, the plane from Gospel Vision in Bogotá finally arrived bringing supplies and medicine. Natalie had been delirious since they had put her to bed the day before. David took turns with Meghan, sitting at her bedside, forcing sips of water and broth down her swollen throat, sponging her body with cool water, and praying as he’d never prayed before.
When Hank and Jim Logan, the Gospel Vision pilot, began to carry in the provisions, David thought he had never been so glad to see a box of pharmaceutical supplies and medication in his life.
Meghan Middleton seemed equally relieved. She took inventory, then did some quick, rudimentary blood tests before starting an IV on Natalie.
David watched as she tucked a light sheet around Natalie’s shoulders. “Is she going to be all right?” he asked.
The nurse nodded. “I hope so. I wish you’d gotten here two days ago.”
“She wasn’t even sick two days ago, Meg. At least she never said anything.” He was feeling unaccountably guilty.
Meg reached across Natalie’s bed, expertly regulating the quinine solution that dripped through the IV line. “But if I’m reading the tests right, this should make a difference soon. I’m just glad the plane got here when it did.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Meg told him as they stepped into the hallway. “We’re all praying.”
“I know,” he said. “Thank you, Meg.”
He went out to the airstrip where Hank was filling the pilot in on the news David had brought from Timoné while they loaded the pontoon boat with a temporary radio and other basic provisions to take back to Nathan Camfield. The river had flooded its banks, so the trip back upriver would take at least twice as long.
Before Juan Miguel untied the boat, Meghan came running out to the dock. “Here! Wait,” she called. She handed the Colombian an envelope and turned to David. “Could you please ask him to give this to Dr. Nate? I thought he would want to know the details about Natalie’s condition,” she explained.
David nodded and relayed the message in Timoné, while Meghan offered her thanks in the few broken words of Timoné she knew.
David and Hank spent the rest of the morning setting up the new radio, while Jim Logan got the plane ready to fly to San José, and then on to Bogotá, where they would check in with Gospel Vision’s headquarters and file reports on the events of the past week. There they would replace Nate’s temporary radio with a more powerful one, and—if the organization’s funds allowed—buy computers and other supplies to replace the things each mission had lost in the raids.
David went to check on Natalie one last time before he and Hank flew out. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but Meg sat by her bedside, obviously concerned that her fever still had not broken.
“Will you—please tell Natalie goodbye for me when she wakes?” David asked the missionary.
In spite of the fact that Meghan Middleton was a few years David’s junior, she gave his hand a motherly pat. “I’ll take good care of her, Dave. I promise. She’ll be anxious to see you when you get back.”
He dipped his head, wondering if Meg guessed how strong his feelings for Natalie were.
“Now you take good care of Hank for me,” Meg ordered, a barely perceptible quaver in her voice.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll do that. You sure you’re okay to stay here alone?”
She nodded, encompassing the village with a sweep of her hand. “These are good people”—she glanced heavenward—“and I have a loving Father. I’ll be fine. But thanks for asking.”
Twenty minutes later, he watched Hank kiss his wife goodbye, saw the tears in Meghan’s eyes and the strength they seemed to draw from each other’s embrace. He sighed, a long-hidden yearning in his own heart exposed. He didn’t want to die without knowing a love like this.
When the plane lifted into the air, then dipped and turned northward, David watched out the window of the small craft as Conzalez disappeared beneath the ocean of dense foliage below them. He felt the familiar tug of God’s Spirit on his heart. Maybe it was time he took his own advice. Maybe it was time to forgive himself for what could never be changed. What would always be regret. What had already been forgiven by the One who mattered most. Wasn’t that what he’d told Natalie?
Natalie opened her eyes. The room was bright with morning sun, and she squinted against its glare. It took her awhile to remember where she was, but Meghan Middleton’s beautiful soprano voice drifted from somewhere in the house, reminding her quickly that she was in Conzalez. Natalie recognized the melody of an old hymn, but the words Meg sang were Spanish.
She looked across the room and out through the screened window. She wondered if David had left for San José yet.
She started to sit up on the side of the bed, but the minute she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, she felt lightheaded and woozy. She eased back against the pillows, grateful again for the soft comfort of the cotton sheets beneath her.
She tried to call out to Meg, but her throat was parched and swollen, and her voice was weak. She stared at the wall, watching a tiny green anole lizard scale the logs and scurry across a rafter. She smiled, remembering how revolted she had been by the slithering reptiles just a few months ago. Now this little fellow, blinking at her from his perch overhead, seemed almost friendly. She thought of her beloved utta back in Timoné and wondered if Dad had already bartered it away for a side of venison or a mess of dried fish. She had asked him to keep it ready for her, but she had been acting like a spoiled toddler, and he hadn’t been inclined to make her any promises.
More regrets. Had she ruined every chance of ever returning by her childish behavior? She knew now that Dad had only been acting out of genuine concern for her. There was no denying that Colombia was a dangerous place to be right now. But she truly wasn’t afraid—not since she had witnessed God’s miraculous protection and intervention during the raid on Timoné. Why didn’t her father see that too?
Her thoughts drifted to the time she’d spent with David on the boat. He had said some harsh things to her, but as she played them over and over in her mind, she began to grasp the truth in what he’d said. David was right: She had been arrogant and self-absorbed in thinking that her redemption depended on her own actions, on trying to work her way out of her guilt. As David had said, the only forgiveness that counted had been granted two thousand years ago on a hill called Calvary. She owed a huge price—an unspeakable sum—for the pain she had caused through Sara’s death. But that price had been paid on that lonely hill, when God’s Son had hung on a cross and died. For her sins. No matter how shameful, no matter how devastating, no matter how permanent.
Suddenly chastened within her spirit, Natalie closed her eyes. “Oh,
Father,” she whispered, “forgive me. Forgive me for not acknowledging that what you did was enough. I know now, Lord, that there’s nothing more I need to do, except live my life completely for you.” She turned her palms up in her lap and lifted her hands as high as her weakened condition allowed. The action was painful, but it seemed important somehow—a physical symbol of her heart’s surrender. “I accept the grace and mercy you offered me long ago. Please, Father, fill me with your perfect peace.”
Even as the word peace left her lips, she felt the personification of it wash over her. She was
flooded with unspeakable joy, and for the first time since the accident the heavy burden of guilt and shame was lifted. She drew in a deep breath and could almost feel the strength return to her body.
Outside her door, Meg had stopped singing, and now Natalie thought she heard voices in the house. She sat forward, straining to make out the words. Her heart leapt as she recognized Dad’s voice. But how could her father have gotten here so soon?
She tried again to call out. “Meg? Dad?”
Within seconds, Meghan appeared in the doorway. “Natalie! You’re awake.” She rushed to her bedside and put a hand to Natalie’s forehead, beaming her thousand-watt smile. “How are you feeling? I just talked to your dad.”
“He’s here?”
“No. I’m sorry … on the radio, I meant.” Meg smoothed the sheets and, feeling Natalie’s forehead again, took her temperature. Then, as though the idea had just struck her, she said, “Let me run and see if I can still catch your dad on the radio. He’ll be so happy to hear you’re awake. He’s been worried sick about you. It was all I could do to convince him he didn’t need to hop on a boat and come doctor you himself.”
“Tell him hollio for me,” Natalie croaked out. But she could tell by the sound of Meg’s footsteps that she was already halfway down the hall. She lay there listening to the murmur of voices as Meg assured her father that she was doing much better.
Feeling at peace, yet desperately homesick for Timoné, for her father—and most of all, for a wise and wonderful man named David—she drifted back to sleep.
Forty
From his seat beside the pilot of the Cessna 172, David Chambers looked out over the sea of lush vegetation that swayed almost imperceptibly in the jungle breeze. He cupped a hand to his forehead and traced the edge of the Rio Guaviare with his eyes, straining to catch sight of Conzalez. He desperately needed to see for himself that everything was all right in the riverside village—that Natalie was all right.
He and Hank Middleton had spent four days in Bogotá securing supplies and filing reports with the mission headquarters and the American embassy. David had also, at Nathan Camfield’s request, contacted Cole and Daria Hunter, asking them to be ready to fly to Bogotá as soon as their daughter could be moved there.
After the Rains Page 33
