In the Light of Love

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Leila and Mya sat at Mrs. Brimmer’s kitchen table giggling over a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies and cups of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream. The younger women were laughing as Leila’s mother gave them advice on their respective love lives.

  “Your problem, Mya,” Mrs. Brimmer was saying as she slid a pan of cookies into the oven, “is that you’re chasing after the wrong kinds of men. You think a man is supposed to be the answer to all your problems. And Leila doesn’t want a man to be the answer to any of her problems. Wants to solve everything all on her own. Both of you need to readjust your standards and maybe you can catch yourselves a husband.”

  Leila rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you the one who raised me with those standards?”

  “I raised you to be smart, girlie. And you can be smart without scaring a man off. I caught your daddy by being smart. Caught ’im good, too!” The woman chuckled loudly before she continued. “But these boys are afraid to even approach you the way you carry on sometimes. I’m not ever gone have no grandbabies at the rate you’re working.”

  “Well, if it’s grandbabies you want, I don’t need a husband to do that. I can get right on that grandbaby thing for you.” Leila winked at her friend who was grinning widely at both of the women.

  “Oh, no you won’t! We won’t be having any of that around here. I sure enough didn’t raise you to be thinking no foolishness like that.”

  “Well, you need to make up you mind, Mama. Either you want me to find a man or you want grandbabies.”

  “I want both and I want them the old-fashioned way, in the proper order. Don’t be cute, girlie.” Mrs. Brimmer waved a finger in her daughter’s direction. “And, Miss Mya, what’s this I hear about all these boys you keep dating. When you gone find you a decent man to settle down with?”

  Mya sighed, her eyebrows lifting toward the ceiling. She shrugged. “Who knows, Mrs. Brimmer. Maybe you can introduce me to a nice guy.”

  Leila’s mother took a seat in the empty chair across from the two younger women. “You need to come to church more. We have some nice young men who’ve joined the church.”

  Mya winced. “Those are usually the worst ones,” she exclaimed as she and Leila both burst out into laughter.

  “Honey, hush,” Leila giggled, reaching for another cookie to stuff into her mouth.

  Mrs. Brimmer waved her head from side to side, her gaze resting on one woman and then the other. “What am I going to do with you two?” she said, joining in the laughter. Rising from her seat she leaned to peer into the oven, keeping a close eye on the pan of sweets inside the hot cavity.

  “So, what’s going on with Talisa? Have you talked to her since she called last?” Mrs. Brimmer asked, peering up to look at her daughter.

  Leila nodded. “I have. She called me the other day. She’s having a great time. This doctor seems to have swept her right off her feet.”

  “Why can’t I ever find a doctor?” Mya asked wistfully.

  “You can’t catch quality, Miss Mya, when you’re not acting in a quality fashion,” Mrs. Brimmer professed, meeting Mya’s dark eyes with a stern stare.

  Mya blushed ever so slightly, dropping her gaze to the tabletop in front of her.

  “Have you spoken with Mrs. London?” Leila asked, trying to redirect the conversation. “Is she doing any better?”

  Mrs. Brimmer’s expression changed, the age lines in her brown complexion hardening with intensity. Her attention seemed diverted as she fell into her own thoughts. The two younger women stared curiously, waiting for a response.

  The older woman sighed before she moved to respond, first removing the last tray of cookies from the oven and onto a wire cooling rack. She tossed a dishrag against the countertop before returning to the seat she had left empty just minutes before.

  “Mary’s going through a difficult time. I don’t think she understands what’s happening with Talisa. Talisa needs to talk with her mother more so Mary doesn’t feel so left out. That might help.”

  “Mrs. London just needs to let Talisa go. She is grown,” Mya professed.

  Mrs. Brimmer tossed Mya a scolding glare but didn’t bother to respond to the young woman’s comment.

  “I don’t know if that will help, Mom,” Leila said. “Talisa and her mother are close, but Mrs. London doesn’t like it when Talisa tries to make choices for herself. I think Talisa could talk until she was blue in the face and her mother would still have a problem with Talisa getting involved with a man. Any man.”

  “Maybe this man isn’t right for Talisa. Her mother may know something we all don’t.”

  Leila shrugged, tossing Mya a quick glance before she replied. “I don’t think Mrs. London knows anything more than what we all know, Mom. She knows that Talisa is interested in this man and the man is interested in Talisa. The very idea that Talisa may leave home and find happiness elsewhere is the problem Mrs. London is having.”

  “It’s like I said,” Mya repeated. “Talisa is grown and her mother just needs to let her go.”

  Mrs. Brimmer shook her head. “Yes, she is, Mya. Talisa is an adult, but since she’s living under her parents’ roof, she owes her mother a certain degree of respect.”

  “Does that mean she should give up her own life until she moves out?” Leila asked.

  Her mother waved her head again. “She just needs to be honest about her actions. I think that is all her mother expects.”

  “Talisa is the most honest person I know, Mrs. Brimmer. I don’t think being honest with her mother is her problem. If you ask me, Mrs. London is just crazy.”

  Mrs. Brimmer swatted her palm in Mya’s direction. “Well, girlie, I didn’t ask you and you need to hush that nonsense. Mary may have some issues, but that doesn’t give you any cause to disrespect her like that.”

  “Well, whatever the problem is, I think it’s only going to get worse before it will even begin to get better,” Leila said.

  The matriarch met her daughter’s serious stare, mulling over the young woman’s comment, knowing in her heart that both Leila and Mya were probably right.

  Herman sat perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, his elbows pressed into his thighs and his head resting in the palms of his hands. His day had been long and from the minute he’d entered his home, he’d sensed that the worst of it was yet to come.

  Mary had not moved once from her seat on the padded chair that rested in the corner of the kitchen beneath the wall-hung telephone. For over an hour, the telephone receiver had rested between her ear and her shoulder, the appliance in use every minute except for the few seconds it took for her to disconnect one call and dial another.

  Each of the woman’s conversations had been the same, long-winded dissertation, bemoaning Talisa’s alleged crimes against her and God. Herman had lost count of the number of times Mary had claimed that Talisa was being deceived by Satan and now considered her mother to be the enemy. As he sat listening it had become easy to tell which conversations were going Mary’s way and which were not. It was easy to discern who was giving an ounce of validation to her craziness and who wasn’t.

  As Mary slammed the receiver back onto the hook, it was clear that she was not happy with her friend Nellie. Knowing Nellie Brimmer’s straightforwardness, Herman could only imagine what she’d said to Mary to have made her so angry. As Mary reached to dial another number, he’d witnessed more of her nonsense than he cared to. He couldn’t allow it to go any further. Rising to his feet, he crossed the room to his wife’s side and pulled the receiver from her hand, dropping it back onto the hook.

  “What in the—?”

  “You’ve gone too far with this foolishness, Mary. No more.”

  Anger pierced the room, rising like a new day’s sunrise. “Don’t you dare tell me—”

  The man raised his voice. “I am telling you. This is going to stop and it’s going to stop now. Talisa hasn’t done anything wrong. You have no business carrying on the way you are.”

  The woman’s han
ds fell to her hips, her lips pursed out to give her husband lip. It was the look he gave her that stalled the bitter words, trapping them against her tongue. His glare was hard and angry, and nothing like she had become accustomed to over the years. His left hand was clenched in a tight fist at his side and he shook his right index finger in her face, almost daring her to say or do something he didn’t approve of. Mary took a step back, falling into the chair beneath her. The duo continued to stare each other down until Mary finally dropped her gaze to the floor. Only then did Herman relax the muscles in his body, easing his way slowly out of the room. He stopped in the doorway, turning to stare over his shoulder.

  “We need to fix this, Mary. You need help. I love you with all my heart, Mama, but you need help and we’re going to figure out where we need to go to get it. Now, I need to change my clothes. Then we’re going to go get some dinner. Tomorrow, we’re going back to the doctor for some answers. Until then I don’t want to hear another word about Talisa. Do you understand me?”

  Without waiting for a response, Herman London made his exit, tears filling his eyes as he climbed the flight of steps to his bedroom.

  Chapter 18

  The clinic was exceptionally quiet, one of few evenings where none of their patients had required overnight attendance. The room was dark, just a shimmer of moonlight gleaming into the side windows. Outside, night noises filled the damp air, thunder rolling across the black sky as the last remnants of a rain shower fell from overhead.

  Talisa lay curled against the mattress of a twin bed. Jericho sat at the foot of the bunk, slowly rubbing the tension from her aching feet. Talisa marveled at the relief his large hands were affording her size sevens as he slowly caressed the flesh from her toes, across her arches, over her heels, and up to her ankles. Talisa could hear herself moaning ever so slightly and when she opened her eyes to see if Jericho had noticed, the man’s mouth had raised up into a smile, the seductive gesture sending a wave of wanting surging through her body. Talisa wiggled her toes and laughed softly, pulling her foot from Jericho’s grasp.

  “That tickles,” she whispered, needing to distance herself from the rise of heat as a half truth fell from her mouth.

  Jericho winked, dropping his body against the bed to curl himself around her. “If we could lock the door I’d massage the rest of you,” he whispered back, his warm breath blowing gently against her ear.

  The very thought combined with the sweet kiss of his breath, caused Talisa to shudder with excitement, her teeth biting against her bottom lip as she pressed her knees tightly together. Jericho pressed his face into her neck, his mouth dancing against her flesh. She smelled sweet, like fresh berries in the springtime, he thought. His hands glided like a feather down the length of her body, coming to rest against her abdomen.

  Talisa rolled, carefully turning her body around to face him. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him softly at first, her tongue tasting his top lip and then his bottom. She could feel his heartbeat quickening against her breasts, keeping time with her own. The swelling of his male tissue pressed eagerly against her feminine quadrant. The kiss became more intense as her tongue probed deeper and deeper, brushing ever so gently against the roof of his mouth. The motion was teasing and Jericho could barely contain his own excitement.

  His breathing began to come in gasps and then he remembered where they were. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from hers. Talisa smiled sweetly and he couldn’t help but press one more kiss against her nose, her eyelids and her lips.

  “We should get some sleep,” he said softly, shifting his pelvis away from the touch of her body. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  Talisa heaved a deep sigh, nodding her head in agreement. She leaned her head into his chest and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly, dancing in on the beat of Jericho’s heart.

  Talisa was not at all prepared for the devastation in Gulu. The drive to the government rehabilitation center had started very early in the morning and though Peter had gone to great pains to ready her and Jericho for the experience, she was taken by complete surprise.

  Southern Uganda, Kampala and the Sese Islands had spoiled her. Kampala’s new shopping mall and large self-service food store and supermarket had been no different from home. The city had been relatively safe and not once had she or Jericho ever felt threatened or been made to feel uneasy. Their friendly faces had been met with friendly faces. The friendship they’d offered had been offered in return. Life had been very comfortable.

  As Peter drove through the steel gates that bordered the center and parked his Mitsubishi Pajero, a four-wheel drive jeep, Talisa realized that she had been too comfortable. For the past month it had been as if she’d forgotten that she was in central Africa, residing just miles from a low-intensity war zone. The view outside the car window was a harsh reminder. Jericho sensed the wave of panic that suddenly consumed her, reaching to wrap his arm around her shoulder as they stepped from the vehicle.

  Their arrival was met with curious stares, children and some adults eyeing them cautiously. This particular day was food distribution day and villagers stood in a lengthy line awaiting a handout. Peter explained that though the area was one of Africa’s most fertile regions, farmers were unable to work their lands, fearing retribution from the rebels. Countless survivors had come to depend on food aid from the World Food Program, the only organization that the rebels allowed to work in the area and only because they stole most of the supplies after the food was delivered to its distribution point.

  As Peter left them to inform the center of their arrival, Jericho and Talisa went to offer their assistance. A young, blond man with a deep British accent greeted them warmly, stepping out of an armored car to hand them both a bulletproof vest. Talisa’s eyes widened with discomfort as the man helped her strap the protective garment around her chest.

  “Is it always like this?” Talisa asked, gesturing with her head toward the food convoys and their military escorts. Almost fifty soldiers in trucks, multiple armored cars and an automatic cannon mounted on a platform truck sat in a clean line, one behind the other.

  The young man nodded. “We need as much protection as we can get. Some days are better than others.”

  Joining in, Talisa and Jericho immediately went to work, helping to move cartons from the back of the truck to the front. The crowd was growing anxious, impatience filtering through malnourished bodies and it was as if the level of nervous energy swelled thickly in the humid air. Talisa smiled warmly as she passed powdered milk and bags of rice to outstretched hands, mothers and fathers nodding their heads in gratitude.

  Minutes later, Peter gestured for their attention, calling them toward the makeshift hospital. As the duo sauntered in his direction, Talisa noticed a group of children gathered at a communal water pump. They had looked no different from children anywhere else until she noted that many of the young girls were pregnant, bellies in varying stages of new growth, and that most of the boys were nursing wounds, battle-hardened expressions tainting the youthfulness of their faces.

  “They’re just babies,” Talisa heard herself say, the words falling out of her mouth before she could catch them.

  Peter squeezed her shoulder. “They are only children in age. They have endured far too much to ever be children again,” he said, the sadness of the truth haunting his words. “If they find their way here they are lucky. The rebels stole many of them from their beds, killed their families, and then made them fight. Taught them how to kill. Many of the girls will live the rest of their lives with the reminders of their kidnappers, raising the children of men who took away their innocence.” Peter waved his hands in the air. “This is the tragedy of my homeland.”

  “How long do they stay here?” Jericho asked.

  Peter shrugged. “A few months, maybe. Here they have someplace to sleep, food and medical care. But sooner or later they leave again. Sometimes they can go home to family and sometimes their families reject them for what they’ve been made to
do. Most have no family to go back to. They will tell you their stories,” Peter said, his gaze meeting Talisa’s. “But some of their stories will not be easy for you to hear.” Peter’s voice quivered as his composure was threatened by his own tears.

  Jericho patted his friend on the back as the trio stepped inside the small concrete building. The makeshift hospital was filled to capacity, injured bodies filling every conceivable cot. Jericho instantly stepped into doctor mode, reaching for his black bag and the medical supplies they had lugged with them from Kampala. For the next six hours they moved from one injury to another, helping to treat patient after patient, many of them barely past the age of eleven.

  During their third hour, a young boy named Moses began following Jericho from one point to another. Talisa smiled as the youngster chatted nonstop, words flowing a mile a minute from his mouth. His questions were endless, one long list of how comes, and what fors. The medical personnel who staffed the facility had grown weary of shooing the boy off and eventually had left it up to Jericho to decide what to do with him.

  “I will be a doctor some day,” Moses said, his thin chest pushing out proudly. “I will study medicine and make people well.”

  “That’s very good,” Jericho replied, stopping to take a seat in an old wooden chair as Moses stepped between his legs, taking a seat on Jericho’s lap.

  “Where is your family?” Jericho asked.

  Moses shrugged his narrow shoulders. “My father is dead. I don’t know where my mother is. I have a sister. Her name is Susie. Me and Susie live here. We don’t want them to get us again. They did bad things.”