In the Light of Love

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Jericho nodded slowly, lifting his eyes to give Talisa a quick gaze. His hand reached for the boy’s leg, lifting it straight out in front of him. “Did they do that?” he asked, pointing to a large bandage wrapped around the child’s calf.

  Moses waved his head up and down. “Me and Susie run from the bad man when he not looking. He shoot his gun and hit me in the leg. I didn’t cry,” the child exclaimed, puffing his chest our farther. “My sister got beat in her head. She don’t remember things good no more.”

  Jericho inhaled, filling his lungs with air. “Well, I think we need to change that bandage. Is it okay for me to look at it, Doc?”

  Moses grinned. “I’m strong. It won’t hurt me.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Jericho smiled as he reached for the sterile gauze and antiseptic that Talisa was passing to him.

  Talisa spent the rest of the afternoon helping where she could. Whenever she had a quick moment she would stop to carry on a conversation with some of the young women, their new friend Moses translating when necessary. His sister Susie had barely talked at all, smiling shyly as Talisa asked questions that the girl sometimes answered and sometimes didn’t. She had understood Talisa’s prayers though, bowing her head and holding tight to Talisa’s hand as the woman had asked the good Lord to shower his blessings down upon them.

  As the sun prepared to settle down for the evening, dropping low into the horizon, there was a sudden rush of noise through the front gates. Stepping back outside, Peter, Talisa and Jericho stood watching as a stream of children marched into the compound. Hundreds of them seemed to appear out of nowhere, some having walked miles from their villages to seek shelter for the night. Both Talisa and Jericho watched in awe as they made their way to the safe haven of the small community. Seeking out a space on the floor of the hospital and the outside grounds to sleep, they made beds from the sacks and thin blankets they had carried in with them.

  “They are our night commuters,” Peter said, his voice low. “There is safety here. They will sleep tonight and go home in the morning.”

  “Do they do this every night?” Jericho asked, his own voice barely a loud whisper.

  Peter stood silent for a brief moment before responding. He nodded, his words coated with anguish. “More nights than they should have to,” he said, turning back around to go inside.

  For the entire week, Moses trailed Jericho’s every step. The child had even bonded with Talisa, coming to hold her hand or wrap his arms around her waist as she hugged him back. In the evenings, Talisa read to him and his sister from her Bible and an assortment of well-worn children’s books that were scattered around the center. Nine-year-old Susie was harder to reach. The little girl was quiet and withdrawn, prone to panic attacks, and both children suffered from fitful sleep and nightmares. It was the rare moment when Moses was able to make his baby sister smile, a glimmer of joy shining from her large black eyes. Too often Susie would only stare out into space, her mind blank to keep from remembering her pain-filled experiences.

  It was on their eighth day there that Susie sought Talisa out, shadowing the woman’s moves as Talisa made her rounds through the center. As Talisa helped to prepare lunch, Susie stood at her elbow overly anxious to lend a helping hand. Talisa smiled down at the young child, reaching to wrap her arms around the little girl’s shoulders. Talisa was surprised when the tiniest of voices spoke to her.

  “Can I…home…with you?” Susie asked, her broken English a soft whisper. She stared down to the ground, her bare feet sifting the dirt between her toes. “I promise be good girl,” Susie implored, glancing up for a brief second to meet Talisa’s gaze.

  Talisa had to fight back her own tears as she laid the spoon she was using against the table. Dropping to her knees she pulled the little girl to her and hugged her tightly. The frail creature was barely skin and bones in Talisa’s arms, her petite frame feeling as if it would break beneath the slightest pressure. Talisa kissed the child’s cheek and said nothing, unable to find the right words to explain to the child her inability to fulfill the little girl’s request.

  Hours later, Talisa and Jericho lay side by side. Talisa could barely sleep, too tired from the emotional stress to allow her body to relax in comfort. Jericho was feeling it also, the strength of his palm gently massaging her shoulder. Neither said anything, no words necessary to explain the flood of emotions washing over them. Talisa had broken down when she had relayed her conversation with Susie, and as Jericho had shared her feelings of despair and hopelessness, he had cried with her, the duo holding tight to each other for support.

  As Talisa floated in and out of slumber she found herself questioning the choices she had made for herself, wondering if she would ever find the answers to calm the unrest washing over her. She rationalized that she was only one person and could only do but so much, and it ripped her spirit to be unable to do more. As she rolled over to her side she realized that Jericho was no longer lying beside her, having risen from his resting spot during one of her moments of rest. She lifted herself up, her eyes searching the dark room to see where he might have gone.

  The darkness was suddenly breached by a flash of light bursting through the door of the hospital. Within a short span of time, the quiet outside was disturbed by the sounds of gunfire and children screaming. Talisa jumped from her sleeping bag, rushing outside to see what was going on. Peter stood in the center of the compound, shouting in one of the Nilotic languages. As Talisa struggled to focus her eyes on where Peter stood staring, Jericho rushed out from somewhere behind her, sprinting across the compound toward the front gates which stood wide open. Talisa’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, following the stream of the flashlight, as she recognized Moses’s slight frame racing into the night. As Jericho and the child disappeared into the dark, someone else slammed the gates closed behind them. Over the commotion of another burst of gunplay and the children’s screams and cries, no one heard Talisa calling out for Jericho to come back to her.

  Chapter 19

  Joss Stone was playing in the CD player, The Soul Sessions CD spinning continuously. Elijah Becton lounged on a teak recliner that sat beneath the window of the screened sunporch. The temperature was rising outside, heat and humidity battling for control. He reached for a cotton towel that lay across his lap, swiping at the rise of moisture that dampened his forehead and gray hair. Irene stood in the doorway, eyeing her husband with amusement. Her head bobbed in time with the music.

  “Why don’t you come inside, Elijah? The air-conditioning is on and it’s much cooler.”

  “I like the heat,” the man replied, giving her a broad grin. “Why don’t you come out here and get hot with me?” he said with a perverse laugh.

  Irene laughed with him, shaking her index finger in his direction. “Don’t be fresh.” She glanced down to the watch on her wrist. “We’re having lunch with the Houstons. I thought we’d dine at the club. What do you think?”

  The man shrugged. “There are a dozen other things I’d prefer to do with my Saturday afternoon. Personally, I’d rather skip lunch and go right to the desserts,” the man said, his voice dropping low and deep. “Why are you standing over there?”

  “Because you’re being fresh and we don’t have time for that. We’ll never make it on time if you don’t go upstairs to dress.”

  The man squinted his eyes, feigning a look of annoyance. “You’re not fair,” he said, pouting.

  Irene laughed again. “You remind me of our baby boy with that look on your face. Now go get ready, Elijah. We can play later.”

  “We can play now and we can play later. What do you say? I’m game if you are!”

  Before Irene could respond, the telephone rang, the chime resounding through the air. Elijah moved his mouth as if to cuss and Irene’s eye widened in reprimand, pointing at the telephone that sat on the glass tabletop beside him. “Answer the phone, Elijah.”

  The man sighed loudly, clearly unamused as he reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

/>   Irene, who had turned to exit the room, spun back around as she caught the beginning of her husband’s conversation. She moved closer, stepping into the space toward him.

  “Peter, hello! I didn’t recognize your voice. How are things in Uganda?”

  There was a quick pause. “What do you mean—? How could this—? Do we know—?” Elijah’s ruddy face had lost all its color as he sat upright in his seat. He met his wife’s gaze, visibly agitated. His expression was painted with fear, and as Irene stood staring at him, the rank emotion seeped like morning mist into her spirit.

  Elijah ended the conversation. “I understand. We’ll be there on the first flight we can get out. I’ll call you back as soon as I know our plans.”

  As he dropped the receiver back onto its hook, tears leaked from his eyes. He struggled to hold his wife’s gaze, his words catching in the back of his throat.

  “Where’s my son?” Irene asked, panic ringing in her voice. “What has happened to Jericho?”

  Elijah brushed at the moisture against his cheek with the back of his hand. “Jericho’s missing. They think he’s been abducted by the rebels.” Elijah rose to his feet, reaching to pull the woman into his arms.

  “Go pack,” he said finally, releasing the tight hold he’d had on her. “I’ll call the airport and arrange for a flight. Make sure you grab our passports. Peter will get us visa clearance through the U.S. Consulate. We can run by the hospital for yellow fever vaccines. I’ll give us the injections if I have to.”

  Irene nodded, racing from the room. Elijah stood with his eyes closed, holding onto the wisp of breath he’d just inhaled, fighting to maintain a semblance of calm. “Lord, help us,” he whispered into the air as he reached for the phone and began to dial.

  Talisa was beside herself, pacing the floor from one end of the room to the other. She struggled not to cry, wanting to scream out in rage.

  “I don’t understand this, Peter,” she said. “Where can he be? Why isn’t someone out looking for him?”

  “They are looking for him, Talisa. You need to stay calm.”

  “Stay calm? How can I stay calm? It’s been two days now.” Her voice had risen in anguish. She clutched at her chest, pulling the button-front shirt tight against her throat. “How could this have happened, Peter?” she said finally, her gaze meeting his. “How?”

  Peter sucked in air, breathing heavily as he struggled for the umpteenth time to understand the few details they had any knowledge of, repeating them over as if it were the first time. “The child went racing after his sister. For some reason she’d wandered past the gates and he heard her screaming. Apparently the rebels had grabbed her. We didn’t know they were that close to the compound. Jericho saw Moses running and just took off after him. There was no way we could have stopped him, Talisa. They were all gone before we realized what was going on.”

  “This can’t be happening,” Talisa muttered, dropping her head into her hands and pulling at her hair. “Why is this happening, Lord?” she cried, her gaze lifted skyward.

  Peter wrapped her in a comforting hug. “We have to be strong, Talisa. For Jericho, we have to be strong.”

  She nodded her head. “Have you called his parents?”

  “I did.”

  “What about my students? Things are still safe at the orphanage?”

  “Everyone is well and they send their prayers. Clarissa said for you not to worry about them. They are keeping busy with the children.”

  Talisa blew a sigh of relief, grateful for one less thing she would have to worry about. Her eyes misted with water, unable to still the fall of saline that pressed heavy against her lashes. As her tears finally fell in swells, Talisa didn’t know how to make anyone understand how unbearable her hurt was. She was beset with visions of Jericho in pain, injured, in distress, alone, and her not being there to help him. The past two nights she had been unable to sleep for want of him, desperate for his warmth and protection. For the past few hours she’d tried to focus on his patients, to help where an extra hand was needed, but every time she stopped, he was there in her mind’s eye, haunting her. It was unbearable. Their being together, their delight in each other was still so new and so intense that not being together was like a physical pain she could not explain.

  Talisa stood frozen at the center’s gate, staring out toward the distance. Her mouth was dry, her eyes clouded from crying. Fear coursed through her veins, rushing in toxic waves over her spirit. She was afraid Jericho would never be found. She panicked that he might not ever return. And she feared how he might come back to her. It was those all-consuming seeds of doubt that were trying to steal her spirit.

  Chapter 20

  Jericho had walked for hours. His bare feet were blistered raw but he knew there would be no rest anytime soon. They had traveled mostly at night, hiding and sleeping in the brush during daylight. The dirt path they followed was a long stretch of land occupied by a wealth of thorny bushes and thick trees.

  As his captors pushed him along, Jericho understood that Moses was the only reason he was still alive. The child’s fast talking was the sole reason he had not been left for dead days ago. The insurgents were in need of a doctor and Moses had made them understand that Jericho could serve them well, but only if he was unharmed. The leader of the group, a young man who barely looked twenty had eyed the two of them with much apprehension but had eventually relented. Moses had not asked once about his sister and Jericho sensed that for him to do so would only make things far more difficult for the little girl wherever it was she was being held.

  As Jericho struggled to stay standing on his weary legs, Moses reached for his hand. Despite the hardened lines that painted the young boy’s face, the small hand beneath Jericho’s was shaking ever so slightly. Neither of them spoke, fearful that they might be heard by one of the young men following close beside them. Not far ahead of them, rows of tents and cone-shaped huts painted the hillside. As they approached an abandoned village that was being used as a rebel camp, Jericho was grateful. His body was exhausted and even a few minutes of rest would serve him well.

  Someone slammed him in the shoulder with the butt of a rifle and he fell hard to the ground, unable to catch his balance. The soldiers all laughed, amused by his predicament. A heavy boot slammed into his ribs and excruciating pain rippled through his body, the blow slamming every ounce of air from his lungs. As he struggled to pull himself upright, gasping for oxygen, Moses was pleading to their captors to leave him be. The boy stood protectively, placing his own small body between Jericho and his attackers. The gesture earned the child a harsh slap across his face, but Moses stood firm, refusing to be bullied as he professed their need for a doctor.

  The leader, a teenager whose name was Onen, was duly impressed with the boy’s bravery, thinking that if properly trained he would be of great use to them. Moses had the demeanor of a warrior and once they were in control of his mind he would serve them well. Onen uttered orders that the rest quickly followed, the group turning to amuse themselves elsewhere.

  Onen watched as Jericho came to his feet, fighting his own hurt to lift himself up on his legs. As Jericho stood upright, his hands bound tightly in front of him, the young man stood in front of him, both of them staring at each other intently. Onen sneered, then lifted his filthy T-shirt for Jericho to examine his torso. He pounded a fist against his chest, pointing to a red rash that was crawling from his belly button up to his shoulder and down his back. Jericho instantly recognized the parasitic infection, common in those who lived in areas with no clean water and inadequate hygiene facilities.

  “Tell him I need fresh water, clean rags or bandages, and an antiseptic,” Jericho said to Moses who quickly translated for him.

  The man suddenly became agitated, yelling loudly before lifting a clenched fist to strike Moses down. Jericho moved quickly, stepping between the man and the boy. He spoke quickly, his words rushing past his chapped lips. “Tell him I can use leaves from that banana tree over there, but I
have to have clean water. We can boil whatever he has and I’ll figure out the rest.”

  Onen stood with his hand still raised to strike, dropping it slowly to his side as Moses translated for a second time. His gaze darted from the doctor to the boy and back again, then he nodded his head, turning an about-face toward one of the empty huts. Jericho breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Do you know where we are, Moses?”

  The boy nodded. “Close to Sudan.”

  “Do you know a way for us to get help?”

  Moses shook his head. “We will try to run the first chance we get. Susie will let them know where we are headed.”

  “Susie? You know where Susie is?”

  “That boy over there beat her,” Moses said, pointing to a thin child who was probably only eleven or twelve years old himself. “When he stop I tell her to pretend to be dead. She do and they leave her body there. I tell her to walk back for help. Susie will tell them to come,” Moses whispered. Jericho sensed the child was trying to convince himself as much as he wanted to assure Jericho that things would soon be well for them.

  An hour later, Onen returned with supplies and two metal plates of food. After Jericho cleaned his rash, coating the bruised area with the sap from the banana leaves, he and Moses were allowed to eat. The meal was sparse, boiled sorghum and weeds, and slices of overripe mango. The first meal since their capture, Jericho and Moses both ate until their plates were empty, their bellies barely feeling full when they were done.

  The evening air had grown cooler, the threat of rain billowing dampness overhead. Jericho settled himself against the hard earth, curling himself around Moses to afford the child some warmth. His eyes were heavy, exhaustion trying to consume him. Every so often one of the young girls in the group would scream out, something or someone doing them harm. Only the tight ropes that bound his feet and hands kept Jericho from leaping to their rescue.