by Irene Brand
Floyd took Vicky and Erica to the marketplace where they bought some fruit, bread and other products they hadn’t brought from the States. When Vicky commented on the crowded market, the missionary explained, “Residents of Haiti live from day to day. They don’t have the privilege of going to one store where they can lay in supplies for a week.”
Vicky was restless most of the night, irritated because she couldn’t sleep. Not wanting to disturb Erica, she wrapped in a robe and stepped out on the balcony.
She couldn’t put her finger on the cause of her restlessness. She was excited, and somewhat edgy, about their missionary project, but it was more than that. She sensed a difference in Chad. Was she imagining things or was he treating her more tenderly than he had? And she was hard put to understand some of the glances she intercepted when she caught him looking at her. Was he, too, starting to think that their relationship had developed into more than friendship, or was that just wishful thinking on her part?
Sometimes it was more than Vicky could bear. Hadn’t she learned anything from her former experiences? But what could she do about it? She had been so confident that she would never love again. Was it love this time? None of the emotions she had felt about Damon came near to the overpowering love she had for Chad. She was ashamed to realize that her attraction for Damon was primarily physical, perhaps a natural reaction when her heart was already wounded. She was attracted to Chad physically, but it was much more encompassing—it was her life.
Sizing up the twenty-passenger bus waiting at the entrance to the hotel the next morning to take them to the village, Keith Cross said to Chad, “Must be at least fifteen years old.”
“But it’s probably the best available,” Chad answered. “I’m a little surprised, though, for the sightseeing bus was modern.”
“Putting their best foot forward for tourists,” Keith answered. “I just hope this one holds up until we get to our destination.”
The driver came to load their luggage on top of the bus, and everyone picked up their boxes and bags and handed them up to him. He tied ropes around the luggage and put the overflow on the rear seats of the bus.
With a skeptical look at the loaded bus, Vicky said, “Let’s hope we don’t lose a lot of it.”
Chad followed her up the steps of the bus and ducked for the low door, but he didn’t duck low enough.
“Ouch!”
Vicky turned. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Not much, but if the rest of the bus is as solid as this doorway, we’ve got a good vehicle. It’s a good thing I had on my OSU cap over a thick head of hair.”
The missionary followed the bus in his station wagon and Smith and Liz Baxter rode with him. The seats were narrow so each of the passengers took a seat by themselves. Vicky sat right behind the driver and Chad chose the seat behind her.
After the business district of Port-au-Prince was behind them, Chad thought they were now seeing the real Haiti, not what tourists to the seaports were shown. Homes and businesses alike were in deplorable condition—worse than any slum area Chad had ever seen in the United States. Farmers worked their small acreages with mules or dilapidated tractors. Skinny, large-eyed children played around small ramshackle huts.
Chad reasoned that if God wanted him to find an outlet for his philanthropic projects, he had come to the right place. From the looks of things he could spend his entire fortune in Haiti and not make a dent in the poverty. About all he could do during this trip was to assess the needs and go from there. Without going through the proper channels anything he sent to Haiti could be confiscated by corrupt officials and the people still wouldn’t be helped. He had to move slowly.
A few miles from Port-au-Prince the pavement ended, and the road that had once been covered with gravel was full of potholes, so numerous that the bus couldn’t miss all of them. The driver’s efforts to find smooth driving resulted in the bus swaying back and forth continually. Vicky grabbed the metal rail that separated her from the driver’s seat and cast an amused glance over her shoulder.
The bus was top-heavy with all of their supplies and luggage. Chad rolled his eyes toward the roof of the bus.
“We’d better pray that those ropes hold or our things will be scattered.”
“We’ll have to go hungry if that happens. But the people who find the food might benefit.”
“They might if they can read English and know how to prepare the food. According to Floyd, not many of these people can speak English.”
Chad was convinced that this mission tour would teach him lessons he would never forget.
Chapter Sixteen
Floyd had told them earlier that Peti Ville had about two hundred inhabitants, plus the thirty children who lived in the orphanage. When the bus ground to a halt beside the hurricane-ravaged church, Vicky decided that the entire population must have been on hand to welcome them.
Children with outstretched hands crowded around the Americans as they stepped off the bus. Vicky could hardly restrain from emptying her pockets into those needy hands. Floyd had warned them, however, that they couldn’t give to everyone. If they contributed to the community as a whole, they would reach more people than if they gave to the more aggressive individuals.
The pastor of the church, Pierre, a young man of slender stature greeted them in broken English and welcomed them to his village. He pointed with pride to the tents prepared for the visitors. The doors of the tents stood open revealing narrow cots and Vicky wondered what sleeping on one of them would do to Chad’s injury.
She noticed that there were two tents—one for the men, one for the women. Since there were only four women, they would be less crowded than the ten men.
Erica deposited her bags in the tent that Floyd indicated. “The first thing I want to see is where we’ll be cooking,” she muttered to Floyd.
He spoke to the pastor in Creole. Bowing, with his mouth parted in a broad smile that showed his white teeth, Pierre pointed toward a crude building beside the damaged church.
“La!”
Vicky and Erica walked beside Floyd and the pastor to the building. Pierre motioned them to enter. Erica stopped abruptly on the threshold and threw a startled glance toward Vicky, who crowded around her and went inside the small room. The pastor pulled a string to turn on the light—a single, low-wattage bulb hanging from the low ceiling.
Vicky’s head was only a couple of inches from the ceiling, and most of the male volunteers were taller than she was. “I don’t believe we’ll get any help from the guys in this kitchen,” she said wryly.
Erica, still speechless, stepped into the room. Vicky assessed the equipment on which they had to provide three meals a day for fourteen people and any Haitians who invited themselves to dinner.
A sink with a cold water faucet stood in one corner. The ancient electric stove had four burners with an oven beneath the burners. A table stood to one side and several cabinets were built along one wall. One thing in the kitchen’s favor—the room was spotlessly clean. The pastor, still smiling, watched Vicky and Erica expectantly.
Vicky forced a smile and nodded her head. They had provided the best they had—probably better equipment than anyone else in the village owned. She said to Floyd, “Tell him it is very nice and thank him for it.”
Floyd spoke rapidly in Creole. Pierre bowed and his smile widened.
Finally coming out of her shock, Erica said, “Ask him how long the electricity is on each day. I understand many small towns don’t have power all of the time.”
“I can answer that,” Floyd said. “The power plant is privately owned and the power is off from eleven o’clock until six the next morning. I hope you brought flashlights and plenty of bulbs.”
“That was on our list of necessities,” Erica said pertly. “But we can’t cook with flashlights.”
“You’ll be surprised to learn what you can do when necessary,” Floyd said, and he smiled, evidently amused at their discomfiture and shock. “I’ve hosted several work
groups in Haiti and some of the volunteers’ methods are ingenious.”
Vicky looked at her watch. “It’s an hour until lunch-time. Any suggestions for food?”
Erica seemed to have recovered from her initial shock and she answered confidently, “We can manage. Let’s mix up a container of orange juice, open some jars of cheese spread and a box of crackers. We can serve the bananas we bought in Port-au-Prince last night with cookies. That will have to do.”
“Sounds like a banquet to me,” Floyd said.
“We’ll have something hot for supper,” Erica promised.
Chad stuck his head in the doorway. “Where do you want us to store these cartons?”
“There’s a built-in wall cabinet that will hold quite a few items. But you’ll bump your head if you come inside,” Vicky said. “You men can bring the supplies to the door and we’ll find a place for them.”
A dozen or so children followed the Americans back and forth as they unloaded their possessions and stored them in the tents and the cookhouse.
“I put your bags in the tent,” Chad told Vicky when he brought a box of food. “Floyd doesn’t believe the natives will steal anything, but they are very curious. Be sure you lock up any valuables.”
“I have my traveler’s checks, money and passport in a security belt around my waist,” Vicky said. “I didn’t bring anything else of value.”
“I didn’t, either,” Erica said. “Chad, look in here and see what we have to work with.”
He ducked his head and came inside, careful not to stand upright.
“Keith and his brother are already making two long trestle tables and some benches for us to sit on when we have our meals. So they can no doubt build some temporary tables for you. And the electrician might be able to hook up a hot plate for extra cooking if there’s one available.”
“We labeled all of the boxes,” Vicky said, “so if you haven’t already, bring the cartons with cheese spread and crackers and the disposable plates and cups. When are you starting on the building?”
“This afternoon. Floyd and the Cross brothers are talking with the pastor now to find out what kind of building they need.”
“We’ll have lunch ready soon and will also fix something for an afternoon snack. We’ll be better organized tomorrow.”
When Floyd came to see how Erica and Vicky were getting along, he said, “You’re welcome to use my station wagon any time you want to go to the market.”
“I don’t welcome many trips to Port-au-Prince over that rough road,” Erica said.
“You don’t have to go to Port-au-Prince. Saint-Marc is a seaport town, much closer, and the road is better. It’s a good place to shop.”
Erica and Vicky agreed that they could manage for the rest of the day, but would plan a shopping trip the next morning.
When twenty-five native children and adults stood watching when Vicky and Erica carried the food to the table, Floyd invited them to sit with the Americans.
“We must feed them, too,” he said. “These people are curious more than hungry because the church leaders look after them, but we can’t ignore them.”
“I know,” Vicky said. “We prepared extra food. I couldn’t eat if they didn’t have anything.”
After lunch was over, the Baxters drew the children aside and sat down with them to keep them out of the adults’ way. Smith held up pictures while Liz read to them in English, and as Vicky passed by, she noticed that the children had learned a few English words.
“Let’s make some brownies to see how the oven works,” Erica suggested. “I’d rather experiment on cookies than an expensive dish of some kind.”
It took the brownies twice as long to bake as the recipe on the box suggested but they were ready when the work crew needed a break. Erica had also heated a kettle of water on the stove and made instant coffee. If the food wasn’t of the quality they were accustomed to, no one complained. Vicky suspected that by the time the project was finished there would be many complaints, but everyone was in a positive mood now about their mission tour. A quick camaraderie had formed between Chad and Pierre, and the pastor sat beside him as they ate. Vicky was amused when she heard Chad’s feeble efforts to converse with Pierre in Creole.
By the time they sat down to their evening meal of tuna and noodle casserole, canned fruit and the rest of the brownies, Vicky realized that she had only been off her feet during the half hour they had eaten lunch. The natives had gone to their homes for the night because the Americans ate alone. Everyone gave a hand in cleaning the table and washing the plastic dishes they’d brought.
“You’ll probably want to go to bed early tonight,” Floyd said, “so let’s have a short devotional period and then we can be on our own until morning. I’ll read only one verse of Scripture which defines our purpose in being here. You will find this in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, verse forty.
The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’
“Your willingness to accept this command of our Lord has already blessed me. You’ve mastered the first hurdle—coming face-to-face with the terrific need of these people and your acceptance of the uncomfortable living conditions. I pray that your stamina and faith will sustain you through our days together. Let’s bow in a moment of silent prayer as each of us shares the desires of our hearts with God.”
In the distance Vicky could hear waves lapping against the shore. A gentle breeze sighed over their heads. Darkness was fast approaching.
God, you know my heart and that I want to serve You in some special way. Direct my thoughts and decisions. Amen.
When Floyd finished, Chad asked him, “Is there any reason we can’t go to the beach?”
“It’s safe enough, if that’s what you mean. It’s a nice little beach and only a short walk, but there won’t be any lights so take one with you.”
Vicky and Erica were discussing the breakfast menu when Chad joined them.
“I’m walking down to the beach. Do either of you want to go along?”
“Not me,” Erica said. “I intend to go to bed as soon as possible.”
“I’ll go, but not for long,” Vicky said.
They took the path Floyd had indicated. After a short walk, they climbed a sand dune and the sea lay before them. In the semidarkness the water seemed murky but the tide was coming in and white waves slapped the surface of the water in rhythmic motion.
Vicky breathed deeply. “Peaceful, isn’t it? I needed a refresher. I didn’t realize when God called me to take this mission trip that I’d start out as a cook. We’ve had a hard afternoon.”
They sat on the warm sand of the dune. Chad’s strong left arm circled her waist. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, Vicky leaned against him. She drew strength from the power of his well-muscled body.
“There isn’t any place on earth I’d rather be than here with you ready to begin the adventure of our lives. My anticipation of what’s ahead for me, for us,” he amended, “is more intense than when I was drafted for the NFL. It’s strange how our priorities can shift in such a short time.”
“I feel the same way, as if we’ve been anointed for this work.” She laughed lightly. “I’m not sure I felt that way when Erica and I finally finished cooking for the day.”
“The meals have been good, though.”
“Anything tastes good when you’re hungry,” she said jokingly.
Chad’s arm tightened and she snuggled closer, ignoring her conscience that kept trying to convince her she was making a mistake. Remember your mother said that you don’t have any common sense about men. Remember what it felt like when Damon, who seemed the answer to all you wanted in a man, walked off and left you. Remember your vow to never get close to another man.
Vicky tried to recall all of those things, but as usual, her heart and her mind were in conflict. Paul the apostle said, “When I want to do good, evil is right there with me.” But was there anything
bad about her feelings for Chad? No! Her thoughts about any relationship with him were genuine. She didn’t suppose he would ever feel about her as she did about him, but at least, in spite of her mother’s accusation and her youthful emotions, she had a pure body to offer any man she chose to marry.
Although wanting to prolong this moment with Vicky obviously content in his arms, the waves were coming closer while the wind splayed moisture around them. Chad knew they both needed to rest.
He squeezed her waist and stood, lifting her upward with him. Darkness had surrounded them, and he couldn’t see her expression. Before he released her, he murmured, “Is it all right if I kiss you?”
Her nerves tensed immediately and Chad feared he had made the wrong move. But she didn’t pull away and slowly her body relaxed.
“Yes. I want you to kiss me,” she said in a semi-audible voice.
His arms encircled her and she felt his uneven breathing on her cheek as he groped in the darkness for her lips. Turning toward him, she gave herself freely to his gentle kiss as soft as a whisper, drinking in the sweetness of his caress.
Chad had never given any girl more than a casual kiss, and the warmth of Vicky’s lips sent spirals of delight through his veins. But he didn’t want to push Vicky too far. He lifted his head and kissed the tip of her nose and released her.
Arms encircling each other’s waist, in silence they returned to their campsite. Chad held a flashlight in his left hand to illuminate their way. Love had come to him at last! But he had to restrain his feelings until he knew how Vicky felt about him. Platonic friendship with Vicky now seemed as dull as a cold baked potato.
Both of the tents were still lighted and lively talk indicated that the volunteers hadn’t yet gone to bed.
“Good night,” Vicky said as they separated to go to their respective tents. She hoped her face didn’t mirror the bubbling joy in her heart.
