"It's dandelion leaves. It's supposed to act as a diuretic. It might help."
He wrinkled his nose, but allowed her to put the leafy clump in his mouth. He chewed slowly.
Betty and Valerie fussed over Pastor Phil until he seemed to be breathing a little easier.
"Let's go have some tea," Valerie whispered.
Betty gave a worried glance at her husband, but she smoothed the sheets and followed Valerie into the small kitchen.
"Max thinks Pastor Phil needs to be on oxygen, Betty. In a hospital. I want to talk to you about something. I have some money in a savings account back home. It's not a lot, but I think it's enough to fly Pastor Phil back to the States and have some tests done."
Betty started shaking her head, but Valerie ignored her. "When Max calls," she continued, "I'm going to ask him to make the arrangements. I know there are people who would help work this out and--"
"No," Betty said, still wagging adamantly.
Valerie opened her mouth to protest, but Betty's harsh "No!" left her mute.
Betty held up a hand in tacit apology. "Valerie, you are sweet to make such an offer, but it's not possible. Please, do not mention this in front of Phil. It will only upset him. He won't go."
"But, Betty, he has to go. It might be his only chance. Why are you both being so stubborn about this?"
"Valerie." She heaved a sigh and her shoulders slumped. When she looked up, her eyes glistened. "It's not a matter of being stubborn. Phil can't go back to the United States because...because he faces the threat of a court-martial if he does." The words tumbled out as though they'd been pushed.
Valerie looked at her askance. "What?"
She shook her head. "It's true."
"But why? I don't understand."
A faraway look came to Betty Greene's eyes. "Phil's parents came to Haiti as missionaries in the thirties--after the American occupation ended," she started, then hesitated.
Valerie sensed that what she was about to say had been locked within her heart for a long time.
"They founded an orphanage in Port-au-Prince, and once it was established, they moved here to Brizjanti and opened Hope House. Phil was sixteen when they came. He spent several years working with them. But then the war came. He still felt strong loyalties to the United States, but he was torn--wanting to serve his homeland, but feeling loyalty to his parents, as well. And, too, I think he was beginning to feel God calling him to continue the work in Haiti."
Valerie listened, watching Betty carefully. The love for her husband shone through her eyes, through her expressive hands, as she unfolded his story for Valerie.
"Phil enlisted and was sent to England. He was there when he learned that his father had been in a freak accident while they were building the church."
"Our church?" Valerie hooked her thumb in the direction of the Brizjanti Christian Church where everyone from the orphanages attended en masse each Sunday.
Betty nodded. "The northern wall collapsed--where the baptistery is now--and Pop Greene was crushed. It was the rainy season. The ground was mud. You see what it's like." She gestured toward the window where rain still dripped from the eaves and slid down the glass.
Valerie nodded.
"Pop lived only a few days. He was gone by the time word got to Phil. I never knew him."
Again the older woman's eyes took on a vacant cast, staring into the past. "Phil knew that his mother could not run the orphanage alone. Priscilla was not a strong woman. She had almost imprisoned herself inside the orphanage, never really learning the language even. And a woman alone in those days was different. Phil feared for her life. And he carried deep guilt for having left her there--even though he couldn't have known what would happen."
She moved to the stove. "Let's make tea."
Silently they worked together, wiping cups and unwrapping the tea bags. They took their cups to the table and Betty continued her story--Phil's story.
"Phil tried to get permission to leave the army and go back to help his mother. When they didn't budge, he tried to find someone to go to Haiti and help her return to the States. But travel was much more difficult then, and Haiti was no more stable then than it is today. He met dead ends everywhere he turned. He became desperate. He felt...he felt that it was a worse sin for him to desert his family, his mother--and all the children at the orphanage she was responsible for--than it was to leave the army."
Through Betty's anguished voice, Valerie could hear some of the torment Philip Greene must have felt all those years ago. She was afraid of where the story was going, yet already she felt compassion for the young man Phil had been.
Betty set her teacup down and twisted her hands against each other in her lap. "Phil met a man in England who offered him passage on a ship leaving for Venezuela. From there he could find a banana boat to the West Indies. It seemed the only way." Betty sighed softly. "My husband--of course I did not yet know my Philip--but by the time he had thought through his rash decision, he was in the middle of Atlantic waters and it was too late to undo what he'd done. He was a deserter." The story poured out, as though she was relieved to tell it after all these years.
A spark of defiance came to her eyes. "He did what he thought was right at the time. Maybe if he'd sought counsel, there would have been another way. It was the desperate decision of a young man with a good heart. It took him almost three months to get back to Haiti. He was a broken man by that time. He promised God that he would serve Him here, at Hope House the rest of his days. And he has." Betty's voice broke.
Valerie set her own tea aside and put a hand over the frail, thin hands. "Oh, Betty...I didn't know."
Betty grasped her fingers. "Of course not. You couldn't have known. But it is a label Phil wears to this day, Valerie. Deserter. There is no statute of limitations on his crime. If Philip were to set foot on American soil, he could be arrested and jailed."
"But...your children? Some of them live in the United States, don't they?"
Betty smiled softly. "Our children come here to see us...when they can. It is not often enough. And we can't go to them. It is a consequence of Phil's decision that he mourns every day. Every day."
Valerie moved her chair closer to Betty's and reached to put an arm around her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Betty. We'll find a way to help him. There's got to be a way. Can't someone take his case before a judge? Surely all the years he's served so selflessly here count for something!"
Again, Betty sighed. "I thought the same thing, Valerie, but Phil won't think of asking to have his name cleared. The law is the law. It's been all I can do to keep him from talking about turning himself in sometimes."
Valerie raised her brows in alarm.
"The children of Hope House always bring him to his senses," she said, pushing herself up from her chair. She gave Valerie a thin smile. "We'd better go look in on our patient."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Brizjanti, Haiti, June 13
Valerie watched Samantha's gentle ministrations as the young nurse moved the stethoscope over Pastor Phil's back, listening intently. Finally, she straightened, took the instrument from around her neck and tucked it in her pocket. "You can lie back, now, Pastor."
Valerie felt a nagging twinge of guilt that she'd been so helpless in the face of crisis. And it wasn't over yet. Though things seemed better in the light of day, especially now that the sun was shining and Samantha was here, she knew they still weren't out of the woods.
Last night had seemed interminable. Around 3:00 a.m., Henri had finally run through the rain to Madame Duval's and brought Samantha back with him. She brought a small case of over-the-counter samples that some visiting doctor had left at Madame Duval's, and she'd found several packets of a tablet meant to relieve menstrual cramps, bloating and PMS symptoms that contained a mild diuretic.
That drew a laugh from Betty. "Don't you ever tell Phil what you gave him or he'll die right there on the spot," she giggled. It was good to see her smile, even though Valerie cringe
d inwardly at her reference to Pastor Phil "dying." He'd come too close to that last night to joke about it.
The dose wasn't nearly strong enough and Samantha confided in Valerie that she only had enough to last the day if she gave it as often as prescribed. But at least for this morning, the congestion in the pastor's lungs didn't seem quite so pronounced.
"Betty, you need to get some rest," Valerie said, standing and putting a hand on the older woman's shoulder.
Betty Greene's face was almost as gray as her husband's as she sat watch over him in the tiny bedroom. "I'm okay," she said.
"Please, Betty." Samantha stepped in. "I don't want to have to be treating you next."
"But who will--"
"You just don't worry about any of it," Valerie said. "Everything will get taken care of. Samantha is going to sit with Pastor Phil for a while, and I'll go help with breakfast and getting the kids' activities going. You just lie down on the sofa and get some sleep."
A look of chagrin etched the older woman's face, but she sighed and looked up at Valerie. "Well, maybe I will lie down for just a bit."
Valerie followed her out to the living room to see that she did just that. The electricity had come on a couple of hours ago and Valerie turned on a small fan to circulate the air and muffle the sounds so Betty could sleep undisturbed. Within seconds, slow, even breathing filled the room, testifying to Betty's exhaustion.
Valerie heated water on the stove and washed the cups and saucers that had accumulated in the sink. She glanced at the clock. Almost seven. She needed to go help the kitchen staff with breakfast.
Drying her hands, she started for the bedroom to tell Samantha she was leaving. Samantha met her in the hallway, pulling the door partially closed behind her. She spoke in a low whisper. "What do you think, Val? Should we try to move him? I don't know what to do after those pills run out. I think we can get him comfortable in the back of the Rover, but it's going to be a long trip with so many roads out."
Valerie felt as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders with the decision. "Let me try to reach Max again," she said. Several times since dawn, she'd tried the cell phone number he had given her, but had got only his voice mail. She dialed. Her spirits sank when his voice mail picked up again. She left another message.
"Let's wait until after lunch, Samantha. Could we? The sun is shining. The roads might have a chance to dry up some and maybe we'll hear something from Max by then."
Samantha nodded her agreement. "But if we do decide to take him, we shouldn't leave any later than two or three. We're bound to have to take some detours and I don't want to be caught on unfamiliar roads after dark."
"Okay." She glanced at the clock again. "I'd better go help with breakfast. I'll bring some breakfast back before I go help with the kids. Can you wait that long to eat?"
"I'm fine," Samantha said, waving her away.
Valerie went across the courtyard to the dining room, dodging puddles as she went. She reminded herself to go collect some more dandelion leaves before she came back to the cottage. She wondered if they could be steeped for tea.
Breakfast went smoothly. Sarah and Jaelle assured Valerie they could handle the kids until lunch. She took a breakfast tray to Samantha and Betty, with a bowl of milky farina for Pastor Phil.
She was walking back to help with lunch when her phone rang. Max's number flashed in the LED display. Finally.
"Valerie? It's Max. How is Pastor Phil doing?"
"He's a little better, I think. Samantha is here." She told him what they'd done as treatment. "But there are only enough pills to last through today."
"Oh, but it sounds like they're working. That's good. Listen, Valerie, tell Samantha to stretch the dosages out...try to make them last through the night. I...I have some medicine and some oxygen equipment on a flight into Port-au-Prince right now. Hopefully you can stabilize him enough to fly him back to the States for treatment."
"Oh, Max. I don't think that will happen." She gave a brief account of Betty's revelation last night.
"Well, then...we'll just have to do the best we can getting the treatment he needs to Brizjanti."
"Oh, Max, thank you. You think he'll be okay here then? We don't need to take him to the hospital?"
"It's hard to say without having seen him, but I think at this point it's better if you can avoid moving him until he's stabilized. I think you'll see a marked improvement once he gets this drug in his system. And he'll be much more comfortable on oxygen. We can reevaluate the situation after that."
"Okay. Thank you so much...for everything. I couldn't have survived last night without your help."
"Yes, you could have, Valerie. You did fine."
Her throat closed and tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed them back. "Do we need to go pick everything up at the airport?"
"No, no...You stay there. I've arranged to have it delivered. The flight it's on arrives at eight-thirty in the morning, so we can hope it will be there sometime before noon. Pray there aren't any delays. How are the roads?"
She looked out beyond the gate. She'd seen a few trucks go by on the rutted road earlier this morning, but traffic was definitely not as heavy as usual. "No one here has been out yet today," she said, "but the rain has stopped and the sun is shining."
"That's all good."
She could hear the smile in his voice and for an instant, she would have given just about anything to see his face. "Thank you for everything, Max."
"Don't mention it. If you can just hold on one more night, I think you'll have what you need to make him a lot more comfortable. But, Valerie..."
The line went silent and for a minute she was afraid they'd been cut off.
"Max?"
His voice came back, soft in her ear. "Just remember, Val...Pastor Phil is seventy-eight years old. He might not make it. If...if anything happens, just know you did everything you could under the circumstances."
She nodded into the phone, not able to respond with more than a muffled sob.
"It'll be okay, Valerie. I'm praying for you. God has everything under control. But...you're the one who taught me that. Remember?"
Chapter Forty
Brizjanti, Haiti, June 14
"Gade yon bel wob. What a pretty dress, Jacquette." Valerie bent to speak to the little girl who stood in front of her in the dining room. The dark, cornrowed head was bent shyly, but two brown cheeks plumped in a smile. Valerie tried not to play favorites among the children, but Jacquette had had a special place in Valerie's heart since that day she'd shown up in the courtyard wearing the little lime-colored dress Valerie had sewn.
She turned her wrist over and peeked at her watch--for the tenth time this morning. It was past eleven-thirty. Max had said the medical supplies he'd sent for Pastor Phil would arrive before noon. She'd tried calling the airport to check on the flight, but could never get beyond the labyrinth of recordings.
She took Jacquette's hand and led her outside where the other children were playing after finishing Saturday-morning chores. Now the lawn was dotted with bright spots of color--girls skipping rope and playing osle in the courtyard, and boys in a rowdy game of soccer on the south lawn beyond.
Handing the little girl off to Jaelle, Valerie smiled. "You stay here with Jaelle, okay? I'm going to see Pastor Phil."
Jacquette beamed at the sound of the pastor's name. Philip Greene was a much-adored man, and the children had been praying faithfully for him every morning and every afternoon at chapel. Valerie didn't even want to think about the possibility of the medicine not arriving.
Please, Lord. Let that truck get through. Let those flights have been on time. As she jogged to the Greenes' cottage, she whispered the words again in Creole for good measure.
Samantha and Betty were with Pastor Phil. His breathing was labored, the wheeze still evident. Maybe more pronounced than it had been this morning. She didn't like the worried look on Samantha's face.
"How is he?"
Samantha shrugge
d. "About the same. No truck yet?"
"Not yet. I'm going to walk down to the gate and see. Do either of you need anything? I'd be glad to run to Madame Duval's if you need anything from there, Samantha..."
She shrugged. "Thank you, but not right now. The only thing I'm interested in right now is for that medicine to get here!"
Valerie flashed a wry smile. "I'll see what I can do."
She stepped outside just in time to hear Henri's piercing whistle from the gatehouse. She hurried down the path and, rounding the corner a minute later, came in view of the gate. A battered flatbed truck loaded down with crates and boxes was pulling away from the front of the compound. In front of the shed, Henri stood guard over a small tower of boxes of various shapes and sizes. Hands on hips, he waited for the boys he'd summoned with his familiar whistle.
As the little boys gathered round, Valerie watched Henri direct them like an orchestra conductor. Two of them went to the shed to fetch a wheelbarrow. The others started picking up boxes.
There must have been a dozen packages. In spite of the heat, Valerie started running, a smile splitting her face. She was winded and dripping with perspiration by the time she got to the gate. "Is this the stuff Dr. Jordan sent?"
"Oui," Henri said, smiling as though he'd delivered it himself. "We bring it to Pastor Phil's cottage, no?"
"Yes. Thank you, Henri." She examined the stickers on the boxes and picked up a small one with a pharmaceutical label on it. "This might be what Samantha needs," she said. "I'll take it to her now. Henri, could you be sure the generator is ready to go...in case the electricity goes off this afternoon. Samantha is going to want to keep the oxygen machine going for Pastor Phil."
She inspected the warnings stamped on the largest box. Oxygen. Good. This must be the portable oxygen concentrator Max had said he'd try to send. It must have cost a fortune to get everything here almost overnight.
She stepped between two of the boys who were arguing over who got to push the cart. "Stop it, you two. Pinga, pinga. Be careful! This is danje...very dangerous." She tried to demonstrate the explosion that could result if the boys were careless.
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