I nodded. “Yes. God sees everything. In daylight or in dark.”
The answer appeased the little girl. She and her grandfather left, their bodies gliding back through the dark lagoon waters. I held my breath until the two reached the shore, then I turned to Mary.
“What do you think that was all about?”
She smiled. “Hard to say, but that child had something on her mind. Something she considered important.”
“It couldn’t be God — they know nothing about God.”
“We assume they know nothing about the God we serve, but one never knows for certain.”
We sat in silence for a few moments and then retired to our respective huts, ready for bed after the strenuous day. In my exhausted state sleep claimed me as soon as my head hit the pillow, despite the nagging headache that had returned to distress me.
The following morning I came out of the hut to find Poo sitting on the landing. Had the child slept here overnight? I stooped and rested my hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
She went through a series of motions, and I realized she had stood guard over me and my possessions through the night. The thought of this child protecting me humbled my very soul. She smiled and patted my cheek, then walked to the edge of the landing and dove into the water. I shook my head at the depth of her devotion.
I could never deserve it, but I was grateful for it all the same.
TWENTY
At long last the rain ended and the sun came, drying the ground almost overnight with a hot, scorching wind. The breeze was like standing in front of a giant blow-dryer stuck on high. That night, I lay staring at stars through the narrow window, gasping for relief, my sheets drenched in sweat. Never again would I complain about Michigan winters. A little snow and ice would have been nice. I smiled. Mom and Pop were in their comfortable apartment, and Nelda was in the climate-controlled library. How I envied them!
My dull headache now was constant. Pain radiated from the base of my skull to the top of my forehead. It had worsened during the night, making my sleep fitful and me unable to relax and unwilling to be awake. Every loud noise or sudden moment brought a pang of pain that was pure torture.
I made my way to the table, where thirst-quenching fresh pineapple waited. Most times I would have enjoyed the rich flavor of the fruit, but today I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. Keeping food down seemed to be even more of a challenge than getting it down.
Mary looked up from her plate. “What’s the matter, Johanna? You’re not eating.”
“It’s the heat.” Bud set his cup on the table. “She’s still not acclimated to the climate.”
“It’s this headache. I can’t seem to shake it.”
Concern creased Sam’s forehead. “I’ve aspirin in my medical bag. I’ll get it for you.” He got up from the table and left for the Laskes’ hut. He returned with the bottle, opened it, and shook out a couple of pills in his hand. “Maybe these will help.” He held them out, palm up, and I took them, placing the small white tablets in my mouth and washing them down with a swallow of juice.
He patted my shoulder. “Why don’t you rest this morning? Stay in the hut until you’re feeling better.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I promised to help clear the airstrip.”
“Ah yes, the strip. The hospital called by satellite phone.
The plane will be back sometime today; our man’s surgery went well, and since I can assume his care they’re sending him back.”
He returned to his breakfast, and I watched him. If I had written my description of the perfect man, I would have created Sam, even down to the way his forehead wrinkled when he concentrated — like now. Bud waved his hands, telling some tale about a clash with a villager over a pineapple. It was a funny story, but my head hurt too much to appreciate the humor.
Sam glanced over. “Aspirin starting to work?”
“Not yet, but soon, I’m sure.”
After breakfast we rowed across to the village and walked to the airstrip. Bud unlocked the storage shed and handed out the tools, assigning me the power mower. I was thankful for the machine — at least I’d have something to support me. Frank started the mower, and the roar of it pierced my aching head. He adjusted the throttle and then stood back. By now my head was pounding and I was weak and dizzy and more than a little off kilter.
We heard the returning plane late that morning. I turned the mower off, watching the craft land and skid across the grass at the end of the strip. The strip was in better condition than before, but it was still far from ideal. Villagers lined the band of mown grass. The craft idled in and stopped. Then the door opened.
I covered my ears, anticipating a sonic blast of profanity, but none came. The patient emerged, holding his side and breaking into a wide grin when he spotted his audience. His weakened condition didn’t dampen his enthusiasm. He paused in the aircraft doorway, looking as confident as a polished political speaker. He motioned to the plane and then to the sky. His voice rose and fell, extolling his adventure in the “growling machine.”
His enthusiasm was contagious. The villagers pointed to the sky and then back to the patient. They were laughing and jumping up and down. Broad beams of pleasure covered their nut-brown faces. A grin was all I could muster with my pounding head. We had no way of knowing the specifics of the man’s story, but we could tell he was proud of his accomplishment. He had conquered the roaring beast! How many could claim such a victory?
Sam came to stand beside me, hooking his arm around my waist. I leaned into him, meeting his laughing gaze. He felt so good, so solid to my aching body. The strenuous mowing had intensified my headache. “Great story to remember, don’t you think?”
I nodded. “Imagine what it must have been for him. Loaded on that plane and taken to a place where they cut him open and sewed him back up again. I gather the trip home wasn’t as frightening.”
“He seems to be quite the seasoned traveler now.” Sam motioned to where the patient was being lifted on a stretcher and carried like royalty back to the village. “He’s become an important man.”
“He’s fortunate you were able to help him.” My fingers patted Sam’s waist. “I’m very proud of you, Dr. Littleton.”
“That’s Sam, to you.” He winked and stole a brief kiss before he went back to work.
The plane left, but we decided to work awhile longer to try to stay ahead of the unwanted growth. While Bud and Frank manned machetes and sickles, Mary and Eva wielded rakes.
I pushed the mower into the vegetation, pulled it back, and tried again. The rough foliage was almost too thick for the machine to cut without choking out. Little by little I made progress. The men worked ahead, slashing down the taller foliage while I followed behind. Bud worked ahead of me, his strong body bending and rising with the sweep of the scythe. The sun beat down like a hammer. My head ached in earnest until it seemed someone gripped my brain with red-hot pincers.
Sometimes I was so dizzy it was an effort to stay upright. Other times a wave of nausea overcame me; I’d have to stop and grip the mower to remain upright.
Around one o’clock, we broke for lunch. I took one look at the food and my stomach recoiled. For a minute I thought I was going to be ill, but the feeling subsided, leaving me almost too weak to move. I slumped back against the base of a palm and braced myself. Had I ever been this nauseated before? I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of food and flies. The heat rose in waves off the tall grass.
Soft hands removed my glasses. I opened my eyes to see Mary pouring water from her canteen, moistening a handkerchief. She wiped my hot face. To my horror I giggled. I must have been delirious with heat and exhaustion.
Then Sam was kneeling beside me, holding his canteen to my lips, coaxing me to drink. I thought he was at the clinic? The water hit my stomach and bounced, burning my throat and leaving a bitter aftertaste. I pushed the container aside. My head was reeling, the leaves overhead whirling like a giant kaleidoscope. Sam’s face
swung in and out of focus.
His hand rested on my forehead and his voice came from a long way off. “She’s burning up. Let’s get her to the clinic.”
I blinked, shaking my head to clear it. “It … must have been something I ate.”
Mary wrung out the cloth. “She’s eaten nothing. She must be suffering a migraine.”
“Head hurts,” I murmured. The village warap was tonight. Would I be unable to go? I had so looked forward to the festivities.
“Maybe we haven’t been cautious enough,” Mary fretted. “Maybe one of the canned foods was tainted.”
Eva shook her head. “We all ate the same thing. Johanna has eaten nothing unless she got it in the village.”
Fog had moved into my head — not a cool, moist fog, but more of a hot, burning vapor that drifted through my consciousness, coming and going. Interspersed were short periods of clarity. I remember thinking I should answer Mary’s question, but then I didn’t remember what she’d asked.
Sam’s voice penetrated the haze. “She’s not working out in this heat any longer.”
“I’m fine,” I managed. “Just let me lie here in the shade for a while and I’ll be all right.”
The love of my life scooped me into his arms. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
I’d have been irritated at his high-handed manner if I hadn’t been too sick to care.
On general principles I tried to protest, but he was right. The thought of pushing that mower again was intolerable. I couldn’t do it. I’d feel better tomorrow.
I was grateful for his strength where mine failed. He carried me to the shoreline, where Poo raced to meet us, her expression anxious. Words poured out of her in an incomprehensible stream. I hadn’t a clue what she was saying, but she sounded upset.
Sam helped me into the boat and Poo scrambled in after me. This was a first. To my knowledge she had never been in the missionary boats, preferring to swim across to the huts. Now she sat in front of me, holding my hands and making little crooning sounds. It was surprising how much I understood her even though there was not an ounce of intellectual comprehension. Love is the same in every tongue, and every gesture and sound from this little girl shouted, “I love you.” I reached one hand to cup her chin and assure her I returned her love.
When we reached the huts, Sam secured the boat and then helped me out; Poo pattered across the wooden planks behind us. She kept up a constant chatter, but now it sounded more like she was giving orders to Sam or to me. I wasn’t sure which. When I reached my cot, I sank down and stretched out. Poo ran to me carrying a wet cloth for my forehead. I smiled at her, but the worried scowl refused to leave her youthful features.
Sam remained at my side. “I’m staying with you this afternoon. I won’t risk anything happening while I’m gone.”
By now I had roused enough to be coherent. I struggled to gain some control of the situation. “There is no need for that. I’ll be fine once I’ve rested. Poo is here. I’ll send for you if I need anything — anything at all.” Nausea was so thick in the back of my throat I could taste it, but I didn’t want to slow Sam’s clinic work. There were so many ill to see. And the strip still needed work …
The child reached out and patted my shoulder. Sam glanced from the little girl back to me. “I can’t risk it. What if Poo doesn’t understand what you need?”
“She will — she’s in tune with me.” I gave the child a weak smile. “If I worsen, I’ll send for you. I promise.”
He hesitated and I waved my hand toward the door. “Go. Don’t be a mother hen. You worry too much.”
“I’m afraid I don’t worry enough where you’re concerned.” He bent and placed a kiss on my dry lips. “I’ll check back every hour. If you need anything — ”
At the moment I didn’t have the strength to reassure him again. Moments later he left, issuing one last order that I send Poo for him should I need anything. The child recognized her name and looked from him to me and back again. I took her hand and smiled at her, and she relaxed.
I dropped off to sleep, into a nightmare where I fled from one monster after another, dashing headlong through dark shadows, aware that something terrible was chasing me. I woke, suffocating heat surrounding me. My heart pounded above a raging fever. Sam had left a full canteen beside my cot; I drained it and craved more.
“Poo?”
Though I’d barely managed a whisper, she materialized. I held out the canteen and pointed outside to the water barrel. Her face lit up, and she refilled the container and held my head as I drank in long gulping swigs. I downed the cool liquid, letting it run off my chin, until she jerked the jug away and shook her head, eyes filled with caution. I grabbed for the canteen and shouted at her.
A haze filled my mind; my fevered gaze roamed the hut, and I frowned. Where was I? Why didn’t anything look familiar? And why was I here?
My head throbbed, my bones ached, and I was in the “bathroom” every few minutes, sometimes crawling on hands and knees to the jar to avert disaster. Poo helped me off the cot and supported my weight to the makeshift water closet, a steady companion when I crawled.
The child was an angel sent to minister to me.
Sam came every hour, worry etched on his forehead. I felt a needle prick. I didn’t know or care why. The afternoon wore on, and I tossed and turned on the cot, unable to get comfortable. My clothing was drenched, as if some maniacal demon stood above me pouring water over my fevered body. I drifted in and out of consciousness.
Once I opened my eyes and saw Poo standing over the cot, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. I reached out, touched her arm, and murmured something — but even I couldn’t recognize the words. I drifted on a troubled sea under a moonless sky, darkness surrounding me like a velvet curtain. I sank down, down, down …
Bright light seared my eyelids. The darkness had loosened, giving the impression I was rising, fighting my way upward, away from the black depths that had held me prisoner. My eyes fluttered open to find Sam and Poo standing over me. Poo was sobbing.
Eva and Mary hovered in the background, and I could hear Frank and Bud talking. I wanted to comfort them but I was powerless to move. My voice when it came was barely audible. “What is it? What’s wrong with me?”
Sam’s voice came to me in a tunnel. “You’ve very ill, darling. I’ve sent for the plane.”
The plane? I sat bolt upright, memory flooding me. That single-engine menace. That horrible runway. “No! Sam, I’ll be fine!”
Hands urged me back to the pillow. Sam’s voice soothed me — then everything faded into silence.
TWENTY-ONE
I came to, fighting to shake off a lethargic stupor. I drifted in and out of consciousness but was able to piece together some of what was going on. By the grave tone of the voices that filtered through my fog, I realized I was ill, very ill. All four of the missionaries, plus Sam and Poo, were crowded into my narrow cubicle. Eva bent at my bedside, sponging my face and arms.
Calm, unflappable Eva wore a grim expression. “Gentlemen, if you will wait outside the curtain. Mary and I will take care of Johanna.”
Sam protested, and I almost jumped when Eva snapped, “I mean it. You can pray for her as well on the other side of the curtain. Now move!”
Eva and Mary began a new form of treatment. They stripped me of soiled clothing and removed the sweat-damped sheets. Then they bathed my heated body with cool water. Mary knelt beside my cot, wiping my face with a damp cloth, coaxing me to drink from the glass she held. She and Mary were so good to me, caring for me as though I were an infant. As they worked, they murmured encouragement. From the other side of the curtain I could hear the men’s voices raised in prayer. For me. Johanna Holland. Saginaw, Michigan, librarian. Disgraceful missionary.
Poo stood at the head of my cot, stroking my hair. Eva motioned for her to leave. “Wait in the other room, sweetie.”
The child gripped my hand, shook her head. “Jo.”
Eva smi
led. “You can say her name.”
“Let … her stay.” It took great effort for me to speak, but I needed this child. Small caring hands stroked my hair, comforted me.
“If that’s what you want.” Eva moved away.
I drifted off again. I was in a canoe floating down a gentle river toward a distant shore. A light appeared on the shore and a soft breeze ruffled my hair. I saw a rainbow and hills covered with bright flowers. I could hear the most beautiful music, music so sweet and pure that tears pooled behind my lids. I strained toward it, yearning for what lay just out of reach. I started to float forward out of the canoe. Then something — or someone — took hold of my arm and pulled me back into the vessel. A dark veil dropped between me and the beautiful scene.
“No … Let me go.” The music. It was incredible. I wanted to blend into the sounds, to be a part of whatever or whoever was performing.
I opened my eyes and there was Poo, holding my arm, tears rolling down her dirty cheek.
“Jo. Jo.”
I reached over — or I think I did — and pulled her face down onto my chest. Later I realized that was the exact moment I understood what Sam said to me on our flight to Papua New Guinea: “You can teach love and preach love, but the true message of love is never completed until you give love.” Even in my groggy state I knew I had somehow reached a new plateau of loving.
Poo drew in a deep gulp of air and whispered my name again, “Jo.”
“I’m here. It’s all right.” I didn’t know where I found the strength to answer her, but it must have come from God. At that moment it could have come from none other than the Almighty.
I drifted again, slipping into oblivion. The dreams returned. I heard Mary say, as clear as day, “I thought she was gone.”
“Poo’s love brought her back.” Eva’s voice penetrated my feverish mind. “God must need Johanna here on earth for a while longer.”
“I believe he has great plans for this woman, though convincing her is difficult. She seems to base her worth on her calling. If only she knew she has nothing to prove. God loves her as she is, and her worth is great in his eyes.” A cool glass rim touched my parched lips. “Drink, Johanna. You’re dehydrated.”
Monday Morning Faith Page 22
