by DiAnn Mills
Surely God had ordained this call.
CHAPTER 14
All morning Ben mulled over his plans to deceive Daruka. The agony in her face the previous evening had chipped at his conscience but not changed his mind. Today she looked close to tears and avoided him and Okuk. Frustrated with the whole situation, he sent Okuk to question the villagers, looking for GOS sympathizers. With the way Ben felt at this very minute, he’d set the mole on fire in front of them all.
Last night Daruka had spoken the truth about Ben’s neglect of David, his abandonment of her, and his selfish pride. But David had Ben’s blood flowing through his veins, and time was running out. If Daruka agreed to marry him, would he be obligated to tell her about the cancer? He’d rather not. Let the disease take its course as though he were oblivious to his miserable health.
He’d lain awake and asked himself repeatedly if he’d ever loved her. He wanted to ease the guilt by finding a spark of something akin to affection. Except he hadn’t loved her, only made sure she was happy and willing to give herself to him. Dare he be honest with her about that? No. He could lie. That was easy enough. He could lie for a few months to have his son.
Now, as Ben watched Daruka walk to the river, he realized he had to have an answer. He pulled himself up from the weatherworn chair. Like a lightning bolt, the pain in his back reminded him of his future—or rather, his lack of one. He had to convince Daruka to marry him. Give her anything she wanted. Promise her the moon, if that’s what it took to know David. The boy deserved to have a relationship with his father. But was all this effort for David or for himself? He pushed back the unwelcome thought.
Daruka stood among a half-dozen women, laughing and talking until she saw Ben. She stiffened as though reminded of all the heartbreak he’d caused. They were probably discussing him.
“Daruka, can we talk?”
She walked toward him, her face devoid of emotion. Beauty graced her features, but she had hardened with what life had dealt her. Most of which was his fault. He glanced behind her to the other women, who stared at him with disdain. Rage curdled in his stomach. Perhaps they needed a reminder of what he’d done for southern Sudan. Or maybe they’d learned the truth about him and Daruka. She balanced a basket of bananas and pawpaws on her head, giving her a regal look. He and Daruka fell into step with each other toward the coolness of a huge tree. He waited.
“Ben, I have an answer for you.”
“And it is?”
“I want David to decide if we should marry. After all, he’s the reason why you suggested it. You will have to prove to me that you are trustworthy.”
“That is a reasonable request.”
“You will not touch me. If you desire a husband-and-wife relationship, then you have some changes to make.”
“I agree to all you’ve said. Shall we ask David together?” Confidence swelled in him. Every boy wanted a father.
“He’s with his teacher.”
“Good. Education is the key to Sudan’s future. How long will he be with her?”
“Until the sun is directly overhead. I want you to understand that whatever David wants is what I’ll do. I ask you to abide by his decision.”
Ben nodded. He’d won. He’d really won. “Can I keep you company until he returns?”
“If that suits you. I must care for my father now. He’s old and sick, and it is my duty to make sure he eats and rests.”
“I remember you used to take care of your grandmother.”
“I did until she died.”
“Tell me more about David’s teacher. What does she teach?”
“Her name is Rosemary, and she is teaching David Arabic, English, Swahili, math, geography, and the Bible. She teaches the women too. I’m learning to read and speak English. She also shows us how not to get sick from the water.”
“What is your name?” he said in English.
“Daruka.”
“How old are you?”
“Younger than you.”
They laughed together.
“Will you marry me?” Ben said in English.
“Not fair question. No trick Daruka.”
“You are too smart for me.” This time he spoke in Dinka.
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I’m not very smart, especially when it comes to you.”
Her feelings had drifted through her words, and he doubted she had intended it. For a moment he regretted what he was doing.
Once David returned from his schooling, the three sat together on the hard dirt in the tukul and ate the bananas and pawpaws. Her father had left the hut the moment David returned. Daruka had alerted him to the discussion with her son.
She took a fleeting glance at Ben, then turned her attention to the boy. “David, I have something to tell you.” She handed him some freshly baked bread made from ground maize. “This is not easy for me because I know it will not be easy for you.”
The boy tilted his head slightly to the right, just as Ben had always done. He could never deny David was his son.
“When I am finished, you will have a decision to make.”
David narrowed his eyes, like Daruka. “Please, tell me. I see you’re upset.” He nodded at Ben. “Should this be said in front of Colonel Alier?”
“Yes. It must.” She took a deep breath, and Ben placed his hand on her shoulder. She drew back as though she’d been burned. “David, I told you that your father had been killed while fighting with the SPLA. I . . . I lied to you.”
He sat erect. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“You see, your father was unable to take care of us. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was committed to keeping us safe from government soldiers.”
“Then my father is alive?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “He is Colonel Alier.”
Ben met a silence so powerful that it seemed to clang in his ears. He searched David’s face for signs of a response. The boy studied him with unreadable emotion.
Suddenly the boy stood. “All my life I dreamed about my father. I thought maybe he hadn’t been killed. Maybe he’d been imprisoned, and one day he’d return to us. I was such a fool. My mother worked hard to care for me. She told me stories about my father—my brave father, who loved me enough to die rather than see me forced into Islam or become a slave. But you chose not to see me or my mother. For that I hate you.”
David disappeared through the hut’s opening and into the brilliant sunshine.
* * *
Paul craved the counsel of his friend Tom, who directed FTW in Los Angeles. Tom was the one man who understood how he viewed life and his relationship with God. When Paul had first arrived in LA and attended a Bible church, Tom treated him shamefully and asked him to leave the fellowship. Tom worked as an attorney at a large firm and believed he practiced Christianity as Jesus desired. But he despised Arabs and Muslims. One Sunday morning, the pastor asked Paul to give his testimony and share with the congregation why he’d changed his name from Abdullah to Paul. Once Paul finished, Tom made his way down the aisle, apologized, and hugged him like a brother. Soon afterward, Tom took a directorship at FTW. The two men had been close ever since.
With the weight of what to do about his wife and baby, and now Nizam’s request, Paul’s mind was about to explode.
He walked through the clinic as Larson was taking temperatures and blood pressures for two ill patients who’d journeyed from an isolated village south of Warkou. Their blood tests indicated yellow fever. She’d kept the patients isolated from others entering the clinic, fearing further outbreaks of the dreaded disease. Paul’s presence seemed to irritate her.
“I’m going to call Tom.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already.” She frowned but did not glance his way.
“Oh, I told him about the baby, remember? He’s betting on a girl too. I’m just confused, not sure what to do about a lot of things.”
She recorded a blood pressure reading. “I can take care of the baby just fi
ne. I proved that on the road to Kibum.”
“You got shot, Larson. You were nearly killed.” He glanced at the sling on her arm.
“I’m still quite capable.”
“I’ve seen you handle yourself in all kinds of situations—”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He saw the battle in her eyes. “Your safety is more important than what you do here.”
She slammed the notebook containing the patients’ records onto the table. “My work is vital to the survival of a lot of people. I know you don’t value what a woman does—” She glanced at her two patients in the other room.
Thank goodness they didn’t understand English.
“What are you talking about?” Paul moved closer. Perhaps if he could touch her, she’d calm down.
“Should I spell it out for you?”
“Go right ahead.”
“You were brought up with the understanding women are second-class citizens. The culture reeks with it. Now I’m pregnant, and my worth has been demoted to chattel. You might think I’m your property and you decide my future, but it won’t happen, Mr. Farid.”
“That doesn’t even deserve a response.”
Her eyes blazed. “I don’t think you value my work here—”
“Now you’ve really made me mad. I don’t know what else to do. I tell you I love you. I do everything I can to show you how I feel. I tell you I’m looking forward to the baby. I tell you how much I respect and honor your abilities as a doctor, and you accuse me of treating you like chattel?” He snatched up his phone. “Enjoy your solitude.”
He must have walked two miles before his temper started to subside from a boil to a simmer. Were all pregnant women just short of insane? If this was the case, they’d never have another child. What made her fabricate all those accusations?
A half mile later, he punched in Tom’s number.
“How is the mama?”
“Don’t ask.”
Tom chuckled. “Ah, the hormones have hit, and Larson has turned into the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. It would take too long to explain.”
Paul described the situation with Larson and the baby, then the dilemma with Nizam.
“And you want me to tell you how to proceed? I can pray, but I’m fresh out of good advice.” Tom paused. “Seriously, I understand your concern for Larson. If she were my wife, I’d have escorted her out of Sudan a long time ago. Then again, she views her work as a ministry, just as you and I do our work with FTW. It’s a tough call.”
“I can’t talk to her about it sensibly. She simply turns into this woman I don’t know.”
“My guess is, she’s as concerned as you are about the danger.”
“And too stubborn to discuss it.”
“Both of you are champions at stubbornness. Paul, love her. That’s all you can do right now.”
“I can, and while I’m at it, I’ll mark off the days on the calendar until the baby arrives.”
“I shouldn’t laugh, but this is funny.”
“Thanks for the sympathy. Then there’s my other problem, with Nizam.”
“Do you think he’s serious? I mean, arranging a meeting with a man who’s sworn to kill you is a dangerous undertaking.”
Paul shook his head and squinted into the setting sun. “When he said he’d meet me anywhere, I suggested the States for his reaction. I figure he’s either serious about changing faiths, or he’s willing to go to any length to kill me.”
“What does your heart say?”
“To trust him. We were always close.”
“What does your head say?”
“That it’s a trap, and Larson may end up a widow with a child to raise.”
“Paul, what is God telling you?”
“I honestly have no idea, but I can’t walk away from my brother.”
“I’d be glad to talk to him. In fact, there are countless Christians around the world who’d counsel him.”
“I don’t think he’d talk to anyone but me. But I can give you all the numbers he’s used to contact me.”
The rain had soaked Paul by the time he returned to his and Larson’s hut. He changed into dry clothes—frustrated with the rain, Larson, Nizam, and life. He wasn’t ready to talk to Larson yet, and showing up at the clinic invited another confrontation. She’d pushed him too far.
One nasty retort after another flashed across his mind as he considered what he could have said to her—always the case with him. He glanced at her Bible and realized he should open it, but fury stood in the way. He could finish up his paperwork and email it to FTW, except he’d have to retrieve his laptop from the clinic.
He stood in the doorway, listening to the rain beating against the thatched roof and pouring onto the ground. Anguish invaded every corner of his heart. He needed to construct better living quarters, but Larson felt they should live as much like the villagers as possible. He hated the tightly woven mosquito netting suffocating him, the snakes wiggling into the hut. He wanted indoor plumbing, air-conditioning, and electricity. He wanted glass windows so he wouldn’t have to listen to the eek-eek of the tiny bats around the hut’s opening at night, or the barking of hyenas or the roar of lions. He was tired of battling mosquitoes and the million other disease-carrying insects. In short, he craved the advantages of civilization. None of which were possible in the heart of southern Sudan.
How could he love a woman and be so angry with her at the same time? She’d taken all his feelings for her and tossed them into his face with claims that held no shred of truth. He’d taken the time to listen to her side of why she should stay in Warkou. Why couldn’t she try to understand how he felt?
The culture thing dug into his skin the most. She knew how he detested Islamic practices regarding women, how he struggled to bring Christianity to those enslaved by those beliefs.
He had to stop thinking about their argument. It served no purpose but to divide them further. Waiting in the hut until she finished for the day made sense. He’d cook something she enjoyed. Lately she craved the boxed macaroni and cheese. Nasty stuff, but she inhaled it. Maybe a full stomach would soften her temper.
* * *
Larson adjusted the sling on her right shoulder and counted the patients waiting to see her. Men, women, and children needed her care, and a young woman she’d never seen before sat on the floor at the end of the line. She looked no older that thirteen or fourteen and appeared to be pregnant.
Somewhere outside the clinic was Paul. She’d been furious with him, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why. If not for these people needing medical attention, she’d find him and beg his forgiveness for all the horrible things she’d said. What had she been thinking? Her hormones were chipping holes in their marriage.
Her ears tuned for the sound of the Hummer over the rain, as if Paul would leave her. Of course he wouldn’t. But she wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Perspiration dripped from her forehead. Drat pregnancy. Her body was not her own. Neither was her mind. She wanted this baby, didn’t she? What kind of a monster resented the privilege of bringing life into the world? But this baby interrupted her life’s work among the Sudanese. God had given her the gift of healing, and a few years ago, He’d called her into His family. Why this change? Her and Paul’s lives had purpose. They sacrificed and lived in constant danger. Had they disappointed God? If only she understood why He was doing this.
A man needed stitches removed from his leg, and she instructed him to stay out of the river until the wound healed. A woman had burned her hand while cooking. In a decent medical facility, Larson would have ordered skin grafting. A boy who had been born blind cried incessantly with a stomachache. His swollen liver alerted Larson to a more serious condition. If only she could run more tests here at the clinic. One patient after another received the best care Larson could provide. Finally she was alone with the teenage girl.
“How can I help you?
” she asked, first in Dinka and then in Arabic.
The girl’s face tightened.
“Are you in pain?” Larson bent to where the girl sat on the hard floor.
“Baby is coming,” the girl responded in Arabic.
The one day Santino had escorted Sarah to another village to visit a friend, Larson needed them. And Paul—well, she’d run him off.
Oh, God, is this my punishment for lashing out at my husband?
“I need to examine you, to find out how the baby is doing.” Larson helped her onto the examination table. Agony ripped through Larson’s arm.
“Shukran. Thank you.”
“What is your name?”
The girl stiffened. “I can’t tell you.”
“How far apart are the pains?”
“They don’t stop.”
Larson held her hand. “May I pray for you?”
“Allah is angry with me.”
“I don’t pray to Allah. I pray to the living God.” Larson gently coaxed her to lie down. “We’ll talk later about my God.”
After explaining the examination procedure, Larson discovered the baby was breech. I really wish Sarah were here. My arm hurts so.
“I have to turn the baby around.” Larson caressed the girl’s face. “This might hurt, but then the birth will come.”
Tears rolled down the girl’s face. “I want to die.”
“Why? Soon you will have a beautiful child to love.”
“I’m not married.”
Larson realized the futility of the girl’s life. Her Muslim family would make certain both she and the baby were eliminated. Once the child was born, Larson would persuade her to stay at the clinic until she could arrange for safety elsewhere.
“I’m going to turn the baby.” Larson hoped the umbilical cord was not wrapped around the infant’s neck. “I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
The girl cried out. Larson’s wounded arm felt like someone had lit a torch to it, but she managed to turn the baby.
“There, it’s done. It shouldn’t be long before your baby arrives. Where is your village?”
“Far from here.”
“There’s no need to be afraid of me. I won’t tell anyone about this. You’re safe.”
