He laughed heartily, as if she’d played some joke on him. “You are an okay person, lady. Very clever. Like a fox.”
Once he’d walked away, Paul said. “I want to hear all about your journey, but first, are you hungry?”
“Famished. But is there anyplace where we can eat real food? I don’t think I can manage one more plate of matoke.”
He took her to a restaurant inside the Hilton Hotel in the heart of Kampala. Polished marble floors gleamed in the morning sunlight. Plush sofas and deep, cushy chairs graced the lobby. “I had no idea a place like this existed,” Heather said, awestruck as she gazed around the lush atrium.
“You don’t think wealthy tourists are going to stay at the Namirembe Guest House, do you?” Paul asked with a laugh. “I brought Jodene here for our anniversary. As missionaries, we’re used to spartan lives, but every once in a while, we have to splurge.”
The hotel was as opulent as any Heather had ever seen in the States, and she felt almost decadent sitting in such comfort, but after months of living in the bush, she couldn’t get over how good it felt. She thought of the people she knew back home who honestly believed it was their lawful right to have running water and electricity. She hoped that when she did return to the States, she never took the blessings of her life for granted again.
“Let’s eat,” she said, picking up the menu and skimming it hungrily. Just then, Alice, who was lying on the seat of the booth beside Heather, began to stir and whimper. Heather lowered the menu and sighed. “After I feed Alice, that is.”
It was midafternoon when they pulled through the gate of the children’s home and into Paul’s front yard. Jodene, the boys, and several of the older girls poured out of the house, everyone talking and laughing and raising their hands in gratitude. “When the two of you didn’t get back last night, we feared the worst,” Jodene said, hugging Heather. “Thank God you’re all right. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you everything, but I must do something first.”
“Of course. You must be exhausted. Why not take a warm bath, grab a nap? We can talk at dinner tonight.”
“That’s not what I want to do first,” Heather said. “Where’s Kia?”
The little girl was staring from the window at the commotion in the yard. Heather lifted Alice off the Jeep’s seat. The baby had slept off the sedative completely, and her dark eyes looked bright with curiosity.
Heather carried Alice into the house, and Jodene followed. Paul waited in the yard with the others. “Kia,” Heather called softly. “I’ve brought you a present. Would you like to come see what it is?”
Heather crouched down, holding the bundled baby outstretched. Alice made a squeaking sound. Kia inched forward. “Come on,” Heather said. “I’ve brought this present from far, far away . . . just for you.” While she was certain Kia couldn’t understand her words, Heather believed she could appreciate the softly urging, gentle tone.
Kia crept closer, until she was standing just out of arm’s reach. She craned her neck to see inside the blanket.
“Just a little closer.” Heather’s heart hammered.
Kia dropped to her knees, leaned over the baby. She looked down. She looked up. Her eyes were round as saucers, and her mouth formed a perfect o. Then a smile, as bright as a thousand-watt bulb, spread across her face. She stretched out a finger and gently poked Alice’s cheek, ran her fingertip across the baby’s misshaped mouth.
“Dada,” Kia said.
Goose bumps rose on Heather’s arms. Kia had spoken.
“ ‘Sister,’ ”Jodene translated. “Dada is Swahili for ‘sister.’ ”
“Yes . . . dada,” Heather repeated, placing Alice in Kia’s little arms. “Kia’s dada. She’s come back to you.”
“We’re going to miss you.” Jodene came into the room where Heather was packing up the last of her things for her trip home.
It was days later, and Paul would be driving Heather first thing in the morning into Entebbe, where she’d catch the plane for London. “I’m going to miss everybody.” She glanced around the room that had been her home for almost three months. While she missed her roommates, she’d been glad to have it to herself since returning from Sudan.
“Anytime you want to come back, you’re welcome, you know.”
“It may be sooner than you think. I talked to Dr. Gallagher and he’s hesitant to attempt the surgery Alice needs. Says she really needs it done by a plastic surgeon with pediatric instruments.” Heather flashed Jodene a smile. “I happen to know two very good plastic surgeons.”
“Do you think your parents would come all this way to operate on one small baby?”
“We’ll see.” Heather was already plotting her strategy.
Jodene sat on the bed. “You know, there is one thing I want to talk to you about.” She paused. “That’s Ian.”
The mention of his name raised the old, familiar hurt in Heather’s heart. “What about him?”
“You haven’t truly had time to mourn for him, you know. Once you’re home, take time to grieve.”
Tears misted Heather’s eyes. “I’ll always grieve for him. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
Jodene reached into the pocket of her skirt. “I have something for you.” She handed Heather a book. “I found it in Ian’s things when I bundled them up for Dr. Henry to give to Ian’s father.”
“What is it?”
“The journal Ian started for this trip. I believe it belongs with you because your name is on almost every page. I only skimmed it, but when I realized what it was, well . . . I knew you should have it. Let’s call it an early Christmas gift.”
Heather ran her palm over the cool, smooth leather. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Read it when you have the strength. No hurry . . . you have a lifetime. He loved you, Heather. But he loved God, too.”
Jodene left her, and Heather sat staring down at the book in her lap. An early Christmas present. Heather had forgotten about Christmas. At home, her family would be Christmas shopping. Familiar carols would be filling the air, and trees and houses would be decorated. On Christmas Eve she would go to the midnight candlelight service. And just before the congregation sang “Silent Night,” the minister would read her favorite passage from Isaiah: “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given. . . .And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
The miracle of Christmas was the gift of a child. The miracle of her time in Uganda was giving two children back to each other. Heather would remember forever the look of pure joy on Kia’s face when she first saw her sister. Had it been any different two thousand years earlier when shepherds, sent by a chorus of angels, came to gaze upon that other child? She didn’t think so.
Heather wiped a trail of tears from her cheek and opened the book in her lap. On the first page, Ian had written:
The Journal of
Ian Douglas McCollum
On page two, she read:
June
I met a girl today. She was looking out over the sea, tears clouding her blue eyes. She was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And surely God has sent her, for her heart is kind and full of love. And together, we will sail to Africa. . . .
ANGEL OF HOPE
This companion volume to
Angel of Mercy
is now available in bookstores.
When Heather Barlow returns from Africa, the joy and satisfaction she has gained from her missionary trip fade quickly. She is still feeling the pain of unresolved grief over the death of her friend Ian, and reading his journal only underscores her sense of loss. Now that she is back home in the United States, Heather feels directionless—unable to begin college, unwilling to remain at home with nothing to do.
While Heather has changed, her family has not. She is discouraged to see that her sister, Amber, seems no more mature than when Heather left, her parents no less involved with a medical practice that caters to the wealthy.
; Heather continues to be haunted by Ian and what she learned from him—that one by one people can make a difference. Her sense of purpose is renewed when she persuades her mother to travel with her back to Uganda to try to save the baby she rescued on the mission trip. But when Heather becomes ill and cannot make the journey, Amber agrees to take her place. Now Amber must emerge from her sister’s shadow to grapple with the age-old question “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
RL: 5.7, AGES 012 AND UP
ANGEL OF MERCY
A Bantam Book / July 2001
Copyright © 1999 by Lurlene McDaniel
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