Long Walk Home

by DiAnn Mills

“I need to. We haven’t heard a thing.” She yawned and stretched. “I know the slave traders are looking, and Ben has paid a good price.”

  “I thought of offering a larger amount,” Paul said. “But I feared Khartoum would get wind of her importance.”

  “Wise decision,” Larson said. “Sometimes I wonder about this whole slave redemption process.”

  Paul nodded and glanced out into the rain. “You mean the logistics of filling the trader’s pockets while they carry out their treacherous work?”

  “And the increasing number of slaves traded more than once.”

  “How else do you propose to get them back?” Paul stood and took a glimpse at the sleeping toddler in his mother’s arms. Fever raged in his little face.

  “I don’t have any answers. Right now I’d pay anything for Rachel. Before, I believed slave redemption increased the likelihood of other kidnappings.”

  “It’s a circle with no end,” Nyok said as he closed his book. “I wish someone could stop it, but as long as Khartoum is in power, slavery will go on.”

  “Unfortunately yes,” Paul said. “I say, pay whatever it takes to buy back the slaves.”

  “Do you have friends in the US government who could do something about it?” Nyok said.

  “It’s complicated . . . and involves political agenda. In the United States, it’s called ‘The squeaky wheel gets the grease.’”

  Confusion etched Nyok’s face, and his lip curled. “Do you mean Khartoum pays the United States not to say anything about what’s going on here?”

  “Not at all. I’m saying US politicians have a list of what is important to them and the people they represent. Whoever shouts the loudest gets the attention and the action.”

  “I don’t know if I like your government’s way of doing things,” Nyok said.

  “It’s how the system works. It’s a democracy—the people decide the outcome of the issues.”

  “How can the American people hear about us so they can help?” Nyok leaned forward, his every nerve seeming to be focused on Paul’s words.

  “By the Sudanese getting their message out to the people through churches, humanitarian organizations, and refugees who have sought asylum in the States. The media are picking up stories, and Washington is taking notice. I don’t know if you are aware of this or not, but our government has condemned the GOS’s inhumane treatment of the Sudanese. Legislation is under way. Those who care about Sudan are doing what they can.”

  “Like you?”

  Paul nodded. “I’m only one man, Nyok, but many voices together can make a loud noise.”

  Larson listened to the two continue discussing politics and the slave issue. This was what Nyok needed—to hear a viewpoint other than Ben’s. The colonel would poison Nyok’s mind with the ways of a warlord. Fighting might be necessary, but it was not the way to bring about peace. The Sudanese problems—slavery, religion, and politics—had been going on for years. Nothing had been settled. Temporary peace with unfulfilled promises at times calmed the country, but not for long. Paul offered intelligence and a clear, rational method of looking at Sudan’s problems. Someday she intended to find out what had divided the country in the first place.

  But Paul’s ways didn’t have answers either, just like Ben’s. To her, neither man had a sure solution. Who did? Could it be Sudan was destined to destroy all its people?

  CHAPTER 16

  “A village called Xokabuc, about four hours from here, needs my attention,” Larson said after a week had passed. “They sent one of their people for me. Many are sick, more malaria.”

  “I’d like to go,” Paul said. “Until Ben contacts you about Rachel, there’s nothing much I can do to help the situation.” He didn’t want to say how every day that went by lessened the chances of finding her.

  “I appreciate the offer. We could leave early in the morning and be back the next evening. I might even let you drive.”

  He chuckled. Larson had a rusted, beat-up truck he swore came from a World War II army surplus pile. “I’ll try giving it a tune-up.”

  “Don’t you dare. I have that baby just the way I want her. She responds to my touch—only.”

  “Remind me of her attributes when we’re stuck somewhere.” Paul glanced about the clinic. Would Larson leave Nyok in charge of the patients? No new cases had been reported, but anything could happen while they were gone. “What about the clinic?”

  “Nyok’s capable of taking care of these people.”

  A rustle snatched his attention as a boy about ten years old entered the clinic.

  “I’m Joshua,” he said to Larson and reached to shake her hand. “I’d like to learn medicine and be your assistant.”

  Her eyebrows lowered, and she stared at the thin boy with a smile. “Did someone send you?”

  Joshua’s eyes darted about like a trapped animal. “My mother knows I came.”

  “She sent you then? Why didn’t she come too?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Larson glanced beyond the sun-drenched clearing outside the clinic. “Was it Nyok?”

  “I told him I wanted to be a doctor someday.” Joshua shrugged. “And he suggested I come here.”

  “I have Rachel, Nyok, and Mr. Farid. Why would I want to replace them?” She spoke in the same gentle manner that she addressed her patients.

  “Rachel is gone. Nyok is getting older . . .”

  She bent to his level. “And.”

  Joshua stared at his bare toes.

  “Did he send you to me to take his place so he could join the SPLA?”

  Still the boy said nothing.

  “Why don’t you think about whether you’re really interested in helping me.”

  He nodded. “I am. I really am.”

  “Wonderful. I’m glad. But your mother needs you more than I do right now. In the meantime, work hard at your studies.” She watched Joshua leave, and when he turned, she waved. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  Paul saw the fear in Larson’s clouded eyes. What she’d expressed to him now nibbled at her resolve to keep Nyok safe. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her, but he lost the battle. Moving in front of her, he reached out.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said as she moved away. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look like it.”

  Fire raged from every pore in her face. “What would you know? You aren’t fighting every evil known to man. Ben . . . I hate him. He wants my Nyok, and I won’t allow it.”

  For a moment, Paul thought she would break down into a pool of emotion.

  Larson rubbed her palms together. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. It’s just that I despise the helplessness.” Her gaze flitted from one thing to another in the clinic but not to him.

  “I see the despair, Larson. I’m not blind to it or your love for these people.”

  She lifted her face to meet his. The sprinkling of brown freckles across her nose and cheeks looked out of place with the sadness.

  “I’m not normally this emotional.”

  “I know. It’s Rachel and Nyok—and you’re tired.”

  “I live with tired, but my children . . .” She gulped. “My children are my joy.”

  He considered talking about his joy and his faith, but a nudging stopped him.

  “I’ve seen too many mothers bury their children.” She crossed her arms and scuffed at the dirt floor. “I vowed a long time ago that it wouldn’t happen to me. I simply forgot to guard my heart when it came to Rachel and Nyok.”

  “Did you really want to file them under ‘responsibility’?”

  “No.” The word came out weak.

  “You don’t have a shield over your heart. To care is to admit we’re human. No one wants to think of life without someone to love.”

  Her fists clenched. “Not when they’re taken away. It’s too big a price.”

  Scripture rose in Paul’s mind. Someday he wanted to share the hope expressed by his namesake in Romans 15:4: “For
everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope.”

  Paul longed to look deep into Larson’s soul. Bitterness festered there—something more than the pragmatic problems, something beyond her own understanding, perhaps issues she had never dealt with or wanted to. Why he sensed this revelation was beyond him, but he knew it as well as he knew his name.

  He wanted to help, even prevent her pain. The problem he’d run into with Jackie surfaced. That had been a situation of guilt over Hank’s death. Paul’s protective nature toward Larson didn’t compare. Larson’s despair stemmed from his family’s power, and he knew only Jesus could calm her tormented spirit.

  “I have work to do. Sarah told me there’s a young mother who has malaria,” she said. “But first I need to check on patients here.”

  “Go ahead, and I’ll look in on those in the clinic.”

  “I won’t be long. Thanks.” She walked to the doorway of the hut. “I’d do anything to ensure Rachel is safely returned.”

  “I know. Love is a powerful force.”

  After Larson left, Paul looked in on the recovering nine-year-old child who had contracted malaria. She slept, a healing sleep that showed in her peaceful features. The elderly woman and the toddler had not been this fortunate.

  With all the persecutions these people faced, what he wouldn’t give to help find Rachel. She was the angel the villagers looked to for hope and encouragement. The young woman prayed for them and sang God’s praises with them.

  Paul glanced up from the child. Right then he understood what he needed to do.

  * * *

  The following morning as a fiery sun crept over the horizon, Larson and Paul loaded medicinal supplies and a few bags of grain onto the truck bed and covered it with a tarp. Nyok scowled in the doorway. He had been in a foul mood since Larson had asked him about Joshua, although he hadn’t denied his part in the attempted deception.

  “I should be accompanying you,” Nyok said. “I’m your protector.”

  “Yes, you are.” Larson refused to allow Paul to help her heave one last bag of grain under the tarp. “But until tomorrow evening, I need you to protect the patients.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child, Dr. Kerr.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from commenting about immaturity. “I wouldn’t leave a child in charge of my clinic. You have my instructions, and you know how to handle emergencies.”

  Nyok startled, which was exactly what she wanted. She hadn’t offered Rachel this much trust, but Larson knew she had to relinquish control over Nyok—or she would lose him.

  “Thank you, Dr. Kerr. I’ll take care of everything.”

  She allowed herself to smile. “I know you will.” Climbing into the truck, she turned to wave.

  “Are you letting Mr. Farid drive?” Nyok said with a teasing grin.

  She studied the smirk on Paul’s face, then swung a glance at Nyok. “Not for one minute.” She snatched the keys from Paul and laughed—the first good laugh she’d enjoyed in a long time.

  Half an hour later, she still felt an extraordinary carefree attitude. She didn’t know where it originated, only that she welcomed the diversion.

  “Okay, Miss Mirth, I’m assuming we can get through the roads?” Paul said.

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “In this?” He raised a brow, his serious face causing her to laugh again. “Remind me to drop you a new vehicle—and soon.”

  She wiggled her shoulders and settled into the torn seat. “Can I pick out whatever I want?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve created a monster here. Sure, why not?”

  “Options, options. This will be fun.” She glanced his way. “At your expense, of course.” She drummed the steering wheel—what there was of it—with her palm. “I would like a Hummer, but not a red one. The GOS would spot it a mile away and confiscate my fun.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She enjoyed his feigned annoyance. With the giddy feelings of a schoolgirl, she purposely hit a bump, sending them a half foot into the air.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Who taught you to drive?”

  “My granddaddy. He went through World War II, drove a truck like this one.”

  “I’m not surprised. So tell me more about your Hummer options.”

  “Camouflage and hidden compartments.”

  This time he laughed. “If you’re trying to hide things, the GOS will find them.”

  “I’m thinking about Ben.” And she was serious. “He’d steal me blind if I didn’t watch him, including my new Hummer.”

  Shaking aside the ever-present dilemmas, Larson turned her attention back to Paul. She wanted to ask why he’d accompanied her in the first place, but something told her she wouldn’t like his response. He probably had designs on converting her to Christianity. “Until we get to the village, I don’t want to think about the GOS, starvation, unsanitary water, politics, oil, slavery, malaria or any other disease, or Islam versus Christianity.”

  He placed his arm over the back of the seat. “Good, then we have a whole lot of other topics.”

  “Name one.”

  “The weather and your childhood.”

  “That’s two.”

  “Take your pick.”

  Larson braved a deep breath and thought back to the days in rural Ohio when she rode a country school bus and carried peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches in a Barbie lunch box. “I was terribly skinny, terribly shy, and too smart for my own good. We lived on a farm. Daddy raised everything from soybeans to Yorkshire pigs—”

  “What kind of pigs are those?”

  “Those were first brought to Ohio around 1830. I know because I did a report on them in the fifth grade. They’re the typical pinkish-white pig.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Back to my story. I went to school and then became a doctor.”

  “You sure left a lot of years unaccounted for,” Paul said. “No special man?”

  “Nope. I’m married to my profession. How about you? What’s your story?”

  “I’d rather talk about the GOS.”

  “Really bad, huh?” Larson remembered she’d never questioned Ben about Paul. Curiosity needled her.

  “My story is boring. Ben hasn’t told you?” Paul opened his backpack and took out his journal. When she shook her head, he continued. “I’ll tell you my side of it after you hear his version.”

  “Why?”

  Paul grinned. “His may be more colorful.”

  Larson didn’t believe him for an instant. A sordid past? Ben had made the comment about Khartoum taking Paul as trade for Rachel. How could she push him for more information? She decided not to prod. She didn’t want to tell all either.

  * * *

  Paul could have easily occupied her time for the next three hours with his life story. But the idea of revealing his roots left a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he kept silent.

  The truck bumped over the narrow road to Xokabuc—a name that meant “we still struggle.” And the road resembled nothing more than a path. From the size of the ruts, not many vehicles traveled this way. Paul reached for the rifle in the backseat. He trusted neither two-legged nor four-legged animals.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Nyok or Rachel has been with me in the past, and they rode shotgun.” She hesitated. “Ben took this jaunt with me once too.”

  He started to say she and Ben had a strange relationship but thought better of it. Paul had determined the first day he delivered supplies that Colonel Ben Alier felt more than a passing interest in Larson. His eyes gave away his heart. His words betrayed his facade. A man like Ben didn’t put up with a woman’s independent, stubborn nature, not even a woman doctor, which had to frustrate him. Why Larson acted unaware puzzled Paul. A woman of her intelligence recognized things in people.

  Realization struck him hard. She knew the truth and might even s
hare the same feelings.

  A twinge of something akin to jealousy pinched at Paul’s heart. He wondered if a feisty, beautiful woman like Larson would ever consider the scrawny Arab Christian beside her. He had no power, stature, looks, or intellect. I’m losing my mind—been in the jungle too long.

  “Talk to me,” she said, interrupting his pondering.

  “I’d rather listen to you,” he said. “Tell me about the area where you grew up in Ohio.”

  She smiled softly. “We had a creek winding around the farm. If I close my eyes, I can still hear it gurgling over moss-covered rocks. Slippery ones, I might add. Sometimes my granddaddy and I took a picnic lunch and fished in it. We never caught much, but we sure had a good time. Granddaddy always told me stories about the war. Not gory ones, but sentimental tales about his buddies and how the war turned them from boys into men. Granddaddy didn’t talk about the bad parts until just before he died. Guess he needed to get it out.” She hesitated. “Now I know how he felt. Some days you wish someone cared.”

  “Sounds like a great man.”

  She nodded. “He pastored a church for over forty years.”

  “And you went every Sunday?”

  “I did until shortly before graduating from medical school.”

  Paul lost her there. She appeared to trace her thoughts back to a place in time where he couldn’t set foot. Larson did know the Lord. Whatever drove her from His arms had to be deep—and ugly. “What turned you away from God?”

  She shook her head. “Not a discussion for today. Maybe never.”

  “I’m your friend. Remember that when you need to talk.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “So did you go wading in the creek?” he said.

  She blinked, then tilted her head. “Sure did. There were these little crabs that used to tug at my toes, and in the winter I ice-skated on it.”

  “Did you have a dog?”

  “Of course. What’s a farm without a dog? Mine was a collie and shepherd mix. I called him Huckleberry. Sometimes at night, I sneaked him in through the kitchen and let him sleep beside my bed. My mother didn’t appreciate it, but I did it anyway. I loved Huckleberry. In fact, I loved all those animals. We always had plenty of pigs, calves, chickens, ducks, and rabbits. Without brothers and sisters, those animals were my pets. I nearly became a vet.”