Long Walk Home

by DiAnn Mills

  Paul found him standing beneath a sausage tree, talking to a group of men and women. The bishop possessed a soft voice, causing those who listened to lean in closer and not miss a word. Paul had learned this method of keeping attention from volunteering in a Sunday school class of three-year-olds.

  Bishop Malou had the proud carriage of a Dinka—tall, slender, ramrod posture—and the God-given peace of a Christian. Envy bit at Paul’s heart. He saw in this stranger what he desired to be himself—a man of influence. Some said Paul had displayed those qualities in his dramatic conversion and aid to Sudan, and as a result he had an impact on the entire world. An evangelistic magazine had even dubbed him the modern-day apostle Paul. The words encouraged him, but he felt so unworthy.

  As he approached the group under the tree, Paul heard Bishop Malou say, “‘He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.’”

  Recognizing the words of Philippians 1:6, Paul felt a wave of love sweep over him. Man’s recognition meant nothing. God’s good work meant everything.

  Bishop Malou continued his message using the apostle Paul’s letter to the Philippians to bolster the villagers’ faith. He stressed joy and perseverance. Paul had memorized this book, and hearing the bishop speak from it affirmed God’s presence with him—and his calling to Sudan. Afterward Paul introduced himself.

  “I’ve heard about your work with FTW.” Bishop Malou gripped Paul’s hand. The bishop looked to be in his late thirties. Judging by his facial scars, he’d gone through the warrior’s rites. “The people of southern Sudan owe you many thanks for your bravery and generosity.”

  “And I’ve heard about your ministry. How many members do you now have in your churches?”

  Bishop Malou grinned, displaying a smile that revealed several missing lower teeth, the obvious result of a tribal practice for many Dinka. “Over seventeen thousand. God has blessed my work.”

  “If you have the time while you’re here, I’d like nothing better than to talk.”

  “Would you like to join me for the next few weeks as I travel from village to village? Many are hungry for Jesus.”

  “I’d welcome the trip, but let me pray about it first.”

  For the next two hours, Bishop Malou and Paul discussed the spiritual growth of Sudan. Although Christianity flourished in the North, the number of believers and the work accomplished there was difficult to measure.

  “I read a report stating approximately two and a half million southern refugees live in displacement camps in the North,” Paul said. “It came from an International Christian Concern article.”

  Bishop Malou nodded. His eyes held the pain of an oppressed people. “I’m told the non-Muslims are sent there in an effort to clear out animists and Christians from the South.”

  “Jesus is everywhere,” Paul said, “and He’s not leaving.”

  “Amen. It’s inhumane these people are denied basic needs—food, shelter, medical care—just because of their faith.” Bishop Malou’s compassion reminded Paul of another man, another time. The bishop picked up a rock and threw it into the river near them, as though the strength in his arms could eliminate the frustration. “Many are thrown into jail and forgotten unless they renounce Jesus.”

  Paul looked to where the rock had caused ripples across the water. “I knew a man who refused the government’s mandates to embrace Islam.” He struggled with the emotion rising in him when he remembered Abraham. “I will never forget him.”

  “Martyrs for the faith,” Bishop Malou said with the reverence of a prayer. “Friends of mine had their home and church destroyed. He was arrested and charged with opposing the government. The GOS killed him and one of their daughters, but his wife and other children escaped.”

  “Ever wonder why we have escaped death? Why others have fallen, but we still stand?” Paul stared into his new friend’s face, seeking the answers to his most perplexing questions.

  “The Bible says God does not show favoritism, and He has a plan for everyone’s life.”

  Paul needed to accept this simple explanation. He’d tried to do so ever since saying yes to Jesus.

  * * *

  Larson smiled again at Nyok. “You did an excellent job while I was gone. I’ll not hesitate to leave you in charge again.” They were alone, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

  Nyok stared down at his bare feet. “I just followed your instructions.”

  “You did even more. You went beyond, Nyok. What a gifted doctor you would be.”

  “You said the same about Rachel.”

  Larson searched for the right words to express his talent, his intellect. “Right, I did. Rachel has healing in her hands and in her words, but you have foresight and organizational skills.” She picked up a patient chart. “You saw this man’s fever rise in the middle of the night, so you got up and bathed him before his condition required it. He’s already lived longer than I ever expected, but you didn’t see his hopeless condition. Instead you saw an old man who needed the best care.”

  Nyok continued staring at the earthen floor. “I felt good when I helped the patients.”

  She laughed, and his gaze flew to hers. “You have the goal of every good doctor, to help those in need.”

  He glanced about the clinic, spotless in every area. “Attending medical school would be good. I’d like to be a doctor someday.” He turned to meet her gaze. “When I’ve helped the SPLA win the war, let’s talk about it more.”

  Nyok’s words could not have hurt more if they had been thrust through her heart with a knife. She sucked in her breath, determined not to cry. Weary from the past three days, she didn’t have the strength to counter Nyok’s declaration. They would argue, and he would withdraw into his protective cocoon of quiet defiance. Tonight she would talk to Paul. He must know a way to convince Nyok of this foolishness.

  Every time Ben entered the village, she feared Nyok would leave with him.

  * * *

  Paul prayed about leaving with Bishop Malou and felt confident about accompanying him for the next few weeks to various villages. They would minister to those who knew the Lord and evangelize the ones who did not.

  He would have to take the chance Ben might return to Warkou before he got back. An idea had burrowed into his mind, and he couldn’t let it go. To proceed with it meant asking Ben for help. Knowing the man wanted him dead left Paul wondering if he’d lost his senses.

  “We will be a great team,” Bishop Malou said, clasping his arm around Paul’s shoulder. “Like Paul and Barnabas.” Paul felt like a boy next to the towering man.

  “I’m honored and humbled,” Paul said.

  “Some of the people will expect you to prove yourself. They will be skeptical.”

  “I understand completely. Will any of them be Muslim?”

  Bishop Malou nodded. “One village is a mixture of animist and Muslim. It has been the site of bloody disputes, but I feel God is leading us there. You and I will show how two different races can live together as brothers in the Lord.”

  My new, dear brother, races can exist peaceably, but not Christians and Muslims.

  CHAPTER 19

  Larson hated the thought of Paul leaving with Bishop Malou, but she couldn’t bring herself to protest. He wasn’t her private servant. She wanted him there for Nyok, to persuade him to pursue an education and give up his crazy notion of joining the SPLA. At least that’s what she told herself. Deep down she knew depending on Paul to make things happen the way she wanted wasn’t fair to him. Despite all the excuses she mentally conceived to keep him in Warkou, the fact was Larson wanted him there with her, and her selfish thoughts irritated her. She knew she simply needed to wave good-bye when they climbed into Bishop Malou’s truck and then go on about her business.

  Paul had spent an entire morning with Nyok explaining the basic points of aerodynamics and identifying parts of the plane.

  “Thank you for taking the time with him,” she said when Nyok left the
m alone in the clinic.

  “I enjoyed it,” Paul said. “I talked to him about the future of Sudan, how our country will need educated professionals to lead the nation, and he agreed.”

  “Wonderful.” A vision for the boy began to take form in her mind. “Did he indicate a willingness to put aside his ridiculous plans to join the SPLA?”

  Paul released a sigh. “Not exactly. The plans for his education and leadership goals are for after the war—after he has helped his country establish its freedom from Khartoum’s tyranny.” He punched his fist into his palm. “I’m sorry. Those were his words exactly, no doubt put there by someone else.”

  “Colonel Ben Alier.” Anger simmered just below Larson’s boiling point. “I wish I knew how to persuade Ben to leave Nyok alone.” As soon as the words were spoken, her mind slipped back to the last time she’d seen the colonel. She knew exactly how to convince him. Larson swallowed hard. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her.

  Paul grabbed her and led her to an empty patient cot. “Are you all right?”

  “Just dizzy. Tired, I guess.”

  He lifted her chin and studied her face. “Fever, chills?”

  She couldn’t help but smile. He actually cared about her health. “I’m fine, really. I’m too stubborn to contract malaria.”

  He frowned. “Why do I not believe you?”

  “Trust me. Once a diseased mosquito heads my way, it turns tail and runs. The color of my eyes scares them off.” She forced a chuckle, but it sounded weak. Between the realization of what she would have to do to deter Ben from encouraging Nyok and her awareness of Paul, Larson wondered if being ill had better appeal.

  Paul glanced at a pregnant woman outside the clinic. “Is it necessary for you to see her now?”

  Larson shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “Not unless she’s having problems.”

  “Then lie down, and I’ll ask her to come back in the morning.” He hesitated. “I want you well and happy.”

  “Thanks.” She did as he requested and remembered Rachel had always shown this concern. Rachel, where are you, my sweet daughter? If only I knew that you were all right.

  Paul whirled around from speaking to the pregnant woman. “Why are you crying?” He bent to her side. “You are sick, aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. “It’s Rachel. I miss her terribly, Paul. Sometimes I think I’d rather find out she’s dead than to consider her living among those barbarians.” Tears rolled from her eyes as though the floodgates of emotion had broken. She couldn’t stop them.

  Paul gathered her up in his arms. He held her head against his chest and urged her to cry. “You haven’t grieved, Larson. You can’t expect yourself to be some extraordinary human being who isn’t supposed to feel.”

  “I thought we’d know something by now.” She sobbed.

  His fingers wove through her hair, his touch sparking a mixture of comfort and fear. “I came here to help find Rachel. I know I’ve done nothing yet, but I’m waiting on Ben.”

  She lifted her head and stared into his dark eyes—those pools radiating compassion and understanding when she needed them most. “Why? He despises you. He tried to kill you and will probably try again.”

  “I need his help.” Paul released a ragged breath. Could it be she affected him in the same way? It couldn’t be. His concern was for Rachel and the way he felt responsible for her abduction. “I have a plan.”

  “What kind of plan?”

  “I want to go north, to Khartoum. If they’ve discovered Rachel’s identity, I have a few ideas where they’d hold her.”

  Bewilderment assaulted her senses. “How would you know?” She tried to clear her mind. “If they knew they held Ben Alier’s sister, wouldn’t they send word to him?”

  “Possibly. They could be trying to extract information from her first.”

  Larson held her breath. His words cast terror, and her anger rose as though truth came from uttered words.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it stands to reason, especially the way they think and do things.”

  “What could you do?” Just because Paul was Arabic didn’t mean he had the market on how Muslims treated their prisoners. Ben’s words on trading him for Rachel echoed across Larson’s mind. Of course Paul intended to make an exchange. The GOS would like nothing more than to get their hands on the man who had dropped tons of food and supplies all over southern Sudan.

  “Paul, what you’re thinking is dangerous. Khartoum doesn’t want you as much as they do Ben. There has to be another way.” She pulled away from him.

  Paul’s features tightened. He drew her close. His hand brushed against her face; his thumb wiped away the tears. “Larson, you have no idea the history behind me. The things I know. The things I’ve done.”

  “I don’t care. I see a good man, one who cares, a man who exceeds any code of bravery.”

  He lowered his head and brushed a kiss against her lips. Every ounce of her told her to stop. Involvement invited disaster. She feared it worse than the forces from the north, but her heart won over.

  “Dr. Kerr!”

  Larson swung her attention in the direction of the voice.

  There in the doorway stood Nyok.

  * * *

  “Dr. Kerr! What are you doing?” Nyok’s words spit venom.

  When Paul’s gaze flew to the young man, Nyok reached for the rifle leaning in a dark corner. “Leave her alone. She’s not your woman. She’s—”

  “Watch what you say,” Larson said. “You’re right. I’m not Paul’s woman, but neither do I belong to anyone else.” She sat upright, and Paul stood.

  Nyok shook. Even in the dim light inside the clinic, the boy’s eyes narrowed. “I will kill him for touching you.”

  “He kissed me.” Her voice rose. “He held me while I cried. Furthermore, it’s my business, not yours.”

  Paul took a deep breath and sensed an amazing calm. Too many times he had seen what happened in the heat of anger. “Let me have the rifle, Nyok.”

  The boy lifted it and aimed at Paul’s chest. “First you promise me that you’ll never come near her again.”

  If Nyok was this possessive, how would Ben react? He remembered when Ben tried to strangle him after Rachel’s abduction. Fear was not a stranger to Paul. He recognized the chills, the tightening of the chest, and the way his breath came in short spurts. He shuddered but maintained his stance. “I can’t speak for her. Dr. Kerr is capable of making her own decisions.”

  “Put down the gun.” Larson’s soft voice contrasted with the turmoil registering on Nyok’s face. She stepped toward him. “Here, let me have it.”

  “No.” Nyok kept his attention on Paul. “This is the duty given to me by Colonel Alier.”

  “He never asked you to commit murder.” Larson inched forward. She reached for the barrel and turned it away from Paul. “I appreciate your devotion. I love you for it, but this man is innocent of anything you might be thinking.”

  “Colonel Alier will be angry,” Nyok said.

  “You will not tell him.” Larson’s words were firm. “He has enough to worry about.”

  Resentment hit Paul hard. “What are you going to tell him? Alier doesn’t rule this village.”

  “Easy, Paul.” She used the same gentle tone to soothe Paul’s anger. Shame flooded him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to Nyok. “You are the warrior-protector, and you have pledged to uphold Dr. Kerr’s honor. I assure you nothing wrong has happened here.”

  Nyok scowled, but he lowered the gun. Larson pried his fingers from the weapon and lifted it from him. “Stay away from her,” he said to Paul. “Go back to the States where you came from.”

  “Enough,” Larson said. “Neither you nor anyone else tells me or Paul what to do.”

  * * *

  Given Nyok’s reaction to finding Paul and Larson wrapped in each other’s arms, Paul thought it best to put some distance between himself and the clinic in Warkou. If he and Larson h
ad a future together, it would have to move ahead slowly or Nyok and Ben wouldn’t accept it.

  “How long have you been preaching?” Paul asked Bishop Malou. They’d visited two villages in the past week and had spent a few days in each, encouraging the believers and evangelizing the others. As in Warkou, the Christians accepted their persecution from the GOS as part of their faith. And the church continued to flourish.

  “Ten years I’ve been serving the Lord.” Bishop Malou stopped the truck to stare out over the plain. In the distance, Paul saw the tops of huts like huge straw hats. “I was studying philosophy in Nairobi and about to graduate when I received God’s call.”

  “Did you go on to seminary?”

  “Not at first. I wrestled with that aspect for a long time. I wanted to jump into the mission field and get started, but God wanted me learning first, to deepen my relationship with Him.” He gave Paul a sideways glance. “I know some ministers step right from the call into preaching, but God had something else in mind for me.”

  Envy settled onto Paul. How many nights had he lain awake asking God about the future? “I’m still looking for my life’s calling.”

  “I think you already have it.” Bishop Malou stepped on the accelerator and moved the truck toward the village.

  “Maybe for now, but I can’t see myself dropping food and supplies over Sudan for the rest of my life.”

  “What if God wants you to continue what you’re doing?”

  The thought frustrated Paul. He wanted something grander, finer. “I can’t imagine that. Maybe He wants me to preach Jesus like you do. I could get used to this life.”

  Bishop Malou pointed to his chest. “You have to listen with your heart. We forget God wants us to hear Him. It does no good to serve until we understand His plans. Listen to your heart, my friend.”

  I wish God would nudge me a little so I’d know what to do about . . . life.

  “What else is bothering you?” Bishop Malou said. “We’ve been together for a week now, and I sense there’s more going on in your spirit than what you’ve told me.”