Over the Waters Page 17

  She turned back to the watchman. "He did?"

  "Follow me." Henri threw down a handful of wilted weeds and covered the space between her and the maintenance shed near the gate in long strides.

  Valerie tagged behind him, curious. Rounding the corner, she gasped. "My luggage! Where did that come from?"

  Henri stood beside her two suitcases, stacked one atop the other in front of the shed. The larger one was dusty and badly scuffed, but it appeared to be in one piece. The purple ribbons still clung to the handles, though they drooped like wilted irises.

  Henri beamed as though he himself had delivered the suitcases to Hope House.

  "Oh, this is wonderful!" She clapped her hands together.

  "But when--?"

  Max Jordan stepped out from between the shed and the wall. "Good morning."

  "Max! Look, my luggage is here!"

  His expression gave him away.

  "You did this?"

  "I may have." His smile rivaled Henri's.

  "Dr. Jordan must be pull some strings," Henri said, laughing and pantomiming the alleged string-pulling.

  "Oh, this is wonderful," she said again. "But when did you get it?"

  "Yesterday. I had to run an errand for Madame Duval and I thought I might as well see about your luggage while I was there. They said it's been waiting there for days. I think they were about ready to ship it back to the U.S."

  Valerie reached out to touch his arm. "Thank you so much, Max. It feels like Christmas."

  He grinned. "Well, you must've been a good girl because it looks like Santa delivered." He eyed her. "I thought you might want to skip our walk this morning and go open your bags...make sure everything is there. Maybe change clothes," he said with a wink.

  She laughed and considered his offer, but one look at the intelligent glint in his eyes and she knew she didn't want to miss their time together.

  "I'm sure everything's fine. I'll just be grateful for anything that made it here. Let's walk."

  His smile was her reward. He turned to the watchman. "Henri, will you let Valerie in when we get back?"

  "Oh yes, Dr. Jordan. I be probably still working here." He swept an arm to encompass the yard.

  "Thank you, Henri." He crooked an elbow and offered it to her. "Miss Valerie, shall we go?"

  Feeling instantly carefree and buoyant, she took his arm and walked through the gate, calling over her shoulder, "Goodbye, Henri."

  The Haitian nodded and latched the gate behind them, whistling a cheery, nondescript tune.

  As they started down the lane, Max was grateful for the narrow pathway and the escalating heat, which created a natural excuse for him to slide Valerie's hand from his arm. The softness of her fingers against his skin was unsettling and a part of him was relieved to be rid of the sensation.

  "I wish I could have gotten your things to you sooner," he said over his shoulder as they moved into single file to let a truck pass on the road.

  "I'd given up on getting them at all," she said. "I'm so happy to finally have them!" The joyful lilt in her voice was like music.

  He waved a hand. "Don't mention it." But he was far more pleased with her elated reaction than he should have been. It crossed his mind that it was a good thing he was leaving Brizjanti in a few days. It was time to banish the foolish imaginings he'd been entertaining both sleeping and waking.

  Valerie's voice shook him from his reverie.

  "I'm sorry..." Max turned his attention to her. "What did you say?"

  "I just wondered what you're doing today--at the orphanage?"

  "Oh. I think Madame Duval has some construction projects for me this morning. Boy, is she in for a disappointment. Just because a man can remodel a nose doesn't mean he has a clue about how to lay cinder block."

  A fleeting glimpse of confusion flitted across her face, as though she didn't get his joke. But then he saw realization come to her eyes and she laughed. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Will you come back to Hope House for another clinic before...before you go back to the States?"

  "I hadn't planned to. As I understand it, we got the children there all caught up on their annual physicals. Unless they can get some more of the vaccine in, there's not much else I can do there."

  She wrinkled her nose. "It just seems like kind of a waste to have access to a doctor and then put him to work doing construction."

  He shrugged. "I'm quickly learning that you do what needs to be done here, no matter who you are." He cringed inwardly. Could that have possibly come off with more arrogance?

  He gave Valerie a sidewise glance. She didn't seem to notice and he quickly changed the subject. "Are you anxious to go home?"

  She hesitated for a minute. "I'm trying not to think about it."

  "Oh?"

  "It's just that...well, I don't know what's waiting for me at home. I mean I have my job and apartment and everything, but I'm not sure I can go back to my church."

  "Why not?" It was a stupid question and he wished he could take it back.

  But she answered matter-of-factly. "Will's still going to be there--my fiance. Ex-fiance, I mean. And even if he weren't, there are just too many reminders of...of everything. I'm staying with Beth for a week after I get back--in Chicago," she said. "I hope that'll give me time to sort things out."

  "Really? Maybe we can do lunch someday while you're there." The words were out before he'd had time to think them through.

  She looked up at him, surprise arching her brows and crinkling her forehead. "I'd like that," she said. "I'll hold you to it."

  Without warning, a wave of trepidation flooded him, thinking of Valerie on his own turf. He glanced over at her in her simple cotton skirt and her dusty tennis shoes. Her face tanned, but devoid of makeup, and her hair in an unruly ponytail. He couldn't quite picture her beside him in his sleek silver Maserati, or on his arm at the country club.

  But strangely, it wasn't Valerie Austin who seemed out of place in the scenario. It was him. He had become somebody else entirely here in Brizjanti. And he hadn't a clue which man was the real Max Jordan.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brizjanti, Haiti, January 25

  The cotton blouse clung uncomfortably to her damp skin, but Valerie ignored the stifling heat while little Nino whiffled soft breaths against her shoulder. She loved rocking him and the other babies to sleep each afternoon. She teared up just thinking about how quickly her time here was coming to an end.

  She'd found a rhythm in this place that filled her with contentment and a sense of belonging. Her time on the rooftop each morning was her anchor. But now there was the early-morning walk with Max Jordan as well. Their conversations challenged and sharpened her, and kept her running back to the Bible to answer the questions he bombarded her with.

  Yesterday he'd asked if she thought Joshua could look down from heaven and see him. She'd been startled by the question, and a little embarrassed that she wasn't sure of the answer.

  "I just wish I could know that Josh knows I'm sorry," he'd said.

  "Oh, Max, I'm sure he knows. The Bible promises there are no tears in heaven. It's a place of joy and peace and perfection, so he wouldn't be sad or worried about anything that was left unfinished between you two."

  "I wish there was some kind of promise for those of us left down here."

  "Oh, but there is!" She tried to keep the excitement from her voice, but she was overjoyed by how deeply he seemed to be searching, how close he seemed to crossing from belief in God into a relationship with Him.

  She liked this man immensely, and sensed she'd been offered a glimpse into his heart that perhaps only a few had ever been afforded.

  She had watched Max's demeanor with the children change from nervous indifference to genuine delight. Observing him joke with the little girls and roughhouse with the boys, it was almost impossible to see him as a wealthy physician in a plush Chicago office catering to glamorous clients. Or on the golf course. Or tooling down Lakeshore Drive in the silver Masera
ti he'd mentioned once in passing.

  The few times Max had spoken of that part of his life, he'd seemed almost embarrassed, clamming up as soon as he realized that their conversation had revealed his wealth and position. In those moments, Valerie worried that perhaps she didn't know him so well after all.

  But he'd shared so many other parts of his life with her, openly--even eagerly--discussing spiritual things, sharing his regrets about his divorce, his tendency to be a workaholic and, of course, his relationship with his son.

  She still found it amusing that, while her work at the orphanage had given her great joy and a sense of fulfillment, her main mission field on Haitian soil so far had been this wealthy, unlikely American.

  But time was so short. Tomorrow was her last Sunday here. A week from today--the first day of February--she'd be on a flight headed for Miami. And she knew these last days would fly by even faster than the first had. They'd be gone before she was ready--ready to leave, to say goodbye to the children and to Pastor and Madame Phil.

  Before she was ready to say goodbye to Max.

  She smiled into the dim afternoon light, remembering his agreement yesterday--albeit a very reluctant one--to attend church with them on Sunday. "I wouldn't know how to act," he'd told her when she broached the subject. "I haven't been to church for...well, let's just say a long, long time."

  "Max, I didn't know how to act in church here, either. It's very different from church back home." She touched her hair absently, remembering the prayer cap. "You're not even going to be able to understand the sermon or the words to the songs--"

  "Then why go?" he countered.

  She scrambled for a reason he would buy. "Because it's where Joshua went to church. Isn't that why you came here in the first place? To honor him? To learn more about his life here?"

  She'd been surprised by her own words and she could see that they'd jolted Max, too. But he'd nodded slowly. "Okay...I'll go."

  It was a sweet victory and Valerie chuckled to herself remembering how Samantha Courtney had crowed when she'd told her the news.

  She was looking forward to another day with Max. And at the same time, she wanted to turn back the calendar. Start her time here all over again. The closer the time came for her to return to her life in the States, the more oddly unsettled she felt. Why? She'd made peace with her circumstances concerning Will. She was sure of that. Not that there wouldn't still be a time of adjustment when she got back home. It would be hard to face Will, face all their mutual friends. But she no longer wondered if they'd made the right decision about their marriage. She felt certain they had. Will wasn't the cause of her unrest.

  And she was on good terms with her heavenly Father. In fact, she'd experienced a rather sweet reunion with Him in this most unlikely of places, so neither was that the reason for her disquiet.

  Yet, her heart seemed in a strange state of turmoil. She let out a long sigh. She didn't want to waste her last days here fretting, but try as she might, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was missing.

  Max would fly home in a few days. Madame Duval had asked Betty Greene if they could spare Henri to deliver Max to Port-au-Prince on Monday. He would spend the night there and fly out early Tuesday morning.

  Valerie would miss their morning walks. It wasn't safe for her to walk outside the compound alone. She could get her exercise inside the gates and her fresh air on the rooftop. But that wasn't the point. It was Max's company she would miss.

  And she was worried about him. She thought he'd found a measure of peace about his relationship with Joshua. But she was pretty sure he couldn't say the same thing about God. She wanted so badly for him to settle that before he went back. It would be too easy for him to go back to his comfortable life and stop asking questions. Stop seeking the Truth.

  She hugged little Nino closer and tried, without success, to picture all the goodbyes that loomed ahead of her.

  Late that night, she lay on her cot in the dark, perspiring in the airless room. Sleep completely eluded her. Outside her window the faint sounds of traffic droned on the road to Port-au-Prince, and in the distance the haunting drums of the village witch doctors throbbed.

  She'd grown accustomed to this audible evidence of voodoo's hold on Haiti. And though she felt perfectly safe within the gated walls of the orphanage compound, and even with Max or Henri on the lane that ran between Hope House and Madame Duval's, it made her shudder to think of the spiritual darkness that covered this land because of the wide practice of witchcraft.

  How many of the precious boys and girls within these sanctified walls would be taken captive by voodoo's malevolent influence once they left the safety of Pastor and Madame Phil's haven?

  And what would happen when the Greenes could no longer manage the orphanage? Even if Pastor Phil got the medical care he needed, he couldn't possibly have enough years left in him to see the smallest ones--tiny Nadia and Francilia, and baby Nino--safely into the world outside the gates.

  A wave of utter despair sluiced over her. If she'd been standing, she knew she would have been knocked off her feet with the enormity of it all. Permitting the tears to roll down her cheeks and into her ears, she whispered into the darkness. "Oh, Father, keep your hand on these dear saints. Give them as many years as they need. Bless each child within these walls.

  "And Lord," she added selfishly, "I know my problems are so petty and small by comparison, but when I get home, please show me what You want me to do with my life. I love You, Father, and I trust You have something special waiting for me back home. Please just show me Your way. I want to do things Your way."

  With those last quiet words of surrender, she finally drifted into sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Brizjanti, Haiti, January 26

  With the sun hot on her shoulders, Samantha Courtney shooed two cackling hens out of her path as she lugged a pasteboard carton of clothing across the lawn to the office. One of the American charities that supported them had sent a large shipment, and she and the older girls had spent a pleasurable afternoon in the dormitory yesterday trying on dresses and skirts, and bestowing their own hand-me-downs on the little girls.

  Even after outfitting forty girls, there were three huge boxes of clothing left over. Madame Phil at Hope House would no doubt be delighted to have them. Maybe she could get Henri to come and cart them over after church.

  She'd hardly slept last night looking forward to this morning. Not only would the girls be excited to wear their new dresses to Sunday school, but somehow Valerie had managed to get Max Jordan to agree to go to church with them. She could have hugged Valerie Austin when she told her last night. In fact, the minute she saw the girl, she probably would do just that. She couldn't imagine what magic words she'd used to persuade him, but whatever they were, her heart was filled with gladness.

  It had been good to have Josh's dad here these last two weeks. Until she had delivered Josh's final message to his father, she hadn't realized how heavily her failure had weighed on her. It seemed a bit of the sadness had left Dr. Jordan's eyes since that first day she'd picked him up at the airport. It was good to see.

  Oh, Josh...If only you could be here. A lump rose in her throat and she closed her eyes. Josh's sweet face appeared as clearly as though he were standing before her.

  A wave of sorrow surged through her. She'd thought she was doing so well--moving on after losing Joshua. No, she corrected herself. After losing the possibility of Joshua.

  She swallowed back the tears, opened her eyes and looked around her. The lawn was full of laughing children, decked out like lilies and lined up for the walk to Sunday school, children who were just a little better off because Dr. Joshua Jordan had touched their lives.

  Behind them, the whitewashed wall of the compound shone in the sun. Josh had slapped on more than one shiny coat of that paint. In a few months it would chip and fade and need replacing. But he'd done his part in the brief season he had called this corner of
the earth home. He'd made his mark on the world. And it was a bold and shining mark.

  She set the cardboard box on the ground at her feet and tipped her chin to the sky, letting the sun kiss her face. The rubbery fronds of a lofty palm swayed overhead. Laughter bubbled up as she remembered Joshua's pathetic attempt to shimmy up that tree the way the native boys did whenever they had a hankering for a coconut.

  Josh's clumsy efforts had had Samantha and the children in stitches, but he'd nearly required stitches of another kind when halfway up, he'd plummeted twenty feet with a sickening thud!

  Samantha's heart had practically stopped beating. But he'd jumped up, brushed himself off and scrambled up the trunk of the palm again. The little girls had tattled on him, though, and Madame Duval came running from the office and chewed him out but good.

  "How you ever came to be a doctor is beyond me," she clucked, hands on ample hips. "You are lucky your head did not break open like that coconut. Though I daresay you've proved to us all that you have no brains to spill!"

  In private that night Joshua had mimicked the feisty Haitian woman, and he and Samantha laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

  She sighed. It was a good memory, one she could glue to the Joshua page of her heart and turn to when she was tempted to forget how many precious things her life had contained.

  She scooped up the box again. Balancing it on one shoulder, she went to join the Sunday school parade.

  Max closed the door to his room and locked it before starting across the courtyard. He'd never felt his camera or computer equipment were at risk in his room, but Samantha had encouraged him to take precautions nevertheless. "No sense in tempting one of the kids," she told him the first day she'd shown him to his room. Joshua's old room.

  He suddenly felt introspective. His steps slowed on the worn path to the main office and he bent his head and tucked his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. His time here was nearly over. Had he accomplished what he came for? He'd come wanting to ease the terrible wound of his son's death.