Over the Waters Read online

  Out in the parking lot, she put the carton in the trunk of her Toyota. Dean and Beth were buying the car for Nick--a transaction he'd declared totally phat, and his brother had declared totally unfair.

  It was freeing really--getting rid of all the baggage of her life. Even without touching her 401K savings, after paying off her car and paying for her flight--a one-way ticket this time--she'd managed to end up with almost eight thousand dollars. It should be enough.

  She would probably need to draw on her 401K earnings eventually, unless she could find sponsorship. She'd hatched a secret plan to bring Pastor Phil back to the States for tests and treatment for his heart condition. That would require a dip into her savings, too, but it would be money well-spent.

  Over the weeks since she'd come back to Kansas City, she had sought the Lord about her decision, asking Him to close doors if she was not supposed to go. Sometimes it made her head spin to think of the lightning speed with which she'd gone from eager fiancee to single missionary, yet with every step she took toward returning to Brizjanti, she became more certain of her decision. There seemed to be something pulling her undeniably toward that little Haitian village.

  She'd always heard people speak of longing for heaven, and she sometimes felt guilty because she'd never experienced that pull. She'd been too busy yearning for a husband and babies to give heaven much thought. Now, that longing had been transferred to the people of Haiti and especially the children at Hope House. She could hardly wait to jump rope with Monique and Daphney again, or to play catch with John-Wesley. Even washing down cinderblock walls and doing laundry by hand in the beastly hot sun with the older girls held a certain appeal for her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the pungent bar of lye soap and hear the rhythmic squish-squish of the soppy fabric as they worked it between their knuckles.

  She hoped little Nino hadn't grown too much while she was gone. How her arms ached to hold him again. It wasn't exactly longing for heaven, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

  Valerie pulled into the church parking lot and parked at the curb near Reverend Morris's office. The church was usually unlocked during business hours. The pastor had asked her to stop by the church before she left for Chicago. A friend had told her they'd taken up a special offering for her on Wednesday night, so she guessed he had a check for her. She was grateful--for the show of support for her decision as much as for the needed funds.

  She locked her car and went in through the side door. She could see a light shining from Reverend Morris's office as she went down the hall. She braced herself for another emotional goodbye. She had halfway hoped that he wouldn't be in. The farewells were too hard.

  "Valerie?"

  A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned to look down the wide corridor that intersected the hallway. Her heart thudded to a halt.

  "Will!" She couldn't think what to say next.

  "How are you?" He came toward her, arms open.

  She'd forgotten how handsome he was. How that crooked smile had always charmed her. How much she'd always liked the fact that he towered over her.

  She let him hug her, but braced her arms against the warmth of his chest--and the heat of the emotions that were sure to follow. She couldn't deny that it felt good to have strong arms around her, and his low voice crooning his concern.

  "I hear you're going back to Haiti."

  She pushed away, and backed out of his embrace, clearing her throat, scrambling for words. "Yes. I'm just on my way out of town actually. What are you doing here on a Wednesday?"

  "We're taking the youth group on a backpacking trip. Colorado. We're not leaving till the morning, but we wanted to pack up some of the food and stuff now so we can get an early start."

  "Oh. Well...that's cool. Be careful. Have fun," she amended quickly. He didn't need her sounding like his mother.

  He grinned and changed the subject. "So...You're staying over there? In Haiti?"

  "Uh-huh." She couldn't meet his eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Val." He dipped his head. "I mean, if this is my fault..."

  She almost laughed. Did he realize how that sounded? But when she finally got up the courage to look up into his eyes, she saw the sincerity there and smiled--a genuine smile. "I'm not going to let you take that much credit, Will," she said. "We both got off track, but God's bigger than our missteps. I want to go to Haiti. I think it's where I was meant to be all along. I'm not running away. Don't think that for a minute."

  He put out a hand in protest. "I--I didn't mean--"

  "I know." She smiled. "It's okay. I just...I didn't want you to--" She grasped for the right words.

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  She waved off his apology. Had their conversations always been this stilted? She couldn't remember.

  "Well...I'll be praying for you, Val. Are you sure it's safe to go over there? From what I've been hearing in the news things are pretty unstable and--"

  Now she did laugh. "Will! Listen to yourself! You telling me to be careful? I don't think so."

  He had the decency to blush before he joined in her laughter.

  At the end of the east corridor, the swinging door to the church's kitchen opened and a young woman burst through. Valerie didn't know her name, but she recognized her as one of the vocalists from Sunday morning's praise band.

  "Will? Oh, there you are." The girl started down the hall toward them. "I've been looking all over for you."

  Will's color deepened and Valerie got the impression he was blushing for a different reason now.

  "I'm right here," he said, stating the obvious.

  He turned to Valerie with a sheepish look that told her everything.

  "Val, um, this is Amanda Graves."

  He didn't quite meet the young woman's eye when he introduced Valerie. But when Will spoke Valerie's name, if the spark of recognition in Amanda's expression hadn't made everything clear, her possessive hand on Will's arm would have.

  Three months ago, Will had been planning a walk down the aisle with Valerie. Had their relationship meant so little to him that he'd already moved on to someone else? A hot stream of anger seethed through her. She tried to push it back, but it seemed unwilling to be quenched by the rational thought she force-fed it. Even though Will was two years younger than Valerie, this Amanda person didn't look like she could be a day over twenty-one. What was Will thinking? Obviously he wasn't. Her blood came to a rolling boil.

  Valerie had a sudden image of the words she'd read in the book of Matthew just this morning: "How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" Hadn't she just gone to dinner a few weeks ago with an attractive doctor who was probably at least fifteen years her senior? And hadn't she entertained her share of romantic thoughts about Max Jordan? Ouch.

  No, she had no entitlement to Will Concannon, nor any right to judge him. But all she wanted right now was to get out of here. Before she said something she'd regret.

  She offered Amanda the sweetest smile she could muster. "Nice to meet you." She turned to Will. "I'd better go...I have a meeting with Reverend Morris."

  "Oh...sure. Of course. Great to see you, Val. And good luck. I mean...God bless..."

  "Goodbye, Will...Amanda." She gave a half wave and hurried on down the hall.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  O'Hare International Airport, Chicago, March 19

  Valerie said a teary goodbye to Beth and stood waving on the sidewalk as her sister pulled away from the curb. The goodbyes were growing tiresome.

  She schlepped her luggage to the check-in counter, then, dragging her carry-on bag behind her, trudged to her gate. She had almost two hours before her flight left, but one never knew about Chicago traffic, so she and Beth had started out early this morning.

  She bought a cappuccino and found a place in a quiet corner near her departure gate. She tried to read the paperback novel she'd brought, but her mind was too cluttered. The w
ords on the page morphed into senseless gibberish.

  She'd only had one night with Beth's family in Chicago, and she and her sister had stayed up into the early morning hours talking. She'd hoped to have a chance to see Max before she left, but there hadn't really been time, and she didn't want to raise the subject with Beth.

  If Max had called her even once since the night they'd gone out to dinner, she would have wrapped things up in Kansas City a day sooner. But he hadn't. She hadn't expected him to, really. She knew how busy he must be. And she didn't want him to think her a pest by calling him.

  She'd thought of him so many times in the last few weeks. Whenever she imagined her new life in Brizjanti, she had to remind herself that Max wouldn't be there. It was always a bit depressing to be hit by that realization.

  She balanced her coffee on the empty seat beside her and checked her purse for her passport and ticket information. They were right where she'd put them, along with her driver's license. It seemed like eons since she'd journeyed out of the country the first time. What a difference between the two trips. She almost felt like a seasoned traveler this time. She was excited, but not really nervous. It was nice to know what to expect.

  Flight announcements and security warnings echoed intermittently over the scratchy PA system, the "white noise" of an airport. She tried to read her novel again, but finally gave up when she realized that she'd read four pages without comprehending one word.

  Her watch ticked off the minutes. She wondered if anyone had tried to call. She checked her cell phone. Max's phone. She smiled, thinking of his gift, and the special evening they'd shared here in the city a few weeks ago. Idly, she clicked through the list of numbers she'd programmed into the phone's memory before leaving--Beth and Dean's, the church office and some of her closer friends in Kansas City. Max's name and phone number popped up on the LED display.

  It was eight-thirty. He'd probably still be making hospital rounds. Or did he even do that? She had no idea if his patients spent any time in the hospital. He'd not talked much about his work. She stared down at Max's office number on the keypad. On a whim, she pushed Call, then quickly punched End before the number finished dialing. What would she say to him if he took her call?

  But what could it hurt? Surely he would be interested to know that she was headed back. Maybe he would have some advice about Pastor Phil's treatment. He had mentioned talking to a heart specialist he knew about Philip Greene's situation. She dialed again.

  The phone rang on the other end and the receptionist answered in that polite, but mechanical voice Valerie had heard the first time she'd called Max. "Um, yes..." Her heart was suddenly racing. "Is Dr. Jordan available?"

  "I'm sorry, he's with a patient right now. May I take a message and have him get back to you?"

  "Oh, no. That's okay. I--I'm getting ready to fly out...out of the country. I'll get in touch with him later maybe."

  "Could I tell him who's calling?"

  She hesitated. "Thank you, but...that's not necessary. Thank you." She touched the keypad, disconnecting before the receptionist could protest.

  It was silly to have called him in the first place. He was a part of the past. Like Will, Max Jordan had touched her life as it intersected with his, but now their paths had diverged. Max had moved on. Just as she needed to do. Her future stretched out in front of her, full of promise. She wouldn't look back. She would look only to the plans the Lord had orchestrated for her.

  Tonight she would sleep in Miami, one step closer to her dream. One step closer to home.

  The bumpy ride through Port-au-Prince took Valerie back to that January day she'd first set foot on Haitian soil. How different the circumstances were today.

  She grinned at Samantha, who sat beside her, behind the wheel of the Land Rover. "It's so good to be back," she shouted, over the rush of air that poured through the open windows.

  "Oh, Valerie, it's good to have you back. Betty is practically walking on air." She winked. "You'd think I was driving the Queen of England in for all the excitement over your arrival."

  Valerie smiled at the picture Samantha's words painted, then turned serious. "How is Pastor Phil doing?"

  Samantha's forehead furrowed. "He was sitting up in their living room the last time I was at Hope House, but according to Betty, he's barely able to leave the house without becoming breathless and exhausted."

  Valerie decided to share her secret plan with Samantha. Maybe the young nurse would have some ideas how to accomplish it. "I want to try to get Pastor Phil back to see a heart specialist in the States. Max Jordan said he knew someone. I have a pretty healthy balance in my 401K and..."

  Samantha shook her head. "I don't think you're going to have much luck. I've mentioned that possibility before and he and Betty are both adamant that he won't leave Haiti."

  "Yes. Betty told me that, too. She said he couldn't go back. I wonder what she means by that?"

  "I don't know," Samantha said. "She told me the same thing. Said it wasn't her story to tell."

  "Maybe he's afraid to fly?"

  "I don't know. I've been trying to stop in and check on him at least once a week. Betty has him on a special 'heart-healthy' diet she read about in some American magazine. I can't see that it's helping. Of course, she probably can't get half the foods this diet prescribes."

  Valerie's heart went out to Betty Greene. How frightening it must be to watch the man you love suffer and go downhill, and feel powerless to do anything about it. "She must feel desperate to do something--anything at all."

  "I'm sure that's true," Samantha agreed. "He has terrible edema--swelling--and when I listen to his heart it sounds like he's drowning." She gave a little shudder. "I don't know how much longer he can go on like this."

  "Is there anything the hospitals here in Port-au-Prince could do for him?"

  Samantha sighed. "Betty said he spent a couple days in a hospital here a few years ago. They were pretty sure he'd had a heart attack. That's when these problems first started."

  "Max said there might be medicines that could help?"

  Samantha nodded. "A couple of years ago Josh--Dr. Jordan's son--examined him and--"

  Valerie heard the catch in Samantha's throat and glanced over at her. It was obvious that even now, the mention of Joshua Jordan was painful. Poor girl.

  "Josh was able to get him on some form of diuretics. Betty thought they really did make a difference, but it's been so hit-and-miss, depending on whether they can get hold of the prescription. The pharmacies here have a hard time getting certain drugs and most doctors in the States aren't going to refill a prescription without seeing the patient. I've tried to do some research on the Internet, but there are so many different things it could be." She shrugged. "Without a proper evaluation by a doctor, I have no idea how to help him."

  The sites along the road began to look familiar to Valerie. They were almost to Brizjanti. The sun had dipped below its apex, but there were still several hours of daylight remaining. She was relieved they would arrive long before dark.

  She spotted the bright landmark of a painted billboard on the side of a decrepit building in Brizjanti's market. She heard clinking pop bottles and a young entrepreneur grinned at them from the side of the road, rattling his bottle opener faster against the glass as they passed. It sounded to Valerie like a homecoming serenade. Her throat swelled with excitement. When they rounded the next bend in the road, she would be able to see the gates of Madame Duval's and beyond, Hope House.

  Samantha smiled over at her. "Excited?"

  She bounced playfully up and down in the passenger seat. "I can hardly wait."

  Samantha passed by Madame Duval's and drove right up to the gate at Hope House. She tooted the horn politely, then laid her palm on it and let it blare, beaming at Valerie all the while.

  Valerie turned to see Henri dash to the gate, his white smile glinting from his shiny black face. He unlocked the gate and swung it open, then stood aside while Samantha steered the Rover thr
ough.

  Samantha pulled up beside the watchman's shed and turned off the ignition. Valerie got out and went around to the back of the Rover for her luggage. But before she could get the hatch open, she heard a commotion up at the main building.

  She looked up to see three little girls running toward her from the orphanage. Their dresses were bright spots of yellow and purple and blue on the scorched grass of the courtyard.

  "Miss Valerie! Miss Valerie!" They called out their welcomes in lilting Creole. The musical sound almost brought Valerie to tears.

  Samantha met her at the back of the Rover. "You go," she said, giving Valerie a playful shove. "Henri and I will bring your luggage. You go!"

  Valerie gave her a quick hug and trotted to meet the girls. It was Monique and Daphney and another little girl about their age.

  "N-ap fe yon fet pou ou. We made you a party," they cried. A little thrill went through her as the Creole words registered in her brain.

  The girls took her by the hand and escorted her into the dining room. There, Valerie let the tears fall as she saw the circle of faces that waited to greet her. Betty Greene, Sarah and Jaelle, and some of the other teenage girls stood near a table laden with cakes and cookies, clapping and cheering.

  Monique tugged on Valerie's hand and led her to stand beside Betty. When they'd positioned her just so, Monique took her place with the other children and they all burst into song, almost shouting out the lively chorus Valerie had heard them sing on the not-so-long-ago afternoon in chapel, when she'd first felt God's true call on her life.

  She closed her eyes and let the tears roll down her cheeks, an overflow from a heart too full to contain all the joy inside her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chicago, Illinois, June 9

  Max Jordan went to the window and looked down at the traffic crawling along Lakeshore Drive. He closed his eyes. Something about this view had started to depress him. It was a scene he'd once found exhilarating and inspirational. Now, the never-ending procession of automobiles carrying an oblivious mass of humanity seemed to symbolize everything that was wrong with the world. No. Not what was wrong with the world. What was wrong with his world.