A Brush of Wings (18 page)

He furrowed his forehead. “But I’m not sure it applies to Mary Catherine’s situation.”

“Her doctor would know.” Ember’s eyes filled with hope. “Is that what you’re thinking, Beck?”

“Exactly.” An intensity filled Beck’s voice. “Maybe we could prompt Dr. Cohen to email Mary Catherine. Tell her she should come home sooner for the LVAD.”

Aspyn shook her head. “It doesn’t add up. The doctor would’ve told her before.”

“Maybe she wasn’t a candidate for it back then.” Beck continued. “She might be now.”

Ember had been quiet, listening. “I think Beck’s right.” She nodded. “That would make sense.”

Jag thought for a moment. Beck might be on to something. “I like it.” He paused. “Either way, the doctor needs to tell Mary Catherine about the possibility. If it is a possibility.”

After a minute, Jag looked at the others. “Beck and I will form a plan for Dr. Cohen.” He held up his hand. “Ember . . . Aspyn . . . God’s power be with you. Until we meet again.”

“Until then.” Ember nodded to Aspyn and the two hugged. Then in an instant they disappeared, each to her own place.

When they were gone, Jag turned to Beck. “We’ll do this together. The doctor needs to email Mary Catherine right away.”

They talked a while longer about logistics, but even as their plan became clear, Jag began to doubt. They would need more than an email to turn things around. The enemy was working overtime. The stakes were high—for both sides.

And the entire mission hung on the very frail heart of Mary Catherine Clark.

MARY CATHERINE WAS SITTING
at the lunch table, waiting for Ember. It was the first week of the month, the day when the two of them were supposed to walk to the nearest village for supplies. When the children were outside and the orphanage was quieter than usual, Mary Catherine could hear the constant wheeze, proof of the liquid gathering in her heart and lungs. Even so, she would go into town for supplies today.

She wasn’t giving up.

Ember brought her lunch to the table, and the look on her face told Mary Catherine her friend didn’t want her to make the trip. She waited until Ember was nearly finished with her meal before bringing it up. “I’m going with you.” She took a sip of water. Most of her lunch remained untouched on her plate. “I like the walk.”

“Mary Catherine.” Ember looked straight at her, almost as if she could see through her. “You’re sick. You should stay here.”

“I can’t.” Mary Catherine was going. She’d already made up her mind. “For me, it’s about finding life in the moment.” She hesitated, steadying her breathing. “I need to get out.” She remembered to smile. “It’ll make me feel better. Really. I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t like it.” It was the strongest Ember had sounded since she’d arrived at the orphanage. “But if you must go, let’s leave now. So we can take our time.”

Mary Catherine stood. “I’ll get my bag.”

Like on every other day of her life, Mary Catherine was convinced that taking risks would work out in the end. But this time she couldn’t deny the strange uneasiness pushing on her shoulders, sending anxiety through her veins.

The sensation was new to Mary Catherine. Something that had come up every few days lately. The feeling was fear. Mary Catherine went to grab her bag and as she did she lifted her eyes to the vast African sky.
Father, I’m not afraid. I refuse it. Let me make this trip, please. Let me get through another day without being relegated to the sidelines.

Be still and know that I am God, my daughter . . . be still.

Be still? God, is that really You? I’ve always felt You calling me to live.

Trust me, Mary Catherine.

The voice resonated inside her. As it did, a Scripture came to mind, something her father had taught her when she was a little girl. It was from Ecclesiastes, chapter three. With God there was a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.

Mary Catherine let the verse settle, easing the rough edges of her soul. A time for everything.

Maybe even a time for being still.

Fine. She would be still after the walk to town.
I will, Lord. I promise. I’ll rest after that for sure.

As she prayed, she felt the fear lift a little. She needed new surroundings and the feel of the path beneath her feet. The sensation of her legs moving beneath her. Yes, the trip was a good idea. She would rest later.

If they took the walk slowly, everything would be just fine.

THEY WERE HALFWAY
to the village when two men came into view, walking toward them on the path. Mary Catherine instantly felt goose bumps on her arms and legs. A sick feeling seized her stomach. Something wasn’t right with the men, the way they were looking at Mary Catherine and Ember.

Next to her, she felt Ember tense up, too. “They aren’t from around here.” She kept her voice to a whisper. “Stay by me.”

Mary Catherine felt her heart pound against her chest. The men moved toward them. They were tall and buff, but it was their eyes that struck terror in her. A terror she’d never felt before. The closer they came, the more Mary Catherine watched their eyes.

Dark and hateful. Like they were bent on murder.

Ember stopped when the men were just ten feet away. She held up her hand and in a language Mary Catherine didn’t recognize, Ember spoke with a bold authority.

Mary Catherine recognized only one word the entire time Ember spoke.

The name of Jesus.

The men raised their voices and shouted at Ember. The larger of the two glared at Mary Catherine and then at Ember. He gestured and shouted something again.

Ember’s voice grew passionate. Mary Catherine had no idea what she was saying or even what language she was speaking. But then again—the name. “Jesus!” Ember took a step forward. As she did, the men stepped back.

This time they yelled louder. Their eyes blazed with hatred. They took turns gesturing at her and shouting at her, but Ember was unwavering. Every time she said the name of Jesus, the men took another step back. Until finally they headed off the path and into the brush.

Ember’s face was pale, and her eyes held a concern Mary Catherine had never seen before. “They’re gone.” Ember started walking and motioned for Mary Catherine to follow. “We’re fine.”

As they passed, Mary Catherine peered in the direction the men had turned. But there was no sign of them. For a moment, she stopped and blinked a few times. The grass wasn’t that tall. She looked back at Ember. “Where did they go?”

“Where they came from.” Ember looked at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” They kept walking. “Now that they’re gone.” She studied Ember. “How did you know their language?”

“I’ve seen them before.” Ember looked angry.

Mary Catherine kept up despite the wheezing in her chest. “I thought you said they weren’t from around here.”

“They’re not.” Ember paused. “I’ve seen them on other mission trips.” She looked over her shoulder and then back at Mary Catherine. “They’re bad guys.”

“I sensed that.”

Ember hesitated and then slowly a smile lifted her lips. “I’m not surprised.”

The entire trip there and back, Mary Catherine kept telling herself the same thing. The walk felt wonderful, the exercise was doing her heart good. She was bound to feel better after having an adventure. Even watching Ember stand up to the men had made the afternoon memorable.

Especially the power in the name of Jesus.

Not until they were back at the orphanage and in their huts, turning in for the night, did Mary Catherine consider how she really felt. Her legs and arms ached and her lungs hurt with every breath. There was a time when she would’ve thought those healthy signs, proof she’d lived the day to the fullest or worked out in a way that made her feel alive.

But this was different. The feeling wasn’t a good kind of tired. It was more like a flu, the sort of aching that usually meant a fever was coming on. Which would be especially dangerous in her case. And suddenly, Mary Catherine couldn’t shake the memories of Marcus. The way he made her feel safe and loved.

She’d been wrong not to respond to him. And suddenly as the hours went by she wanted nothing more than to reply to his email. As if by doing so she could pretend he was here beside her. And that everything was going to be okay.

Mary Catherine waited until Ember was in bed. Then she did something she hadn’t done in too long. She pulled her laptop from her bag, plugged it into the generator, found the last email from Marcus, and read it. Every word made the aching in her bones a little less. When she reached the last line she was convinced. She’d waited long enough.

She opened a new email and began to type.

Dear Marcus,

I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to write to you . . .

The words came slowly. Her body protesting even the slightest effort. But that didn’t matter. She would write to Marcus no matter how long it took.

She managed a full breath and kept typing.

It’s not because I haven’t thought about you. You must know that. I think about you all the time. Really. But I want you to find your way, meet new people. Go on dates and fall in . . .

Mary Catherine stopped typing. She sat up, too sad and weary to write another word. That wasn’t what she wanted. For Marcus to fall in love with someone else. How could she send him an email saying something she didn’t mean at all?

She closed her eyes and tried with all her strength to stop the tears, to stave off the flood of sorrow that welled up in the broken places of her heart. She missed Marcus so much. If she tried, if she really focused, she could smell his cologne, feel his arm against hers, hear the smoothness of his voice.

The tears forced their way down her cheeks and she put her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to wake Ember, didn’t want her friend to see her crying.

But it was too late.

Mary Catherine felt Ember’s hand on her shoulder. She was out of her bed, standing behind her. “Talk to me, Mary Catherine. What is it?”

She opened her eyes and shut her laptop. She slipped it back in her bag. She didn’t want to talk about Marcus. He was a part of her past. No email could make his presence real at this point. She turned to face Ember. “I guess . . .” A sob caught in her voice. She covered her mouth again until she had more composure. “I . . . I don’t feel good.”

“Okay.” Ember’s voice spoke peace. “Then maybe it’s time. Write to someone back in Los Angeles. Tell them you’re coming home to get well.”

To get well?
The words only doubled Mary Catherine’s sadness. She felt like she would never get well. “Thank you, Ember. You’ve been so kind.” She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I’ll let someone know.”

“Okay.” Ember looked satisfied. “Can I pray for you?”

Mary Catherine was so touched. God had known exactly whom to bring for this season of her life. And yes, she was still grateful she’d come to Africa. She loved teaching the children, loved reading to them and hearing their dreams. Loved when they called her Mama. They were the family she’d never have, and that made it all worth it. But tomorrow she would do something she should’ve done much sooner.

She’d write to Dr. Cohen and tell him the truth.

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