After the Rains (16 page)

Maribeth, wearing her usual cheery smile, opened the door wide. “Daria! What are you doing out in this weather?” She took Daria’s arm. “Get in here. Let me fix you a hot cup of tea.” Then, taking one look at Daria’s tear-stained cheeks, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Mari. I have to talk to you.”

Maribeth’s face went pale. “What’s happened?”

When Daria could only shake her head, Maribeth hurriedly pulled her into the warmth of the house and closed the door behind them. She steered Daria to the sofa in the living room and waited quietly. The warmth of Maribeth’s hand on her arm was almost more than Daria could bear.

“I don’t even know how to begin, Mari. You … you’ve been through so much. I don’t know how you can take any more, how you can forgive any more.”

“What are you talking about, Daria? What has happened?” she repeated, but her voice had taken on the dull timbre of dread.

“Mari—” Daria took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Natalie was drinking the night of the accident. The tests came back, and they … they showed that … she was legally drunk.”

Maribeth put a hand to her mouth.

Daria watched the news slowly register on her friend’s face. “I didn’t know it before. I promise you, I didn’t know. She— She got a summons in the mail yesterday charging her with DUI. Oh, Mari, I am so sorry!”

She waited for a response, but if she had expected anger and tears, if she had expected accusations and reproof, she was wrong.

Maribeth began to cry, but it soon became apparent that her tears were not for herself. She took Daria’s hands in her own. “What can I do to help, Daria? How is Natalie taking it?” Maribeth asked.

“Not well. Not well at all. We were so encouraged right after the accident—and even more after she’d talked to you. It really seemed like her attitude had changed and she’d turned over a new leaf. She was opening up to Cole, and we could really see her making an effort with Nikki. But since the letter, she’s turned cold again. She’s hardly speaking to Cole … In fact, she’s hardly been out of her room for two days. I’m worried about her, Mari. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

She looked at her friend, and though Maribeth’s face bore only compassion, it struck Daria how unfair it had been for her to expect Maribeth to even listen to this. “Oh, Mari, I’m so sorry for dumping this on you. Forgive me. I will completely understand if you want nothing to do with us after today.”

“Daria, stop it. I hope you know me better than that. I … I hate it. I hate every word of what you just told me, but I never stopped loving Natalie. I know she didn’t mean for the accident to happen.” She squeezed Daria’s hands. “What are you going to do?”

Daria explained that they’d talked to Cole’s lawyer friend, Dennis Chastain. “Dennis doesn’t think the charge will go beyond DUI. It’ll mean a fine and … probation. She’ll probably have to do some community service and spend some time in—” Daria’s voice caught, and she willed
herself not to break down. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that, horrible as this was, she still had
her
daughter, living and well. “She’ll probably have to spend forty-eight hours in jail.”

Maribeth put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Daria, no.”

Daria nodded. “Dennis doesn’t think the county attorney will go for manslaughter or anything like that—since they know that Brian Wagner ran the stop sign. It could be so much worse, Mari. I know you’d trade places with me …”

Maribeth seemed overcome with emotion, but finally she asked softly, “Do you want me to talk to Natalie?”

“Oh no, Mari. No. That’s not why I came. I didn’t mean—” She stopped, fighting back tears. “I’m just so sorry,” she choked. “I’m so sorry that Natalie … was involved at all. I … don’t know what else to say.”

“There’s nothing to say, Daria. We all forgave Natalie long ago. This doesn’t change that. But maybe she needs to hear it again. Now that we know—”

Daria cut her off. “I can’t ask that of you, Mari. And to be honest, I’m not sure what Natalie’s response would be. She’s turned hard. She’s— I don’t know … she’s not herself. I don’t know what’s going through her mind. But it’s not good.”

They sat talking quietly together, consoling each other. Finally they prayed together. As long as she lived, Daria would never forget the beautiful words of compassion and grace that her friend spoke.

“Father, comfort Cole and Daria,” Maribeth prayed. “Let them know that you have everything under control. And be with Natalie. Help her to accept your love and forgiveness. Soften her heart, Lord. Don’t let this keep her from you. Just let her feel your unconditional love, Lord. And somehow, Father, let even this be used for your glory.”

Later, as she drove home through the snow, Daria prayed silently,
Oh, Father, bless Mari’s willingness to forgive so quickly. Comfort her and Don and Jon. Be with all of them. Father, I’m so unworthy of Maribeth’s love, but by your power, please make me worthy. Amen
.

The afternoon light was fading. Nathan Camfield moved out of his own shadow to the other side of the crude examination table where his patient lay. He peered into the bloodshot eye, trying to determine the cause of the irritation.

The elderly man was hard of hearing, so Nate had to shout the question three times before the man understood. “Andres,
pir aurdo?
Where does it hurt?”

But before Andres could do more than nod, a shrill cry pierced the air outside the hut.

The old man bolted upright and slid off the table, and he and Nathan went to gaze out the window of the medical clinic. A boy of about ten raced into the clearing, screaming Dr. Nate’s name. In front of him, as though it were a snake, he carried a bag fashioned of coarse cloth and tied with a length of jute. It was clear from his bulging eyes that he was terrified of whatever was inside.

Nate signaled for his patient to stay put, and he ran outside to meet the boy. “What’s wrong?” he asked in Timoné. “What’s in the bag?”

The boy untied the bag and opened it to reveal the lifeless body of a small bat. From the child’s breathless explanation, Nate gathered that the creature had bitten the boy’s sister while they were playing in the trees. The boy had managed to capture the animal when it became entangled in his sister’s hair. But now apparently there was swelling at the site of the bite, and his sister was having some sort of seizure and struggling to catch her breath.

Nate grabbed his medical bag from just inside the door and descended the steps two at a time. With the young boy in his shadow, he ran the short distance to the mission office, hollering for David Chambers as he crossed the stream.

Chambers appeared on the stoop of the hut. “What happened?”

“His sister was bitten,” Nate shouted, indicating the boy. “I’ve got a patient waiting at the clinic. Can you explain and tell him to come back after supper? You’ll have to speak up. He’s very hard of hearing.”

“Go,” David told him, already sprinting toward the clinic.

Nate told the Timoné boy to take him to where his sister was and tore
off across the village, easily keeping up with the lad. He led Nate to the family’s hut where the mother sat in the doorway cradling a little girl who looked to be about four years old. The mother wailed and moaned while the child convulsed in her arms. A small crowd of neighbors were gathered around watching the drama unfold.

Nate climbed the ladder, knelt to examine the girl. The boy pointed to the soft flesh on his sister’s shoulder where the bat had sunk its teeth. The tiny slits in her skin were barely visible now because the area surrounding the bite had swollen to the size of a small apple. Apparently she’d had a severe allergic reaction to the bite. “What is her name?” Nate asked, lifting the child from her mother’s arms.

“Zari,” the woman breathed, wringing her hands.

Nate carried her into the fresh air. He laid her out on the stoop and began to work over her, but within seconds she stopped breathing. Frantically, Nate performed CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, while the mother prayed loudly to
Jesu
on her daughter’s behalf.

The toddler resumed breathing on her own once, only to begin convulsing again. But finally, Nate was able to get an antihistamine into her and stabilize her. Within minutes, little Zari had calmed down and was breathing normally.

When he placed the little girl back in her mother’s arms, the woman smiled through her tears and looked heavenward.
“Égracita, Jesu!”
she cried.

“Yes,” Nate agreed. “Thank you, Jesus.” He knelt beside the woman, placed his hand on the child’s head and prayed in Timoné. “Father in heaven, thank you that you love little Zari. Thank you for making her well. Thank you for giving her brother swift feet. Please bring Zari quickly back to perfect health. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Zari’s mother smiled her thanks, and when Nate felt certain the child was out of danger, he trudged through the village back to the clinic to make sure Andres had gone home. The sun was sinking quickly, and David Chambers had closed everything up for the night. Nate walked back to his hut, bone-tired.

As he walked, he gave thanks. To his knowledge, the child’s mother
was not a Christian convert, yet she had prayed in
Jesu’s
name, and God had answered. Nate knew that by this time tomorrow night, the woman’s testimony of
Jesu’s
provision would have spread throughout the village.

He climbed the stairs of his stilted hut and plopped down on the stoop, swinging his legs absently over the side. Grateful, but exhausted, he wasn’t sure he could even summon the energy to fix himself something to eat tonight.

Suddenly remembering the e-mail David Chambers had brought back from San José del Guaviare this morning, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the creased, water-stained paper. He had not had one extra minute today to read the post. He unfolded it and smoothed out the rumpled sheet with burn-scarred fingers. It was from Daria, dated just one week ago. He read it through once. Then he read it again, trying to make the meaning of the words register.

Dear Nate,

I’m so sorry to have to send you bad news again, but there’s been a new development in the whole situation with Natalie since her car accident. Unfortunately, we didn’t have all the facts at the time I wrote. Apparently, Natalie has been keeping the truth from us, and it only came out a few days ago when she received a summons from the county attorney. Even though Nattie’s driving didn’t actually cause the accident, tests they took at the hospital that night show that she had been drinking before it happened, and now she has been charged with DUI.

She will appear before the judge in county court next Tuesday to be arraigned. They are telling us that the system is so clogged that it can sometimes take months to get a court date. We just pray that it will all be resolved before she’s supposed to be at college.

It’s been difficult enough for Natalie to accept that Sara is gone, but the guilt she’s feeling because she was driving after she’d been drinking that night is eating her alive.

I feel sorry for her, and yet, to be honest, Nate, I’m so angry
with her for lying to us and for getting into this mess in the first place, that it’s hard to know how to handle this.

We’ve hired Dennis Chastain to represent Natalie. As you can imagine, he has been very helpful.

Nate’s pulse quickened at this distressing news, and his thoughts took him back to another courtroom—a long-ago day that had sealed his separation from Daria and from Natalie forever. It had, in the end, been a seal of his own choosing, and Dennis Chastain had been instrumental in turning their crucible into something they could all live with—even something that God had used for good. He located his place on the page and continued reading.

Dennis tells us that Natalie will probably get probation, but he’s warned us that she will almost certainly have to serve some jail time—probably no more than forty-eight hours. He says the most likely scenario is that she’ll be put on probation for a year, and, of course, she’ll have to pay the fine and attend some kind of drug-and-alcohol counseling, and maybe do some community service. Oh, Nate, this all looks so cold and clinical on my computer screen. Our hearts are broken over this, and I know yours will be too. I don’t know what else to say.

Since she confessed the truth to us, Nattie has become so withdrawn and depressed that I’m truly worried about her. The Devers (Sara’s parents) have been wonderful and have completely forgiven her—even after finding out about her drinking that night—but Nattie can’t seem to forgive herself.

I’m so sorry, Nate, to have to put this all on you. I know the last thing you need when you’re so far away is to be burdened with something like this, but I knew you would want to know.

I will let you know the minute we find out her court date. Thank you for your continued prayers.

Love,

Daria