After the Rains (45 page)

She made a sound between a snort and a harrumph.

“Believe me, it was a sacrifice for him to let you go.”

“He didn’t
let
me go,” she shot back. “He
made
me go.”

“Because it’s too dangerous right now. And because he loves you.”

“He treats me like a child!”

“You
are
a child.”

She glowered at him. “Is that what you think?”

“I only know what I see.”

She narrowed her eyes and drew back her shoulders. “Then look again, David Chambers. I am twenty-two years old, and—” To her dismay, her voice broke and she dissolved into tears, sobbing like the child he’d accused her of being.

He sat silent, waiting for her tears to subside.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, wiping her cheeks on a corner of the rough blanket. “You’re right. I’m acting like a baby.” She sat up straighter and looked him in the eye. “Oh, David … I loved my life in Timoné. It was my home. And I know God called me there. I
know
he did.”

He was quiet, and she tried to read his face. “You don’t believe me?” she challenged.

“That’s not for me to say. That has to be between you and God.” He stroked his beard. “But I think maybe God interrupts our callings at times. For our own safety, or for a time of spiritual growth. Maybe that’s what this is about for you, Nattie.”

He rarely used her family’s pet name for her, but now it warmed her heart somehow. She sat quietly thinking about what he’d said. He was looking out over the water now. The rain had let up, and the air between them was static, the only sounds the hum of the boat’s motor, the soft
slosh of water against the hull, and the usual cacophony of the jungle’s denizens from the overgrown banks that flanked them. Finally the clouds dissipated, and Natalie peeked from under the canopy, craning her neck to see where the sun was positioned in the sky. “What time is it anyway?”

David turned his wrist over, glancing at his watch. “We’ll be at Conzalez in another hour. It’s almost noon.” He looked at his wrist again and shook his head in amazement. “It seems impossible that July is half gone,” he commented.

“It’s funny,” she told him. “The calendar doesn’t seem so important here. I lose track of time. I don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s the sixteenth.”

July 16. Sara’s birthday
.

She must have gasped at the remembrance because David gave her a strange look. “What’s wrong?”

“My— My friend’s birthday is today.”

“I can send an e-mail for you when I get to San José. It’ll only be a couple of days late—unless we run into trouble at Conzalez.”

She shook her head. “No. Sara … well, she died. I meant today would have been her birthday.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” After a few awkward seconds, he surprised her by asking, “Is this—the friend who was killed in your accident?”

Her
accident. Did he know how apt that was? She nodded, a lump coming to her throat. She’d never talked to David about Sara, though she suspected he knew her story, since Dad had left Timoné to be with her during that time.

“Anniversaries are rough, aren’t they?”

She looked into his eyes. A part of her was touched, but mostly she was afraid that his sympathy would make her cry again, and then they’d both be embarrassed. “Yeah, well, everything about Sara’s death is rough,” she said, purposely putting a hard edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Do you— Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s not much to say,” she told him. “Dad probably told you about the accident.”

“A little. We prayed for you a lot during that time.”

“Thank you.” Again her throat grew tight. “It was my fault. I was driving drunk.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She felt guilty that she’d gone all day without even remembering Sara’s birthday. She knew Sara’s parents and her brother had not forgotten. The tears came now, and she turned away.

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” David said.

That only made her cry harder.

“I’m sorry about what happened, Natalie. I’m sure it was a very hard thing to go through.”

Her voice was a whisper when she answered, and she was speaking as much to herself as she was to David, “Sara was the sweetest girl you’d ever meet. She loved God with all her heart, and she— She made a difference in the lives of everyone she ever knew.”

Natalie stared out at the murky brown waters of the Guaviare. “And it’s my fault that she’s dead. I was rebellious and stubborn. I’m the one who deserved to die. But instead God took Sara.”

She put her head in her hands, suddenly not caring if he saw her cry. “Oh, David, I’ve made such a mess of my life. And just when I was doing something that might really make a difference, just when I had a chance to make it all up … then this happens.”

He eyed her, his head tilted to one side. “Is that what your coming to Timoné meant to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was Timoné supposed to be your salvation? Your redemption?” He seemed astonished.

She sat looking at him, almost afraid for him to explain.

“Natalie, let me ask you a question. Have you been forgiven for what happened with Sara?”

“I— I know God forgave me,” she answered.

“And Sara’s family?”

“Yes. They’ve forgiven me. At least that’s what they said.”

“Then why are you still trying to make things right? Why are you still looking for forgiveness? Whose forgiveness are you really looking for?”

She contemplated his question and finally replied, “My own, I guess. Everybody else was somehow able to forgive me, but I just can’t forgive myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” The tears were close to the surface again.

David sat forward on the bench and leaned closer. “Do you realize how arrogant that is?”

“What do you mean?”

“By your own admission, you made a terrible mistake, committed a terrible sin. And the God of the universe, in his great mercy and unfailing love, forgave you. But you’re not satisfied with that. That wasn’t good enough for you. You’re still holding out, trying to obtain forgiveness from one last source.”

He wagged his head back and forth, and the tone in his voice was close to disgust. “I’m sure glad
my
salvation doesn’t depend on forgiveness from the great and mighty Natalie Camfield.”

She stared at him, appalled at his audacity, yet convicted. “I— I don’t mean it that way. I know my salvation is in Christ alone.”

“Then why are you still struggling—what is it now … four years later? Why are you still trying to make things right?”

“Because I killed somebody,” she shouted, throwing off the blanket and jumping to her feet.

“That’s right, Natalie. You did.” His eyes had turned to steel, and his gaze pierced her. “You committed one of the worst sins a person could possibly commit. And it was your best friend you killed. Someone you loved more than anyone in the world. You’ll never make things right.”

“Why are you doing this?” she shouted. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“I don’t know, Natalie, have you? How much do you think you need to suffer before it will all be okay? It’s been four years now. Do you think another four might do the trick? Or do you think this crime might take nine years? Or ninety? How long—”

“Stop! Stop it!” She slumped back to the bench and put her head in her hands.

But he wasn’t finished with her yet. “Your problem is that you think you’re the only one who’s ever sinned
that
bad. Well, let me tell you
something, Natalie, you’re not. And as much as you want to go back in time and change what happened, you can’t do that. You will live with regret for the rest of your life. Join the club.”

His voice was trembling, and in spite of her fury at him, she wondered if he had just made a veiled confession.

He stood up—as far as his height would allow him under the boat’s topper—and came to sit beside her on the bench. His whole demeanor changed abruptly, and when he spoke, his voice was as gentle as a spring shower. “I’m sorry, Nattie. I didn’t mean to be so rough on you. But do you understand what I’m saying?”

She refused to meet his gaze.

He put his fingers under her chin and lifted it gently, forcing her to look at him. He put his hands on either side of her face, then put the back of his hand to her forehead. “Natalie? You’re burning up!” What she saw in his face, heard in his voice now, was alarm.

His fingers felt cool and soothing against her skin, and she slumped against his broad chest. He kept her head cradled in his large hands, and she wanted him to hold her that way forever.

“No wonder you were shivering under a blanket. You’re burning up with fever. Do you feel sick?”

“I … I thought it was just all the stress,” she muttered.

“Are you still cold?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not okay. We’ve got to get you something to bring that fever down.” He pushed her gently away from him and went to fetch a bottle of water from the cooler. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. “Here, drink as much as you can.”

She took a few sips, but her throat ached, and the water tasted brackish on her lips. She handed it back to him.

“More,” he insisted.

She obliged.

David left her and went to speak with the boat’s pilot. He came back with a battered first-aid kit and rummaged in it until he found a packet of aspirin. After she’d swallowed the tablets, he helped her stretch out on
the seat. He offered his knee for a pillow and covered her with the blanket. “We’ll be to Conzalez in just a few more minutes. Meghan will know what to do.”

With the shore bumping by in her line of vision, her mind flitted from one thought to another, none of them seemingly connected.

She thought of her mother in a much cruder boat, long ago on this very river as she left Timoné for the last time. It hit her like lightning:
She
had been on the Guaviare then too. For Daria Camfield had discovered that she was pregnant with Natalie shortly before she made that trip. The realization startled Natalie and made her feel closer to her mother than she ever had. And more a part of this savage land that she had grown to love.

She thought about what David had said to her moments ago. She knew his angry words had revealed a truth she desperately needed to hear. But how did one forgive oneself the unforgivable? How could she ever hope to live with the regret of what she’d done?

She wondered what Dad was doing right now. She missed him already, and suddenly she understood how hard it must have been for him to send her back.

She tried to pray, but she felt lightheaded and detached from her own body. Slowly, she closed her eyes, and soon the rhythmic sway of the boat and the cool, masculine hand pressed to her face lulled her into a deep sleep.

Thirty–Nine

D
avid’s heart sank when Conzalez came into sight. The small Quonset hangar sat gaping and empty at the end of the airstrip. He spoke quietly to Juan Miguel as the Colombian steered the eighteen-footer into the shallow inlet that served as the village’s harbor. He went back to check on Natalie. She was breathing evenly, and not shivering so violently as she had been a few minutes ago, but her skin still felt as though it were on fire. He shook her gently. “Natalie, we’re here.”

She stirred but did not sit up. David patted her arm again. “Natalie … wake up, Nattie.”

She squinted against the sun and gave him a frail smile. “Are we there?”

“Yes. How are you feeling?”

She pulled herself to a seated position, moaned, and put a hand to her forehead.

“Your head still hurts?” he asked.

She nodded almost imperceptibly. His pulse quickened as he noticed how pale she was. Many a missionary had been felled by malaria or dengue fever or one of a dozen other diseases that thrived in the mosquito-ridden jungle. He prayed that the raid on Conzalez had not depleted the Middletons’ supply of medicine as completely as it had Timoné’s. They had to find something that would lower Natalie’s fever.

As Juan Miguel moored the boat, Hank and Meghan came running. “Hello!” they shouted, waving and smiling widely.

David lifted his hand, but said soberly, “Natalie is sick. She’s burning up with fever.”

Meghan, who was just over five feet tall, tipped her head back and looked at him with a nurse’s keen observation. “Hurry, let’s get her inside,” she ordered her husband and David. “Has she been drinking plenty of fluids?” she asked David.

“I made her drink most of a bottle of water on the way here, but she’s gotten worse. And she’s complaining that her head hurts. Do you think it’s malaria?”

“I don’t know, David. It sounds like it could be.”

Natalie offered Hank and Meg a weak smile, and even thanked Juan Miguel for his services, but it was obvious that she was not herself.

David grabbed the cooler and another box of provisions he’d brought from Timoné and followed the Middletons as they held Natalie up on either side and helped her into their small bungalow.

He placed his burden on the floor in the galley kitchen and followed the three of them into the guest room at the back of the house. In spite of his grave concern over Natalie’s health, he smiled to himself, thinking how happy she would be to sleep in a real bed.

The young missionary couple helped Natalie into the bed, while David watched anxiously. By now she was almost incoherent. Hank turned to leave the room, but David hung back, watching Natalie closely for some sign that she would be all right.
Please
, he begged heaven,
please let her be okay
.

Meghan turned from Natalie’s side to look up at him. Her soft brown eyes searched his before she said quietly, “Go on now, David. I’ll take good care of her.”