Monday Morning Faith (20 page)

With a sigh, I sat up. Time to get clean. Now … where was the soap?

With a groan I realized I'd left it on the deck, beyond my reach. I stood and started to step out to get it. My foot had other ideas. It slipped, and I leaned hard against the wooden side. With a subdued
crunch
the framework began to collapse. I lost my balance and floundered, grabbing for anything solid … but the whole tub was coming apart. The tub — and I — plunged into the catfish-infested lagoon.

My
eeeeeeeeee!
resonated across the continent.

I dropped, the two-by-fours hitting the water around me. The lagoon waters closed over my head as I plunged into the depths. Struggling to overcome panic, I fought my way to the surface.

Sam leaned over the broken railing above, shouting my name. Some weird quirk of my mind made me realize the drums had stopped.

A mighty splash rocked me like a boat, and Sam, still clothed, surfaced beside me. He shook the water from his hair, sending a shower in my direction. “It's okay. Don't panic, Johanna, I'll get you out of here.”

He reached out for me and I latched onto him, holding on with a grip born of pure terror. He made an effort to break my hold, but fear sent strength surging through my veins like a shot of steroids.

“Johanna! Let go! Don't fight me!”

“There's something biting my feet!” My scream reached the decibel of a jet plane on takeoff.

He swam around me, staying just out of reach, clearly afraid I'd drag him under. I could swim a little, but I'd forgotten everything I knew about the art. I went under again.

Sam dove for me, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me around. Then he got an arm around my neck and dragged me to the boat. He helped me aboard, and Bud offered me a hand up the ladder to the deck.

I collapsed onto the rough, splintered boards of the wooden platform. Sam climbed out of the water and dropped down beside me, gasping for breath.

I lay staring at him.

What had I ever
seen
in this man? Who was he? He must have satanic power to talk me into coming here. Him and his cobbled-up bathtub! When I finally managed words, they came out in a taut, controlled tone. “You weren't kidding about your lack of carpentry skills, were you?”

He started to answer, but I was already struggling to my feet.

“Johanna.” Sam's voice held a note of pleading.

I kept walking, fearing I would break down in tears and say things I would regret come morning. But though I held my silence, there was one thing I knew.

No one — not Sam, the Laskes, or the Millets — could be surprised to know that I
hated this place.

TWELVE

S
am had turned silent.

An undeniable cord of tension stretched between the two of us. I suspected he was avoiding me the next morning, but even if he had been inclined to talk, there was no time. Natives formed a long line to the clinic. I tried to help, but there wasn't much a librarian could do. I said as much to Sam, and he touched my arm.

“You can start by folding bandages.” He indicated the cabinet filled with rows of blue boxes.

“Okay.” I wouldn't be an ounce of help elsewhere, but I could fold gauze. I meandered to the cabinet and took out a couple of boxes and dumped the contents on the table. “You want square? Round? Oblong?”

“Square.”

I folded a patch, then looked around. How was I going to cut this material? I glanced at Sam. “Scissors?”

A frown creased his forehead.

“Scissors — I need something to cut with.”

In a moment he'd located the tool and handed it to me, then returned to his patients.

“What do you want me to put them in?”

“Anything — doesn't matter.”

I began to cut the flimsy fabric. The material was so feathery light I chased it over the table, finally pinning it with my elbow before I managed a ragged cut. I held up the crooked piece — clearly not Chicago-Hope standard, but it would do.

Once I was through both boxes I knew I'd found yet another calling I didn't have: making bandages. The stack of pitiful-looking patches lined the weathered table. Flies buzzed the tent, and I guessed the heat was building to crematorium levels. My stomach churned.

“Are you okay, Johanna?” Sam's voice penetrated my fog.

“Fine. Just … fine.” My eyes fell on the bandages and my imagination kicked in. Every injury that came through the clinic was bloody. Soon these bandages would be soaked … in blood …

My head swirled, and I reached out to grip the side of the table. The tent sides waved and changed shapes before my eyes.

“Johanna …”

“I'm
fine
, Sam!” I knew I had snapped at him, but for heaven's sake! I might be perceived as useless, but I could fold gauze! Straightening, I took a deep breath …

My knees promptly buckled and everything went dark.

“Johanna?”

Bud's gentle voice penetrated the darkness, and I opened my eyes. “Did I …?”

“Faint?” He nodded. “You did. But that's okay. We've all done it at one time or another.”

Bud glanced at Sam, who was working on a patient. “You gave us all a scare. Sam told me I had to sit with you until you came to. He would have done it himself, but — ”

I nodded. “The patients need him.”

With Bud's help, I stood and went to watch Sam as he worked. The villager on the table had an infected arm, which he held out for Sam's inspection, wincing from the pain. The skin was red and tight, swollen, with a bulbous area protruding like an undersized coconut.

Two stout natives pinned him on the table while Bud went to hold a basin under the man's arm. Sam proceeded to lance the wound. He slashed the shiny scalpel down in one swift, piercing stroke. The villager's body arched; his pain-saturated cry filled our ears and senses.

I recoiled from the stench of decay as Sam worked until the infected area was drained. The patient slumped in his friends' arms while Sam probed the wound with tweezers. He withdrew the instrument, holding it aloft, triumph on his face as he waved it around for all to see the half-inch black thorn.

I was going to be sick.

The natives grinned and nodded. The patient looked immensely relieved. He nodded and offered a weak smile.

I took a deep breath. “You mean that little thorn caused that much infection?”

“This is tropical country, hot and humid. Infection can set in quickly here.” Sam grinned. “I'm glad you're back with us, but you still look a little green around the gills. Bud can help me here. Why don't you sit in on the women's meeting?”

“I think I will. Thanks.” I knew now why I'd never followed my childhood wish to be a nurse. Bud took over, and I wandered to the open-air meeting.

A sizable group of women gathered near the clinic entrance. They sat on pieces of logs, large rocks, or stood. I noticed none sat on the ground, and I had a good idea why. They didn't want ants in their pants — if they wore any. I leaned against a large tree, the likes of which I'd never seen before, and hoped it wasn't harboring anything that would attach itself to me.

Eva did most of the gesturing, and though the women seemed polite enough, I sensed a certain disinterest in the subject. How many of them cared about personal hygiene? Eva worked with picture boards, showing images of babies, buckets of water, and bars of castile soap the missionaries handed out. Old campfires, animal waste, rotting vegetation, and unwashed bodies made up the pungent essence of everything that bothered me about this village.

I listened as Eva sought to make connection. As a woman pulled her toddler from the dirt and onto her lap, preparing to nurse the child, I decided none of the women were listening. Didn't Eva see their total lack of concern for cleanliness? My eyes wandered around the gathering.

A woman seated across the circle stroked the strip of bright-colored fabric tied at her throat. I squinted, then, eyes wide, peered closer. A scarf. I leaned for a closer look.

That
was
my scarf!

That woman had
my
scarf, the one that two hours ago was lying across the foot of my cot. I wanted to leap across the open area and snatch it away from her. I was stopped from the foolish action by the realization that she was at least three inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than I and could probably sling me into the branches like a rag doll. Yet I couldn't stand by and allow blatant thievery!

I eyed the intruder from beneath lowered brows. She'd been in my space, handling my possessions. The very thought made me seethe. How could Sam find such compassion for these people? Stealing — on top of everything else. It wasn't the loss of a scarf; I found the whole concept of stealing offensive. I eased around the circle and sat down beside the woman. She was preoccupied with fingering the silk, her dark eyes shining. I sat as still as a church mouse, then reached over and snatched the scarf from her neck. My eyes remained on Eva, pretending a rapt interest in the art of lathering soap.

A soft gasp had escaped the villager. She sat motionless, her eyes flicking from the scarf to me. I refused to look at her. The very
nerve
of her slipping into the Laskes' hut and taking what belonged to
me
. Confident that my possession was mine again, I relaxed and watched the lesson.

She tore the scarf from my hands.

Gasping, I ripped it back.

Back and forth the fabric went until I realized our behavior was causing a scene. Others turned to look at us, brows wrinkled. Eva glanced up, sending me a frown. She shook her head, eyes focused on the scarf.

One vicious rip and the silk returned to the thief's hands. I sat quivering with rage. How dare she! How
dare
she! That scarf had cost me a day's pay. I stewed until my blood pressure oozed out of my brain before I stood up and stomped off. When I left the meeting, the villager was immersed in the lesson, my scarf draped around her neck.

I waited for the meeting to end, pacing back and forth, one frustrated thought after another chasing through my mind. Clearly, from Eva's reaction during the meeting, neither she nor Mary would be inclined to help me reclaim my scarf. Fine. I'd accept the loss. But there was something else that bothered me even more. Something I couldn't escape.

At last the meeting ended, and as Eva, Mary, and I walked back to the boat, I asked the question that had been tearing me apart. “Why do you have classes? The women weren't paying attention to you. Why waste the effort?”

Eva's reply was placid. “We plant the seed. Someone else may water it, and still others may reap the harvest. It's not ours to question God's purpose for calling us here. Our job is to do our best to serve him by helping to enrich the villagers' lives where we can.”

I had to admit they were doing that. Their zealous dedication made me feel small and unworthy. Each new day here brought home the fact that I was a librarian, not a missionary. I didn't belong. I would never belong. So why fight it? I would tell Sam that I was leaving and let him make the proper arrangements.

We ate a simple lunch prepared by Mary. I was more in the way than anything else. The others talked about their morning's work. Sam had treated a man for dog bite, another for an impacted tooth. I didn't want to know what he'd done for that one. My treacherous mind insisted on picturing him with one knee on the man's chest, wrenching out the painful tooth with a pair of rusty pliers. Surely it hadn't come to that. Then again …

I prayed for continuing good health during the remainder of my brief stay.

After lunch Sam pushed his plate aside and stood, looking straight at me. “Would you like to take a walk?”

I didn't. After the ant episode I didn't plan to enter the forest again. But if Sam wanted a walk, I would go. Resigned, I rose from my chair. Was he going to tell me how disappointed he was in my lack of effort to adapt? If so, he had every right to express his dissatisfaction. No one could accuse me of being an overachiever. Sam deserved better.