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Out of the Shadows
Melanie Mitchell
Once touched…Marisa Somerville has changed. Now a confident, groomed, successful businesswoman, she’s nothing like the scared wife of an abusive husband that Rafe Peveril survived a plane crash with six years ago.Never forgotten…She has a different name, but he’d know those siren green eyes, and lush lips anywhere. Yet she insists they’ve never met and Rafe wants to know why. She might deny knowing him but she can’t deny how she responds to his touch…



“I know it’s asking a lot, but…”
Ben regarded her with compassion, this time working hard to hide his emotions. Finally, he caught her small hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Look, you’re exhausted. Why don’t you go to bed? If you want me to stay, I can drag one of the exam cots onto the porch and sleep there.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “But if you wake up before me in the morning, just don’t mistake me for a patient….”
She managed a little smile. “Thank you, Ben. That would be perfect.” They stood in silence for a few seconds. It took all of the self-control Ben had left to refrain from taking her in his arms again. Finally, he turned to leave. At the door he paused and looked back at her. Her face was red, her eyes were swollen and her hair was mussed. She had never looked more beautiful to him.
He smiled and whispered, “Good night.”
Dear Reader,
In 1998, I was part of a team of nursing educators asked to travel to Kenya for two weeks to provide continuing education programs for missionary nurses. Most of these nurses were American or Canadian, and many had worked in Africa for years.
The missionary nurses were amazing and inspirational. During our time together, I learned about the problems they encountered in their practices, as well as the less-than-ideal circumstances in which they often found themselves. I witnessed firsthand the grateful responses of the local people to their tireless work and loving care as they did whatever they could to manage the challenging situations, cultural differences and pervasive health problems.
Out of the Shadows grew from stories shared by the nurses, as well as my observations of the country and the people. Several of the characters are based on people I met while there. For example, the leader and unofficial head of the group of nurses was a longtime missionary from Alabama; she became the inspiration for “Mama Joe.” The Merdians—the Bible translators who play a significant role in the book—were based on a family who lived and worked in Kenya for more than twenty years. I hope I did them justice, as they deserve respect and admiration.
Enjoy the book!
Melanie Mitchell
Out of the Shadows
Melanie Mitchell


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

MELANIE MITCHELL
is a native of Texas. With her husband, Scott, Melanie has lived in Belgium, South Korea and a number of cities in the United States. She has traveled throughout the U.S., Canada, Europe, Asia, Africa and the Middle East. Melanie draws on her travels and work abroad to bring a variety of settings, experiences and an understanding of different cultures into her work.
Melanie has been a registered nurse for many years and currently teaches nursing in the Houston area. While she has written extensively—nursing textbooks and articles—she recently turned to her love of romantic suspense with Out of the Shadows, her debut novel.
To Scott, my support and inspiration (also a darned good pilot).

Eldorado
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old,
This knight so bold,
And o’er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow;
“Shadow,” said he,
“Where can it be,
This land of Eldorado?”
“Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,”
The shade replied,
“If you seek for Eldorado!”
—Edgar Allan Poe
Contents
PROLOGUE (#ub57a2010-cf95-5be0-8b36-7756b59ea00b)
CHAPTER ONE (#u45f7aefa-6b4e-540e-97ed-600cb2763468)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc7f874d8-7a67-5f8b-b3c8-dd91b0e362e5)
CHAPTER THREE (#uceabc68b-2fb5-5eae-9627-e83ebec02777)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ubb70adc6-a942-5e0d-8ecc-4586fffff039)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7c5d85a7-2651-55c0-97d2-6e41d01860a6)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
Dallas, Texas
BRIAN CARPENTER GAZED at his wife’s reflection in the mirror as he fumbled with the knot on his tie. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking frustrated, restless and lovely.
“What would you like me to bring home for supper?”
“I don’t know. I’m tired of takeout, and I’m starting to resemble a whale.” Leslie frowned and shifted restlessly. “If I don’t get out of this bed soon, I’ll go crazy.”
Brian decided the tie was neat enough and fastened the buttons on his collar. “Well, the bed rest won’t last more than a week or two. Isn’t that what your OB said?”
She wrinkled her nose and sighed. “That doesn’t help me feel any better.”
He sat beside her and gently brushed his fingers across her cheek. Despite her pregnancy, or perhaps because of it, she was beautiful. Her complexion was a little lighter than normal, enhancing her remarkable deep blue eyes. Her glossy brown hair seemed even curlier, and her skin practically glowed. He sympathized with her frustration, though, knowing that being confined the past ten days had been hard for her—she was active by nature and loathed relinquishing the care of their two-year-old daughter to anyone else.
“Any more bleeding?”
“Not this morning.” She brought her hand to her belly as if she could feel the baby growing. “Maybe everything is all right now. Maybe I can...”
“Not so fast.” Brian placed his hand over hers. “The doctor said you could slowly resume normal activities—not start running a marathon—after the bleeding has stopped for at least twenty-four hours.”
She slumped back on the pillows and frowned again. “I know.”
“Honey,” he said, forcibly upbeat, “you’re only ten weeks along. Give the baby a chance to get stronger. Then there will be less chance of a miscarriage.”
“Thank you, Dr. Carpenter.” Although her tone was mildly sarcastic, she smiled at him. “You’re right, of course. It’s worth it.” Leslie adjusted the lightweight quilt to cover her legs. “I just hate being useless.”
Sensing that the worst of the current minicrisis had passed, Brian changed the subject. “You’re sure your mom can pick Emma up from day care?”
“Yes, positive. The only reason you have to take her this morning is because Mom has a dental appointment.”
“Good. I won’t worry about leaving early to come home.” He squeezed her hand. “Can I get you something to eat?”
Leslie shook her head. “No. Thanks.” Her smile turned to a grimace. “Right now the thought of food makes me gag.”
Brian stood. “Okay, I can’t make you.” He snagged his car keys from the dresser and shoved them in his pocket. Glancing at her from the foot of the bed, he said, “Now, about supper...”
“I’ll talk to Mom. She may have planned to fix something.” Leslie flashed a wry smile. “She’ll disown us if we give Emma any more junk food. I’ll call you this afternoon and let you know. Okay?”
Brian nodded and walked back to her. He leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. “We’d better be off. My first patient is scheduled for eight-thirty, and I need to run by the hospital to make rounds before that. Emma,” he called at the door. “Come kiss Mommy goodbye.”
In seconds, the towheaded little girl came bouncing into the room, dressed in denim overalls and a red T-shirt. Although Leslie had combed her hair earlier that morning, it was already falling into disarray. She repositioned Emma’s barrette before kissing her head.
“Be good at school, and remember that Nina will pick you up about lunchtime.” The toddler nodded and giggled.
“All right, baby,” Brian interrupted. “Let’s go. Hop in your car seat, and I’ll buckle you in.” Leslie gave Emma another peck on the cheek, and the toddler ran out of the room, heading for the kitchen door leading to the garage. Brian leaned over and kissed his wife again. “Do you need anything before I leave?”
Leslie pointed to her laptop and the pile of books beside the bed. “No, thanks. I’ve got plenty to do. I need to grade some papers and read a little. I’ll be able to stay sane for a while.”
He grinned. “I love you. Call me later.”
“I love you, too.” She blew him a kiss.
* * *
BY TEN O’CLOCK Leslie was bored. Since she was allowed to go to the bathroom and take occasional trips to the kitchen, she fetched a glass of lemonade and was headed back upstairs when the doorbell rang.
She frowned. It was rare for anyone to come to the house during the day. In keeping with the directives of her obstetrician, she slowly walked to the front door. Peering through the peephole, she saw two uniformed police officers accompanied by a man in a dark suit.
Police? Her thoughts raced, and her heart rate rose. Her hand was trembling slightly when she opened the door.
The expressions on the faces of the three men accentuated her fear. One of the uniformed officers spoke. “Ma’am, I’m Sergeant Hunton, from the Dallas Police Department. Are you Mrs. Carpenter?” His voice was slightly tremulous.
Leslie felt the blood leave her face. She gave a tiny nod.
The man in the suit said, “Mrs. Carpenter, I’m Jerry Zeiger, one of the chaplains for the DPD. Can we come in?”
Leslie’s legs were wobbling so badly she barely managed to step aside to let the men in. The chaplain took her arm and led her into the living room. “Please sit down, ma’am.”
She glanced toward the two uniformed officers, who remained standing just inside the door. Neither looked at her. Her hand was visibly shaking now as she reached out to move a cushion before sitting on the edge of the sofa.
* * *
THE CHAPLAIN SAT beside her and took her hand in his; hers was icy. He had to force himself to look at her directly. “I’m so sorry,” he said in the quiet, calm tone common among clergymen. “We have some bad news.... There was an accident. A delivery truck ran a red light and collided...” He paused and watched the young woman with growing concern. At that moment, he actively hated his job. He sighed, then said, “Ma’am, your husband’s car was hit and he was killed instantly.”
Leslie shook her head from side to side. She swallowed twice before she managed to whisper, “Emma?”
The chaplain held on to her hand, trying to give even a small amount of support. He no longer looked at her directly; instead, he stared at their hands. “Mrs. Carpenter, I am so sorry, but the little girl was killed, too.”
Even though he was expecting it, Zeiger was still affected by the wrenching sound of her sob. Pulling away from him, the young woman doubled over and buried her head in her hands. He wanted to comfort her, but he knew she would find little solace for a long, long time. And he understood too well that she’d never forget this moment. She would never totally recover.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, SHE lost the baby.
CHAPTER ONE
THE FIRST THING Leslie Carpenter noticed as she stepped off the British Airways jet in Nairobi was the smell. It was earthy, rich with the scents of soil, manure, tropical flowers and sweat. After being confined in the stuffy, crowded 747 for more than ten hours, she welcomed it.
Leslie shouldered her large canvas tote and joined the slow line of passengers. She was struck by the odd mix of people carrying loose clothing, bags, sacks, briefcases and children as they made their way down the corridor into the terminal. Most were African, with a significant number of white and Asian faces in the crowd. These, she surmised, were tourists or expatriates, although a smattering appeared to be businesspeople.
As she headed toward the immigration officials working at glass-enclosed desks, Leslie noticed soldiers scattered throughout the processing area. They were dressed in camouflage fatigues and carried wicked-looking machine guns. She could see at least three from her location in the passport control line, and their presence reminded her of the acts of terror that were relatively common in Eastern Africa. She took a deep breath and told herself the situation had calmed in recent months.
After getting her passport stamped, she followed the crowd to the baggage-claim area. The conveyer belt was already laden with suitcases, boxes, foam containers wrapped with duct tape, duffels and even heavy black garbage bags. Various emotions tugged at her as she watched the carousel, feelings she hadn’t experienced in many months. She recognized excitement and anticipation along with nervousness and more than a twinge of fear. Feeling very alone, she wondered for the twentieth time—What am I doing?
The incongruity of standing in the capital of a developing country hit her, and not for the first time. For the past year and a half she had depended on her family and friends in Dallas. Their love and patience, along with her compassionate colleagues at the nursing school, had helped her through the tragedy that had shattered her life. The very idea that she could leave them and fly halfway across the world struck her as preposterous—even now that she had done it.
It had taken months to recover from the emotional assault that followed the accident. Living with her parents had helped.
More than a year had passed when a colleague mentioned the need for a volunteer nurse-practitioner to run a rural clinic in Africa for six months, allowing a long-term missionary to return home for a much needed sabbatical.
Leslie had contacted the East Africa Mission office in Atlanta, and less than five weeks later, she tearfully kissed her parents, sisters and closest friends goodbye at Dallas’s DFW airport, promising to email as often as possible.
Now, following two ten-hour flights, she was in Nairobi.
She located her bags and stood in the slow line for Customs. After presenting the required forms, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and moved toward the exit.
Anna MacDonald, also known as Mama Joe—the nurse who would be heading home for sabbatical—was supposed to meet her at the airport and accompany her back to the village clinic. Leslie had seen pictures of the veteran nurse and, scanning the faces, she quickly spied the petite woman in the crowd. She was easy to spot, with her white face, silver-gray bun and black-framed glasses, standing beside a smallish, middle-aged white man. Leslie waved to the pair and was relieved when they waved back. Mama Joe and her companion hurried forward and, without hesitation, she scooped Leslie into a warm hug.
“Hello, dear! You must be Leslie. I’m Mama Joe. We are so happy that you’ve come!” Her voice was a little deep and a bit raspy, with the hint of a Southern accent. “You’re a wonderful answer to my prayer.” She pulled back and smiled, taking Leslie’s hand. Behind the heavy glasses, her eyes were a soft brown.
“I’m very happy to meet you, too, Mama Joe.” Leslie hoped the warmth in her voice matched that of the older woman. “I can’t believe I’m actually here, and I can’t wait to get started at the clinic.”
Mama Joe’s smile widened, and lines creased her tanned face. “We’ll be heading out for Namanga—our village—later this afternoon. I’ll be able to show you everything before I leave in a couple of weeks.” She indicated the man beside her. “Leslie, this is Dennis Williams. Dennis is the regional director of the East Africa Mission.”
Leslie shook his hand. “Yes, Mr. Williams, we spoke on the telephone a few weeks ago. It’s good to meet you.”
“Call me Dennis, please. Thank you again for helping out at the last minute like this. We feel very lucky to have you take over the clinic for the next six months.” He took her suitcases and headed toward the exit. “If you aren’t too tired, we could show you a little of the city, have lunch with my wife—then our driver can bring you back to catch your flight to Namanga.”
“The village is a couple of hours south of here by plane,” Mama Joe explained. “It takes six hours to drive because the roads are riddled with potholes, so we fly when we can.” She took a quick breath and continued, “I came up this morning with Ben Murphy. He’s one of the pilots who help us from time to time. We’re supposed to meet him here at three.”
Leslie glanced at her watch. It was a little after ten. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she left Dallas for London. After a three-hour layover at Heathrow, she’d been able to doze with her head propped against the small window of her red-eye flight. Yet, despite the grueling trip and minimal sleep, she was wide-awake. “That sounds terrific!” She smiled. “I’d love to see Nairobi.”
Leslie accompanied Mama Joe and Dennis toward the busy terminal’s exit. She’d passed her first hurdle and she felt welcomed by her new colleagues. Maybe, she thought, I’ve made the right decision after all....
* * *
THE TRIP FROM the airport was like nothing Leslie had ever experienced. In the parking area, she was introduced to a young Kenyan named Marcus who chauffeured the mission’s van. “I rarely drive,” Dennis explained. “I’ve lived in Nairobi for more than five years, but I still can’t get used to driving on the left.”
Mama Joe acted as tour guide, pointing out the various sights. As they neared the city, the trees and lush grassland quickly gave way to signs of human habitation. People walked and jogged on a roadside path, their numbers growing as the van progressed. Mama Joe explained, “Most people don’t have cars. They grow up running everywhere. That’s why so many of the great runners are from Kenya.”
Leslie watched in amazement as the van passed men in dress pants and sometimes even suits jogging toward town, often carrying briefcases or backpacks. The women wore dresses or skirts and blouses of batik cottons in a rainbow of colors. A lot of them carried bundles, often on their heads, and babies in cloth slings on their backs. Many pedestrians lugged wooden carts filled with bananas, mangoes and other fruits, building materials, chickens, bolts of cloth, and what appeared to be car parts. She stared when she saw two men leading a Cape buffalo.
Leslie tried to absorb the sights of the engulfing commotion when they reached the city. The streets were crowded with trucks, cars and buses, many of which appeared decrepit, with rusting fenders and duct-taped bumpers. With surprising frequency, their relatively new and well-maintained van was passed by large passenger vans overflowing with people. Following her stare, Mama Joe laughed. “Those are matutus, Kenya’s primary means of public transportation. The vans are supposed to hold about fifteen people, but as you can see, they typically carry at least twice that number.”
Leslie shook her head slightly in sympathy as she continued to look through the window. Drivers here were aggressive—really aggressive. She watched in astonishment as a rust-covered car swerved around them and nearly cut them off, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a car in the right-hand lane. Leslie clutched the seat and glanced at Mama Joe and Dennis. They didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the darting traffic, sudden stops and starts and blaring horns. With slightly nervous resignation, she determined to avoid watching the traffic ahead and concentrated on the sights from her window.
The city’s skyline loomed. Modern skyscrapers were interspersed with two-and three-story buildings that appeared to date back to British colonial rule. Occasionally ramshackle structures were adjacent to office buildings, and a variety of crowded shops and stores could be seen only a few feet off the busy street.
“I’m surprised there are so many tall buildings,” Leslie said as they approached the city center. “Nairobi reminds me a little of Chicago or even New York.”
Dennis nodded. “Nairobi is very cosmopolitan. Of course, the majority of people are African. But because of British colonization, there’s a large contingent of Europeans here. And there are a lot of immigrants from South Asia, particularly India and Pakistan.”
“This is very different from where we live,” Mama Joe added. “In our area, there aren’t many who aren’t African. Mostly farmers. We also take care of quite a few Masai—the nomads who tend cattle.”
Leslie wondered anew about the conditions she’d be exposed to in the rural area. She had vaguely pictured mud huts with thatched roofs and cooking over open fires.
They drove out of the primary business district and entered a residential neighborhood. As they progressed down a tree-lined street, the houses grew rapidly in size until they became mansions on huge lots surrounded by high walls. “We are very fortunate,” Dennis said. “The building that houses the East Africa Mission was donated about fifty years ago by a wealthy family who returned to England.”
Marcus turned the van through a gate and parked in front of a large Victorian. Inside the old brick walls, Leslie saw a lush lawn, edged by deep beds with layers of flowers. As they walked to the front door, Leslie recognized the sweet smell of honeysuckle and lilac. Dennis held the door open for the two women. “The main offices of EAM are on the first floor,” he explained. “My family and I live on the second.”
Two African women were seated at desks in the first room of the mansion. The young women smiled shyly at Leslie as they were introduced, revealing beautiful white teeth which contrasted strikingly with their very dark faces. Mama Joe stopped to chat as Dennis led Leslie through the lower floor.
A slightly plump woman with gray-tinged brown hair met them at the top of the stairs. Before Dennis could make the introductions, she took Leslie’s hand. “Hello, I’m Connie. I’m so glad you had time to come by.” She pulled Leslie into the living room. “Please sit down. I know you’re exhausted—that trip is a killer!” Leslie sat back in a cushioned chair with the lemonade Connie had handed her and surveyed the room with its enviable collection of Victorian antiques. It gave her the impression that she was in a parlor in southern England rather than in a missionary’s home in central Kenya.
The disconnect was vaguely perplexing.
At Connie’s suggestion, Leslie spent a few minutes in the modern bathroom freshening up before lunch. She changed into the spare blouse from her carry-on bag. It was slightly wrinkled but clean. The high humidity had caused her wavy, dark brown hair to curl, so she brushed it into a heavy ponytail and confined it with a large barrette. There were faint dark rings under her large blue eyes. She sighed. Only a good night’s sleep would remedy that.
Lunch was anything but exotic: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and salad. The only nod to their being in equatorial Africa was the selection of fruits for dessert—mangoes, pineapples and papayas.
Between bites of flavorful mango, Leslie asked, “So, why are you called Mama Joe?”
“I haven’t thought about that in quite a while.” Easy humor shone in the crinkled corners of the other woman’s brown eyes. “Well, when we first came to Namanga, our kids were very small. As a sign of respect, I was not called by my given name, but by the designation ‘Mama.’ ‘Joe’ is my oldest son, so I was ‘Mama’ of ‘Joe,’ which became ‘Mama Joe.’ I’ve been known by that name for about forty years.” She chuckled. “I doubt many people even know my name is Anna!”
At Leslie’s prompting, Mama Joe recounted how she and her husband had traveled to Kenya in the late 1960s as newlyweds. “We raised four children here,” she said. “In 1994, we retired and moved back to Alabama, but when my Daniel died just a few years later, I decided to come back where I could be useful.”
Leslie sat quietly, thinking about how closely Mama Joe’s reasons for coming to Kenya mirrored her own.
She wanted to help the people here, too.
She wanted to find a place where she could be useful again.
She only hoped she could find that in Africa.
CHAPTER TWO
THE COMBINATION OF jet lag, exhaustion and lunch slammed Leslie during the drive back to the airport. The van was nearing the airport when she awoke, surprised she’d slept through the crazy Nairobi traffic.
Marcus offered to wait at the van with Leslie’s bags while the women located the pilot who would take them on the final leg of the journey. “Ben told me to meet him at the Rift Valley Bar around three o’clock.” Mama Joe gestured toward the rear of the terminal. “It’s over there. Back near the gates.”
They were making their way through the crowd when they heard a voice call loudly, “Mama Joe! Mama Joe!” A woman dressed in a bright yellow-and-orange cotton skirt and blouse ran toward them and grabbed Mama Joe’s hand.
“Mary!” Mama Joe exclaimed. The two embraced, and they conversed for a moment in Swahili before Mama Joe introduced Leslie.
“This is Mary Keino, a dear friend of mine. Mary worked with me many, many years ago, even before we settled in Namanga.” She leaned toward the Kenyan woman, and they talked for a moment more. Mama Joe laughed at something Mary said, then turned to Leslie. “I would really like to visit for a moment. She’s telling me about her grandchildren.” She motioned in the direction of the bar. “Would you mind going to find Ben and letting him know we’re ready?”
Leslie smiled. “No problem. I’ll be right back.” She swiftly covered the remaining distance and was at the door of the Rift Valley Bar before it occurred to her that she’d failed to get Ben’s description. She considered retracing her steps to ask Mama Joe, but glancing across the long terminal, she rejected the idea. Surely she’d be able to recognize their pilot.
The dim lighting forced Leslie to pause a moment just inside the bar to let her eyes adjust.
The patrons—mostly men—were seated at tables haphazardly scattered across the limited floor space. At the table nearest the door sat three well-dressed Indian or Pakistani businessmen. Two couples, probably tourists from Japan, were seated at another table. At one end of the long bar to the left, a white man slouched against the counter, talking with two women perched on stools. An older American-looking couple sat at the other end of the bar.
Leslie frowned. She had expected to find a lone man; so as far as she could tell, Ben wasn’t here.
As she snaked her way among the crowded tables toward the guy tending bar, she caught bits of conversation. The businessmen seemed to be having an intense discussion. Their conversation grew more heated, and as she passed she saw one man trying to convince the angry guy to keep his voice down. The third man stared at her, his expression livid and his gaze eerily disconcerting. Leslie tried to seem uninterested as she continued forward.
The tourists, by contrast, were quite sedate. They talked in low tones and did not acknowledge Leslie or the group arguing at the next table.
The trio at the bar were speaking—or flirting, rather—in French. The man glanced her way as she approached, and his eyes lingered on her with undisguised interest. When he saw he had her attention, he lifted his glass toward her and gave her a nod—as if suggesting that she join the party.
Annoyed, Leslie returned his leer with a glare, much to the satisfaction of the two women, who seemed to realize they were losing his interest. She pointedly dismissed him and turned toward the bartender, who was taking an order from the older couple.
While she waited, Leslie overheard the pretty brunette say something in rapid French. Her tone was unmistakably petulant. Out of the corner of her eye, Leslie saw the guy shrug. He leaned over and pushed aside a strand of hair to whisper something to the second woman, an attractive blonde. She nodded coquettishly and then glanced at Leslie before all three laughed, drawing the attention of the tourists and the businessmen.
Leslie’s cheeks reddened. She tried to appear unaffected as she glanced down at her clothes. She knew she looked wrinkled and shabby. Absently, she reached up to smooth back a strand of hair that had escaped the barrette.
Flustered, she noticed that the man seemed unusually tall and muscular for a Frenchman. Her stereotype was reinforced, however, by his gold-streaked brown hair, which looked like it would reach his wide shoulders if it hadn’t been pulled back into a ponytail. She huffed silently; she had never liked long hair on men.
The women burst into more laughter as he finished a story. Grinning, he reached over and flicked the dangling earring of the blonde, then he took a drink from his glass and turned in Leslie’s direction. His face was deeply tanned, and his leering grin revealed straight white teeth. He was casually dressed in khaki pants and boots, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled past his elbows. His eyes were an odd pale green, closely resembling the color of a Coke bottle. Feeling as if she’d been caught staring, she quickly looked away.
Trying to ignore the group at the bar and the stares of the other patrons, she glanced toward the corner of the room. She was surprised to see a man sitting alone at the table farthest from the door, drinking coffee and reading a book—somehow she had missed him. He wore a navy suit with the gold braid and buttons of a pilot.
Leslie made her way to his table, relieved to escape the obnoxious trio and the attention of the businessman with the creepy stare.
“Excuse me.”
The pilot appeared to be in his forties, with neat, dark hair that was graying at the temples. He glanced up from his book and removed his glasses. “Yes?”
Leslie held out her hand. “I’m Leslie Carpenter. Mama Joe said I should find you and let you know that we’re ready to go.”
The man frowned. “I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. I do not know anyone named Mama Joe.” Although his English was flawless, his accent was European, most likely German.
Leslie glanced at the insignia on the breast of his coat and saw a Lufthansa name pin. Her hand fell to her side and she blushed. “E-excuse me. I—I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else!” She started to back away.
He gave her a nod. “It is no problem.” Replacing his glasses, he returned to his book.
* * *
BEN MURPHY HAD a long-standing practice of observing his surroundings, so he noticed Leslie the moment she entered the bar. Although his attention appeared to be focused on his companions, he was keenly aware of her as she made her way through the room. His initial glance revealed a young woman wearing the rumpled clothes of a traveler. When she approached him, he registered a woman in her late twenties, of average height, with a slender, almost thin, build.
He turned slightly to get a better look and did a double take when he saw her eyes. Despite the dim light, he could tell they were a dark, rich blue, highlighted by heavy lashes and expressive eyebrows. She looked directly at him for only an instant, but he was caught off guard by his reaction. He had an odd feeling of vertigo as his heart rate soared and his vision seemed to narrow in on her face.
Unwilling to dwell on the young woman with the extraordinary eyes, Ben dismissed her. Collecting his thoughts, he returned his attention to his companions while keeping an eye out for Mama Joe and the new nurse. He’d been told few details about the substitute, and idly pictured a woman of about fifty, with graying hair, sturdy legs and a critical disposition.
Maintaining his part of the conversation, Ben discreetly watched as the young woman wandered back toward the bar after a short discussion with the commercial pilot seated in the corner. She pointedly ignored Ben, which he found both irritating and amusing. At a tap on his wrist, he leaned toward his new friends, only to be taken aback by the woman with the blue eyes watching him. Rarely did anything or anyone startle him, but she did. That fact bothered him, mostly because he didn’t understand it. His life depended on his ability to focus. So, when he found himself unbalanced by the eyes of a strange woman, it was unnerving. He couldn’t peg whether unnerving was good or bad, but he didn’t like it.
Ben kept his expression impassive. She couldn’t know that his heart rate had climbed and his head was swimming a little. With considerable effort, he shook off the moment in time to glimpse Mama Joe entering the bar.
“Excuse me, please, Monique. Helene,” he interrupted in flawless French. “Ladies, there is the dear friend I am waiting for. Au revoir.” He paid the tab and gave an apologetic shrug to the two women before walking away.
As Ben approached the older woman standing at the door, he realized Monique’s derogatory comment about rich old cougars was for his benefit. He ignored the insult and smiled at the gray-haired nurse with sincere affection.
He was halfway to the door when he sensed someone following him.
* * *
LESLIE’S PATH TO Mama Joe was suddenly blocked as the Frenchman cut in front of her. Abruptly, he turned toward her. His movement was so quick and unexpected that she couldn’t stop. Her momentum carried her forward, and she inadvertently rammed into his chest.
He was as hard and immovable as a brick wall, and Leslie would have fallen backward if he hadn’t caught her. She was suddenly aware of the large hand that dug painfully into her upper arm. After quickly regaining her balance she discovered that everyone in the room was staring at them.
Mortified, Leslie shook off his hand and took a small step back. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Keeping you from falling on your butt, lady.... And you’re welcome.” His words were low, almost a growl.
Unceremoniously, Ben turned his back on her and strode the final steps to Mama Joe. He smiled and bent to kiss her on the cheek. “Did your nurse get here okay?”
Mama Joe peered around Ben to Leslie, who cautiously walked toward them. “Didn’t you meet her? It looked like...um...”
Ben rolled his eyes and sighed audibly. Mama Joe recognized the awkwardness of the moment between the two of them. “Ben, Leslie, uh...well...perhaps we should be going. Marcus is waiting at the van.”
Leslie forced herself to hold out her hand in an attempt at dignity. “I’m Leslie Carpenter. Mama Joe sent me to find you. I guess I didn’t recognize you.” She managed a slight upward movement of her lips, which she hoped resembled a smile.
Ben paused a second before he shook her hand. With a tone that reeked of insincerity, he replied, “Charmed.” He quickly turned back to Mama Joe. “I’ll find Marcus and get the bags. Meet me by the general aviation gate in a couple of minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he headed toward the terminal entrance.
Leslie felt a need to explain as she walked with Mama Joe toward the portion of the airport that managed noncommercial aircraft. “I didn’t realize who Ben was because he was with two women. And they were speaking French.” She shrugged. “I assumed they were tourists.”
Mama Joe nodded and patted her on the arm. “Oh, I see. That makes sense because Ben was born and raised here. In Kenya—like Europe—most everyone knows more than one language. In the city, people typically speak Swahili, English and their own native dialect. Many people also speak French, because most of central Africa was colonized by France and Belgium.” She paused for a moment before adding, “On the coast, around Mombasa, many people are of Indian or Pakistani heritage, so they also speak Hindi, Urdu or Arabic.”
As they reached the general aviation gate, Mama Joe continued, “Ben learned French at the boarding school he attended with my youngest son, Nathan. But Ben is something of a linguist. In addition to French and Swahili, he speaks at least three tribal dialects. That can be very helpful living here. I’m afraid I’m not much for languages—I’ve had to get by with just Swahili.”
Leslie listened absently as Mama Joe’s conversation shifted to her children. “Joe also went to the boarding school. He’s a pastor now, and he and his wife, Sandra, have three children. They live in Mobile, and I can’t wait to see them.”
The far end of the terminal was much less crowded, and the women sat together facing the entrance to wait for Ben. Leslie’s weariness had returned, and she merely nodded at appropriate times as Mama Joe continued the one-sided conversation.
“Nathan and Ben were good friends. They finished high school here and went to the States for college, like most MKs—that’s what we call missionary kids. Ben was a little different, though, because he went to live with his grandparents in Kansas when he was about fifteen. He always had this hankering to fly airplanes and play football. He eventually got an appointment to the Air Force Academy and became a quarterback. All-Conference or something like that.”
Leslie had to blink quickly and bite her cheek as she grew drowsier. Mama Joe seemed oblivious to her predicament and continued to recall Ben’s athletic exploits.
After a few minutes, Leslie glimpsed Ben through droopy eyelids. Seeing him helped restore some measure of alertness, and she focused on the tall man walking toward them, carrying her two large suitcases. Ordinarily, she would have felt guilty, knowing how heavy her bags were—although he seemed to be managing easily. She’d had enough of Ben Murphy. So what if he could speak six languages and throw a football? She knew what he was—a player.
Her thoughts suddenly took a different turn. What had he been drinking at the bar? Could he be drunk? A twinge of alarm compounded her annoyance, and she debated whether to say something to Mama Joe.
Ben barely glanced at Leslie as he led the way toward the section of the airport where privately owned aircrafts were secured. He paused by the door and handed a uniformed official a form. A conversation in Swahili followed before the clerk stamped their paperwork and gestured for them to proceed.
They followed Ben into the bright sunlight, passing a number of planes of varying models, sizes and vintages before Ben stopped near a single-engine, high-winged Cessna. The plane was pale beige with a dark green stripe, and it appeared to be well-maintained. He unlocked the plane and heaved Leslie’s bags into the cargo hold. She was thankful she hadn’t packed anything breakable, and as she witnessed his disregard of her belongings, her irritation reached a new high.
In silence, Ben opened the passenger door and adjusted the seat forward. He stepped back and motioned for Leslie to climb into the rear seat. “Be sure to watch your step.” His tone was short, and his gesture hinted at annoyance.
Leslie moved forward to comply, but Mama Joe took her arm. “No. No. Here, let me ride in the back. The view is much better from the front!”
Leslie looked at the narrow opening leading to the rear seat and recognized that it would be difficult to maneuver into. She started to protest, but Mama Joe waved her away. “I may be old, but I’m agile!” Ben assisted the elderly nurse as she stepped up and crawled deftly into the rear of the plane. He readjusted the front passenger seat and then stood back to allow Leslie room to board.
She shifted her large canvas bag to her left shoulder and placed her right foot on the small metal step welded to the landing-gear strut as Mama Joe had done. She was determined to appear as coordinated and capable as the woman who was almost forty years her senior, and she grasped the door to pull herself up into the plane. But her bag slipped off her shoulder and the strap snagged on a small hook that held the seat belt. She let go of the door’s frame to free the strap, but became unbalanced. Groping frantically for something to hold on to, she found nothing but air.
A well-placed hand to her bottom caught Leslie. Ben held her weight easily with one hand as he loosened the strap of her bag with the other. Then he pushed her into the seat. He watched as she cleared the door before closing it firmly. Without comment, he turned and walked toward the back of the plane.
Leslie felt her face turn scarlet. She couldn’t believe that for the second time in less than an hour, Ben’s quick response had kept her from falling flat on her rear. She clenched her teeth as she settled into her seat. In humiliation she realized that she could still feel the pressure of his hand.
She took deep, calming breaths and studied her surroundings. The plane was compact. The front bucket seats were separated by only a few inches, and a dizzying array of dials, gauges, knobs, indicators, switches and buttons comprised the instrument panel.
“Have you ever flown in a small plane before?” Mama Joe asked, leaning forward.
Leslie turned awkwardly in the confined space to face the older woman and shook her head. “No, this is my first time.” She wondered again if she should mention Ben’s drinking.
Her nervousness must have been evident, because Mama Joe patted her arm. “There’s no need to worry. Ben’s an excellent pilot. He was in the air force, you know. Besides,” she added cheerfully, “it’s much safer than driving.”
Leslie wanted to answer that it wasn’t the flight she feared—it was the pilot’s level of sobriety. She managed to keep her concerns to herself and merely nodded in reply.
Leslie watched Ben walk around the plane, examining the fuselage as he commenced his preflight inspection. At least he didn’t seem drunk. “Do you need to fly often in your practice, Mama Joe?”
“Oh, every now and then. If a call is nearby and the distance can be traveled in a few hours, I’ll have Titus take me—he’s my driver. But for an emergency, or if it’ll be more than three hours by car, I’ll fly if I can.” She took a breath. “It seems like it goes in clusters. Sometimes I’ll stay near Namanga for weeks without being called away, and at other times I’ll fly to distant villages or to Nairobi several times in one week. There’s really no way to predict it.”
“Does Ben always take you when you fly?” Leslie tried to keep her tone casual.
“About half the time. He’s freelance, and for the most part he ferries supplies and equipment all over East Africa. Sometimes he flies tourists from one game park to another.” She leaned forward and added conspiratorially, “I don’t think he likes flying tourists, but it pays well.”
“So, how much does he charge you?” Against her will, Leslie found herself watching him inspect the propeller. His shirt stretched across his wide chest as he reached up to run his hands along the length of the blade.
Mama Joe smiled. “Oh, he doesn’t charge us. If we need him, and if he’s around, he’ll take us wherever we want to go for free.” She looked at Leslie and added, “But if he’s off somewhere, we call one of the guys from MASS—that’s Mission Aviation Support Services.”
“Are they nearby?”
“Andy Singleton works out of Mutomo, about seventy miles northwest of us. Ed Jones is in Tsavo, about fifty miles southeast. The problem is it takes at least an hour for them to get to Namanga. Ben is local. Also, if we use Andy or Ed, they won’t be available for others. Besides, we have to pay a small fee for their services—just enough to cover fuel and maintenance, but it adds up.” She frowned slightly. “Now that I think about it, I’m not really sure how Ben manages to work for free.”
The conversation halted as the object of their discussion opened the pilot’s door and climbed in. All three were silent as Ben finished his preparations; Leslie watched as he flipped several switches and turned some knobs. He pulled a pair of headphones from under his seat and put them on. The propeller began to revolve, and within seconds the cabin was filled with a loud roar. Ben pushed a button on the flight control, and Leslie heard him speak to someone in the tower through the microphone attached to the headphones.
“Roger that, Ground,” he said. “Clear for taxiway Delta. Stop short of runway one-eight.”
Ben taxied the plane toward the end of the runway, and they waited in silence as another plane took off. It was a little unnerving to be sitting in such a small aircraft among the much-larger cargo and passenger jets. Over her shoulder, she saw that Mama Joe was reading a book and didn’t seem the least bit nervous. She shifted and glanced at Ben. He was wearing dark glasses and appeared to be idly watching the other planes on the runway.
Suddenly he spoke, startling her. “Roger, Tower. Centurion, November-Four-Two-Alpha-Romeo cleared for takeoff.” With that, he pushed in the throttle and released the brakes. Within seconds, they were in the air. Even before they had reached the end of the enormous runway below, he turned the control and the plane banked gently to the right. It straightened briefly and then turned toward the left, all the while in a gradual climb.
The view from Leslie’s window was spectacular. She was awed by the striking beauty of the land and the brilliant colors. The greens of the grass and foliage seemed deeper, and the cloudless sky more brilliantly blue, than any she had ever seen.
They had been airborne about fifteen minutes when Ben lightly touched her arm.
“Look just below us,” Ben said loudly. He banked the plane sharply to the left and pointed down. Her eyes followed where he indicated, and she saw a large herd of zebras. As she watched the animals move gracefully through the high grass, Leslie forgot her concerns.
Ben circled and descended to bring the herd into view again. As he maneuvered the plane, Leslie had to shift her gaze from looking out of the left window back to the right, and, as she did, her eyes met his. She smiled with sincere appreciation and said “Thank you,” pitching her voice so that he would hear.
Something in Leslie’s expression made Ben’s heart accelerate. She’d looked at him with childlike amazement, and her lovely eyes, which had held an unmistakably desolate look and then irritation, were shining. The discomfort he’d felt in the bar returned. Unconsciously, he rubbed his hand against his leg. He forced his attention back to the instrument panel, adjusting the directional gyros to guide the small aircraft home. But after engaging the autopilot, he found his mind drifting, and he wished she’d look at him with the same excitement she had just shown a herd of zebras.
Irritably, he shook the thought away. It was her eyes—her spooky eyes. He didn’t like what they did to him. He frowned as he stared at the controls. No, he didn’t like it at all.
Intent on the views from her window, Leslie did not see the flicker of response that crossed Ben’s face, or the furtive glances that followed. But Mama Joe did.
Concerned, she watched the man she had known since childhood. She’d been worried for him since his return to Kenya almost three years before. It had been disheartening to see how much he’d changed from the friendly, eager-to-please and focused youth she had known, and she was keenly aware of the rumors that followed him.
She was well acquainted with his solitary lifestyle, had heard reports of heavy drinking and knew he was often seen with the daughters of wealthy tourists. His questionable employment led to periodic absences from Namanga, and the words smuggling and guns were frequently used in conversations about him.
His reaction to Leslie surprised her. He was unable to hide his interest, but she sensed a pronounced wariness in him, too. And she knew that the young woman was vulnerable. Indeed, she appeared emotionally fragile, and she certainly didn’t seem prepared to handle a relationship with a man like Ben.
Mama Joe watched the pair and recognized curiosity mixed with animosity. Close proximity to each other for the next six months could be extremely painful, maybe even devastating, for both. She began to silently pray.
She was still praying when the Cessna landed an hour later.
CHAPTER THREE
NAMANGA’S AIRPORT CONSISTED of a single narrow grass landing strip. Leslie noticed a sheet-metal shed that held tanks for aviation fuel along with a small office and a dilapidated hangar for the Cessna. Two planes rested alongside the hangar, but as far as she could tell, they were long past airworthiness. The lone man on duty waved to Ben while approaching the plane as it taxied toward the hangar.
Mama Joe indicated the smallish, middle-aged man. “That’s Charles Endebbi. He and his son manage the airstrip and do some mechanic work. Ben’s plane is the only one based here, but quite a few tour operators use the field because it’s close to several national parks.”
As Ben cut the Cessna’s engine, a Jeep approached, driven by a sturdy man of indeterminate age. “There’s Titus,” Mama Joe said as she waved to the newcomer. “He’s been my driver for more than a decade.”
A considerable amount of gray was scattered through his short black hair, but Titus’s dark face was smooth and youthful. He helped both women from the plane. As they were introduced, he gave Leslie a nodding bow and welcoming smile.
Mama Joe turned to Ben, who had been giving instructions to Mr. Endebbi. “Thanks again for the ride, Ben. Are you sure we can’t take you home?”
“No, thanks. I’ve radioed Simon. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Although they had barely spoken, Leslie was anxious to be free of the playboy pilot. However, she followed Mama Joe’s example and held out her hand. “Thank you for picking me up.”
Ben accepted her hand but dropped it quickly. “No problem.” His eyes were focused on her left shoulder. After the terse response, he turned away to help Titus with the luggage.
They drove from the airport in the aging Jeep that Mama Joe laughingly assured Leslie was more reliable than it looked. “We’ve had this old Jeep longer than I want to admit. It hasn’t let us down yet, and Titus keeps it running like a clock.”
The terrain around them contrasted starkly with Nairobi. The Jeep bumped and jolted on an unpaved road through a vast savanna. The land was dry and dusty and vegetation consisted primarily of tall brown grass and stunted thornbushes. She recognized flat-topped acacia trees and bottle-shaped baobab trees from the books she had read to prepare for her journey. Some of her earlier unease returned as she studied the surroundings, and she fleetingly wondered if it was too late to go back.
Mama Joe interrupted her brief moment of panic. “We’re only about twelve miles from the landing strip,” she said over the rumble of the Jeep. “We should be at the clinic in about twenty minutes. It’s located a few miles from town, which is a relatively short walk by Kenyan standards.”
They saw no other vehicles, though occasionally they passed locals walking or jogging along the road. The women were conservatively dressed in bright-colored kangas, and most had two or three children in tow. The men wore long, Bermuda-type shorts or khaki slacks and T-shirts. Most wore shoes or leather sandals, but a few were barefoot. Whenever they met someone, without exception, the local people smiled and waved to Mama Joe and Titus.
Dusk was fast approaching when they arrived at the clinic complex and Leslie got her first look at her home for the next six months. She was encouraged and relieved as she examined the fairly large compound in the waning light. There were two main buildings surrounded by an eight-foot cinder-block wall. “Titus and his wife, Naomi, live there,” Mama Joe said as she pointed toward the smaller dwelling. “And the clinic and my apartment are in here.”
The Jeep stopped before the larger building—a long, low, sturdy structure. A slender Kenyan woman with short graying hair and excellent posture had come out of the clinic and waited on the covered, screened porch.
“This is Naomi,” Mama Joe said with sincere affection as she stepped up to the porch. “Naomi has been nursing with me for more than a decade. The clinic couldn’t operate without her.”
Naomi was obviously pleased but embarrassed by Mama Joe’s praise as she shook Leslie’s hand. She was wearing what Leslie later learned was a Kenyan nurse’s uniform: a blue-striped dress with a white collar and apron. “I am very much looking forward to working with you,” she said shyly. Her velvety brown eyes were friendly, and Leslie liked her immediately.
“In addition to Naomi,” Mama Joe told her, “the clinic employs a bookkeeper and receptionist named Elizabeth, and a woman named Agnes who helps with cleaning, cooking and laundry. They’ve already gone for the day, but you’ll meet them early tomorrow.”
Mama Joe turned to open the freshly painted screen door and stood to one side. “Well, this is it.” She flipped on a light and invited Leslie in. “It’s nothing fancy, but it works.”
The arrangement reminded Leslie of pictures she had seen of clinics from the 1950s. The large waiting area held a receptionist’s desk, tall filing cabinets and rows of neatly arranged chairs; the open, airy room smelled of bleach and alcohol. The worn but spotlessly clean linoleum creaked a little as she wandered over to one of the large, curtainless windows.
“There are three examination rooms on this side of the building,” Mama Joe explained as she led Leslie to the back of the main room. She opened a door to reveal a small room furnished with an examining table, and she pointed out a glass-and-metal cabinet against the far wall. “Each exam room has a locked cabinet, which holds our supplies and medications. In the hall is a large storage closet where we keep other equipment and items that we don’t use as frequently.”
Leslie skimmed the contents of the cabinet and found it to be well stocked. Bottles and jars of medications were clearly marked. Boxes of exam gloves, dressing materials, suture sets and similar supplies took up the middle shelves, while disinfectants and cleaning implements were neatly lined up on the bottom. “This looks great, Mama Joe.”
Leslie followed the two women through a door at the rear of the clinic into the living quarters. A generous kitchen with a small eating area took up one side of the apartment; on the other side were a 1960s-era bathroom and two bedrooms. “Our electricity comes from propane tanks and generators that are located behind the clinic,” Mama Joe explained as she showed Leslie around the homey, nicely provisioned kitchen.
Leslie nodded appreciatively. “I must admit I’m relieved to know that everything looks pretty normal.” She grinned a little sheepishly. “I was afraid that things would be a lot more primitive—like cooking over campfires.”
Mama Joe and Naomi laughed. “We have to be fairly modern,” Mama Joe explained. “In addition to holding my milk and eggs, the refrigerator is needed for some of our medications and vaccines, and we need electricity to filter water and run the autoclave.” Her smile faded. “AIDS is such a threat, we have to be able to sterilize equipment. Later on I’ll introduce you to the generators and water filtration system.”
Titus entered the kitchen carrying Leslie’s bags and proceeded toward the two bedrooms, which were accessed through a short hall off the kitchen. “Titus and Naomi have been working for over a week to get your room ready.” Mama Joe gestured for Leslie to follow him, and under her breath she whispered, “I hope you like blue!”
The warning was appropriate. Titus set her bags down in a room with cinder-block walls that had been painted a soft blue. Blue-and-white gingham curtains adorned the windows, and the single bed was covered with a lightweight blue cotton spread.
“How did you know that blue is my favorite color? This is wonderful!” Leslie exclaimed as she gave Titus and Naomi a smile of thanks and shook their hands in appreciation. She managed to suppress a grin as she looked around the baby-blue room, grateful they hadn’t chosen pink.
As Leslie lifted one of her bags onto the bed and started to unpack, Mama Joe pointed to the mosquito netting hanging from a hook above the bed. “Other than vigilant attention to HIV precautions and the water filtration system, using that net is probably the most important thing to remember. Long-termers don’t generally use drugs to prevent malaria because of the side effects. Instead, we rely on insect spray and nets. If, God forbid, we do get malaria, we just treat it.”
Leslie nodded, studying the netting. “I’ll be careful.” She hung several shirts in the small closet. “Have you had malaria?”
“Yes, a couple of times. It’s not fun, but with the right antibiotics, we can treat it quickly and effectively. But always sleep with the net.... Oh, and another thing. It’ll help keep the spiders away.” Mama Joe turned to walk toward the kitchen. “While you unpack, I’ll come up with something for supper.”
Leslie frowned as she watched the retreating nurse. Glancing warily around the room, she whispered, “Spiders?”
* * *
LESLIE’S FIRST DAY in the clinic was a trial by fire. Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and fruit, Mama Joe outlined the course of a normal day. “Titus opens the compound gates at seven. There are almost always people waiting. We have some scheduled appointments, but most patients are walk-ins.” She took a bite of toast. “Once or twice a week we’ll get calls on the telephone or radio to assist people from other villages within a sixty-mile radius. Those are usually emergencies, like accidents or difficult births.”
“When do we stop?” Leslie pushed the eggs around her plate. Her appetite was negligible. She ran her hands across her khaki skirt. Although she had several years of working as a nurse-practitioner in clinics, she felt ill equipped for her new role.
“Normally, things start to slow down midafternoon. We try to be finished by five or six.”
Before she began to see patients, Leslie met Elizabeth and Agnes. Elizabeth, the receptionist/ bookkeeper, was a couple of inches taller than Leslie and very slender. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, with a beautiful complexion and very short kinky hair. Agnes, the clinic’s housekeeper, was a bit older—Leslie guessed she was probably about forty. Barely over five feet, she was slightly plump, at least by Kenyan standards.
Leslie quickly learned that Agnes’s English was somewhat limited, but Elizabeth’s was very good. “Whenever you need help translating or have a question, please ask, and I will drop everything.” Her eyes were sincere, and her smile was infectious. Agnes was much shyer, although just as welcoming, and both women proved to be eager to help Leslie settle in.
Throughout the morning and afternoon, Leslie was introduced to a vast array of maladies, many of which she had only read about. During the first part of the morning, she followed Mama Joe and Naomi and quickly learned how to treat malaria, dysentery, scabies, intestinal worms and an assortment of venereal diseases. The variety of cases was amazing, and prenatal checkups were interspersed with the suturing of small cuts and treatment of dermatological complaints.
For the most part, the problems were routine and could be managed with simple instructions, basic first aid and, occasionally, medications. The day flew by, and it was after six when the last patient left.
“Whew!” Leslie exclaimed as she looked around the empty waiting room. “That was exhausting! Is it like this every day?”
“No. Sometimes we get really busy,” answered Mama Joe. Seeing Leslie’s astonishment and slight panic, she grinned. “Just kidding. Actually, this was a fairly heavy day. Normally we see about thirty or forty patients. Today we saw more than fifty.”
“That’s a relief,” Leslie replied. “I don’t know how we’ll manage this many patients without you.”
“We always seem to take care of everyone. If it is really busy, we’ll work faster.”
Leslie helped the other women prepare for the next day before realizing she was starving. Thankfully, Agnes had prepared a hearty supper of vegetable soup with bits of cut-up chicken and rice. She and Mama Joe sat at the kitchen table, eating hungrily, all the while talking about different cases and how to manage various problems.
That night—after checking her room for spiders—Leslie crawled into bed exhausted. As instructed, she carefully arranged the netting to insure she was completely covered. In the quiet darkness, she allowed her thoughts to settle...and realized she was happier than she had been in a long time. She was smiling as she fell asleep.
* * *
IN THE SEVEN YEARS Leslie had been a nurse, she had never lost a patient. On the second day of practice at the Namanga Clinic, she lost two. She had been warned multiple times before she took the assignment that death was common, and she thought she was prepared. She was wrong.
Leslie slept well and awakened refreshed. She felt confident and quickly began seeing patients alone, occasionally seeking Mama Joe’s or Naomi’s advice on how to manage a new problem. The morning went smoothly, but around noon, an expressionless young woman carried a small baby wrapped in a colorful cotton cloth into the exam room. The woman gestured to the infant and said something; Leslie recognized the Swahili word for baby. She nodded, smiled and indicated the exam table. As the woman placed the infant on the table and unwrapped it, Leslie felt a chill. A quick visual inspection revealed an emaciated face with half-closed eyes and loose skin. Gently, she touched the infant’s chest and discovered an unnatural coolness. There was no hint of movement. As she positioned her stethoscope to listen to the baby’s heart, she yelled, “Mama Joe! Naomi!” The other nurses appeared within seconds.
“I don’t hear anything,” Leslie whispered to Mama Joe as the older nurse picked up the limp form and gently rubbed its back, trying to elicit movement. Like Leslie, she pressed her stethoscope to the tiny chest. Less than a minute passed before she looked up at her colleagues and shook her head. Naomi discreetly left the room to return to her own patient.
Mama Joe spoke with the infant’s mother for a few minutes. Although Leslie didn’t understand the words, she was struck by the mother’s lack of emotion. Was she, Leslie, more disturbed by the baby’s death than its mother? As the woman watched, Mama Joe carefully rewrapped the child in the cotton cloth. She handed the tiny bundle back to the mother and embraced her. Then the woman shuffled out the door to walk back to her village where she would bury the child.
When the woman had gone, Mama Joe turned to Leslie. “She told me the baby had been ill with diarrhea for a few days. She went to the local healer at first, and the baby was getting better. But this morning the baby was sick again. She wouldn’t eat at all and only cried a little. That was when the mother decided to bring her here.” Sorrow was evident in her tone, and she rubbed her eyes. “She had to walk about ten miles.... Obviously, she was too late.”
Leslie remained quiet, and Mama Joe helped her clean the exam table with a strong disinfectant. Noticing Leslie’s silence and shocked expression, she sighed and shook her head. “Sometimes there is nothing we can do to help. But, if she had brought the little one to us yesterday, we probably could have saved her.”
A tear ran down Leslie’s cheek. “It’s so sad...so unnecessary.”
Mama Joe gathered her into a comforting hug. “Yes it is. But we have to maintain perspective. We do everything we can to stop the sickness and death, and much of the time we can.” She blinked back her own tears and added, “Leslie, this is something we have to learn to cope with. We don’t accept it, but we do cope with it.” Mama Joe pulled away and headed toward the reception area. “I need to show you what to do in the event of a death.” Together they filled out the forms that were required by the Health Ministry and gave them to Elizabeth to post.
Leslie wiped away tears as she pondered the day’s lesson. In Kenya, death was common. Give the body to the family and fill out two forms, and that was the end of the process. She desperately wanted to sob, but she followed Mama Joe’s example and went back to care for her next patient, knowing there were many more who needed help.
* * *
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, a boy of nine or ten burst through the front door. He had obviously run to the clinic and was panting heavily. Elizabeth called to Mama Joe, and, after talking with the boy for a minute, the older nurse grabbed her bag and motioned for Leslie to follow. “Titus!” she yelled from the front porch. “We need to go to town.” In a very short time the Jeep was at the door, and the two nurses climbed aboard with the young boy.
“What’s happening?” Leslie asked as they bounced down the unpaved road.
Mama Joe’s answer was hushed. “The boy’s father has AIDS. He’s been sick for more than two years. The family is very poor and can’t afford for him to go to a hospital. Evidently, he is much sicker, and the boy’s mother sent for me.”
A short time later, the Jeep pulled in front of a small wood-and-mud dwelling at the edge of the village. Mama Joe entered the home without knocking, and Leslie followed closely behind her. The interior of the hut was dark and overly warm, illuminated and vented by two small windows. The odor was a nauseating mixture of cow dung, human excrement, body odor and decay. Leslie cupped her mouth and swallowed hard to keep from gagging.
Her eyes adjusted to the scanty light, and she saw an extremely frail man covered by a thin blanket lying on a cot in one corner. An equally frail woman sat on a short stool near the head of the bed. Her jaundiced eyes watched intently as the two women entered the hut.
Mama Joe whispered a greeting as she approached the cot. She reached out and touched the woman, then the man, on their heads. She asked a few questions, which were answered by the woman in a bare whisper. Mama Joe glanced toward Leslie and motioned for her to come near the cot, and Leslie knelt by the meager bed to assess the dying man. His eyes were closed and sunken, and a wet, rasping noise told them he struggled to breathe.
Mama Joe knelt beside Leslie. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she said, “This is Mr. Kanjana. His high fever is most likely caused by pneumonia.” They briefly discussed a treatment plan, and Mama Joe drew up medications for inflammation and pain into two syringes. Although Mr. Kanjana did not flinch at the prick of the needles, Leslie cringed as her colleague injected the medications into his skeletal thigh.
The nurses tried to get the patient to sip some water, but he did not have the energy to swallow. Mama Joe held his fragile hand for a while, and Leslie watched as she said a prayer in Swahili. A few minutes later, Mr. Kanjana’s breathing seemed to ease, and Mama Joe rose and drew the wife away from the cot. Safely out of the husband’s earshot, Mama Joe spoke to Mrs. Kanjana for a moment. With a tiny nod, the woman returned to sit beside her husband.
“The medications will allow him to breathe a little easier, but, judging by the breathing pattern, he probably won’t live but a few more hours.” She spoke quietly to Leslie, who glanced at the pitifully thin woman seated by the cot. “I told her I would stay with her. Why don’t you go back to the clinic? Titus can take you home and then come back for me.”
Leslie desperately wanted to go back to the clinic. She desperately wanted to leave the stinking confines of the tiny house filled with death. Instead, she looked into Mama Joe’s calm brown eyes and whispered, “No. I’ll stay.” Tears threatened to fall, but she managed to blink them back. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Tell me what to do.”
* * *
AS MAMA JOE predicted, it was over in less than two hours. The nurses helped Mrs. Kanjana clean the body and cover it with a new cloth. There was nothing left for them to do but fill out the requisite forms when they returned to the clinic.
The frail woman stopped them as they were leaving. Her yellowed eyes were filled with gratitude, and she whispered something in Swahili. Mama Joe simply nodded, and Leslie did the same. As she waited, she tried to avoid thinking about the loneliness the widow would now have to endure, and she struggled once more to blink back tears.
Dusk had fallen and, once outside, Leslie gulped in the warm, clean air. She was surprised to see that a number of men and women had surrounded the dwelling, waiting patiently for them to emerge. Those nearest to Mama Joe nodded with apparent respect but gazed at Leslie with curiosity. The young boy who had fetched them stood with two other children near the door. Their expressions were stark.
On the drive home, Mama Joe explained that the Kanjana family had already lost two children to the scourge of AIDS. “Mrs. Kanjana doesn’t have long. She’s taking antiretrovirals, but they’ve only slowed the disease a little.” She sighed audibly. Her lined face showed fatigue, and she closed her eyes.
As soon as they arrived at the clinic, Leslie excused herself and rushed to the bathroom where she was violently ill. Afterward, she scrubbed her hands and face and rinsed her mouth, all the while trying to regain her composure. When she finally returned to the kitchen, she found Mama Joe seated at the table drinking a cup of hot tea. A second cup had been prepared for her, and she sat down and sipped it gratefully.
Leslie interrupted the silence a few minutes later. “How do you do it?”
Mama Joe smiled sadly. “Just when I think I can’t take it a moment longer, when I can’t bear to see one more child die, or treat one more case of some dreadful, preventable illness, or when I think I can’t face walking into the clinic one more time—something happens. Sometimes it’s something big and impressive, like saving a life or delivering a baby. But it’s usually something little, like a smile from a child or a grateful look from a parent.”
Laying her roughened hand gently over Leslie’s, she said, “I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn’t. You just do what you can and leave the rest to God.” She reflected for a moment before adding, “After all of these years, I still find myself asking why? But we can’t expect answers. I’ve learned to try to help whenever I can and to fight death any way I can. We don’t always win, but we can always help ease pain and suffering.”
Mama Joe gave a tired smile. “Leslie, Dennis Williams told me your story—about your husband and daughter...” She wiped away a tear and continued, “I believe that you were sent here for a purpose, and I’m glad you’re here. You can understand what others experience... You’ve been prepared in a very hard way to do what needs to be done. And you can do it.”
“I want to be strong, and I really do want to help.” Leslie sniffed. Her smile was faint. “You’re a very good inspiration...”
At that, Mama Joe placed both hands on the table and pushed back her chair. “Agnes made supper for us and left it in the oven. I’m kind of hungry.”
Thirty minutes ago, Leslie doubted she’d be able to eat for a long while. But words of encouragement from a brave woman had helped. She wiped the tears away and blew her nose. The corners of her lips turned up slightly. “I don’t know if I can eat much, but I’d love another cup of tea.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SUNDAY BROUGHT A badly needed respite from Leslie’s first hectic week at the clinic. Her confidence and knowledge of the practice had improved significantly. Her Swahili, in contrast, was developing much more slowly. Mama Joe and Naomi were encouraging, however, and Elizabeth and Agnes were patient. Overall, she was pleased with her progress. The days were busy and enormously rewarding. Time off from seeing patients, though, was welcomed.
Unless she was called away, Mama Joe was adamant that Sunday mornings were to be spent at the local church where the service was led by a missionary family named Merdian. “Paul and Judy and their adorable children have been here for almost three years,” Mama Joe explained during breakfast. “They’re working on translating the Bible into one of the tribal languages—like Ben’s parents used to do.” She smiled proudly. “Paul is highly respected by the local people, and most everyone calls him ‘Preacher’—even those who don’t come to church. His wife, Judy, is wonderful, too—she’s a terrific cook.” She sipped her coffee and added, “Oh, that reminds me. They’ve invited us to lunch.”
The service was unlike anything Leslie had ever experienced. The church consisted of a large, tentlike structure with a concrete floor and permanent metal roof. The sides were composed of fiberglass panels that could be removed to allow for ventilation and replaced during the rainy season. Folding chairs were arranged in long rows, and Leslie estimated that the structure could easily hold two hundred.
The nurses arrived early, but the church was already half-full. Mama Joe spied the preacher on a wooden stage, where he was trying to get a stubborn microphone to cooperate. “There’s Paul!” She waved in his direction.
The preacher motioned them forward. As he jumped off the stage to greet them, Leslie determined that Paul Merdian was probably in his middle thirties, even though he was mostly bald. He was of medium height and sported a full brown beard, a few shades darker than the remaining close-cropped hair that encircled his head. He grasped Leslie’s hand enthusiastically when Mama Joe introduced them. “Judy and I have been looking forward to meeting you. We’ve heard very good things about how you’re adjusting.”
Leslie blushed. “Oh, that’s nice to know. I still feel like I have a lot to learn, and Mama Joe’s only going to be here a little more than a week.”
Paul smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Titus and Naomi can help you out of just about any problem. And Judy and I are always here.” His gray eyes were warm and friendly, with deep laugh lines at the corners. Leslie got the impression that he smiled a lot.
While they were speaking, a petite woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a cheerful disposition joined them. Mama Joe hugged the newcomer, who introduced herself. “Hi, Leslie. I’m Judy. I can’t wait to hear about what all is happening back in the States.” Judy’s complexion was slightly pinkish and her features were fairly nondescript. Nonetheless, her lively blue eyes and a smile that rivaled her husband’s made her particularly attractive.
Judy’s warm reception reassured Leslie and she instinctively knew they’d be friends. “Thanks for inviting us to lunch.” She smiled and added, “I’ll be glad to trade you all I know about what’s going on at home, if you’ll coach me on adapting to life in rural Kenya.”
Judy laughed. “You’ve got a deal!”
Leslie gestured toward the children playing tag outside the tent. “I think I can guess which are your children.” A boy and girl, deeply tanned but still obviously white, raced around the area, standing out among the twenty or so African children. A much smaller boy with pale brown hair toddled with them, trying to keep up.
Judy grinned proudly. “Our older son is Johnny. He’s eight. Beth will be seven in a couple of months, and Stephen just turned two.”
Leslie smiled and continued to watch the children, swallowing hard at Stephen’s toddler stride—for a moment, an image of her little girl sprang to mind. But the memory was not as painful as it had once been. “They look...ah...energetic. I’m guessing you stay pretty busy.”
Paul wiped his forehead in mock weariness and sighed audibly. “Busy doesn’t begin to describe what I have to do. All the cooking and cleaning and teaching...just kidding. Judy’s remarkable. She does most of the kid-rearing, including teaching them at home.” His pride and affection were evident. “Better excuse us. We need to get started. We’ll catch up with you after the service and head to the house.”
Leslie and Mama Joe found seats near the front of the tent. They were surrounded by colorfully dressed villagers. Glancing around the gathering, Leslie was pleased that she recognized a few faces. Mama Joe greeted a number of the people in the congregation.
The service lasted nearly three hours, and Leslie loved every minute. Singing dominated the first hour. Some songs were in English, but most were in Swahili or one of the regional dialects. Judy accompanied many of the hymns, playing an aged, upright piano with obvious skill. But most of the African songs were sung a cappella, and Leslie was captivated by the villagers’ complex harmonies. At times it seemed like there were three or four different songs being sung simultaneously, but the melodies blended into a joyous whole. Scripture readings were interspersed with testimonies from those in the congregation before Paul gave a message. The service closed with more singing.
While Paul finished his duties at the church, Mama Joe and Leslie went home with Judy and the children. The Merdians lived only a short distance away, and, like the clinic, their home consisted of a group of buildings surrounded by a high cinder-block wall. The wood-frame house was one story and painted white. A wide porch fronted it, complete with comfortable-looking rockers. Leslie stared appreciatively at the carefully cultivated yard of thick green grass. Colorful beds of flowers surrounded the porch, a testament to the diligence of Paul, Judy or both. She saw red and yellow gerbera daisies and white and pink impatiens interspersed with snapdragons and hibiscus. Off to one side was a commendable rose garden with at least two dozen bushes sprouting blossoms of various colors. The sweet smell of the garden reminded Leslie of home.
Mama Joe agreed to help Judy in the kitchen while the children gave Leslie a tour of the house. “This is where I sleep,” Johnny said as they entered a small room at the back. He proudly pointed to the handmade desk and bookcases, which were crowded with children’s books, readers and workbooks. A computer was pushed to one side. “These are my books. Mom teaches us school stuff every morning and makes us work really hard.”
“Yep,” added Beth. “I’m in the second grade on some things with Johnny, but mostly I do first-grade lessons.”
Johnny continued, “Stephen doesn’t read yet ’cause he’s still a baby. But sometimes we read to him and show him pictures. He likes that.”
Leslie was charmed. Her heart tugged again when she saw one of the books she had read to Emma. She managed to blink back tears and refocused her attention on the children. “Maybe we can read a story after lunch.”
Leslie picked up the toddler, who had been pulling at her dress, and he grinned at her shyly. Not wanting to be left out, Beth grabbed Leslie’s free hand. “Miss Leslie, do you like puppies? Our dog, Lady, had puppies last week.”
“They don’t walk yet, and their eyes aren’t completely open,” Johnny said, “but they’re really cute. Want to go see ’em?”
“I would love to see the puppies. We can go after lunch, but right now I had better go see if your mom needs any help.” Smiling, Leslie set Stephen back on his feet and left the children to play in their room.
As Leslie passed through the combination living and dining room, heading toward the kitchen, the front door opened. Expecting Paul, she waited with a smile of greeting. Instead, she was surprised as a tall, lean man entered the house, and she found herself face-to-face with Ben Murphy.
Ben was dressed exactly as he had been at their previous meeting, in khaki slacks and white shirt. As before, his hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. That, coupled with his swarthy tan, light green eyes and expressive mouth, gave him the appearance of a pirate. She sighed inwardly, dismayed to concede he was extremely good-looking.
Ben managed to hide his surprise at meeting Leslie in the Merdians’ living room. His gaze swept over her quickly, and he felt an odd catch in his chest. Today her hair was down, falling around her shoulders in shiny, mink-colored waves. Her simple red dress had short sleeves and skimmed her ankles. Though it was modest, it was appealing. He watched with annoyance as her smile disappeared. Twin bright spots on her cheeks rivaled the red of her dress.
After what seemed like an eternity to both, Ben broke the silence. “Paul invited me for lunch.” His voice was flat and his face void of expression.
“Oh. I see. Well, hello then.” Leslie searched for something to say, but her brain appeared to have ceased functioning, and she just looked at him and grew more flushed.
Ben did a little better. “So, how are you settling in?”
She acknowledged the question but could not quite manage a smile. “Pretty well. There have been some...ah...challenging times. But so far things have gone all right. Mama Joe is a terrific teacher.” Her expression brightened a little when she mentioned her mentor.
Ben knew it was his turn again, and he was pondering what to say when someone bounded up the front steps. Both gratefully turned as the screen door opened and Paul entered. Grinning broadly, he shook hands with Ben. “Really glad you could come. You haven’t been around much lately.”
Relieved to have a diversion, Ben responded to the preacher with genuine affection. “Hey, are you kidding? Do you think I’d pass up an opportunity to eat Judy’s cooking?”
Paul beamed at Leslie but continued to address Ben. “Judy and I thought it would be good for you to meet our newest missionary.” Paul crossed the room to shake Leslie’s hand in much the same manner, and she was glad he didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness of the scene he had entered.
“Ben and I have already met. He flew me from Nairobi,” Leslie explained, then deftly changed the subject. “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you and Judy better. I’ve already made friends with Johnny, Beth and Stephen. After lunch they’re going to show me the puppies.”
As if on cue, all three children entered the living room and saw Ben. The elder pair ran to hug him. Grinning mischievously at them, he scooped Johnny up and proceeded to hang the boy upside down by his ankles, eliciting giggles of delight from all three.
“Me, too! Me, too!” Beth cried.
From his inverted position, Johnny scoffed, “Heck, no. Uncle Ben can’t do this to you. You’re wearing a dress.”
Ben set the boy on the ground, scooped up the little girl, and said, “Well, maybe you can’t be turned upside down, but I can give you a big hug, can’t I?” Beth grinned and threw her arms around Ben’s neck; then Stephen held up his arms and was hauled into the mix.
Ben’s ease with the Merdians surprised Leslie. He was obviously very fond of Paul and his family, and the feelings were reciprocated. She couldn’t imagine they had much in common—well, other than living deep in the African savanna.
* * *
LUNCH WAS VERY informal and, as predicted, delicious. Roasted chicken was served over curried rice mixed with bits of mango and pineapple. Conversation was easy, and Leslie learned a great deal about her hosts. Paul and Judy had been high school sweethearts from Indianapolis and married right out of college. “We shared an interest in church ministry and African culture,” Paul told her. “Even early in college, we were focused on going to Kenya.”
“It took several years before we realized our dream,” Judy confided. “Paul had to complete seminary, and by then we had Johnny and Beth. Stephen was born in Kenya.” Judy smiled fondly at Mama Joe. “He was delivered right here in this house.”
Over lunch, the two men shared tales of a recent hunting expedition in which they had shot several eland. Leslie looked at them quizzically. “I didn’t know you could hunt in the game parks.”
“Oh, definitely not the endangered animals like elephant and rhino, and not the big cats,” Paul explained. “But they have hunting seasons for antelope, much as they do at home for deer. If herds aren’t thinned, they can quickly overgraze the parklands. And eland meat is really quite good. We’ll have some next time you come over.”
Leslie grimaced. “That’s what I was told about buffalo and ostrich. I’m still not a believer. But this chicken is delicious.” She glanced askance at her hosts and added, “It is chicken?” Everyone laughed.
As the others were finishing lunch, Judy got up to put Stephen down for his nap. With pleading looks at their mother, Johnny and Beth asked if they could be excused. “Yes, you may. Stay within the wall, though!” With a rush and the slamming of the screen door, the two disappeared.
At Judy’s insistence, the group settled in the living room with cups of coffee. Conversation drifted to discussions about the customs of the region and their experiences while living in Kenya. Leslie was fascinated. Ben was surprisingly pleasant, although he rarely addressed her directly. His comments were informative and enlightening, and he answered questions with honesty and wry, self-deprecating humor.
Ben appeared to grow a little more at ease with Leslie as the conversation progressed, and during a lull, he tried to draw her in with a question. “So, Leslie, do you have a fiancé or boyfriend crying in his coffee at home while you spend six months here?”
Leslie recognized Ben’s attempt to put a crack in the wall that had been evident from their first meeting. Nonetheless, the question caught her off guard, and she answered awkwardly, “Uh, no. Only my parents and sisters and a few close friends.”
Ben flashed his most engaging smile. “Oh, come on. With those big blue eyes, I can’t believe you don’t have some man pining away, waiting anxiously for you to come back.” Because Ben’s attention was focused on Leslie, he missed Mama Joe’s warning frown.
Leslie glanced at him, then quickly averted her eyes to stare at a book on the coffee table. “No, really. There’s no one waiting at home.”
Judy perceived Leslie’s distress and intervened. “How about dessert? I have pineapple cake or banana cream pie.”
Not willing to be sidetracked by his hostess, Ben misinterpreted the flicker in Leslie’s eye and her sudden wariness. Teasingly, he persisted, “Oh, I get it. You’re probably like me—you know, off to see the world. No strings attached. Not interested in settling down.”
Mama Joe caught Leslie’s flush. Unfortunately, she was too far from Ben to kick him. Following Judy’s lead, she said, “Pineapple cake sounds delicious. Leslie, why don’t you help Judy?”
Suddenly it became imperative for Ben to know more about Leslie. Her vagueness and obvious discomfort made him even more curious, so he ignored the other women. Mild sarcasm was apparent when he said, “But you really don’t look like an adventurer. You look more like a soccer mom or—”
“Ben, drop it.” Mama Joe’s interruption was blunt, but her demand had the intended effect. A startled silence ensued for a few seconds.
Leslie finally looked directly at Ben. She took a deep breath and said, “I had a family.” She clenched her jaw and continued. “My husband and daughter were killed in a car accident about twenty months ago. Actually, twenty months, one week and three days.” Her voice was hushed and matter-of-fact, her face totally blank.
Their eyes remained locked until he blinked and looked down at his hands in embarrassment. Very quietly he said, “Leslie, I’m sorry. I didn’t...” He studied the coffee table and contemplated crawling under it. “I didn’t have any idea.”
Although she was stunned, Judy managed to interject herself into the conversation. “Leslie, I’m so sorry. How awful for you.” Tears formed in her eyes.
Leslie nodded to her and gave a little shrug. “Let’s not talk about it.” Abruptly, she stood up. “The kids wanted me to look at the puppies.”
Paul and Judy started to rise, too, but she motioned for them to stay seated. “No, please. It’s okay. Why don’t you go ahead and have dessert? I need a minute.” Without waiting for a reply, she let herself out.
* * *
ALONE IN THE WARM SUNSHINE, Leslie felt a sense of relief. She strolled through the lovely garden, absorbing the delicate scents. The peaceful space gave her an opportunity to calm her emotions. Determined to recover her enjoyment of the day, she followed the sound of children’s laughter to a shed near one corner of the walled compound. Inside she saw the two children sitting beside a large black dog. The dog was lying on her side, and Leslie counted eight puppies greedily nursing.
Beth jumped up and grabbed Leslie’s hand, drawing her into the shed. “Her name is Lady, and she’s really nice. You can pat her, but don’t bother the puppies while they’re eating.”
The dog looked up with friendly brown eyes, and her tail thumped slightly in welcome. Leslie smiled while holding out her hand for Lady to sniff. “Hello, there. What a lovely family you have.” The dog’s tail thumped again, and Leslie rubbed her behind the ears. Sitting down in the dirt beside the children, she asked, “Do the puppies have names?”
Johnny pointed to the largest puppy. “I call that one Horton, ’cause he eats the most.” He pointed out one of the others. “That one is Sam. His name is really Sam-I-Am, but we just call him Sam.”
Beth decided it was her turn and indicated a brown-spotted white fluff of fur. “This is Dora. She’s named after a character in one of my favorite books.”
The children introduced the remaining puppies to Leslie. After they finished eating, Leslie watched as the children gently picked up the small animals and stroked their coats. “Their eyes are just starting to open. Mom said it will take a couple of days, but then they can see,” Johnny explained.
Spending time with the children helped restore Leslie’s good mood, and soon she felt it was time to rejoin the others. She rose. “I probably need to see if your mom needs help cleaning the kitchen. Thank you for showing me the puppies.”
She was still smiling when she stepped outside and turned toward the house. She stopped short, however, when she became aware of a man standing only a few feet away. The bright sunlight momentarily blinded her, but what she could make out alarmed her. Her heart rate soared as her vision cleared. A Masai warrior in tribal clothing was staring at her.
He towered over her, and she guessed that he was well over six-and-a-half-feet tall. Red cloth, the exact color of blood, draped his body. The drape covered one shoulder, and the cloth formed a skirt that reached just below his knees. A wide collar made of tiny red, white, green and blue beads adorned his neck, and a kind of leather necklace, decorated with claws of some sort, reached past the middle of his chest. She blinked again when she saw the spear he carried in his right hand—it was even taller than the warrior. His expression was fierce, and he watched intently as she took an involuntary step back toward the shack.
A wave of fear nearly overwhelmed her. She swallowed hard and managed to squeak, “Jambo.”
The man’s eyes did not leave hers. “Jambo.” His voice was a deep growl.
A giggle from the shed reminded Leslie of the children, and she felt a moment of panic. Johnny and Beth! She had to get the man away from the children. Her eyes held his as she started to move slowly toward the house, and she was relieved when his attention remained on her rather than on the shed. Her limited Swahili had deserted her, so she spoke in English. “What do you want?”
He did not move but simply stared at her. She could read nothing in his coal-black eyes.
She tried again, grateful that her voice sounded stronger. “The preacher? Do you want to see the preacher?”
He shook his head slightly. “No.” She was struck again by the deep timbre of his voice. “No. I want to see the pilot.” His cadence was slow and the English was heavily accented.
Another giggle from the shed drew the attention of both Leslie and the warrior. Before Leslie could shout a warning, Johnny appeared at the door with Beth close behind him. As Leslie tried to gather breath for a scream that she hoped would be heard in the house, Johnny spoke. “Hey, Simon. Do you want to see our puppies?”
Pushing past her brother, Beth reached for the hand of the amazingly tall man. “We have eight puppies, and Johnny and I help take care of them.”
The Masai warrior grinned down at the little girl. As soon as she saw the change in his expression, Leslie felt a rush of relief so strong that she felt faint. The man’s face was split by a smile revealing large, astonishingly white teeth, with a gap in front almost wide enough to hold another tooth.
The deep voice responded to the child’s question. “I am sorry. I cannot stay now, Missy Beth. I must get Ben. I will see the small dogs another time.”
“That’s okay. Uncle Ben’s in the house.” Still holding the man’s hand, the little girl pulled him in that direction. “We just ate lunch. Did you eat? I bet Mom has some extra food if you’re hungry.”
“I’ll go tell Mom.” Johnny ran ahead, and within seconds he bounded up the front steps.
It took the better part of a minute for Leslie to control her breathing and follow the two children and the giant to the house. She was simultaneously relieved and acutely embarrassed. She’d read about the Masai tribesmen in preparation for their trip and knew they were friendly. But even though she’d seen pictures, this man’s appearance had been startling—and so fearsome that she had been terrified.
Leslie continued toward the house and watched as Ben and Paul met Simon on the front porch. Paul gave the warrior a hearty handshake, and his friendly smile met Simon’s gap-toothed grin. She noted that Ben and Simon did not shake hands; despite the distance, she discerned an obvious ease, even affection, between the two men. Paul asked a question in Swahili, and Simon nodded. A brief three-way conversation followed, and then the men turned in unison to look at Leslie.
Paul motioned for her to join them, and they stepped aside to allow her onto the porch. “Leslie, this is Simon Osagie. He works with Ben.”
Leslie held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”
“It is my pleasure, Miss Leslie.” Despite his thick accent, she had no trouble making out the words.
Ben watched her closely. “Simon thinks that he frightened you. He wants to apologize.” Normally, Ben would have been amused, but after his earlier behavior he was uncharacteristically reserved.
Leslie gave Simon a shy smile, then addressed him directly. “No. No. It’s fine. I was alarmed when I first saw you, but I see that was foolish.”
Ben tried to soothe her discomfort. “It can be pretty startling to see the Masai in full regalia. Simon usually wears T-shirts and Bermudas. He dresses this way for special occasions.”
Simon watched her for a moment and then looked back at Ben and said something. Ben shrugged in reply, and both men looked at Leslie. Simon’s expressive face showed curiosity, but she could not read Ben’s.
Mama Joe and Judy joined the group on the porch, and both women greeted the giant warrior with affection. Judy asked him into the house for coffee, but Simon shook his head and indicated Ben’s Jeep. Ben explained, “There was a wedding in Simon’s family. He came here to get a ride home and to remind me that I have to get ready to fly out tomorrow. We need to be on our way.” Both Mama Joe and Judy hugged the pilot, and Paul shook both men’s hands. Simon gave them all a nodding bow.
For a moment Ben’s eyes met Leslie’s, and he looked like he wanted to say something. Finally, he copied Simon and simply nodded. “Leslie.” Then, without waiting for an acknowledgment, he turned and followed Simon to the Jeep.
CHAPTER FIVE
“LESLIE! LESLIE, HONEY, wake up!” Mama Joe knocked loudly before barging into the bedroom. “You need to get ready for a delivery.”
Leslie opened her eyes and blinked. It was still dark outside, but the light from the hallway allowed her to focus on Mama Joe’s face through the mosquito net. “Okay...okay...” She sat up in bed and swept her hands at the netting, trying to find the opening. “What time is it?”
“About six.” Leslie was surprised to see that the older woman was ready for work. “Get dressed and come have coffee and a bite, and I’ll fill you in.” Mama Joe closed the door as she left.
Leslie crawled out of bed and—after checking the floor for spiders—quickly got ready. She joined Mama Joe in the kitchen. True to her word, Mama Joe had a cup of coffee and toast with jam waiting. Gratefully, Leslie took a sip of the rich black coffee and sighed with pleasure. “Okay, what’s up?” she asked.
“Father Christopher just called.”
“Father Christopher?”
“Oh. Didn’t I mention? He’s a priest—a very old friend—who has a mission in the Lake Magadi region. He works with the Masai people.” Mama Joe paused for a second and took a sip of her own coffee. “A woman in their area just went into labor. She has already lost two infants at birth, and so Father Chris wants us to help with the delivery rather than relying on the village midwives.”
Leslie nodded. “That makes sense. Where’s Lake Magadi?”
“It’s not far. Only about seventy or eighty miles.”
Leslie sipped her coffee. If the woman was in early labor, they should have plenty of time to travel eighty miles. “Sure. When do we leave?”
“Er...well, that’s the thing. It won’t be us—it’ll be you.”
Leslie’s cup stopped halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“Honey, I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve worked with you for two weeks now. You’ve delivered four babies during that time, and I know you can do this.” Mama Joe took a bite of toast, then added, “Besides, I haven’t started packing.”
“But...”
“It’ll be over before you know it. Just a quick flight down and—”
“Flight?” Leslie set her cup down with a start. “But if it’s only eighty miles...”
“The road in that direction is terrible, so driving is out. I’ve already talked to Ben. It’s all set. You need to meet him at the airstrip in about half an hour.”

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