“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Janet said now, half to herself, as the plane leveled off above the clouds.
“It’s what Heather wants,” Amber reminded her.
“You too, evidently. I’ve never seen you apply yourself with such determination in your life.”
“I did it for Heather,” Amber said. “Africa would never be my first choice for a vacation spot.”
They landed in London, where the weather was cold and rainy, and spent an exhausting day sightseeing. Amber had toured the city with her parents the previous summer when they’d left Heather aboard the Mercy Ship. Then Amber had been terminally bored. Now the city seemed regal to her, like a stately old woman. Dark cabs and bright double-decker buses sputtered in jammed traffic. Busy Londoners huddled under their umbrellas as they hurried down streets lined with towering old houses. Gardens were just beginning to bloom, and trees wore the bright, lacy green of new spring.
They returned to the airport that night and caught the ten o’clock flight to Entebbe. After a second restless night of sleeping in their airline seats, they landed at eight the following morning on the runway of the only Ugandan airport large enough to accommodate a big jet. By then Amber’s eyes felt gritty and her mind foggy. After clearing customs and exchanging currency, Janet negotiated a cab ride in a minivan into Kampala.
“The Hilton,” she told the driver.
The air was warm but lacked Miami’s soggy humidity. The sky was a vivid blue, the earth red and brown, spattered with bursts of green foliage. Cattle were being herded alongside the busy roadway by Ugandan women wearing colorful native dresses and balancing jugs of water and bundles of sticks on their heads. Their children tagged behind them like ducklings.
The smell of burning charcoal from cooking fires set up at endless small campsites saturated the air. Young girls held babies on their hips; small boys swatted flies with sticks and poked grazing cows into obedient circles. Groups of people walked briskly toward the city of Kampala, their bare feet sending up clouds of dust. Amber stared wide-eyed out the minivan’s window, feeling more like a foreigner than she ever had in London. Now she was visiting a colorful and exotic world that she found fascinating.
This is the country my sister loves, she told herself. I don’t think I can. She was greatly relieved to see the oasis surrounding the Hilton Hotel rise out of the heart of the city, an island of calm, quiet green. They exited the minivan, only to be accosted by a cluster of children asking for money. “Street trash! Go—leave these nice ladies alone!” the doorman barked, but before he could shoo them away, Janet gave each child an Ugandan dollar.
Inside, the hotel of stucco and glass was as modern as any in the United States, and Amber and her mother’s spacious suite was cooled by welcome air-conditioning. Amber flopped across the bed and stretched luxuriously while Janet ordered room service.
“First I want a hot shower,” Janet said. “Then we’ll call home and let your father and Heather know we’re here. Then we’ll both take a nap. Paul Warring is meeting us in the lobby tomorrow morning at nine. Enjoy this bit of civilization, Amber, while you can. It’s the last we’ll see of it for a while.”
Amber nodded and yawned. Her mother went into the bathroom, and soon Amber heard the shower. A kaleidoscope of images of home flashed in Amber’s mind’s eye, and suddenly she was engulfed by a wave of home-sickness. She was halfway around the world, thousands of miles from all she had ever known. And she realized she was ill prepared.
Her skills—driving a car, navigating the mall, shopping for fashionable clothing, hanging out with her friends at the beach—counted for little in this exotic land where people set up housekeeping alongside the road, where cattle roamed the streets like privileged citizens and children darted from stranger to stranger begging for enough money to feed themselves.
Amber’s mother woke her at seven the next morning. “Let’s get a move on,” Janet said. Amber moaned but obeyed. By nine they had their gear packed and were in the lobby, where a brown-haired man in his early thirties introduced himself as Paul Warring.
“You look like your sister,” he told Amber. “Jodene and I are sorry Heather couldn’t come. She’s an extraordinary young woman.”
As they chatted, Paul loaded their things into a minivan. An Ugandan driver, introduced as Patrick, smiled his welcome. “I met your sister on the ship,” Patrick said. “She is a one-and-only person.”
“Heather told me about you,” Amber replied. “She said you and Ian were good friends.”
“Yes....So sad about Ian. But he is with God now. A better place to be, I think.”
Amber refrained from saying that Ian’s leaving had brought Heather immeasurable heart-ache and that she personally wished God had not taken Ian away.
“Patrick’s studying for the pastorate,” Paul said. “Ugandan ministers are in great demand within the country.”
“And when you write your sister, please tell her that I have found the girl of my dreams and that I’m engaged. Tell her I plan to be the husband of only one wife for all my life,” Patrick said with a laugh.
Heather had told Amber about the Ugandan custom of polygamy. It had spread the AIDS epidemic through the population as well as causing many other problems. “I’ll tell Heather. She’ll be very happy for you both.”
“She is invited to the wedding in September. Perhaps her illness will have passed by then.”
“Hope so,” Amber said, wondering again if Heather’s health problem had been caused by something she’d picked up in Africa.
Paul and Janet spoke about Alice, and Amber listened, all the while watching the countryside bump past. The road was poor, covered with potholes that often forced the van to a crawl. They stopped once to buy the fingersized bananas Heather had called “delectable.” The vendor’s small wooden cart stood at the side of the road next to a sign declaring that the area was on the equator. Paul snapped a photo of Amber and Janet beside the sign.
Hours later they entered the compound of the Kasana Children’s Home, where Paul’s family emerged from a brick house. After introductions, Jodene showed them to the small guest house. Amber chose the same room and bed where Heather had told her she’d stayed. She imagined Heather in every corner of the room. And while Amber didn’t share Heather’s attraction to Africa, she found it oddly comforting and less lonely to be in the same space that her sister had occupied.
Janet dumped her luggage and insisted on going straight to the hospital to check out the facility where she would operate on Alice. “I’d like you to bring Alice over this afternoon,” she told Jodene. “I want to give her a thorough physical exam so that I can map out a surgical strategy.”
With her mother gone, Amber was left to explore the grounds. She freshened up and set off, looking for the spots Heather had described so vividly. She found the pavilion where church suppers were held, and the outdoor kitchen, whose oven was being tended by several kids baking bread. They smiled and waved. She found the tree where Heather used to sit and wait for Kia. She turned when she heard the front door of the house slam. A little girl ran toward her, her face lit with a smile. She skidded to a stop in front of Amber, her smile exchanged for a look of puzzlement.
Amber bent and extended her hand. “I’ll bet you’re Kia.”
The child nodded.
“Did you think I was Heather?”
Another nod.
“I’m Amber; Heather’s my sister. You know, my dada.” Amber used the Swahili word for “sister,” which Heather had taught her. “Heather couldn’t come, so I came for her. She gave me this to give to you.” Amber reached into the pocket of her pink shorts and pulled out a piece of hard candy.
Shyly Kia took the candy and unwrapped it. “Thank you, Amber.”
The girl’s sweet smile touched Amber, and she understood how Heather had fallen in love with her. “Heather told me a lot about you. I hope we can be friends too.”
The soft air hung around them like folds of a blan
ket.
“Heather!” a male voice shouted.
Amber turned to see a guy trotting toward her. He wore khaki shorts and construction boots and was bare from the waist up. His body was streaked with dirt and sweat. A red bandanna held reddish brown hair off his forehead. His smile reminded her of the sunlight. He was, in her quick evaluation, the best-looking creature she’d ever laid eyes on.
8
Amber straightened. The bare-chested young man skidded to a stop in front of her, a look of confusion clouding his face. “I’m sorry—I thought you were someone else,” he said with a heavy Southern accent.
She grinned. “I’m Amber. I’ll bet you’re Boyce Callahan.”
“Guilty. How’d you know?”
“Heather showed me pictures.”
“I knew you’d be coming in her place, but when I saw you from a distance—well, you looked so much like her that I thought somehow she was well and had come instead.”
He looked disappointed, and Amber felt a twinge of jealousy. No guy had ever seemed as eager to see Amber, and Boyce and Heather were just friends. At least, that was what Amber had thought. “No, she’s still under her doctor’s care. And we really don’t look that much alike . . . do we?”
He grinned, and his green eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s sort of like looking at two roses. Same flower, just different styles.”
Flattered, not knowing how to respond, she looked down at Kia. “I—um—was just getting to know Kia. My mom went to the hospital to take a look around. I’m sure you know she’s going to—” Amber interrupted herself, afraid to say too much in front of the little girl. “Well, you know,” she finished lamely.
Boyce crouched and gave Kia a grin. “What’ve you got there?”
Kia held out the candy, now grown sticky in her hand. “From Heather,” she said with an adoring look at Boyce. “Heather’s dada,” she added, pointing at Amber.
“Heather sent you a present too,” Amber told Boyce.
He stood. “She did?”
He looked like an eager puppy. “It’s back in my quarters,” Amber said with a laugh.
“I’m taking a lunch break. Could I get it now?”
“What do you say, Kia? Should we go get his present?”
Kia slipped her hand into Boyce’s, and the three of them returned to the guest house. Inside, Amber rooted through her duffel bag and pulled out a jar of peanut butter.
“All right!” Boyce said.
“She told me how much you liked the stuff.”
“Good timing. My supply’s getting low.” He opened the top and scooped a large dollop onto his finger. It was halfway to his mouth when he stopped himself. “Oh, sorry. Want some?” He tipped the open jar toward her.
“I’ll pass this time.”
He sucked the goo off his finger and replaced the lid. “Nectar of the gods,” he said. “Thanks for hauling it all the way from the States. You made my day.”
“Gee, it took so little. What do you do around here for fun?”
“Why don’t I come by later and take you around and show you what we do for fun?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “It just so happens that my evening is free.”
He set a time, then took Kia’s hand again. Amber stood on the porch, watching them walk away, and told herself that so far Africa was turning out to be a really interesting place. She’d not been in the country two days and already she had a date with a gorgeous guy. “Not bad,” she said under her breath. “Not bad at all.”
She and her mother went to dinner that evening at Jodene and Paul’s, where the table was filled with platters of vegetables fresh from the garden, home-baked bread, and a roasted chicken. Amber thought about Heather back home, unable to eat.
“What’s your opinion of Alice?” Paul asked Amber’s mother. “What are her chances for a successful surgery?”
“I assessed her thoroughly today. Sometimes there’s a host of other problems that go along with the clefting. Fortunately, Alice’s case isn’t the worst type of this defect. It’s operable. The actual surgery is done in two steps. I’ll fix the palate first. That takes around an hour, with a five-day recovery time. Then the lip will be repaired next week and her nostrils brought into a more normal alignment. Dr. Gallagher and I both think she’s an ideal candidate for the surgery.”
“Will she have a scar?” Jodene asked.
“Yes, until she’s a bit older; eventually it will begin to fade. More surgery when she’s older will enhance her face cosmetically, but that will have to be evaluated by another surgeon. She’s been well cared for, thanks to you two, and that’s in her favor also.”
“Believe me, it was a group effort,” Jodene said. “I couldn’t have done it without the help of all the young women who live on the premises. Everyone pitched in. We want her to have as normal a life as possible, and her physical appearance is an important part of the quality of her life. Thank you for taking time out of your busy life to come all the way to help Alice and kids like her.”
“Heather sent me,” Janet said with a smile. “She can be very persuasive.”
“We know that,” Paul said with a laugh. “But regardless, we’re grateful.”
“When will you operate?” Jodene asked. “I want to prepare Kia for the separation from Alice.”
“Tomorrow. Once I’m certain there aren’t any complications, I’ll head back to Kampala.” Janet looked directly at Amber. “And my thanks to you for letting Amber stay with you while I work in the city. I’m taking her to the hospital tomorrow, and Dr. Gallagher will assign her some work. If there’s anything you need her to be doing, just let her know.”
“We’re delighted to have her,” Jodene said smoothly. “Any sister of Heather’s is welcome.”
They laughed, but Amber was steamed. Her mother made it sound as if Amber couldn’t be trusted to be productive on her own.
After dinner Boyce stopped by the house, met Janet, and invited Amber for a walk around the compound. Once outside, Amber blew out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the rescue,” she said. “My mom and I’ve spent entirely too much time together these past few days.”
“That’s me—Sir Boyce the Lionhearted.” Dusk was falling, and the sky’s brilliant shade of red orange had faded to a dusky purple. “Come take a look-see at the irrigation project while there’s still enough light.” Boyce took her hand and started up a trail through the bush.
They emerged into a clearing where trenches were being dug in a pattern. “Irrigation canals,” Boyce explained. “My idea is to shuttle water down them to the sides of fields where crops can be planted. The water will come from this concrete reservoir—it’ll collect rainwater. We’re also digging a well to an underground lake. In a year or two this whole area will be green and fertile.”
Amber gazed out over the parched ground, cracked from the blazing sun. “It’s hard to imagine,” she said. “But I believe you’ll do it.”
“It’ll take most of three months to get it going. Paul will take over when I have to leave. If I don’t finish up at Alabama by the end of next year, my daddy’s going to write me off.”
“How could he? You’re doing so much good.”
“Dad wants me working in his engineering firm. Personally, I’d rather put in a few years over here before settling down stateside. Africa gets in a person’s blood, you know.”
“Yes, it happened to Heather.”
“But not to you?”
She didn’t want to tell him how much the lifestyle didn’t appeal to her, so she just shrugged and said, “I’ve only been here two days. Maybe in time.”
“And here I am dragging you around when you’d probably rather be catching some Z’s.”
“I can sleep in tomorrow,” she said. “Show me more.”
The moon began to rise over a clump of trees and cast the land in a cool, pale light. Amber wished she was with Boyce back in Miami, where she knew of many places they could go to be together. She’d love showing him off
to her friends. To Dylan, too.
Boyce took her to an area on the grounds with large thatched-roof buildings of cinder block. “These are the family units. I’ll take you to Patrick’s.”
They found Patrick leading his group in a Bible study. “Come in! Come in,” he told Boyce and Amber. “We are almost finished.”
The main room held a mixture of hand-carved and secondhand furniture. Short hallways branched out from the larger room, separating the boys’ and girls’ sleeping quarters. The concrete floor was covered with a woven grass rug. Shields and masks hung on one wall; a painting of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane hung on another. When Patrick saw Amber staring at the shields, he said, “This reminds us of our heritage.” He nodded toward the painting. “This reminds us of our hope. ‘He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword,’ ” he quoted. “ ‘But the Word of the Lord stands forever.’ ”
Unable to think of anything to say, Amber smiled politely.
“Be right back,” Boyce said. “I need to talk to one of my foremen.”
Amber stood, feeling self-conscious and out of place. The group of Africans stared at her, some smiling, some whispering. “Meet my fiancée,” Patrick said. “This is Ruth Musembe, soon to be Mrs. Patrick Sugabi.”
Ruth, a diminutive young woman with a pleasant smile and wide-set features, didn’t look much older than Amber. “Congratulations,” Amber told her.
“I remember your sister,” Ruth said. “She was so very brave to bring Alice out of Sudan. A dangerous place for both of them.”
“That’s my sister. Trying to save the world.”
Patrick went to talk to Boyce, and Amber found herself alone with Ruth, forced to make small talk. “So where’s your family?”
“In Rwanda. My parents are missionaries serving in my uncle’s village, doing the work of the Lord.”
“I’ll bet they’re looking forward to your wedding.”
“Yes. It is an honor for me to marry Patrick.” Ruth cut her eyes toward her fiancé, and her expression turned wistful, almost sad. “I pray each day to the Lord Jesus that I will be a good wife.”