Now, she hoped no one inside the house was watching as she shifted into reverse. When she began to release the clutch and hit the accelerator, who knew what might happen? At least there were no cars parked anywhere behind her, so if she took off suddenly, she would cause no damage.
She glanced backward to make sure the way was clear. Seeing nothing, she carefully began to ease up on the clutch and press down on the accelerator. She hit the gas way too fast, and as her left foot came off the clutch her car went careening backwards. Not two seconds passed before she felt the back of her car hit something with a thud.
What on earth. . .? She slammed on the brakes. She hadn’t seen anything blocking her way before she got into the car, and knew there were no vehicles behind her.
Then she heard a sound that would echo in her mind for months to come.
A scream.
The blood-curdling kind. Although her windows were closed, it was so loud, that it penetrated right through them. Sheila pulled the rearview mirror back into position and saw her cousin Peter running toward the car, his mouth wide open. Sheila froze in horror.
Oh, my God, I didn’t—
She yanked open her door as Peter screamed again. This time, he was coherent.
“Lorena!”
Suddenly, Sheila felt dizzy. Peter was kneeling just behind her rear tires, and Sheila knew without looking what had happened.
What she had done.
She took two steps toward the back of her car, not wanting to look but knowing she had to.
Then she saw it. A pair of legs. Tiny legs. Legs wearing the same red jeans Sheila had seen Lorena wear to breakfast. Sticking out from under the back end of her car.
Call 911. Somebody, call 911. She wanted to shout the words, to go running back into the house and do it herself. But a wave of nausea overtook her, and she turned her face to the ground and threw up.
* * *
Hank looked up from the paper as the words became too blurry to read. Peter, the pilot of his plane, was Sheila’s cousin. His motive for missions? To escape the reality of the death of his only child, a death Sheila herself had inadvertently caused.
His mind whirled. All these years they had been connected by past tragedies. What were the odds that he would end up with a letter for someone from another state that he would meet years later? Only God could have choreographed such a train of events. Wiping his wet face with the back of his hand, Hank turned to the shadowy figure lying on the bed, and as he regarded her a deep sense of empathy awakened within him. Here was someone who knew the same heart-wrenching grief as he, who had spent years fighting an uphill battle just to continue her walk with the Lord, just as he had.
His eyes clearing, he let them return to the precious letter in his hand.
I know I’m taking a huge risk in writing this letter. You have never actually said you loved me, although I felt it in your actions, saw it in your eyes. But you should know that I fell in love with you a long time ago, but I was too tied down to my failures to find the strength and courage to risk telling you.
Whatever problem you have with missionary work, I hope my words do something to help you overcome it. I cannot disobey God, but I don’t want to live without you.
All my love,
Sheila
For several minutes, Hank held the sheets of paper to his chest, unable to move. So she had fallen in love with him back when they first started dating. He had wondered, since, like him, she had never expressed it. But he hadn’t missed the adoration in her eyes, the way she always smiled at him when they were together. Some time in the middle of January he’d begun to notice that she seemed happier than when they’d first met. He’d hoped that it had something to do with him, but was afraid to get his hopes up too high, afraid that if he began to consider a future with her, something would ruin it.
Well, I guess the thing I feared came upon me, he thought ruefully, quoting the famous Job of the Bible. What would have happened if he had taken the risk to admit to himself and to Sheila that he loved her? Would he have been more willing to try to overcome the past the day that she announced her missionary desire? Or would he have run away regardless?
It didn’t matter anymore. There he was, and there she was. He couldn’t go back and change his response that day he’d gone to church with Sheila. The only thing he could do was focus on this day, the present, and do what he thought was right. Taking a deep breath, he got up from the chair, set the letter down in its seat, and kneeled next to the hospital bed.
“Sheila,” he whispered, “I know you can hear me. Listen. I have my own confession.”
And in the stillness, Hank poured out his heart, telling his own story of a man who had been running away from the call of God because of a gripping fear, a fear brought on by a tragic brush with death.
He was barely able to keep his eyes open by the time he ended the story of the plane crash and his subsequent agony. “So you gotta come back to me, Sheila,” he concluded with a sigh, “now that we’re both ready to obey God. Love of my life,...come...back...” The exhaustion that had been stalking him for hours finally slithered up behind him and wrapped itself around his weak body. Hank cradled his head in his arms, lay them down next to Sheila’s pillow, and drifted off into a blessed silent darkness.
* * *
Hank had read her letter. He must have, or he wouldn’t have told her about that missionary trip that had ended so horribly. She sent a silent prayer of thanks for God’s guidance, knowing that it was futile to try to speak. At first she had felt frustrated, hearing and feeling people around her, but unable to see or respond as she floated around in a warm blanket of darkness. After a while—which might have been hours or days or even months, she couldn’t tell—she gave up trying to speak and accepted the strange state in which she found herself, sensing that it was somehow for her good.
She began to meditate on the last words Hank had spoken, knowing exactly what he meant.
Suddenly, the yearning to speak to him, to hold his hand, to just be near him overwhelmed her. With the fierce determination for which she was known she decided that it was time to come out of the darkness.
With an abruptness that startled her, an invisible hand pushed her upward from where she had been submerged in the black nothingness, and as she surfaced a blinding light struck her eyes. In a moment of confusion she thought maybe she had died and was experiencing the light of heaven, but a second later her head began to pound and she knew she was alive.
Her eyelids were heavy, and she struggled to open them. Finally, they lifted, slowly, painfully, as if in protest. She blinked, realizing that sunshine was covering the upper part of her face. Turning her head slightly to the left, trying to escape the brutal rays, she smiled.
She recognized the top of Hank’s head, lying within two inches of her face, and the way he had his face buried in his arms reminded her of many Kindergarten students who had found the afternoon too long and too exhausting and eventually fallen asleep with their head on their work table. He deserved the rest, needed it. For hours on end he had prayed and read the Bible and talked to her, coaxing her back into the world, until he could do no more. And even in his inability to continue, he refused to leave her side.
A deep tide of emotion welled up inside her. If she ever had a doubt that he loved her, that God would bring them through their trials, it was cast away in that instant. A single teardrop tickled her temple and soaked into the pillowcase.
“Hank.” Her voice was hoarse from misuse, but she felt a thrill of joy that she had been able to utter that single syllable.
His head began to move, and Sheila watched in anticipation as it lifted, first the hair disappearing, then the forehead passing her line of sight, and finally his groggy eyes meeting hers.
At first they were uncomprehending, still under the spell of sleep. Within seconds, however, they widened, full of wonder and shining with life.
“Sheila! You’re awake? Oh, thank God! Thank God!” He began to sob, his t
ears intermingling with Sheila’s as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I was so wrong.” He straightened up and took her hand in both of his.
Sheila wanted to say that she forgave him, to add her own apology for not having come clean with him about her past early on in their friendship. If she had, they might have been able to work through their respective wounds together, and might not have ever experienced the painful breach in their relationship.
But merely saying his name had taken all the energy she had, so for several moments, she lay still, enjoying the gentle caress of Hank’s thumb against the back of her hand. By the time his sobs had quieted, she felt strong enough to speak again.
“Hank?”
“Yes?”
“I love you with all my heart.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she hoped Hank could hear her. “Please, don’t leave me ever again.”
“I won’t,” Hank said, squeezing her hand. “As God as my witness, I won’t.”
Sheila relaxed and closed her eyes. For a long time, neither one of them spoke. But that was okay. For now, they had said enough.
CHAPTER 27
In the park across the street from the small house loomed two large flamboyant trees, creating a picturesque view from the tiny window in Sheila’s room. She surveyed the scene, longing to be back at the rural mission, where life was simple and quiet, albeit hard. Dr. Marima, the pastor of the Harare congregation that sponsored the mission where Sheila had been ministering, had insisted she stay with him and his wife until she fully recovered.
For the past two weeks, she had drifted in and out of dreamless sleeps, always waking up to find Hank at her side reading the Bible aloud to her, whispering his affection, or simply holding her hand. As her strength began to come back, she spent a little time each day leaning on Hank’s arm as he walked her around the room, the house, and eventually out into the Marima’s garden. Their subdued conversations were spare on words, Sheila not having the energy to talk and walk at the same time, but Hank’s mere presence spoke volumes to her.
Today, for the first time, she had awakened full of vigor and feeling famished. Before she even realized what she was doing, she had dressed herself and bounded into the dining room asking for breakfast, much to the Marimas’ shock. They called her doctor, who examined her and declared her ready to return to the mission field.
Hank would be there for lunch, and Sheila spent the rest of the morning daydreaming about the small mission. I wonder if Gamba passed the math test on Monday. He was so worried. Kambo is due with her sixth child any day now. I hope her husband starts going to church with her soon. She felt a pang in her chest, acutely aware of how much she missed the villagers who had become her friends over the past month.
She was sitting on her bed, engrossed in her Bible, when she heard the door creak open. She shifted her gaze and smiled as Hank walked in, carrying a bowl of berries.
“To celebrate your freedom,” he said, pulling up a chair and placing the bowl on the edge of the bed. “Fresh from the market.” He sat down and grabbed a fistful of the red fruit.
Sheila imitated the action, grateful to have her appetite again. She popped three berries into her mouth, relishing the burst of flavor on her tongue. Swallowing them, she said, “Hank, promise me something.”
Hank smiled at her as he chewed on some berries. “Anything.”
The devotion reflected in his eyes made her feel like melting into his arms. “No more secrets between us. And we put the past behind us.”
Hank scarfed down the remaining berries in his hand, then reached over and squeezed hers. “I can only make that promise,” he teased, “to my future wife.”
“Oh,” Sheila said gamely, “and where would she be?”
“Somewhere in the middle of Zimbabwe, recovering from a freak car accident involving a lion, a wildebeest carcass and a Jeep.”
Sheila felt the love emanating from Hank’s eyes as he regarded her with a more serious expression.
“And looking into the face,” he continued, “of her future husband, who is called to be a missionary right alongside her.”
Sheila sighed deeply. She had waited so long for this moment. Wanting to relish it as long as she could, she closed her eyes. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she wondered why it hadn’t hit her before. Her mind must have been really out of whack.
“But it’s already July.”
Hank raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”
“The window for resigning from the school district for no quote-unquote good reason already ended.” The thought of Hank leaving made her heart sink with despair, but she couldn’t be selfish. He was legally obligated to complete the next school year. After June 30, a contracted teacher could only resign if they had proof that they’d received a better-paying job offer, or that a spouse was being transferred.
Their missionary work would definitely mean a cut in pay, and Sheila wasn’t his spouse. Yet.
Hank stared at her, then began to laugh. “You mean, you thought—you didn’t know—well, if that ain’t the sheared sheep asking for a haircut.”
“I’m sorry?” Sheila might have laughed if she hadn’t felt so bewildered.
Flourishing a berry in the air, Hank said, “Right after I had Peter’s letter delivered to you, the Lord started dealing with me about turning in my resignation. Of course I argued with Him for about two weeks about it. I didn’t have any idea what He had planned next for me.” He shook his head, ate the berry, and reached for Sheila’s hand. “Okay,” he said, his voice softening, “I had a slight idea. But I was scared. After counseling with my dad and Pastor Bill, I knew I’d better obey.” Hank’s voice grew husky. “Now I see the picture.”
The gentle pressure on Sheila’s hand sent waves of warmth through her body, and her eyes locked onto Hank’s tender gaze. If only she could bottle the moment and save it as a keepsake. He had quit teaching, and turned back to the call of God on his life to be a missionary. And she had had a part in it, just as he had had a part in healing her past.
“So you plan to stay here this year? With me?” She could barely squeak the words out.
“Well, the way I figure it, we’ve got to make one more trip back to Texas.” He released her hand long enough to reach into his pants pocket and extract a small black velvet box. “Otherwise,” he said, placing the box in her hand with a dramatic flair and a twinkle in his eye, “My mother would never forgive me.”
* * *
The next day was a Saturday, and Hank found himself running from the Marimas’ church to their modest home a few blocks away. Dr. Marima had asked him to share his testimony with the congregation on Sunday, and he had gone over to the church to hash out details about it. Just before he arrived, however, Dr. Marima had checked his e-mail, and found a message forwarded from Pastor Scott.
Sheila,
We got Peter’s letter. Sorry it took so long for me to write, but I had a lot of thinking to do.
I’m ready to talk. Please call me. Or even better, if it’s not too impossible, come home.
Linda
Agreeing with the pastor that Sheila would want to see it right away, Hank volunteered to be the messenger. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he promised as he raced out of Dr. Marima’s office.
Sheila was sitting on the garden swing when he stopped in front of her, breathless. She leaped out of the seat, panic in her eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Dr. Marima? Someone else at the church?”
Hank waved his left hand in front of him in a frantic gesture for her to stop, then held out his right hand, which held a printout of the e-mail.
She held out her left hand, now adorned on one finger by a modest but glittering diamond, and took the piece of paper. Still unable to say anything coherent, Hank gently pulled her elbow to get her to sit back down. He sat next to her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
She read the note, glanced back at him with an expression of awe, then looked back at
the note. For a long while, she did not move, seemed to not even breathe. Her gaze remained riveted on the page, and the only sign of emotion was a single teardrop that fell from her eye onto the note.
Before Hank realized what was happening, she was in his arms, squeezing her head into his chest and laughing and crying and exclaiming, “Thank You, Jesus! Thank You, Jesus!” He returned the embrace, adding his own silent expression of gratitude. He was only able to let her go when she finally pulled away because he knew that they had many similar moments ahead of them in the years to come.
Sheila beamed at him with shiny eyes. “I need to go back to the church with you. I’ve got to send a reply.”
Hank stood, and offered her his hand. She took it and did not release it until she was seated in front of Dr. Marima’s computer, writing back her new-found sister.
* * *
When their plane landed at the Minneapolis airport two weeks later, Sheila said to Hank, “I don’t know whether to run a marathon or sleep for the next two days.”
Hank gave her a weary smile. “I know what you mean.”
At least the exhausting trip had temporarily numbed her emotions. When they first boarded the plane in Harare, she felt like a walking raw nerve. As excited as she was to reunite with her family, the prospect of facing Linda terrified her. What if seeing her sister in person brought back all the bad memories and feelings? What if she inadvertently said the wrong thing, and offended Linda for life? Sheila had even considered the possibility that the e-mail had been some sort of cruel hoax. But she knew that thought had come straight out of hell, which had been Hank’s exact response when she shared it with him.
In the last couple of weeks, she had learned more about him than in the couple of months they had dated earlier that year. They were kindred spirits, sharing much the same opinions and interests on a range of issues, and Sheila had easily fallen deeper in love with him in that short period of time.
They made their way to the front of the plane, passed the flight attendant requesting that they fly with them again, and entered the walkway that led into the airport. Sheila exchanged a smile with Hank, then interlaced her left hand with his, grateful to have his support for the next several frightening moments.