Over the Waters (15 page)

He wanted desperately to change the subject. He'd heard all this sappy religious stuff before. It had been the wall between him and Josh. He hated it.

He looked down to find Valerie studying him. He squirmed under the microscope of her gaze, however benevolent.

"I can tell I've lost you," she laughed. "I think it's just so much simpler than people try to make it. All you have to do is talk to God--just like you're talking to me. He'll take care of the rest. It's the coolest thing you'll ever experience. Trust me." She gave him a hint of a smile and started back up the lane.

Max wasn't sure he understood, but he suddenly found that he wanted to. He wanted to believe in a God who worked in people's lives, a God who showed people what all the junk in their life was about. Made some sort of sense of it.

She walked ahead of him, obviously unaware of how desperately he was hanging on her words.

He shook his head and tagged after her. "The coolest thing I'll ever experience, huh?"

"Trust me," she said again, quickening her pace.

He worked to keep up with her.
Trust me,
she'd said. She couldn't have known that trusting was the one thing Max Jordan had never succeeded at.

W
alking back to Madame Duval's, Max replayed his conversation with Valerie. She was a delightful woman. He'd lived so long in the world of studied artifice that Valerie's genuine demeanor surprised him at every turn. He'd forgotten what it was like to have a conversation without having to take measure of its truth. His own included. He found himself speaking more frankly with her than he had with anyone in a long while.

How refreshing it was to meet a woman who didn't think having to wear the same outfit two days in a row was an international catastrophe. How could she be so happy with so little? He thought of his own arsenal of expensive playthings and was shocked to realize that it hadn't brought him more than a few hours of fleeting pleasure. What was her secret?

He knew the answer. And he knew why it fascinated him so. Her
joie de vivre
had the same source as Joshua's had. It was their faith in God. He knew that. But what was the key?
He
believed in God. He honestly did.

He thought about the things Valerie had said. She seemed so certain of what she believed. He'd told her the truth that day they'd met in the market: he couldn't remember a time he hadn't believed in God. But there had to be some element he was missing.

Over the years, he'd heard all the maudlin lingo about inviting Jesus into your heart and making him the Lord of your life. Josh had spouted a variation of it. But Max had been so disgusted with Joshua's wasted education, his wasted life, that he'd blamed Josh's brand of religion.

Bottom line, it made him uncomfortable. Even now, all alone on this road, the thoughts he was having made him squirm. If he'd been wearing his customary necktie, he would have been tugging at it.

Except somehow, the way Valerie Austin had spoken of her relationship with God made it seem like the most natural thing in the world.

As he neared the compound, a mangy dog picked its way up the rocky ditch and trotted along beside him on the lane that led to Madame Duval's. He wondered where the shaggy brown mongrel had come from. This was the third time he'd seen the dog outside the compound. Madame Duval's watchman, Alex, had shaken a stick at it this morning, demanding that it leave. The dog seemed friendly enough, and Max was tempted to reach down and pat its head, but he'd been warned to keep his distance. Few Haitians kept pets of any kind--most could barely afford to feed their children--and too many stray dogs and cats were vicious or even rabid.

When he reached the gate and unlocked it, the dog attempted to follow him inside.

"No," Max said firmly. He put out a foot and nudged the dog's hindquarters before slipping inside and shutting the gate behind him. He latched the gate and started to walk away, but something made him turn around. The dog stood, waiting, looking at him with soft brown eyes.

Max grasped the metal bars and stared out between two of them, watching as the dog plopped down on its haunches on the other side. Silently the animal tilted its head to one side, cocking an ear. Those pitiful eyes never left Max's face.

It struck him that, for some unknown reason, the dog trusted him. Max felt that even if he turned away and left the dog sitting outside the fence, it would still be there tomorrow, waiting patiently for him. A foreign emotion swelled his throat. Pity? What kind of man felt more compassion for a stray animal than he'd managed to muster for the dozens of homeless children he'd encountered in this impoverished country?

"Go on, boy," he said, trying to keep any hint of compassion from his voice. Madame Duval would chastise him for encouraging the dog to hang around. But he found himself hoping the animal could read his mind. Maybe he'd try to filch some scraps from the kitchen in case the dog was still there when he left for Port-au-Prince later this morning.

Madame Duval had asked him to pick up some supplies at the airport, but he had another mission in mind for the day as well. His spirits lifted thinking of it.

The tiny lizard flicked its tongue and puffed out its neck. Valerie brushed it off her bedpost and onto the floor. It scurried beneath the low dresser in her room. She continued brushing her hair, then laughed to herself. She'd come so far in twelve short days.

She bent to check the alarm clock on the dresser. Max would be at the gate for their morning walk soon. She didn't want to make him wait.

In the tiny bathroom, she washed her face and patted it dry with a threadbare towel. Running a hand through her coarse waves, she suddenly missed her specialty shampoo and bath soap from home. Her hair had suffered from the sun--and probably even more from the constant braiding the little girls performed. But frizz and split ends were a small price to pay for the "therapy" of the girls' attention.

She ran a hand over the waistbands of the two skirts hanging from hooks in her room. The one she'd worn yesterday was more comfortable, but it was still damp from the laundry bucket, so she pulled the other one on and finished dressing. She closed her bedroom door behind her and tiptoed from the dormitory into the courtyard. The morning air was damp and heavy with the odors of the bay--fishy with a faint stench of the runoff from the latrines. She was used to it by now.

Henri was already working in the yard, his shirt damp with sweat as he pulled weeds from the anemic rectangle of grass.
"Bonjou, kijan ou ye?"
She was proud that she could speak a few simple Creole phrases passably.

Henri looked up from his work. "
Bonjou,
Miss Valerie." He answered in Creole before quickly switching to English. "You go walking with Dr. Jordan again, eh?"

"Yes. He should be here any minute."

"Ah, but Dr. Jordan has already been here." His white teeth gleamed and his eyes twinkled, as though he harbored a secret.

"Oh? I missed him?" She looked at her watch, then toward the gate. She didn't see anyone waiting in the road beyond.

"Dr. Jordan bring something for you," Henri said, smiling.

She turned back to the watchman. "He did?"

"Follow me." Henri threw down a handful of wilted weeds and covered the space between her and the maintenance shed near the gate in long strides.

Valerie tagged behind him, curious. Rounding the corner, she gasped. "My luggage! Where did that come from?"

Henri stood beside her two suitcases, stacked one atop the other in front of the shed. The larger one was dusty and badly scuffed, but it appeared to be in one piece. The purple ribbons still clung to the handles, though they drooped like wilted irises.

Henri beamed as though he himself had delivered the suitcases to Hope House.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" She clapped her hands together.

"But when--?"

Max Jordan stepped out from between the shed and the wall. "Good morning."

"Max! Look, my luggage is here!"

His expression gave him away.

"
You
did this?"

"I may have." His smile rivaled Henri's.

"Dr. Jordan must be pull some strings," Henri said, laughing and pantomiming the alleged string-pulling.

"Oh, this is wonderful," she said again. "But when did you get it?"

"Yesterday. I had to run an errand for Madame Duval and I thought I might as well see about your luggage while I was there. They said it's been waiting there for days. I think they were about ready to ship it back to the U.S."

Valerie reached out to touch his arm. "Thank you so much, Max. It feels like Christmas."

He grinned. "Well, you must've been a good girl because it looks like Santa delivered." He eyed her. "I thought you might want to skip our walk this morning and go open your bags...make sure everything is there. Maybe change clothes," he said with a wink.

She laughed and considered his offer, but one look at the intelligent glint in his eyes and she knew she didn't want to miss their time together.

"I'm sure everything's fine. I'll just be grateful for anything that made it here. Let's walk."

His smile was her reward. He turned to the watchman. "Henri, will you let Valerie in when we get back?"

"Oh yes, Dr. Jordan. I be probably still working here." He swept an arm to encompass the yard.

"Thank you, Henri." He crooked an elbow and offered it to her. "Miss Valerie, shall we go?"

Feeling instantly carefree and buoyant, she took his arm and walked through the gate, calling over her shoulder, "Goodbye, Henri."

The Haitian nodded and latched the gate behind them, whistling a cheery, nondescript tune.

As they started down the lane, Max was grateful for the narrow pathway and the escalating heat, which created a natural excuse for him to slide Valerie's hand from his arm. The softness of her fingers against his skin was unsettling and a part of him was relieved to be rid of the sensation.

"I wish I could have gotten your things to you sooner," he said over his shoulder as they moved into single file to let a truck pass on the road.

"I'd given up on getting them at all," she said. "I'm so happy to finally have them!" The joyful lilt in her voice was like music.

He waved a hand. "Don't mention it." But he was far more pleased with her elated reaction than he should have been. It crossed his mind that it was a good thing he was leaving Brizjanti in a few days. It was time to banish the foolish imaginings he'd been entertaining both sleeping and waking.

Valerie's voice shook him from his reverie.

"I'm sorry..." Max turned his attention to her. "What did you say?"

"I just wondered what you're doing today--at the orphanage?"

"Oh. I think Madame Duval has some construction projects for me this morning. Boy, is she in for a disappointment. Just because a man can remodel a nose doesn't mean he has a clue about how to lay cinder block."

A fleeting glimpse of confusion flitted across her face, as though she didn't get his joke. But then he saw realization come to her eyes and she laughed. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Will you come back to Hope House for another clinic before...before you go back to the States?"

"I hadn't planned to. As I understand it, we got the children there all caught up on their annual physicals. Unless they can get some more of the vaccine in, there's not much else I can do there."

She wrinkled her nose. "It just seems like kind of a waste to have access to a doctor and then put him to work doing construction."

He shrugged. "I'm quickly learning that you do what needs to be done here, no matter who you are." He cringed inwardly. Could that have possibly come off with more arrogance?

He gave Valerie a sidewise glance. She didn't seem to notice and he quickly changed the subject. "Are you anxious to go home?"

She hesitated for a minute. "I'm trying not to think about it."

"Oh?"

"It's just that...well, I don't know what's waiting for me at home. I mean I have my job and apartment and everything, but I'm not sure I can go back to my church."

"Why not?" It was a stupid question and he wished he could take it back.

But she answered matter-of-factly. "Will's still going to be there--my fiance. Ex-fiance, I mean. And even if he weren't, there are just too many reminders of...of everything. I'm staying with Beth for a week after I get back--in Chicago," she said. "I hope that'll give me time to sort things out."

"Really? Maybe we can do lunch someday while you're there." The words were out before he'd had time to think them through.

She looked up at him, surprise arching her brows and crinkling her forehead. "I'd like that," she said. "I'll hold you to it."

Without warning, a wave of trepidation flooded him, thinking of Valerie on his own turf. He glanced over at her in her simple cotton skirt and her dusty tennis shoes. Her face tanned, but devoid of makeup, and her hair in an unruly ponytail. He couldn't quite picture her beside him in his sleek silver Maserati, or on his arm at the country club.

But strangely, it wasn't Valerie Austin who seemed out of place in the scenario. It was him. He had become somebody else entirely here in Brizjanti. And he hadn't a clue which man was the real Max Jordan.

Brizjanti, Haiti, January 25

T
he cotton blouse clung uncomfortably to her damp skin, but Valerie ignored the stifling heat while little Nino whiffled soft breaths against her shoulder. She loved rocking him and the other babies to sleep each afternoon. She teared up just thinking about how quickly her time here was coming to an end.

She'd found a rhythm in this place that filled her with contentment and a sense of belonging. Her time on the rooftop each morning was her anchor. But now there was the early-morning walk with Max Jordan as well. Their conversations challenged and sharpened her, and kept her running back to the Bible to answer the questions he bombarded her with.

Yesterday he'd asked if she thought Joshua could look down from heaven and see him. She'd been startled by the question, and a little embarrassed that she wasn't sure of the answer.

"I just wish I could know that Josh knows I'm sorry," he'd said.

"Oh, Max, I'm sure he knows. The Bible promises there are no tears in heaven. It's a place of joy and peace and perfection, so he wouldn't be sad or worried about anything that was left unfinished between you two."

"I wish there was some kind of promise for those of us left down here."

"Oh, but there is!" She tried to keep the excitement from her voice, but she was overjoyed by how deeply he seemed to be searching, how close he seemed to crossing from belief in God into a relationship with Him.

She liked this man immensely, and sensed she'd been offered a glimpse into his heart that perhaps only a few had ever been afforded.

She had watched Max's demeanor with the children change from nervous indifference to genuine delight. Observing him joke with the little girls and roughhouse with the boys, it was almost impossible to see him as a wealthy physician in a plush Chicago office catering to glamorous clients. Or on the golf course. Or tooling down Lakeshore Drive in the silver Maserati he'd mentioned once in passing.

The few times Max had spoken of that part of his life, he'd seemed almost embarrassed, clamming up as soon as he realized that their conversation had revealed his wealth and position. In those moments, Valerie worried that perhaps she didn't know him so well after all.

But he'd shared so many other parts of his life with her, openly--even eagerly--discussing spiritual things, sharing his regrets about his divorce, his tendency to be a workaholic and, of course, his relationship with his son.

She still found it amusing that, while her work at the orphanage had given her great joy and a sense of fulfillment, her main mission field on Haitian soil so far had been this wealthy, unlikely American.

But time was so short. Tomorrow was her last Sunday here. A week from today--the first day of February--she'd be on a flight headed for Miami. And she knew these last days would fly by even faster than the first had. They'd be gone before she was ready--ready to leave, to say goodbye to the children and to Pastor and Madame Phil.

Before she was ready to say goodbye to Max.

She smiled into the dim afternoon light, remembering his agreement yesterday--albeit a very reluctant one--to attend church with them on Sunday. "I wouldn't know how to act," he'd told her when she broached the subject. "I haven't been to church for...well, let's just say a long, long time."

"Max, I didn't know how to act in church here, either. It's very different from church back home." She touched her hair absently, remembering the prayer cap. "You're not even going to be able to understand the sermon or the words to the songs--"

"Then why go?" he countered.

She scrambled for a reason he would buy. "Because it's where Joshua went to church. Isn't that why you came here in the first place? To honor him? To learn more about his life here?"

She'd been surprised by her own words and she could see that they'd jolted Max, too. But he'd nodded slowly. "Okay...I'll go."

It was a sweet victory and Valerie chuckled to herself remembering how Samantha Courtney had crowed when she'd told her the news.

She was looking forward to another day with Max. And at the same time, she wanted to turn back the calendar. Start her time here all over again. The closer the time came for her to return to her life in the States, the more oddly unsettled she felt.
Why?
She'd made peace with her circumstances concerning Will. She was sure of that. Not that there wouldn't still be a time of adjustment when she got back home. It would be hard to face Will, face all their mutual friends. But she no longer wondered if they'd made the right decision about their marriage. She felt certain they had. Will wasn't the cause of her unrest.

And she was on good terms with her heavenly Father. In fact, she'd experienced a rather sweet reunion with Him in this most unlikely of places, so neither was that the reason for her disquiet.

Yet, her heart seemed in a strange state of turmoil. She let out a long sigh. She didn't want to waste her last days here fretting, but try as she might, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was missing.

Max would fly home in a few days. Madame Duval had asked Betty Greene if they could spare Henri to deliver Max to Port-au-Prince on Monday. He would spend the night there and fly out early Tuesday morning.

Valerie would miss their morning walks. It wasn't safe for her to walk outside the compound alone. She could get her exercise inside the gates and her fresh air on the rooftop. But that wasn't the point. It was Max's company she would miss.

And she was worried about him. She thought he'd found a measure of peace about his relationship with Joshua. But she was pretty sure he couldn't say the same thing about God. She wanted so badly for him to settle that before he went back. It would be too easy for him to go back to his comfortable life and stop asking questions. Stop seeking the Truth.

She hugged little Nino closer and tried, without success, to picture all the goodbyes that loomed ahead of her.

Late that night, she lay on her cot in the dark, perspiring in the airless room. Sleep completely eluded her. Outside her window the faint sounds of traffic droned on the road to Port-au-Prince, and in the distance the haunting drums of the village witch doctors throbbed.

She'd grown accustomed to this audible evidence of voodoo's hold on Haiti. And though she felt perfectly safe within the gated walls of the orphanage compound, and even with Max or Henri on the lane that ran between Hope House and Madame Duval's, it made her shudder to think of the spiritual darkness that covered this land because of the wide practice of witchcraft.

How many of the precious boys and girls within these sanctified walls would be taken captive by voodoo's malevolent influence once they left the safety of Pastor and Madame Phil's haven?

And what would happen when the Greenes could no longer manage the orphanage? Even if Pastor Phil got the medical care he needed, he couldn't possibly have enough years left in him to see the smallest ones--tiny Nadia and Francilia, and baby Nino--safely into the world outside the gates.

A wave of utter despair sluiced over her. If she'd been standing, she knew she would have been knocked off her feet with the enormity of it all. Permitting the tears to roll down her cheeks and into her ears, she whispered into the darkness. "Oh, Father, keep your hand on these dear saints. Give them as many years as they need. Bless each child within these walls.

"And Lord," she added selfishly, "I know my problems are so petty and small by comparison, but when I get home, please show me what You want me to do with my life. I love You, Father, and I trust You have something special waiting for me back home. Please just show me Your way. I want to do things Your way."

With those last quiet words of surrender, she finally drifted into sleep.