Gwen sat on a rough log in front of the fire pit behind the clinic and relished the warmth on her feet. The strange dichotomy of Africa was that the days were scorching hot and the nights cool enough to warrant a sweater.
Every time she came here, she fell a bit more in love with the country and its people. How could a place so economically depressed be so full of life? The people had a joyful spirit even though their lives had none of the luxuries of the modern world. Maybe that was it. Maybe the simplicity of their world freed them to show love and joy.
The others had also gathered around the pit. Everyone except Derek.
He’d returned from his run and briefly stopped by before heading off to visit with Tito’s cousin. She wasn’t sure if he’d returned yet.
Joyce and Craig sat on a blanket with their backs propped by another gnarled log. Moses, Ethan and Ned sat in folding chairs brought out from the clinic.
To Gwen the most peaceful time of the day was when the team would sit and review the day’s events, reassuring her she was doing a good job. The general consensus was that the first day was a success. They’d treated over a hundred and fifty people, fed closer to one-sixty and were looking forward to helping more.
Word would spread that the clinic was open and people from neighboring villages would start arriving. Many would walk a full day or more just for the opportunity to see the doctors.
Knowing now would be a good time to wash up since most everyone was outside which would give her a bit of privacy, she said good-night and headed to the bathhouse, a stone-and-cement squat building that had plank floors so the water could drain into the hard ground beneath. They’d shipped jugs of water for bathing, which Derek had already used a good portion of, she noted with a twinge of worry.
She and the others were used to sponge bathing; she doubted Derek would like the idea. She’d have to fill him in on the rigors of mission life and the need to conserve their bathwater.
After a quick sponge off, she made her way through the darkened clinic, following the luminescence of the moon spilling out the open doors of the rooms lining the hall.
She slowed as she went by the room the guys stayed in and peered in, thinking perhaps Derek was inside. The room was empty. His little corner of the room was organized chaos. The covers on his bunk hastily thrown up to appear as if made. His clothes in tumbling piles on the floor. Shoes peeked out from under the cot.
Part of her was glad not to see him and part of her wanted to. When he was around she was full of conflicting impressions about him. At times he seemed pampered, almost spoiled, yet in London she’d glimpsed a more solid and grounded person.
Yes, he appeared reckless and rash but so disciplined with his education and training. He definitely had a physical prowess that even she found alluring.
Her cheeks burned at the memory of his hands spanning her waist when he’d kept her from falling off the chair earlier that day.
She’d felt secure in his grip, cared for.
She’d been mystified and pleased by the flash of interest in his gaze. Which had quickly turned to a deep probing stare that clarified the emerald in his eyes and made her feel as if he could see past the protective barricades she’d erected long ago to the defenseless girl inside.
A girl who had longed to be loved, to be cherished. A girl once full of trust and hope.
A girl who had nearly died one stormy night.
With a shudder, she hurried to her own room and readied herself for bed. She slipped between the cotton sheets on her foam mattress and tried to analyze what about Derek she found so unsettling. He’d never done anything to suggest he’d physically hurt her. He certainly could be a gentleman at times but also seemed to enjoy baiting her.
She didn’t like the inconsistency of emotions he evoked in her. At times she felt comfortable with him and at other times he was a threat more real than the one in her nightmares.
She silently asked God to help her understand and know how to deal with Derek and the way she reacted to him.
Deliberately she turned her mind away from her strange responses to Derek and thought about the promise she’d made to his father. She hoped Derek would see how deeply their presence affected the people in Moswani.
Tomorrow she would have him work inside the clinic. She could only pray she’d be able to stay focused and not let his nearness disrupt the flow of the work.
After an especially invigorating morning run with Tito, Derek needed a shower, or at least a good dose of water dumped over his head. He noticed that Tito rubbed off the dirt and sweat with a towel rather than using water. Interesting place, this Africa.
Entering the stone-walled bathhouse, Derek expected to see the jugs of water the team had brought in that he’d been using for washing. But instead he found a bucket half full of water and a metal cup.
A square sheet of paper lay on a table beside the bucket. He picked up the note and as he read the tight, neat script, his eyebrows rose.
It seemed Gwen was putting him on water restriction. She couldn’t control his runs so now she wanted to control his showers? He tightened his fist and crumpled the note with a good dose of irritation.
Shoving the wad of paper in the pocket of his running shorts, he contemplated the best use of the water and his towel. Well, if it was good enough for Tito to just rub off the dirt, then it was for him, as well.
Derek decided to save the water for after his evening run in the hopes he’d have a full bucket of water to really scrub with.
When he was done and dressed in lightweight cargo shorts and a white T-shirt, he went to find Gwen to see what she had planned for him today. She seemed to thrive on being in control. Well, he’d let her have her way unless she interfered with his plans.
A line twice as long as the one the day before had formed at the clinic door. As he passed through he noted the varying ages and manner of dress of the Ugandans. Some men and women were dressed in what would be considered normal for America—cotton pants or jeans and printed button-down shirts for the men and simple cotton dresses for the women—many more people wore brightly colored, patterned outfits that fit in with his image of African culture.
And yet some used tattered remnants of cloth to cover themselves. Clearly there was an economic imbalance among the populace.
Pondering the diversity of the Africans, he squeezed into the clinic past a table where the woman whom Gwen had introduced to him as Mary sat filling out the statistic forms on each patient.
He glanced at the stack of forms already completed and noted with gratitude they were written legibly, which would serve him well once they returned to the States and he sat down to write out a report based on the information provided.
Derek found Gwen sitting at another table, talking with an elderly woman. The woman’s graying hair was held back beneath a shocking pink scarf and her long dress of a vivid blue made Derek think briefly of a beautiful bird. Gwen held the older lady’s hand and compassion softened the edges of Gwen’s mouth and brightened the amber of her eyes.
She glanced up and saw him. The small smile she sent him worked to send his pulse pounding as effectively as the blast of a starter gun. Odd that something as insignificant as a casual smile from the redhead could cause such a reaction in him.
Gwen waved him over. He approached as the elderly woman stood then wobbled. He rushed forward to steady her.
“Thank you, young man,” she said in slightly accented English.
“You’re welcome,” he replied with a smile.
“Would you help Thelma over to Ned?” Gwen asked as she handed him a paper.
“Of course,” Derek replied. Taking the paper, he offered his arm to Thelma and noticed the woman’s ankles were puffy and discolored. They shuffled their way the short distance to where Ned sat stitching up a gash on a young girl’s leg.
As Derek waited with Thelma leaning on his arm, he glanced at the paper that listed Thelma’s symptoms and Gwen’s diagnosis of diabetes, plus dehydration.
Once he’d transitioned Thelma to Ned’s care, Derek returned to Gwen. She now spoke with a man whose arm hung at an odd angle. From the conversation, Derek gathered that the man’s arm had broken some time ago and needed to be rebroken to heal properly.
Derek’s gut rolled a bit at the thought, but he gamely led the man to wait for Craig. Derek gave the paper Gwen had given him to Moses, who was helping Craig. Moses frowned as he read the notes, but spoke kindly and with confidence to the man, reassuring him they would do their best to make it so he could once again use his arm.
For the rest of the day, Derek remained in the role of guide, showing each patient to where Gwen indicated. Several times he wondered why she wasn’t treating patients; surely she wanted to use her medical training to help those in need.
Later that night as they gathered after the meal around the fire, Derek commented that many of those they’d seen that day were given water and a vitamin B shot.
Moses explained about the river drying out. “One day the water flows strong then slowly it died away.” His voice held a note of resignation.
“How long has the river been dry?” Joyce inquired. She was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and sat on a metal folding chair.
Moses shrugged his big shoulders. He sat on a blanket with his long legs stretched out before him and his hands braced behind him in a reclined position. “Long time.”
“How have the villages been getting water up to this point?” Craig asked as he fiddled with his CD player after taking a seat next to Moses.
Moses and Ethan exchanged glances. Ethan shifted on the log before speaking. “Once a week someone travels to the border and barters for barrels of water. That water is then rationed among the villagers.”
Remorse for the way he blithely used water as he would at home hit Derek in the gut like a sucker punch.
“And every village does this,” Derek stated quietly, knowing that it was true.
He tried to wrap his mind around the unmet need of something so basic as water. No wonder Gwen had cut his bathwater to a half bucket. He glanced at her across the flames of the fire. She met his gaze with understanding in her amber-colored eyes. The glowing light glittered in her long red braid.
She’d known all along how limited the water supply was, and yet had not ordered him to stop using so much. Instead she had discreetly gotten her point across. Appreciation tightened in his chest.
“What about the well?” Gwen asked, her amber gaze sparked with concern as she turned her attention to Ethan.
“Boarded up. Without the river, the well is useless.”
She bit her lip for a moment before turning to Craig. “How much water do we have?”
“At the rate we’re giving it out, I’d say five more days’ worth.”
“Moses, can you contact your people in Kampala and have them send us more bottled water?”
“Yes. In the morning I will send word.”
Derek saw an opportunity and seized it. “I need to go into Kampala on Saturday. I could bring some back. Wouldn’t that be faster?”
Gwen gave him a hard stare. “We’re all needed here.”
He arched a brow. “I’m not. I need to go anyway.”
She scoffed. “I can’t let you go alone.”
He gritted his teeth. “I’m sure Tito needs to go, as well.”
Moses spoke up. “Yes, Tito and his cousin could go with you. That would be a good solution.”
“I agree,” Ethan said. “Though, Dr. Harper’s son, we do need you. You work hard and the people like you.”
Surprised by the compliment, Derek blinked. “Thank you. And please, call me Derek.”
Ethan grinned, showing big white even teeth. “Derek, then.”
“I still don’t think—” Gwen started to protest.
Annoyed that once again she wanted to control the situation and him, Derek cut her off. “That’s the problem, Gwen. You think too much.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t take my responsibilities lightly.”
“Would you like to take this outside the circle, Ms. Yates?” He stood.
Swiftly she rose and walked a few feet away, leaving him to follow her. He went on the offensive.
“Are you suggesting I take responsibility lightly?” From her tone he knew that was exactly what she was suggesting.
“I don’t think you take Hands of Healing very seriously.”
He narrowed his own gaze. “I’ve lived with the presence of Hands of Healing hanging over my head for more than sixteen years. Believe me, I take it seriously enough.”
“Hanging over your head? What is that supposed to mean?”
Realizing he’d let slip some of the bitterness he felt for his father’s “other child,” he shook his head. “Nothing.”
“It’s obviously something.” Her head cocked to the side, she regarded him with undisguised interest. “Why did you come on board with Hands of Healing if you find it such a burden?”
Aware of the audience witnessing and no doubt hearing their bickering, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “What I find a burden, Gwen, is your need to micromanage everyone.”
Outrage heightened the color in her cheeks to a rose hue. “I don’t micromanage.” She turned her gaze on the others sitting around the fire and yelled, “Do I micromanage?”
“Well…” Joyce winced. “Maybe a bit.”
“But in a good way,” Craig was quick to add.
Ned threw him a disapproving look before saying, “Leadership is hard.”
Moses chuckled and addressed Gwen. “You remind me of Dr. Harper.”
Derek should have felt smug that the others had confirmed his pronouncement. But as he saw Gwen’s crestfallen expression his insides twisted and he found himself wanting to take back his words.
“You do remind me of Dad in some ways. You’re intense like he is. I see why he has such trust in you,” he said, hoping to make up for his earlier barb.
She gave him a tight smile. “So I suppose while you’re in Kampala you’ll find out more about your race?”
“Race?” Joyce leaned forward. “When, where? Give us details.”
“Yes,” he said to Gwen. They stared at each other for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Finally, she turned away and marched back to her place by the fire.
As he reclaimed his own spot, he addressed Joyce’s question. “I don’t have all the details yet.”
Moses inquired about the competition and the conversation turned to running and other sports. Derek was aware when Gwen murmured a good-night and slipped quietly away from the group. He watched her lithe form disappear inside the clinic.
Why did you come on board with Hands of Healing if you find it such a burden?
Her question reverberated through his mind. Purposely, determinedly, he pushed the words away. The answer was too complicated and too painful to even consider.
“Hey, where are all the people?” Derek asked as he and Tito returned from their morning run. For the last few mornings when they reentered the village there had been a growing line of people waiting to be seen. But not today.
“Today’s Sunday. Everyone’s at the church,” Tito replied. “Come on, we should hurry. Service will start soon.”
Not sure going into a church while hot and sweaty was appropriate, Derek couldn’t deny he was curious. So he followed Tito to the other side of the village.
A square, brick building with glassless windows stood off to one side. Derek could see that the interior was bursting with people. He and Tito squeezed in at the back.
It wasn’t hard to notice the Hands of Healing team scattered in various sections of the sanctuary. His gaze focused on Gwen. She sat near the front, her red hair unmistakable. She had on the same flowery outfit she’d worn in London. He remembered that night with fondness.
Since there were no places left to sit on the wooden benches, Derek and Tito leaned against the back wall along with several others. Derek was glad he didn’t have to worry about his shoes tracking in dust since the floor was hard-packed dirt.
A couple of men and women moved to the front of the church. The men began a rhythmic beat on beautifully carved drums and the women played various other instruments—some type of harp, a wind instrument that looked like a hybrid of a flute and a clarinet. People began to sing.
The melodic raised voices filled the church and spilled out through the open windows. Derek closed his eyes and listened, enjoying the music. The singing went on for a long time until a man moved to the front. He laid his Bible on the podium and then began to preach.
Derek listened with interest. The pastor didn’t use outlines or PowerPoint overheads as was the fashion in most churches in the States that Derek had attended. This man spoke from his heart, talking about God’s call on their lives.
“The Lord speaks but you do not listen. Like Samuel, you do not recognize the Lord. Wake up! You must be alert!”
On he went, his passionate sermon stirring the congregation. Derek tried to understand, but he’d never heard the Lord and was sure God had never spoken directly to him.
When the pastor finished, the singing resumed. Joyful songs full of praise that uplifted Derek’s spirit. He felt rejuvenated and ready to dive in to help.
As the service broke up, Derek waited for Gwen and the others to file past. Gwen’s eyes widened and then she smiled. “I’m so glad you made it back in time,” she said as they walked back toward the clinic.
“Me, too. That was incredible.”
Her pleased expression warmed him. He excused himself to clean up and returned a short while later. He found the work in the clinic to be interesting and rewarding.
For the next few days Derek settled into a routine. After his runs, he’d work in the clinic helping where needed and making notes of ways to improve the flow of traffic within the clinic.
He and Gwen seemed to circle each other like caged animals. She, the tigress and he, well, he couldn’t decide what animal he’d want to be likened to, but the tension between them sparked conflicting emotions in him that made his runs that much more productive.
As if he could run into the ground the growing admiration he had for her and trample over the annoyance he felt every time she bossed him around because he knew he was coming up short in her eyes.
Okay, to be fair she didn’t boss, she asked.
Yet her tight-reined approach to management still grated. And it wasn’t that she was female. He knew that with certainty. There was something, though. Something that rose up to bug him and he couldn’t get a bead on it.
They’d all finally agreed that Tito and his cousin Al would drive Derek into Kampala where they’d purchase more water and Derek and Tito could register for the upcoming marathon.
Gwen had reluctantly given her approval but, only after Ned had stated that Derek going was a good idea. Apparently she valued his opinion. Derek refused to admit that he wanted her to value his opinion, as well.
But in Gwen’s typical controlling fashion, she’d declared they could wait a few more days.
At night as they would gather around the fire pit, he’d stare at Gwen and try to understand her. But then she’d return his stare and he’d find himself fascinated with the gold specks in her eyes, the way her mouth formed a smile and the dancing firelight in her hair. And whatever gnawed at him would dissipate with the fire’s smoke.
Tito had started joining them at night, along with several other Africans. The discussions were interesting and lively.
One night a young, brash boy who’d joined them asked, “Where is your cowboy hat?”
“Excuse me?” Derek stared at the kid.
“You Americans wear cowboy hats and drive big cars, right?”
“Where did you get that idea?” Derek asked, wondering if a Texan missionary had come through at one time.
“My cousin lives in the city. There is television there. We watch the American shows. The one about the Carrington family. The big cars, the big houses, the big hats. Do all Americans live like that?”
Derek restrained himself to a chuckle so as not to offend the boy. “No. That is a made up show called Dynasty. Americans are not like that. Most people live in modest houses and very few people wear big hats.”
That prompted a discussion on the views the Africans had of America. Derek came to realize the impressions most had were from the few televisions available and from missionaries or medical personnel like themselves. He understood how the different portrayals of America left many confused.
One night as they gathered around the fire, more people squeezing in, Derek found himself sitting beside Gwen. She had her shoulders turned away from him as she conversed with a woman holding a child. Gwen’s voice was low and soothing. Her braid hung down her back, little curls escaping around the nape of her neck.
She wore no jewelry or cloying perfume. She was no-nonsense and organized, reserved and cautious. Kind and considerate. She had a tremendous work ethic and an impressive ability to keep others calm.
As he contemplated slipping the rubber band from her hair and seeing how the mass would look loose, he accepted that he’d been right the other night when he’d said Gwen was in many ways like his father.
And that probably was the crux of why she bugged Derek so much. She reminded him of his failure to be the person his father wanted him to be.
That realization knocked the breath from his lungs. He was sure Dr. Phil would have a field day with such a revelation.
Okay, so he’d been harboring some resentment toward his father’s newest protégé. Now that he’d realized it he’d work to let it go. Resenting Gwen for the way his father admired and preened over her wasn’t fair to her.
Tomorrow, he decided, he’d do something nice for her. And maybe it would be the start of a new friendship.
Or maybe not.