Nurse Verna Doyer did not undress when she went to bed; she deconstructed, and it was for this reason that she did not take lightly to being disturbed. The first thing she did was remove the hairpins that held the greasy coils of braids atop her skull. With each pin that she removed, Nurse Verna acknowledged a sin that she had committed that day. Those sins could be against either God or man. However, since Nurse Verna seldom wronged another human being, her prayers asking for pardon were usually thought of as sins that she’d committed against God.
Her most common prayer was: “Lord, I should have been more grateful for that ghastly lunch that my houseboy brought for me today.”
The second thing that Nurse Verna did was to unwind, and unbraid, her plaits; she recited scripture during that lengthy process. The matrons at the orphanage had drummed it into her that healthy hair had to be brushed one hundred times before one went to bed. Since Nurse Verna was a creature of habit, and ritual gave her comfort, brushing is what she did.
On the other hand, Nurse Verna was quite aware that the excessive brushing contributed to her oily scalp, so she used the brushing time to ask God to remove from her heart the anger that she felt toward the matrons—some of whom had been rather abusive. God never answered Verna’s prayers, so she felt quite justified in repeating the same prayers day after day.
When she was finished with her hair, Nurse Verna dismantled her wardrobe for the day. Off came the apron, the dress without buttons, the full slip, the half slip, and the homemade brassiere. On went the cotton T-shirt with the elbow-length sleeves, the night slip, the long flannel nightgown, and two fresh pairs of long-legged underpants, for there was always the possibility that while she slept, her nightgown might somehow get bunched around her waist, leaving her vulnerable to violation. Pajama bottoms were simply out of the question, because they resembled men’s trousers, and the Bible was very clear on that issue: for a woman to dress like a man was a sin.
The fact that all this clothing made Nurse Verna Doyer unattractive, not to mention practically inaccessible at night to Reverend Arvin Doyer, mattered not one whit. Nurse Verna was closed for business down there—so to speak. The Lord had been good to her, blessing her with late-onset menses, and early-onset menopause. The Doyers had never been cursed with children, and now that all possibility of that curse had been taken from them, it was no longer right that they should lie together as man and wife. God had created that loathsome desire to rub genitals for the sole purpose of procreation—not recreation.
Besides, by the time Nurse Verna was through deconstructing, Arvin was invariably fast asleep for the night. Some nights he fell asleep while still reading his bible, and Nurse Verna would find the holy book perched on her husband’s expanding stomach, perilously close to sliding off it and onto the floor. On the plus side, however, Arvin was quick to rouse and didn’t seem to require a period of adjustment between sleep and full mental acuity. Verna, on the other hand, could not sleep a wink without the aid of her special friend, a friend whose acquaintance she had made approximately a dozen years earlier following an emergency appendectomy. Because she was a registered nurse, and the only medical caregiver in a large area, the Belgian government had given her a permit to purchase and distribute various medications from a Lebanese-owned pharmacy in Luluabourg.
Thus it was, on the night of Julia’s arrival, when Henry pounded on the door with fists the size of lion paws, that it was Arvin—wearing a full set of flannel pajamas, despite the heat—who sprang to see who the visitor was. Meanwhile Verna, who’d gone to sleep with the aid of her friend, struggled to separate dream from fact. Was she a little girl, being spanked for having broken one of Matron’s privately owned candy dishes, or was that the Angel of Death pounding at the front door, having come to take her soul?
“Nurse Doyer, wake up,” a familiar voice said. The words were repeated again and again, and slowly, fading into consciousness, like someone coming out of anesthesia, Nurse Verna became aware that the speaker was her husband.
“Reverend Doyer?” she asked, to reassure herself.
“Yes, Nurse Doyer. I’m afraid there has been an emergency.”
“What time is it?”
“It is not yet nine o’clock.”
Nurse Verna struggled vigorously to sit, but fell back.
“In the evening,” her husband said.
“Oh.”
“Nonetheless,” he said, “you must try to rouse yourself. The child has been severely bitten.”
“Snake?” she said.
“Hyena,” he said.
“That incorrigible Hayes child?”
“No, an African. Probably a runaway.”
“Reverend,” Nurse Verna said firmly, “thou knowest my position—and my condition. I do not entertain or attend visitors past a certain hour.”
“Very well,” Arvin said. “I will send them away.”
“And please shut the door before you talk to them.”
Much to her dismay, Nurse Verna could hear that Arvin forgot to shut the door behind him before delivering her message. Or was it that he simply didn’t care enough to follow through with her instructions? The third possibility was that he purposely ignored her. Oh poor Arvin; what must it be like to be just a man? Beyond that, what must it be like to be a man of his ilk?
Nurse Verna was about to give Arvin a small piece of her mind—despite the fact that the misogynistic St. Paul would not have approved—when Arvin returned. Except that Arvin wasn’t alone; he was actually trotting after, not leading, the intruder. And she wasn’t some little African waif with a deadly hyena bite.
No siree, the intruder was a white woman, one whose looks rivaled those of Queen Esther, winner of the most important beauty contest ever held. This had to be none other than the young woman Henry had gone to fetch from Leopoldville. This had to be Julia Elaine Newton, the new director of the school for child brides. She would be doing what Henry’s deceased wife used to do.
Verna’s mind cleared like a fog driven by a gust of strong winds. “Reverend, you may put your tongue back in your mouth and leave the room,” she said.
“I will not,” he said.
“Listen, you two,” the intruder said, “there is no time for this. The girl in the truck is in a very bad way. Henry tried to tie a tourniquet, but the blood has seeped through. I’m afraid that she’s going to bleed to death.”
“By pointing to yourself, show me where the wound is,” Nurse Verna said.
“Uh—about here,” the young woman said, pointing to her thigh.
“Then it’s most probably just a flesh wound; there is nothing to worry about. I’ll give you everything—”
The young woman stepped forward, grabbed the sheet and thin cotton blanket, and ripped them off the bed. The motion caused Verna’s nightgown to flutter, revealing her pink, untanned calves. Even pinker were her very much suntanned cheeks.
“What—”
“Get out of bed,” the intruder barked. “Now! Put on your shoes, get your medical bag—or whatever—and let’s go.”
What arrogance! This was a brand-new missionary, someone young enough to be Verna’s granddaughter, and she was ordering around an “old-timer,” as if Nurse Verna were a—a—dolt? A brain-damaged chimpanzee? It was not only unacceptable, but the very first thing on the morrow, Nurse Verna was going to write the home office and demand—not ask—that they nip in the bud Julia Newton’s career as a missionary. And believe you me, after reading Nurse Verna’s letter and its many accusations, they would. Nurse Verna was far too valuable an employee, despite any small failures one might point to. Miss Newton, however, spelled trouble. With a capital T.
“But can’t you see that I’m not dressed? That my hair is down?”
“You’re covered, aren’t you?” Miss Newton raged at Verna. “And I don’t care if you were naked! A little girl is crying out in agony and you want to put on your holy roller clothes? Put on a robe and a hat, for crying out loud.”
“W-why, you’re j-just a newcomer,” Nurse Verna sputtered. “You can’t speak to me like this.”
“I can,” Miss Newton said, “and I shall.”
Nurse Verna threw her hands up in the air and surrendered, but it was not to the whippersnapper fresh from the States. “Lord, I give it all up to Thee,” she cried.
“Amen,” Reverend Doyer said, and he likewise threw his hands in the air. “Amen, all praise be to God. Father in Heaven, we just ask Thee—”
“Enough, praying, Reverend Doyer,” Nurse Verna snapped. “Now it’s time to act. Although we must remember to thank God later that we remembered to leave the generator on, so at least we can see.”
“God didn’t have anything to do with the generator being on,” Henry said. Oh yes, the other reverend had come in unbidden and was cradling the bleeding girl in his arms. “It is our station’s policy to leave the generator on until ten o’clock every evening. It’s a policy that I insist upon.”
Nurse Verna harrumphed. It was a sound that she relished. “Well, don’t just stand there, Reverend Hayes; carry the girl into the dining room where the light is the best. The tablecloth is plastic, so you may set her down, if you wish. As for you, Reverend Doyer, run get the Coleman lantern from the pantry, and some bleach.” Finally she looked at Miss Newton. “You. Run ahead and light a fire in the stove, and get some water boiling in the big cast-iron kettle. Bring me a full kettle of boiling water. And do not bother me again until you have a full kettle of boiling water. Is that clear enough? Because you look like you don’t understand English.”
“Wood—”
“If the wood box is low, there’s more in the shed out back, but you’ll have to take the key from the hook by the door. And grab a flashlight and watch for snakes. We’ve been having a problem with vipers this year. Anything else, girl? ”
As she was speaking Nurse Verna had been twisting her hair—her crowning glory—as per the Book of First Corinthians, into a massive bun that could be quickly held in place with oodles of hairpins and then covered snugly with a scarf. She worked quickly, competently, and prayerfully. So focused was she on her task that when Miss Newton piped up, interrupting Verna’s train of thought, the nurse started and jabbed the cartilage of her left ear with a hairpin.
“Uh—ma’am,” the silly girl said, “what I meant to say is that I don’t know how to light a fire in a wood-burning stove. I’ve never done that before.”
“Never lit a stove?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’ll show her.” It was the Great Distraction: that incorrigible Hayes child. She was forever popping up where she wasn’t wanted, where she had no place being, like weeds in a vegetable patch. Children had no place on a mission field. Here they were nothing more than a distraction, siphoning time away from the Lord’s work under the best of circumstances, and just plain getting in the way at other times—at times such as this.
“Go back and wait in the truck,” Nurse Verna said.
“The truck’s all bloody,” the child said.
“Then walk home. It’s not that far.”
“Okay, okay. You needn’t work yourself into a slather; Papa says that if you keep it up, you’re going to either have a nervous break-in or else you’re going to have a heart attack. But before I go, please can’t I help her with the fire? She doesn’t know anything.”
Nurse Verna thought she heard a snicker escape the new missionary, but she couldn’t be sure, and since her new resolve was not to judge, she decided to leave well enough alone. For the time being, at least. One’s true character could not remain hidden for long.
“All right then,” Nurse Verna said to Clementine, “show her how to make a fire in the stove, but be quick about it. The important thing is that I need boiling water to sterilize the needles and instruments.”
When the coast was clear, she quickly slipped on the appropriate garments and turned her hands over to the Lord so that they could be the instruments of his bidding.