Angel of Hope Page 9

  Amber understood. Without water to nourish the people, crops, and animals, there would be no farming. “Uganda’s greener,” she said.

  “Yes. In Uganda, water is more plentiful—” A giggle sounded behind them, interrupting Ruth. Amber turned to see a small girl balancing on crutches. “Rosemary?” Ruth said, her smile lighting up. “Is that you, cousin?”

  The child hobbled forward, and Amber saw that her back was severely twisted, her head permanently tilted to one side. Ruth knelt to hug her, then introduced her to Amber. “Pleased to meet you, Amber,” the girl said with perfect diction and a radiant smile. “I have a new dress for the wedding. It is green with white flowers, and my mama bought it for me in Kigali at the big store. And I have shiny black shoes and new socks, too.”

  “I—I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” Amber said, charmed by the child, shocked by her physical condition.

  “I will come to your hut later and we will have a long visit,” Ruth told the girl. “But now Amber and I must rest.”

  “Have a pleasant rest,” Rosemary said, offering another heart-melting smile, and hobbled out on her crutches.

  “How old is she? What happened to her?” Amber asked as soon as the child was out of earshot.

  “She’s seven, and she contracted TB when she was a baby. It affected her spine. Rosemary is one of the reasons I want to learn about medicine. Many problems can be prevented with the correct medicine given to the very young.”

  Amber knew that TB had been all but eliminated in the United States for years. Ruth’s choice to devote herself to learning about medicine and helping not only relatives but strangers made perfect sense. Amber thought of her own sister. Suddenly Heather’s feelings for baby Alice made perfect sense too. Saving one child in the midst of all these bleak problems seemed like a small thing, but surely it made a difference. And enough small differences could have a real impact. Amber felt proud of her sister. And her pride gave her courage. She looked back at Rosemary.

  “She’s adorable,” Amber said, still shaken by the child’s deformity. “There’s absolutely nothing to be done to help her?”

  “No. It is too late for Rosemary. She had no medicine when she needed it.” Ruth sighed, then brightened. “I have chosen her to be the one who holds our wedding rings during the ceremony. She is excited.”

  Tears misted Amber’s eyes. The difficulty of the trip; the simplicity of the village; the splendidness of the tea service; Ruth’s kindness; the knowledge that she, Amber, as an honored guest, had been given the best the villagers had to offer; the sheer beauty of Rosemary’s smile suddenly overwhelmed her and left her feeling humbled. “You’ve chosen well, Ruth, rafiki,” Amber said. “She’s the perfect ringbearer . . . the perfect choice. And I can’t wait until tomorrow to attend the wedding of the year.”

  Both brides wore traditional Ugandan marriage dresses for the double cermony, which was held near the village in a small cinder-block church, where Ruth’s father was the minister. People dressed in their best finery sandwiched themselves into the pews, stood along the inside walls, spilled out the doors, and clustered outside in the hot sun. To Amber it looked as if the entire countryside had turned out for the event. Amber and Boyce had seats in the same row as Ruth’s family. When the pianist began playing “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” on an old upright, all eyes turned to watch the bridal procession.

  That morning, as Amber had watched a nervous Ruth dress, she’d said, “You’re going to be fine. Just remember to keep smiling.”

  “Is this how brides in your country feel on their wedding day? All shaky on the inside?”

  “Nerves are natural. Back home I get twitchy every time I have to dress up in a formal. I think it’s a side effect of putting on panty hose. Anyway, I calm right down when my date hands me a present. Here. Wear this. It’ll help you stay calm.” Amber slipped a gold chain with a heart-shaped sapphire pendant from her neck and fastened it around Ruth’s.

  “It is beautiful!”

  “Keep it. It’s yours.”

  Ruth’s eyes widened as she admired the necklace in a small hand mirror propped on the table. “I cannot take such a gift.”

  “But it’s perfect on you. And it’s the way we do things in America. On her wedding day the bride carries four things: something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. Now, your dress was your mother’s, so it’s borrowed, and your Bible is new. The necklace is old and blue, so there’s both things in one.”

  “And this is your custom?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Now, as Amber watched Ruth come down the aisle, she was certain she’d done the right thing. Never mind that she’d begged her parents last Christmas for the expensive necklace. It looked perfect on Ruth. She only wished Heather could be there to see the service.

  After the ceremony, while the pianist played, the congregation sang songs and danced in the aisles. Finally the group broke up and returned to the village, where Ruth and Mary’s families threw a giant party. On the outskirts of the village a great pit had been dug, and a glowing charcoal fire roasted several goats on a spit. Amber watched their charred carcasses being turned by several small boys, wishing she could sit down in a restaurant and order something off a menu.

  “They are pretty tasty, you know,” Boyce assured her. He offered her a warm soda from a nearby plastic bucket. “Barbecue’s a Southern tradition. Even you folks in Miami must have cookouts in the summer.”

  “Hello—in Miami the meat is in cute little patty form, not on the hoof.”

  He laughed. “Well, they’re going to slide a slab onto your plate, so tell them thanks. It would be a great insult if you didn’t take any.”

  “Swell. What if I throw up? Will that be insulting too?”

  “Bring it to me and I’ll eat it for you.”

  “You must have an iron stomach.”

  “I’m from Alabama, where scorched meat is a way of life.” He draped his arm casually over her shoulder. “By the way, I noticed you gave Ruth your necklace. That was nice of you.”

  “I couldn’t let her only wedding present be some cows, could I?”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll have plenty of gifts. When we get back, Jodene will throw a bodacious party for them. Paul’s making them a wedding bed. He’s carving the headboard himself.”

  “Ruth’s nervous about that part.You know . . . the sleeping together. The sex.”

  “So is Patrick.”

  “Really?” Somehow the news relieved her. She didn’t want Ruth to have a bad experience with the man she loved and wanted to be with until death parted them.

  “Patrick loves her. He knows she’ll have trouble getting over what happened. He won’t hurry things. Plus, they have a lifetime to work it out. The right girl’s worth waiting for,” Boyce added.

  Boyce’s eyes were bright green, set off by a tan gained from hours of hard work under the African sun. She saw the outline of rock-hard muscle through his shirt, the golden hair of his forearms glinting in the light. His hands were work-worn and rough, his mouth dangerously close to hers. Her pulse pounded.

  “How do you know when the right one comes along?”

  “They say you just know.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  A smile turned up the corner of his mouth. “With all my heart.”

  Amber woke with a start in the inky darkness of her room. After the banquet and party, each newly married couple had been loaned a special hut, where they were to celebrate their wedding night, and Amber had returned alone to the hut she’d shared with Ruth. She heard the noise of someone moving in her room, and suddenly, knowing she was no longer by herself, she was wide awake. Terrified, she opened her mouth to scream.

  A large hand clamped down on her face. Boyce’s voice whispered urgently, “Don’t be afraid. It’s just me. Get your things together quickly. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  14

  Do you understand what I’m telling you?�
�� Boyce asked in the darkness.

  Amber moved her head up and down, and Boyce slid his hand off her mouth. Her heart thudded crazily, and adrenaline flooded her body.

  “I’m sorry to wake you up this way, but I couldn’t risk you screaming.”

  “Wh-What’s wrong?”

  “A runner came—a friend of Ruth’s family. He said some bad men, some very bad men,” Boyce said with emphasis, “are headed this way. They heard about the wedding and figured there would be things for the taking. The villagers will try to protect themselves, but if they fail . . .” Boyce paused. “Well, let’s just say it would be terrible if we Americans fell into their hands.”

  Amber trembled from sheer terror. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to make a run for it. You and me and Patrick and Ruth.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get your backpack, take only the essentials—one change of clothes, extra socks—and meet me outside the hut. And hurry.”

  He was gone. Amber scrambled to her feet, dressed in the dark, found her flashlight, and, keeping the light aimed at the floor, stuffed her backpack as he’d instructed. Her fingers felt cold and stiff, though perspiration poured off her face. She grabbed her passport and visa, insect repellant, sunscreen, a few T-shirts, socks, and her hat. She never thought once of what she was leaving behind. Outside, Boyce took her hand while the villagers scurried in the dark to take up defensive positions.

  He led her to Ruth’s parents’ hut, where Ruth and Patrick waited. An oil lamp burned dimly, and one look at Ruth’s face revealed that she was in worse shape than Amber. “We won’t let anything happen to you,” Amber said, putting her arms around her friend.

  Boyce and Patrick crammed each backpack with bottles of boiled water and emergency rations. Amber recalled asking Jodene why they had to take so much extra stuff when they would be gone only a week, and Jodene had answered, “Always be prepared. What if the Jeep breaks down?”

  “Is the Jeep ready?” Amber asked, longing to put distance between them and the village as quickly as possible.

  Boyce never looked up. “I’ve disabled the Jeep. We’d be sitting ducks in it. We’re going out on foot.”

  “But—But how will we know the way?”

  He glanced up. “We have a compass.”

  Terror choked her. Winnie pulled Amber and Ruth into her arms. “God will protect you. He will watch over you.”

  “What of you all?” Amber asked.

  “He will be with us, too.”

  A man entered the hut, carrying Rosemary. The little girl was crying. “The children have scattered into the bush to hide. She cannot go,” he said, setting her down. “She will have to stay in the village.”

  Ruth knelt and smoothed Rosemary’s tangled hair and looked around the room.

  “We’ll take her.” Amber hadn’t realized the words had come out of her. The others stared at her. With a decisive movement, she picked up the child. Rosemary seemed weightless.

  “She will impede you,” Winnie said. “We will try to protect her here.”

  “If she’s captured, you know what will happen to her,” Ruth said woodenly.

  “It will happen to all of us,” Winnie answered.

  Amber interjected, “I won’t let it.” She gave Boyce and Patrick a pleading look. “Please. We must make a difference even for one child.”

  Boyce stood and hoisted two backpacks. “We’ll take turns,” he said. “I’ll take your pack for now.”

  A man stuck his head in the doorway. “Hurry! They are coming through the bush. They have guns.” The pop, pop, pop of gunfire sounded in the distance.

  One more quick round of hugs; then Amber settled Rosemary on her hip and followed Boyce into the night. Shouting, running people almost collided with them. Several of the huts had been set on fire. “Diversion,” Boyce shouted.

  Crouching low, the five of them ran into the night, like leaves blown by a cruel wind.

  Amber had no idea how long they darted through the bush, but soon her lungs felt on fire, her arms and legs screamed from exertion, and Rosemary felt like a lead weight. “I—I can’t keep up . . . ,” she gasped.

  Boyce stopped, relieved her of the child, and helped her slip a backpack onto her shoulders. “We’ve got to keep moving,” he said. “Stay low.”

  Ruth stooped over, panting hard, and Patrick adjusted her backpack. “I will carry it for you.”

  “No,” Ruth said. “I can do it.”

  Amber heard the sound of more gunfire, and the sky behind them wore a halo of eerie red orange. Tears welled in her eyes. “Will they be all right?”

  Boyce took long deep breaths. “Ruth’s uncle has firepower too. He’ll fight.”

  “Can we wait it out?” Amber asked. “Go back when the fight’s over?”

  “Can’t take a chance,” Boyce said. “We’ve got to keep going.”

  “Which way?” Amber asked. With only the light of the stars to see by, she had lost all sense of direction.

  “North,” Boyce said, hoisting Rosemary higher on his hip. He pointed toward a star, brighter than the others. “To Uganda.”

  Amber passed the point of exhaustion somewhere in the long night. She was disoriented and scared, and the backpack felt heavy as a boulder. Her shoulders and back begged for mercy, but she knew she didn’t dare complain. This was a race for their lives. If the rebels caught up with them . . . Pick up foot, put it down became her mantra. The others were tired too, but to stop might be suicide. The village was far behind them by now, but in the dark they had the best chance of escaping detection.

  She struggled over the rocky ground, stumbled, and fell with a cry. Boyce and the others huddled around her. She began to cry. “I—I’m bleeding.” She was wearing a skort and strong hiking boots, but the sharp edge of a rock had sliced open her knee. “Maybe you had better go on without me. I’m just holding you up.”

  “No!” Boyce said. “No one gets left behind.” He pointed toward the horizon on their left. The sky was turning gray and the stars were fading. “Dawn’s coming. We’ll need to find a spot to sleep.”

  With Ruth on one side of her and Patrick on the other, Amber hobbled after Boyce, who led the way to an outcropping of rocks shielded by another hill. They fell into an exhausted heap and struggled to catch their breath. As the light of day broke, Ruth leaned over to check Amber’s knee. “The cut is not deep,” she said. She unpacked a small first-aid kit, smeared the cut with ointment, and dressed it with a bandage. Amber felt nothing. She was beyond pain.

  Beside her, Rosemary patted her cheek, making Amber feel like a baby. The child was comforting her instead of the other way around. Amber offered the little girl a brave smile. “It’s much better now.”

  Boyce passed around a bottle of water. “Two swallows,” he said.

  Amber longed to gulp the entire bottle but passed it quickly to Ruth to keep temptation at bay.

  “Do you think we got away?” Ruth asked.

  “From the rebels, yes,” Patrick answered. “Now we must get away from the sun.”

  “We’ll only travel at night,” Boyce said. “It’ll be harder, but cooler. There could be other groups of bad guys out here. Remember what the border police told us.”

  “How far are we from the border?” Amber asked, her voice trembling.

  “Maybe sixty, seventy miles. With God’s help, we can do it.”

  Amber almost gagged. The distance on foot across rugged terrain seemed insurmountable. “Now what?” she asked faintly.

  “First we sleep. Then we count up our rations and see how long we can go without hunting food and water. We don’t have enough of either with us.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Amber said.

  “You will be,” Ruth said, her gaze fastened on the unfriendly, scruffy landscape. “We’ll all be very hungry before this is over.”

  Amber remembered stretching out and resting her head on the backpack, then nothing until Boyce s
hook her shoulder. “Time to eat,” he said.

  She climbed out of a stuporous sleep, disoriented and groggy. Every muscle in her body hurt. “Eat without me. I’ll eat later.” She turned over, seeking the warm embrace of oblivion.

  “Come on, Amber. In another hour we’re going to have to start moving again.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Please, Amber. Come with us.” Rosemary’s teary plea snapped Amber fully awake.

  She groaned and sat upright. Ruth sat hugging her knees, and Patrick was sharpening a knife on a stone. “Look, I’m up,” Amber told Rosemary.

  Boyce passed around the water bottle, again restricting them to a couple of sips apiece. “Now,” he said, “here’s what we have to eat.”

  On the ground he spread out eight cans of potted meat, a crushed box of granola bars, ten packages of peanut butter crackers, and an assortment of dried fruit packets. They stared at the pitiful selection, which would have to sustain five people over however many days it would take to reach safety. “What? No goat?” Amber asked, which made the others laugh.

  Boyce picked up a can of meat and pried open the lid with its tab key. He passed it to Rosemary, Ruth, and Patrick, who each picked out a chunk. It came to Amber, who fished out an unappetizing lump and handed it back to Boyce. He took what was left and bowed his head. “We need to thank the Lord.”

  For what? Amber wondered, then felt ashamed. They were alive and unhurt. That was something. They ate the meat; then Boyce took Patrick’s knife and divided a granola bar into five slim servings. Amber chewed her portion slowly, savoring every sweet crumb. “Well, supper killed ten minutes,” she said.

  “How’s your knee?”

  She stretched it and winced. “Sore, but it’ll be okay. Ruth fixed it.”

  Boyce looked toward the sun, which was beginning to set in the west. “We move in a half hour. I’ll take Rosemary.” He smoothed the child’s matted hair. “You all right with that?”