Monday Morning Faith (36 page)

“I didn't miss it, but know what I do miss? The Johanna I used to know. Look at you! Glasses held together with surgical tape, hair looking like overcooked spaghetti. Is there some law that says you have to look like you crawled out from under a rock? How long has it been since you washed that robe? I could grow tomatoes on that thing.”

I glared at her. I resented what she said, resented her. Resented life. But I knew she was right. Since I'd been back I'd been suspended between two worlds, belonging to neither. No longer sure of myself, I had no desire to face people.

Nelda shifted, her lips firming. “What am I going to do with you? You have to try, girl. You can't mope around here for the rest of your life.”

“I can if I want to.”

“No, you can't. I love you too much to watch you do this to yourself. Now I'm giving you an order.”

“You can't tell me what to do.”

“You watch me. We're going shopping and get you some clothes that don't hang on you like feed sacks — ”

“I've bought a few things — ”

“ — and then you're going back to work. I talked to your folks. We think the change would be good for you, provided you don't overdo. And I'll see to that. We need you at the library and you need us. Whatever happened in Papua New Guinea needs to stay in Papua New Guinea. You have a life to live here in Saginaw, and it's time you got down to living it.”

“You don't say.” I shoved my glasses up on my nose, then crossed my arms.

Nelda knocked my arms free. “I
do
say. You're coming
back
to work tomorrow morning. Be there or I swear, Johanna Holland, I'll come over here and drag your carcass out the front door and throw you in your car.”

She would do it too. My heart hammered. “Don't threaten me, Nelda Thomas. I may be weak but I can still whip you in a catfight.”

Nelda left, slamming the door closed behind her.

TWENTY-THREE

N
elda was back the next morning. She rattled off a string of orders the moment I climbed in the passenger's seat.

“All right now, we'll take a long lunch hour today and work over tonight to make up the time. First, we're going to get those eyeglasses fixed. You can't run around with your specs held together by surgical tape. How'd you break them anyway?”

I told her about Bum and how he took my glasses, the fight we'd had, and Sam's intervention. “Sam taped my glasses and I've not had a chance to get them fixed.”

“You mean to say the villager came right into the missionary hut and stole your glasses?”

“The tribe seemed to feel that the missionaries want them to have their personal possessions.”

She winced. “It gives me the creeps to think of that half-naked native standing there staring at you while you're sleeping.”

“He was harmless.”

An eyebrow shot up. “Then why did Sam have to drag you two apart while you were getting your glasses back?”

I shrugged. Nelda wouldn't understand. At the time it was happening,
I
hadn't either. Possessions had been much too important to me then. Somewhere along the way I had lost the desire to accumulate stuff.

The library staff welcomed me back with hot donuts and fresh coffee. Smiling faces greeted me throughout the morning, and visitor after visitor stopped by my office to wish me well. So many friends, so many people who cared about me. I hadn't realized what caring meant. Several times during the morning I'd look up the corridor, hoping to see … who? Sam? I knew that was improbable. Sam would give me my space; if I wanted to talk to him I could call the satellite phone, but still I held out.

I didn't need to talk with him. I'd adjust to a life without him. Good heavens, I'd known the man less than seven months — that wasn't a lifetime.

It might as well be.

It was true. How could one person get so engrained in another person's heart in such a short time?

At five minutes after twelve, Nelda poked her head in my office doorway. “Ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“Optometrist first, and then to the mall. They're having a big sale and you need clothes.” She squinted, sizing me up. “What size do you wear now?”

I bent over a ledger. “Eight.”

“Say what?”

“Eight!”

“No way!”

“Way. I bought this suit two days ago. Eight. Read the label yourself.” I hadn't worn an eight since I was born.

Her expression softened and a grin crept over her mahogany features. “And it looks good on you, girl. It's nice to have you back. You scared me when they unloaded you off that plane.”

“Scared me too.” I leaned over and slipped on my old Nikes, remembering the pair the villager had stolen and the way he'd looked hobbling around in shoes too small for him. Odd how everything reminded me of the village and the people there. When I was in Papua New Guinea I hungered for home. Now that I was home I thought of Papua New Guinea. It didn't make sense.

I had the earpiece on my glasses replaced, and then we were off to the mall. I hadn't worn the disposable contacts since I'd been ill — gotten out of the habit. While I hated to admit it, I was enjoying wearing my glasses. My life seemed more normal again.

Nelda paused before the Victoria's Secret window. “Mmm. Would you look at that white negligee and robe? Wouldn't that look good on this ole body?”

“I'll hold your packages while you try it on.”

She sighed, eyeing the lacy confection. “I'd love to, but if I did I'd buy the thing and we can't afford it.” She stared at the pure frivolity and then shook her head. “No, better not.”

“It would look great on you; Jim would appreciate it.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan. Don't tempt this weak-willed woman.” We walked on.

“I'm hungry. Let's eat at the food court.” Other than the Chinese dish, I'd eaten only healthy food since I'd been back. It was time for a junk binge.

“You're getting your appetite back, are you?”

“Pizza sounds good. Seems like every day I get a little stronger. You're right. Getting back to work was the best thing I could do for myself.”

“Well … not the
best
thing, but you're right; getting back to a routine will help.”

I overcame the temptation to ask what she thought the best thing was, but I knew what she'd say and I didn't want to hear it. Sam was out of my life. Forever.

I smiled. “Look, there's an empty table.”

“Grab it, and then we'll decide what to eat. Lunch is on me today.”

We savored every bite of the pepperoni pizza we'd ordered. Not a word was mentioned about calories or dieting. When she finished, Nelda blotted her mouth with a napkin. “So, tell me, what
was
it like living in a jungle?”

“Well, it was hot, and there are no modern conveniences. Our huts sat in a lagoon that was full of some kind of catfish that could spike you and cause painful if not fatal injuries. The huts were built on stilts; we had to take a rowboat to the village. The villagers we worked with didn't speak or understand our language, and we were just as ignorant about theirs. The missionaries are working to break the communication barrier, but it is so difficult since the people speak a mixture of
Leiny Kairiru
,
Leiny Tau
, and their own strange dialect. They're in desperate need of medical help and a better quality of life. That's what Sam and — ”

Suddenly I heard the excitement, the enthusiasm in my voice. My eyes narrowed. Nelda the Sneak had tricked me into talking about Sam. I should have known. I toyed with a piece of crust, eyeing her, resentment growing.

With a tube of lipstick paused midair, she raised a well-defined brow. “What?”

“What?”

She applied bright red to her lips. “You were saying?”

“I was saying the missionaries work very hard to reach the people and meet their needs. They aren't able to present the gospel because of the language differences.”

“Then they're there to do medical clinics?”

“And gain the villagers' trust — pave the way, so to speak, for future missionaries.”

Working her lips back and forth, Nelda shook her head. “You got to hand it to those people. Not everyone is called to the mission field.”

How many times had I thought or said the same thing? Too many to count. So why was I still wracked with unhappiness and guilt that I didn't share Sam's passion?

Maybe … maybe in retrospect, I wasn't so bad at it after all. I
had
made one friend — Poo. She'd even said my name. And the village children seemed to like me.

I sighed. “Oh, Nelda, you should have been there. I held story hour one afternoon and it was hilarious. I tried to act out the book
Curious George Flies a Kite
. Of course the children thought I'd lost my mind. I was jumping and hopping and pretending to be a monkey flying a kite.” I broke out laughing. “I fell once. They all burst into laughter!”

“They didn't understand a word?”

“I don't think so, but they enjoyed the story anyway. But oh, Nelda, let me tell you about Poo.”

“Poo?”

“This darling little village girl — ”

“Her name is
not
Poo.”

“No — I mean, I don't know. That's what it sounds like when her grandpa talks to her, so that's what we call her. She latched onto me and followed me everywhere I went. It was crazy. Then one day this dog — this mean dog — treed everyone in the village. We sat in palm trees until late afternoon and then …”

I went on for the better part of an hour, and the more I talked, the more I missed Sam and the little girl who lived so far away from my world.

When I finally fell silent, Nelda reached over and covered my hand. “You love that kid, don't you?”

Her observation shattered my reserves, my carefully constructed wall. For so long I tried to tell myself that the child didn't matter. Or Sam. But they did. They mattered more than I could say.

“I'm beginning to realize just how much,” I whispered. “You know, at first the child was such a pain. Everywhere I went I tripped over her, and then somehow everything changed. She no longer bothered me, and I found myself watching for her every morning. Did I tell you that she and Bum stood guard at the Millets' hut to prevent the villagers from stealing my stuff? Poo has such a capacity to love. No matter how I behaved, she still loved me. Isn't that remarkable?”

“Remarkable.” Nelda smiled. “Very few of us ever find unconditional love, except from God. What about Sam?”

Silence hung between us for a moment, then I gave in. “I love him with all my heart, mind, and soul. I wish I didn't.

I've prayed to be released from the love I feel for both Sam and Poo; I can't force Sam to choose between God and me, and Poo doesn't belong in our society. She needs to be with her people.”

Nelda's features softened. “I'm sorry, Jo. You and Sam seemed so right for each other. You're sure there isn't a way this can be worked out?”

“I'm sure.” It would be easier if I didn't wake up every morning from dreams about betel palms and sunrises and sunsets and thatched huts and a very caring and compassionate doctor.

She frowned and consulted her watch. “We need to go.”

Emotionally drained, I gathered the napkin and pizza remains and disposed of them in the trash. Just talking about Sam hurt.

That evening I opened the mailbox and fished out a handful of envelopes. One postmark caused my breath to catch in my throat. Another letter from Sam. And I still had all the unopened ones he'd sent while I was in the hospital. I dropped the house keys and purse on the hall table and carried the mail into the den. Holding the envelope for a moment, I realized I was still unprepared to read the contents. Would I be able to absorb the pain? I was certain he'd accepted my decision, but I was just as sure he'd be angry that I had left and refused to answer his earlier messages.

Drawing a deep breath, I slit open the envelope and drew out the single sheet of paper. The note was short and unassuming. He missed me and he was praying about the situation.

I sat there, my eyes burning with unshed tears, wishing I could hold him close, tell him once more that I loved him. But one show of weakness on my part and Sam would be tempted to turn his back on the village and come home to me. I couldn't let that happen.

Then a new thought occurred — one I had never considered. Sam was a dedicated man.
Would
he turn his back on his work, or had he meant something different when he spoke those words the day they loaded me on the plane to Port Moresby?

I concentrated. What had he said?
“I don't know, Johanna — ”

Finally, feeling old and tired, I got up and went to the kitchen to stand at the window and stare out on the cold spring evening. Saginaw was home. Mom and Pop were here, Nelda was here. Why then did I feel so lacking, so misplaced?