Mother's Promise (44 page)

This service was when his father spoke only of God's love for all humankind, where he exhorted those blessed with more to share their blessings with those less fortunate. And always after that service ended and the last member of the congregation had gone, Ben and Sharon and their parents had not gone home—they had gone instead to a local shelter where they had personally delivered the congregation's generous donations of coats and sweaters and blankets and food to those in need.

Ben opened his eyes and tried to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat. He hadn't thought about those days in a very long time, not since the day he'd left home for college, left home for good. He thought about what Sharon had said to him earlier that day. Their father wasn't any more perfect than any other human being. But he had done what he thought was best for his family—and his congregation.

After the concert, instead of heading for the theater, Ben walked down the mostly deserted streets until he reached the bay. There he sat on a park bench and took out his phone.

It rang for some time, and he was about to hang up when he heard his father's sleep-filled, raspy voice. “Pastor Booker here.”

“Dad?”

The silence that stretched across the miles separating them was a fragile thread, one that Ben was suddenly afraid might snap if he didn't say something. “I was thinking—if it's okay with you—that I might drive up with Sharon and Malcolm and Sally. Maybe stay with you for a few days.”

Silence—the silence that screamed with all the hurt that had never been spoken between Ben and his father. Then finally, “That would be fine, son. Really fine.”

Chapter 26

O
n their second day in the village, much-needed supplies of water and food and medical supplies were delivered. Cooking over open fires, the earthquake victims prepared the food while the teams of soldiers and volunteers continued their work. By sundown the Mennonites had made a good start on repairing the school so that at least part of it was again roofed, and plans were made to move the most seriously injured there.

“We just got word that there's a medical team on the way,” Mary told Hester and Rachel as the three of them sat on toppled stone walls eating their supper. “Let's hope there's a doctor in the mix.”

“Too late for her,” Hester said with a nod toward the woman whose son had been buried in the rubble.

“It wasn't the original quake that buried her son,” Mary told them. “It was an aftershock yesterday before you got here. The boy was out there helping in the search. The ground shifted and …” She shrugged.

“So he's been buried how long?” Rachel asked, her eyes on the mother whose vigil for her son was unceasing even as the woman halfheartedly picked at her supper.

“A day and a half now.” Mary scraped the last of her food onto her fork. “Going without food or water for that long? You do the math,” she said somberly as she headed back to work.

“You okay?” Hester asked Rachel once they were alone.

“I feel so sad for her.” Rachel watched the woman who was now fingering the beads of her rosary, her eyes closed, her lips moving.

“Well, clearly she has not yet given up hope.”

Rachel looked over to where Justin was part of a lively group of nationals and volunteers kicking a soccer ball around in a circle. She was so very blessed to have him in her life. Her heart went out to the woman praying for her child. “I'll be back,” she told Hester, and taking two cookies from a package, she picked her way across the rubble.

“My name is Rachel,” she said after waiting respectfully for the woman to finish her prayers.

“Isabel,” the woman replied, accepting the cookie that Rachel handed her and taking a bite.

“My son's name is Justin.” Rachel nodded toward the group of young people.

“Raoul,” the woman replied with a glance toward the pile of rocks and stones.

“I'm so sorry for your loss—your husband …” The two women ate their cookies while Rachel tried to come up with some topic that might offer the woman a reprieve. “Your English is perfect.”

Isabel shrugged. “My husband is …
was
American. I met him when I was in graduate school. He was a professor in California. Raoul was born there, but every year over the Christmas holidays we come here to see my family. He died in the aftershock that followed the original quake.”

Rachel was almost afraid to ask the next question. “And the rest of your family?”

“Safe. They had gone to San Jose for the day. But Raoul had a stomachache—it takes him some time to adjust to the change in diet—so we stayed here. I had left for church when the earthquake struck. I turned back and saw my son running toward me yelling for me to go back to the church.”

“And your husband?”

“Stayed behind to check on the neighbors to make sure everyone was out.” She fingered her rosary and murmured, “Everyone got out except for him.”

Rachel let the silence and the darkness wrap around them until she heard Isabel release a shuddering sigh. “When I awoke, Raoul had gone with the soldiers and men of the village the next day to search. He was there when they brought out my husband's body. It was so very hard for him.”

“How old is he?”

“Ten.” She stared at the rock pile that had killed her husband and now held her son. “He kept going back there as if it might not be true. Then yesterday there was a strong aftershock and the shifting …” She buried her face in her hands, the rosary dangling from her fingers.

Rachel wrapped her arm around Isabel's shoulders. “You need to rest.”

Isabel pulled away with a vehemence that was surprising. “No. I will not leave him. As long as there is a chance, I will not leave him out here alone.”

“Then I will watch with you—we can spell each other.”

“Your son …”

“… has the comfort of friends. He knows where I am. He understands.”

“Gracias.”

Hester sent John to deliver blankets for them to rest on as well as several small bottles of water. He also handed Rachel her Bible and a flashlight. “Justin asked me to bring you these.”

The two women settled in for the night's vigil. “One of the other women in your group told me that your husband died suddenly too,” Isabel said.

“It was two years ago, but I well remember the immediate shock of not having him there—of having to come to grips with the idea that he would not be there again.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Isabel resting her chin on her bent knees. “And after two years is it … better?”

Rachel had to think about that. “I still miss him—I expect that a part of me always will. I especially miss what we shared together in raising our son.”

Isabel glanced at her. “But?”

“But I am a woman of faith as you are. So I know that God has a plan for our lives, Isabel.”

“I only hope …” Isabel's voice broke and she shook her head vehemently then surrendered to the tears.

Rachel held her until her sobs finally dwindled to shuddering sighs. “You will make it, Isabel. If you hold fast to your faith, you can get through this. But you need to get some rest.”

Promising Isabel that she would wake her in two hours—sooner if anything happened—Rachel settled against a tree and opened her Bible. But she did not turn on the flashlight. Instead she ran her fingers lightly over the pages, praying silently for Raoul and Isabel and thanking God for giving her and Justin this opportunity to serve others.

The two hours passed, but Isabel was sleeping so soundly that Rachel could not bring herself to wake her. Instead she focused her attention on the blackness of the night sky, the sheer vastness of it like the boundless sea. How could anyone doubt God's existence?

It did not surprise her in the least that her query brought thoughts of Ben to mind. She couldn't help but think that somehow if he could find his way back to God he would be a happier man. She tried to imagine Ben in this place, and she smiled as she envisioned the way his lighthearted teasing would comfort the children. He was so very good with children. Not for the first time she thought about what a good father he would make. And perhaps it was the quietness of the night, the starless sky, or her own weariness, but she found herself envisioning him as Justin's father, as the father of children that he and she might have together.

“I love him, heavenly Father,” she whispered. “I love him as I first loved James. He fills my thoughts and my dreams, and I don't know what to do.”

Beside her, Isabel stirred. “What time is it?”

“Almost four,” Rachel confessed. “You were sleeping so soundly.”

“Well, I am awake now, and it is you who must rest.” She stretched and sat up.

She was right of course. Rachel had come here as part of a relief team, and what relief could she offer if she were exhausted? She curled onto her side and closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered hearing was the rhythmic clicking of Isabel's rosary beads.

It had been two long years since Justin had felt so sure that everything was going to work out for him and his mom after all. Coming on the youth mission had been exactly what he needed to get past the disaster of Sally's ruined glove and his part in it. Being in a place where he could do things that actually helped other people gave Justin a sense of purpose. Somehow every time he made an injured kid laugh or brought water to another patient he felt like he was making amends for hurting Sally. He knew that he wasn't supposed to take pride in things he did, but he and the others were making a real difference for these people—and doing that made him feel closer to his dad.

They had already managed to repair the school building as well as a few of the less damaged homes and shops in the village. The youth volunteers spent their free time in the evenings with kids their age from the village, learning a few Spanish words, singing songs, and trading stories. Justin was telling one of the older kids about moving to Florida when he heard a cry go up from the rock pile where they all knew a boy was still buried. Just about everybody took off running to see what was happening.

As everyone crowded together at the base of the pile of rubble, Justin saw one of the soldiers carefully roll back a boulder. The heavy rock tumbled down toward them, causing everything in its path to shift and resettle. The onlookers jumped out of its way. It was almost like they were all holding their breath until the boulder came to a stop.

“There,” he heard the boy's mother say, her voice high pitched and excited. “Can you see him?” She switched to Spanish, edging closer to the opening that the soldier had exposed. “Raoul!” she cried out. The sound echoed in the silence of the crowd.

Justin edged closer to his mom. “What's going on?”

“The soldier came this morning with a dog specially trained to search for any signs of someone still buried beneath the rocks,” Hester told him. “We think the dog may have located Raoul.”