Star of Light (11 page)

Jenny slipped her hand into her aunt’s. “I’m going to help you,” she announced.

“No, Jenny,” exclaimed her mother firmly. “It’s quite out of the question. Come and sit down and drink your tea.”

Jenny flew into a passion at once.

“I want to go!” she stormed. “I want to see that baby get well. I don’t want any tea! Say I can come,
Aunt Rosemary—it’s your house. Daddy, say I can go. Mummy, you might let me—”

Her father most unexpectedly came to Jenny’s rescue. “What is the matter with that baby?” he asked. “Has it got anything infectious?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” answered Rosemary. “I’ve seen it before. She’s suffering from starvation and improper feeding.”

“Then, Elizabeth, I would let her go, if Rosemary doesn’t mind,” said Mr. Swift. As Jenny left the room triumphantly with Rosemary, he turned to his wife. “Darling,” he said, “let her help all she can. She needs to help someone. It may make her a little less selfish to see that sort of thing, and I’m sure Rosemary will be sensible about infection.”

“Perhaps so,” agreed Jenny’s mother, and she gave a little sigh. “If only she could have had younger brothers and sisters,” she added wistfully.

Meanwhile, Jenny and her aunt were bending over the white-faced baby, and the mother was telling the usual tale of poverty, ignorance, and improper feeding. It seemed almost too late to help, but perhaps there was still a chance. Rosemary, nursing the tiny thing in a blanket, turned to Jenny.

“Go upstairs, Jenny,” she said, “and bring me a cup and a spoon and some sugar from the shelf above the stove.”

Jenny obeyed, moving swiftly and lightly.

“Now go and fetch the kettle,” commanded her aunt.

Jenny was off in a flash.

“Now bring me those white tablets on the third
shelf over there,” her aunt went on, speaking very gravely, and Jenny had the uncomfortable feeling that her aunt disapproved of her.

“Now please rinse out the cup and spoon with some of that boiled water. Crush up one tablet and mix it with a little water. Pass me that bottle.”

Jenny forgot her temper, forgot her aunt, and forgot herself. She knelt perfectly still on the mat, only conscious of the weak gurgling sound as the baby tried to swallow. Almost drop by drop the medicine disappeared and the baby was not sick. After a few more spoonfuls of sweetened water, Rosemary began talking to the mother in Arabic, explaining that she must sit quietly for an hour and then they would give the child another drink.

“It must get better,” muttered Jenny to herself. “It must! It must!”

And then Rosemary did something that surprised Jenny. She pointed to the picture on the wall of Jesus holding a child in His arms, and told the woman all about it. Then she prayed aloud for the sick little baby. Jenny could not understand what her aunt was saying, but she knew she was praying.

I wonder if that really does any good
, thought Jenny, and she, too, glanced up at the painting on the wall. Somehow the sight of the child in the picture being held so closely made the real baby seem safer.

“It’s sure to get better,” breathed Jenny to herself, bending over it again. And as she watched, the weak eyelids fluttered, and the baby opened her eyes.

A Light Begins to Shine

T
hey didn’t need to make any further plans, for Jenny announced firmly that they were going to stay in the town until it was time to go home to England, and she was going to be Kinza’s nurse and help Aunt Rosemary every day with the sick babies in the clinic.

Mr. Swift laughed comfortably and then wondered what he was going to do with himself in a remote mountain village for two weeks. Mrs. Swift sighed anxiously and insisted that Jenny should gargle three times a day. Jenny herself was openly thrilled, and Rosemary was secretly very happy. She felt the holiday was going to be a complete success.

It was Sunday afternoon, and on Sunday no one came to the clinic. There had been a meeting for women in the afternoon, and Jenny watched them
leaving, walking slowly down the street with their babies tied tightly on their backs under the white outer garments that covered them from head to toe.

“They look like camels with humps, carrying their babies like that,” remarked Jenny. “You’d think their babies would be suffocated, wouldn’t you? Why don’t they have baby carriers like ordinary people?”

“They couldn’t afford to buy them,” replied Rosemary, smiling. “But it certainly isn’t a very good way to carry them. A lot of babies grow up with weak lungs through lack of fresh air. You’ve noticed how pale some of them look.”

“And spotty and thin and dirty,” added Jenny, wrinkling her small nose. “It’s a pity there aren’t more people like you to teach them how to look after their babies properly. You know, Auntie, I’ve been thinking. I’ve decided that when I grow up I’m going to be a missionary too. I’m going to come out here and have a clinic and make all the sick people better like you do. I think it’s such fun.”

Rosemary looked down into Jenny’s brown, confident face, and she didn’t answer for a moment or two.

“You couldn’t be a missionary unless something very important happened to you first, Jenny,” she said at last.

“Why not, Auntie?” inquired Jenny, surprised. “I could learn to be a nurse and how to look after babies. I wouldn’t need to know anything else, would I?”

“Yes, I think you would,” replied Rosemary with a smile, “but I’m not going to tell you here in the
passage. Let’s take a picnic tea to the Tower Gardens, and then we can talk about it. Kinza will be awake by now, and she loves the Tower Gardens.”

“Ooh, lovely!” cried Jenny, and pranced up the stairs two at a time to get things ready. “Mummy said I could stay to tea if you invited me. I specially asked her.”

“Did you now?” said Rosemary, laughing. “Would you like to get Kinza ready while I get the picnic? Then we can go.”

Ten minutes later Rosemary, Jenny, and Kinza were climbing the steps to the Tower Gardens. They were so beautiful that the little group stood still for a moment, gazing at everything silently.

“Don’t let Kinza fall in the pond,” warned Rosemary. “You just hang on to her while I spread out the tea.”

She unpacked the basket and then sat for a few moments quietly watching the two children at play. Kinza was growing into a beautiful little girl now, strong and sturdy. Who was she, and what would become of her?
It’s time some practical plan is made about her future
, thought Rosemary,
if she is to grow up useful and clever with her hands
. And Jenny—was she going to grow up careless and selfish? Rosemary hoped not.

Jenny caught sight of the picnic laid out and, taking Kinza’s hand in hers, came running up. Kinza was given a bun, and Jenny helped herself to a sandwich and turned a questioning face to her aunt.

“What else would I have to know to become a missionary?” she asked, as though the conversation had never left off.

“It depends on what you want to do,” replied Rosemary steadily. “If you simply want to heal people’s sickness, then you must train to be a nurse or a doctor. But most people here are so poor that they will probably get ill again very quickly, and in any case none of our bodies lasts very long. The part of people that really matters is the part that lasts forever, their real proper selves, which we call their spirits. You can really only help them and make them happy by leading them to the Lord Jesus, and you can’t possibly do that unless you know Him yourself. So it isn’t really
what
you know, but
who
you know.”

“But you spend such a long time each day giving them medicine,” said Jenny. “Why couldn’t I just do that?”

“You could,” said Rosemary, “but the reason I do it is not just to make them better. I give it because I want them to see that Jesus lives in me and He cares about their pain and wants to help them. You have got to
show
the love of Jesus by doing good things. He isn’t on earth anymore, but His Spirit lives in the hearts of those who love and trust Him, and He works through them. So the first thing you have to be sure of is that Jesus is actually there, loving through you. Otherwise it’s just like taking an empty lantern out in the dark.”

“Well, how do you know if He’s there or not?” asked Jenny.

“How does the light get into the empty lantern?” asked Rosemary. “It’s a matter of opening a door and placing a candle inside. Jesus is the Light, and He wants to come in. If the glass of the lantern is clean,
the light shines out clearly, but if the glass is cloudy and dirty the light will be very dim. If we really want Him to, Jesus will make us clean and new inside, like clear glass, by helping us to stop being bad-tempered and impatient and disobedient. Then the light of Jesus’ love will shine through, and people will be attracted to Him. He is the important part, not the lantern.”

There was another pause.

“So I suppose only very good people can be missionaries?” Jenny said thoughtfully.

“It’s not exactly that,” said Rosemary. “Many people are very good and kind without Jesus, just like golden lanterns when you put them in the sun. But in the evening the sun sets. Our own goodness lasts only as long as we do—until we die. The love and life and goodness of Jesus last forever, and the people who have His light in them will last forever as well. It is called eternal life, and of course it’s a far stronger sort of goodness than the other kind.”

“There are Mummy and Daddy coming into the garden,” exclaimed Jenny suddenly, and she jumped up and ran along the path toward them. She was rather glad to escape from this conversation, for Aunt Rosemary was saying some quite disturbing things, and Jenny did not really like being disturbed. But whatever happened, Jenny knew she would always be by far the most important person in the world to her mother and father.

Rosemary followed, leading a rather dirty Kinza. She smiled at Elizabeth over Jenny’s head—it was wonderful to see her running about and strong
again. One of the best parts of the holiday for both women had been the renewing of their old friendship, which now felt as strong and sure as it had been before their very different ways of life had seemed to separate them.

Elizabeth had to admit that her cousin was not altogether wasting her time. The look on the face of the sick baby’s mother had taught her that, and in spite of the germs and the sores at the clinic, she trusted Rosemary with Jenny as she had never trusted anyone before. And this was strange, for a few weeks ago she would have been horrified at her little girl having anything to do with poverty and illness.

There are different sorts of beauty
, she thought.
Healing and helping and loving and giving are beautiful. I want Jenny to grow up good and unselfish, and I think Rosemary can help her in that way
.

When she spoke to her husband about it, he agreed. “She’s learning something practical in that clinic,” he said, “and she may find she’d make a good nurse.”

“Rosemary,” said Elizabeth, cuddling Kinza against her, “couldn’t you desert your little ones just for once this evening, and come and have supper with us at the hotel?”

“They don’t come on Sunday,” replied Rosemary. “It’s my day off, except for the afternoon meeting. I’d love to come.”

“Oh, Mummy, look!” cried Jenny. “That peacock has spread open its tail.” And she hurried her parents off to see, while Rosemary and Kinza made their slow way home.

An hour later, Rosemary was sitting in the big hotel dining room, under a cut-glass chandelier, eating a four-course dinner with Jenny and her parents, who had all dressed up in their very best to welcome her. It was a great treat to Rosemary to come out to supper, and there was always so much to say when she and Elizabeth got together. Tonight the conversation turned to Kinza.

“She’s such a beautiful little creature,” said Elizabeth. “It seems so cruel that she should be blind. What are you going to do with her in the future, Rosemary?”

“I would like her to go to a training school in about three years’ time,” said Rosemary, “where she can learn Braille and basketwork. She could earn her own living like that out here, and when she was really good she could come back to me.”