Beneath a Southern Sky (13 page)

Mrs. Magrit had told them about Anazu and his growing faith. The challenge of winning the rest of Anazu’s village to Christ seemed to energize Nate. Though Daria had sometimes secretly wished that he could be happy with a ministry closer to home, his enthusiasm had not flagged through all the years of medical school. And by the time they finally stepped on Colombian soil for the first time, Daria had grown to believe with her husband that they would be the ones to lead Timoné to the truth. God had blessed their obedience, and when they were in Colombia, Daria felt that she was where she belonged.

Yet since Nathan’s death, she had not given a thought to returning. She stared down at the letter lying on the floor at her feet, and a mantle of guilt settled over her.

She supposed that subconsciously she had used Natalie as an excuse. And surely a tiny baby
was
a valid reason not to go to the mission field.
And I am a widow
, she thought defensively. But immediately she remembered that Mrs. Magrit had gone to Colombia as a newly widowed young woman. Her mind scrambled to come up with a better reason. Conviction nipped at her.

She realized that she had not only abandoned her calling to go to Timoné, but she had also abandoned any responsibility whatsoever for the people God had given her to care for. She had not written to the board of Gospel Outreach to find out whether they had been able to place another missionary there. She hadn’t even sent them the tape recordings Nate had made while they were in Colombia. For months, she had scarcely uttered a prayer on behalf of the people of Timoné. The children, little Tommi and Jirelle and the others, were a distant memory, like much-loved characters in a book she had read long ago.

Her life had been taken up with the mundane duties of a single, working mother—and, yes, with the exciting discovery that she was falling in love with Colson Hunter.

But surely, after all she’d been through, she had a right to some happiness. She’d sacrificed a husband to the mission field. Her baby was without a father because of the mission field. Surely she had paid her dues and done her duty where missions were concerned. Besides, Gospel Outreach had
sent
her home.

The heat of anger rising to her face, Daria picked the letter up off the floor and slapped it onto the table, trembling. She read the letter a third time and calmed down a bit as she realized that Evan-geline Magrit had in no way meant to cause Daria to feel guilty. It was merely the passionate plea of a woman who had a heart for bringing the lost to Christ, who couldn’t imagine anyone not desiring to return to their calling as quickly as possible. No doubt Mrs. Magrit’s physical limitations to do what her heart ached to do must have frustrated her grievously.

Why did the gentle words of this saint gnaw at her so? Trouble her to the core of her being? Deep down she knew there could be only one reason. And she did not want to think about it. She wanted to throw the letter away and pretend she had never received it. She wanted to enjoy her baby, to sit beside a handsome man at the symphony tomorrow night and hold his hand and fall hopelessly in love with him.

She fell to her knees as though stricken. “O God,” she whispered. “Surely you don’t expect me to go back! To take Natalie to Colombia, away from Mom and Dad, away from Nate’s parents. She’s their only consolation.”

She stopped herself. She knew she was making excuses. A verse from the Psalms played through her mind, and Daria caught her breath as the words seared her conscience:
But you desire honesty from the heart, so you can teach me to be wise in my inmost being
.

“O God, I believe you called me to Timoné before, but, Lord, I don’t feel that calling now. Before, I-I went because I was Nathan’s wife, and because he was going to Colombia, I knew that’s where you wanted me, too. Give me wisdom, Lord. I don’t want to be out of your will. But you…can’t be telling me that I’m to go back there. You
can’t
. Please, please, God. Don’t ask that of me. I don’t think I can do that. Please, God.”

She was sobbing now, confused and tangled up in a rope of guilt, not knowing if it was deserved or self-inflicted. She remained on her knees for long minutes, silent before God, yet not really wanting an answer, terrified of what it might be.

Finally Natalie’s persistent cries brought her from her knees. She went into the nursery where Natalie was waking from an overlong nap. She picked her daughter up and took her to the rocking chair beside the crib.

Still drowsy and perhaps sensing her mother’s melancholy, the little girl lay her head against Daria’s breast. They rocked back and forth, the only sound in the room the soft
slurp, slurp
of Natalie’s thumb in her mouth.

Daria sought to put Evangeline Magrit’s letter from her troubled mind. For now she drew comfort from the warm, compliant body of Nathan’s child heavy against her own.

That night, Daria’s dreams carried her down the Rio Guaviare, deep into the Colombian rain forest. She saw Anazu and his family, griefstricken because Nate had left them. They stood at the door of the hut she and Nate had shared—the hut that she had given them, that they might have a place to worship. Anazu and Paita and Casmé cried and wailed, holding on to each other for comfort. But Daria ran toward them. “No!” She shouted to them in perfect Timoné, “Stop crying. Nathan is all right. Look he’s right here. See, here he comes.” They followed her eyes across the stream where Nate came jogging down the trail from which he’d disappeared.

But in her dream Daria never knew whether Anazu and his family saw Nate or not. She was too busy running toward him herself, her arms outstretched, her heart light as air.

She awakened to the sound of her own soft laughter and a feeling of happiness and well-being. The vision was so vivid that for a minute she thought it was real. Then she came fully awake and knew that it had only been a dream.

She wept as though she had lost Nate all over again.

Fourteen

T
he Christmas music that filled the Century II concert hall in downtown Wichita was rapturous, but Daria was distracted, oblivious to its beauty. Her mind was overwhelmed with nagging questions provoked by the missionary’s letter.

As Cole helped her with her coat in the lobby afterward, he squeezed her shoulders. “Hey, you. What’s wrong?” he whispered.

She looked over her shoulder and gave him a wan smile. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been very good company tonight.”

He wrapped an arm around her and steered her toward the parking lot. “Are you all right?” There was no beating around the bush with him anymore. He read her too well.

“I’ll tell you on the way home, okay?”

He gave her a questioning look, but didn’t press her. When they reached his car, he opened the door for her before getting into his seat. Turning the key in the ignition, he eased into the line of vehicles leaving the concert. They were on the interstate a few minutes later. Cole reached across the console and stroked her hair. “So, what’s troubling this pretty head?”

She ignored his compliment and plunged in. “Yesterday I got a letter from the missionary woman who inspired Nate and me to go to Colombia. I’ve been feeling guilty ever since.”

“Guilty?” In the dark of the car she sensed more than saw his quizzical expression.

“She assumes that I’m going back to Colombia, Cole.”

“Going back? You mean as a full-time missionary?”

She nodded.

“I don’t understand. What would make her think that?”

“That’s what’s eating at me, Cole. She thinks that because I felt a calling from God to go there, that I should be making plans to return. She even offered to pay for my travel expenses.”

“Wow,” he breathed. He was silent for a minute. “
Have
you thought of going back, Daria?” he asked finally.

“Oh, Cole, not once! It’s been the furthest thing from my mind. At least it was until I got that stupid letter. Now I wonder if, well, what if I
am
supposed to go back? Do you think when God calls you to something he means it to be forever?”

“No, of course not.” Cole’s response was immediate and adamant. “God obviously called you to be a mother to Natalie, but someday she’ll grow up and your calling to motherhood will be over. Right now I feel called to be a veterinarian, but I suppose someday I’ll retire and then God may have another calling for me.”

She thought about what he’d said. “But why would God call Nate and me there to take an old woman’s place? Why would he begin to work in the lives of the villagers…and then just abandon them?”

Cole thought for a long time. “I don’t know, Daria. I’m not sure that’s something we will ever understand. Why would God take a good man like Nate? Someone who was serving him so completely? He didn’t even get to
be
a doctor for as many years as he studied to become one. None of it makes sense. But surely God would make it clear to you if he expected you to go back, the same way he made it clear to you when he called you there the first time.”

“Oh, Cole, I’m terrified. What if that’s what this letter is all about? What if he
is
calling me back? What if Mrs. Magrit’s letter is God’s way of telling me that I’m supposed to go back?”

“But Daria, what about Natalie? You have a responsibility to her now. What kind of life would she have in Colombia?”

“I wish I could use her as an excuse, Cole. But there are many people who take their entire families to the mission field. The truth is, kids adjust better than their parents do most of the time. You only have to leaf through a couple of Gospel Outreach’s magazines to know that.”

“But Colombia is a dangerous place, Daria! Even more so now with all the cocaine cartels and the guerrilla violence that’s going on. It just doesn’t seem”—he struggled for the right word—“
responsible
to take an innocent child into one of the most dangerous places on the planet.”

She wanted to tell him that if God had truly called her to minister in Colombia, then God was big enough to protect her while she was there. But Nate’s death seemed to nullify that argument.

“I wrestled with this all night, Cole. I’ve even wondered if I was ever truly called to Colombia in the first place. Maybe I was riding on the coattails of Nate’s calling all along. I-I loved him so much. Maybe I didn’t want to risk losing him, so I just followed him blindly.” Her shoulders slumped in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking for an out. Oh, I’m so mixed up. What should I do?”

“I’ll be praying for you, Daria. I don’t know what else to tell you.” His voice sounded strained, and she felt bad that she’d dumped all her confusion on him.

They rode the rest of the way home in silence, but when they pulled into her drive, he cut the engine and turned to her. She thought she read something akin to fear on his face. Cole stared at her across the darkness, and she heard the apprehension in his voice as he asked her, “Daria, are you seriously thinking about going back?”

She put her head in her hands. “Oh, Cole, I don’t know. I’m just seriously confused.”

“Don’t you think Nate’s death changed your calling, changed everything?”

Her voice rose an octave. “I don’t know. I don’t even pretend to understand why he had to die. But don’t you see? I didn’t die. What if God still wants me to be the one to bring the gospel to the Timoné? What if all this time…” She threw her hands up, exasperated that she couldn’t express her own thoughts clearly.

He waited for her to finish, and when she didn’t he pounded the palms of his hands on the steering wheel and blurted, “Daria, I can’t even imagine that God would ask that of you, that he would ask you to go back, take a baby, by yourself, to such a dangerous place, a place where the greatest tragedy of your life took place. Your life is hard enough
here
, trying to raise a daughter on your own, trying to make a living. Surely there is someone else who can go to Colombia and—” He cut his own sentence off and held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I am not a very good person for you to be seeking advice from.”

“No, Cole,” she protested. “I trust your advice. That’s why I told you about this. I know you see things from a spiritual perspective. I know you understand what it means to have God’s calling on your life. I’m
asking
for your advice.”

“No, Daria, no.” He started shaking his head, agony on his face. “You’re wrong. I can’t possibly give you advice on this issue. How could I be unbiased when the woman I want to marry is talking about leaving and taking the little girl—the child I love like my own—away with her.”

She sat, transfixed at his words. “Oh, Cole,” she breathed. It was the first time he had spoken of marriage.

“I’m sorry, Daria. That wasn’t fair.” His voice shook with emotion.

“Is it true?” she breathed.

“That I want to marry you? That I love Natalie like my own? That since I met you, I’ve never been so happy in my life? Oh, Daria, of course it’s true! Are you blind? I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you.”

“Oh, Cole…”

Then they were in each other’s arms, she crying, he apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, Daria. I’m so sorry. I’m only making this harder for you. My timing stinks. This isn’t how I wanted to ask you.”

“No.” She leaned back and looked at him, put a hand on his cheek. “Maybe you’re giving me my answer.”

He brushed a tear from her face with his thumb. “I don’t want to hurry you, Daria. I admire the way you’ve been so careful not to rush into anything. I want you to have all the time you need—to get over Nate, to make sure about your calling, whatever it is. To make sure…you feel the same way about me.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, his touch both tender and urgent.

She responded with more tears. “Oh, Cole, I’m so happy. I didn’t know—”

“Hey, shh, shh. Don’t cry. It’s nothing to cry about, for Pete’s sake.”

She laughed through her tears, and he pushed her away gently and looked at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. Your landlady is going to start flashing the porch light at us.”

She giggled.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to the door. You’ve got a lot to think about. Do you want me to pick you up for church in the morning?”

“Sure. Just not the early service, okay?”

“Definitely.”

He leaned over to kiss her again. “I love you so much, Daria.”

“Oh, Cole, I lo—”

He cut her off with a gentle hand to her lips. Then tenderly, but sternly, he told her, “Don’t say it just because I did. Make sure, Daria. I don’t want to hear it if you’re just going to break my heart someday. I want to hear it—oh, how I want to hear those words from your lips—but please don’t say it until you’re absolutely sure.”

She nodded and, feeling chastened, lowered her gaze.

He put a finger under her chin and lifted it toward his face. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

She nodded again. Then he was off the porch and driving away before she could respond.

She climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to her apartment. The letter was still lying on the table in the dining area. Daria walked past it and went to the closet to hang up her coat.

One lovely thought rang through her head: Colson Hunter wanted to marry her.

He loved her. He loved Natalie like his own child. Her mind was suddenly crystal clear. She loved this man. She wasn’t a schoolgirl. She knew what love was. She had known a true, abiding love with Nathan Camfield, and what she felt for Cole was every bit as deep and mature and right. She didn’t need to ask anyone for advice on this. This she knew more surely than she’d known anything in a very long while.

She went over to the dining table and picked up the letter. She unfolded it slowly and forced her eyes to skim the paragraphs. But she did not try to analyze the words any longer—they had no meaning for her after what Cole had told her.

God had given her her answer. She would be loved again. Her daughter would have a father. She would know true happiness once more. She couldn’t have dreamed of a more perfect answer. Soon she would hold Cole’s hands and speak the words she’d wanted so badly to say to him tonight—
I love you too, Colson Hunter
.

That night Daria dreamed the same dream she’d had the night before. It seemed so real that she could almost smell the dank floor of the rain forest. She felt that if she opened her eyes she’d find herself in Timoné, that Nate would be standing in front of her and she could reach out and touch him.

Then Nate’s face melted into Cole’s, and Daria startled, fully awake now. The clock on the nightstand read 9:30 A.M. Beside it, Nate stared at her from the framed photograph. She could feel her heart thumping beneath the thin flannel of her nightgown.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, breathing hard.

Disoriented and agitated, she grabbed the frame that contained Nathan’s picture and opened the pocket door that led from her room to Natalie’s. Her daughter had spent the night with her parents, but the crib still held the faint scent of her.

Daria set the photograph on Natalie’s dresser and picked up a rumpled baby quilt. She held it to her nose for a minute, studying Nate’s picture, fighting a menacing feeling that she couldn’t identify.

Then she dropped the quilt into the crib, walked back through her bedroom, and down the hall to the shower.

Her parents would be bringing Natalie home in twenty minutes, and Cole would come by to pick them up for church shortly after that. She desperately needed to see him. She needed to be with someone who loved her. Someone who was real and alive.

Daria slid the silver ribbon off the box and carefully peeled the tape from the shiny foil wrapping. “A Christmas present already? Cole, are you sure you don’t want me to wait?” she asked him for the second time.

“Daria! Would you just open the package,” he laughed. “You’ll understand when you see what it is.”

She folded the paper neatly and set it on the sofa beside her, then she lifted the lid on the shiny white box. “Oh!” she gasped, when she saw what was inside. “Cole! You didn’t! You remembered!” She took the little ceramic cottage from the box and held it in the palm of her hand, admiring it.