sounded in the cabin and the captain's scratchy voice came over the intercom. After an announcement in French--or maybe it was Creole, he couldn't tell--the pilot repeated his spiel in English. Max could only make out about every other word, but by the Haitian passengers' lackadaisical response, it was apparently routine information about the weather and arrival procedures.
The girl across the aisle slid her window shade up and peered out the small port. As the plane banked to the right, Max watched her profile discreetly, pretending to be interested in the terrain visible outside her window.
She looked to be about Joshua's age. Maybe a little older. Maybe a lot older. He, of all people, knew how hard it was to judge a woman's age these days. But this young woman, attractive as she was, didn't look as though she cared much for the trappings of glamour. She wore little, if any, makeup. And she was casually dressed in a cotton skirt and blouse. Her dark-blond hair was caught up in the messy, wisp ponytail that seemed to be de rigueur nowadays.
Did she have a father--or a husband--at home who was worried sick over the fact that she was willingly putting herself in danger? He checked his thoughts. He'd been too ignorant to worry when Josh left for Haiti. Instead, he'd wasted all his emotion being furious. All he'd cared about was the fact that his son was throwing away five years of medical school and thousands of dollars he'd provided by the sweat of his own brow.
Was this young woman here on some idealistic, mission-minded quest that would end as tragically as Joshua's had?
She straightened in her seat as the plane banked sharply and began its descent. Max looked away quickly. She was none of his business. He had plenty of his own demons to wrestle with.
Chapter Seven
A s the plane began its final descent into the capital city of Port-au-Prince, Valerie looked down and smoothed the wrinkles from her cotton skirt. It was one of several matching skirt-and-blouse outfits she'd stitched up on her sewing machine in a last-minute frenzy getting ready for this trip. It was a nice pattern, flattering and comfortable. But it was a far cry from the wedding trousseau she'd been working on for the past year--a wardrobe that now hung in the closet of her apartment back home.
For months, her days had been wrapped up in planning a huge church wedding, being the belle of the ball at three bridal showers, sewing four bridesmaids' dresses--gowns she had designed herself--and an entire wardrobe especially planned for her honeymoon in the tropics.
But her dream had died, and now it was time to get the spotlight off herself and do something for someone else. If she hadn't learned anything else from her years of reading the Bible, surely she'd learned that true happiness came from helping others.
Which was why, on this January morning that was to have been her wedding day, Valerie Austin was on an airplane bound for Haiti. An orphanage her church sponsored had sent a young missionary doctor to present a brief slide show during the worship service one Sunday morning. Valerie had been touched by his account of a grossly understaffed children's home desperately in need of workers--even on a short-term basis. But of course her upcoming wedding plans had kept her from considering such an opportunity.
A week after her broken engagement, however, a notice appeared in the bulletin again. Hope House was desperate for help. Valerie was without hope and desperate to get away from home. It seemed providential. She filled out the forms and waited.
In the end, she was the only one who signed up for the trip. But the church voted to send her anyway. Because of her canceled honeymoon, she already had a passport, plus time off from her advertising job, and even a plane ticket, which the airline was kind enough to transfer--with a small penalty, of course. She'd briefly entertained the idea of asking for the bereavement rate, but thought better of it.
In
The girl across the aisle slid her window shade up and peered out the small port. As the plane banked to the right, Max watched her profile discreetly, pretending to be interested in the terrain visible outside her window.
She looked to be about Joshua's age. Maybe a little older. Maybe a lot older. He, of all people, knew how hard it was to judge a woman's age these days. But this young woman, attractive as she was, didn't look as though she cared much for the trappings of glamour. She wore little, if any, makeup. And she was casually dressed in a cotton skirt and blouse. Her dark-blond hair was caught up in the messy, wisp ponytail that seemed to be de rigueur nowadays.
Did she have a father--or a husband--at home who was worried sick over the fact that she was willingly putting herself in danger? He checked his thoughts. He'd been too ignorant to worry when Josh left for Haiti. Instead, he'd wasted all his emotion being furious. All he'd cared about was the fact that his son was throwing away five years of medical school and thousands of dollars he'd provided by the sweat of his own brow.
Was this young woman here on some idealistic, mission-minded quest that would end as tragically as Joshua's had?
She straightened in her seat as the plane banked sharply and began its descent. Max looked away quickly. She was none of his business. He had plenty of his own demons to wrestle with.
Chapter Seven
A s the plane began its final descent into the capital city of Port-au-Prince, Valerie looked down and smoothed the wrinkles from her cotton skirt. It was one of several matching skirt-and-blouse outfits she'd stitched up on her sewing machine in a last-minute frenzy getting ready for this trip. It was a nice pattern, flattering and comfortable. But it was a far cry from the wedding trousseau she'd been working on for the past year--a wardrobe that now hung in the closet of her apartment back home.
For months, her days had been wrapped up in planning a huge church wedding, being the belle of the ball at three bridal showers, sewing four bridesmaids' dresses--gowns she had designed herself--and an entire wardrobe especially planned for her honeymoon in the tropics.
But her dream had died, and now it was time to get the spotlight off herself and do something for someone else. If she hadn't learned anything else from her years of reading the Bible, surely she'd learned that true happiness came from helping others.
Which was why, on this January morning that was to have been her wedding day, Valerie Austin was on an airplane bound for Haiti. An orphanage her church sponsored had sent a young missionary doctor to present a brief slide show during the worship service one Sunday morning. Valerie had been touched by his account of a grossly understaffed children's home desperately in need of workers--even on a short-term basis. But of course her upcoming wedding plans had kept her from considering such an opportunity.
A week after her broken engagement, however, a notice appeared in the bulletin again. Hope House was desperate for help. Valerie was without hope and desperate to get away from home. It seemed providential. She filled out the forms and waited.
In the end, she was the only one who signed up for the trip. But the church voted to send her anyway. Because of her canceled honeymoon, she already had a passport, plus time off from her advertising job, and even a plane ticket, which the airline was kind enough to transfer--with a small penalty, of course. She'd briefly entertained the idea of asking for the bereavement rate, but thought better of it.
In
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