Out of the Shadows. Melanie Mitchell
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had been airborne about fifteen minutes when Ben lightly touched her arm.
“Look just below us,” Ben said loudly. He banked the plane sharply to the left and pointed down. Her eyes followed where he indicated, and she saw a large herd of zebras. As she watched the animals move gracefully through the high grass, Leslie forgot her concerns.
Ben circled and descended to bring the herd into view again. As he maneuvered the plane, Leslie had to shift her gaze from looking out of the left window back to the right, and, as she did, her eyes met his. She smiled with sincere appreciation and said “Thank you,” pitching her voice so that he would hear.
Something in Leslie’s expression made Ben’s heart accelerate. She’d looked at him with childlike amazement, and her lovely eyes, which had held an unmistakably desolate look and then irritation, were shining. The discomfort he’d felt in the bar returned. Unconsciously, he rubbed his hand against his leg. He forced his attention back to the instrument panel, adjusting the directional gyros to guide the small aircraft home. But after engaging the autopilot, he found his mind drifting, and he wished she’d look at him with the same excitement she had just shown a herd of zebras.
Irritably, he shook the thought away. It was her eyes—her spooky eyes. He didn’t like what they did to him. He frowned as he stared at the controls. No, he didn’t like it at all.
Intent on the views from her window, Leslie did not see the flicker of response that crossed Ben’s face, or the furtive glances that followed. But Mama Joe did.
Concerned, she watched the man she had known since childhood. She’d been worried for him since his return to Kenya almost three years before. It had been disheartening to see how much he’d changed from the friendly, eager-to-please and focused youth she had known, and she was keenly aware of the rumors that followed him.
She was well acquainted with his solitary lifestyle, had heard reports of heavy drinking and knew he was often seen with the daughters of wealthy tourists. His questionable employment led to periodic absences from Namanga, and the words smuggling and guns were frequently used in conversations about him.
His reaction to Leslie surprised her. He was unable to hide his interest, but she sensed a pronounced wariness in him, too. And she knew that the young woman was vulnerable. Indeed, she appeared emotionally fragile, and she certainly didn’t seem prepared to handle a relationship with a man like Ben.
Mama Joe watched the pair and recognized curiosity mixed with animosity. Close proximity to each other for the next six months could be extremely painful, maybe even devastating, for both. She began to silently pray.
She was still praying when the Cessna landed an hour later.
CHAPTER THREE
NAMANGA’S AIRPORT CONSISTED of a single narrow grass landing strip. Leslie noticed a sheet-metal shed that held tanks for aviation fuel along with a small office and a dilapidated hangar for the Cessna. Two planes rested alongside the hangar, but as far as she could tell, they were long past airworthiness. The lone man on duty waved to Ben while approaching the plane as it taxied toward the hangar.
Mama Joe indicated the smallish, middle-aged man. “That’s Charles Endebbi. He and his son manage the airstrip and do some mechanic work. Ben’s plane is the only one based here, but quite a few tour operators use the field because it’s close to several national parks.”
As Ben cut the Cessna’s engine, a Jeep approached, driven by a sturdy man of indeterminate age. “There’s Titus,” Mama Joe said as she waved to the newcomer. “He’s been my driver for more than a decade.”
A considerable amount of gray was scattered through his short black hair, but Titus’s dark face was smooth and youthful. He helped both women from the plane. As they were introduced, he gave Leslie a nodding bow and welcoming smile.
Mama Joe turned to Ben, who had been giving instructions to Mr. Endebbi. “Thanks again for the ride, Ben. Are you sure we can’t take you home?”
“No, thanks. I’ve radioed Simon. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Although they had barely spoken, Leslie was anxious to be free of the playboy pilot. However, she followed Mama Joe’s example and held out her hand. “Thank you for picking me up.”
Ben accepted her hand but dropped it quickly. “No problem.” His eyes were focused on her left shoulder. After the terse response, he turned away to help Titus with the luggage.
They drove from the airport in the aging Jeep that Mama Joe laughingly assured Leslie was more reliable than it looked. “We’ve had this old Jeep longer than I want to admit. It hasn’t let us down yet, and Titus keeps it running like a clock.”
The terrain around them contrasted starkly with Nairobi. The Jeep bumped and jolted on an unpaved road through a vast savanna. The land was dry and dusty and vegetation consisted primarily of tall brown grass and stunted thornbushes. She recognized flat-topped acacia trees and bottle-shaped baobab trees from the books she had read to prepare for her journey. Some of her earlier unease returned as she studied the surroundings, and she fleetingly wondered if it was too late to go back.
Mama Joe interrupted her brief moment of panic. “We’re only about twelve miles from the landing strip,” she said over the rumble of the Jeep. “We should be at the clinic in about twenty minutes. It’s located a few miles from town, which is a relatively short walk by Kenyan standards.”
They saw no other vehicles, though occasionally they passed locals walking or jogging along the road. The women were conservatively dressed in bright-colored kangas, and most had two or three children in tow. The men wore long, Bermuda-type shorts or khaki slacks and T-shirts. Most wore shoes or leather sandals, but a few were barefoot. Whenever they met someone, without exception, the local people smiled and waved to Mama Joe and Titus.
Dusk was fast approaching when they arrived at the clinic complex and Leslie got her first look at her home for the next six months. She was encouraged and relieved as she examined the fairly large compound in the waning light. There were two main buildings surrounded by an eight-foot cinder-block wall. “Titus and his wife, Naomi, live there,” Mama Joe said as she pointed toward the smaller dwelling. “And the clinic and my apartment are in here.”
The Jeep stopped before the larger building—a long, low, sturdy structure. A slender Kenyan woman with short graying hair and excellent posture had come out of the clinic and waited on the covered, screened porch.
“This is Naomi,” Mama Joe said with sincere affection as she stepped up to the porch. “Naomi has been nursing with me for more than a decade. The clinic couldn’t operate without her.”
Naomi was obviously pleased but embarrassed by Mama Joe’s praise as she shook Leslie’s hand. She was wearing what Leslie later learned was a Kenyan nurse’s uniform: a blue-striped dress with a white collar and apron. “I am very much looking forward to working with you,” she said shyly. Her velvety brown eyes were friendly, and Leslie liked her immediately.
“In addition to Naomi,” Mama Joe told her, “the clinic employs a bookkeeper and receptionist named Elizabeth, and a woman named Agnes who helps with cleaning, cooking and laundry. They’ve already gone for the day, but you’ll meet them early tomorrow.”
Mama Joe turned to open the freshly painted screen door and stood to one side. “Well, this is it.” She flipped on a light and invited Leslie in. “It’s nothing fancy, but it works.”
The arrangement reminded Leslie of pictures she had seen of clinics from the 1950s. The large waiting area held a receptionist’s desk, tall filing cabinets and rows of neatly arranged chairs; the open, airy room smelled of bleach and alcohol. The worn but spotlessly clean linoleum creaked a little as she wandered over to one of the large, curtainless windows.
“There are three examination rooms on this side of the building,” Mama Joe explained as she led Leslie to the back of the main room. She opened a door to reveal a small room furnished with an examining table, and she