replied. “Give Mama Joe our regards when she returns.”
* * *
L ESLIE HAD DIFFICULTY falling to sleep that night. She was comfortably settled in a lovely guest room at the East Africa Mission house, but her mind seemed to repeatedly return to the events of the evening rather than the hectic, trying and tiring days she’d spent fighting measles. She kept recalling the expression on Ben’s face in that brief second before he’d turned his back. Was it her imagination, or was it a look of yearning? She chided herself, thinking that more likely it was regret or embarrassment. But as she reflected on what she’d seen in his eyes, it seemed as if he were reaching out to her—like he wanted something from her.
She tried to brush those thoughts aside and focus on the coming day and her trip back to Namanga. She was mostly successful and, after a few minutes, fatigue took over and she fell into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
O NE AFTERNOON , near the end of her third month in Namanga, Leslie heard a vehicle pull into the compound. The sound was unusual, given that almost all of their patients walked—or ran—to the clinic. From the exam room where she was completing a follow-up visit with a new mother, she heard a man’s deep voice ask, “Where’s Mrs. Carpenter?”
Elizabeth was in her customary spot at the desk, and Leslie could hear an exchange in Swahili, but the distance prohibited comprehension. She refocused her attention on her patient, but an urgent knock interrupted her. Without waiting for a response, Elizabeth opened the door and said, “Miss Leslie, please come.”
Elizabeth’s expression alarmed Leslie. Apologizing to the new mother, she hastily followed the clerk into the waiting area, but stopped abruptly when she saw Ben Murphy. She hadn’t seen him since the encounter at the restaurant several weeks earlier and had forgotten how imposing he was. His eyes shone vividly in his deeply tanned face. She read impatience in his expression, along with something she had rarely observed in him—concern.
He closed the distance, obviously in a hurry, and grabbed her elbow to pull her toward the door. “You need to come with me. I have a client who may be having a heart attack.” His words were terse.
She stopped and tried to pull away. “Wait just a second. I need—”
He refused to let go of her. “Maybe you don’t understand,” he interrupted. “You need to come now. ”
She yanked her arm again. “Let go. I have to get some things.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He finally released her and followed as she retreated into the storage room. “He’s a tourist.” His tone was more conciliatory. “Probably about sixty-five. Evidently he has some history of heart problems.”
His description compelled Leslie to hurry. She quickly collected a blood-pressure cuff and an assortment of medications and supplies, then stuffed them into a large canvas tote bag that she slung over her shoulder. Grabbing the portable defibrillator, she thrust it at Ben. “Here. I may need this.”
As they neared the door, Ben inquired, “If he has to be evacuated to Nairobi, can you come?”
Leslie hastily considered the possibility, and, frowning, she nodded. She paused at the door to give instructions to Naomi and Elizabeth. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I haven’t returned by this evening, assume we’ve flown to Nairobi.”
Outside, she saw two men sitting in the back of Ben’s Jeep. They were similarly dressed in newish, pressed khaki shirts and slacks. The older man had thinning, iron-gray hair and appeared to be in his sixties as Ben had suggested. He was obviously ill, leaning heavily against the younger man. As she approached the Jeep at a rapid walk, the younger man’s eyes pinned her, and he barked, “Are you the doctor?”
Leslie barely glanced at him as she crawled into the back of the Jeep and wedged herself between the front and rear seats. “I’m a nurse-practitioner,” she answered
* * *
L ESLIE HAD DIFFICULTY falling to sleep that night. She was comfortably settled in a lovely guest room at the East Africa Mission house, but her mind seemed to repeatedly return to the events of the evening rather than the hectic, trying and tiring days she’d spent fighting measles. She kept recalling the expression on Ben’s face in that brief second before he’d turned his back. Was it her imagination, or was it a look of yearning? She chided herself, thinking that more likely it was regret or embarrassment. But as she reflected on what she’d seen in his eyes, it seemed as if he were reaching out to her—like he wanted something from her.
She tried to brush those thoughts aside and focus on the coming day and her trip back to Namanga. She was mostly successful and, after a few minutes, fatigue took over and she fell into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
O NE AFTERNOON , near the end of her third month in Namanga, Leslie heard a vehicle pull into the compound. The sound was unusual, given that almost all of their patients walked—or ran—to the clinic. From the exam room where she was completing a follow-up visit with a new mother, she heard a man’s deep voice ask, “Where’s Mrs. Carpenter?”
Elizabeth was in her customary spot at the desk, and Leslie could hear an exchange in Swahili, but the distance prohibited comprehension. She refocused her attention on her patient, but an urgent knock interrupted her. Without waiting for a response, Elizabeth opened the door and said, “Miss Leslie, please come.”
Elizabeth’s expression alarmed Leslie. Apologizing to the new mother, she hastily followed the clerk into the waiting area, but stopped abruptly when she saw Ben Murphy. She hadn’t seen him since the encounter at the restaurant several weeks earlier and had forgotten how imposing he was. His eyes shone vividly in his deeply tanned face. She read impatience in his expression, along with something she had rarely observed in him—concern.
He closed the distance, obviously in a hurry, and grabbed her elbow to pull her toward the door. “You need to come with me. I have a client who may be having a heart attack.” His words were terse.
She stopped and tried to pull away. “Wait just a second. I need—”
He refused to let go of her. “Maybe you don’t understand,” he interrupted. “You need to come now. ”
She yanked her arm again. “Let go. I have to get some things.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He finally released her and followed as she retreated into the storage room. “He’s a tourist.” His tone was more conciliatory. “Probably about sixty-five. Evidently he has some history of heart problems.”
His description compelled Leslie to hurry. She quickly collected a blood-pressure cuff and an assortment of medications and supplies, then stuffed them into a large canvas tote bag that she slung over her shoulder. Grabbing the portable defibrillator, she thrust it at Ben. “Here. I may need this.”
As they neared the door, Ben inquired, “If he has to be evacuated to Nairobi, can you come?”
Leslie hastily considered the possibility, and, frowning, she nodded. She paused at the door to give instructions to Naomi and Elizabeth. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I haven’t returned by this evening, assume we’ve flown to Nairobi.”
Outside, she saw two men sitting in the back of Ben’s Jeep. They were similarly dressed in newish, pressed khaki shirts and slacks. The older man had thinning, iron-gray hair and appeared to be in his sixties as Ben had suggested. He was obviously ill, leaning heavily against the younger man. As she approached the Jeep at a rapid walk, the younger man’s eyes pinned her, and he barked, “Are you the doctor?”
Leslie barely glanced at him as she crawled into the back of the Jeep and wedged herself between the front and rear seats. “I’m a nurse-practitioner,” she answered
Similar Books
