Over the Waters (8 page)

Just then, the Haitian girl who'd been with her jogged back across the street. The American woman--Valerie--put her hand on the girl's arm. "Jaelle, this is Dr. Max--" She laughed nervously. "I'm sorry. I've forgotten your name already."

"Jordan," he supplied, nodding in the girl's direction.

"Good day," she said in English, flashing brilliant white teeth.

He cleared his throat and readjusted the bag on his shoulder. "Well, I should let you two go. It was nice to meet you...Valerie, and...Jaelle is it?"

The girl nodded vigorously, giggling.

"I hope your trip goes well," Valerie said.

At that moment, an explosion of gunfire rocked the pavement. He whirled back around.

The Haitian girl screamed and clung to Valerie, who stood with eyes wide and mouth agape.

Max stared down the street where the eruption had originated. Black smoke billowed up from the middle of the roadway. A small crowd ran toward them in a human stampede. Behind them the smoke grew thicker and flames shot into the air.

Max spun around, searching for Samantha and Madame Duval and the others. Not seeing any of them, he shifted the bag to his back and threw a protective arm around each of the frightened women beside him. "We'd better get out of here!" he shouted above the din. "Follow me...This way!"

T
he blood pounded in Valerie's ears as she and Jaelle huddled in Dr. Jordan's shadow. A series of explosions blasted behind them, rattling the shop windows and making the pavement beneath them quake. Time stood still for a split second. And in an instant, a panicked river of bodies caught up the three of them and flowed down the dusty thoroughfare.

They were running, running, the doctor urging them on, almost shoving them, until they became part of the whirlpool of chaos.

"This way!" Dr. Jordan cut a corridor through the mass of bodies to the edge of the street, propelling Valerie and Jaelle away from the center of the crowd. To their right stood a row of dilapidated shops. He steered them into a narrow alley between two of the buildings.

He pushed them deeper into the shadows of the cinder block walls, then scrambled to the opening, and crouched there.

Beside her, Jaelle whimpered, and Valerie put an arm around her, trying not to let the girl see her own fear.

"It's okay. We're safe," Valerie whispered to the girl, her breath coming in short gasps. "What happened?" she asked Dr. Jordan.

He turned to glance at her. "I'm not sure." He, too, was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each intake of air. Perspiration beaded his forehead. "It sounded like gunshots, but I didn't see who fired them. I...I think we'll be safe here."

"Where is Pastor Phil?" Jaelle cried.

"I don't know. I didn't see him," Valerie said. "But God will watch over him. It'll be okay." She wished she felt more confident of her words.

A young Haitian couple ran into the alley with a small boy.

"Do you know what happened?" Dr. Jordan asked the man.

It was obvious from his furrowed brow that he didn't understand the doctor's English.

"Jaelle." Valerie urged the girl forward. "Ask him if he knows what happened."

The girl spoke to the couple and they both started talking at once, motioning wildly with their hands. Finally Jaelle turned to Valerie. "He says that some men set up a--" she struggled to find the right English word "--a barrier...a block in the road--"

"A barricade?"

"Yes. That is it. When the police came, the men shooted at them."

Max and the young father motioned for the women to stay back while they went together to the end of the alley. They stared into the street, side by side, neither speaking. After a minute they walked back toward the waiting women.

The young man comforted his wife and little boy, while Max told Valerie and Jaelle, "The shooting seems to have stopped, but I don't know whether it's safe to be on the streets yet. I think we should wait here until we're sure things are under control."

They followed him back to the alley's entrance and stood in the shadows watching the commotion on the streets. Police vehicles rolled through the potholed road honking at the people who milled there now.

The pandemonium had changed to an aura of excitement. The air was punctuated with shouts. Valerie could only make out a few words, but Jaelle translated.

"People are saying the university students started fires in the street." She pointed to the west. "See? They are burning tires to create a barricade."

It wasn't clear whether the shots had been fired by the students or the Port-au-Prince police. Just before Christmas, Valerie had read in the
Kansas City Star
about several people being killed while protesting in opposition marches. This sounded like more of the same. She'd never dreamed, reading those dispassionate news accounts in the comfort of her apartment, how soon the violence would affect her personally. Pastor Phil had said that Americans or regular citizens were rarely targeted in the protests, but too many innocent shop owners and bystanders had been killed or seriously wounded. No one was safe when clashes like this broke out.

Suddenly, Jaelle jumped up and waved her arms wildly, shouting. "Pastor Phil!" She darted from the alley like a cat in pursuit of a mouse. Without a word, Dr. Jordan ran after her. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back into the safety of the alley.

"It's too dangerous!" He turned to Valerie. "Did she understand?"

Jaelle nodded solemnly. "I understand. But look--" She pointed across the street.

Pastor Phil was walking slowly up the street, his eyes shaded with one hand, his gaze roving every direction, obviously searching for them.

"It's Phil Greene, the man who runs Hope House. He and his wife came with us to the market."

"You stay here. I'll let him know you're safe."

She nodded, and Jaelle followed suit.

"Watch for my signal. If it appears to be safe, I'll wave you out."

He stepped from between the buildings, looking cautiously both ways, before he went into the street. "Pastor Phil! Phil Greene!" he shouted.

Valerie and Jaelle watched from the side of the shop as Pastor Phil glared at this stranger shouting at him.

"They are safe," Dr. Jordan called across the street. "Valerie and Jaelle are here. Look!" Again, he checked both ways down the street before jogging to meet Pastor Phil.

Valerie listened to the men's muffled voices and tried to make sense of their exaggerated hand motions as they spoke. Dr. Jordan pointed back toward the alley.

"Wave, Jaelle, so they know we're okay." They both waved and Valerie gave a strained smile.

But Dr. Jordan didn't beckon them. Instead, he and Pastor Phil crossed the street together. As they approached, Valerie could see deep lines of worry etched on the pastor's face.

"I can't find Betty and the girls," he told Valerie.

"We'll help you look," Dr. Jordan said. "I'm looking for someone, too. Samantha Courtney. We came with Marie Duval and two girls from Madame Duval's home."

"I know Samantha and Marie," Pastor Phil said. "We'll find them. Valerie, you go with Dr. Jordan. He won't recognize Betty or the girls. We'll cover more ground this way. Do you speak Creole, Dr. Jordan?"

"No. None at all," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Then Jaelle should go with you."

"Okay. We'll meet you right back here in thirty minutes."

"Good. Be careful," Pastor Phil said. "If things heat up again, don't try to find me. Just get the girls back to Brizjanti."

"Right." Dr. Jordan gave a half salute. "Good luck."

Pastor Phil returned the gesture. "I'll be praying for you."

Dr. Jordan gave a brief nod. "Yes...um...thank you."

Valerie took in his pained expression and wondered why the doctor seemed so unnerved at the idea of prayers being offered on his behalf.

Max watched Pastor Phil head down the street. "What does the reverend's wife look like?"

"Madame Phil? She's petite, gray hair...She's probably in her late fifties, maybe early sixties..." Valerie shrugged and turned to Jaelle. "Do you remember what she was wearing today, Jaelle?"

The girl closed her eyes and thought for a moment. "A red blouse, I think. Yes. And her skirt. What do you call it? The one she wears often. Blue. Like that." She pointed to Max's blue jeans.

"Oh, yes." Valerie turned to him. "Denim. She had on a long denim skirt."

"Okay. And there are two girls with her?"

"Yes. Mary and Yvette. They're probably twelve or fourteen. Mary had a faded blue bandanna on her head."

The image brought Max up short. The last pictures he had of Joshua showed him sitting in the Haitian sun with a faded blue bandanna tied like a sweatband around his forehead. He'd worn a smile a mile wide in those photographs. It had bothered Max, seeing him so happy. And bothered him even more that it bothered him so. What father didn't want to see his son happy?

"Dr. Jordan?"

Valerie's voice startled him. He shook his head to clear it.

"I'm sorry. Yes?"

"What does Samantha look like? That was her name, wasn't it?"

"Yes. She's American, about your height and weight. Light hair. She's very young. She must be in her early twenties, but she could pass for a teenager. And Marie Duval is a large Haitian woman, tall, very dark-skinned. She has two girls from the orphanage with her. Here...Let's go this way." He started down the street in the opposite direction Pastor Phil had gone.

"Stay close, Jaelle," Valerie said, pulling the girl to her and following behind. "We don't want to lose you, too."

The girl nodded soberly and moved closer to Valerie.

As they walked, they watched store owners hurriedly close and lock their doors, sliding the security gates across the entrances. The street vendors frantically packed their wares and folded up their kiosks. Smoke from the barricade continued to billow into the sky and the streets remained in turmoil as people called out for those they'd been separated from. Police vehicles cruised back and forth, trying to maintain order.

Max followed the women and the three of them walked for several minutes, craning their necks to look down each alley and through the steel gates into the shop doors.

Jaelle coughed as the wind changed directions and blew a gust of acrid smoke in their faces.

Max pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his back pocket. He unfolded it, shook it out and handed it to her. "Here, put this over your mouth. It'll make it easier to breathe." He turned to Valerie. "I'm sorry I don't have another one."

Her eyes were watering from the smoke, but she shook her head. "It's okay. I'll be fine." She pulled up the collar of her blouse and buried her face in it.

He followed suit, pulling his shirttail up and breathing through it.

They hurried along the street, none of them speaking, lugging the market bags they'd escaped with.

As they got farther from the marketplace, things quieted down. Here and there people stood in front of the buildings, shading their eyes and watching the smoke rise over the city. But the sense of urgency had gone.

"Maybe we should turn back. They surely wouldn't have gone this far, would they?"

Valerie's brow creased. "I don't think so. Oh, I hope they're all right. I know Madame Phil will be worried sick."

"I'm sure they're fine." It sounded like an idle platitude even to him, but he didn't know what else to say.

They kept walking, but when they came to the alley where they'd taken shelter, the street was empty.

He adjusted the bag of vegetables on his shoulder and rested his hands on his hips, out of breath.

Valerie shaded her eyes and turned on her heel, scanning the streets in all directions. "Oh, dear...Now what?"

"I'm not sure." He looked at his watch. "It hasn't been quite thirty minutes yet."

People were still milling in the street, but things had quieted down a bit. "Let's wait here. If they don't show up in a few minutes, we'll--"

"There they are!" Jaelle shouted. She took off down the street, her slender black legs kicking up the hem of her skirt as she ran.

V
alerie's worried expression turned to joy, and Max turned to see a gray-haired woman and two adolescent Haitian girls hurry toward them.

"It's Madame Phil!" Valerie called over her shoulder as she ran after Jaelle.

Max sprinted to catch up.

"Oh, thank the Lord!" The elderly woman threw her arms around Valerie and Jaelle. "Have you seen Phil?" The pastor's wife looked distraught.

Max stepped in. "We saw your husband a few minutes after we heard the gunshots. He was fine."

The older woman put a hand to her throat, closed her eyes and whispered, "Thank you, Father."

"Pastor Phil was looking for you and the girls," Valerie told her. "We split up to help him search. We were supposed to meet him back here a few minutes ago. I'm sure he's fine. Oh, Madame Phil--" she turned to Max "--this is Dr. Max Jordan. We were on the same flight from Miami. We just happened to run into each other at the market today. Dr. Jordan is from Chicago."

The pastor's wife put down the large plastic bucket she carried and extended a strong hand. "Betty Greene. Very nice to meet you, Doctor. Thanks for looking out for my girls." She let go of Max's hand and gripped Jaelle's shoulder. "Are you okay, sweetie? Valerie, what about you? No one was hurt?"

"We're fine," Valerie said. "Dr. Jordan is trying to find Madame Duval and a nurse from the home."

"Yes, Samantha Courtney," Max filled in.

"Oh, dear...Samantha? Marie and Samantha are both missing?"

Max nodded. "We all came to the market together. I recognized Valerie across the street and went to talk to her. That's when we heard the explosions. I haven't seen them since."

Madame Phil's brow crinkled. "Did they have any of the children with them?"

"No. It was just the three of us," he said.

"Well, knowing Marie, they probably ran all the way back to the orphanage."

Max thought surely she was kidding. It had taken them almost fifteen minutes to get here by tap-tap. Of course the way the gaudily painted "taxi" trucks snaked through Haitian traffic, one could probably get somewhere on foot almost as quickly. He didn't think Samantha would have left without finding him, but he kept his thoughts to himself. The pastor's wife looked upset enough as it was. "Do you have a way back to Brizjanti?" he asked her.

"We came by tap-tap. But with all this--" she spread her arms to encompass the city "--I doubt there's any transportation to be had. We can walk if we have to. We lost some of our things in all the commotion, so we've not much to carry. I did see a truck headed east a few minutes ago." She looked around her. "Things seem to have calmed down a bit now. Perhaps we can get a ride. But I won't leave Phil. This can't be doing his heart any good."

"Does he have a heart condition?" Max asked.

"Not that he'll admit to." She lowered her voice. "A doctor in Port-au-Prince diagnosed him with congestive heart failure several years ago. Phil pooh-poohed it. But even if that diagnosis is wrong, the man is almost eighty years old. He doesn't realize he simply can't handle things the way he used to."

Max wondered how one could possibly ever grow accustomed to turmoil such as they'd experienced today. Was this something the elderly couple had actually come to take for granted? He was surprised to hear that Pastor Phil was nearing eighty. He would have guessed the man to be in his late sixties. Ah, if he could be half that fit thirty years from now.

He watched Madame Phil. If anyone was a good judge of a woman's age, he was. Max seriously doubted Betty Greene had undergone any cosmetic surgery, and, her white hair notwithstanding, he wouldn't guess her to be much over sixty herself. Maybe dodging flying bullets and fleeing smoke-choked streets served as a sort of fountain of youth.

"Would you feel safe taking the girls and going on back to Brizjanti?" Max felt awkward giving orders. He hadn't been here a week. He didn't know the first thing about navigating this crazy culture, let alone the streets of this city. But someone had to take charge. "If you'll let Jaelle come with us to help translate, Valerie and I can stay and find your husband and the others. We'll get everyone back where they belong."

But Madame Phil put her hands on her hips and studied him. "You know the area well?"

"Not exactly. I--I'm assuming I'll have your husband and the others to navigate for me when we start back."

"I wouldn't make that assumption, Dr. Jordan."

He looked to Valerie for explanation, but she gave a barely perceptible shrug that said she was as clueless as he. "What do you suggest, Madame Phil?"

A new air of confidence lit Betty Greene's eyes. "I suggest we speak to our Father about it."

Did she mean her husband? Good grief, had the man had a cell phone on him the entire time?

Pastor Phil's wife reached for Valerie's hand, and they both bowed their heads.

Oh,
that
Father. Before he could form another thought, he found himself in a circle of praying women, a little Haitian child tightly clasping each of his hands.

"Father God." Betty Greene's voice was unwavering.

"Now, as always, we need your help. Please, Lord, help us find Phil and the girls. Keep Marie and Samantha safe and lead us all safely home before dark."

Max had bowed his head out of respect, but now he lifted his chin and peered through hooded eyes. In the middle of the street--in the middle of the search--they were going to stop and pray?

Madame Phil went on. "Be with all those who are separated from loved ones today. May they know that you are watching out for them, and that you love them with an everlasting love. Our only desire is to glorify you, dear Father, and we give--"

"Betty! Valerie!"

Max turned to see the entire missing contingent walking toward them! Pastor Phil, Madame Duval, Samantha and the girls from the orphanage ran toward them. Max almost laughed. Their thirty-second prayer had worked like some sort of magic voodoo incantation.

Betty Greene rushed to embrace her husband. The pastor looked weary, but unharmed. Samantha and the girls wore broad smiles.

They all converged in a tight knot at the side of the street and exchanged introductions.

"Let's get out of here," Pastor Phil said. "Is there anything you must have before we go, Betty?"

"Well, we're terribly low on sugar, and we may have to make do without toilet paper for a few days, but nothing is going to be open anyway. Let's just go home."

Pastor Phil looked at his watch, then up the street. Max followed his line of sight. The traffic had thinned and there were no tap-taps in sight.

"Are you up for a walk, Betty?" The pastor put a protective arm around his wife.

"I'm fine. But what about you? You look exhausted."

He let out a deep sigh, but shook his head. "I'm okay. I can make it a ways. Let's start walking and maybe we can catch a ride farther down the road."

They redistributed the few bags and buckets they'd managed to hang on to in the uproar and started down the road, walking two by two. The Haitian girls led the way, chattering to Samantha in high-pitched Creole. Behind them, Pastor and Madame Phil talked quietly with Madame Duval.

The sun was high in the sky and hot on their backs. Max fell in step beside Valerie Austin. "What a day," he said, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt.

"You can say that again." She squinted against the sun's glare and grinned at him. "It kind of puts the question of the toilet paper supply in a whole new perspective, doesn't it?"

He laughed. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

She shifted the plastic pail she was carrying to her other hand.

"Here," Max said, sliding the sack of yams he carried off his shoulder. "Let me trade you. That looks heavy."

"Oh, thank you, but it's really not that bad. Maybe I should learn to carry it on my head the way the Haitian women do."

She lifted the bucket with both hands and set it atop her head. She walked a short distance holding the bucket in place, then moved her hands ever so slowly away from the bucket, dipping her knees and sidestepping in an effort to keep it balanced. She hadn't gone three steps when the bucket took a dive. Squealing, she reached out and caught it before it hit the ground, but a small netting bag fell out and split open, sending onions rolling into the street.

Max laughed as Valerie zigzagged back and forth chasing down errant onions. He bent to gather up several of the paper-skinned bulbs and returned them to Valerie's bucket.

"Oh dear," she moaned when they'd finally corralled all the produce. "The cooks aren't going to be very happy with me when they see what I did to their onions."

He studied her, wondering if she was serious. Surely a few gourdes worth of wasted groceries wasn't worth getting all bent out of shape over.

"Hey, you two!" Madame Phil shouted. "Better catch up!"

Max looked up to see the rest of their little party several hundred feet ahead. He turned to Valerie. "Do you know how to get back to the orphanage?"

She gave him a sidewise glance and shook her head. "I couldn't find the way if my life depended on it."

"Then we'd better not get lost." Laughing, he took off at a jog. Valerie ran to catch up.

In spite of the rather sober turn the day had taken, Max felt strangely carefree and lighthearted. It was odd living at such a lackadaisical pace. Odd, but rather nice.

"So how did you happen to come to Haiti, Valerie?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's kind of a long, boring story."

"Oh? Somehow that makes me think it's anything but."

"Trust me," she said, holding up a hand in protest.

"Now I'm really curious."

"Let's just say Haiti was...an unexpected detour." She dipped her head and bit her bottom lip. "I was supposed to be on my honeymoon this week."

He recoiled. That was the last thing he expected her to say. He wasn't sure how to respond. But a memory of his first glimpse of Valerie flashed through his mind--the sad woman in the seat across the aisle from him. It made sense now. "I...I'm sorry," he said finally.

"Oh, no. Please don't be. It wasn't exactly a joy going through it--the breakup, I mean--but I'm glad I'm here. It's definitely for the best." She shook her head, as though just realizing the truth of that statement herself. She cleared her throat.

"And what about you, Dr. Jordan? What brought you here?"

He hesitated. To his surprise, he realized that he wanted to tell her about Josh, to tell her things he'd never shared with anyone. He checked himself. He'd only known this woman for a few hours, and not exactly under circumstances that engendered intimate conversation. But there was something about this place that knocked life as he'd ever known it on its heels.

He was discovering so many things about himself--good things he'd never acknowledged, and unpleasant things he'd never faced. He had a disconcerting sense that something in his life was about to change drastically. It frightened him to his core. And yet somehow, at the same time it filled him with excitement.