Inconceivable! (53 page)

he heat in the kitchen made me feel slightly dizzy. As I worked with the cooks to prepare our own version of Winter’s Feast, I savored the smells and textures of the vegetables and fruits in my hands.

John and I hired local restaurant workers to create the many courses for the celebration. All of the produce and meat for the feast came from farms in and near Addis Ababa. With the help of a man from the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research, John had selected all of the food we were about to eat.

He came into the kitchen, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me out the back door. We stood on a rectangular concrete porch alone except for a mangy dog peering at us through the fence that marked the orphanage grounds.

“Close your eyes. Hold out your hand.” I did as John asked. He placed something small in my palm. “Open your eyes.”

Encased in its signature silver foil, the single chocolate candy also had the tiny tab of paper rising from the wrapper.

“A kiss?”

“A chocolate kiss, different than the ones we’ve shared before, but it’s just as delicious. That’s how I think of our lives here: different than what we imagined for ourselves, but fulfilling and lovely.”

His lips met mine, and a surge of deep love radiated from my heart. Even with my eyes closed, a tear escaped and slid down my cheek.

The door swung open behind us and Desta reached for my arm. “Everyone’s seated! They’re ready.”

John and I walked into the room that normally served as a gymnasium for the older kids at the orphanage. A large group of volunteers had arrived from Illinois over the weekend. They helped us set up the tables and were watching the children so that most of the orphanage staff could enjoy the feast. The volunteers who weren’t helping with the kids agreed to serve the food. Tears stung my eyes at the sight of these men and women tying aprons on each other so they could give our staff a well-deserved evening of appreciation. I was an emotional mess.

John stood beside me at the head table, and I wiped my eyes. In lieu of the delicate bell the queen always used to quiet the crowd at Belvoir when she was ready to make a toast, I rang a cow bell. Everyone fell silent and turned toward me.

“Good evening, friends. During the celebration of Winter’s Feast in Toulene, we usually talk about remembering our blessings. It’s a way to remind ourselves to be thankful for all we have, even in the bitter depths of winter’s darkness. I want our first Winter’s Feast in Ethiopia to focus on the same thing: the many blessings we have in spite of the challenges we’ve faced this year. I’ve learned in the last few months there is no Plan B. There’s just life.” My voice started to falter as the truth of the words rang through the room.

John put his arm around me. “What Hatty’s saying is we never imagined we’d be here, adopting an Ethiopian baby who stole our hearts, and preparing to help run the orphanage in Aleta Wondo.”

Applause exploded in the room at this announcement. Chairs scooted and everyone stood. Desta, Tariku, Plato, and Alemtsehay gathered around us for a group hug. I wept at the symmetry of the moment, remembering how on a previous Winter’s Feast miles from here, the people we loved surrounded me and John as we celebrated the news of our engagement.

After the clapping subsided and everyone took their seats again, I held up my cup to propose a toast.

“Please raise your glass with me. To endings that are really beginnings, much happier and more beautiful than we could ever write for ourselves. Cheers!”

John kissed me on the cheek as we clinked our glasses and began the feast.

Aleta Wondo, Ethiopia
May 20, 2016

pulled the rag from my back pocket and wiped away the snot creeping from Bereket’s right nostril. She was my shadow, the one child out of the whole orphanage who never left my side. The tiny child clung to my waist as I stepped through the doorway into the bright morning sun, already baking us with its ninety degree heat. It reminded me of the ongoing challenge I faced in helping the farmers in and around the village. They struggled in this unusual heat wave to keep their crops irrigated, but rainy season was just getting started. Soon, we’d be battling the overabundance of rain. We had a couple of ideas we were testing. Today would be a good day to gather some field data.

“Who was that?” I nodded toward the white man walking down the path.

“Oh, just some man with a camera. He had an accent like yours. He asked to meet you, and I asked if he’d like to meet the children in the TB ward. He politely declined,” Alemtsehay said as she draped a limp, faded onesie across the clothes line.

“Ah, I see.” Not even living in a remote area of Ethiopia could keep the paparazzi away. “Here, let me and Bereket help you with the laundry.”

Reaching into the basket with her only hand, Bereket fished around for something pink. “I hang it.”

I lifted her onto my shoulders and helped her place the tank top on the shaky clothes line.

“He take my photo?” Bereket pointed in the direction the man had gone.

“Not this time, love. Too bad he left without meeting our glamorous Bereket. Let’s go take your photo out by the roses. We’ll see what Hatty’s up to.”

With Bereket perched on my shoulders, I headed around the corner of the orphanage’s main building.

We found Hatty sitting on an old quilt spread across the ground under a tree. Tigist sat beside her playing with an array of new toys that had arrived in the mail from her Uncle Henri and Aunt Adela. Tigist looked up intermittently as Hatty read “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus.” The sweet sound of accented English floated through the air as the children shouted, “No!” “You can’t drive!”

She finished reading and closed the book. “Hey! Do you want to take over? I’ve got a deadline this afternoon. I promised my editor I’d send my column by 8:00 p.m. their time,” she said, looking calm and radiant even as she stared down a killer deadline for one of the world’s biggest publications.

Hatty’s holistic approach to orphan care, which focused on programs to keep children with birth families, earned her widespread respect. Her testimony last month to a congressional subcommittee in Washington, D.C. focused on ways to eliminate the need for orphanages like the one we now ran in Aleta Wondo.

“Sure!” I said. “But first, I promised Bereket I’d take her picture by the roses.” I pulled the phone from my pocket.

“You stand with me, Hatty?” Bereket held out her hand.

“I will pose with Bereket Rose!” Hatty said in a sing-songy voice as she approached us.

“My name is not Rose!” Bereket protested with a smile.

As they stood laughing and discussing the merits of changing Bereket’s middle name to Rose, I snapped photos. On my phone’s screen, I saw a child and a mother, a mother whose arms enveloped every child in the orphanage, whose heart was full of love for children she did not birth but who belonged to her all the same.

Special thanks to Hayley Stone for being an amazing critique partner and friend. Many other writers and editors assisted me at various stages with encouragement or feedback. I want to thank Naomi Hughes, Bob Stephens, Michelle Hauck, Lora Douglas, Esher Hogan, Margarita Montimore, Laura Heffernan, Anne Lipton, and Jessa Russo.

I want to express my deep appreciation to Curiosity Quills for publishing my book. I’ll never forget the moment I saw the comment from Alisa Gus on my Pitchmas entry: she wanted to see the first few pages of INCONCEIVABLE. The next thing I knew, I had a request for the full manuscript from acquisitions editor Vicki Keire. I can’t thank you enough, Vicki, for seeing the potential of my manuscript and advocating for its publication. I love the vision that Vicki and Alisa have for the romance genre and the fact that it’s big enough to include books like INCONCEIVABLE. I’m exceedingly grateful for my super talented CQ editor, Christina Ferko, who helped me take the manuscript to a whole new level. Christina, you were the perfect editor for this book. Thank you for bringing such a personal touch to your reading and editing of INCONCEIVABLE. I’m forever grateful. I want to also thank Matthew Phillips who designed my book’s gorgeous cover. Alisa Gus said it best: it’s stunning! Many tips of the hat to Eugene Teplitsky, Andrew Buckley, Nikki Tetreault, Clare Dugmore, and the rest of the CQ team who work passionately to put outstanding books in the hands of readers. I appreciate your patience and kindness as we journeyed together to “birth” my book. You’ve made my dream of being a published author a reality! I love being a part of the CQ family, and appreciate my fellow CQ authors who generously share their expertise. You guys are tops!