Leaves of Hope (7 page)

“Gaborone is a good city for new people,” the driver observed. “Did you find a house?”

“I toured several and sent the information to my clients. They selected a home in Mokolodi.”

“A fine area! I am certain this house will have many large rooms and a big yard.”

Beth smiled at his obvious pride in the city. “In fact, there are five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a wonderful kitchen and a swimming pool.”

“Ow!”
he exclaimed in the Setswana expression of amazement. “How can your clients be unhappy with such a fine house? And they will place their children in the Westwood International School, of course. The school owns forty hectares of land, and all the classrooms are air-conditioned. It has a twenty-five-meter swimming pool and cricket nets. The fees there are very high, but not for Americans.”

Beth nodded, recalling the well-equipped school that provided the children of diplomatic personnel, businessmen and missionaries with a solid education. For a man like the taxi driver, the school’s laboratories, library, computer center, auditorium and gymnasium must seem like an extravagant luxury. Yet his voice held no tone of resentment. Rather, he exemplified the pleasure all Batswana seemed to take in their country’s progress and success.

“We have the Princess Marina Hospital here in Gaborone,” he was saying. “It is a good hospital. You have already seen our international airport, named for our first president, the late Sir Seretse Khama. Also, in Gaborone and even in Francis-town, we have excellent hotels, and markets for buying food and clothing.”

Beth leaned forward, arms on the seat in front of her. “I’ve been very impressed with your city,
Rra.
I believe the Furman family will be happy here.”

“Are they indeed Americans?”

“Yes. The husband is a scientist, a geologist. Your government has hired him to help determine where to build dams and lakes that would help supply water during droughts.”

The driver fell silent as he maneuvered in traffic. Finally he spoke again. “The droughts are brought to us by God,
Modimo,
who lives in the sky. His rules should not be broken, or He will send retribution. God is very kind and understanding. But He does not approve of those who disregard Him.”

Beth considered his words. Most of the people she had met in Gaborone considered themselves Christians. But their theology allowed for spirits and manifestations of past pagan belief systems. She certainly didn’t want to offend the friendly driver, but Beth had never been good at keeping her thoughts to herself.

“Do you believe God would punish people for trying to ensure they had water during the droughts?” she asked.

“God has established rules,
Mma.
In Botswana, we have drought and rain. These two seasons were given to us by God. Who are we to believe we can change them?”

“Perhaps God Himself has decided to send Dr. Furman to help the Batswana. If God truly cares for His people, how could He want them to suffer during the droughts?”

“All people must die,
Mma.
If they have been good, God will welcome them after death. If they have been bad, they must be sent to a terrible place. This is God’s rule. It cannot be broken.”

“
Rra,
I believe something different about God. I believe He loves change. In fact, I believe God sent His Son Jesus to earth to break all the old rules. He came to set people free from rules.”

In the rearview mirror Beth saw the taxi driver’s eyes widen. Clearly, he considered this idea revolutionary, and therefore suspect. Oddly, his expression reminded Beth of her mother’s face when they discussed her taking the job with the moving company. Jan Lowell didn’t like change any better than this taxi driver. As different as they were, both believed God had set up a system of rules that shouldn’t be broken. If a person broke a rule, he or she must suffer the consequences.

“I do not wish to show disrespect,
Mma,
” the driver said. “But my church teaches that Jesus, though He is the Son of God, is the same as God. Why do you say that Jesus came to earth to break God’s rules?”

“Do you believe God is great?”

“God is greater even than Sir Seretse Khama, and he was the greatest man who ever lived.”

Beth smiled, noting again the reverence with which the Batswana regarded their first president. “Yes, God is so great and so holy and so perfect,” she told the driver, “that He could not allow people even to look at Him. He spoke to Moses from a burning bush in the desert. He killed men who touched the box where His laws were kept. And God did set up rules that people had to follow to earn His forgiveness—by sacrificing animals on an altar to pay for their sins. But God was not satisfied with the sacrifices of the people, and He didn’t like the distance that separated Him from those who loved and honored Him.”

She paused as the driver steered his taxi through the airport’s main gates. Then, praying that God would give her the words, she went on. “So, that’s why God sent His only Son, Jesus. God did away with the old rules. He said we didn’t need to sacrifice animals anymore, because Jesus took their place on the altar.”

“You are speaking of the cross on which Jesus died.”

“Yes,
Rra.
And when Jesus died, His sacrifice gave us new life, you see. We’re free from death. We can change and grow and become new people by following Jesus. Do you believe this?”

The driver pulled his taxi to the curb and switched off the ignition. “I do believe Jesus died on the cross and came alive again. But how can any man become a new person? This is not possible.”

“I believe it is not only possible,
Rra,
but it is required.”

His dark eyes assessed her. “I cannot change the color of my skin or the tribe into which I was born. How can I be a new person?”

“By releasing your own spirit and allowing yourself to be filled with the Holy Spirit of God. He will change you on the inside,
Rra,
and that’s how you’ll be a different person.”

The driver’s mouth widened, and his white teeth shone in the sunlight as he smiled at her. “I know what you are telling me! It is like the snake that sheds its skin. The snake may look the same as before, but after shedding the skin it is different.”

Beth nodded and gave a little shrug. “Yes. The Bible promises that if any man is Christ, he is a new creation.”

The driver adjusted his meter and took out a receipt book. “You are a wise woman,
Mma,
” he said as he handed her the slip of paper, and she gave him a stack of
pula
in return. “I hope you will return to Botswana very soon. If you come back, perhaps you will ride in my taxi, and we can talk about God again. Until that day, I will consider this situation which you have presented to me—a God of rule-breaking who wishes for His people to change.”

As Beth slipped out of the taxi, she wondered if she had made a mess of the man’s whole theology. Obviously, he had been to church, and he understood about Jesus. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut and let someone better qualified explain things to the driver.

He was lifting her suitcases out of the trunk of his car and setting them on the sidewalk. Beth pulled out the handle on her rolling bag and settled her smaller case atop it. As she started for the terminal, the driver touched her arm.

“These are fierce things which you have spoken,” he said, holding up a single finger. “Very strong and powerful ideas. If you are correct, perhaps God will be happy to permit your American client to help Botswana in the times of droughts. And…perhaps I, who carry the Slim disease in my body, can become a new man.”

Beth caught her breath. “Oh, but you must understand,
Rra—
”

“I understand that I will die from this illness. But you have taught me that if I replace the inside of myself with the Spirit of God, at the time of my death, only the old skin will be shed. The new man will live with God forever.”

Her eyes filling with tears, Beth clasped the man’s hands in her own. “Speak to your minister about this,
Rra.
He will help you understand it better.”

“Thank you,
Mma.
Good day to you.”

As he climbed back into his taxi and shut the door, Beth grasped the handle of her bag and headed for the terminal. Nothing had to stay the same, she thought. Not an African taxi driver with AIDS, and not Bethany Ann Lowell.

J
an held her hand on the telephone receiver, closed her eyes and lifted up a quick prayer. She hadn’t been in the mood to pray much these days, but this situation called for divine help.
Please let Beth answer her phone.

For days now, Jan’s calm demeanor and hard-won sense of peace had been crumbling like a stale cookie. She couldn’t put her finger on the cause. Certainly Jim Blevins played a part in her discomfort. The man always found some excuse to drop by. Trixie evidently required five or six walks a day, so the pair were always sauntering past Jan’s house, interrupting her reading, her gardening, even her painting. One day she barely resisted the urge to soak them both with her hose.

But Jim and Trixie could be tolerated. So could the air conditioner, which suddenly gave out on the hottest day of June. Then a blocked kitchen sink drain necessitated a call to a plumber. Next came the unexpected visit from the pastor of a nearby church.

One Thursday afternoon, Pastor Mark Jackson and his wife had dropped by with a box of Stella d’Oro daylilies thinned from their garden. Apparently someone from the lakeside neighborhood had mentioned Jan’s landscaping efforts. Pastor Mark thought of his overgrown lily bed and decided to take her an offering for her new garden. Although she had made up her mind that she no longer needed church fellowship or sermonizing, Jan had visited Pastor Mark’s congregation in the small town of Palestine the following Sunday and found it to be a warm and welcoming group. Unfortunately, the neighbor who had told the minister about her turned out to be Jim Blevins—which meant Jan had to sit next to him during the worship service.

Overneighborly neighbors, a broken air conditioner, a plugged drain, a persistent pastor…Jan’s life was getting more complicated than she liked. She had borne everything in stride until yesterday afternoon. She had been doing some leisurely shopping. When she and her cart arrived at the hair care aisle, Jan glanced at the central shelf, expecting to find her usual shade of permanent coloring lotion, Desert Sunset.

The brand and hue could always be found in every grocery store in the area, right between Amazon Lily and Auburn Glow. But not this time. Desert Sunset was gone. Vanished. Jan had stared at the other two boxes for a moment in disbelief. They had been renumbered, completely omitting Desert Sunset. She dug through the two rows of dye boxes for the shade she had been using at least ten years. Nothing. Feeling as though a trusted friend had just disappeared into the witness protection program, she stood gulping and trying not to cry as she gave up the search.

What could this possibly mean? Had Jan Lowell been the only woman in the world to use Desert Sunset? Had studies shown it to be unpopular? Or too brash? A silly or unnecessary color? Should she write to the company and beg for its reinstatement?

Trembling at yet another shift in the axis of her world, Jan had reluctantly dropped a box of Auburn Glow into her cart, waited through a checkout line and then driven back to the cottage on Lake Palestine. By the time she got home, her dismay had turned to indignation. She plopped down on her sofa and punched the toll-free number of the company into her phone.

“Where is Desert Sunset?” she demanded of the woman who picked up the line at the customer relations department. “I’ll have you know I’ve been using Desert Sunset since my first gray hair, and now it’s not in the store. You’ve renumbered all the boxes! You haven’t left room for my color!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Desert Sunset has been discontinued. Auburn Glow is the shade most women have preferred since we reconfigured our line. They’re very similar.”

“But Auburn Glow isn’t my color. It’s not the real me, don’t you see?” Even as she said the words, Jan realized she was ranting about a dye…a mask actually intended to disguise the real her, who was graying and forty-five years old and somehow attractive to a man with a portly dog and several grown grandchildren.

“I’m sorry you feel uncomfortable with the company’s decision,” the customer relations person said, “but I would encourage you to give Auburn Glow a try. I think you’ll be pleased with it.”

“I will
not!
How can you expect me to alter myself just like that? I was Desert Sunset one day, and I’m supposed to step out my door the next day as Auburn Glow? That’s ridiculous. Don’t you think people will notice that I’ve changed? Don’t you think they’ll see the difference?”

“The changes in dye lots are subtle, ma’am, and I assure you that—”

“This is not fair, and it’s not right. You don’t eliminate something like a color. Colors ought to stay the same. A woman’s hair is important to her, and your company should know that. My hair color is
me.
It’s who I am, and you cannot…you simply can’t expect me to change. I’ve changed enough…I’ve been through too much…and you can’t think that I’ll be able to…to simply…”

By that time, she was sobbing in great, loud gulping hiccups, so she hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands. That was it, then. Desert Sunset’s demise was her undoing. But the issue was not hair color, really. It was the loss. The terrible, irredeemable loss of herself.

As she hunched over on the sofa and wept, all Jan could think about was how Beth had turned and walked away. Just like Desert Sunset and John and even Thomas Wood. Gone. Vanished from Jan’s life.

Why? The unanswerable question sat atop everything that had tried to destroy Jan. Why had her daughter fled? What had caused this seemingly unbreachable rift between them? Nothing. Nothing except Thomas, who had really been nobody.

Oh, why had Jan ever let that boy into her life? It had been his fault for holding her and kissing her so passionately that her every reserve had melted away. He had not given a single thought to anything but satisfying his own desire. For that matter, neither had she. The two of them, crazed with nothing more than plain old-fashioned lust, had thrown every ounce of caution right out the window of his car.

And not just once. That would have been bad enough. But no, they had acted like a couple of squirrels chasing each other around a tree, through the branches, back and forth. Jan went after Thomas. He went after her. They were insatiable, never giving more than a passing consideration to the consequences of their behavior.

Then look what had happened.
Beth.

Those days with Thomas had been the final rash and heedless period in Jan’s life. From the moment she discovered she was pregnant, her world had changed irrevocably. Each day, each month, each year revolved around the single task of keeping everything under control. Marrying John Lowell. Earning her teaching certificate and graduating from college. Tidying her home and cooking nutritious meals. School and church and the garden club. Order. Security. Stability.

Change was not a good thing. As Jan had sobbed her way through the loss of Desert Sunset, she knew she had to put the most out-of-control part of her world back in order. She had to fix things with Beth.

Today, with her hair Auburn Glow—a much darker shade—Jan searched through her purse for her daughter’s cell phone number. “I don’t know where you are, Beth,” Jan whispered as she opened the address book on her knee, “but you had better answer this time. Dear God, please let Beth talk to me.
Make
her talk to me.”

Probably, it was not a good idea to order the Lord around, Jan realized as she punched in the number. On the other hand, did He really even listen? There were only a few times in Jan’s life when she had prayed earnestly, from the very bottom of her heart—and God hadn’t answered any of those prayers. She had prayed not to be pregnant, but Beth was already on the way. She had prayed for John to live, but he had died. So what was the point in asking God nicely?

“Hello? Mom?” The voice on the other end sounded groggy. “What on earth? Why are you calling me at this hour? It’s three in the morning in Nairobi.”

Beth was to have been in Botswana for three weeks, wasn’t she? “I’m sorry, honey, but I never know where you are or what time it is there. Did I wake you up?”

“Actually, no. I’m sitting in the Nairobi airport. I’ve been here all night. My flight to London was canceled, and none of the passengers was allowed to leave the terminal.” The sound of Beth sipping something came through the receiver. “It’s so dry here. I’m just exhausted.”

Her heart aching with the instant urge to protect and comfort her daughter, Jan’s face softened. “I’m sure you are, sweetheart. Isn’t Botswana near a desert?”

A sigh of impatience. “The Kalahari desert crosses Botswana, but I’m not there anymore. Nairobi is the capital of Kenya.”

“My goodness, Kenya? What are you doing there? I don’t think you mentioned anything about Kenya in your last e-mail.”

“I’m passing through. My flight out of Gaborone took me to Nairobi. I should have been able to get right on the plane to London but…wait, hang on a sec…”

After a pause, Jan heard Beth’s voice say, “Excuse me. Excuse me, sir, but that’s my bag you just put your feet on.”

Jan could hear a deep male voice in the background. And then Beth spoke again. “I realize I’m not using it at the moment, but it isn’t a footrest. My clothes are in there. Now move them.”

The man’s voice sounded again, but Jan could not make sense of his words. When her daughter spoke again, she sounded annoyed. “This is so irritating. The airline won’t announce the next flight to London. All the passengers have been sitting here since seven last night, just endlessly waiting. There’s nothing to eat in the terminal, and we can only buy warm soft drinks. I could scream.”

“Is someone bothering you?” Jan pictured her pretty daughter sitting there in the airport. Beth had turned out to be so beautiful. Tall, thin, sculpted. Her thick, straight brown hair fell in drapes and sheets that slid like maple syrup across her shoulders when she bent over. It would be no surprise if some man was trying to draw her attention.

“It’s all right,” Beth said. “Mom, why did you call? Is everything okay? Are Bob and Bill okay?”

“Everyone here is fine. Really, we’re all doing very well. I just…well, I wanted to talk to you. It’s about the problems we were having before. You know…when you were visiting at my house.”

“Okay, Mom. But I’m not going to apologize for opening the box, if that’s what you want. It had my name on it.”

This was Beth, her mother realized. Of course she was intense. She had to be—living in New York and working at such a strange job and becoming so successful at an early age. But she had always been that way. Confrontational. Blunt. Ever determined to stick to her guns. She took everything so seriously—unable to move on if she couldn’t have her way. As a toddler, Beth had once chewed up a cardboard puzzle piece that refused to fit into a puzzle depicting Winnie the Pooh with a honey jar on his head. Jan had discovered the wad of damp gray paper, dried it under the pressure of a stack of books and then put it back in the box.

That was a long time ago, Jan thought. Another time, another place. Yet the essence of her daughter was the same. Never mind that Jan had specifically said to leave the boxes in the bedroom alone. Never mind that no guest should ever go snooping around in someone else’s closet. Beth wouldn’t apologize, and Jan was just going to have to accept that if she wanted to reconcile with her daughter.

“What I wanted to tell you about was
him,
” Jan said. “Thomas Wood.”

“What about him?” Beth’s voice was softer.

“I know you can’t understand why your father and I made the decisions we did. And you don’t seem to want to accept that even Nanny agreed with us. We all felt it was best to let you believe John was your birth father.”

“Mom, you were going to tell me something about Thomas Wood.”

Brash. Cutting right to the quick. Oh, how had such a blunt creature emerged from that pink bedroom with the ruffled lace curtains?

Jan swallowed, trying to remain calm. “I wanted to talk to you about…to tell you how…or why…” She shook her head, trying to remember the way she had planned the conversation. “The thing is, you see, Thomas Wood is dead. I thought I ought to explain about that, so you would understand. Then you’ll know.”

“I’ll know how he died?”

“Well, you’ll understand that he’s not worth searching for. Not that Thomas was worthless. That’s not what I’m saying. He was a good man. But, Beth, he’s gone now, and you need to accept it.”

“Are you really saying I should just leave it at that? Why should I?”

“Because you need to go back to being the way you were before. You need to forgive your dad and me, and even Nanny, and get on with your life. I want you to let it all go. Let
him
go.”

“Tell me how he died.”

Jan steeled herself against her daughter’s harsh tone. Taking out her reading glasses, she slipped them on and scanned the sheet of paper she had saved…hidden with Thomas’s old letters at the bottom of her jewelry box beneath ropes of pearls her mother and grandmother had worn.

“When he left Tyler, Thomas had a job in Sri Lanka,” Jan said. “It’s an island near India. Ceylon is what it used to be called. They grow tea there. Thomas was in the tea business, you see. That’s why he bought me the antique tea set. He thought it was wonderful…tea.”

“Okay,” Beth said, a long question mark buried in the word. “So he went to Sri Lanka.”