Stranger in the Night (9 page)

“Shopping?”

Liz knew she should move her hand from his arm. The warmth of Joshua’s skin and the mound of solid muscle beneath her fingertips made her uncomfortable. Yet a sense of peace had paralyzed her. It was the same certainty of power and protection she had known the other night, and she liked it too much to step away.

“Mary was gone ten minutes—tops,” Joshua said. “No time to shop. She doesn’t have money, anyway. Pastor S. told me they made it to St. Louis with seventy-three dollars. Hawke put most of that in the office safe.”

“Maybe she went for a walk—to get some air.”

“She’d have told him. No, something happened. She was outside with us. We had just started work on the new rec project in the empty lot. The Hypes walked by on the other side of the street, and Hawke sent everyone back into the building. Somewhere in there Mary vanished. Pastor Stephen hit the panic button, and Hawke summoned the heat. And now here she comes.”

“I saw those three men outside.” Liz looked into his eyes. “The ones from the other night.”

His body went rigid. “They’re out there? How far?”

“Down the street.”

“Was she with them? Had they gotten to her?”

“Mary? No, they were standing at a distance watching me. She was rushing back to Haven like she’d been out on a mission and wanted to get home.”

“A mission?”

“An errand. Maybe one of the kids needed medicine? Or a toy or special snack? Maybe Mary had seen something in a
store window and wanted a closer look. She’s not a prisoner here, is she?”

He regarded her in silence.

“Maybe she is,” Liz said. “At least she will be until you set the family free. How is that going, by the way?”

“I can’t find the brother. The address in their letter is bogus. No such street. His name isn’t turning up in any phone book or Web directory. Maybe they’ll hear from him one of these days, but until then, they’re all mine. I took Pastor S. and the missus out to apply for jobs yesterday. The best he’s going to do is minimum wage—dishwashing or janitorial. Too bad, because he’s educated and smart. His English isn’t bad, either, once you get used to the accent.”

“Is he willing to work an entry-level position?”

“He’ll have to. And the guy keeps right on talking about starting a church here. Like that’s going to pay anything. He won’t give it up, especially after he learned about the family breakdown and the gang situation. Thinks he can save the world.”

Liz bristled, recalling Molly’s teasing.

“What’s wrong with wanting to make a difference?” she asked. “I admire him. We need more people willing to get involved. And we certainly need someone who can minister to the people in this neighborhood. Cut him some slack.”

“Keeping that dream alive, are you?” He turned his back on the cluster of people gathered around Mary Rudi. Facing Liz, his navy eyes went deep. “Still headed to Africa?”

She looked away. “As fast as you’re headed to Texas.” Before he could speak again, she stepped aside. “Listen, I’ve got to get going. Mary’s safe now, and it looks like you’re taking good care of the family. I doubted Shauntay would show for the hair appointment. Better run.”

He caught her arm and swung her close again. “When am I going to see you?”

Her heartbeat faltered. “Don’t do this, Joshua. We both have plans. And nothing in common. Really, I need to go.”

“Tonight? Let’s do dinner and a movie. Or ice cream, if that’s too much.”

“Thanks, but it’s not a good idea. You know that.”

“I’m not asking for a lifetime commitment.”

For a moment, she couldn’t make herself speak. Everything written on his face belied those words. Joshua Duff
was
looking for a commitment. He wanted a connection…a permanent link to sanity, reality, hope, joy. These things eluded him, and he was seeking them as surely as she was looking for peace.

She stepped away a second time. “If you see Shauntay, please tell her I came on Saturday like I promised.”

Hurrying toward the door, she spotted Sam Hawke waving at her. A tall, thin woman—almost too beautiful for such a gritty setting—stood at his side.

“Liz, come here a second.” He beckoned, and she could do nothing but cross to the edge of the basketball court where they stood. He indicated the lovely, dark-eyed creature in her white blouse and khaki slacks. “I want you to meet Ana. Honey, this is Liz Wallace—the woman from Refugee Hope. Duff’s girl. Liz, this is my fiancée, Anamaria Burns. Excuse me a second while I see Officer Ransom and the other guys out.”

“So nice to meet you, Liz.” Ana held out her hand. “Sam told me about your work with the refugees. I admire you. I’m a reporter for the
Post Dispatch
—which means I spend way too much time in front of a computer screen.”

“I’m at a desk most of the time, too.” Liz shook the woman’s slender hand. Like a giraffe, Ana was elegant and ethereal. No wonder Sam had fallen in love with her.

“I just met Joshua this morning,” Ana said. “Great guy. He and Sam served in the war together. So many stories! I’ve
invited Joshua to join us at my apartment for dinner after church tomorrow. Would you like to come?”

“Oh, thank you, but I’ve got so much to do. The files are endless.” Liz read the disappointment on Ana’s face, but she couldn’t back down. “Maybe some other time. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

“No doubt about that.” Ana smiled. As Liz made for the door yet again, Ana fell in step. “Sam mentioned that refugees from war-torn nations are being resettled in St. Louis faster than people realize.”

“Possibly. Surely the schools are aware. Businesses, too, I’d imagine.”

“It has to be impacting the area. I’m going to talk to my managing editor about doing an article. Could I call you for an interview?”

Liz glanced at the wall where she and Joshua had spoken. He was gone. Letting out a breath, she dipped her hand into her bag and brought out a business card.

“Call me anytime. I’d love to talk about the needs at Refugee Hope. We’re desperate for volunteers.”

“Everyone is.” Ana shrugged. “Haven sucked me right in. I put it off as long as I could. Didn’t want to get involved. You know how it is. But Sam kept after me. Now I teach three writing classes on Saturday afternoons.”

“Three?”

“Poetry, believe it or not. Song lyrics are the draw. Everyone wants to be the next king of hip-hop. We do a lot of rapping.”

Liz laughed along with Ana. The idea of this elegant creature teaching kids how to write the kind of music that thumped from car stereos amused them both.

“You sure you won’t join us tomorrow?” Ana asked as Liz stepped to the door. “Terell is bringing the new youth director from his church. Sam and I haven’t met Joette, so it’s going to
be fun. She doesn’t suspect she’s soon to be the new Mrs. Terell Roberts. It would be great for everyone to get to know you better, too.”

At that, Liz had to stop her. “Listen, Ana, I appreciate the invitation, I really do. But I have to tell you there’s nothing between Joshua and me. I honestly have no idea why he would give Sam that impression. We’ve barely met. A couple of conversations. I dropped off some paperwork here, and suddenly I’m his girlfriend. He’s nice enough, but like I said…Okay?”

Ana nodded. “Sure, Liz. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. I’ll talk to Sam about it.”

“Thanks.” Liz touched Ana’s arm in gratitude, then she pushed the door open and walked out.

Two steps later, Joshua was at her side. “About what I said in there. The thing about a lifetime commitment—”

“I know—and would you stop jumping out at me?” She held up a hand and kept walking. “Don’t worry about what you said. You were just asking me to dinner, and I’m being skittish. It’s no big deal.”

“But what I told you wasn’t true. I’ve tried to convince myself I’m not looking for a lifetime commitment. Not with the military, not with my father’s oil business, certainly not with a woman. But I’m lying to myself.”

Liz paused at the curb. “Joshua, don’t say anything else. Please, just stop talking, would you? Let me go. Let me run at the gym, and work on my files, and help the refugees, and eventually fly away to Africa. I need to do that. It’s what God wants from me. What He called me to do.”

“
Called
you?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you hear God’s voice or something?”

“More like I saw it. I saw the United Nations refugee camps when I was in Africa. I saw the tents and the fences and the
dust. I saw the medical clinic and the feeding station. I even saw where the aid workers live—my own future home. God didn’t have to speak audibly. I knew I was meant to be there. Joshua, I’m going back to Africa.”

“What will you find there?”

“Purpose.” She couldn’t help but falter. “I have a purpose here. I know that. Please don’t argue with me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’m arguing with myself. If you must know, it’s a struggle for me right now. At one time, I knew I was supposed to go to Africa. But now…Why am I telling you this?” She threw up her hands and stepped down into the street. “You’re the one who should be talking. You’ve got PTSD, not me. I’m fine, perfectly fine. I know who I am and what I’m going to do.”

“You’re not at peace about it.”

“Don’t talk to me about peace—you with your tattoos and your buzz cut and your hidden knife. You’re a man of war. I don’t want that. I don’t want you. Leave me alone.”

“Why did you come back to Haven today? I was sure you wouldn’t, but you did. And don’t tell me it was for Shauntay. You knew you’d see me, Liz. You’re as curious as I am about what’s happening here. There’s a connection.”

“No connections. No bonds, no links.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “All right, maybe there is something. But I don’t trust it. Something so spontaneous can’t be right. Besides, it can’t go anywhere, and you know that.”

“Couldn’t we just have fun? Friendship? Ice cream?” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who am I kidding? That’s not going to happen.”

“Goodbye, Joshua.” Liz held out her hand just as Ana Burns had done earlier. “You’re doing a good deed for the Rudi family, and I admire your service to our country. Let’s go our separate ways and do the things we’re meant to do. You have
my card, right? E-mail me from your office sometime. I’ll write you back from my headquarters in Africa.”

Joshua took her hand. He held it for a moment. Then he turned it over and kissed the sensitive skin on top.

“I won’t forget you,” he said. “I’m a Marine—always faithful. You know, Semper Fi and all that.”

With a salute, he stepped back to watch as she walked to her car and drove away.

“I
shall be very pleased to assist in the cooking of these foods.” Pastor Stephen Rudi gave a slight bow of appreciation to the manager of the fast-food hamburger restaurant two blocks down the street from Haven. “Thank you for your kindness upon accepting my application, sir.”

The manager smiled. “Uh, sure. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Mission accomplished.” Joshua set his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders as they headed for the exit that Monday morning. “Slinging burgers isn’t a bad job, and it will introduce you to the American way. You’ll be earning minimum wage with no benefits, but it’s only a matter of time before you work your way up the food chain.”

“The food chain?”

Pastor Stephen held the door for Joshua. Then he led his little wife outside. In her crazy head scarf and enormous glasses, Mary Rudi had followed a good five paces behind the two men all morning. She wouldn’t say a word and knew almost no English, so any hope of work among the public was impossible. In
addition to the language barrier, the Rudis’ immigrant status made them unwelcome. Joshua had displayed their legal documents, passports, visas and work permits to little avail.

As immigrants, they were
different,
he was told. Who knew where they had come from and what they might do? More than one potential employer made it clear he hired only English-speaking Americans. People who spoke a foreign tongue were unwanted and distrusted.

“Our country needs to take care of its own,” one woman had informed Joshua as she cast a wary eye on Pastor Stephen. “We ought to seal our borders and keep these people out. It’s the only way to make sure we’re safe.”

Joshua had refrained from pointing out that America’s prisons were bursting at the seams with her own citizens. But no one wanted these strangers. None but the manager of the fast-food restaurant, himself a second-generation Irishman.

At least one thing about the Rudis could be remedied.

“Hold up a second, Pastor Stephen,” Joshua said. “We have the custom of courtesy here. It may seem a little medieval, but it’ll get you a long way in America.”

“Have I committed an error?”

“No big deal. Just remember that in this country the woman gets treated as an equal. Sometimes like royalty.”

“Like a queen?” He stared at his wife, as if the idea wouldn’t register.

“A man always holds a door for a woman. You open the door and stand aside, she walks through, and then you follow. On the sidewalk, you take the position nearest the street. Keeps your wife safe from muddy car tires and other indignities. And whenever possible, walk together.”

Pastor Stephen shook his head. “My wife will not go along beside me. It is the woman’s place to walk behind. The man
must be the leader. In this way, he protects his family from dangers ahead.”

“Yeah, well, not here. Not while you’re walking with Mary, anyway. Now let’s see how you do with this car door.”

As the two Pagandans discussed the instructions in their rhythmic lingo, Joshua checked his messages. Three calls from his father that morning. Knowing the subject of those communiqués all too well, he deleted them without bothering to listen. He was expected at home.

Since Joshua’s arrival in St. Louis, both his father and mother had phoned countless times to admonish their son for fleeing before they’d had the chance to give him a proper welcome. That meant parties and chitchat and hobnobbing—all among the things he detested most about civilian life.

Not only had Joshua failed to meet his social obligations, but he was needed at Duff-Flannigan Oil. A few weeks before his discharge from the military, his father had reassigned the man who had been running oil field operations. How much longer could the situation continue without Joshua’s presence? The elder Duff had pressed the question again and again. It was time Joshua assumed his rightful position in the company. Family tradition demanded conformity. It was a Duff thing.

“Like this!” he said, with more force than he intended. Both Stephen and Mary had been grappling for the door handle, their conversation heating into an argument. Now Joshua brushed both sets of hands aside, pulled open the door and waved Mary in.

“Mrs. Rudi, you go first,” he said too loudly, and the expression behind her spectacles startled him. Fury. Even hatred.

“Tell her it’s the American way,” he ordered Stephen. “It’s polite. If you two can’t bend your Pagandan traditions about something as small as this, you’re sunk.”

“Sir! You have frightened my wife,” the smaller man said. “Please. She has endured much hardship.”

Haven’t we all? Joshua wanted to drawl. But he kept his mouth shut, indicated the passenger’s seat for Stephen and walked to the driver’s side.

The past weekend had not gone well, and Joshua had made up his mind to leave St. Louis before the next one rolled around.

As he drove toward a janitorial service where he hoped to place Mary Rudi in a cleaning job, he mulled the past couple of days. Saturday morning, the second incident with the Hypes had put a halt to Sam’s outdoor construction project. A large purple gang sign spray-painted on Haven’s wall sometime that night had sealed the deal. There would be no basketball court, playground or pavilion. Not until the street was secure.

Mary Rudi, still traumatized from whatever had happened to her in Paganda, was unable to explain what had separated her from the group that afternoon. Hunkered down on the bed in the little room she shared with her family, she had refused to speak a word. Not even her husband could make sense of the few syllables she muttered. He finally told Joshua that she must have run away in terror when the Hypes showed up. Once she lost sight of her family, she hurried back.

As if Saturday weren’t bad enough, Sunday turned out worse. Watching Sam and Ana cook lunch together had been close to agony. So much in love they hardly noticed their guests, they had laughed and teased each other while tossing a salad and keeping an eye on the curried chicken casserole that had been heating through church. Joshua could think of nothing but Liz Wallace.

Terell, of course, was strutting his stuff for the beautiful Joette Plummer. To Joshua’s amusement, the woman began to melt right before their eyes. Well educated and now in her second position as director of a church youth ministry, she might as well have been a teenager the way she giggled at everything Terell said. He told stories about his NBA glory days and his fall from grace. Then he and Sam regaled both women with tales of their
efforts to raise Haven from the rubble and transform the shattered lives of the neighborhood children.

Impressive stuff. Joshua sat in a chair by the window and thought about the streets of Kabul and the oil fields of West Texas. What had he done with the life he’d been given? What did he have to offer for the future?

“Have we not passed the cleaning service? I saw the sign of the street just one minute ago.” Stephen Rudi’s voice brought Joshua back to reality. And yes, he had driven right by the office advertising part-time work.

A spin around the block took them back to the address. Inside, Joshua again presented Mary Rudi’s legal documents and passport. To his surprise, the manager offered her a job on the spot. Housekeeping positions, it seemed, were difficult to fill in downtown St. Louis. Mary would work a night shift cleaning office buildings.

“She’ll have to ride the bus to work,” Joshua explained to Stephen as they left the cleaning service. “Does Mary know how to do that?”

The two Pagandans conferred about this in low voices, then Stephen turned to Joshua. “My wife says she used to ride a bus from her village to a larger town once a month for shopping. I shall accompany her until she can succeed in St. Louis.”

“Good plan.” Joshua pulled the Cadillac out into the street again. “She’ll be working with a crew of five, so they can teach her the ropes.”

“The ropes?”

“The methods.”

Speak in concrete terms, Joshua reminded himself. Idioms were difficult to translate. It had taken several years for him to understand Afghan humor. He reflected on the beloved Mullah Nasrudin stories, confusing and illogical to Americans but side-splittingly funny to the locals. And Afghan proverbs were so en
igmatic he never had learned to make sense of them. What good was all that now, anyway?

Once again feeling off-kilter in his own country, Joshua handed a sheaf of instructions to Pastor Stephen.

“Mary will be emptying trash, dusting shelves and vacuuming floors. Routine work. A landscaper takes care of the indoor plants, so she won’t have to do any watering or feeding. A window-washing company does all the glass in the buildings. Mary will get regular breaks, too. She ought to take some spending money along if she wants to buy something to eat. Every building will have snack machines.”

Again, the Pagandans discussed the situation. Each time they talked, it appeared to Joshua that Mary’s unhappiness increased. Sprinkling her complaints with a liberal dose of grunts and mumbles, she didn’t care for anything her husband had to say.

But when Stephen reported back, he made no mention of his wife’s discontent. “We do not understand the meaning of
vacuuming,
” he said. “Is this a type of American floor washing?”

Joshua pictured the concrete or dirt floors on which the family must have lived in the villages and then in the refugee camp. “A vacuum is an electric machine for cleaning carpets. You plug it in, press a button and it sucks up dirt.”

“Sucks dirt? Pardon me?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to explain. Trust me, it gets the job done. Mary’s supervisor will teach her.”

As he drove back toward Haven, Joshua was pondering the wonder of the vacuum cleaner when a sign caught his eye. Veterinary Clinic. He made a hard right and pulled the car to a stop.

“I think this is the place Hawke mentioned the other night,” he told Stephen. “They took Duke to the emergency vet here. I’m going to check it out. You and Mary want to come in with me?”

“We shall await your return.” Pastor Stephen cast a quick
glance at the woman in the backseat. “I believe my wife is eager to return to our home.”

“About that. Haven is not your home, Pastor Stephen. Sam and Terell have let you stay on there because I’ve assured them I’ll move you out by the end of the week. Don’t get too comfortable, okay?”

“Oh, we are not at all comfortable.”

Joshua had his hand on the door, but now he leaned back. “You’re not? Something wrong?”

The man bent his head. “Not wrong, but also not right. My wife’s brother led us to believe he had a good home for us to share with him in St. Louis. He wrote that he would help me find a church to serve as pastor. Indeed, he promised us good work and much success here. Now we find that our circumstances are quite different from these expectations. Had we known this, we should have remained in Atlanta. There is a large Pagandan community in that city.”

“I’ve done everything I can to find your brother-in-law. I’m sorry.”

Stephen nodded. “I also am sorry.”

“Listen, Liz Wallace mentioned the need for spiritual direction among the refugees here. Not to mention the whole gang thing going on. I’m not sure there are many Pagandans in St. Louis, but maybe Liz could introduce you to some of the other Africans she has helped resettle. There must be a lot who speak Swahili.”

“I would appreciate this very much. You will place the call?”

Joshua hesitated. “You’ve got her card, right? Here’s my phone—and by the way…don’t call Paganda.”

Stephen was smiling and pressing buttons as Joshua crossed the sidewalk to the clinic. He opened the door and a familiar antiseptic odor slammed him. Instantly, he was whisked to his base’s medical facility. He reached for a chair near the door, leaning onto its back for support.

Post-traumatic stress disorder,
a voice echoed through his head. Those words had been repeated again and again to the group of men and women with whom he had served on the most dangerous assignments.
PTSD. PTSD.

Your Global Assessment of Functioning Responses meets the screening criteria for this mental disorder.

Mental disorder?

No way.

You qualify for mental health services now and after you’re discharged. Please seek help.

The antiseptic smell—a trigger. A spurt.
Shake it off, Duff.
He could get through this transition on his own. The triggers would come. The nightmares, too. He knew the symptoms. Concentration problems. Fatigue. Sleep disturbance. Hyperarousal. Depression.

And everyone’s favorite. Avoidance behavior. Yes, he would avoid almost anything that forced him to deal with it. But now a chorus of yips and howls from the distance brought him back.

He was not in Afghanistan. Not on base. He was here in America. St. Louis.

“May I help you?” The voice of a young woman behind the front desk pulled him the rest of the way out.

“I’m here to check on the status of a dog. Duke.” Recalling now the cause of the injury, he found it hard to meet her gaze. “He’s a German shepherd.”

She pressed buttons on a keyboard and searched a monitor. “Oh yes, Duke came to us with a knife wound. Punctured lung. He’s had some fever, and the doctor put him on antibiotics. Come on back.”