I know. It’s been two months since I posted to this story. Life has settled back down a bit, and I can put writing back on my daily schedule. If you’re reading this right now, thank you so much for sticking with me. I appreciate your support more than you can know.
(The next chapter is outlined, and I hope to have it up within a few days)
“At this rate, we’ll be finished with plenty of time for me to get some sun.” Trixie’s voice trilled in the air outside the clinic as she nudged past Barbara on the mission steps.
“Trixie, must you keep going past me? I’ll never get rid of this headache.” Barbara grimaced and rubbed her forehead. “I knew it would be hot, but this is ridiculous.”
“Take an aspirin, silly. Even a glass of water will help. You’re probably dehydrated.” Trixie was immune to the heat, it seemed, and had little sympathy for the young nurse.
“I don’t want to take from their supplies, Trixie. You heard Dr. Fitzsimmons. If we start using up tablets, there’ll be none left for the patients. Especially with that horrid Sergeant coming by to raid the mission.”
Trixie spun around and stared at Shelagh, her eyes wide. “I still can’t get over how you dared, Shelagh! That man was truly frightful. He practically threatened us.” Two days had done little to diminish the sense of foreboding the man had brought with him.
Shelagh picked up the last of the wooden examination screens Fred was working on and handed them to Trixie. “We didn’t come all this way to wrap sprained ankles, that’s all there was to it. Now, these screens are the last of it. If you two can set them up around the tables, the hall will be all set for tomorrow’s clinic. Fred, you’ve been very helpful. We’ll miss you when you’re working on the well.”
“Happy to be of service, Mrs. T. I just hope Reverend Hereward is able to drum up as much help as we’ve had here in the clinic.” Fred, unlike Trixie, felt the heat sorely. “If you won’t be needin’ me, I’ll take my leave of you ladies until dinner.”
Shelagh waved the tired man goodbye and watched as Trixie and Barbara disappeared through the mullioned doors with the examination screens. She felt a wave of satisfaction come over as she considered how much they had accomplished already. A working clinic had risen up from the barren hall in a few short days, ready to handle a semi-weekly influx of patients. If only they could be certain the patients would come.
Dr.Fitzsimmons seemed less optimistic about the success of the Hope Clinic. Over dinner the evening of DuPlessis’s visit, she had explained why.
“The trouble is, the people won’t come to us. Indeed, many will only call on our help when they’ve tried all else. It’s taken me years to build up enough trust to walk among them.” Her eyes traveled around the table. “No matter how smart we make the clinic look, or well-stocked its supplies, if they won’t come to us, it’s all useless.”
In the days since, Patrick had accompanied Fitzsimmons on her calls in an effort to make the locals feel more comfortable with the upcoming changes, and several of the nurses and nuns joined the Mission’s workers on calls out in the community. Each night the teams returned no more confident in their success.
Shelagh sighed. Her hopes for a rejuvenation of her husband’s spirits dimmed, and she wondered if perhaps she had been wrong to encourage him.
“Mama!” a well-loved little voice called across the yard.
Shelagh turned to the sound and lowered herself as Angela ran to her. The little girl’s arms hugged tightly around her mother’s neck.
“I am most sorry, Mrs. Turner,” Kholeka told her as she joined the two. “I did not know you would be out here. Miss Angela woke from her nap and was quite insistent that we take a walk. We shall leave you to your work.”
With a chuckle, Shelagh shifted her daughter into a more comfortable position on her hip. “Oof, Angela, you’re getting too big for Mummy to carry. It’s fine, Kholeka. We’ve finished for today, anyway. You go on home if you like, I’ll take this little angel now.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner. My mother will be very happy to have another helper at home. Oh, and Mrs. Turner,” she added as she began to leave, “Jacob Arends wanted me to tell you that he will have that cot with the bars you wanted for you tonight.”
Shelagh smiled her thanks and watched the young woman walk towards her village. Kholeka’s skills at handling the precocious Angela had proven to be the key to Shelagh’s own success since her arrival at Hope Mission. She sent a small prayer up for the peace of mind brought about by good childcare.
“Daddy will be happy to know that,” she teased her daughter. “But I’m afraid Timothy may not be!”
“Timofee!” Angela cheered.
Shelagh glanced up at the schoolhouse door. “It’s just about time for the school to let out, Angel Girl. Shall we go wait for your brother?”
At that moment, the doors opened and two rows of quiet children, smallest to tallest, streamed from the building. Ten measured and stately paces from the door, each child would let out a whoop and run home. The oldest of the children, Timothy was the last to leave, accompanied by Utitshala.
The elderly teacher called to Shelagh, “Mrs. Turner! Your Timothy is soon to learn all that I know. Today he explained to me the role of human psychology in the treatment of medical illnesses.”
Shelagh laughed. “Careful, Utishala. He may try to use that psychology business to get out of his maths homework!”
A low rumble rose from the road, and they all turned their heads to the gate.
“Ah-hah! My friend Steven has returned!” the old man came down the last of the steps and moved to greet the new arrivals.
The gears ground loudly as the truck came to a stop. A young man, a year or two older than Timothy, climbed down from the truck and grabbed a small satchel. His face was lit by a wide grin as he greeted his teacher.
“Utitshala! I passed!”
The driver of the truck joined them. “He did more than pass. The judges were so impressed by his speech they assured me he’ll get a position at the Academy.”
“That is most excellent news, my young friend. You shall make your mother very proud.” Utishala’s eyes gleamed with his own feelings of pride and his voice shook. His chest filled with air and he straightened his spine. “You have earned this honor, Steven Obi. No man has given this to you, and no man can take your accomplishment away. Ever.” With his last words, his voice became steely.
A look passed between teacher and student, and then the moment passed. “Steven, I must introduce to you our new friends from England. Mrs. Turner, whose husband has the great honor of being an old friend of Dr. Fitzsimmons, her daughter Angela, and her son Timothy. Turners, please allow me to introduce Master Steven Obi, soon to be of the Lovedale College. And also, Mr. Makepeace, of the British diplomatic corps, our friend and ally.”
Timothy extended a friendly hand. “Thank goodness you’ve come back. We’re starting derivatives in calculus and I’m completely lost!”
There was a slight pause before Steven returned the gesture. “I am happy to be back. Perhaps tomorrow we will start from the beginning? Utitshala has no head for the higher maths. I fear he has done much damage already.”
Mr. Makepeace laughed. “I think perhaps you might regret introducing this pair, sir. “ He turned to Shelagh. “Mrs. Turner, we’re very grateful your team has come to get our clinic started. Please don’t hesitate to call on me for any assistance you may need. The British consul is glad to finally have a reason to assist in this region. Since the creation of the Homelands, it’s been difficult for us to intervene in any constructive way. I can promise you to act as a shield between you and the more … obdurate forces at work here.”
Shelagh nodded. “Yes, we’re beginning to understand what we’re up against, Mr. Makepeace. Will you be staying here at the Mission? I know my husband would be pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I’ll be here for the next few days, but then I’ll have to move on. The SAP doesn’t like when we interfere out here.”
Utitshala nodded his head and turned back to Steven. “Now run off to your mother and tell her your news, my friend. Tomorrow we shall return to our study of the American, Abraham Lincoln. I will need you to bring all your wits to keep up with our new student.”
Steven laughed, his natural friendliness emerging. “I shall, sir. And I must thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mr. Makepeace. All our efforts here would be for nothing if you did not come to our aid.”
The two shook hands. “It’s my great pleasure to be at the start of greatness, Steven. Remember me when you’re at the top.”
The small group watched as the young man headed down the dusty road to his home. Not tall, and of a slight build, he walked with the purpose of a leader.
Mr. Makepeace’s voice broke the quiet. “There goes our best hope, Utitshala.”
“Yes, indeed.”
My Little Yellowbird 