Angel of Hope by Lurlene McDaniel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Lurlene McDaniel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
You can read Heather Barlow’s story in Angel of Mercy, the companion to Angel of Hope.
Copyright Page
To my beloved Mother, who was
called home by the angels, and is now
reunited with my father forever.
See you both when I get there.
Bebe Gallagher
March 1, 1912–September 19, 1999
“The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”
1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)
“If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.”
1 Corinthians 15:19 (NIV)
You’ll want to read these inspiring novels by
Lurlene McDaniel
One Last Wish novels:
Mourning Song • A Time to Die
Mother, Help Me Live • Someone Dies, Someone Lives
Sixteen and Dying • Let Him Live
The Legacy: Making Wishes Come True
Please Don’t Die • She Died Too Young
All the Days of Her Life • A Season for Goodbye
Reach for Tomorrow
The Dawn Rochelle Quartet:
Six Months to Live • I Want to Live
So Much to Live For • No Time to Cry
Other Fiction by Lurlene McDaniel:
Angel of Mercy
Starry, Starry Night: Three Holiday Stories
The Girl Death Left Behind • Angels Watching Over Me
Lifted Up by Angels • Until Angels Close My Eyes
Till Death Do Us Part • For Better, for Worse, Forever
I’ll Be Seeing You • Saving Jessica
Don’t Die, My Love • Too Young to Die
Goodbye Doesn’t Mean Forever
Somewhere Between Life and Death
Time to Let Go • Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep
When Happily Ever After Ends • Baby Alicia Is Dying
From every ending
comes a new beginning. . . .
1
January
Dear Heather,
I hope this letter finds you well rested after your big adventure here in Africa. I also hope you had a blessed Christmas and New Year’s Day. We had an especially nice holiday. Visitors on safari, friends of Paul’s parents in North Dakota, came through laden with two suitcases full of presents from home. Canned goods, flour, real chocolate chips, peanut butter . . . plus piles of gifts. The boys could hardly believe all their loot, but to their credit, they wrapped up many of the gifts and gave them to the kids here at the Children’s Home. It warmed my heart to have them behave so generously. (All without me nagging them either!)
Paul whisked me away for New Year’s Eve in Kampala at the Hilton. Decadent woman that I am, I soaked in a hot tub until I turned into a prune. Missionary life in the bush really makes a girl appreciate such goodies as perfumed soap and real shampoo!
I know you’re anxious about word of Kia and Alice. Kia continues to blossom—thanks to you. As for baby Alice, well, she’s won all our hearts. Both girls are living with us. Yes, it’s crowded, but neither is ready to be assimilated into one of the family units yet.
The girls living in the family units are a big help to me with Alice. They take turns feeding her several times a day, plus give her plenty of hugs and cuddling. Unfortunately, Dr. Gallagher says he doesn’t feel qualified to repair her palate. So I guess it’s up to us and the Good Lord to keep her nourished and healthy until a qualified cranial-facial surgeon arrives from the Mercy Ship when it docks in Kenya this summer. I’m telling you this so that you won’t be worried about her—I know how special she is to you.
We all miss you. You’re one in a million, a bright and lovely young woman who deserves the best. I pray for you every day, that God will ease the ache in your heart and help you resume your life. Follow your dreams— whatever they may be now.
And give yourself permission to mourn for Ian for as long as you like. There is no time limit on grief, you know. None of us will ever forget you and the brave thing you did for Kia and Alice. Please write and keep us informed of your plans.
In His Love,
Jodene
P.S. Ed Wilson is mailing this for me when he returns to the U.S. He says “Hello” and that you’re his hero (heroine) for all time!
Heather Barlow lay on her bed reading and rereading Jodene Warring’s letter, memories of Uganda flashing through her mind like postcards. Some images were wonderful: the exotic beauty of the African landscape, the smiling faces of the children at the Kasana Children’s Home and hospital, Paul, Jodene, their four children, Heather’s friends from the Mercy Ship. Some pictures were frightening: the storm at sea, the sick and dying children in Kenya, her night flight to freedom with baby Alice. And over every picture in her mind’s eye, she saw Ian. His smile. His deep blue eyes. She would never see his beloved face again. He would never hold her again and call her “lass” in his rich Scottish accent.
Sadness engulfed her, and she fumbled for his journal on her nightstand. Thank you, Jodene, for giving this to me, she thought. She ran her hand across the smooth leather surface. It was all she had of Ian now. All she would ever have. She wiped her teary eyes with the edge of her comforter.
She had spread photographs from her months in Africa on her desk, picking and choosing between the ones she would put on her bulletin board and in her scrapbook. Every face that smiled out at her made her long to turn back the clock and repeat every day of her trip. Against her parents’ wishes, she had nixed enrolling at the University of Miami for the winter term. She didn’t feel ready to jump back into her life stateside. And Jodene’s letter had made her feel even less ready. She felt restless, at loose ends, unable to pick up her life where she’d left off before her mission trip.
A knock on her bedroom door startled her. “Yes?”
“It’s me—Amber. Can I come in?”
Heather glanced at her clock radio. Four o’clock. Amber was home from high school, no doubt bursting with trivia she couldn’t wait to dump on Heather. “Sure,” Heather said, putting the journal aside.
Amber came to the bed and sat on the edge, careful not to disturb the rows of photos. “Still going to the movies with me tonight?”
Heather had totally forgotten her promise to go out with her sister that evening. “Uh— sure.” She held up the letter. “This came from Jodene today. She says Alice can’t have her surgery until maybe this summer.”
“That’s not so far away.”
“She needs the surgery now.”
“It’s not your problem, sis.”
“How can you say that? What if everyone took that attitude? Who would take care of these orphans? Someone has to jump in and help, you know. Why not me?”
Amber leaned back and held up a hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you mad. I was just saying that she’s there and you’re here. She’ll get the surgery eventually. What else can you do from three thousand miles away?”
Heather swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Heather had talked nonstop after returning home, certain she could infect her family with her enthusiasm for Uganda, positive that she could persuade one of her parents, both cranial-facial surgeons, to fly over and perform the necessary surgery on baby Alice. But although her parents had listened intently and praised her work, both had said they were overwhelmed with cases in their practice and couldn’t possibly take a leave of absence. Plus, her father was training student doctors in the use of new laser technologies at Miami’s medical school. Neither of them could possibly think about doing pro bono work overseas for a year or more.
Her mother had said, “You know your dad and I want to work in the developing world, Heather. My goodness, we spent years in the Peace Corps, so we know how great the need is for skilled volunteer help. And once we retire, we plan to help out plenty, but for now, we can’t. We have hundreds of patients who depend on us. We can’t just go off and leave them.”
Now Amber was sounding as indifferent as their parents. “I don’t think you can convince them to go right now,” she said. “I think they’d really like to help you out, but they’re not going to disrupt their lives just now. Or lose prospective patients.”
“They make old people look young again,” Heather fired back. “How noble is that? What does it matter if some rich woman gets her face redone when a baby like Alice needs reconstructive surgery to live a better life? And why are you defending Mom and Dad? You’re the one who’s usually at war with them.”
“Well, excuse me if I see their side of the argument. For once I agree with them—you can’t expect them to run off to Africa just because you think they should. You’re not the only one in the family, you know.”
“Well, thank you for your support. But what you’re really saying is this is your senior year and you don’t want anything to rock your boat. If Mom or Dad come to Africa with me, Amber just might be ignored.”
“Whoa,” Amber said, jumping to her feet. “You are majorly off base. School is perfectly boring and I’m forcing myself to even go to classes until June. This past year hasn’t exactly been a picnic for me, you know. Dad’s all over me about college in the fall.” Amber did an imitation of her father’s voice. “‘Have you filled out those admission forms yet, Amber?’ ‘Did you talk to your guidance counselor about the college that’s right for you, Amber?’” She threw up her hands. “Has he ever asked once if I even want to go to college? Has he ever thought I might like to get a job and earn some bucks?”
“Get real. Of course you’re going to college.”
“You’re not.”
“But I will.”
“When?”
“Trying to get rid of me?” Where did Amber get off, trying to make her feel guilty about taking some time to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life? Amber had no idea what Heather had been through during the past six months. “What would you spend the money on, anyway? Your closet is already overflowing.”
“Well, maybe everyone isn’t cut out to save the world like you are. Maybe I’d like to have a good time before I grow old and die.”
Exasperated with Amber’s self-centered attitude, Heather said, “At least you have the opportunity to grow old. I met kids in Africa who’ll never grow old. They’ll be dead from AIDS or TB or malaria before they get out of their twenties.”
“Then maybe I’ll just sit around my room and feel sorry for myself like you do.”
“Out,” Heather said, pointing to the door. “This is my room and I don’t need you sniping at me.”
“I’m on my way. And forget about coming to the movies with me tonight. I’d hate to take you away from your pity party.”
Heather slammed the bedroom door as soon as Amber had walked out. Then she sat and seethed. What was the matter with her family? Didn’t anyone understand what she was going through? Especially Amber. Her sister had always looked up to her, come to her for advice. Now they were at each other’s throats. Why couldn’t Amber understand how the past six months had affected Heather’s life?
She threw herself across her bed, scattering the photographs across the floor. She didn’t care. Amber was correct about one thing: Heather couldn’t return to Africa and make everything right for Alice. At the moment she couldn’t even make everything right for herself.
Her gaze fell on Ian’s diary and her heart lurched. “Why, Ian? Why?” she asked aloud. What had it all been about? Why had she given everything in her heart to the missionary journey aboard the Mercy Ship and to Uganda, only to have it all snatched away? It made no sense. And she didn’t have Ian to talk to about it either. She was going to have to go it alone.
Alone. The word sent a shiver down her spine.
Heather buried her face in her pillow and began to cry.
2
“Why are you acting antisocial today, Amber?”
Amber raised her eyes from the mush on her food tray and looked at Dylan Simms. “I’m in the dumps and didn’t want to inflict myself on anybody else.”
“I’m your guy, remember? You’re supposed to tell me when you’ve got a problem.” Dylan slid into the empty chair beside Amber at the table she’d chosen on the far side of the cafeteria. “So, did you and your old man go at it again?”
Amber stuck her fork upright into her mound of mashed potatoes. “Believe it or not, I got into it with Heather yesterday afternoon.”
“Your sister? The Queen of Good-Deed-Doers?”
“Hey, show some respect.”
Dylan held up his hands. “Sorry. It’s just a surprise, that’s all. You’ve only spoken of her in worshipful tones until now.”
Amber made a face. “Do you want me to talk about it, or do you want me to dump my tray in your lap?”
“Talk. Please. I can’t do this menu twice today.” He rested his chin in his palm.
“We had a big fight, and she must have been really angry because she didn’t come downstairs for dinner. She was asleep when I left for school, but I’m positive she’s still mad at me.”
“What happened?”
“You know how I’ve told you what a hard time she’s having coming back to her real life from Africa.” Dylan nodded. “Well, she had been doing better, but then yesterday she got this letter from the missionaries she lived with over there and it set her off again. She’s totally fixated on that little baby she helped get out of Sudan. She acts as if unless she does something personally to help the baby, the baby will die. And if the baby dies, Heather’s going to feel as if it’s all her fault.”
“And you said . . .?”
“I told her to get over it. There was nothing more she could do. It was time for someone else to take over the project. She wants Mom or Dad to drop everything and zip over to Africa and operate on the baby—which neither one can do. Heather’s sore at me because I actually see their side. I know she thinks I’m insensitive. I’m not, but there’s only so much one person can do. She’s got to realize that she can’t fix everything that’s wrong.”
“You’ve always told me the two of you were different.”
“I don’t want to go out and save the world like she does. I know my limits.”
“Her thing isn’t your thing. And that’s why I love you—you’re fun. We have fun together. Blow off your funk, girl. I’ll take you out tonight. That’ll make you feel better.”
“You know Dad won’t let me date on a school night.”
“So sneak out. You have before.”
Amber sent him a sideways glance. She could tell by his expression that he had lost interest in her problems. “I don’t want to sneak out. I want to get things right with my sister.”
She watched Dylan’s gaze drift toward a group of his baseball buddies coming through the door. He waved them over.
“I’m talking here,” Amber said irritably, wishing he’d be more sensitive to her feelings. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
?
“Didn’t you hear me the first time? No, I don’t.”
Dylan patted her hand. “Look, Amber, from what you’ve told me about your sister, all you have to do is say you’re sorry. She’s probably dying to forgive you.”
Dylan’s friends stopped at the table, and Dylan stood and started talking to them. Amber suddenly felt like excess baggage. It was usually that way when Dylan’s friends came around. She had once accused him of wanting to be with them more than he wanted to be with her, which he’d denied. She sighed. There would be no getting his attention back. She knew too well what would happen next— the guys would talk, Dylan would make an excuse to leave, and they’d wander off in a herd.
Minutes later he asked her, “Mind if I bug out?”
“Be my guest. I was alone before you came over here, remember?”
She watched him saunter off and wondered what good it was to have a boyfriend if he wasn’t around when she needed him. His juvenile buddy bonding was frustrating enough, but he’d practically ignored her concerns about Heather. Amber’s already crummy day had turned crummier. In truth, Heather’s time in Africa had changed her and her relationship with Amber. There was a wall between them that Amber didn’t know how to scale, and although Heather had shared her adventures with her family, Amber got the impression that there was much she hadn’t shared.
For starters, Ian McCollum, the medical missionary Heather had cared deeply about and lost so horribly, was rarely discussed. Just the mention of his name brought tears to Heather’s eyes, as did the photographs of the two of them together. Heather practically slept with his journal under her pillow, reading and rereading it. Growing up, Amber and Heather had shared everything, but not this. Amber felt shut out and cut off.
She came home to the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. She called out for the housekeeper, then remembered it was Dolores’s day off. Walking into the kitchen, Amber found Heather removing a cookie sheet from the oven. “What’s this? You baking?” she asked, genuinely surprised. Most afternoons Heather was hidden away in her room.