Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [81]
She could smell the dew of the morning mingled with the pungent exhaust from the idling old station wagon. Feel the heat of the sun on her head and shoulders, the scratchy upholstery against the tender skin of her thighs, the irritating wetness above her lip, evidence of a runny nose, her emotions barely held in check. She heard the irregular rattle of the car’s aging engine, her own sniffs and hiccups.
Snatches of dialogue came in an onslaught against her ears. They erupted like gunfire, and she cringed.
“Please, Daddy. I could have school right here. Mommy can teach me.”
“You have to go—it’s what’s best. Most importantly, it’s what God wants.”
“But maybe … maybe God’s wrong this time.” As soon as she let the words slip out, she knew she’d committed a grave mistake.
Her father leaned down on one knee, looking her right in the eyes. Narrowed his gaze. “Never say that again, Michal. You know God reveals his will to us. After we’ve prayed and sought him through Scripture. He’s never wrong, never. God will take care of you, don’t you believe that? Your mom and I are trusting God. Now it’s your turn to trust him too, Michal.”
“But what if I get sick? Who will put a cool cloth to my forehead?” In her rising anxiety, her questions came faster, her words staccato and sharp: “What if my tummy doesn’t want food again? Who will make a special broth and feed it to me?” The tears formed suddenly, pushing out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Who will—?”
Her mother’s voice now. “Michal, enough. We’ve been through all this. I would come if you got really ill, but you’re not going to. You’re going to be fine. This is God’s will, Michal, and you will stop this right now. Be brave like all the others before you—like your grandpa when he was your age. And your dad and his brothers and sisters. Are you going to be the first McHenry not to accept the importance of our work here in Ethiopia? And that this is the only way we can stay, doing what God’s called us to do? Don’t you care about the unbelievers here who need Jesus?”
And then she felt the good-bye, the closing scene. The obligatory hug that merely left her feeling vacant. Longing for more, for … something. Never the melding that Michal ached for from her parents, when the contours of two flow one into the other. Instead, this hug was instruction, correction in euphemistic form.
The recurrent dream changed at this point, switching venues, and she shivered violently. She was underwater; it was pitch black and she was gasping for air, grasping for what taunted and teased just beyond her reach. And then she woke, bolting upright in bed.
Michal’s heart pounded and she panted as if she’d been running. Blinking her eyes and attempting to orient herself, she stared at the curtain, watching it flap softly against the sill. A motor idled from a car outside her room. She took a deep breath and reassured herself, Calm down. It’s okay. You’re not in Ethiopia. You’re in your dorm room, at school, in the States.
“Michal, you okay? That’s the second nightmare you’ve had this week.” Beth, Michal’s roommate, peered at her curiously from the other twin bed.
Michal flopped back onto her pillow. Stared up at the ceiling, faintly visible in the early morning light. “Bad memories. But yeah, I’m okay.” She turned to view the alarm clock on her desk, then flipped over and groaned, complaining, “Except for the fact that I’ve got to get up. I don’t know. I’m just not getting much out of chapel lately.”
“Me neither. I really don’t want to go this morning.” Beth frowned, making a face like she’d sucked on a lemon. “It’s a missionary today.”
“Oh, yeah. Where’s he from?”
“Don’t remember. Don’t want to.”
“Wasn’t it Chile? You’re not interested?”
Beth’s face registered