The morning had been spent cleaning the plane, wiping down its wings and tail, inspecting the controls surfaces, checking for problems. The day before, Hanley and Jumma worked the inside of the plane, Hanley in the cockpit and Jumma in the cargo area and the space behind the rear bulkhead. Hanley finished the day making a list of items he believed they would need to help secure the women and children they would be bringing to the mission; blankets, water and juice, bags for anyone experiencing airsickness and some toys if they could find any, which he doubted. The first-aid kit Hanley kept on the plane was sitting on the ground outside, waiting to be taken to the mission once they were through with today’s work. Hanley had a list of items he wanted added to the kit, a list Sister Marie Claire would be filling from the mission’s supplies. Fully aware the nun would change the list, if not discard it altogether and use one of her own, he made one anyway.
Bending over to pick up the first-aid kit, Hanley wondered why he didn’t walk away from Sister Marie Claire and her plan to save these people. His doubts now seemed limitless. This is the definition of real recklessness, he told himself over and over. He was now afraid, really afraid. He now believed it was out of control. He carried apprehension and the feeling of not being in charge of his life as he would carry a fever. Hell, he had only known her for a little over nine months. Why had he committed to do something so stupid to someone he barely knew? Had she been waiting for someone to come along, someone like him, someone gullible or dumb enough to be manipulated as she had manipulated him? How long had she been waiting?
Hanley picked up the first-aid kit and called to Jumma to gather his things, telling him they were going back to the mission. As Jumma retrieved his clipboard, pen and his water bottle, Hanley locked the plane’s rear door and strode to the Land Cruiser. He was now mad and wanted some answers. Jumma barely made it into the old vehicle before Hanley gunned the engine and drove off toward the mission, leaving a cloud of dust, which the wind carried to cover the nose of the plane Hanley had so patiently polished ten minutes earlier.
The truck slid to a halt near the clinic, Hanley leaping from the truck before it was completely stopped. Seeing Sister Marie Claire reading something on a clipboard, he crossed the room and asked, “How did you know I would do what you wanted, to agree to fly to Kosti? Did you know? Well, did you?”
Hanley was standing, close to the nun who turned her back to him as he questioned her. They were alone inside the clinic. The late afternoon sun was shining on the counter where a box of gauze sat warming in the sunlight, waiting to be placed in the first-aid kit from Hanley’s plane.
“Yes, I knew. I had been praying that someone would come to help me. Before you came, the church relied on the UN and others to bring us supplies and doctors. Then word came that someone had volunteered to bring his plane to help us. I knew then that God had heard me. I knew then that I had a chance to do what no one else seemed willing to do. So, when you came, I started making plans. I was confident you would agree. Why else would God deliver you to me? God would not send you here and then tell you to refuse. I did not use you, God used you. God will use you to help these people.”
Hanley’s anger was growing. He felt used and stupid. “Wasn’t it lucky that God sent you someone dumb enough to be led around by the nose?”
“Luck was not involved. I do not believe in luck. There is only the will of God, nothing else. You are an instrument of the Lord’s will and plan. Accept your fate for it is a good one and a good cause. You are an angel with wings, only your wings are metal. They shine in the sun as well as any wings in heaven. Do not question the will of God. Remember, this has all happened for a reason. Be glad you have been chosen to be a part of it.” The nun turned toward the door and walked away. She stopped in the doorway, turned toward the American. Her right hand gripped the door frame and she swayed a bit as she looked at him. Her expression was a mix of weariness and determination. She said, “We have only a few days left before we go to Wad Madani. Please believe in this. It is important that you do. God will not let us fail; he would not do that.”
“It’s not God I’m worried about,” Hanley said
***
Two days after her talk with Hanley alone in the clinic, Sister Marie Claire rode in one of the mission’s large trucks to Rumbek. Driving was one of the doctors, a large Yugoslavian with dark red hair, a crooked nose and a large droopy mustache. Hanley said the doctor looked like an American cartoon character named Yosemite Sam. She did not know who that was.
The truck cab was hot and the doctor was talking about football, a game the nun loved, but did not want to think about now. Trying to ignore the doctor, she suddenly thought about Sister O’Brien and her love of
