Lindsay McKenna
To those men and women who served or are presently serving in the U.S. military. Your sacrifices, patriotism and protection of our country does not go unnoticed. You are all heroes and heroines in my eyes and heart. Words are inadequate for all that you have done or do for us. Thank you for your service.
Aly Landon would never get used to the heavy Brazilian humidity that cloaked the Amazon jungle. It was as if a visible mist surrounded them. She rode her bay gelding along a path between the spindly trees and dead leaves that littered the gently sloping hill. Above her was a triple canopy of trees, effectively shutting out the sunlight. She missed the sun more than anything. Maybe because she’d been born in San Diego, California, a warm and desertlike city sitting on the sparkling Pacific Ocean.
She heard the snort of Juan’s mule, which he lovingly called Loco—Crazy. Juan Vinas, a Barasana Indian, was in his mid-forties. The man always had a smile on his face. He’d been a godsend to her and the Healing Hands Charity for whom she worked as a nurse. Juan could speak the language and he knew enough English and Portuguese to translate for those who were sick. For Aly, he felt like a beloved uncle and he doted upon her as if she were one of his own children.
Looking up at the cool morning, she loved the way the silent fingers of clouds lowered and wove in and out of the trees just above the canopy; it reminded her of a silent, graceful ballet. Were these soft, undulating fingers clouds or fog? They glided softly through the tallest of trees, slow-motion dancing to an unknown music, but Aly saw the rhythm of it, nevertheless. She loved Brazil’s jungle whether her Marine Corps brigadier general father thought it a safe area or not.
Her heart turned over and Aly felt sadness mixed with grief. Touching her nurse’s uniform, a light blue smock she wore with her light blue slacks, she suddenly frowned. Aly hadn’t heard from her powerful military father in almost three months. But then, he never had paid much attention to her. All his hopes and dreams had been set on Adam, her older-by-two-years brother. Only...he’d died with her mother in a car crash that had taken their lives. Aly had been the only survivor, overcoming massive internal injury. That had been a nightmare year for her. And her father had gone into deep shock over the losses.
When Aly had needed holding the most, he was mired in his own grief to understand that a little twelve-year-old girl in a lonely hospital room ached for her father more than ever before. As always, Harrison Landon was never there for her.
Pushing tendrils of chestnut hair away from her face, Aly dropped the reins on her gelding and made sure her ponytail between her shoulder blades was nice and tight. The path was wide, created thousands of years ago by the local Indians as they’d hunted the jungle for birds, reptiles and wild pigs. The call of tropical birds at this time of morning was music to her ears. Often, Aly wished she could record it. Monkeys howled and screamed nearby, calling out warnings, hurting her ears. They were so noisy and bothersome to the placid, mystical-looking landscape.
She brightened, looking forward to this visit to the village where Juan had been born. There were seventy-five people who still lived in the grass huts. Today, she was going to examine three women who were at different stages of pregnancy. She loved helping pregnant women and new mothers. Babies just made her smile. She would never get enough of holding them, kissing them and cuddling them. In some ways, she had the best job in the world. She brought medicine, knowledge and help to the Indians who had always relied on their medicine man or a shaman. While she didn’t pooh-pooh such healing, Aly knew she brought another tool to their healing chest. Best of all, the Barasana always welcomed her with open arms.
And although it would take her a month to make a complete circuit of the ten villages, there was always a celebration when she and Juan walked into any one of them. It was nice to be wanted, Aly thought warmly, a soft smile on her lips. Wanted, loved and respected.
Juan was lustily singing one of his songs she couldn’t understand. But sometimes when Loco got peevish, the mule would balk. Or bite. And Loco loved Juan’s songs. All of them. And the mule would continue to walk. Aly grinned, turning in her saddle, her hand resting on the rump of her horse. Juan grinned brightly, waving at her. He walked about twenty feet behind her. Aly smiled and wished she knew his language. He was teaching her and she was catching on. Singing meant so much to Aly. In school, she’d always been in the choir.
Her
