Stephen said. “But we come from a small village beside Lake Victoria. Our people were fishermen.”
“Were?” Terell frowned. “You mean they stopped?”
“Sir, the village was burned. My people…are not there now.”
Joshua silently prayed that Terell would take the hint. But subtlety was not the man’s strong suit.
“Headed for refugee camps, I’ll bet. Good thing you got your family out.”
“My children and I are three of only nine people who survived from my village.” Stephen paused in the stairwell, his voice growing low. “When my wife learned that the rebel army was coming, she placed these two—the youngest except for our baby—inside a metal water drum. There were only a few liters remaining inside it, and she put a padlock on the top. Because of rust, the drum had small holes. Through these, the air could come. When I returned to my house, I saw that the roof and walls had burned. Rebels had looted the furnishings. But God protected the drum. Inside it, I found my two children.”
As Stephen spoke the final words, a chill crawled up Joshua’s spine. The drowsy little boy whose head lolled against his shoulder had survived the destruction of his village because his mother had hidden him in a water drum? At their young ages, the kids might have drowned. The burning house could have caved in on top of them. They might have been discovered and killed. The child was a miracle.
“But where were you the whole time?” Terell asked Stephen as the group walked down a hall.
His grunt was bitter. “I was attending a pastors’ meeting in another town. When I heard news of the rebel attack, I rode my bicycle as fast as I could. But I arrived at my village too late.”
“So your baby? What…I mean…Where’s the baby?”
Shaking his head, Joshua realized that Tyrell had never seen the shell-shocked faces of civilians whose lives were destroyed by war and death. His own inability to shrug off nightmares and block memories of events he had witnessed showed how difficult it could be to recover from such trauma.
“My son, Justice, was killed,” Stephen said, the words muffled. “Also my first wife, Priscilla, and my other children, Purity, Hope, Fidelity and Honor. I would thank you, please, that we not discuss this subject further tonight, sir. By God’s grace, I still have Charity and Virtue. I must protect them from the memories of what they heard and saw.”
“Oh, yeah, my brother. We can drop that topic forever.” Terell looked shaken.
The group stepped into a small room outfitted with several beds and a table. Despite its rules, Haven had made provisions for just such an emergency as this.
“You’ve got clean sheets there,” Sam said. “We keep crackers and power bars on that shelf. Towels and soap are in the bathroom, along with paper drinking cups.”
“I could run out for some milk,” Terell offered. “I’d be glad to do it.”
“Water is most acceptable for us.” Stephen faced his benefactors. “May God bless you for your kindness.”
Joshua bent and gently laid the sleeping Virtue on one of the beds. He pulled a sheet and thin blanket over the child. Thumb thrust into his mouth, Virtue barely stirred. Charity, too, was sound asleep.
When he straightened, Joshua noted that Sam and Terell had left the room. Stephen was murmuring to his wife. It was time to leave the family in peace. Yet Joshua needed to speak.
“Excuse me,” he said. The two Pagandans fell silent as Joshua addressed Stephen. “You’re a pastor, then. A Christian.”
“I am, sir.”
Joshua hesitated a moment. “The pain and the loss you feel. The fear, too. I’ve known some of that. God takes care of it after a while. He uses it to make you better. Trust Him.”
Stephen swallowed, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. He nodded slightly, but did not otherwise respond.
“Good night,” Joshua said finally. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
He closed the door and started after Terell, who was questioning Sam as they walked to their shared room. “Did you hear what that guy said? Rebels killed his baby. His baby! That is just wrong. Those other names—were those his kids, too?”
“Yeah, and his wife,” Joshua said, catching up to them.
Sam frowned. “But his wife is with him.”
“Mary must be someone new. He said Priscilla was the mother of his children.”
Terell groaned. “Aw, man, the first wife must have gotten killed by the rebels. Sam, those two kids were locked in a barrel. They could have starved.”
“Or been slaughtered like their brothers and sisters. But they’re alive—that’s the important thing.”
Joshua nodded. “Now the family has to figure out a way to move ahead without the past dragging them down. Like all of us.”
He could feel Terell’s eyes on him as they entered the room. “You think the kids heard their mama being murdered?”
“Maybe. They know she’s dead.”
“That’s terrible, yo. If anybody went after my mama, I’d kill him.”
“Good job. You just described the basic recipe for genocide.” Joshua stretched out on the cot. “Revenge never did anyone a bit of good.”
Sam dropped down onto his bed. “Let it go, Terell.”
“You dudes don’t have any feelings. I can’t hear a story like that and then let it go. Those are my people.”
Sam gave a snort as he switched off the lamp. “They’re not your people any more than they’re mine.”
“They’re black. Africans are my ancestors.”
“And my great-great-grandfather was a Scottish laird. You don’t see me playing bagpipes and dancing a jig.”
Joshua knew he should let the two men hash it out, but he couldn’t resist offering his thoughts. “We’re all connected. Forget skin color and bloodlines. God doesn’t see that. Neither should we.”
“Haven may not have room for everyone,” Sam said. “But we’re here to help the Rudi family. If his wife’s killers walked in here, we’d probably help them, too. Get over yourself, Terell.”
“Me? You’re both loony tunes. The sand in your heads rusted out your brains. Go find a couple of camels, yo. Get on back to the desert where you belong.”
Joshua could hear Sam chuckling. A comforting sound. In a moment, both men began to snore.
Joshua stroked the warm steel blade in his palm. Turning onto his stomach, he slipped the knife under his pillow. It might just come in handy.
Chapter Two
