hospital veranda, two cans of soda in her hands. “You look like you could use a drink,” she said, handing Leah one. Kaylene had come straight from the surgical suites. She was wearing green cotton scrubs and a paper surgical hat that framed her round, good-natured face like an old-fashioned mobcap.
The soda wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm, either. Leah accepted it with a grateful smile, popped the top and took a long swallow. “Thanks, I needed that.”
Kaylene sank into the chair next to Leah’s. “I’m getting too old for this. I should be thinking about retiring and playing with my grandchildren, not hiking off to the back of beyond to play Florence Nightingale.”
“I thought you told me you came on the mission to get away from your adorable crumb crunchers.” Kaylene had five grandchildren, all under the age of seven and all living within a few miles of her home. Leah had gathered from the pictures Kaylene showed her that the little ones spent as much time as possible at Grandma’s house.
“I did. But now I miss them. I even miss my husband.” She grinned and settled into the chaise with a sigh of relief. “Sixty-eight surgeries in eight days. It might not sound like an awful lot back home, but under these conditions we must be setting some kind of record. How’s your pituitary tumor doing?”
Early that morning Adam had operated on one of the Vietnamese nurses whose infertility was likely caused by a tumor of the pituitary gland. The tumor was benign and the surgery had gone well. Their patient was already awake and alert “Adam thinks she shouldn’t have any trouble conceiving now.”
“Another little miracle. Justifies my aching back and feet.”
Leah murmured agreement. The sun had dropped from sight behind the mountains that surrounded the valley where the hospital and several small villages were located. The air had already begun to cool. At dusk the church bell would ring to call Father Gerard and the sisters and their flock to prayers. Evening here was the most pleasant time of day. It reminded her a little of Slate Hollow with the smell of wood smoke in the air, the laughter of children at play and dogs barking in the distance.
“I really should bestir myself to take a shower before the hot water’s gone,” Kaylene said a few minutes later.
Leah lifted her hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her braid. “That does sound like a good idea.”
“The only problem is I’ll have to get out of this chair to do it.”
“You know you hate cold showers.” The hotwater heater that supplied the showers was ancient and unreliable.
Kaylene took another swallow of her soda and swung her feet off the chaise with a groan. “You talked me into it. I also have to do some laundry. I’m not celebrating Thanksgiving with dirty undies. Hello, Doctor.”
“Good evening, ladies.”
Leah turned her head, but she didn’t have to see him to know it was Adam. She nodded hello, not trusting her voice.
“Is there something you need in the operating room, Doctor?” Kaylene was from the old school of nursing. She didn’t call any of the doctors by their first names.
“Everything’s perfect in the OR and you know it,” he said with one of his rare smiles.
“Just making sure, because once I get out of these scrubs, you’re not getting me back into them for forty-eight hours.” There were no surgeries scheduled the next day in honor of Thanksgiving.
Kaylene went back into the hospital, leaving Leah and Adam alone on the veranda. Leah stared down at her soft-drink can. Adam stared out into the compound. The church bell began to chime.
“It’s time for mass,” Leah said unnecessarily.
“Don’t let me keep you.”
“I wasn’t planning to attend.”
“Then would you care to come with me to the orphanage?”
The nursing sisters ran a small orphanage together with a school in another building about half a mile away. Leah, Kaylene and one of the doctors made the trip down the road at least once a day to visit the children and check on their patients.
“Has something gone wrong with My Lei’s shunt?” The six-month-old girl had been born with a condition that caused fluid to build up on her brain. Five days ago Adam had implanted a shunt, a tube to redirect the excess cerebrospinal fluid. She had been doing well ever since, but any kind of surgery was risky for an infant, especially brain surgery.
“She’s fine,” Adam said quickly. “But I promised Sister Grace I’d check on her today. If you’re too tired or you still don’t want to be alone with me, just say so.”
She’d hesitated too long in answering his invitation. He was impatient with personal interaction, she was learning, as though he spent little time in idle conversation. It was only a few minutes’ walk. Surely she could keep her feelings under control and her hands to herself for that length of time. “I’m always tired,” she said. “But I’m not worried about being alone with you.” It was the first mention he’d made of that afternoon in the OR. The first for her, too. She stood up and walked to the screen door.
Adam stepped in front of her and held it open. Leah searched for a topic of conversation. “Have you seen B.J. today?” she asked as they passed the church and headed for the roadway.
“Not today, but it’s obvious by the sound of your voice he’s hatching some new scheme, and he’s got you as excited about it as he is. Am I right?”
“You seem to know him very well.”
“We’ve been friends a long time. What is it? A new program to revolutionize the Internet? Although I didn’t have you pegged as a computer geek.”
“I’m not.” She laughed. “I use one, but I don’t understand it.”
“Don’t tell me he’s planning to try and fly a hotair balloon around the world. No, that was last year.” He smiled. “I give up. What is it today?”
“He told me he has a new project he’s working on—containerized hospitals. They’ll fit on the back of a semi-rig or you can sling them under a helicopter and drop them just about anywhere in the world. Pod-Meds, he wants to call them. Completely selfcontained and fully equipped operating rooms with labs, X ray, physical therapy and even water and electricity.”
“What about a stable blood supply and competent follow-up care?”
“I didn’t say there weren’t problems. Big ones. But that’s where people come in,” she said. “To donate blood, solve the problems and teach others how to care for themselves.”
He looked at her and smiled, but it didn’t lighten the shadow behind his eyes. “Never underestimate the power of a dreamer. You and B.J. are two of a kind.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
“I do, too. I hope he brings it off.” This time his response seemed more genuine, heartfelt, and his smile took her breath away.
They walked in silence, listening to the sound of children’s laughter carried to them on the smoky air. “I always marvel at how wonderfully happy these children are—except for love, they have so little,” Leah said as they moved into the shade of the tall stands of bamboo that grew beside the road where the humid air felt ever so slightly cooler.
“Family is important to the Vietnamese. They’ll do just about anything for their children. Even children like My Lei who haven’t got much of a future.”
“I wish there was something I could do,” Leah said, thinking aloud.
“You’ve done plenty already.” Adam’s tone sounded harsh, resigned.
Leah kept her eyes on the track. “But it isn’t enough.”
“With a case like My Lei it’s