Free Over the Waters by Deborah Raney Page B

creating their own advertising jingle. A woman balanced a heavy pitcher and a collection of battered tin cups on a tray. "She makes her living selling water by the cup," Betty Greene said. "And whatever you do, don't ever buy from her."
    "Why?"
    The older woman chuckled. "Didn't anyone tell you? You'll need to drink bottled water. Your stomach won't be accustomed to all the bacteria beasties here."
    "Oh. Of course." Valerie had read the warning in the information she'd been sent, but her mind was spinning, trying to take in everything at once.
    She turned her gaze back to the city streets outside the window. Every pedestrian and many of the bicyclists carried personal cargo of some type. Gaunt burros served as beasts of burden, clopping along beside women and children who balanced baskets and plastic buckets gracefully atop their heads. Their containers overflowed with anemic-looking fruits and vegetables, grains and bread. Water sloshed from some of the buckets.
    Goats and dogs seemed to roam the streets freely. Once, when traffic came to a standstill, Valerie looked down a narrow alleyway to spy a pig rooting in a garbage heap swarming with flies. Beside the pile of decaying refuse, a stunning magenta bougainvillea bush blossomed.
    As they neared the outskirts of Port-au-Prince, the landscape changed. Here the countryside was stark and barren. Scruffy palm trees poked up occasionally amid the rubble and rubbish that littered the terrain, but the earth was brown and devoid of grass.
    Valerie was tempted to let the desolate landscape paint her attitude with the same drab brush, but then she started watching the pedestrians who seemed to be everywhere. The Haitian people were the flowers on the landscape, more than making up for any appearance of dreariness. Their garments were in brilliant reds and yellows, rich purples and aquas. They wore tropical prints and paisleys together in pleasantly clashing combinations. And the wide smiles the children flashed punctuated their musical chatter.
    Once, when they slowed to let another vehicle pass at a crossroads, several young boys clambered onto the back bumper of the Volkswagen and peered in through the windows. She waited for the Greenes to stop and reprimand them, but Pastor Phil drove on, gunning the engine as though he had no clue of his stowaways. Valerie held her breath as the boys rode several hundred feet before bailing off as the van picked up speed.
    The Volkswagen bounced along for another twenty minutes, then turned sharply onto a street that would barely have classified as an alley in Kansas City. Pastor Phil slammed on the brakes, and Valerie gasped and grabbed the back of the seat as they narrowly avoided running down a teenager balancing a wheelbarrow filled with cinder blocks. The boy merely laughed at the close call, and bumped his cargo on down the lane.
    In her mind, Valerie composed an e-mail to Will: Dearest Will, I've discovered an adrenaline rush better than anything you've ever experienced. So there! Nanny nanny boo boo. She smiled at the childish thought, but she suddenly missed Will dreadfully. She wondered what he was doing right now. Had he thought of her as often today as she'd thought of him?
    "We're almost there." Betty Greene's voice broke through the encroaching loneliness, reminding her that she had made a decision--one she knew was right. She would not look back.
    The Volkswagen turned onto an even narrower lane and drove alongside a high cement block wall. Excitement rose in Valerie. She could scarcely believe she was here. A bright sign announced Orphelinat d'Espoir.
    "Hope House is here on your right," Pastor Greene said, glancing at her over the back of the driver's seat. "You can see that you will be safe here. The gates to the compound are always closed and locked."
    He turned into the drive, announcing their arrival with three sharp blasts on the horn. Behind the bars, a Haitian man trotted toward them and swung the gate open.
    Something on