Free Angel of Mercy by Lurlene McDaniel Page A

away in my scrapbook like I do other things in my life. But I don’t think I can, Ian.”
    He grinned and touched her cheek. “That’s the way it happened for me, too. I came once. It changed me. And now I come again. But this time,
you
have come.”
    “And that makes you happy?”
    “Yes. Because you see Africa not only with your eyes, but with your heart. Coming here is not about bringing people medicine and supplies. It’s not about doing good deeds for needy people. It’s not even about taking a man’s land and showing him how to plant it so that his crops grow tenfold. We do all these things, for sure. But that’s not what it’s all about.”
    He took a deep breath. “It’s about changing lives. And the first life that changes is your own.”
    She couldn’t deny anything he’d said. At the moment, all her reasons for coming seemed shallow and incomplete. They had been good reasons, but somewhere along the way, they had begun to grow roots. She didn’t know how deep the roots would go. Nor did she know how she’d ever rip them out and return to the life she’d once lived.

    On Saturday, Dr. Henry took a group into the city, and while he met with friends and church leaders, the group was free to wander. The first place Ian took Heather was Kampala’s post office. “It’s the only place that has a phone line outside the country,” he explained. “If you want to call home, you’ll have to wait in line along with all the other foreigners and make your call.”
    A foreigner. That was what Heather was in Africa. She hadn’t thought of it that way before, until he’d said it. But she
was
a foreigner— one who wanted to hear her family’s voices very much. “I feel like ET,” she told him wearily after an hour’s wait in line. “You know, I want to phone home, but I can’t.”
    Ian grinned. “I know what you mean. And then if no one’s home, it’s a letdown. It’s my father’s habit to prepare his sermon for Sunday on Saturday, so I know he’ll be in.”
    Heather wasn’t sure anybody would be at her house, since it was seven hours earlier in Miami. Her heart sank as she realized that Amber was probably out. “Well, I don’t care if all I get is the answering machine. I want to hear a familiar voice.”
    When it was finally her turn, Heather stepped into the old-fashioned wooden booth and closed the door. The air hung stale and sticky. She dialed the string of numbers that would get her into the United States, then Florida, then Miami. Because of the daily power failures and lack of phone lines, she could no longer use her laptop to e-mail, so this might be her only chance to reach home for a long time. The phone rang until she was almost ready to give up.
    At last she heard a breathless “Hello.”
    “Amber? It’s Heather.”
    “Oh my gosh! Is it really you? I can’t believe it! How are you? Where are you?”
    Emotion clogged Heather’s throat. “I’m in Uganda. It’s the middle of the day and I—I have so much to tell you, but not much time to talk.” She explained her e-mail problem, then asked, “Are Mom and Dad there?”
    “No, they’re out,” Amber said.
    Heather felt the keen edge of disappointment. “Since I can’t e-mail anymore, I’ll have to start writing letters. Tell them—” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Tell them I love them and miss them.”
    “We miss you, too.”
    “I almost hung up. I thought you’d be out too.”
    “I’m grounded. Dylan and I stayed out past curfew last weekend and Dad blew a gasket. Jeez, you’d think he could cut me a little slack now and then. I’m going stir-crazy around here.” Amber paused. “Promise not to tell a secret?”
    “My lips are zipped.”
    “I sneaked Dylan in. We’re watching videos and swimming in the pool.”
    “You shouldn’t—”
    “Don’t lecture me. Dad is such a pain these days. Let me tell you what happened yesterday. And it wasn’t my fault either.”
    Heather held on to the receiver,