Read Online Over the Waters by Deborah Raney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah Raney
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her before returning a watchful eye to the conveyor.
"Yes." She was having a hard time reading the man. He seemed preoccupied. She suspected he was just making conversation to be polite, but she decided to take a risk. "Is it your first visit here, too?"
"Yes. First time." He started to say something else, then sucked in a deep breath and lurched for a bag that had appeared on the belt. "Aha! There it is!" He hoisted the bag from the conveyor and plopped it beside his other bag. He turned to her. "Still no luck, huh?"
Valerie shook her head.
The man wrestled the two bags into submission, balancing the smaller one atop the larger. "Well, good luck."
"Thanks."
He turned and started for the exit. She watched him walk away and her hopes sank to her feet. She wanted to run after the stranger and beg him to help her. She had no idea where to begin the process of submitting a claim for lost luggage. Pastor Phil and Betty Greene, the missionaries who ran the orphanage, had warned her that security would not allow them to meet her inside the airport. She couldn't ask their advice without leaving the premises. And if she left without her bags, she might not be able to get back in to retrieve them when they did show up.
Twenty minutes later, the conveyor was empty and her last thread of hope unraveled. Her bags hadn't made it. They'd probably been routed wrong in Dallas. She sighed and shot up a prayer before rolling her small carry-on down the corridor. She followed the dwindling crowd to what she hoped was the exit. As she walked, she kept an eye out for the American stranger. If she saw him again, she would stop him and ask his advice.
She found a ticket counter and pleaded her case with the woman behind the desk. She prayed she didn't have to test her pathetic smattering of Creole. "My bags--my luggage--apparently didn't make it," she said.
The woman obviously understood her, clicking her tongue as she would at a forgetful child, and answering in English. "You must fill out papers. Over there." The clerk leaned over the desk and pointed Valerie toward a kiosk several hundred feet farther down. "You see the sign?"
She followed the woman's line of sight and nodded. "Thank you." After filling out a confusing form and being assured they would hold her bags for her, she headed for the exit with her small suitcase and her backpack, glad she'd packed a change of clothing to carry on. Her two bags passed easily through customs and she made her way to the front entrance of the airport.
The sights and sounds--and smells--that greeted her as she stepped onto the pavement outside were intoxicating--and not in an entirely pleasant way. Her nostrils flared at the strange mingling of frying fish, diesel fumes, garbage and, over it all, the distinct smell of raw sewage.
She held a tissue to her nose and shaded her eyes, searching the crowd for the elderly couple she had only seen in a blurry photocopy.
But there they were! Their silver heads and fair skin stood out like beacons amid the sea of ebony faces that swarmed outside the fence.
She waved in their direction and they smiled and gestured wildly, motioning her to go to an opening in the fence a few yards from where she'd exited the airport. Once outside the fence she was instantly surrounded by children, mostly boys. White teeth grinned up at her from shiny coal-black faces.
"Madame, one doll-ah please?" They all seemed to shout at once in their thick Creole accent. "Please, Madame," they begged. "One doll-ah? Please," a small boy implored, his right hand outstretched, his left rubbing his tummy.
It broke Valerie's heart. She looked desperately at the couple hurrying toward her now. She longed to give the boys something. After all, she'd come to help. But there were so many of them--dozens of them! If she gave even one dollar to each of them, she wouldn't have the money she needed to pay for her keep, and to get back home.
"Go on, move away!" Phil Greene scolded the children
"Yes." She was having a hard time reading the man. He seemed preoccupied. She suspected he was just making conversation to be polite, but she decided to take a risk. "Is it your first visit here, too?"
"Yes. First time." He started to say something else, then sucked in a deep breath and lurched for a bag that had appeared on the belt. "Aha! There it is!" He hoisted the bag from the conveyor and plopped it beside his other bag. He turned to her. "Still no luck, huh?"
Valerie shook her head.
The man wrestled the two bags into submission, balancing the smaller one atop the larger. "Well, good luck."
"Thanks."
He turned and started for the exit. She watched him walk away and her hopes sank to her feet. She wanted to run after the stranger and beg him to help her. She had no idea where to begin the process of submitting a claim for lost luggage. Pastor Phil and Betty Greene, the missionaries who ran the orphanage, had warned her that security would not allow them to meet her inside the airport. She couldn't ask their advice without leaving the premises. And if she left without her bags, she might not be able to get back in to retrieve them when they did show up.
Twenty minutes later, the conveyor was empty and her last thread of hope unraveled. Her bags hadn't made it. They'd probably been routed wrong in Dallas. She sighed and shot up a prayer before rolling her small carry-on down the corridor. She followed the dwindling crowd to what she hoped was the exit. As she walked, she kept an eye out for the American stranger. If she saw him again, she would stop him and ask his advice.
She found a ticket counter and pleaded her case with the woman behind the desk. She prayed she didn't have to test her pathetic smattering of Creole. "My bags--my luggage--apparently didn't make it," she said.
The woman obviously understood her, clicking her tongue as she would at a forgetful child, and answering in English. "You must fill out papers. Over there." The clerk leaned over the desk and pointed Valerie toward a kiosk several hundred feet farther down. "You see the sign?"
She followed the woman's line of sight and nodded. "Thank you." After filling out a confusing form and being assured they would hold her bags for her, she headed for the exit with her small suitcase and her backpack, glad she'd packed a change of clothing to carry on. Her two bags passed easily through customs and she made her way to the front entrance of the airport.
The sights and sounds--and smells--that greeted her as she stepped onto the pavement outside were intoxicating--and not in an entirely pleasant way. Her nostrils flared at the strange mingling of frying fish, diesel fumes, garbage and, over it all, the distinct smell of raw sewage.
She held a tissue to her nose and shaded her eyes, searching the crowd for the elderly couple she had only seen in a blurry photocopy.
But there they were! Their silver heads and fair skin stood out like beacons amid the sea of ebony faces that swarmed outside the fence.
She waved in their direction and they smiled and gestured wildly, motioning her to go to an opening in the fence a few yards from where she'd exited the airport. Once outside the fence she was instantly surrounded by children, mostly boys. White teeth grinned up at her from shiny coal-black faces.
"Madame, one doll-ah please?" They all seemed to shout at once in their thick Creole accent. "Please, Madame," they begged. "One doll-ah? Please," a small boy implored, his right hand outstretched, his left rubbing his tummy.
It broke Valerie's heart. She looked desperately at the couple hurrying toward her now. She longed to give the boys something. After all, she'd come to help. But there were so many of them--dozens of them! If she gave even one dollar to each of them, she wouldn't have the money she needed to pay for her keep, and to get back home.
"Go on, move away!" Phil Greene scolded the children
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