Page 89 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
“Oh, my—” Edith flung herself out of bed, scrambling as far away from the arachnid monster as possible in a bedroom the size of a closet. “Is that a tarantula?”
“A baboon spider,” four-year-old Annika said, petting the creature as if it were a baby bunny instead of an eight-legged demon. “Mom says they’re poisonous.”
“Wonderful,” Edith said, clutching her chest. “And I bet your mom would also say to drop it. Not here,” she added a beat too late.
Edith watched the spider fall, as if in horrid slow motion, onto her foot. Her bare foot. Her bare foot that obviously had a very strong survival instinct, because it punted the furry beast against the opposite wall with the might of an NFL field-goal kicker on the fifty-yard line.
Which was apparently not the best move. As soon as the fat sucker smacked the tile floor, Sam, the middle sibling, began booting the hostile predator like they’d started a rousing game of kick the can.
“Stop!” The rabid sack of venom flew past Edith’s shoulder. “Don’t!” The hissing creature whizzed past her ear. “Enough!” The vile alien bounced off her thigh. “I’m telling your mother!”
That did the trick. Everyone, including the concussed spider, fled the room. Edith didn’t waste any time slamming her feet into her shoes. Well, she didn’t waste any time once she’d shaken her shoes a dozen times to ensure no other spiders lurked inside.
Sweet mercy, those three kids were going to be the death of her—assuming a spider didn’t get her first.
Inhaling a couple of deep breaths, Edith waited for herracing heart to slow. At least drop below a hundred and fifty. Talk about a morning wake-up call. Who needed coffee when you shared housing with the three Reddy children? Their love for nature knew no bounds. And since they were homeschooled by a mom who excelled at turning that passion into a hands-on curriculum, Edith never knew what to expect.
Three days ago, Edith’s breakfast ofputu paphad landed in her lap when an African goshawk flew through the open kitchen window, much to the children’s squeals of delight. And Edith’s... well, squeals of fright. But in her defense, the African goshawk is apredatorybird. Nobody would have trusted that pointy beak swooping past their head. Nobody but the Reddy children, at least.
Edith dressed and readied herself for the day. After sharing a bathroom and kitchen in a three-story residence with a revolving door of hospital staff, volunteers, and visitors whose degree of cleanliness varied as much as their consideration in noise level, she had to admit, spiders notwithstanding, living with the Reddy family this past month had been a welcome reprieve.
But enough was enough.
Edith’s shoes kicked up puffs of dirt as she hustled along the path that led from the little housing community of health-care workers to Ithemba’s Organizational Headquarters—a rather fancy title for a converted storage shed that more than one mama goat had used as a maternity ward when it was time to deliver her babies.
“Hi, Siyabonga. Sorry, honey. Not today.” Edith waved to the petite girl hawking her grandmother’s vegetables from theside of the road. “Oh, fine.” Edith spun back, digging into her pocket to cover the cost of two tomatoes.
But that was it. No more delays. This five-minute walk could take an hour if Edith didn’t avoid all the well-meaning interruptions from local villagers.
Forty-five minutes later, hefting four pumpkins, two tomatoes, a leather key ring, and a woven grass mat into Ithemba headquarters, Edith conceded she hadn’t done a great job avoiding all the well-meaning interruptions.
“Kaya—” Edith banged a quick knock on the door with her elbow, then rushed inside to unload her armful onto the chair across from Kaya’s desk. “Sorry to barge in like this, but we need to talk.” In addition to homeschooling her children, Kaya Reddy had served as Ithemba’s operational manager the past five years. More importantly, she was the closest thing Edith had to a friend.
Leaning back from her desk, Kaya dropped her reading glasses onto a folder with a sigh. “I heard about the spider incident. I’ll have a talk with the kids.”
“It’s not that. It’s—wait. How did you hear about the spider incident?”
“Edith, everyone in the village has heard about the spider incident. In fact, one of our patients in labor told my husband about the spider incident right before he started her Cesarean a half hour ago.”
“Stop it.” Kaya was joking. Of course she was joking. But sometimes Edith marveled how similar this village was to Westshire. Namely in the manner of how quickly—and falsely—news tended to spread.
“Listen,” Edith said, shoving the pumpkins aside to makeroom in the chair. “I hope you know how grateful I am to volunteer for your organization. I don’t regret coming here. Not at all. I mean, my goodness, I don’t have to tell you how beautiful and amazing this area of South Africa is.”
“No, you certainly don’t.” Kaya nodded to the view past her window, where scattered beige rondavels dotted gentle slopes of green, disappearing into deeper shades of scattered forest. A stunning view. And that didn’t even account for the picturesque beach that couldn’t be seen from this window.
“But...?” Kaya asked, dragging out the word.
“But...” Edith adjusted the grass mat beneath her rear end. “It’s been six months. I can’t help wondering when I’ll get the chance to do something important.”
Kaya folded her hands on top of her desk and peered at Edith over her clasped fingers. “What makes you think you aren’t already doing something important?”
“I paint toenails.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know, but you get what I’m saying. Isn’t it time I do something bigger? Like drive to Mthatha the next time a patient needs an emergent supply of blood or something?”
“You didn’t make it past the first curve in the road the one time we sent you for Twizza.” Their local version of Coke. “As I recall, it took six people to push you out of the mud.”
