Behind the Veils of Yemen Read Free Page A

letter inviting us to our conference.
    Kevin had raised his eyebrows.
    “My verse for today,” I explained. “Isaiah 61:3.”
    My excitement grew as we navigated the Richmond roads that were wet and black in the headlights of the van shuttling us from the airport. Spiky arms of stripped-down trees pointed the entrance to the hotel. We drove in and unloaded, crunching dead leaves underfoot as we rolled our luggage toward the lobby. The autumn night felt chilly, but I do not remember whether I shivered more from the cold or from my anticipation of the events that lay ahead.
    We met other missionary candidates at the check-in counter. We all seemed to be talking more than we would in different circumstances and laughing at things that at another place and time would not have been funny. Those standing next to us began to share information about the places they would serve and the positions they would fill. We did the same, swapping photos of our children as we waited for room keys.
    Inside our room, Kevin and I tore into the information packet we had received at check-in.
    “What is on the schedule for tomorrow?” I scoured the packet over Kevin’s shoulder.
    The conference schedule was full, with little time between appointments and seminars. The day we faced the next morning would be no exception. We were scheduled for psychiatric interviews at eight, followed by complete physical exams and meetings that extended into the evening.
    Kevin studied the Richmond map. “Looks like Old Marle Road is the quickest way to the psychiatrist’s office.”
    I nodded as I pressed my khaki trousers with a steam iron. I left navigation responsibilities to Kevin. I could get lost in my own neighborhood. I finished ironing, and we readied ourselves for bed, turning off the light by eleven. We were determined to be rested, with our mental capacities at their best.
    Two hours later I awoke to hear Kevin vomiting in the bathroom. “The potato soup,” I groaned. Kevin had eaten it at an airport buffet. The soup had been only lukewarm, but selections had been slim and we had been hungry, so Kevin had eaten it anyway.
    My second thought was aggravation. “How are we going to have good exams with no sleep?” I grudgingly shuffled to the bathroom to offer Kevin a wet washcloth and cold water.
    Again and again through the night Kevin dashed for the bathroom, his vomiting accompanied by diarrhea. With increasing irritation, I offered him wet washcloths and sips of cool water. Dawn seemed a long time coming, but it finally arrived, brimming with sunshine.
    I blinked at the light and blinked at Kevin, groaning as I threw back the covers. Both of us looked as if we had been up most of the night. Kevin had begun running a fever, but his vomiting and diarrhea had subsided, so I breathed prayers of relief as I showered and dressed.
    I struggled to get contact lenses into my stinging blue eyes and shook Kevin gently to wake him again. “Honey, do you think you’ll be able to make the meeting this morning?” I asked.
    “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trying to sit himself up in the bed. “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired from all that time in the bathroom.”
    I laid out the clothes he wanted to wear. Assured that he could shower and dress himself, I left to grab breakfast in the hotel coffee shop. Kevin was all too glad to stay behind and avoid restaurant smells. He was weak and moving slowly, but he was moving.
    Twenty minutes later I opened the door to find that not only was Kevin not dressed, he was stretched out on the bed sleeping. I was stunned. Kevin was a man who defined punctuality as fifteen minutes early. He was never late; he left that function to me.
    “Kevin, we have to leave in five minutes and you’re not even dressed!” I yelled, grabbing his shirt and trousers. I hesitated. “Are you okay, honey? Are you feeling sick again? Do we need to call someone and postpone our appointments?”
    Kevin shook his head and mumbled an