Excerpt:

As if dodging the clouds, a small plane silently crested the hill and glided over the upper meadows where the grass ruffled across the field like a breeze on a lake. The deer bounding in graceful arcs disappeared into the woods.

The motor coughed and a cap of diaphanous white, too substantial to be a cloud, floated near the plane and drifted away. All was quiet except for the rustling of trees and the distant barking of a dog. When the clouds sailed on, the moon revealed the plane gliding closer in eerie silence.

She squinted to decipher its markings. German or English? The Nazis had overrun Holland, Belgium, and France, and now, in 1941, were on the verge of conquering England. The plane seemed to hover for a moment. Then upended and dove nose first into a field, bursting into flames. The explosion thundered into the night.

Excerpt:

As we head into Port-au- Prince from the airport, I try to prepare Yvette. Her face turns ashen as we travel through the city. I try to see the devastation through her eyes, but her face remains calm, where I would be exploding, asking questions, making plans. No, I cannot really imagine how she feels. Yvette keeps pestering me about the orphans.

“The women are in prison, so that’s good. But the orphans are mainly little children and babies. One little girl claimed there was a big boy named Bébé, but she’s only at most four and not very reliable.”

She moans and bites her bottom lip. “He is lost then. Maybe dead.” She shakes her head.

“Their records are confused. Let’s not give up yet.”

She breathes again and sits up. “My mother?” she asks. “Any trace?”

“Where she lived is pretty much destroyed. But she may not have even been there.” I wish could offer some concrete hope.

At her insistence, we drive to the desolate hillside. We stop. She slowly steps down from the van. She says something in Creole, her eyes wide with horror. She stumbles, Pierre who is nearer, grabs her arm.

She says to us all, “How could God do such a thing? So many innocents.”

We wait a moment, then Pierre in his sensitive way, says, “We must get to the hospital. There is much work to be done, and, Yvette, ma chère, we need you.”

Excerpt:

The helicopter swung left and then right buffeted by cross-currents. Waves of fear made my hands sweat. My stomach lurched and my body strained against the seat belt.

“Here we go,” the pilot hollered and his ‘copter dropped straight down, taking me to my death. I whispered Ave Maria, the words tumbling out after ten years of atheism.

“Get ready to jump!”

I unlatched my belt, grabbed my backpack, while the engine roared, and the blades clattered over my head, filling my ears. Bile rose, burned my throat. I tightened my backpack and leaned forward. A shove forced me out the open door. I tumbled to the hard earth, rocks grinding into my knees, just before two hundred pounds of male landed on top of me. On purpose. I squirmed and managed to throw him off. Next time I was jumping out second. Not that I’d ever do this again. I crouched deep to avoid the clattering blades.

“Move away from the ‘copter,” they had drilled into us during training, so I scurried behind a boulder. My partner for this foolish adventure, Chet, the heavy guy, scrambled behind another boulder. After checking myself to make sure I hadn’t actually broken anything, I caught my breath and surveyed the surrounding terrain. Bleak, dry brown peaks, deep sandy gullies, a blue cold sky. God, what a horrible country.