Anna grasped her hands to stop the shaking. She’d never spoken of those times to anyone and shouldn’t have now. Why had she felt such a need to defend herself? This was a wound her unforgiveness had only allowed to scab over, not heal. And now she’d spewed the vile contents of that sore out at the smallest provocation. It was a wonder God’s grace had ever prevailed in her life to place her here as a missionary, considering what an example of godliness she was turning out to represent. Her failure to guard her lips against this breach made her far more angry than anything Stewart had said.
Anna mustered her tattered dignity and continued to meet Stewart’s gaze even though she’d rather do anything else. The distress she saw in his eyes threatened to overwhelm her.
“Miss Baldwin, I...”
She couldn’t talk about this now. She needed time to collect herself. “If you’ll excuse me for the moment, Mr. Hastings, I could use the privacy my tent affords for a few moments. We are obviously both too tired to have this conversation on a subject so personal.” Anna turned her back and started to walk away.
“No...” He reached for her arm and maneuvered himself in front of her. “First, allow me to apologize.”
She searched his face. Contrition filled in the etching. He couldn’t have known what he was saying, not really. She took a deep breath. “No, this is my own fault. Instead of taking offense, I should have heard your pain, the hurt you feel over your mother and her difficult life. I had no business thinking of myself when I should have been helping you see how God cares about your situation and wants to be there to help and heal those emotions. Please put my dramatic statement out of your mind and let us talk later about these things that burden you.” She tugged and he released her arm from his grasp.
“I can hardly place such a statement out of my mind. Surely you must know that.”
Anna glanced toward the porters. “We still have an audience. I don’t want them to think we are in dissension when they are already fearful about staying.”
His reluctance filled the air. “Then let’s talk later, if you will permit. I want to understand.”
She started to shake her head, but he pulled out a trump card. “Please don’t dismiss my request. If for no other reason, I need to know at least enough to consider if what happened in Monrovia might be related. Maybe you were targeted as I suggested before. Not by a mysterious enemy, but by your own family.”
“I don’t believe my family difficulties have any bearing on that attack.”
“You cannot know that for sure. What if there had been a second attempt at Harper and we weren’t prepared? Not only could you have been harmed, but this expedition, as well. Keeping information from me puts me in a position where I can’t keep you safe.”
The determination in his voice convinced her that he believed in the possibility.
“No one, not even my father, is desperate enough to follow us into the jungle to lay hands on me. I will consider talking further. But for now, I need some time alone.”
He nodded and she walked away, her thoughts bobbing in all directions over the concerns he raised. Once at the camp, she found a warm cook pot of rice and an absent Suah. He’d likely be gone some time on a hunt for fresh game. She sought the shelter of her tent, the comfort of her bed and the guidance of prayer.
* * *
Long after, she heard noise in the camp and left her tent to investigate. Perhaps Suah had had an early success. She peered out the tent flap and saw Stewart at the cook pot, his back to her.
She stopped and smoothed her shirt, uselessly pressing at the wrinkles that formed when she’d fallen asleep praying. She fortified herself with another quick prayer as she exited. “Early lunch, Mr. Hastings? Let me do that.” She dished up the rice with an apology. “The meal is pretty plain. Hopefully, Suah will return with something to add later.”
Stewart took the food she offered and sat on the fallen log the men had moved into camp for convenience. She joined him, but her stomach rebelled as soon as she lifted her fork. They sat in silence, an awkwardness between them she couldn’t figure out how to breach.
“Not hungry, Miss Baldwin?”
She set her bowl down and glanced toward his. “You appear to have found the appetite I lost.”
“I believe my taste buds finally adjusted to the level of spice in the food.”
Ah, the safety of small talk. Anna smiled. “With a little help. I had cook tone down the peppers so the adjustment was more gradual.”
“Ouch! I wrongly believed myself a bit superior for adapting so quickly. Instead—” he stuck out his tongue and pretended to try to eye it “—you, my manly taste buds, need to build more endurance.”
His clowning broke the dark mantle of memories. She laughed. “You are quite the entertainer, Mr. Hastings. Do you always resort to humor in every uncomfortable situation? Or only with crazy missionary women?”
“I see I’ve infected you with the habit. I do find humor works well in most situations.” He put his bowl beside him on the log and continued, “And it looks as if I’m right. You’re able to make a joke and laugh again, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He took her hand, swallowing it up in his two larger ones. “I didn’t intend to suggest a woman deserved to be locked up or harmed for choosing to follow her convictions. I hope you will accept my sincerest apology.”
“I do.”
Sincerity had been his goal, she was sure. Not creating this connection, not jolting her into more of an awareness of him and the tenderness he hid behind his lighthearted exterior. She slid her hand out of his before asking, “What is it you want to know, Mr. Hastings?”
* * *
He stood, pacing to maintaining a suitable distance between them. He knew a father’s fists, but how did he ask her of her experience? “Your father...did he...? I mean...” His nerve faltered. “Is he the reason you never married?”
“You are worried that my father’s violence is why I haven’t married?” She slowly shook her head. “Certainly not what I thought you were about to ask.”
“I’m still trying to understand the puzzle that is Anna Baldwin.”
“You are not the first. Even in the Pahn village, my single status is questioned. Most men, no matter the culture, believe a woman’s only place is to stand at her husband’s side, to bear children, to create a harmonious household.”
He prompted her to keep talking. “But you want something more.”
“Yes, I do. God called me to evangelize. I don’t seek a husband, only God’s Will in my life.”
“You can’t have both?”
A small smile this time, but not reaching her eyes. “Many missionaries marry. But from what I’ve seen, marriage is not always a position to be envied or even desired. Certainly not with the man my parents demanded I marry.”
“Did your parents really lock you up? They hurt you over your beliefs?”
Anna’s hand lifted to her marred cheek and rubbed. “Yes, Father initially believed his disapproval enough to bend me to his will. Once he saw the steamer ticket and the packed trunk, he resorted to more drastic measures.”
“Then the small scar on your cheek didn’t come through some accident.”
She dropped her hand. “A father’s anger can be a terrible thing. He usually confined his blows to where they wouldn’t be seen. He was horrified when he lost control and his ring drew blood on my cheek. He left the room and locked the door. With help, I escaped that night and boarded the steamer. Father cut me off without a cent, telling me in a telegram delivered to the ship.”
The picture of what that night must have been like for her...and without anyone to protect her...flashed through his mind.
“You mentioned irony earlier, that a daughter of privilege was now employed by the son of a maid. The real irony was that privilege brought me only heartache and it took the actions of my brave maid for me to escape. Without her aid, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.” She smiled to try to put him back at ease. “So having a maid’s son, and not wealthy parents, help me stay here is quite fitting. Don’t you agree?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “I believe it is substantial proof that God has a well-developed sense of irony. And He used you to prove it.”
If irony were a fisted hand, Stewart felt sure he would be down for the count. The woman whose religious zeal he’d disdained along with her wealthy background had been through the trenches of her own war, just as much as he had in his own home and later in France. All because of her belief. Long-ago lessons from church gave him enough understanding to wonder, truly wonder for the first time since the war, if God was there and was working some kind of plan in his life. Had he been maneuvered into seeing another side of the religious equation, not by a woman, but by the God she served?
Admitting the possibility brought up a slew of problems, including his determination to believe that same God didn’t exist. The belief in a God who was no more than a fairy tale carried less pain in its pages than a God who didn’t show up when needed. Stewart had prayed for deliverance when he’d first realized the gas had gotten him. Prayer proved no barrier to the blistering burns. Where was God then? “Easier not to believe in Him at all.”
Anna touched his arm, lifting him from the haze of memory. “Why is it easier, Mr. Hastings?”
“What?” he groaned. He’d spoken aloud.
“You said...”
“Never mind what I said. For a moment I forgot myself.”
He met her gaze. Look strong; brush her concern off as nothing. The orders carried no weight against the compassion flooding those soft brown eyes. The hardened crust of his heart cracked.
Humor chose that moment to desert his front line of defense. Desperate, he grasped for another way out. Denial.
“Belief in God is useful if it comforts you. In a difficult time, I turned to it myself.”
When she spoke, gentleness pillowed the words. “On the trail you said men will always be waiting on a God who doesn’t show up. Is that what you refer to? You called out to God and He let you down in some way?”
Hope dangled itself just out of reach, but he was wise to its faithlessness and refused to reach for it. “Yes, Miss Baldwin, He did. When I served in France, the Germans launched a deadly, destructive offensive against the trenches, one of many such volleys. For a brief moment, I dared hope He was real. The hope died as men around me died a horrible death, or wished they would.” He had wished for death so desperately that night and in the days that followed.
“How horrible.”
Her gentleness cracked his heart further. He shored up his defenses as best he could. “What, no Bible verse to explain the horror? I heard a lot of those stateside.” In a hospital ward. In the burn unit. “Useless words. Look at you, after all. God didn’t deliver you from that beating.”
She never flinched. “No, but He was my comfort and hope throughout. God doesn’t promise to deliver us from pain or even death, Mr. Hastings.”
“Then what good is He? Before I was big enough to stand up to my father, my mother suffered for years. Her belief never stopped his fists.”
“In God, we receive the strength to walk through life’s trials, whether we are delivered from them or not. Sometimes we find the way of escape, as in my case.”
This conversation touched places he cared not to examine. He stood. “I appreciate the candor, even if I can’t embrace your beliefs, Miss Baldwin. Unless you have something else to tell me about that affects this trip, I think we’ve cleared the air between us for now. With the rain holding off today, I need to return to prospecting. My morning panning showed promise.”
A look of panic filled Anna’s eyes as she scanned the empty skies. “No clouds, no rain yet today. I’m afraid this is the beginning. We may have crossed over into the dry season.”
“You look upset. Isn’t the change in weather a good thing?”
Her hands fidgeted with the folds of her skirt. “You asked if there was anything else that would have an effect on the trip.” Her eyes failed to hold a steady gaze. “With the change in weather and your need to stay here longer, I’m afraid I must take two or three men and go on without you. I can leave Suah with you because he speaks pidgin.”
“Absolutely not. Your impatience to return will only put you in danger. What’s to prevent them from deserting you over this Leopard Society business, leaving you stranded and alone somewhere in the jungle? I don’t understand what the weather has to do with anything, but I do know there is no argument you can muster to change my mind where your safety is concerned.”
“But you must change your mind, Mr. Hastings. If I don’t get to the village and intervene before the rice harvest ends, a young boy will die.”
* * *
She’d have to go whether Stewart liked it or not. Would he consider it as breaking their arrangement? Or would Mrs. Dowdy’s counsel hold true? She silently prayed. Dear Lord, please help me explain and him to understand. I’d hate to come this far to lose Stewart’s goodwill now.
Stewart sat back down on the log. He removed his pith helmet, dangling it in front of him.
Anna allowed God’s peace to wrap around her until the flare of panic smothered. Stewart’s gaze never left her while she told him her tale.
“Like you, I have a critical deadline on this trip.”
He dipped his chin, dismay evident. “You’re just now telling me?”
“I expected to travel directly back to my mission post. When you changed the itinerary, I worried, but after calculating the expected additional time, I assumed we would arrive before the dry season began. While I feared for Taba’s safety, I knew he would be unharmed until then and saw no reason to burden you with another person’s well-being, not when your own mother was at the forefront of your thoughts.”
One corner of his lips quirked as he silently considered her words. Finally he broke his silence. “Taba being the boy, I presume?”
“Yes, he is a twelve-year-old in my school who became a Christian and managed to convert his whole family. The devilmen have sought ways to make an example of him ever since.”
“You’ve been gone a couple of months, Miss Baldwin. What makes you think Taba yet lives if these devilmen intend him harm?”
“They won’t hurt him outright, but if the weather has truly shifted, he won’t be safe much longer.”
“How does the change of season affect the child?”
She took a deep breath. So far she was just confusing Stewart. Small wonder; he didn’t understand the customs. “Shortly after the rains cease, the rice harvest begins, a process lasting about three weeks. Once the majority of the rice is brought in from the fields, children of Taba’s age are enrolled in the bush school—the Poro for the boys, the Sande for the girls.”
At his look of continued confusion, she continued, “The Poro is run by the devilman and his apprentices. Children live in a sequestered area outside the village while they learn about life, religion, relationships, everything.”
“Seems to me like a good plan for a child’s future.”
“For most, but if you are a new Christian like Taba, the school becomes a death sentence because of this particular devilman. He opposed Dr. Mary before me, provoking the chief to lure her to her death.”
“Obviously he didn’t succeed.”
“No, what the devilman had planned for evil, God turned into good with the chief asking for his village to have its own missionary. The devilman spoke publicly against the chief’s decision to allow me to live among the Pahn, and the devilman was livid when Taba became my first convert.” Despite her effort to stay calm, emotion cracked her voice. “And if the devilman gets Taba into the Poro school, Taba will never make it out of the sequestered area alive. His parents will be presented with his effects, told of some accident, when in reality Taba will have been sacrificed. It’s a common enough practice.”
Concern etched Stewart’s face. “Tell me, Miss Baldwin, how do you plan to thwart this devilman?”
“The only solution I’ve found is to use a large portion of the funds you’ve paid me to put Taba into a mission boarding school at Newaka near Garraway.”
“What of his parents?”
“They aren’t entirely sold on the idea of sending him away. Their fear of the devilman’s fetishes runs deep. They lack the power to openly defy him. Taba attending school away from home solves the problem, if they agree to the plan.” She pushed back tendrils of hair, dampened from the humidity.
Stewart stood. “Wasn’t the point of you guiding me here so you could stay on the mission field?”
“I will be able to remain for yet a while. My needs are limited. The supplies you bought in Harper for myself and the school will help. The village gives me the hospitality of a dwelling. My other needs are modest. Nothing compares to the importance of Taba’s safety. I want to see him alive, educated and able to return to his people, not an unnecessary martyr to faith.”
He replaced his helmet. “What happens when your funds run out?”
“If God does not provide, I trust He will have other plans for my life. Even if I have to return to my parents and throw myself on their mercy until another door opens for me.”
“After having escaped your father’s beating? I can see how serious you are about helping this child. What I don’t understand is what causes you to believe I would be unwilling to inconvenience myself to save a child’s life?”
Shame burned through her. “Nothing, Mr. Hastings. I only thought it unfair to ask you to choose between a boy you’d never met and your own mother’s needs.”
“What if we’d encountered major delays on the trail or the seasons changed before you expected? Had you been forthright from the beginning... Well, making significant adjustments now is no longer possible.”
Having her own fears voiced aloud gave her a pang. Had she waited too long? She needed to forge ahead to the village. Would he continue to refuse now that he understood?
He stood and replaced his pith helmet. “It’s too late to do anything else, so...”
No! He couldn’t expect her to just give up.
“...to use our time efficiently, I’ll need you and every man available to work this site for as long as daylight allows. Then tell the men to prepare. We will all be leaving at first light. Nothing is more important than a child’s life.”
* * *
Stewart followed as Anna, in her long brown skirt, white shirt and bobbing pith helmet, wove her way around every obstacle the trail threw at her. The bearers hustled to keep up with her. She’d marched a punishing pace since they’d left camp seven days ago.
He’d never question her strength or ability again, only his own self-control. He warred between wanting to shake her silly for not telling him about the dire plight of the child, and wishing to hold and comfort her and tell her everything would be all right.
Neither choice would be welcome.
Anna’s willingness to do whatever it took to save Taba inspired him to be a better man, and yet set an impossibly high standard for any other woman in his future. Surely other suitable women existed, good women out there with the strength of an Anna Baldwin. Maybe one of them would be able to look past his scars. He tried to focus on that hope, but when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t envision anyone else. Only a fiery little missionary who would never return his love.
Love? Was this need to protect her, the admiration he felt, trying to grow into something else? Something impossible?
Anna called for a rest, and fruit was passed around.
He sat and peeled a mango, taking that first juicy bite just as the object of his thoughts dropped her pack at his feet, sat and struck up a conversation. “The heat is taking a toll on everyone, but we’re almost there. We’ll plan for a longer rest around lunch or once we find a large enough clearing on the trail. I’d feel better if we were all refreshed before dealing with Nana Mala.”
Stewart handed her the canteen off the side of her pack. “I assumed you would check on Taba first.”
She drank and reattached the canteen. “Protocol must be observed despite my worry. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong with the chief accepting you into the village.”
“Are you still concerned about our reception?”
“Yes. Nana Mala was unhappy with everyone after his failed attempt to become Paramount Chief—even me. I suspect he believed his reputation would be enhanced with the prestige of having a village missionary and that somehow my presence would guarantee his bid. He failed, and now, after several talks with Suah, I think the rumors of the Leopard Society may have originated in Nana Mala’s territory. That only makes things worse.”
“How?”
“From everything I’ve pieced together, this Society is comprised of older men with a drive for power. Leopard Men create terror to support their own political plans. They might oppose Nana Mala’s bid to expand his rule.” She chewed one corner of her bottom lip.
“Is there no end to the problems these Leopard Men tales have brought? I think the stability a mining enterprise will bring might be the best thing for this region. If Nana Mala works with us, the economics might do more for his reputation than anything. So when do you think we’ll arrive?”
“Certainly before dark. I’m not sure since I’ve never come from this direction.”
“I’m eager to get to those mountains. The river area held some promise, but we’ll have to see how the samples I took test out. I hold the most hope for the area around and in the mountains.”
“You had so little time there, I worried my problems were undermining your job.”
“My plan was never going to work the way I thought it would. Now that I’m actually here, I understand so much more. A lifetime of work is needed to adequately explore this jungle, but one good gold or gem find is all my company needs. They can send whole teams to scout once they have something to justify developing an operation here.”
“But you’ve found gold. I’ve seen it in your pan and in those small vials you’ve been filling.”
“Sure, but only enough of a yield to justify prospecting for an individual miner in any one area. So far, nothing I’ve found is significant enough for a large operation.”
“Well, perhaps those mountains will yield results more to your liking.” She stood and called for an end to the rest.
The trail narrowed. “After you, Miss Baldwin. Looks like we’re back to single file.”
He walked behind her for a couple of miles. The porters, even Suah, exchanged glances and sparsely furtive speech. He marched on, keeping himself alert in case of trouble.
Finally, another clearing. Anna signaled and grateful men collapsed in the dirt, leaning against their cargo. And not a one of them ceased to watch the trail.
Stewart approached Anna, who had commandeered a small, hollowed log to sit on. Not squeamish about the bugs, that one. “Are we breaking to eat, as well?”
She shook her head. “No, according to Suah, we’re less than an hour out. We’ll partake of a meal in the village after we arrive.”
He pointed his thumb back to the porters. “They seem a little jumpy.”
Anna scanned the resting men. “Desertions are to be expected at this point, out of fear of Nana Mala. I’m surprised some didn’t drop their packs already and slip off into the jungle out of fear. It’s not uncommon for one tribe to take members of another hostage until a ransom is paid by their village, which is why they rarely venture past the territory of the nearest village.”
Suah approached. “Mammy Anna...” His eyes rounded as he stared past Stewart’s shoulder.
Anna spoke softly. “Stewart, slow moves and keep your hands where they can be seen. We have company and they’re armed for war.”