RUTH ROSE FROM HER small crude desk, her body and mind demanding a break from the tedious task of translating scripture into the Yanoako language. Though frustrated by her inability to make sense of the tribe’s dreams, she was comforted in knowing the rainy season would soon be ending. Except for occasional light showers, the rains had almost stopped, and already the river was edging back into its banks. Soon the men would be going downriver to the trading posts to pick up supplies and four months’ worth of her letters.
In her short time with the Yanoako, Ruth had discovered the rainy season was the hardest. Sloshing about in ankle-deep red mud and never feeling dry was bad enough but cut off from her family and friends made the incessant rain doubly depressing.
When she felt sorry for herself, she would remember what a teacher in language school had said: there will be times when only the absolute certainty God has called you will keep you on the mission field.
She glanced at her watch and approached her precious radio transmitter on the small table the men had made for her. Two o’clock was the appointed time to contact Father Alfonso. She sent up a silent prayer that he had heard from Caracas and another that her radio, her only lifeline to the outside world during the rainy season, still had battery power enough to transmit and receive.
She switched it on, relieved when it came alive with static, which meant the batteries were holding out. Because replacements would be impossible to obtain until the men’s trip to the trading post, she limited her transmissions to one a day, except in an emergency. Her one tenuous connection to the outside world was too precious to jeopardize.
As it was, the transmitter’s range was limited, reaching only as far as Platanal where the Jesuit mission had a tower high enough to send and receive signals over the Sierrada Pacaraima Mountains that lay between the Orinoco River and the city of Bolivar. When she needed to contact mission headquarters in Caracas, Father Alfonso relayed her messages.
It had been nearly two weeks since she received word from Hugh Brumble, the mission’s representative in Caracas, that Dr. Neisen had received her letter and was eager to visit her station as soon as possible. With the rainy season ending early, she saw no reason why he should delay.
Ruth pressed the send button on her mike.
“Starling calling Platanal. Father Alfonso, do you copy?” She hoped her voice did not betray the gnawing impatience that grew stronger each day. Neisen should be here. What was he waiting for? She knew it was not just Neisen’s delay stoking her feeling of urgency and keeping her stomach in knots. It was also the visions—hers and Akhu’s, and now the dreams of the new Christians and the other night’s dream of Lone Oak Church, Timmy, the tribesmen, and Jerry.
Before the other night, she had not dreamt of Jerry in a long time. She had come to terms with her decision and the likelihood her calling meant giving up the man she loved. Marriage. Children. Yet his face had been so vivid in the dream, his voice just as she remembered it. “I’ll be there when you need me.” His words were a promise still echoing in her mind when Father Alfonso’s voice replied to her call.
“Copy you five by five.”
“How’s the weather there?” Ruth asked, beginning with her standard opener. She relished these brief moments of conversation with the Priest.
“Sunny for several days, my dear. The river’s going down. Before long there won’t be enough water for a decent Baptist baptism.”
She heard him laugh at his little tease.
Father Alfonso was always a pick-me-up. He had been the Priest in residence at Platanal for nearly fifteen years and had long since come to terms with his isolation during the rainy season. Even the most dismal day did not seem to dampen his sunny disposition.
“I copy you, Father,” she laughed into the mike before remembering to release her send button.
“Glad to put some sunshine in your day, dear girl,” he said. “Are you ready for the rest of the news?”
Ruth’s heart skipped several beats before she answered, “Absolutely.”
“Your people in Bolivar have sent word this Dr. Neisen of yours will be on his way in a few days. I told them from where I’m sitting, conditions for landing near the river should be ideal in a week or less. How do things look on your end?”
“About the same, I’d say. I noticed yesterday the river had already gone down enough to expose a long sand bar near the village that looks perfect for a landing site.”
A week! Maybe a little longer. Ruth could hardly contain her excitement. “Tell them I look forward to seeing Dr. Neisen as soon as he can get here.”
“I’ll do that,” he replied. “Oh, and by the way, I almost forgot. Your people also said the doctor will be bringing a colleague with him, if you have no objection.”
Her mind raced. The dream…Could it be?
“Did they say who?”
“His graduate assistant. A young man named Jerry Spencer I believe.”
Joy washed over her as she willed herself to calm before pressing the send button. “Tell Caracas that will be just fine,” she heard herself say and signed off. Crossing the hut, she fell into her hammock, closed her eyes and again remembered Jerry’s promise. In spite of belief in her calling and determination to bring the Word to the Yanoako at all costs, she could not keep her heart from swelling in anticipation of their reunion.
Jerry is coming! She let the tears slide down her cheeks unchecked. He is keeping his promise.
Several thousands of miles away, Neisen checked his email. The news from the queerly named Hugh Brumble at the mission’s headquarters in Venezuela could not be better.
“Miss Starling has been contacted and has given the go-ahead,” Brumble reported.
The Pilots Missionary Fellowship, who would be supplying the chopper, felt confident they could be ready in a matter of days based on the latest weather forecasts. The requested donation of two thousand dollars was a pittance since all the expenses of the trip would be borne by The Brotherhood.
Neisen smiled with satisfaction as he replied to the email. He agreed that the terms were reasonable and that he would transfer the funds immediately. He would advise Brumble of his exact arrival date as soon as arrangements were completed. It was all coming together. In a matter of days, he would have the answers to questions that had plagued The Brotherhood for centuries and it was he, Frederick Neisen who would get the credit.
Savoring his impending success, he picked up the phone to tell Spencer to get his bags packed.