After two weeks and three different villages, Leopard Men no longer worried Anna. The hours of unrelenting daily rains, the chill that followed them into the evening and the treacherous wet trails they brought were the real problem. As soon as she could finish assigning loads to their new porters, they would make as much progress as the morning allowed.
All around her, the village children watched every move, mostly hoping for a glimpse of some new wonder to be found in her packs. Despite taking the time to answer questions from less shy members of her audience, the process went quickly. Some packs needed no adjustments, still falling under the forty-pound mark that each man would carry. Others needed consolidation since they’d been lightened through personal use and trade. And each one needed checking lest the oiled baize cloth not be wrapped and secured properly and the contents fell victim to the rains. The last one in front of her held the items she’d promised for the porters’ services.
As she dug through the pack until she found the fathoms of suitable cloth she sought, the children’s chatter ceased. She glanced up and saw Stewart headed her way. The attention of a dozen pairs of button-brown eyes left her and looked toward Stewart expectantly. He reached into his pack and brought out a small, round wooden object that he fumbled with and then cast from his hand. Only then did she see the string. Both she and the children watched in amazement as the disc climbed back up the string and returned to his hand time and again.
The children broke their reverent silence and clamored to try the disc. Anna set the cloth down and moved closer to watch. Stewart raised one hand and waited until he had silence, then proceeded to launch the disc again. With each up-and-down motion, the children’s animation grew. Anna pulled her attention away from the display long enough to catch the look on Stewart’s face. He bestowed his broad grin easily on the little ones. His ease with the children, his willingness to entertain them, amazed her more than the novelty of the disc.
A man who bothered to play with children. Before she’d gotten to know him better, she would have thought he saved his charms for flirting with pretty young women, as on board the ship. Seeing a grown man playing children’s games wasn’t in the realm of her experience.
Packs forgotten, Anna stared harder at the man engaged in play, children giggling all around him. Her own father was too concerned about appearances to be so...so...undignified. Stewart Hastings acted downright silly with the little ones.
No hasty or mistaken judgments about him in this. He would truly make a good father. She pictured him with a large brood of his own, listening to them, playing with them. She envied the woman who would stand by his side. Except for his unbelief, Stewart behaved toward children exactly like the kind of man she would want to marry.
As soon as the thought laid siege to her brain, she threw up her defenses. What did it matter to her, his potential as a father, his potential as a husband? Allowing any creep of romantic feelings toward this man was a serious mistake.
True, he’d saved her life. He complimented her for her abilities and not her appearance, something no man had ever done...and he took time with children, treating them as precious and important, not something to be cultivated and displayed. Or worse, ignored.
But his unbelief was a true stumbling block.
Stewart handed the disc to one of the older boys and walked toward her. Her thoughts scattered, a disturbing sign that time spent in his company was affecting her more than she realized. Was she so needy from the lack of attention in her childhood that she’d allow the simple sight of a man lavishing attention on the young to capture her thoughts so?
He set his pack down near the stacked goods and brandished that smile like a weapon against her heart. “Can I lend a hand?”
The simple question stymied her. She was glad he couldn’t know how much he’d begun to intrude on her thoughts.
At her hesitation his gaze took on an investigative slant. “Miss Baldwin, are you all right?”
She scrambled for an answer to put him off the scent and found an easy truth. “Yes, but as mesmerized as the little ones with your disc on a string.”
His eyebrows went up. “My bandalore?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“You’ve never seen a bandalore? They were prized in the neighborhood where I grew up. I thought they were a common toy.”
Oh, dear. Such a simple thing and her ignorance revealed so much based on the look on his face. “Not in my household, apparently. I’ve not even heard the name before now.”
“Maybe you heard it called a quiz? A Phillippine kid in my neighborhood once called it a yo-yo, but I doubt that name has spread.” At her continued head shakes, he asked, “Were you raised in isolation? Bandalores have been around since the Greeks. What kind of toys did you and your friends play with, Miss Baldwin?”
She tried for nonchalance. “Not bandalores, as you can tell. Although I did have an extensive doll collection.” Never mind that they were considered too precious to serve as actual playthings. Best to take the spotlight off herself. “But tell me, how is it that you carry toys with your supplies? Doesn’t sound very businesslike to me.”
His color heightened. “If you must know, there is a practical aspect to the toys. They generate goodwill for my employer.”
None of his behavior with the children looked like a ploy. Maybe his argument would be more convincing if he’d maneuvered his encounters to take place in front of the parents. “I’ve observed you in several villages so far. Most men wouldn’t spend the time with little ones that you do. Admit it, sir. You have a genuine fondness for children. If I were a wagering woman, I’d bet you have plans for your own large brood.”
A deep and sudden sadness crossed his features. Had she said something wrong?
“You caught me, Miss Baldwin. I confess that I’ve always had a soft spot for the little ones. As to a brood of my own, I can hardly speculate or plan without a wife involved.”
“I’m sure that will be no problem for a charming and handsome man as yourself.”
He nodded toward her sorting of the trade goods. She followed his gaze and noticed the cloth she’d laid out had been opened and examined by several of the men serving as porters.
Stewart said, “They seem to like the cloth. Have we settled the issue of their services yet?”
Now who was changing the subject? She recognized the tactic easily as her own. She set aside her curiosity and turned back to the matter at hand. “Yes, but I had to give a little more than before. This group is even more agitated about the Leopard Society rumors.”
He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Seems the farther in we go, the more we hear these tales. And yet, no Leopard Men have attacked us.” He replaced his pith helmet.
Anna gathered up the length of cloth and tried to return it to its former neat fold while she talked. “Two actual deaths in this area credit their fears with worth. You and I know that the blame most likely lies with a young male leopard establishing himself. We must finally have reached his range of territory. We should continue to post armed sentries. A young male leopard will aggressively defend his new claim.”
Before she could protest, Stewart grabbed one end of the cloth she struggled to fold and stepped back, tightening the cloth’s slack between them. “I agree, Miss Baldwin. Even if we never cross this animal’s path, I’m glad you stay so prepared. You’re a capable woman. I am still amazed at how you turned disaster into a workable plan back in the riverside village.”
His continued compliments left her off balance, not unlike when he’d spun her around on board the ship. “Thank you. And you don’t have to help with this cloth. I can manage.”
“Nonsense. I learned from helping my mother that large items fold easier with two at the task.” He followed her lead as she joined the length of the cloth edge to edge and then held the new sides taut. He moved toward her with his end and they met in the middle to fold it in two. Their hands grazed as he took her end from her. Just fold the cloth, she admonished herself, even as she breathed in the familiar faint hint of bay rum. She grabbed the new edge at the bottom and stepped back to pull it tight. He advanced to meet her end for a second fold and she made a desperate bid to seem nonchalant about the whole process. She could never reveal how empty she felt after his hands pulled away.
* * *
Stewart knew he’d flustered her when their hands met at the fold. It wasn’t his intention to make her uncomfortable, only to help. He enjoyed being in her company more than he could admit. Right now he’d give anything to have more cloth to fold.
His mind wandered further, wondering what it would be like to casually fold laundry, spend time at mundane tasks with a woman he loved.
What was she saying?
“You are right about them liking the cloth. Here men do the weaving, and this piece is wider than they are able to achieve. They have to sew strips together to achieve this dimension because of the way their weaving apparatus is constructed.”
She took the now manageable bundle from him. He pulled a blanket out of the open packet and added it to the small pile. “And here I thought you were going to compliment my folding skills and how well we worked together.”
She ignored his comment and secured the lightened pack for travel. “You say you helped your mother? How is it you lent a hand doing what most men would consider women’s work and beneath them?”
He laughed. “Disobedience had its consequences in my household. If I didn’t want a switch to my backside, I did as I was told. But one look at how tired she was after a long day of scrubbing and cleaning other people’s messes, and I never considered refusing to help her with anything needed in our own household. Some of those skills later helped me supplement my scholarship by working for rich fraternity boys. I knew how to manage everything from making a bed to laundry.”
“Where did you go to school?
“Harvard.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. My scholarship didn’t help me read the maps of this country or understand that our rowers wouldn’t double as porters.”
“But you did manage to choose very viable trading items for someone so new to the country. I only shopped from the list you gave me.” She finished tying off the pack and straightened. “Besides, anyone new here might have thought they could rely on those maps. I made my own share of mistakes when I first arrived. Fortunately, I had the Mayweathers to help guide me away from the more serious ones.”
His voice thickened before he gained control. “As I have had you.”
For a too-short moment their gazes met and his lungs refused to fill with air as they had that night they first met. Anna broke off first, taking a sudden interest in her feet, allowing him to breathe deeply once again.
He ended the silence by clearing his throat. “And fortunately the contact I met in the tavern before I crossed paths with your attackers was a good source of practical information.”
“A tavern? But you’re temperate.”
“Don’t look shocked. I may not drink, but I met a potential guide there for an interview. The timing of that meeting may have saved your life.”
She motioned for one of the remaining porters to take the last pack. “I’m grateful. Such a shock to be a victim of a random attack in a place where I expected to be safe. I take comfort in how God managed things for both our benefits.”
Stewart disagreed. “I hate to say so, but on reflection, I don’t believe that attack was random at all. Those two likely targeted you specifically.”
* * *
A sudden chill swept through her. For what reason? No one would go to such lengths. “No, what happened had to be no more than a chance occurrence.”
“Two Liberian natives with chloroform? How would they have such a drug? Then they happen to find a lone American woman walking home? There was no chance about it.”
She tried to hide her fear, but her rising pitch was such a tattletale. “Who would want a bush missionary for a captive?”
He must have seen through her defenses. His eyes held a barely banked humor when he smiled. “Another possibility exists. I’ve seen your temper firsthand. You wield a serious umbrella when the situation demands. Is there anyone back home or in Liberia you’ve angered?”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of a soul.”
“I was only kidding, but it looks like your thoughts have taken a serious turn.”
She nodded. “I suppose the idea, while absurd, gives me a chill. At home, I have no one but my parents and the maid who raised me. Neither is likely to have orchestrated such an act.”
“Does this maid harbor a grudge against you?”
Anna laughed. “Marie? Not possible. She raised me from a young child, put me to bed, sang me lullabies. She introduced me to Christ, and her church raised my support to come here.”
Stewart’s head canted. “Your parents didn’t take you to church?”
How did she explain parents like hers?
“Only on special occasions such as Christmas and Easter. They were unhappy with my decision to come here.”
“So unhappy they may want to kidnap you or harm you in some way?”
“No, of course not.” Despite her father’s drastic steps to keep her from her calling, his telegram while she traversed the Atlantic made it clear he’d washed his hands of her. “My parents are far too worried about trying to make a mark in society or finding the money to continue their social climb, especially since I left.”
He stepped closer. “What do you mean, especially since you left?”
Anna hesitated. “I’m not used to telling my private business to people, Mr. Hastings.”
The zeal to know drained from his eyes. “I apologize. I’ve overstepped.”
Would he understand? “My parents don’t serve God. Their religion is wealth and status. My leaving prevented them from using me to acquire more of both.”
“But if someone knew you previously had a maid, a lot of people would assume you were wealthy. Could your parents be known as people who had enough money to pay a ransom?”
“If they were kidnappers, they were destined for great disappointment. Knowing my father, even if he could get the funds, he’d only pay to have me back if I agreed to his disastrous marriage plans. Which I wouldn’t.”
Stewart’s brows knit together. “The fiancé you alluded to before?”
Anna forged ahead. “Yes, a wealthy man. Old money. My parents hoped for an elevation in social status and their finances by arranging a marriage between us.”
“Usually money flows to the husband, not the other way.”
“Not in this case. Reginald promised to pay handsomely to assure I graced his arm. Ours was an ill-fated match in many ways, even before I felt the call to missions.”
“Ill-fated how?”
“My fiancé deceived me into thinking he was a believer so I would agree to marry him. Despite his insistence once I uncovered the truth, I would never marry an unbeliever.”
Stewart’s eyes narrowed. “Not to be indelicate, Miss Baldwin, but with a face like yours, other marriage-minded men who shared your faith, wealthy or not, couldn’t have been in short supply. You mentioned my potential as a family man, but what about you? Don’t you want a family, too?”
Did he think her so unfeeling? Anna blinked back the moisture gathering beneath her eyelids. She directed her attention to the children’s antics with the bandalore while she gathered her emotions into control. “I would love to have children, but sacrificing my calling or settling for a man who didn’t actually share my beliefs is out of the question.”
Consternation spread across his features. “Has no man who shares your faith asked for your hand? I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t have had a suitable proposal by now.”
She brushed off her skirts. “Many proposals, but none suitable. Ardent young men have made offers, some even impulsively after our first meeting. Once they realized I possessed strong ambitions as well as a porcelain complexion, their ardor quickly cooled.”
He shook his head. “Hard to believe, Miss Baldwin.”
“Tell me, Mr. Hastings, how many men do you know who would desire to share their wife with the work of a remote jungle mission?”
“Other missionaries? I bet some would jump the Cavalla rapids for the chance.”
“Poetic, but no. For now, my students are enough for me. If God wants otherwise, I trust he’ll send the right man into my life, one who will see my heart.”
Stewart’s voice took on an unexpected fervor. “Perhaps he did. Maybe your standards are the problem. Are you sure you’d recognize him even if he stood in front of you?”
Anna took a hard look at the man in front of her. She’d warned him about flirting with her on the ship, but this was a more serious tone. Had his flirting concealed something deeper? Maybe she’d cultivated this in him, failing to conceal her growing interest in him as well as she’d thought. Or maybe she was misconstruing his intent. Best to get it out into the open now and put the issue to rest. She just had to keep her tone as light as possible in case she was mistaken. “Mr. Hastings, are you suggesting you’re the man God has sent for me to marry?”
* * *
She’d stolen a page out of his big book of teasing scenarios, the one he used to keep things light and casual and unsuspecting women at bay. As if a woman like Anna would have anything to do with someone like him except as a joke. Even laying aside the faith issue, it would be like one of Grimm’s tales: the one about the beautiful young maiden and the hideous beast. Difference was, Stewart’s ugliness lay concealed beneath his shirt. And the son of a dockworker was no prince in disguise.
He’d developed some tenderness toward her that hopefully she would never realize. But love or anything like it had no place between two such disparate people. He could never be happy with a religious woman. He answered, lighthearted tone in kind, one hand across his heart, “No. I promise I have absolutely no interest in even applying for the position.”
Her expression turned to relief. “Good, I’d hate to think I’d sent out the wrong impression.”
Not all teasing, then, but some real worry, too. He should put that completely to rest. Maybe that was why she’d been so distant.
“No, Miss Baldwin, neither myself nor any other man like me who spent time in your company would feel driven to propose. Your calling is clear. You are safe from any impulsive proposals from this quarter. I...”
He watched in horror as her face flamed in embarrassment to match his own. Unless he was mistaken, the words he’d intended as reassurance actually implied that no man would be interested in her after getting to know her. “I mean... I...”
She fanned her face and looked everywhere but directly at him. “No, Mr. Hastings. Don’t apologize. I’m not very good at the lighthearted side of things and I made a hash of it by trying to joke around about a serious subject. Of course you have no interest in someone like me. And truly, most men wouldn’t.”
“But I didn’t mean...”
She held up a hand. “Not another word. Your true meaning was clear. Now, if we are to make progress today, we should set out as soon as we present our dash to the chief.”
Stewart did what any sane man would in the situation. He shut his mouth and followed her lead while he tried to figure out how to walk with one foot still firmly planted in his mouth.
* * *
Stewart hacked at the vegetation in front of him. He was used to hard work, but nothing like wielding a machete through the never-ending maze of jungle growth in this heat. The muscles in his arm clamored for a rest as much as he itched to unbutton his high-collared shirt and cool off, even for a moment. Unfortunately, exposing the ugliness beneath the cotton was not an option.
He stopped to catch his breath and reached for his canteen. Heat or not, the machete work would be worse once the rains cascaded down. He took a swig of water and diverted his thoughts to his surroundings. They’d started on a worn, single-file pathway near the village and then moved to climbing over massive tree roots skimming the ground. His geologically trained mind knew the granite lying shallow beneath the loam wouldn’t let roots burrow to any significant depth, but his bruised body suspected the soaring cotton trees possessed murderous intent, deliberately tripping unschooled feet.
The dense vegetation was worse. The undergrowth yielded only by inches and with much reluctance to the blade in his hand. He consoled himself with how exhaustion might bring sleep, and keep him from replaying an endless review of his last conversation with Anna.
Little moments from their talk plagued him, popping up as he lay in his camp bed like three-dimensional images on a stereoscope. The small quiver of her lips when she’d said her students were enough told him about the tenderness of her emotions. Anna Baldwin wanted a family. He knew the pain of that want. Only, unlike his own, her dream was achievable.
Next was the fear that had crossed her face when discussing the possibility of her attackers having targeted her. A fierce protectiveness rose up within him. Someone might try again and he wouldn’t be there to protect her. And he was drawn to protect this woman even more fiercely than he had been his mother.
But when he got to the last stereoscope slide, the picture of Anna, Bible in hand, preaching her beliefs every chance afforded to her, he could never picture himself at her side. There was no place for someone who couldn’t share her faith. And he never would.
He renewed his attack on the vegetation. He sorely missed canoe travel. He understood Anna’s concerns about his routing now. The jungle made him earn his deadline bonus every day. He was foolish to have insisted on this route over Anna’s objections. They were only now entering the boundaries of the proposed mining concession. He’d have to manage his time carefully to deal with the mountains near the Pahn.
He looked back. Anna remained out of sight. The single-file trail snaked backward for some distance. When he remembered his question to the bishop about proprieties, he could only laugh. Anna was accompanied almost everywhere she stepped. Porters made endless requests to hear her “stories” after dinner and later vied for the honor of sleeping in front of her tent to serve as a guard.
This group was so protective they’d been upset when she’d refused to ride in the hammock chair left over from a long-ago exploration expedition. She insisted she would not be carried—no special treatment for her. Even when she spoke until all hours, she always had a kind word for anyone who wanted her time. Mammy Anna, as she was called, set an exhausting pace for herself. The circles under her eyes were growing.
Ahead of him, shouts of triumph. He pressed forward and found the men happily divesting themselves of their packs in a small clearing with a wider path leading forward. Till now, the trail had made their usual noon break impossible. He eyed the forming clouds. The daily downpour was coming soon. Best to eat while they could enjoy the experience.
He sheathed his machete and reached for his canteen. Almost empty. The last swig went down as Anna came into sight, a flock of porters on her heels.
She held out her canteen. “Here. Don’t let the heat disable you before we reach an adequate stop for the night. Drink more and slow down a little.”
“I’ll not take water away from you. Just because you weren’t swinging a machete doesn’t mean you aren’t in need, as well. Walking is difficult, too.”
She lifted her pith helmet and brushed damp tendrils of hair off her forehead. “Don’t be foolish. Our men say we’ll cross a major stream very soon. I’ll purify more.”
He weighed her nearly full canteen in his hand and then drank deeply before returning the remainder. “Thank you.”
She reseated her hat. “You’re welcome. We’ll make better time now that the machetes can be sheathed.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Until the rain slows us down. I finally understand why they measure distance here in days of travel instead of miles.”
A porter appeared at their side, handing out bananas, mangos and plums. They sat and ate while they could do so and remain dry.
When they’d finished, Stewart said, “You, Miss Baldwin, are a woman of remarkable restraint.”
Her head canted to one side. “Restraint? In what way?”
“You’ve had any number of occasions to point out the folly of my travel plans. Soon we’ll need even earlier camps so I can have the daylight to adequately prospect.”
“In the rain? And you know how fast night falls with the trees blocking out so much of the sun.” Her eyes took on an uncharacteristic twinkle. “I guess I won’t complain about that, either, since Proverbs tells me ‘It is better to dwell on the corner of a rooftop than with a contentious woman.’”
Brave to make a stab at teasing him after his last disastrous response to her attempt. Maybe his sense of humor was rubbing off on her, even if it ran to the biblical. Or, ever gracious, she was giving him the opening that eluded him, allowing him to move past the awkwardness he’d created at the start of this leg of their journey. He chose his words carefully.
“For once I defer to the wisdom of the Bible.”
Her face lit up. “You might be surprised at how practical God’s Word is for our lives.”
He hadn’t meant to encourage Bible talk. “And that, my dear Miss Baldwin, is my cue to call for our march to continue.”
Anna called out the signal to move on. Stewart picked up his pack and turned to go. Her soft voice, no trace of joking, stopped him.
“Mr. Hastings?”
He turned and stepped aside while porters sluggishly moved past.
With a beatific smile to soften the blow, she said, “You can march away as far as you want, as long as you want, but God will always be there waiting.”
A strong pressure formed in his chest, constricting his breath. She couldn’t know she’d echoed his ever-hopeful mother’s parting words. “You’ve got it all wrong, Miss Baldwin. In my experience, men will always be waiting on God. And He will never show up.”
* * *
Anna climbed up and over yet another massive downed tree blocking the path. She considered Stewart’s words and the barefaced pain that delivered each syllable. What had happened to bring him such sorrow and unbelief?
He’d shared about his father’s drinking, but he kept the rest of his past as tightly buttoned up as his shirts. No buttons undone, ever. She must have touched a real sore spot for him to have voiced those feelings. Ahead, she lost sight of that familiar white Arrow shirt as he disappeared around a bend in the path. Carriers following him winked away, as each one rounded the same dense corner of vegetation. The loud commotion that followed set her to a run.
She reached the site to see men backing toward her in haste.
“Drivers,” Suah, the headman they’d hired at the last village, said.
A common-enough sight, the black ribbon stretched across the path, its regimented motion unmistakable. She gave orders and Suah sent men to follow out the line to either end.
Stewart said, “Ants? Can’t we just walk over them?”
“Only if we have to and then very carefully. These are driver ants. Common in the jungle. Don’t get too close, Mr. Hastings. They’ll leave us alone unless we provoke their attention.”
He moved for a closer look. Just like a man. Tell him to stay away from danger and the little boy deep inside moves in for a better look. Next, he’d start poking them with a stick.
His voice filled with wonder. “Fascinating. They move like an army maneuver. The bigger ones flank the smaller ones and make one long marching column of soldiers.”
He stood a little too close for her comfort. “Soldiers with a vicious bite who won’t let go easily. Traveler’s lore says some tribes use them like sutures to close a wound. Others use them as a form of punishment for wrongdoers. Most just stay out of their way.”
He straightened and stepped back to her side. “What happens if you disturb them?”
“They’ll fan out several feet on both sides, looking to attack. You don’t want them turning in your direction. They eat anything in their path and their bite is quite painful.”
He stared at the undulating trail with a grim fascination. “Not a fate to be envied. Do we wait or go around?”
“Depends. Drivers sometimes run for miles in one solid, unbroken train.”
He gave a low whistle. She pointed to the returning scout reporting to Suah. The head porter came over. “Not good, Mammy Anna. Drivers long.”
Stewart asked, “We can’t wait for them to pass?”
“We have no way of knowing when the line will stop. We’ll cross.”
“Then let me carry you over the line. I don’t want you hurt.”
She looked at him quizzically. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ve done this a lot. It would be safer for both of us if you just followed my lead.” She picked up her pack and secured it.
Suah gave orders to his men. They all walked up to the continuous sea of scurrying ants. To Stewart, Anna said, “We take wide steps and start stomping where our feet land.” She lifted her skirt above her boots. “Follow me, and whatever you do, don’t stop pounding your feet until we are well clear. If some of them get on you, the force shakes them off.”
He stooped to tuck his pant legs into his boots. “I think I’ll minimize their chances.”
“Smart man. Now follow my lead.” She took a broad step, moving rapidly while stomping once she crossed. She examined her boots before dropping her skirt.
Stewart joined her. “Not so bad.”
Their porters walked on past them.
“This time. Most columns are small. Occasionally a whole colony picks up and moves en masse, creating a serious problem for anyone and anything in their way.”
Once the last man cleared the ant line, Anna followed them down the trail, Stewart at her side.
Stewart mused, “At least we can see them before we have a problem.”
“Not always. One missionary I know ended up spending the night on the top of his kitchen table holding his hysterical wife when their home was overrun. Drivers ate everything, but he didn’t see a bug, rat or any vermin for some time after that night.”
“What prevented the ants from climbing the table legs?”
“Remember the kerosene I bought? Most is for lighting, but if you pour some in tins and set the legs of your furniture in it, the ants won’t bother you. They’ll cross narrow water, but not kerosene or fire.”
“Miss Baldwin, I take back all my thoughts of how much money I thought wasted on those containers.”
The trail narrowed. A few minutes later the clouds opened and let loose the first of the downpour. Anna removed the slicker from her pack against the worst of the rains. Stewart did likewise and took the lead. For hours, the caravan became one long straggling line, Stewart behind Suah, who led the way. Both were barely visible through the deluge. Three porters slowed and stayed with her.
Next time she looked, Stewart and Suah were out of sight in the diminished visibility. She rounded a bend and found the carriers huddled under the tree line surrounding a clearing. Immediately ahead was the steep downward bank of a river. A V-shaped bridge of vines swayed over the snaking waterway, as Stewart tugged and tested the security of the structure.
She called out, “Those will need more than a good jerk or two to bring them down.”
He returned to her side. “There must be another way instead of using such a flimsy structure.”
Anna slid her pack to the ground. “Flimsy? Those vines are several inches in diameter. As long as they are maintained, they are safe.”
“I hope so, otherwise we swim once we hit the water.”
“Either we cross on the bridge or climb down to the banks, build a makeshift raft and lose a substantial amount of time. Don’t worry. They’re trickier in the rain, but the sides help you balance on the narrow bundled bottom vines. Follow my lead and all will be fine.”
Stewart rubbed the stubble on his chin, dislodging the clinging drips of rainwater. “I don’t need my hand held here, Miss Baldwin. I’m cautious, not fearful. Permit me a bit of checking before I entrust your safety to a bridge whose structure is somewhat suspect. The fall would be a significant risk.”
Her safety? First he wanted to carry her over the ants and now this bridge business. He took a few tentative steps onto the bridge and returned. She cleared her throat to cover the amusement threatening to bubble out once she noticed his serious expression. He was really concerned. A warmth she couldn’t identify started in her chest and spread. She couldn’t remember a time anyone wanted to protect her before this. Well, except for the attack, but that was an extreme situation. Despite the fact that she’d been in the jungle longer and knew more about the dangers than he could imagine, to have someone worry and try to take care of her was touching.
She pulled her mind back to the moment at hand, lest the feeling overwhelm her. “Mr. Hastings, we’ll have to make camp in another hour or so. A couple of the men want time to hunt monkey for dinner. We need to go forward if you’re satisfied so they have time.”
He walked over to reclaim his pack, unaware of how his simple concern had affected her. They stood together until the porters passed over the bridge. “Anna, have I eaten monkey before? I’ve tried not to ask the contents of some of those dishes.”
“For the record, you’ve eaten some fine goat and chicken, but no monkey meat so far. It’s tasty, but I struggle with their cute little faces when I eat it.”
He laughed. “Here I thought you were a practical woman. Surely you wouldn’t want one of those as a pet. Such noisy, smelly things always screeching at us and chattering in the canopy when we come across them. I prefer the beauty and sound of the parrots.”
“As do I, but I have seen smaller species on the shoulders of some natives. But I wouldn’t know what to do with a pet anyway. I understand they require a lot of care.”
“Have you ever had a pet? A dog?”
She denied sadness an outlet. “Not really. My father didn’t want the bother.”
“So no pets, no bandalores. What did you do for fun?”
“Needlepoint, piano and all the arts for a young lady to be considered successful and catch a good society husband. To this day I have an aversion to sewing and only do so out of necessity.”
Stewart gave a low whistle. “So, your parents planned to push themselves into high society through you from an early age. After watching you in the jungle, with the local peoples, I can’t even imagine you sitting still with needlework in your lap.” He shook his head. “Strange, I always envied people with more money than we had. Envied them almost as much as I disliked the very rich.” One side of his lips curled when he spoke of the rich. “From what I can tell, despite the fact that your family had decent enough means to keep the one maid, there was more fun to be had in my slums.”
He didn’t realize how wealthy her family actually was. She searched back in their conversations and realized the assumptions they’d both made. His own mother came from the merchant class originally. He’d probably assumed Anna the same. He thought she had only one maid? More like one maid for her and one maid for everything else. They weren’t Rockefeller rich, but quite wealthy, even if her father always lived above his means and wanted more.
Would Stewart be so protective if he knew she was one of the class of people he so despised? He’d talked about his mother cleaning up their messes.... This was another complication she hadn’t anticipated, one she’d deal with only if necessary. That hadn’t been her life since the day she’d left home.
She hefted her pack onto her shoulder. “It’s never something like money that makes the real difference in life. People are the same, Mr. Hastings, whether they are in the Liberian jungle or locked behind rose gardens and stately homes.”
The last of the porters headed across the bridge, their packs balanced on their heads and one holding the vine on that side. Before she followed, she said, “I know you wish for wealth from this trip and what it can provide, but money is only a tool. Having more doesn’t bring happiness or change a person’s true nature. Don’t forget that, if you manage to achieve your goal. Money, or the desire for more, can drive men to things they wouldn’t normally be capable of otherwise.”
She pulled her hand from the scar on her cheek where it had instinctively crept as she spoke. It was better that she didn’t call attention to the visible proof of that statement and end up revealing more of her background. Their relationship had finally found an equitable balance. Considering Stewart’s barely concealed anger over his mother’s treatment by wealthy employers, would he even want to keep working with Anna if he knew the extent of her family’s wealth?
She sighed. In this case relationships and rope bridges had a lot in common—one misstep on either could prove fatal.