Anna retreated to her cabin after begging time to think and pray about the decision in front of her. She opened the door to find Mrs. Dowdy up and dressed. The small trunk with her belongings sat partially packed on the floor. Maybe she hadn’t been to breakfast yet and Anna would get a few moments alone. Fortunately no one else had been assigned to the third berth in the tiny space.
“Anna, there you are.”
She forced a smile. “I was up on deck.” She raised her Bible.
“Oh, your devotions. I was putting mine off until I got my trunk ready for the steward to move back to my cabin with Mr. Dowdy.”
Anna took a slow breath. Mrs. Dowdy didn’t leave the ship until it reached Harper. There would be no way to keep this turn of events private. “About that. I may be continuing on to Harper, as well.”
Mrs. Dowdy paused midfold of the skirt in her hand. “Oh. Will you still need a chaperone? Or is Mr. Hastings leaving us at Garraway?”
Anna recounted her dilemma and braced herself for her chaperone’s poor opinions of Stewart.
“You are in a difficult position indeed, Anna. And I find I may have misjudged Mr. Hastings. Any man who would go to such great lengths for his mother is more honorable than I had believed. I would hope to find such devotion in my own grown sons if I were in need.” Mrs. Dowdy placed the skirt on top of her trunk and sat on her berth. “On the one hand, you might be walking away from the only chance to save your young convert and prolong your own time in the village. Ask yourself this. If you had understood the itinerary from the beginning, would you still have agreed?”
Anna sat on the opposite berth, ducking her head slightly because of the bunk above her. She was shocked to hear counsel instead of complaint. She thought hard. “I don’t know. As the bishop pointed out, I had no other immediate provisions. He was convinced this was God’s plan. Even had I known, I still would have faced the problem of returning to the village before the Poro school began.”
Mrs. Dowdy leaned forward. “I’ve been in this country a lot longer than you, dear child. We still have at least four more weeks of rain. And at least a couple more after that before the rice is dry enough to harvest. I’ve traveled up the Cavalla several times with my husband to look at property when we first arrived in Liberia. Once we went as far as the rapids, and it took approximately ten days. Of course, we weren’t loaded down with much in the way of supplies. Still, it seems to me if you manage your land travel, set a steady pace for yourself and your porters, you could both accomplish your goals.”
Hope flickered inside her. “Perhaps so, as long as we didn’t encounter any major setbacks. But Mr. Hastings has declared his need for time to prospect along the way once we get within the mining concession area. I considered explaining about Taba, but how can I burden Mr. Hastings with choosing between his own mother and a boy he’s never met?”
“Exactly so. And it is unnecessary, my dear. Once you get within reasonable traveling distance of the village, you could journey ahead if needed. Leave him some competent help so he can follow later. That will even give you time before he arrives to talk to the chief about Mr. Hastings’s business in his territory. In fact, it is what Mr. Dowdy likes to call ‘a selling point’ for your need to arrive ahead of Mr. Hastings. If Nana Mala remains hostile, then Mr. Hastings will not be in danger’s reach. You can send word so he will remain safe.”
Anna’s heart flooded with relief. This wasn’t the disaster she feared. Perhaps if she hadn’t spent a lifetime being subject to the impulsive, poorly conceived plans of her father, she might have been able to see this for herself. “The other point to consider is that Mr. Hastings’s concern for his mother will drive him to continue on without me. And it’s clear how little he really understands of this country.”
Mrs. Dowdy reached over and patted Anna’s hand. “Exactly, my dear. Most men need a strong guiding hand. Why, I can’t imagine how Mr. Dowdy would manage here without me. His dealings would be an epic failure without my input.”
Anna resisted the impulse to laugh. Poor Mr. Dowdy might wear the literal trousers, but not in any way that mattered. Stewart did need her experience, but she couldn’t picture him ever allowing a wife of his to dictate his life down to the smallest detail the way Mr. Dowdy permitted. It was as unthinkable as Anna imitating her mother’s cowed obedience in all things. Were all marriages doomed to such an imbalance of power from one side or another? What would it be like to marry a man who honored and respected God as well as his wife?
Mrs. Dowdy stood and smoothed her skirts. “I can see you’re thinking hard on this. I’m going to go to breakfast and give you time alone to pray and seek God’s Will. All the good counsel in the world can’t take the place of God’s peace and direction. I’ll have a plate fixed for you.”
Anna gave her a grateful smile. When the cabin door closed, she slid off the bunk and knelt on the floor.
Lord, I need Your guidance. Your peace that this is the right decision. You’ve called me to Nana Mala’s village. You opened the heart of Taba to your salvation. You alone hold Taba’s life in your hands. I know You can provide for all our needs, so if this is the way, then I don’t want to miss Your Will. Not for myself, or Taba, or this hurting man you’ve placed in my path. Please, show me what to do here. I choose to stand on Your will, not my reasoning or my fears.
A deep peace settled over her. She needed to fully embrace God’s provision and trust Him. And surely by trusting God in His provision, He would give her the strength not to be drawn in by a few frivolous romantic feelings.
Now to convince Stewart to keep her on. He’d given her the choice, but clearly he wouldn’t hesitate to dismiss her and ask for his money back. She prayed she still had a chance.
* * *
Stewart stood on deck after breakfast and listened with growing consternation as Wilson regaled him with the difficulties to expect in his travels.
Wilson said, “The translators, and mind you they speak Liberian English or a pidgin, are usually already hired by the traders, such as myself. They’ve no desire to go on an interior expedition, and even if they did, most were raised in or near the coastal towns. They won’t be experienced enough with interior tribes to be of much value.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Depends. Where exactly are you headed?”
“Eventually I’ll base near the Putu Mountain range.”
Wilson took on the look of someone about to reason with an asylum patient. “Cannibal territory?”
“Yeah, everyone gets that same look once I tell them my destination.”
Wilson slapped him on the back before he walked away. “Can’t help you there. Farthest my men will venture is about a day or so out of Harper. Talk to some of the traders in Harper.”
Stewart watched Wilson’s retreat. Giving Anna an option to get out of the contract was a big mistake. And now that he’d changed their destination, he realized the barrier that language might become. In his haste, he hadn’t thought this through.
He stared out at the distant yellow sands, focusing on the rhythm of the breakers hitting the shore as his mind worked on his latest problem.
Eventually the hint of civilization peeked out above the distant treetops. Garraway’s tin roofs winked in the bright sun. The transfer of passengers and goods by surf boat would soon commence and cargo would be taken on all through the night. A maddeningly slow process and the sound of the winch would preclude sleep.
Once at Harper, what would he be able to accomplish on his own?
He faced the hard facts. This was a problem of his own making. He could have insisted and gotten around Mrs. Dowdy to have more time to talk to Anna, if he had felt confident about relying on Anna in the first place, or any other pretty face with so much at stake. Yet there seemed to be much more than beauty where Anna was concerned. So why, with one little missionary in hand, did he balk twice about relying on her in the bush? He lacked the most basic understanding of this country, no matter how many maps he’d studied.
Truth was he still had reservations about relying on her or any other woman after his experience with Julianne arranging his future and then wiping it all away in an instant. He recognized that allowing his actions to be influenced by his past was poor business, but yielding his trust again was no easy thing. He had to seek a compromise before Anna refused him outright and left the ship. Surely his mother’s situation would soften her heart.
All around him, deckhands suddenly stood straighter. Stewart turned, expecting to see the captain.
No, not the captain. Anna appeared on deck. Her effect on men’s postures was profound. He, however, honed in on the absence of the small japanned steel suitcase she’d held when boarding from Monrovia. Did this mean there was hope?
As she came nearer, he caught himself straightening, as well. Must be an automatic male reaction. Did she know her effect on men? Most beautiful women did and used it to get their way. In the war between the genders, women fought with an unfair advantage.
He pinpointed the moment she caught sight of him. She tensed, her smile seeming forced. His mind raced to find the right words to say to regain her help. How hard could it be to apologize to one little missionary woman?
Her head tilted upward as she came to a stop in front of him. He looked into her face. His chest tightened. This would be harder than he thought.
Before he got out the first word, she spoke. “Mr. Hastings. I’ve come to apologize after reacting so poorly to our misunderstanding.”
In war, this same feeling followed the concussive shock of artillery fire. A complete disorientation that had the ground of expectations shaking under his feet. It was too easy. She must have reconsidered the loss of funding. So much in life came down to the money.
She continued, “I’m afraid I don’t take well to surprises or having my plans dictated to me, a character failing I need to work on.” Her cheeks pinked up as she spoke. “And to accuse you of greed...well, that was uncalled for on my part.”
Didn’t like her plans dictated? Maybe they had something in common, after all. “Nonsense, Miss Baldwin, I’m sure to someone like a missionary, I do appear to be a fortune hunter, but I take family responsibilities seriously. My delay in discussing the itinerary earlier is to blame.”
“How generous of you to say so. That you risked your life to save me back in Monrovia should have informed me better of your character without having to be told about your mother.”
Her manner and sincerity sliced away at his general distrust. “I did what was necessary at the time, like I’m trying to do now.” His breath waited on her next words.
“I prayed about this and am willing to take the longer route. I would, for my own needs, prefer to chart the course to minimize delays, but I will honor my agreement with you.”
Hope rang in his heart and he took in vital air. “I am quite relieved to hear so, but concerned that we still have a problem. Wilson bent my ear concerning the difficulties of our travel outside of Harper. The more I learn of this country, Miss Baldwin, the more I realize the bonus I was offered by my employer may have been given to encourage me to do the impossible.”
She smiled and his pulse elevated. “If you give me more details, perhaps we can form a plan together to deal with the issues he raised. After all, you’ll be traveling with a missionary. We perpetually believe our God is able to do the impossible.”
“I’ll put more trust in our planning, Miss Baldwin. In my experience, your God isn’t always available when it comes down to practical matters. I doubt God will stoop into our affairs to give you the name of a willing translator in Harper for the different dialects we’ll encounter. I fear we will be reduced to hand gestures for communication.”
Her smile broadened; her eyes caught a glint from the sun. “You’re concerned about obtaining a translator?” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she dissolved into laughter.
She’d gone from apologizing to him to mockery?
“Miss Baldwin!”
She clutched her side and took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m sorry. Back to your practical realities. When the bishop said we were a match made in Heaven, he was right, after all.”
“I’m not making the connection. Exactly what is funny here?”
Anna reached up, her hand resting on his shoulder while she tried to dampen her grin. She failed. “God already met your practical need.”
“What do you mean?”
His serious tone appeared to sober her, and her hand slid back to her side. “Languages have always been my gift. Which is one reason I was assigned to a post with such an obscure dialect. Native translators want nothing to do with Nana Mala on a long-term basis. Without the ability to translate, my sermons would be quite short and poorly understood.”
Incredible. “What about all the areas we’ll pass through before we get there?”
“Mr. Hastings, at the risk of sounding like a braggart, or ‘bluff boy’ as the natives say, translation will not be a problem, even if we fail to find any pidgin speakers.”
“How is this possible?”
She sounded embarrassed. “I speak a total of fourteen languages fluently, not counting a few more odd dialects.”
An offensive blast grenade would have stunned him less. Every time it appeared he would fail, his luck turned. An impossible plan might be in reach, all thanks to this modest little missionary. He didn’t stop to think as the sheer joy of the implications for his and his mother’s future overwhelmed him. He picked up the tiny bundle in front of him and swung her around in celebration. As he put her down, he said, “I thought all my plans were doomed to failure. Miss Baldwin, if you weren’t a missionary, I’d kiss you senseless.”
She grabbed the rail, dizzy from the spin. When her head lifted, he recognized the mistake he’d made. Passengers and crew members stared, reinforcing the impropriety.
Her voice trembled. “While I appreciate your...enthusiasm, I’m afraid I must insist on a couple more things in our association.”
“Anything.”
Wide eyes held his gaze. “No spinning your missionary like a children’s top. And definitely no kissing. Ever.”
* * *
Anna longed for the comfortable deck chairs and the tea trays they’d left behind two days ago. After a full day, including six hours of rain, on the wide, muddy waters of the Cavalla River, her cramped legs begged to stretch themselves outside the tight confines of the eight-man canoe. She dreamed of the luxury of a covered, motorized boat to traverse the river.
But hadn’t she given up a prison of luxury to come to Africa in the first place? The real sympathy belonged to the long-legged Stewart in the canoe trailing hers.
She’d nixed the idea of sharing a canoe upriver to avoid the close confines and to reinforce the necessary bounds of behavior between two unmarried individuals. Clearly he’d meant nothing improper by his actions on board the ship. He’d been like a child with an unexpected Christmas present when she’d revealed her ability with languages. She’d been caught off guard, that was all.
She’d worked hard since to banish the thought of how safe and secure being in those strong arms made her feel. God was her true source of strength, and with His help she’d conquer this sudden longing to feel secure in a man’s arms. Another reason for separate canoes until she overcame her failing.
Fortunately, between Mrs. Dowdy’s presence and the eventual sight of the red-tiled roofs of Harper, Stewart had stuck to the business at hand after that moment. Remarkable how fast things came together once they’d crossed the beach and reached the town. A virtual whirlwind ensued as she filled supply lists, gave him instructions for securing rowers when he’d insisted on taking care of the hiring himself and searched out lodging for Stewart separate from the quarters the mission university provided for her.
All that hurry and now nothing for entertainment beyond the occasional parrot in the endless landscape of piassava palms and mangrove trees along the river’s banks. The cadence of her Kru rowers singing to keep the rhythm threatened to lull her to sleep.
Earlier they’d passed several villages and one occupied missionary post. But it had been too soon in the journey to do more than say hello, stretch their legs a bit and gather information. She hoped their last source was accurate. Judging by the low-hanging sun and the lifting rain, if they didn’t come across another village soon, they’d be forced to make their own clearing and camp for the night.
Not a pleasant thought. She hadn’t seen any crocodiles so far, but she worried that the nocturnal, river-loving pygmy hippos might not be obvious until they made camp.
Thoughts of wildlife vanished when Stewart’s canoe pulled alongside hers. She addressed her concerns. “I’m not sure we should have pushed on from the last signs of a village, Mr. Hastings. We might be forced to camp by the riverbank. Not my favorite location.”
“I hate to waste good daylight with early camps this soon in the journey. Especially since our rowers couldn’t help slowing down in the hardest part of the rain. What about those drums I’ve been hearing? Don’t they mean we are close to a village?”
“Possibly, but hard to say with any accuracy. Those are talking drums. Their sounds travel hundreds of miles.”
“Are you having fun at my expense?” His head canted.
“No, not at all. Drums telegraphed village messages long before Mr. Marconi ever thought of sending signals through the air.”
“Amazing how people make progress in their own way.”
“I think you’ll find a lot of things here to surprise you, if you keep an open mind. You might spend time watching local blacksmiths. Most villages have one. They do a lot of work in iron.”
Stewart raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. Ironwork speaks to not only inventive thinking, but also tells me they are familiar with the metals and minerals available.”
“Yes, but they don’t value some metals the way we would.”
He smiled. “Better for my company if they don’t.”
Surprise threaded her voice before she thought to conceal it. “You would deliberately take advantage of their ignorance of the rest of the world?”
He shook his head. “Of course not, but it will allow us to negotiate affordable terms. Mining here will be an expensive proposition.”
“I guess I’ll hear your terms for myself if I’m the one doing the translating.”
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and then narrowed as he looked past her shoulder. One hand reached down and gripped the stock of his rifle. “In the area of translating, does your gift for languages extend to drum talk?”
“No.” She laughed. “Drum is not a language I’ve mastered.”
“Too bad.” He nodded to a spot behind her. “If you had, we might know if that rather formidable display of warriors holds spears of welcome or imminent death.”
* * *
Stewart was relieved to see that welcome prevailed. But three hours into the evening’s festivities, relief no longer sustained him. What he wanted was quiet and his bed. If Anna had not explained the courtesies and customs, he would have cut the evening short and lost the goodwill of his hosts.
The sheer skill of the drummers, their intricate beats accompanying displays of impressive athletic prowess, were all fascinating at first. He’d thought Monrovia exotic with its marketplaces full of colorfully dressed Kru men and the impressively tall Vai and their wives walking down the streets side by side with roaming cattle and pigs. But Monrovia hadn’t prepared him in the least for the sight of those fierce-faced, spear-laden warriors. He felt as green as new recruits on the front lines when reality didn’t meet the idealized expectations of war.
And watching the petite Anna confidently lift her unfashionably long, rain-sodden skirts and step out of the canoe to speak to them before he even got to the riverbank? It was enough to induce a stroke in any man. After tonight, he intended to talk with her about her own safety. Even though he was only one man with one gun, walking away from your only source of protection was unwise. She might know protocol, but he understood the logistics of safety.
Observing her then and now was quite the education, not only about the country, but to a new side of the woman he’d hired to guide him. What a revelation when she spoke to those men. He’d scrambled to her side and listened to the translated conversation, one which allayed any lingering fears that a five-foot-three-inch brunette from Connecticut really spoke the language well enough to communicate. Only a few words from her and warlike countenances dissolved into smiles, postures relaxed, and they were elevated to the status of honored guests.
According to Anna, a mission station had existed here years before, so their hosts were quite enthusiastic at their arrival. The chief insisted on presenting them with a ceremonial gift of white kola nuts, water and salt. Anna reciprocated with a tin of tobacco, a fathom’s measure of cloth and a few fishing hooks from the items she’d had him purchase in Harper as an expected courtesy to their hosts, which she called a “dash.”
Food appeared in front of him. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. He smiled at the young woman who served the meal and quickly averted his eyes to his food, so as not to stare. She was clad in only a few necklaces and a country-blue trader’s cloth skirt tied at one hip. The wooden bowl held an abundance of rice with some colorful bits mixed in, local vegetables he supposed. The pieces of fish he recognized as such. But what was he supposed to do with the smaller bowl of fragrant oil?
Anna rescued him. “Follow my lead.” She poured her oil over the rice mixture. With her fingers, she stirred and formed some of the rice into a small ball. She leaned closer and said, “This is a type of palm-oil chop with bits of fish added. Rice and palm oil are staples here, but this late in the rainy season, rice is usually scarce until October when the weather dries out. They have served precious reserves because we are guests. Try to eat at least a small portion to be polite.”
“No worries. My appetite will do this meal every courtesy. I’m just glad my mother can’t see me. Eating with my fingers would cause her to despair and believe all her efforts to instill manners were to no avail.”
Anna choked on her food a bit while laughing. Before he could pound her back, she recovered and said, “No one’s mother prepares you for what you’ll encounter here. Polite and acceptable are always relevant to a particular culture. As to the food, do take it slowly, since it can be a little difficult on the inexperienced palate.”
After watching her eat, he doubted it would be a problem. He imitated Anna: he formed an oil-soaked ball of rice and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. His eyes stung and commenced watering. His tongue...the burn... Through blurry tears, he saw Anna cover her mouth. A poor attempt to hide her laughter. He reached for the cup placed in front of him to put out the fire, and Anna’s eyes opened wide. She shook her head, but all he cared about was dousing the flame in his mouth and belly.
She laughed till she cried when he clapped both hands over his mouth to keep the drink from erupting. He swallowed as the fire in his mouth traveled down his throat and enflamed his stomach.
He reached for his canteen. When he regained his ability to speak, he asked, “What was that?”
She wiped away big tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks and gasped for breath. “Fine Liberian cooking, Mr. Hastings. There’s a reason the Portuguese called this the Pepper Coast.”
The drums ceased and he realized that some of the fire in his throat was from trying to talk over them. He lowered his voice. “But I saw you eating and assumed it was fine.”
“I’ve been in the bush long enough that food without it tastes bland. And I tried to warn you, but you were too quick. Most rice dishes will be this spicy. They call it ‘sheeting’ the rice with peppers. Discourages the vermin.”
“And the drink? I notice yours remains untouched.”
“The beverage is palm wine, a staple in the bush, or anywhere in Liberia, for that matter. It can be quite intoxicating.”
“Ah. I thought my swallow had a kick. They won’t mind if I stick to the water in my canteen, will they?”
Her head tilted and questioning eyes met his. “You’re a temperate man, Mr. Hastings?”
“Are you surprised, Miss Baldwin?”
“I’m more curious than anything.”
“For me the choice of drinking or not was easy. Years of living with a drunkard left me no taste for spirits and their destructive powers.”
She nodded approval. “A decision like you made takes a lot of strength. Most would have found drink the easier path. You said on board ship you weren’t a churchgoing man, but there must have been a strong moral example in your life.”
Whether it was the flickering firelight dancing across her face or the intensity of her gaze probing his very soul, he found himself answering, telling her what he’d never spoken of to another. “My mother was a pillar. She instilled a strong sense of right and wrong, drove me to get an education, but also protected me from my father’s abuse until I was finally old enough to protect her. All the while, she insisted life could be different. When I was twelve, I learned how different hers had been until she’d married beneath her and her family disowned her. She’d been the daughter of a merchant. Not rich, but a good life. She knew there was more to life than drinking every paycheck.” He paused, remembering.
A gentle touch on his forearm brought him back to the moment. “She sounds like an extraordinary woman, your mother. To retain hope in the midst of such misery.”
“When I was nine, she defied my father and started attending church with me in tow every Sunday she didn’t have to work. Like you, religion means a lot to her.”
“So you did attend church, despite what you told Mrs. Dowdy.”
Yes, but he’d rather face a shelling from the Germans than discuss his reasons for walking away from religion. “Only as a child. But enough on me. You asked a simple question and I practically gave you my life story.” How did she manage to extract such confessions from him? He turned back to his bowl and rolled more rice into a ball. Eating it was a high price to pay for changing the subject. Still, if the dainty little woman beside him could eat this stuff...
Anna stopped his hand with one of her own before it left the bowl. “I kept a few tins—peaches and smoked-salmon filets—out of our supplies. I can slip them to you in your hut.”
Before she could say anything else, the same maiden who brought his meal presented herself and held out a hand to him. He looked to Anna. “What does she want?”
Anna addressed the young woman, who promptly dropped her hand and moved away. “She finds you quite fascinating. She was encouraging you to join the other men in dance when it starts again.”
“Oh, no. Not me. I have two good feet, but they are both oriented to the left when it comes to dancing.”
“I doubt the young woman will care. You’ve caught her fancy and now she’s looking for any excuse to interact with you.”
“Ah, I see. So perhaps this would be a good time for me to find my bed and call it a night. Then my lack of interest won’t hurt her feelings or bring any trouble. Which way through that maze of huts to my lodgings?”
Anna stood and brushed off her skirts. “I think that would be for the best. I appreciate your sensitivity to the matter. Come. I’ll take you there myself and get you those tins I promised.”
He stood. “No food. Just rest. Frankly, I don’t know how you are still on your feet. You must need sleep even more than I do.”
She smiled and shook her head. “My evening’s not over. I don’t want to miss the opportunity to share the Gospel with these people. I’m used to the late hours.”
He followed her through the narrow paths until she stopped in front of a hut that looked suspiciously like all the others. “This one is yours. You should find your personal gear inside.” She pointed to a hut two down on the opposite side. “I’ll be right over there later should you have any trouble at all.”
“I promise you, Miss Baldwin, the only chance for trouble will be found solely in the land of my dreams.”
* * *
Barely two hours passed till Anna headed back to her own sleeping quarters. Time well spent. She rejoiced that her preaching had born fruit. The chief and two elders made decisions for Christ and invited her to stay on as their missionary. She regretted her answer, but too much yet remained for her to accomplish at her own mission post. She’d send a relayed word to Bishop Michaels. She prayed someone would heed the call and fill the need.
Ah, Bishop Michaels was right about a Divine hand in this arrangement. These results alone were proof. Who knew, maybe even Stewart would come to know God before the trip ended. She hoped so for his sake. From their conversations, it was clear his lighthearted exterior covered a painful past. No small feat. She knew all about painful pasts and keeping them hidden.
When he’d mentioned his father’s drunkenness, it was with a calm detachment. But once Stewart spoke about his mother’s encouragement in the face of such difficulty, his eyes had projected both his admiration for her and the hurt he carried inside. Part of Anna wanted to do more than reach over and touch his arm, to find some way to comfort him and relieve his pain. But she knew better than to build on the vulnerability of the moment, lest her empathy go so far as to create an emotional connection where none should exist. And from the way his memories touched a chord in her, that would be a dangerous path to travel.
In time, she could easily find herself suffering a romantic attachment of true depth for this honorable and troubled man. Serving God in such an untamed land was difficult enough without entangling herself in a relationship with a disparity of faith between them. No wonder God’s Word issued warnings on the subject, seeing as how easy it would be to open the door to those feelings.
But how different Stewart was from her expectations. Not just the temperance and sense of humor, but his quick understanding and response to the problem with the young woman. He might not believe in God, but Stewart’s behavior was beyond reproach. She’d worried about his deportment without cause.
She crossed the compound near the waning central campfire. Revelers had long since sought their own beds. Embers glowed but cast little light. She passed several huts, light snores from some, the sounds of restless children from others. Ahead, Stewart’s hut came into view. She hoped he’d been able to sleep. She’d forgotten to warn him about the Liberian version of a bed.
Oh, no, he was still awake? Movement at his doorway. A twinge of guilt assailed her conscience. She should have had the porters unpack the camp beds he’d bought for the trail. No. Wait. The height was all wrong. More movement and the moonlight outlined a small, lithe figure in country-blue trader’s cloth skirt leaving Stewart’s hut.
Anna clutched her chest. Pain stabbed her and took her breath. The pain of betrayal. How could he? After making her believe he was an honorable man?
Easy. He was like every other man in her life before the mission field. His painful past, one with elements so close to her own, had blinded her to the truth. She’d cast him in a good and virtuous mold where none existed outside of God.
She used all her self-control to force her feet past his hut once the girl was gone. Anna couldn’t confront him tonight.
Not quietly.
She reached the confines of her hut and sank onto the sleeping platform. Despair cloaked her earlier joy. Taba’s life would be preserved by continuing on with Stewart and completing the job, but would Stewart’s behavior undermine her work? If this was how he acted after only one night in this village, what would it be like in the weeks he’d spend with the Pahn? Everything she’d preached and taught would be nullified through their association.
No, there was no choice here at all. God would have to provide another way to meet her and Taba’s needs. In the morning, she’d send Stewart down the Cavalla for a fast trip home on the prevailing current. She’d pray for his mother’s needs, but she’d ensure that Stewart Hastings never set foot in Nana Mala’s village.