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The Doctor's Mission
Debbie Kaufman


To Save lives, she would risk her own.A woman doctor! Missionary William Mayweather can’t hide his disappointment. The Nynabo mission in Liberia, Africa, desperately needs help, but he’s vowed not to put another female in jeopardy. Too bad flame-haired Dr. Mary O’Hara refuses to turn back—and he cannot allow her to go into the jungle alone.Medicine or marriage?For Mary, the choice was clear. Far away from the patriarchal medical community, she resolves to be of real service. She’ll willingly go head-to-head with the handsome, opinionated missionary, even in the face of deadly danger. Yet the greatest tests lie in trusting God’s plan—for the mission, and her future happiness in this untamed, beautiful land. . .







To save lives, she would risk her own

A woman doctor! Missionary William Mayweather can’t hide his disappointment. The Nynabo mission in Liberia, Africa, desperately needs help, but he’s vowed not to put another female in jeopardy. Too bad flame-haired Dr. Mary O’Hara refuses to turn back—and he cannot allow her to go into the jungle alone.

Medicine or marriage? For Mary, the choice was clear. Far away from the patriarchal medical community, she resolves to be of real service. She’ll willingly go head-to-head with the handsome, opinionated missionary, even in the face of deadly danger. Yet the greatest tests lie in trusting God’s plan—for the mission, and her future happiness in this untamed, beautiful land….


“It’s no shame to admit your weakness. It’s not necessary to be strong all the time. Most women collapse after similar experiences.”

William obviously had no experience with women who weren’t trained from birth to rely on a manly pillar of strength. “I’m not most women,” Mary said.

“So you seem determined to prove. May I suggest that even strong women need to sit and rest after an ordeal?”

Mary simply nodded, overwhelmed with exhaustion and shock. William started to walk off, and unexpected panic overruled her need to appear in control. “Wait, I… Don’t go. Not yet.”

William looked startled. Then his eyes softened and he sat down beside her. “You’ll feel better after a little rest.”

The fire’s warmth seeped in and added to her exhaustion. Her head began to nod, and William pulled her near and supported her in the crook of his arm. It felt too right to protest. But although he might have saved her life and offered her comfort, he was a pastor. He would have done the same for anyone. She shouldn’t make the mistake of reading too much into a man just doing his job.


DEBBIE KAUFMAN

never heeded her mother’s advice to get her nose out of a book—except for when it was time to have adventures outside the written pages. Adventures like running a rural airport, working as a small-town journalist, teaching school and traveling to China to establish an adoption program, just to name a few. Of course, all these things were still accomplished with a good book in one hand.

Time and technology have marched on since her first visit to the bookmobile, but Debbie still likes her library to be portable. So these days you may find her with her nose in an e-reader that goes wherever she does. But mostly now, you’ll find her perched in front of a computer creating her own award-winning stories. Debbie currently lives in Georgia and enjoys spending time with her husband and their four children, three grandchildren and two dogs.




The Doctor’s Mission


Debbie Kaufman










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.

—Romans 8:28


To my husband, Bill, for always believing in me.

To my children Emily, Dan and Dave, for all the times I said, “After I finish the book.”

And to my friends Sandy, Mae and Dianna, for their faithful support.


Contents

Chapter One (#u53dfaa6e-c14c-5f65-b02b-1f195abcb2d9)

Chapter Two (#uea43aac4-cea6-512d-818d-11bc63a62317)

Chapter Three (#ue6247258-81c0-5ba0-8407-59ef51468897)

Chapter Four (#uf5173ba2-f116-5460-890a-eb8674262edd)

Chapter Five (#u456b82f9-215d-54ba-8e46-e6905837b070)

Chapter Six (#uce54ea0c-9540-5303-86ff-98a12660634c)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Liberia, Africa, 1918

William Mayweather placed his worn leather Bible on the table beside him and stepped out on the deep, shaded porch of the Newaka Mission Station. His evening devotions would have to wait if what he was hearing was any indication of what was to come. The smooth, hand-hewn rail transmitted the day’s heat through his hand while he listened for confirmation of his hopes from the dense Liberian jungle.

There it was. His ears hadn’t deceived him. The escalating cries of monkeys in the treetops telegraphed a clear message over and above the noise of the busy mission compound. Someone was coming. Finally.

The two-week delay here at the base mission station had seemed like forever despite the hospitality of his hosts, Hannah and Karl Jansen. William chafed to get back to the Kru people and begin his work anew. He didn’t even mind the amount of physical labor that would be needed to restore his former mission at Nynabo after a year of unfettered jungle reclamation.

He looked past the rectangular compound lined with tin-roofed wooden buildings to the welcoming arch at the entrance of the mission. No one yet.

The Newaka mission had long ago brought in tin from the beach to roof their home, the school and the dormitories. The other outbuildings were thatched just like his in the interior at Nynabo were—if they still stood. He squinted, as though his vision could possibly penetrate the dense jungle vegetation that lay a few feet past the mission entrance. Perhaps it was only a supply run, but given the dangers of travel in the bush, the regular caravan would have welcomed additional support and waited for the two new volunteers promised him by the Mission Board.

His pulse elevated with anticipation. Reviving the compound at Nynabo was back within his reach. Doubts it would ever come to pass had fled at hearing of the unexpected providence of God. God who had supplied not one, but two men now en route to join him in spreading the Gospel, and one a doctor no less. It spoke volumes about the character and dedication of these new volunteers that they dared see past the mission’s deadly history and heed the call to evangelize the unreached peoples of the remote jungle interior. Now if they would just get here.

With his free hand he warded off the glare of the low-hanging sun. Behind him, the door opened and he turned to see a flour-dusted Hannah stepping onto the porch.

“Has the first runner come yet, William?”

“Not yet, Hannah. But the monkeys are in full chorus, so he should arrive any minute.”

“Good. I don’t want to miss greeting our new brothers.” Hannah glanced down at the porch floor, a tight crease popped up between her brows and her Dutch cleanliness came out in full force. “Oh, dear. Company arriving and I haven’t swept out here since morning.”

William’s chuckle escaped despite his efforts to suppress his amusement. Hannah’s fight against common household dirt was legendary in the African bush. She would be scandalized if a guest caught her unawares. “The porch is fine. The only thing you might want to do is brush the flour off yourself.”

Hannah’s hands went straight to her apron to remedy the problem. “Fine for you maybe, but one of our guests is a doctor. He’s bound to have high standards. We don’t want to run off the first doctor the Board has ever sent us.”

She removed her apron and gave her voluminous blue skirts a good shake. Her hands nervously smoothed her graying hair in anticipation of company.

“You look fine, Hannah. I’m sure once they get a whiff of your fresh-baked bread and realize they’re in time for dinner, it will be a distraction from all else.” William pointed to the birds rising and calling out in frightened flight.

“Dinner is only a simple affair. I didn’t think they’d arrive so soon or I’d have done more.”

“They are going to be glad to be out of the never-ending jungle. And I know your idea of a simple meal. You’re going to spoil them, Hannah. Unless one of these men can cook, we’re not going to be eating to your standards once we get to Nynabo.”

“All the more reason for a good meal or two before you set off. I worry about you out there with no wife to take care of you.”

Grief broke through his protective walls at the unexpected reminder of his loss. He schooled his face carefully into smooth lines to hide the effect of her casual words. “I think God already spoke on that subject.”

“God doesn’t expect you to grieve forever. It’s been a year since malaria took your Alice.”

“I am trying, Hannah. But grief or no grief, I could never in good conscience take another wife into the interior. This is not a life for women. You, my dear, are the exception to the rule.”

“Nonsense. How many women pioneered missions in this area before you were even born?”

Hannah’s direct gaze left him at a loss for words. Grief had no logic at hand to argue with her.

His lack of an answer hung between them, dangling unsupported, until movement in the compound distracted her. She turned to her husband as he emerged from the schoolhouse across the way, his straight posture commanding attention and belying his advancing years.

Obviously aware of the jungle’s message too, Karl Jansen nodded at the two of them and turned to greet the approaching caravan. Three shiny black torsos covered in little more than sweat and grass cloth entered the compound through the open arch. As the three unburdened themselves of the canvas-wrapped packs secured on their heads, the first of the hammock-chair bearers came into view. A single pole atop the circular corn-husk pad balanced on the porter’s head, his counterpart in united step behind. Between them, a hammock swayed with the weight of the occupant they carried.

Karl moved to greet the new arrival, whose face was blocked from William’s sight by the bearer standing at attention while his passenger disembarked. Karl turned and flashed a quick, unreadable look to William before giving his attention back to the occupant of the hammock chair.

As William approached to greet the travelers, Karl’s liver-spotted hand reached out to help their guest alight. William’s stomach registered the first knot of impending doom when a stout, stocking-clad leg came out of the chair. It was attached to a smiling, barrel-shaped matron in a newfangled split skirt and white shirtwaist. Her pith helmet was removed to reveal a neat, brown bun secured in the back.

A shock ran clear down William’s spine. The Mission Board sent him a woman? A sturdy-looking woman of about forty years, but a woman nonetheless. What were they thinking? Had his last venture into the interior not proven Nynabo unsafe for the fairer sex? And matronly or not, a woman alone with two men deep in the bush would be compromised. Before his hopes of a quick return to Nynabo sank slowly into a bog of despair, a spark of hope and understanding hit.

They’ve sent me a married couple. Of course! The Board would never send a single, unchaperoned woman to serve with a man.

He shook off the worry and quickened his stride as the second set of bearers rounded the corner. He reached the hammock chair just as a slim, trousered leg complete with protective panniers and an impossibly small boot emerged. Fiery red hair peeked out from under the pith helmet and topped a porcelain complexion reddened by the heat. Intense and very feminine green eyes stared up at him. Karl nudged him and William’s manners took over. He automatically offered his hand and let go of the breath he held.

Obviously these were no missionaries. Not two white women alone in the interior. Whatever sort of tourist trek these ladies were on, they must be hopelessly confused to have ended up here. He’d heard of the new travel fad of wealthy women, women who ran from the natural state of marriage to travel to exotic locales. But wasn’t it confined to Arabia? Liberia didn’t boast the excitement of ancient, lost civilizations that drew these types of sensation seekers. Yet here they were.

Disappointment at what would be a longer wait pulsed through him and he struggled to mask his irritation at receiving two adventuresses instead of two mission workers. Yet the hand he held, delicate in form, put him mind of his Alice. He’d not held a woman’s hand since hers as she lay dying. He was saved from grief’s hold by a hand that responded with a surprisingly sturdy grip.

“Thank you.” Her voice was melodic. “I was beginning to think I would never get out of that contraption.”

Despite his misgivings, William stood transfixed by the petite beauty as she emerged from the chair. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. It was not until her eyes crinkled in a puzzled look that he realized he was staring. He felt a gentle tug and released the hand he’d held a little longer than was polite.

“Forgive me, ma’am. Pastor William Mayweather at your service.”

“Excellent. Just the man I was looking for.”

“Me? I do not understand.”

“I’m Dr. O’Hara. I was told you would be expecting me.”



Dr. Mary O’Hara lifted her chin and stared up past a broad chest covered in a white cotton shirt minus the traditional attached collar to find rich, mahogany eyes. Eyes that made her forget that every known muscle in her body ached, plus a few muscles she’d forgotten existed. Three days on the trail had taken their toll. Yet somehow the sight of this tall, rugged man took her mind off her mundane pains.

This was the pastor she was supposed to meet? If she hadn’t heard his name from his own lips, she wouldn’t have believed it. When she pictured herself working at a bush station with a missionary, she’d imagined a wizened, older man, glasses perched on the end of his nose and maybe even slightly stoop-shouldered from bending over his Bible. Nothing prepared her for this magnificent, broad-shouldered, six-foot man without a stooped shoulder in sight. She certainly wasn’t expecting the warmth that radiated from his hand or the spark of awareness igniting. She tugged her hand back just to recover her ability to think straight.

Piercing eyes stared at her in frank amazement, probably doubting she could handle living in the jungle. Quite understandable. Men often looked at her like that when they first heard she was a doctor, underestimating her. The inevitable banter would follow while they tried to get her to admit she was joking. Last would be a final look of disgust or horror when they realized a member of the fairer sex had overstepped the bounds of propriety and actually studied human anatomy in detail.

She’d thought she’d hardened herself to the inevitable path that first encounter took. But for the first time in a long while, she regretted the disappointment she would soon see. Might as well get on with it.

She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin higher than her five foot four inches normally allowed her to see. “The Mission Board sent letters. Weren’t you informed of the impending arrival of Mrs. Smith and myself?”

His eyes flashed disbelief and despite his polite tone, she could see the resolve of his answer in the set of his jaw. “I was indeed informed of the arrival of two new mission workers, Miss O’Hara, one a physician. I just did not expect the Board to send women, because of the deadly history of the jungle interior. I’m afraid you’ve been sent to the wrong place. I simply cannot take someone so delicate and unsuitable for the dangers to the compound at Nynabo.”

Unsuitable? She wanted to laugh at the irony of being found lacking after having just left a frontline mobile field hospital for this man’s dangerous jungle. She took a deep breath to steady her voice. It wouldn’t do to sound shrill and create a negative opinion of herself. She needed this position; was, in fact, desperate for it.

“Obviously, Pastor Mayweather, we are both surprised to find someone whom we did not expect. But I assure you that while your opinion is no different than most other men in society, ones who do not carry Bibles at their ready, it is entirely unwarranted.”

Mary could only imagine what her dear mother would say if she could hear her now. She’d managed to keep a polite tone but still broken her mother’s cardinal rule—don’t challenge a man in charge. Her own loving mother had never found herself able to hold an opinion that wasn’t first that of her husband, Mary’s father.

Pastor Mayweather’s eyebrows raised and his mouth opened, drawing in breath for the next volley. Before he could launch it, a matronly older woman put her hand on his arm and pushed herself forward. Mary couldn’t help but catch the disapproving frown the woman gave him before smiling at her visitors.

“Welcome to Newaka.” Thick arms enveloped Mary in a hug and squeezed the breath right out of her. “I am Hannah Jansen. My husband Karl and I serve here at this station.”

Hannah Jansen was as plump and well-rounded as her husband was spare. Mary resisted the urge to check her ribs when the apple-cheeked matron stepped back. “I’m Dr. O’Hara. But you may call me Mary.” She telegraphed the stuffy Pastor Mayweather a look over Hannah’s shoulder that she hoped said, “And you may not.”

“Hannah, this is my friend and travel companion, Mrs. Clara Smith.”

Clara stepped toward them and smiled. “We introduced ourselves while you were meeting Pastor Mayweather, Dr. Mary.”

“Yes,” Hannah said. “Dr. Mary, this is my husband, Karl.” She pointed to the tall gentleman who had helped Clara from her hammock chair.

Karl stepped up and took one of her hands between his bony pair and pressed gently. His eyes twinkled with good humor that carried in his voice. “We are so pleased to have you, Dr. Mary. I can’t tell you how happy we are to finally be assigned a physician in our area.”

“Why thank you, Pastor Jansen. It’s very polite of you to say so.” Mary avoided looking at William. “Most men are less accepting of a female doctor.”

“We just didn’t expect such a beautiful young woman.” Karl chuckled and offered Mary his arm. “Let me show you and Mrs. Smith to our home. Someone will bring your bags in a moment.”

“Dr. O’Hara?”

Mary swung around and forced a civil smile in spite of William Mayweather’s serious countenance. “Yes?”

“Please don’t unpack more than the essentials. I plan on sending you back when the porters are ready to return. Or, if the Jansens don’t mind, you can wait here for a more suitable posting at one of the safer coastal stations. While I’m sure your skills are more than adequate, regrettably I cannot take you and your companion into the interior with me.”

Shock at his highhanded assumption froze Mary’s tongue into silence. Silence he must have taken for acceptance as he turned and walked away. The nerve of the man. Drop his little piece of emotional ordnance and walk off before the explosion hit. Good thing she didn’t intend to answer to him in this decision.



Disappointment laid itself heavily on his heart as William walked away from the two workers who should have been his entry back to Nynabo. With his back to the sun’s glare, despair managed to cloud his vision. He’d prayed about the workers God would have assigned to Nynabo. But where was God in this obvious mistake? What reason could He have to delay William’s return to Nynabo? Was this some sort of test or temptation? He wouldn’t have believed it, but Dr. O’Hara, with her long, red locks and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, was even more beautiful than his beloved Alice.

William stopped short at the base of the porch steps. Where did those traitorous observations come from? He ran a hand through his unruly black mane and rebuked himself. Widowed only a year and reacting to a pretty face. It wouldn’t do.

He took the porch steps two at a time and entered the relative cool of the mission house. If he was so easily noticing this woman’s beauty, he would have to flee temptation’s possibilities. If it wasn’t inhumane to the porters, he would’ve ordered them to simply turn around and start back. Even if he could have done so, Hannah and Karl would have none of it. Basic hospitality dictated that the women be fed and rested along with their carriers.

He understood Hannah welcoming another woman with open arms, but he’d been shocked when Karl reacted kindly, as if not seeing the obvious problems. The fatherly man had heard William’s heart many times on the subject since he’d returned from his stateside leave. Well, he would have a man-to-man talk with Karl later, and then William would make sure that both women went on their way back the moment the porters were rested.

A lilting laugh flowed through the open windows. The petite doctor no doubt. The sound stirred the buried pain of the lost laughter of another precious woman, one he’d buried at Nynabo. He had no intentions of burying another woman there. The jungle’s interior was just not the place for a delicate female.

Oh, Mary O’Hara had pluck. He’d give her that. But she also had no true understanding of the dangers of practicing medicine among hostile natives, most of whom had never seen a white person of either gender before. This time he’d make sure a member of the fairer sex didn’t die on his watch. The sooner she was sent packing toward the safer coastal regions the better. Even if she stayed here at Newaka, it would be substantially safer than Nynabo.

William made a quick decision. He would spend as little time as possible in her company. It would alleviate some of the guilt he would inevitably feel at crushing her dreams of working in the interior. With that thought in mind, he headed through the kitchen, out the back door and around to the boys’ dormitory. There would be enough work there to legitimately occupy him until the women were settled in for the night.

Later, he could talk to Karl and make arrangements. The Mission Board’s policy on malaria would force him to stay longer here at Newaka until replacements could come or William contracted his first bout of the inevitable disease. There was enough work here and he enjoyed the Jansens’ company. Surely this was all in God’s ultimate plan.

He rounded the corner to the boys’ cottage at the same time the door flew open, disgorging seven chattering little brown bodies in their khaki drawstring pants, minus the white shirts they’d worn in class. As if all one confused sculpture, they froze silently in place when they saw him. Seven sets of eyes flitted their gazes between him and each other, finally coming to rest on the tallest boy, Sabo. The designated speaker of the pack swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and straightened his bony spine before asking, “Nana Pastor?” Sabo managed the honorific title and paused before blurting his question. “Is it true more white mammies have come and one is a medicine woman?”

All eyes turned to him for an answer. William bit back a growl and mentally chided himself for not realizing this would of course be big news for the children. He’d come to escape the frying pan and walked straight into the proverbial fire. He chose his next words carefully, well aware that the boys were from a world that saw women as property. None of these children had ever seen a white woman before Hannah Jansen, a married woman in the company of her husband.

“Yes, it is true that we have two new guests and one is a doctor.”

Seven voices clamored with questions. He put up his hand and waited to be heard. As they quieted down, the smallest one braved a question. “Are her conjures strong?”

It was William’s turn to freeze like a statue. It was so easy to forget that even though the boys had been baptized, they still struggled between beliefs from two vastly different spiritual worlds. Their education wasn’t such yet that they would see what Dr. O’Hara did as science and not magic. A male doctor wouldn’t have been such an event for the boys. Medicine could have been explained rationally. Her presence was already causing trouble.

Trouble he had to straighten out now.

“Boys, let’s go back inside and talk.”

In unison, seven little faces frowned their distress, realizing they were losing their chance to go see the new arrivals. Before any could protest, William put his body between them and their intended route of escape and waited till they turned and shuffled barefoot back into the cottage. He closed the door behind him and prayed that God would give him the words to explain the difference between their medicine men’s fetish bags of charms and a female doctor who practiced science. But more important, how faith in God was stronger than what their medicine men offered.



Mary pushed her chair away from the dinner table. “Oh my, Hannah. I haven’t eaten this well since before I left home two years ago. Fresh fruit is such a luxury.”

Clara nodded vigorously, sending her double chin to jiggling though she was still chewing a mouthful of bread.

Hannah responded. “Most of the fruit grows naturally here without planting. You’ll find it the same where you’re headed.”

Karl’s thick brows knit together. “Two years. I knew the Kaiser disrupted ocean travel, but who’d have thought it would take that long to make all the connections to cross. It’s a good thing the Allies finally put him in his place.”

Clara spoke up. “Well, it was the Kaiser, but not the way you think.”

Mary chided nicely, “Hannah and Karl don’t need to hear our war stories.”

Karl smiled. “We don’t get much news about the rest of the world here. So we’d love to hear any stories from the outside.”

Before Mary could think of another way to change the subject, Clara launched into her tale. Normally she was such a quiet woman. Why did she have to become loquacious on the one subject Mary preferred to avoid? Even though the armistice was signed, the Great War was still a big topic. She just preferred not to talk about her part in it, though avoiding the topic hadn’t stopped the unmerciful memories.

“Dr. Mary and I met at Argonne. We both worked for the Red Cross at the field hospital.”

Hannah’s hand froze over the plate she was about to pick up. “You were at the battle they called the Big Show?” Her fingers fluttered over her heart. “Even here we’ve heard about that battle. How horrible for you.”

Mary put on a professional mask as best she could while Clara nodded and said, “It was truly. If Hades exists anywhere on earth, it would have to have been there at Argonne Forest. So many young boys lost tragically, brutally.” Tears brimmed in Clara’s eyes. “Why Dr. Mary here… .”

The chair legs screeched against the floor when Mary abruptly stood. “Clara. I don’t think we need to burden the Jansens with those horrors. I’m sure their imagination will suffice.” The last thing she wanted dredged up was the death of her brother. That wound was too raw to touch. Even now pain stabbed through her chest as she tried to shut out her memories—that final glimpse of him alive, bloody and barely breathing. Would she ever be free of that horrible image?

She caught the questioning look on Karl’s face. Those eyes saw too much. Before he could ask any questions, she turned to Hannah and asked, “May I lend you a hand with the dishes? I’m not used to being idle while others are working.”

“You’ll both be busy soon enough once you get to Nynabo. Tonight you’re our guests. Next time you come, I’ll put you right to work.”

“If Pastor Mayweather has his way, there won’t be any Nynabo in our futures. And certainly not a next time here.”

Hannah laughed as she continued her tasks. “Karl will set him straight on that. Won’t you, dear?”

Karl stood and pushed his chair under the table. “I’ll try, but it would be better if he realized the severity of the situation for himself, Hannah.”

Mary seized on what sounded like a life preserver. “The severity of what, Pastor?”

“Well, if he refuses to work with you ladies, he won’t be able to reestablish Nynabo for quite some time. When you consider how possessive the jungle is, any more significant delays risk the station not being restorable. He might have to start from scratch once the white ants get finished with an unoccupied compound.”

Clara asked, “The white ants?”

“African termites, dear. The natives call them bugabugs,” Hannah answered.

Mary’s curiosity overruled her good manners. “What’s stopping him from going on without us?”

“The malaria policy.” Hannah tossed the answer back over her shoulder on her way to the kitchen.

“Pastor Mayweather hasn’t had malaria yet?” Mary asked.

Karl shook his head side to side.

Clara’s confusion threaded through her voice. “What policy? Isn’t it a good thing that Pastor Mayweather hasn’t been sick?”

Mary heard the back door open as Karl explained. “Until missionaries have come down with the White Man’s Death the first time, and lived through it, the Mission Board will not allow them to staff any mission post on their own. Without you, William must remain here until a replacement can arrive. That could take precious months that he doesn’t have to spare.”

Mary watched as William stepped out of the shadows by the back door and into the room. Anguish churned across his face and his hands were clenched into fists tight to his sides. “I would rather give up my call than be responsible for the deaths of these two women.”

Mary’s arms and hands trembled as the tiring day and disappointing reception from Pastor Mayweather finally caught up with her. Anger coursed through her veins. “Responsible for our deaths? Why, you…”

Everyone but Clara froze. She moved quickly to Mary’s side and placed her arm around Mary’s shoulders, attempting to herd her out of the room. “Dr. Mary, please. We’re all tired and it’s been a long day. Do not say anything you will regret. He means no slight.”

Mary pulled away from what was meant to be a calming embrace. She deliberately lowered her voice to avoid its strident tones. “Clara, dear, I am not going to be stopped from speaking my mind any longer.”

Mary lifted her eyes and looked toward William, addressing him with her most formal of tones. “I am sorry to learn that you are one of those men who cling to antiquated ideas of women’s roles and set themselves up as Lord and Protector.” A bit of the exasperation she felt crept out. “It’s the twentieth century, for goodness’ sake.”

Mary glanced to Hannah for her reaction. The plate in the older woman’s hand looked dangerously close to slipping to the floor, so rapt was her attention. Karl looked down, but was that a smile he was trying to hide? William readied himself to answer her, but Mary raised her hand to stop him.

“Please, let me finish, sir. You, Pastor Mayweather, aren’t responsible for me. I am responsible for myself, my own actions and my own consequences. If I were afraid of dying, I would have never signed my agreement with the Mission Board after they spelled out the possible dangers.”

William wedged in a quick answer. “With all due respect, Miss O’Hara…”

“If you wish to accord me respect, then please address me as Doctor O’Hara.”

“Doctor O’Hara, then. I don’t see how you can possibly understand what you might be getting yourself into.” William relaxed his fists and stretched out his hands in an apparent plea. “The interior is fraught with dangers, and even if you manage to live through your first bout of malaria, there are still wild animals and hostile cannibals to face.”

A blanket of emotional exhaustion wrapped itself around Mary. The man meant well. It was tempting to just walk away. But where would she go from here?

Returning home to her parents was out of the question. Her father’s reply to her last letter clearly stated his anger and grief over what she’d done. Better to stay here where she could hope to do some good, to atone for her brother’s loss.

Resolved, Mary straightened her spine. “I thank you for your concern, Pastor Mayweather, but I had malaria as a child back in Virginia. The animals and cannibals I’ll deal with when the time comes. I have orders to establish an infirmary at Nynabo, and Clara is to run the school. While I would prefer to have a man of your experience along, I will do so with or without your help.”



William sat on the front porch rocker after the women retired for the evening and wished the inky darkness would simply swallow him whole. What was he to do with this impossible woman? Nothing he said dissuaded her. And to make matters worse, she was right. Her orders gave her all the permission she needed to proceed without him. It would be a total disaster and she would undoubtedly get both herself and her companion killed. Or worse. The only mission posts run by women tended to be on the coast where help was more readily available. Even government troops hesitated to travel the interior, a fact he’d ignored when he’d taken Alice to the bush.

His sweet Alice. She’d wanted nothing more than to please him when he’d told her he felt the call to salvage the mission where his uncle and aunt had been martyred. She’d trusted him. He’d let both her and God down. The year of compassionate leave helped, but what he really needed was to put his hand back to the proverbial plow once again. But not while responsible for not one but two women this time.

Panic at the very thought brought William to his knees, using the railing as if it was a makeshift altar.

Father, why have you sent me this woman? Have I incurred your displeasure that my task would be made so impossible? Please, God. Turn her heart. Show her the error of this decision or show me what I must do to end this foolishness.

“Am I interrupting?” Karl’s voice jolted William from his silent pleas. Karl stood in front of him with a kerosene lamp.

“No. I was just finished.”

“This is one of my favorite places to pray.” Karl settled himself in one of rockers he’d made with his own hands as a gift last year to his wife. “I can see you are struggling with the direction things have taken, William. It is good that you are taking this to the Father.”

“I don’t know what else to do, Karl. There is simply no dissuading her. Even in this short time I realize she has to be the most stubborn female I have ever met.” William returned to the rocker next to Karl’s. The lamp Karl set on the floor cast the older pastor in an eerie light.

“She reminds me of a stubborn young missionary I know.”

Was that a trick of the shadows or did Karl have a twinkle in his eye? He wasn’t seeing the seriousness of this situation. “Is it merely stubbornness on her part? How many funerals of fellow missionaries have you presided over, Karl? It is one thing for a man to choose the risk on his own, but a woman in the interior?”

“My Hannah would tell you that God calls us all alike, Jew and Greek, male and female.”

“God also expects us to learn from our mistakes. I understand now what my uncle must have known before he and Aunt Ruth were killed.”

“I’m sure that he and your aunt knew the peace of God over all else, my son.”

“But next to God, he loved my Aunt Ruth more than life itself. Surely he knew in those last moments that taking her to tribes that cannibalize their enemies was a mistake. He must have regretted being responsible for her horrible death.”

“You mean like you feel responsible for Alice’s?”

“Exactly. I should have learned from my uncle’s failure, but I didn’t. And my ignorance cost Alice her life.”

“Malaria cost Alice her life, William, and your aunt and uncle were in God’s hands.” Karl stood and picked up his lantern. “You’re letting your grief blind you to God’s bigger plan. You need to trust that He is in control, that He is sovereign in all things.”

“I trust God. It is this place I do not trust. You can’t tell me it is the Divine plan for the women we are charged to protect to be put in such needless danger when we can avoid it.”

“No, I can’t tell you. It’s up to God to show you His plan.” Karl moved to the front door. “I’ll pray earnestly for you, William, that God will reveal His plan in due time.”

“Thank you, Karl. I covet your prayers.”

The illumination receded with Karl as William sat alone in the darkness. A thousand lights burned their autumn patterns in the sky above him, but it was the light of an idea beginning to burn in his mind that captured his attention. He would go to Nynabo, no matter what. He could see to it that neither woman was exposed to the dangers of the interior any more than necessary. Especially not the cannibalistic tribes of the Pahn.

And he would die trying if that’s what God’s plan required.

William rose and headed into the house to find stationery. He might not be able to stop them from going to Nynabo, but a letter to the Mission Board would shorten their stay there. Once he explained his dissatisfaction with Dr. O’Hara and her unsuitability for the post, the Board would have to act and both women would be sent packing for safer quarters. God’s work would continue and he’d avoid ventures into the more dangerous territories until her replacement arrived.

He couldn’t give his Alice the long life she’d deserved, but he’d do everything in his power to see the women temporarily in his care didn’t meet the same end. Dr. O’Hara would live to use her talents for God some place safer. Some place far more suitable.


Chapter Two

Mary slapped at the millionth mosquito trying to make her a meal. Futile, but instinctive. Ten hours into the journey to Nynabo should have taught her that swatting was a waste of energy. Clara was smarter. She had stayed in the hammock chair and draped netting to keep the pests away. Mary, on the other hand, just had to prove she was capable of walking on her own.

The waning light through the heavy jungle canopy told her evening was near. Night’s fall brought a sudden inky blackness that only campfires relieved. So surely William would call camp sometime soon. No, not William, she corrected herself. Pastor Mayweather. It wouldn’t do to think of him in anything but the most formal of terms. The man acted as if she were his own personal trial.

Mary’s foot hit a root and the jungle floor came rushing toward her. She threw out her hands to break her fall just as strong arms grabbed her from behind and righted her. Mary turned and found herself face to chest with the object of her ruminations. How had he moved up so far in the single-file line of the caravan without her knowing? She’d thought he was still at the back trying to encourage some of the stragglers.

“Careful. Are you all right, Doctor?”

“I’m tired and I stumbled, that’s all. Thank you for coming to my aid.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get back in the hammock chair?”

Mary bristled like a cat stroked the wrong way. “Most assuredly. My poor porters are obviously exhausted from the day’s trek and I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“It was never my plan to carry two women into the bush. The two days of preparation after your arrival was not enough time to engage additional bearers if we were going to get to Nynabo and complete repairs before the rainy season begins.”

Now she’d gone and offended him. She turned and walked forward down the trail, as much to avoid unintentional conflict as not to halt the progress of the porters behind them.

“We’ll be stopping at the next clearing.”

“For the night, Pastor Mayweather, or is it another rest break?”

“For the night.”

Silence fell, and Mary decided that even if she had been inclined to speak further, the trail itself was a barrier to companionable conversation. She’d wondered on the trek to Newaka why the trail wasn’t widened to make travel easier. Watching the men with machetes where the jungle encroached had answered that question. The amount of time needed to deal with even small patches of overgrowth was astounding. The arduous trail from coastal Garraway to Newaka was an after-dinner stroll in the garden compared to this route from Newaka to Nynabo.

When she rounded the next bend, the path appeared to broaden. Thank goodness. At least she could walk beside Clara’s hammock chair and pass the time amiably.

But no. They were stopping. The porters ahead of her were already disgorging their packs and scurrying around to make camp. Pastor Mayweather moved past her, and Mary turned and waited for Clara’s hammock-chair carriers to catch up.

Mary gave Clara a hand alighting. Clara glanced around and wondered aloud, “Where are we supposed to sleep? This space isn’t enough for all of our tents.”

“It does appear small. Still, I am ready to stop. This trek reminds me too much of those eighteen-hour shifts in the field hospital with no end in sight.”

Pastor Mayweather’s voice thundered an interruption in the small clearing. “Hannabo.” The porter in charge jerked up his head in response and stepped closer to the pastor.

The two huddled in conversation and then Hannabo barked out directions Mary couldn’t understand. Order began to fight its way out of chaos. Porters arranged packs around the outside ring of the camp as large stones were placed in the middle of the clearing, edging a small stack of firewood. A three-legged iron pot found its home on the stones and Mary’s stomach began to rumble.

Food! Oh, thank goodness. The afternoon’s repast of fresh bread and fruit Hannah had packed for them was long since a distant memory in their travel day.

A porter brought her the night’s bedding and then repeated the gesture for Clara. Clara stopped the retreating figure and asked, “Where is our tent?”

A simple shoulder shrug was the answer.

“Mary, are we expected to sleep out in the open with all these men?”

“It is beginning to look that way. Wait here. I’ll have a word with Pastor Mayweather and get this situation remedied.”

Mary laid her bedding on top of her pack and headed across the clearing. Pastor Mayweather had come to a sudden reversal about their assignment to Nynabo. Too sudden. Was depriving them of a normal amount of privacy part of a campaign to get rid of them or just an oversight? She intended to find out.

Nothing Pastor Mayweather could dream up could compare to the ingenuity of a professor in medical school unhappy with the enrollment of a female student. If the good pastor thought he could embarrass her and force her to leave, he was in for a rude awakening.



William saw his mistake. The clearing was too small to support their tents, but the sun was almost down and there was no time to move on. He’d called another porter, Jabo, and ordered only the bedding to be unpacked. Objections were swift. No sooner had the porters stacked the ladies’ bedding than Mary crossed the camp with an obvious target in mind.

His ear.

“Pastor Mayweather. Doing without a tent is wholly unacceptable.” The good doctor stood with her hands on her hips a mere two feet from him.

Rivulets of sweat ran down her neck, their origins hidden in her pith helmet. Sparse, dampened red tendrils flirted with his vision, their origins also secreted in the headgear. Little warnings went off in his brain. He should not be focusing on her physical attributes, but her annoyance factor. Instead, his mouth followed its own plan and upturned in a smile.

“Do you find discomfiting us amusing, Pastor Mayweather?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere occupied.”

His excuse sounded weak even to him. To her credit, the woman did not roll her eyes. “Then tell me please, why are we not to have a basic measure of privacy tonight?”

“It is only a matter of space. I cannot in good conscience ask the porters to sleep off the trail to give us more room. Not when they could become dinner for a roaming leopard.”

Mary’s hands left her hips and crossed her chest. This time she did roll her eyes. “Leopards? Am I supposed to believe that? Perhaps I should quake in fear and beg to be returned to Newaka?”

A loud report resounded in the near distance. Hannabo must have gone hunting nearby to add to the supper pot. A quick glance around confirmed he was not present. When William looked back at Mary to answer, he found all the blood had drained from her face and her freckles were the only color that remained.

He grasped her upper arms, concerned she would faint on the spot. “Are you unwell, Dr. O’Hara?”

The delicate doctor’s eyes blinked twice and then seemed to regain focus. “Please unhand me,” she insisted, pulling to free herself. “I’m fine.”

William’s touch fell away as if he had held glowing embers. What was it with this woman and his reaction to her? “Your appearance gave me reason to believe you were about to swoon.”

Sudden shards of crimson heat stained her cheeks. “I assure you, I’m not given to swooning like some ninny in a corset. But back to this leopard you claim will endanger us.”

“Listen to me, please, Dr. O’Hara.” He tried for a rational approach. “Leopards are only one of many dangers out here. I will not erect tents in this small space and force these men to sleep unprotected away from the fire and the watchmen.”

“You are serious?”

“The threat is very real. I would advise you not to wander outside the camp tonight. Now, if there is nothing else?”

“What about our…” She searched for an appropriate term. “Necessities?”

It was William’s turn to blush, and he felt the heat rising up from his collar. “I will make arrangements for a separate privy area. Just do not go without an armed escort.”

“Thank you.” Mary headed back to her friend.

Lord, if I had to be saddled with members of the fairer sex, why couldn’t they both be sturdy, easygoing women like Clara?

That woman was a salt-of-the-earth type who didn’t stir feelings that he’d thought were buried with Alice. He wasn’t sure which was the bigger danger on the trail right now. A hungry leopard on the prowl or the small-boned little redhead in men’s trousers marching away from him.

William turned his thoughts back to camp chores and making sure all was secure. Hannabo had returned with his catch dangling over his shoulder.

“I see you have had good hunting.”

Hannabo grinned. “Yes, Nana Pastor, I got a fine monkey. We eat soon.”

“Good. If you need me for anything, just call out. I’ll prepare the evening devotions while the light is still good.”

Hannabo nodded his agreement and headed off to skin and prepare the main addition to the meal.

William was deep in the Word when Hannabo appeared again at his side. From the sun’s position, he’d studied for almost an hour. A blessed hour of no interruptions from anyone, especially the women.

“Nana Pastor, the meal is ready. Would you and the mammies like to eat now?”

“Thank you, Hannabo. I will gather the ladies so we can bless the meal.”

William pulled his tin bowl and spoon out of his pack and headed toward the women. “Ladies, the evening meal is ready.”

“Thank the Lord,” Clara intoned. “I am starving.”

Mary nodded agreement and rummaged through her pack for utensils.

When all were gathered round the three-legged cook pot, William gave the signal to Hannabo and bowed his head to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father,” William paused at short intervals for Hannabo’s translation. “We thank you for this safe day’s journey…and the food we are about to consume. Be with us tonight as we sleep…and may we, through Your Divine Providence, arrive safely in Nynabo.”

Once Hannabo finished translating, William held out his hand to indicate the ladies should be served first. William followed next and sat on the ground a slight distance from Mary and Clara after he was served.

He wondered how long it would take before the realities of meals outside of Newaka became apparent and the complaints began. If his experience with his wife Alice was any indication, it would be soon.

It was Clara who broke the silence first. “What is this meat in the rice? It tastes like pork.”

Mary’s first bite was halfway to her mouth when Hannabo answered. “You like? It’s monkey. I shot special for you and Mammy Doctor.”

William dropped his chin to hide the smile when the doctor’s eyes went wide and she asked, “Monkey? Monkey like the ones overhead in the trees? Those monkeys?”

Hannabo’s head bobbed in delight with her understanding. Clara paled and set her bowl down. William held his breath. He should have warned her. He could not afford to lose his best guide and translator over a finicky woman. It was childish to want Mary’s surprise and revulsion to prove a point about her being unsuited for this trip. He let his breath out slowly, muscles tensed for her reply.

Mary looked straight at Hannabo and finished the fork’s circuit to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. When she swallowed she said, “It is the best monkey I’ve ever eaten. Thank you for your trouble, Hannabo.”

William stared in shock. The doctor was full of surprises. Alice had gagged and refused to eat more the first time she was served monkey. There was more to the doctor than he thought.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Clara resumed eating, but seemed to be picking through the rice mixture. Mary finished hers and said, “If you will excuse me, today’s exercise has me ready for sleep. I’ll be heading for bed now.”

Clara rose. “I think I’ll join you.”

“Ladies, we will leave at first light. Please be ready.”

“Of course, Pastor Mayweather. Clara and I will be ready promptly.”

William waited to turn in until he saw that they were settled for the night. Rifle at the ready, he climbed into his own bedding. Despite his exhaustion, sleep was elusive. Even the presence of the women could no longer dampen his excitement at the nearness of his goal. His longing to be at Nynabo surprised him with its strength. Following God’s call on his life was joy enough, but to step into the broad footsteps of the uncle who had raised him as his own made it all the more meaningful. Despite the losses he’d suffered, achieving this goal was like a Christmas present in a shiny bow demanding to be opened.

Karl’s private conversation with him three nights ago had provided some comfort about taking the women. The doctor would have gone on without him anyway, taking her companion with her. No doubt about that.

His prayerful agony the night before he announced he had changed his mind didn’t leave him with complete peace; more like a restless armistice with his fears. In the end, he concluded he must go or leave two inexperienced women to fend for themselves. At least he could keep them from the worst of danger until they were replaced.

And replaced they would be as soon as the letter he’d left with Karl made its way to the Mission Board with his request for male workers. He prayed the wait wouldn’t be lengthy.

In the meantime, he would maintain a professional relationship, nothing more. Dr. O’Hara had managed the difficult trail with minimal complaint, handled the unique foodstuffs without giving offense and held her composure at the realization roaming leopards were a danger. He had to admire a woman like that. He also had to be sure admiration never crossed a line into something more. Not with Dr. O’Hara, not with any woman, while he served in one of the more dangerous parts of the world. Besides, she and Clara would soon find themselves on a caravan back out of the jungle.

He felt a pang of guilt for the letter he had sent, but brushed it off like the beetle scurrying across his blankets. It was for her own good. Dr. O’Hara didn’t understand the danger, so he had made the decision to ask for a reassignment for her.

He thought of how well she’d handled Hannabo’s feelings despite her obvious discomfort, and it caused his conscience a slight twinge. Examined rationally, there was no real reason to feel guilty over his actions. Wrestling with irrational guilt turned out to be as futile as getting comfortable where he lay. The hard jungle floor made its every bump felt through William’s bedding. He was on a first-name basis with most of them before sleep finally claimed him. His last thoughts were of how to most effectively protect the two women until the day they were recalled. Especially when the village of the warlike and lecherous Nana Bolo lay between them and Nynabo.


Chapter Three

Mary’s new boots had rubbed an angry blister on her right foot. The second day on the trail and her old boots were a fond memory whose faults she’d forgotten. She should’ve taken care to break the new ones in better before this trek. If the caravan didn’t stop for a midday break soon, she would be forced to ask for one. The risk of infection from an untreated blister in this humidity was high. Memories of field amputations flooded her brain, and she shuddered.

“Are you getting sick?” William asked, right at her back.

Mary almost jumped out of her own skin to stand beside herself. How did he do that? She could have sworn he was several places back. She would never get used to the noise of the jungle animals, the way it covered the most mundane sounds.

“I’m as healthy as the proverbial horse. Why do you ask?”

“You were shivering. While you may have had malaria as a child, you must know it frequently recurs. Often with no real warning.”

He, the pastor, was lecturing her, the physician, on malaria? “While I may not remember much from my personal experience, I’m perfectly aware of the disease and its ongoing nature. Medical school, even for females, was not a social experience.”

The short laugh from behind her was edged with bitterness. “You don’t know malaria until you have actually seen its devastation in this land.”

The intensity of his answer held her unruly tongue for her. Who had he lost to bring such pain to his voice? He probably wouldn’t appreciate her asking.

William edged past her while she answered. “Rest assured, I am not experiencing any symptoms of the disease.”

His back to her, he lengthened his strides to move ahead. “Speaking of rest, we will be stopping for a thirty-minute period shortly. Be prepared to march again after we’ve eaten.”

“Thank goodness,” she murmured. She didn’t want to start limping and be subject to more of a lecture. Both their tempers had been edging toward a real fandango.

It was bad enough the gunshot last night had affected her. The constant barrages at Argonne initially hardened her. But since her brother Jeremy’s death, she heard every shot in a new way. She would have been useless for frontline hospitals if the Armistice hadn’t come. She’d covered up her reaction last night, but she didn’t need to give this reluctant missionary guide another chance to look down on her and see weakness.

A long half-hour later, the caravan halted. Lunch was a quick and quiet repast of cold rice, absent monkey meat. No William in sight either, giving her time to tend her blister.

Sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the path with Clara, Mary unfastened her panniers, the leg coverings she still wore for protection from mosquito bites, and unlaced her left boot, carefully removing her sock. An angry red swelling on the outside of her small toe brought a hissed intake from Clara.

“That’s not good.”

Mary forced a smile in Clara’s direction. “I know. Do you think you can get me my small pack?”

Clara returned, pack in hand. “It doesn’t look infected.”

Mary agreed. She used gauze and canteen water to clean the blister and applied a small plaster for protection. Mindful of the imminent call to move, she reached for her discarded sock.

“Uh, Mary?” Clara tipped her head to indicate Pastor Mayweather’s approach.

She tried to stuff her foot in the sock, but didn’t succeed before the pastor got an eyeful of her exposed bandage.

“Is there a problem?” His deep rumble easily crossed the short distance between them.

“No, no problem at all.” Mary pulled the sock snug and reached for her boot.

In one swift movement, William snatched the boot from her hand and squatted in front of her, concern across his face. “Take off the sock.”

“No. I have a small blister and I’ve taken care of it. I’m not going to waste my plasters to satisfy your curiosity.” She stretched her hand out for her boot.

“Blisters in the jungle are serious. Any open wound is.”

If only she could get to her feet. He obviously meant well, but she still had an urge to knock him off his know-it-all hobby horse. “Medical school managed to cover both malaria and minor scrapes in my training.”

“Too bad your training didn’t extend to proper footwear. Those shiny new boots will probably rub both of your feet raw before we reach Nynabo.” William stood, forcing her to crane her neck to look up. He held out her boot. “You need to take the hammock chair. Let your foot heal.”

Mary laced her boot and Clara handed over her pannier, looking amused over the whole exchange. Mary joined the hooks and stood. She was so close that she could easily breathe in his earthy scent. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Even to her, the irritation in her voice sounded petulant.

The corner of his mouth turned up and he inclined his head. “Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t have a blister.”

He made no move to step back and put a more polite distance between them, causing her an awareness of his nearness she hadn’t expected. She stared up into eyes that turned serious.

“Please, Dr. O’Hara. I would appreciate it if you would take my advice on this matter. Even if I do know more of the Bible than medicine.” He stepped aside and motioned to her hammock-chair bearers.

Mary’s first thought was to refuse. His eyebrows knitted in concern as he waited for her decision. His plea seemed genuine without any hint of an order behind it. She took a couple of steps and decided the hammock chair it would be.

The smile that lit the faces of her bearers surprised her. “Carry Mammy Doctor? Yes. Yes.”

Their enthusiasm was such that it occurred to her she might have offended them by refusing their services before. Only the depth of her ignorance of the pidgin they spoke kept her from inquiring further.

When the call came to move on, two eager men bore the poles on their heads, and Mary climbed into the canvas conveyance. She was soon fast asleep from the rhythmic sway and the sound of drums in the distance, tattooing out a deep bass beat.

A sudden stop broke her rest and Mary woke, embarrassed at having slept while others labored to carry her.

“Pastor, Pastor.” Cries from the front of the caravan, all of which had come to a screeching halt, reached Mary’s ears. She sat up and glanced around. Through an opening in the canopy, she could see the tropical sun hanging low in the sky. She must have slept for hours.

A few feet behind her, Clara was standing near her chair, taking advantage of the opportunity to stretch. Mary did the same. William pushed his way back from several spots forward. When he came level with her, she asked, “What’s going on?”

He ignored her and gave instructions to her bearers in a staccato native dialect. The narrowing of his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, both coupled with the insistent tone to her bearers, needed no translation. Her stomach tightened.

He started to walk off once he finished talking, but Mary grabbed his arm. “I asked you what is wrong?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself about. Just wait here and follow any instructions your bearers give you.” He pulled his arm from her grasp and moved away.

“I am not a child to be either coddled or ignored, Pastor Mayweather.”

“No,” he tossed back with barely a glance. “But you are under my care and I’m telling you to wait here.”

Mary stood in the interminable heat, sweat pouring down her back. Nearby porters failed to rest in their usual sprawl. Her bearers flanked her closely. Mary yearned for the vocabulary to explain the social decorum of space in her culture.

She was keen to walk forward and see what was happening. Trouble was she didn’t know what she’d be walking into.

Clara moved up and joined Mary. “Do you think there are hostile natives up there?”

“If there are hostiles, I fail to see how they could possibly win out over our acerbic pastor.”

Clara’s barking laugh echoed off the canopy above and set birds to scattering.

With nothing left but waiting, Mary turned her attention to the porters nearest her, all of whom shifted nervously. Those who carried rifles with their packs now had them slung through the crook of their arms, pointing down. Words in dialect tumbled back from the front of the caravan and the overall agitation level around her rose. She felt her mouth go dry as the porter in front of her slid the bolt on his rifle to chamber a round.

“Did you see that?” Mary asked Clara.

Clara inclined her head. “The one with the rifle?”

“He’s getting ready for something. Whatever message just passed through the ranks has them all on edge.”

Clara said, “I’m not sure whether to wish I understood the language or not at this point.”

“After the last year, I think we both understand enough of men with their guns to translate anyway.”

“More than enough. What do we do if shooting starts?”

If shooting started, could Mary trust herself not to panic like she did when Hannabo unexpectedly shot dinner? It was only one rifle shot that affected her last time. How would she fare if they ended up embattled with guns firing all around? “I assume the men guarding us so closely will know what to do if the time comes. It’s Pastor Mayweather that worries me. He’s up in the thick of whatever is going on.”

“Do the natives in the bush even use guns? Some of our men carry spears.”

“I don’t really know. Our indoctrination session back in France said the missionaries before Pastor Mayweather were the first of any whites that far into the jungle interior. How would they have even gotten rifles?” Curiosity was replaced by a shiver of apprehension running down her spine. Rifles or spears, either were deadly in an enemy’s hands.

An eternity passed in silence while they waited. Mary’s nerves frayed. Maybe William was right. She didn’t belong here. Not if she turned into one of those vapid women she despised every time a rifle was used.

Then she thought of his pinched lips and creased brow when he had lectured her before they left Newaka. She’d had a hard time taking him seriously when the wind kept blowing his unruly brown hair into his eyes.

Mary’s thoughts exploded with the crack of a single rifle shot. Porters grabbed Clara’s arms, hauling her off into the bush for cover. Mary resisted the ones who tried to grab her and stood rooted to the spot. Who was shot? Was William injured?

Her bearers reached again for her arms and pulled. “Is someone shot? Please, I’m a doctor, I must help.”

The younger man shook his head vigorously saying, “No savvy. Nana Pastor say Mammy Doctor must be protected.” His pressure on her arm increased.

Part of her longed to give in and seek cover in the surrounding jungle. The tree sheltering Clara looked so appealing. Her oath as a doctor won out.

She pulled her arm free and took advantage of her small stature to duck around him, striding quickly. The excited chattering and his at-heel position confirmed he hadn’t given up his quest to stop her. Fortunately she kept her immediate supplies in the pack she carried. She doubted she could have convinced any of these men to get it for her.

Ignoring the dread weighing down her stomach, Mary forged ahead. If William was injured, or even another man, she had to help, not cower in fear.

Sheer shock at her charge forward paralyzed the remaining porters still on the trail. A heavy sigh behind her told her that her shadow was still attached. She passed several more armed men, some with spears, before the jungle fell back and opened. She scented the wood smoke before she saw the tendrils reaching upward. Smoke escaped at random intervals throughout the yellow undulations of dried grass roofs.

They had arrived at a village. If the rifle shot was any indication, an unfriendly one.

Looking down the hill to the spot where the path widened at the village edge, Mary saw William. Hannabo was on one side and another porter, Jabo maybe, stood on the other. She stopped where she was to take in the scene. No one lay on the ground or clutched a wound. Who or what had been shot?

All of her dramatic worries and it was just a serious discussion with a group of natives. No one was at war here.

All of them were deferring to the one native in a worn black bowler hat and bright red loincloth standing with his arms folded across his chest, a chest hung with some type of decorative necklace. Must be the chief.

Whoever he was, she knew the moment he became aware of her. He put out a bony finger and pointed. Was he pointing at her? All conversation ceased.

William turned to see what Bowler Hat was pointing to, and if there had been any doubt in her mind she was the object of attention, the glare from William removed it.

Bowler Hat began to speak. Mary wasn’t close enough to hear anything. By the frequency of gestures, there was a debate or perhaps a trade. She knew that trading was one way a missionary made inroads into a tribe’s favor.

The conversation ended abruptly. Bowler Hat’s arms were back in place across his chest. William and Hannabo turned and headed toward the caravan. Hannabo looked on stolidly, but William’s face morphed from blank and emotionless to raw fury.

When he drew near, his voice came out as a low hiss. “I told you to stay put. Turn around and follow behind me.”

“I beg your pardon. I…”

“If you don’t want to be that old man’s newest wife, you’ll do as I say and you’ll do it right now.”


Chapter Four

William tried to ignore the sputtering sound behind him. Amazing what it took to make that woman speechless. Now if he could figure out how to get her to follow his instructions.

She didn’t stay speechless for long. “What do you mean I could end up as that old man’s wife? I assure you…”

The villagers out of sight, he wheeled around to give Dr. O’Hara the dressing down she deserved. Except he misjudged how closely she was following and ended up with her walking right into him, knocking her pith helmet off her head and sending her backward. He caught her before she tilted to the ground.

A hundred and ten pounds of warm femininity snapped back into his arms. Soft skin and womanly curves seared his bare arms. He loosed his grip and stepped back.

“Thank you, Pastor Mayweather. I’m not normally so clumsy. My apologies.” Mary bent over to retrieve her helmet.

“If by following me too closely you mean you didn’t stay put where you were told to, then you certainly do owe me an apology. Me and this entire company.”

“What?”

“Can you not follow simple instructions? I distinctly told you to wait where I left you.” His temple pulsed and throbbed. This healer would be the death of him yet.

“I heard a shot. What in the world did I do that was so wrong? I came to see if someone was injured.”

“No one was injured. Negotiations for passing through the village got a little difficult. Jabo overreacted when directly challenged by one of the warriors. He fired into the air.”

“I had no way of knowing that. Someone might have been injured. I only came to see if my skills were needed.”

She meant well, but William couldn’t find it in him to absolve her actions. Not considering. “Well, while you were busy seeing, you were seen before we’d negotiated simple pass through the village. It would have saved us hours on the trail. Now we’re expected to stay the night. By Nana Bolo no less.”

“Nana Bolo? Is that the older man in the bowler hat? The one you said wanted me to be his wife?”

“That would be the one.”

“Well, tell him I said no. Politely, of course.”

William blew out an impatient breath. “For an intelligent woman, you don’t know much about the way things work here.”

“A quick indoctrination in France before you climb on a freighter hardly covers everything. And excuse me if I don’t know the customs of the Liberian bush. I’ve been a little busy lately. France. The Great War. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“The war affected us all. It took me months to get passage back here from leave in the States with transport at such risk.”

“Right. Try actually serving in the war instead of staying home in some cushy church job. Then we’ll compare notes.”

“Cushy church job… .” He snorted at the idea a compassionate leave qualified as cushy. Then the rest of what she said hit him. “Wait… You served in the war in France? How? The Army didn’t recruit women.”

“I already went over this with the Jansens at dinner, something you would know if you’d had the manners to join us. The Red Cross did the recruiting and the Army used us despite their public objections to enlisting female physicians.”

William felt the proverbial rug go flying out from under his feet. All of his assumptions…could he be wrong about her? The image of his delicate Alice on her deathbed tamped that idea down without hesitation. “Nevertheless, your knowledge and experience don’t extend into this battlefield. And make no mistake, it is a battlefield. A battlefield for men’s souls.”

“I am aware, Pastor Mayweather. But I intend to deal with men’s and women’s bodies much more than their souls. I’ll leave the cure for eternal damnation to you.”

Vehemence blew through Mary’s words, and William was hard put to understand. But they’d gone too far off track and he needed to deal with the situation at hand. “A good mission station is one where everyone works together toward the salvation of the heathen. However, we have to first get through the night alive in this village.”

Considering his plans for her quick removal from the mission, he wasn’t sure why he bothered with the lecture on teamwork. The only thing of real importance now was surviving the situation she’d created.

William crossed his arms and gave Mary his most serious look. “So you, Doctor O’Hara, must do exactly as I tell you tonight so you do not find yourself married or get us all killed. Nana Bolo will not accept your refusal. He thinks of women as property, and property does not make its own choices.”

Mary’s brow knit into a frown and her mouth opened in a small “oh.” The look didn’t last. What looked like fumes of outrage bubbled to the surface. “Well, you can set him straight on that right now. I am no man’s property.”

She punctuated her words with an adorable little foot stamp. William would have chuckled if the situation they were in was not so dire. “Tonight while we are in this village, you are. It’s the only concept he understands. Since you and Clara are under my care, I explained to him I was not willing to trade you despite his several generous offers.” William leaned down closer to her eye level and said, “And believe me when I say the bullocks, goats and chickens he offered are looking pretty good about now.”



Each step down the path to the village might as well have been on hot coals instead of rough dirt for the effect on Mary’s temper. Once her jaw began to hurt as they got to the village perimeter, she realized she was grinding her teeth. The nerve of the man. She’d made a mistake, but an understandable one. One he completely discounted.

Quick orders were exchanged between the tribesmen, Hannabo and William. As the carriers and porters were separated from them, a frisson of unease snaked down Mary’s spine. Leaving those familiar faces behind, familiar faces with weapons, unnerved her. William and Hannabo were armed, but what could two men do against a village? The iron-tipped spears in the warriors’ hands carried a sure promise of death.

Or better yet, what would two men do? Did missionaries have a code against defending themselves? Not to kill, or something? Her sense of vulnerability projected itself in stomach knots. It was like a residency all over again. Classroom training couldn’t compare to actual experience.

The booming artillery at Argonne had been unnerving, but shells rarely reached the mobile field hospitals and both sides strictly left the Red Cross personnel alone, keeping in mind they themselves might end up in need of their services. Captured enemies were treated alongside soldiers. The only fact she could remember about the Liberian interior was that many missionaries had died in the attempt to break evangelistic ground here. She knew the fatality rate of malaria. How many died at the hands of the natives?

“Dr. Mary, look.” Clara gave a slight nod of her head. They followed a hut-lined path through the village, stepping around the roaming chickens and one stray piglet. A break in the huts revealed a small work area, complete with a low cook fire and large iron cook pot with steam rising.

Mary glanced over and saw a group of about ten young children, including one nursing baby, all sans clothing. The older ones were eminently curious. Three of the youngest fled behind their mother’s legs to peer out from safety as soon as they had seen them. The oldest of the bunch, not more than seven, stood stock-still and tried to look fierce, not quite pulling it off. Of the five women present, presumably their mothers, although there was little doubt about the one who was nursing, expressions ranged from wary to curious to downright hostile on one thin woman with blue cloth covering her modestly while she stirred the pot.

Without exception, the rest of the women wore nothing more than a cloth skirt fastened about their waists and a small fetish bag she’d come to expect hung around their necks. Mary found herself gawking and forced herself to take her eyes off the uninhibited display of uncovered skin. Even as a physician, the unabashed nudity discomfited her. Why did some cover more than others? Was it a status indication?

As much for herself as Clara, Mary said, “They might not have ever seen a white person, Clara. Try not to stare. I think we’re scaring the little ones.”

“Then we’re on equal footing. Some of those warriors scared me. All those tattoos on their faces. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Me neither. Maybe it’s something just this tribe does. None of our porters bear those kind of markings. Although Hannabo’s patterned scarring on his face resembles them a little.”

“Well, the children are adorable. I can’t wait until we’re in Nynabo and I can start the school.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be much longer. The excitement of jungle travel wore off soon after we left the beach at Garraway and headed to Newaka. I’m ready to be settled.”

Clara laughed. “I know what you mean. The first few miles when we left Garraway city behind, the trail seemed so exciting. So different.”

Mary adjusted the medical satchel she carried. “I agree. The endless dirt track, tree roots waiting in ambush and all the insects lost their novelty for me.”

Clara glanced around. “Well, we should be careful what we wish for, because there’s a lot of novelty here.”

Novelty aside, they passed in a tired, companionable silence through the rest of the village, the tableau of cooking they’d seen repeating once more. The village, large and well laid out in several divisions from the perspective of the hilltop trail, was different when you actually walked through it. Now an endless maze of mud huts, topped with the low-hanging dried brush used for thatching, surrounded them. Mary feared she would get lost in the sameness if she tried to navigate alone.

A wooden palisade wall came into view and the tribesman leading them halted before a hut outside the entrance to the private compound. He gestured to the hut and to the women, and Mary assumed it to be their quarters for the night.

Before she could enter the hut, William put his hand up and conferred with Hannabo, all the while with his back still to them.

Arrogant. That was the word that normally came to mind when she thought of Pastor William Mayweather. Then he took off his pith helmet and ran his hands through that wavy brown hair and the word changed. Striking. And worried.

William crossed his arms when Hannabo conveyed something to the tribesman and the tribesman shook his head and repeated his gesture indicating the hut. What was the problem? Was he holding out for a better hut? They all looked the same to her.

The weariness settling over her as the sun dropped halfway below the horizon overrode her resentful obedience and she stepped forward. “What’s the problem? Is there something wrong with this hut? Because it looks fine to me.”

William turned to her with narrowed eyes, glaring. She flinched. If those rich, brown eyes had been spears, she would have been impaled on the spot.

She’d done it again. Whatever it was.

William’s deep rumble came out deceptively low. “I’m sure the hut is quite fine.” He came closer, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned down and in until he was only inches from her face. “If, that is, you don’t mind being separated from Hannabo and myself. Alone with only your sharp tongue for protection. Of course, we could always share the hut.”



William pulled back, the discomfort of being close enough to Mary to see her smallest freckles befuddling his thoughts. He had tried counting to ten, reciting Proverbs to himself about the futility of arguing with the foolish—none of it worked. No sooner did he get things back under control than this obstinate woman tried to insert herself right back into the thick of things. At least Alice let him be in charge, hung back and allowed him to do the man’s work. This woman wanted to literally and figuratively wear the trousers. At least…

William derailed his mental train of thought on the memory of Alice and traveled back to the reality of an impatient redhead in front of him with her eyes bugging out at his sarcastic statement about sharing a hut.

Oh, so her suffragette sympathies didn’t extend to sharing a hut with him. The shocked look on her face proclaimed outrage. Good to know. At least her morals stood firm, not loose like her definition of a woman’s place in life. What had the Mission Board been thinking to send him this female physician?

Mary took a deep breath in and out and straightened her spine, all under his careful observation. Indignation rolled off of her. “That is quite unacceptable. No tents on the trail were one thing, but sharing a private hut is another.”

William’s smile wasn’t one his Aunt Ruth would have approved of if she had been there. “My point exactly. Now maybe you’ll let me continue making my point with this tribesman so neither of us ends up indulging in scandalous behavior.”

“Can’t we be in separate huts but next to each other?”

“Not possible. Let me finish here and I’ll explain.”

The slight tic in her right eye gave away the fact Mary had more to say. Much more she suppressed with a great deal of effort. He turned his back to her and planted himself between her and their appointed village guide’s line of vision. He nodded to Hannabo and continued his negotiation.

He walked a fine line to accept the hospitality and yet require his own special guard for the women without impugning his hosts. When it became clear he risked insult to village hospitality, he’d explained his concern for the crazy woman with red hair wandering away and getting into trouble. Certainly true. Just not the whole reason.

When his tribal host laughed, he knew he’d won the day. Troublesome women, the universally understood notion among men.

The best negotiating ploy too, although the good doctor would have a conniption if she could only translate the language. Why couldn’t she understand he was in charge without constantly challenging him?

She thought western sensibilities would prevail in the situation with Nana Bolo. That sort of attitude would have her married and bearing the chief’s children in no time.

Hopefully, the idea that she was troublesome and a little crazy would get back to Nana Bolo. That wily schemer caught the turn of the phrase where William avoided claiming her as his wife. By indicating she was under his care, a phrase the chief took to mean Mary was William’s property, he left himself wide open to this. The chief would think he only held out for better terms.

Of course the only other option available to him would have been lying and saying that she was his wife. Not an acceptable course for his conscience or the mission of winning souls. Scripturally, lying about Sarah backfired on Abraham twice.

This way he could protect the women to the best of his ability. He would go to the palaver hut, an honor reserved for male guests only, but leave Hannabo to sleep at the threshold of the women’s hut. He may not want women in the interior with him, but he couldn’t leave them undefended this close to the chief’s compound.

Even if they were more trouble than they were worth.

Dr. O’Hara did have a tendency to forget to stay put. Her reasons may have been admirable. How many women would have run toward a gunshot to help? But now more than before, he needed her out of the sight of the villagers. She would be easier to protect once he could get to Nynabo. He refused to think about her return trek out of the jungle when the time came. She would be someone else’s responsibility then. He’d be sure they steered clear of Nana Bolo on her return trip.

He outlined his plan to Hannabo, who nodded. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Clara and Mary. “Ladies, for your protection, our hosts agree Hannabo will stay with you, sleeping outside the threshold of your quarters. I would do the chief a grave insult if I don’t sleep in the palaver hut allotted to honored guests. And, as women are not allowed in that hut, you will stay here outside the palisade walls.”

Clara’s hand fluttered to her chest.

“Not to worry, Mrs. Smith. We will keep you safe.” With a sweeping hand gesture, he indicated the doorway of the hut. “If you need something, ask Hannabo. I will be just on the other side of the wall.”

Mary’s voice filled with concern. “Pastor Mayweather, our needs should not deprive Hannabo of his comfort for the night.”

William laughed despite his desire to attract as little attention as possible. “I assure you your comfort levels will be quite equitable. At the most, you will sleep on planks to elevate you off the dirt. I promise you sleeping directly on the dirt is little more hardship.”

Clara’s face echoed Mary’s surprise as the two exchanged looks. It was Clara who finally spoke. “But can we not retrieve our camp beds from the porters and set them up in the hut? I know the trail was too narrow for tents where we camped the first night, but surely this hut will easily hold them.”

William understood her desire. The relative comfort of his folding cot would be a nice reprieve from the hard surface. “I’m afraid not, ladies. Don’t insult our host by refusing his provision.”

“That’s too bad.” Clara’s voice held the same longing for her own bedding William ascribed to his. “I guess we’d better just make do.”

Mary offered no argument. Surprising.

“I’m going to have to ask you ladies to stay inside the hut till morning. No matter what you hear. There will undoubtedly be a lot of revelry tonight.” William hoped his plea wasn’t words to the deaf.

He reached over and laid his hand on the physician’s arm. “Dr. O’Hara, I am only one man. Our caravan is too small to intimidate the chief here. Please, don’t put us in any more situations where I might not be able to talk our way out.”

Conscious of Mary’s eyes on the hand still resting on her arm, he pulled back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m begging you. Consider all our lives in this.”


Chapter Five

Mary clutched the extra blankets Hannabo had surreptitiously secured for them from their gear and followed Clara, ducking into the low opening of the mud hut. Once inside she straightened. The conical roof gave more openness than she’d realized. The floor was smooth, packed dirt with faint round marks overlapping at regular intervals. The smooth clay walls lacked a window and the only real light came from the open doorway.

Squinting against the dimness, she made out two elevated wooden pallets to her right. They seemed high for a bed, sitting a few feet off the floor. She placed the blankets on the one closest to her.

She slid her pack off her shoulders and laid it at the foot of the pallet. Clara groaned in relief enough for both of them as her pack came off and said, “Right now almost anything looks comfortable. Even wood covered with a thin reed mat.”

“Not exactly my idea of comfort. But I’m too exhausted from being such a troublemaker to care.”

“You aren’t a troublemaker, Dr. Mary.” Clara’s grin came through as Mary’s eyes adjusted to the low light. “You’re just used to being in charge.”

“Exactly. If Pastor Mayweather would only talk to me instead of barking orders, maybe I wouldn’t have caused him such problems.”

“Rare is the man who can treat a woman like an equal. Even at the hospital they wanted to relegate you to anesthesia and not surgery.”

The pain of loss stabbed Mary’s chest. “They were right. The most important operation of my life and I botched it.” Tears threatened to flow. Exhaustion was breaking down both her muscles and her emotions.

Clara stepped close and put her arm around Mary. “You didn’t botch anything. Your brother was too far gone by the time he arrived at the hospital. Not even that braggart Dr. Hubbard could have saved him—no matter what he said.”

Mary looked at Clara through unshed tears. “I wish my father saw it that way. Jeremy died on my operating table. Father’s letter spelled out whom he held responsible for his only son’s loss.”

“Now, now. Grief did his speaking for him. Grief will pass and he’ll think it through. He’ll come around. Your father loves you. He supported your studies to become a physician in the first place.”

Mary pulled away and picked up the blankets. “I don’t know, Clara. He made his opinion pretty clear that nothing I did could ever atone for costing him his only son.” Mary arranged the blankets over the planks as best she could. “I’m afraid I agree with him.”

“Nonsense. A German soldier killed him. Men die in war, plain and simple.”

Mary sat down on the pallet and unhooked her panniers one at a time. “Well, what’s my excuse this time? If I hadn’t reacted to that gunshot and just stayed put, we wouldn’t be in any danger.”

Clara’s belly laugh startled Mary. She looked up from unlacing her boots. “Dr. Mary, we’re in the middle of the Liberian jungle with heathen tribes known for their cannibalism. Of course we’re in danger. You think the chief wouldn’t see or hear about a pretty woman with red hair anyway?”

Mary turned up the corners of her mouth despite her fatalism. She reached and pulled the pins from her hair, letting down the long plait and wagging the tresses ruefully. “I suppose you’re right. My hair has always been a beacon for trouble.”

Clara’s face turned serious. “God made you exactly right, my girl. From the color of your hair to the desire He gave you to be a doctor. We just have to trust that He will protect us in this eternal battlefield.”

Mary slid off her right sock and removed the plaster from her small toe. No signs of infection, but she pretended to study the healing area awhile to take in what Clara said. It sounded like what William had said, only without the anger. They both envisioned God’s plan so clearly. She just wanted to bury herself away, do some good with her training and not think so much about God’s plan for her. Since Jeremy died, her faith had faltered to the point she wasn’t sure she could even know God’s plan in her life anymore.

Mary took the fresh plaster Clara offered her from her bag. Even if the God of her childhood was real, did He have a plan for their lives? Otherwise, why would Jeremy have died? Jeremy and so many boys like him. Where was God’s protection, his plan in the Forest of Argonne?

Clara’s soft voice interrupted her contemplations. “We all have doubts sometimes, Dr. Mary. Take them to Him. He’s the only one with real answers for them.”

Mary’s tears hung back at the border of her lower lids and she blinked to dispel them. Clara generously pretended not to notice while she explored the small hut. “No place for a fire. I thought there would be some sort of pit in the center.”

“I don’t know. This hut seems a lot smaller than the ones we passed. Maybe they have them. Or they do all their cooking in the open like the groups we passed with cook pots.”

“True. Speaking of food, I wonder what we are to do about dinner.”

Mary formed a reply, but Hannabo stuck his head in the doorway first. “Mammies, food is here.”

“Oh, thank the Lord. I’m starved.” Clara’s enthusiasm was infectious and Mary’s stomach rumbled in response.

Two of the village women entered single file. One, a young girl of about fifteen whom Mary hadn’t seen on their walk through the village, smiled shyly. She wore twice the amount of necklaces Mary counted on the other women they’d passed and had a bright red skirt wrapped and tied around her hips and chest. Her well-fed appearance made sense when she bent to place a wooden bowl of steaming liquid in Clara’s hands. Pregnant. And so young. Only four to five months, but pregnant nonetheless. Mary hoped her own expression didn’t mirror the shock on Clara’s when she seemed to come to the same conclusion.

This girl, still a child in many ways, at home would have been in school, giggling with girlfriends, maybe even mooning over a handsome boy. Here she was already someone’s wife.

Mary stole her attention from the girl’s pregnant belly and focused on the wooden bowl offered to her. Steaming soup. What kind she didn’t know.

The woman in the faded blue skirt she’d seen earlier stirring the cook pot stood in front of Clara. A lot less jewelry adorned her. Was this a sign of status? If so, this young girl outranked her older counterpart. This woman looked to be only in her late twenties, but a hard life displayed itself in the weariness, the long lines around the woman’s mouth. Her life story was summed up in her face.

The same face also clearly advertised the woman’s feelings. Was all that hatred directed at her? Why?

Mary wondered as she took the steaming bowl and the women stepped back. The two women gave no indication of leaving, and Mary questioned if there was a ritual to the meal. Getting no cues from the women, she lifted the bowl up and inhaled the aroma.

She took a glance at Clara who sat holding her bowl with one eyebrow raised as if to say, you first. Ha! Afraid of monkey again.

Mary smiled at the two women now standing to the side, watching intently. She infused her voice with a cheery note and said to Clara, “Probably chicken soup. Whatever you do, let’s not offend them.”

Mary lifted the bowl to her lips and took a small sip which she balanced on her tongue, mouth open to cool the heat. Heat which never cooled.

She swallowed. Real tears came to her eyes and her sinuses began to run. She managed to stutter, “A little spicy.” Somehow she kept the smile plastered to her face. The younger woman giggled behind the hand now covering her mouth. The older one lifted her chin as if in challenge.

Mary managed to take another sip and smile. After all, once her tongue started singing soprano, what did more spice matter? The older woman’s eyebrows went up ever so slightly. Respect? Mary couldn’t be sure. But she never backed away from a challenge.

She finished the bowl completely and waited to grab for her canteen until the women backed out of the hut.

Clara’s face flashed between pale and a little green. Sweat poured off her. “I don’t know how you swallowed the soup, Dr. Mary. I’m not sure mine is going to stay down.”

“Did you catch the expression on the older woman? She expected her food to be insulted.”

“What was in that anyway?”

“Pepper of some kind. Let me ask Hannabo.” Mary stuck her head out the door. William and Hannabo held their heads together in conversation. Surely she hadn’t done something else she didn’t understand.

Hannabo caught sight of her and said something to William. He turned around and walked over to her. “Is there a problem?”

“Not unless you consider having our tongues completely numbed from dinner.” She tried for a smile so he’d know she spoke in humor.

The serious look on William’s face dropped instantly and his eyes crinkled in merriment. “Red pepper. A country-wide favorite. Since you’re an honored guest, I am sure the spicing was generous.”

“You could have warned me. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to taste food again.”

“You will. It was a little tough to swallow my first time, too. The wives looked pleased when they left, so you must have held your tongue, so to speak.”

Mary marveled at this lighthearted side of William. She’d begun thinking he possessed only a serious side. “Why Pastor Mayweather, is that a pun? Humor becomes you.”

And just as quickly as it was there, the smile vanished. “Is there anything else you need for the night, Doctor?”

Mary wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden turn in demeanor. “No, we’re fine. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, of course not. Not this time at least.”

Of all the things to say. Couldn’t he just be nice and let it go at that? She bit back a scathing retort as he said, “If there’s nothing else then, may I remind you a lot of celebrating will go on in the village tonight. A lot of religious ceremonies are conducted after nightfall.”

Mary shuddered despite the waning heat. “What kind of ceremonies?”

William’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head for emphasis. “None you need to be attending.”

This time she did sputter. “I assure you, I hadn’t planned to attend. I was merely curious.”

“See that you keep your curiosity in check this time.”

Of all the gall. He turned on his heel and returned to where Hannabo was waiting. Mary stood rooted and gape-mouthed at the man’s insolence. After a few seconds, William walked off and Hannabo came to stand at the entrance to their hut.

“Where’s Pastor Mayweather going, Hannabo?”

“Nana Pastor, he goes to speak to Chief. He hopes to show Nana Bolo the one true God and get him to put away his fetishes. He will not succeed.”

“Why not?”

“Nana Karl has tried for years. Nana Bolo’s devilmen are powerful. They have already given him what he wants. He will not listen to the stories of the white man’s God.”

“Devilmen? What do you mean?”

“They hold the magic. Their conjures are strong. The young girl who brought you dinner?”

“Yes, she is with child, I believe.”

Hannabo’s head nodded vigorous assent. “Because of the Devilmen. Nana Bolo made his offering when she did not conceive for some time.”

“Nonsense. Conception is not a sign of magic.”

“Devilmen do many things, miracles sometimes, Mammy Doctor. I believe in the Jesus God, but I’ve seen devilmen work. They hold much power.”

A shiver that belied the heat ran through her. Evil seemed so distant back at home in a Virginia church. Not so distant on the battlefield. Witchcraft prevailed in this darkness.

“Our worlds are very different this way, Hannabo.”

He nodded in response.

“There is another difference I wanted to ask about. Why do some of the women cover their…uh, chests and some do not?” She felt silly being embarrassed, but it was one thing to examine someone and another to ask about modesty issues so specifically to a man.

Hannabo replied as if it was no issue at all. “Young girls who are not promised in marriage wear only the skirt. Once they are promised or married, they wear more to show their status.”

So it was a question of status, just not the way she’d thought. She said good night and went back into the dark hut, feeling her way to her bed. Clara was stretched out, already snoring. Mary sat on the hard pallet and wondered what kind of witchcraft Hannabo had seen to make him think it held power. Exhaustion took a stronger hold than her questions, and she lay back to fall into a fitful sleep filled with the rhythm of drums, shouts and fervor.

When quiet finally reigned, she sunk into a deep inky blackness even dreams couldn’t penetrate. Later, a rooster announced the dawn. More than once.

Foolish fowl. The sun wasn’t up yet. She tried to shake off the hold sleep claimed but kept dozing off.

The only thing finally piercing the veil of slumber and startling her completely awake were the screams.


Chapter Six

William heard the women’s wailing over a loss before Hannabo reached him. It was an unmistakable sound in the bush.

Someone had died.

Hannabo came running, out of breath, tension pouring out of his very skin. The smell of fear was strong. They all had to leave the village before accusations began.

Hannabo’s words confirmed it. “It was one of the warriors in Nana Bolo’s personal guard.”

“I’ll get the women. You get the rest of the caravan. We’ll meet you on the trail just outside the village. Hopefully all eyes will be busy elsewhere with the mourning ritual and we can be long down the trail before someone points the finger.”

Hannabo nodded and set off to roust the rest of the caravan. Most were probably packing up already. Some may have already headed into the bush, taking no chances with their lives.

He saw a familiar red head peek out of the hut door. Her long hair was loose and mussed. She was dressed, however, and looked like she’d slept in her clothes last night.

“Pastor Mayweather, what’s all the wailing? What’s happening?”

“One of the warriors has died in the night. Grab your things. We must leave immediately or risk death.”

Mary paled and her eyes widened.

“It will be all right. But there is one chance to save ourselves and it is now. Grab your gear!”

She spun around and headed back into the hut. He headed back to the palaver hut to get his pack. The separate compound looked empty, probably in response to the wailing. Custom required the widow receive comfort from the entire village. Custom also required punishing the responsible party. The inevitable witch hunt wouldn’t exclude guests.

He couldn’t let another woman die because of him. The idea of his own death did not bother him; he had settled where he would spend eternity when he was but a boy of twelve. But what about Mary and Clara? The Mission Board had assigned them, but the assignment being given was no absolute guarantee. Do-gooders with no real salvation experience had slipped through the process and come to the mission field before.

Where did the women stand with the Lord? Hot shame lodged in his chest. He’d been so set on getting rid of them, he hadn’t bothered to find out. Now he might not have the chance. Bad enough a man had died here last night without accepting the Gospel.

He rolled his bedding and attached it to his pack, then left the chief’s compound and headed back to the women’s hut. Rounding the corner he came face-to-face with both women, dressed and with their packs on their backs.

“We’re ready.” Mary’s voice carried a faint tremor. He’d obviously scared the wits out of her. He’d apologize later. Provided they all lived.

Clara’s face was pinched and drawn, her eyes reflecting her own wrestling match with fear. One she appeared close to losing.

“Dr. O’Hara. Clara. Keep your heads down and follow behind me as if it was a normal leave-taking. Don’t make eye contact and don’t stop for any reason.”

Clara nodded and they both followed. Behind him Mary asked, “Pastor Mayweather, what is going on? Why does this warrior’s death put us in danger?”

Maybe some explanation would help her to understand, but he was loath to slow them down. Mourning would turn to anger quickly and he wanted to be well down the trail before that happened. He condensed his answer. “Nothing is considered an accident here. They’ll want someone to blame. We would be a good target right now.”




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