Книга - Journey of Hope

Journey of Hope
Debbie Kaufman


MARRIAGE IS NOT HER MISSIONEscaping a society wedding, Annabelle Baldwin followed her heart to Liberia to pursue her calling as a missionary. But when an attempted kidnapping lands her under the protection of Stewart Hastings, Anna’s journey takes a new turn. The wounded war veteran needs a guide through the jungle. It’s a job the under-funded missionary can’t refuse, despite the feelings Stewart stirs in her guarded heart.Stewart knows he won't succeed without Anna’s expertise. And when danger puts her life at risk, he realizes he cannot live without Anna by his side. But what will it take for a man who has lost his faith to capture the heart of a woman who lives for hers?







Marriage Is Not Her Mission

Escaping a society wedding, Annabelle Baldwin followed her heart to Liberia to pursue her calling as a missionary. But when an attempted kidnapping lands her under the protection of Stewart Hastings, Anna’s journey takes a new turn. The wounded war veteran needs a guide through the jungle. It’s a job the underfunded missionary can’t refuse, despite the feelings Stewart stirs in her guarded heart.

Stewart knows he won’t succeed without Anna’s expertise. And when danger puts her life at risk, he realizes he cannot live without Anna by his side. But what will it take for a man who has lost his faith to capture the heart of a woman who lives for hers?


“I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t have had a suitable proposal by now.”

“Many proposals, but none suitable. Ardent young men have made offers, some even impulsively after our first meeting. Once they realized I possessed strong ambitions, as well as a porcelain complexion, their ardor quickly cooled.”

He shook his head. “Hard to believe, Miss Baldwin.”

“If God wants otherwise, I trust he’ll send the right man into my life, one who will see my heart.”

Stewart’s voice took on an unexpected fervor. “Perhaps he did. Are you sure you’d recognize him even if he stood in front of you?”

Anna took a hard look at the man in front of her. She’d warned him about flirting with her on the ship, but this was a more serious tone. Had his flirting concealed something deeper? “Mr. Hastings, are you suggesting you’re the man God has sent for me to marry?”


DEBBIE KAUFMAN

As a child growing up in Kentucky, Debbie Kaufman never heeded her mother’s advice to get her nose out of a book—except 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 accomplished with a book in one hand.

While still searching for her next big adventure, Debbie enjoys creating action-packed historical romances on the written page for others to experience. Debbie currently lives in Georgia and enjoys spending time with her husband, their four children, three grandchildren and two dogs. She supplements her reading habit with the occasional crochet project, baking and visits to her favorite coffee shop, where she is often found writing her next book.


Journey of Hope

Debbie Kaufman




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


For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

—Matthew 6:21


To Caroline, who put me on this missionary-writing path in the first place. Darling girl, your strength and beauty of spirit always leave me in awe.

To Dave, Dan and Emily, whose presence in my life is a constant blessing.

To my darling husband, who makes it all possible with his unconditional love.

To the Ladies of the Lake: Susan, Sandy, Sia and others. Your support is invaluable, your friendship a true treasure.


Contents

Chapter One (#u1a91c532-571a-55db-a103-9ef3d9f271d0)

Chapter Two (#udc100459-7fea-55a8-a5b4-930dac0ffd0c)

Chapter Three (#u1fb6f98b-bbf0-5c6b-87a2-bb5fef80b6b5)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Monrovia, Liberia

September 1920

When the annals of desperation were written, Stewart Hastings figured his name would have its own chapter. What was it going to take to acquire a competent guide into the Liberian jungle? Clearly his visit to this harborside tavern was another complete waste of time.

Six days to interview a promising list of a dozen names, and yet not a willing guide among them. The wages Stewart had offered the previous candidates should have been enough, but the joke was on him. Apparently he was the only man foolish enough to take big money for an expedition into cannibal territory.

He put his sterling on the wooden bar for the meal he’d just eaten, stepped outside and headed off to meet the final name on his list of potential guides. From his understanding of the street layout, his destination wasn’t far from the boardinghouse where he had rented a room.

The cool ocean breeze off the promontory invigorated him, providing momentary relief from the overheated barroom, whose smells of whiskey, palm oil and humanity had left him with a throb behind his right temple. The relief quickly faded as he walked the moonlit turf-covered streets. Whoever said tropical countries didn’t get cold had never been to Monrovia on a September night. After the daily rains let up, the temperature drop had him jamming his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the chill.

He couldn’t have come all the way to Africa only to lose his best hope of securing his and his ailing mother’s future. With little more than a day before his ship departed, the outlook was bleak. Exploring for minable geological deposits in a little-mapped jungle area was difficult enough, but add in cannibals and subtract a guide and the task became downright impossible.

His dead father’s drunken rants echoed in his memory. Maybe the son of a dockworker would never be more than a scholarship boy trying to shake off the stench of the slums. With no family name to propel him to success, failure was always a strong possibility. This time it wasn’t an option he could allow.

He had to persist. His mother’s heart doctor was right. Even without the results from that newfangled electrocardiograph machine, the signs were all there, no matter how she tried to hide them. She reached for her digitalis more frequently, became short of breath working in her garden. Spending her days scrubbing the floors of the rich was a ticket to an early grave. She needed the rest and diet the doctor prescribed. Stewart had promised her a better life the day they buried his father. Now that she was ill, he couldn’t fail in that promise.

He had to find a guide and meet his deadline. His hard-won degree from Harvard would mean nothing to his financial future if chaperoned by a reputation for failure.

He crossed Broad Street. Moonlight mocked the darkened light poles lining the avenue. Another confirmation of the government’s financial crisis, one his employer hoped would drive down prices for the Putu Mountains area mining concession they planned to make an offer on.

Clouds rolled across the moon, forcing him to temper his stride or risk a misstep. A figure came toward him in the dark. His hand reflexively moved to the knife at his side and then relaxed as the figure grew closer. A lone Liberian woman with a sleeping baby strapped to her back, hurrying along the otherwise deserted streets. A tiny prick hit his heart as he watched the child’s head gently bobbing with the mother’s swaying pace until the pair was out of sight. He’d always wanted a large family, but without a wife, that would never happen. Even if he was ever deluded enough to believe in love again, what woman would have him once she’d seen the scars the Great War had left?

A piercing high-pitched scream rent the night and then abruptly cut off.

The woman with the baby? Wrong direction. Every instinct the military had honed in him rushed to the forefront.

There. The sound came from the cross street just ahead. Near his boardinghouse. He moved quickly, keeping to the deepest shadows as he assessed the situation.

Two native men with a woman struggling between them. She held a thick book, clutching the volume as if it was written in gold.

Robbery? Why won’t the woman give it up? It’s only a book. Hardly worth her life.

These two miscreants left him no choice but to intervene. Attacking a woman, no less. His frustration boiled to the top. The man he was to interview might not wait, but Stewart couldn’t walk away.

He looked for any others hiding in the wings as he pulled the blade from its leather scabbard. Only the two. He banished fleeting thoughts of the consequences for pulling a knife on Liberian citizens. No one attacked a helpless woman in front of him without repercussion, not since the first time he was big enough to stand up to his father.

Stewart closed in without signaling his presence. She dropped her book and... Oh, that had to hurt. Bet they hadn’t expected her to fight back. He stifled a laugh when one assailant grabbed his foot, hopping and howling. An umbrella tip made an effective weapon. Silently he applauded her while continuing to move forward. The little lady was a feisty one, he’d give her that.

The other native pressed something white up to her face. Moonlight blazed out as the clouds retreated. A handkerchief fluttered to the ground when the attacker loosed his grip on her face and each man grabbed an arm. The woman sagged and Stewart’s anger rose. What had they done to her?

One of her attackers looked up before Stewart got close enough to disable him. The man froze, his eyes glued to the cold steel in Stewart’s hand.

Stewart dropped his voice to a chilling softness. “Let the woman go, and I’ll allow you to live.” Whether they spoke Liberian English or a local dialect, his tone said the same thing in any language.

The two men exchanged a quick glance, not loosening their hold on the woman. Not smart. At six foot three, Stewart had them each by a good nine inches of height. More when you added in the six inches of steel in his hand.

The one on his right tensed. Always a mistake to telegraph your intentions. Stewart stepped in and punched him with his free hand. The man flew backward, releasing the woman’s arm as he fell. The other attacker grabbed her closer and pulled his own knife. His cohort picked himself up off the ground.

These two weren’t giving up. He’d hoped the sight of an armed man would have put them to flight. His options dwindled. He couldn’t risk the woman’s safety in a knife fight.

He watched for any signal of their next move. Both assailants stood wide-eyed, uncertainty growing in their eyes. Ha! Probably hadn’t expected any interference.

A door squeaked to his left. The attacking duo glanced toward the sound and froze. Stewart risked a quick look. A tiny female figure walked out the front door of the boardinghouse where he’d rented a room. Momma Elliott shook her finger at the two, loudly threatening them in another language.

Stewart braced himself. How to protect two women?

But no attack came. Both men took one look at the wizened little black woman with her head wrapped in blue country cloth and a righteous fervor of scolding on her tongue and they promptly dropped their victim and ran.

Stewart lunged for the falling woman, grabbing an arm and hoisting her up. He barely managed to keep her head from hitting the ground where her book had fallen. Momma Elliott marched out after the fleeing men with a warrior’s air about her. If he’d had a platoon of women that brave at the front, they’d have routed the Germans much sooner.

Once the miscreants were out of sight, she turned her attention to Stewart, schooling him with her impatient tone. “Well, what are you standing there for, Mr. Hastings? Are you going to bring her inside or not?” She picked up the book and umbrella, turned and walked back through the doorway.

With the unconscious woman in his arms, he followed the warrior grandma. The young woman he carried was a feather’s worth of weight. Her hat bobbed precariously, a casualty of the confrontation. Her hair had escaped its confines. Silken strands brushed his left hand.

She smelled like cinnamon, but with every gentle exhale came a sickly sweet odor.

Chloroform?

His stomach roiled at the buried memory. The last time he’d inhaled that odor, his own life hung in the balance. Chloroform explained everything he’d seen: the white cloth and her loss of consciousness when clearly she was more a fighter than a fainter. Where would two natives in a primitive country get such a dangerous chemical? Chloroform was too elaborate for a simple robbery. Something else, then. Kidnapping?

He stepped into the entryway. His boots sounded thunderous on the polished floors. No Momma Elliott. From deep in the house he heard her sharp, urgent tones. A young native boy dressed as if he’d come from a Sunday meeting blurred right past him and out the door before Stewart could speak.

The parlor to his left appeared unoccupied, and it came equipped with the answer to the problem in his arms—a davenport.

He gently placed his slight burden on the rosy velvet-covered couch. He felt for the hat pin where he’d seen his mother reach a thousand times and removed the young woman’s dangling straw creation. He found a small pillow for her comfort and then turned up the oil lamp on the table beside her. The light revealed the mahogany color of her errant hair and its cascading waves. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent, her dark lashes a smudge on the porcelain complexion. When he considered her small-boned frame, his anger at the men who’d attacked her stirred anew.

What if she became sick from the medicine? Chloroform had a deadly reputation even in trained hands. He’d relax once she woke up. Maybe Momma Elliott had gone to get smelling salts. That was what the hospital nurse had used when his former fiancée had fainted at the sight of his mustard-gas burns. Worked like a charm. Maybe too well. Julianne had sputtered, averted her eyes and left as soon as she’d recovered.

He’d received her engagement regrets by messenger later the same day. Somehow he’d failed her by returning less than the whole man she’d watched ship off to war. His shirts would hide the damage, but she couldn’t face seeing those scars for the rest of her life.

He told himself he was well rid of her if that was the measure of her character. He’d let a pretty face and protestations that love could overcome their class differences override his better judgment. He’d let his guard down.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Stewart shrugged off the memory and moved closer to check the woman on the davenport. No evident sign of distress from the drug. A familiarity nagged at him.

Julianne. This woman with her stunning beauty reminded him of Julianne. Both women were small-boned and had a similar hair color. This one had higher cheekbones, a daintier nose, generous lips and, on closer observation, a small faded scar on her left cheek. Unlike his mustard burns, her little imperfection added appeal, keeping her from being too perfect. Still, if she and Julianne had ever met, Julianne would have taken to her bed, mirror in hand, and fretted for a week at being eclipsed.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Wake up. Fret, complain, anything—just wake up.” What color would those eyes be? If only she would open them.

Spry steps in the hall broke his study.

Momma Elliott entered the room with a basin of water and a rag in her hand. She eyed the unconscious woman and looked around as if expecting to see someone else in the room. She must have heard him talking. She knelt beside the sofa, dampened her cloth and folded it into a compress. “You did well, Mr. Hastings, to grab her up from those scoundrels. Gradoo has always been a disappointment to his mother. But to hurt a woman...a foreign woman... He’ll be lucky to avoid a hanging if the magistrate’s in the wrong mood.”

“You recognized those ruffians?”

“One of them. Taught him in Sunday school as a young lad. Obviously didn’t take his Bible to heart. Didn’t recognize the other Kru man with him. But birds of a feather...”

“No wonder they ran, seeing as you’re able to identify them. Is she going to be all right? I think they gave her chloroform.”

Momma Elliott seemed to weigh his words. “Now, that is surely a strange thing. Where would those two get something like chloroform? Good thing this one is tougher than she appears. I nursed her through the malaria when she first arrived from Connecticut. Still, for caution’s sake, I’ve asked for the doctor to come around.”

He nodded toward the unconscious woman. “Does she live nearby?”

“No, Miss Baldwin is rooming with me for a few days. She’s attending a mission conference. They’re installing the new bishop from the States. Only something big like that would bring her out of the jungle.”

“She lives in the jungle?”

“Of course. Miss Baldwin is a missionary spreading the Gospel to one of the interior tribes.”

Stewart couldn’t hold back the proverbial jaw drop. He’d saved a missionary who lived in the jungle. His mother’s voice and all her notions of God’s plans flooded his mind. Easy to see why she believed such things. He could almost believe it now. Almost. But rational thought reasserted itself. Missionary or not, no one would send a single woman anywhere near where he needed to go. Every time he’d been specific about his destination, grown men paled and refused. Or they laughed outright.

“Something wrong, young man?”

“Sorry, ma’am. Just thinking.” Might as well ask. “You don’t happen to know what tribal area she, uh, missions in, do you?”

Her head cocked at the sound of footsteps on the porch. “You can ask her all about it once she wakes. Wait here. Keep an eye on her while I greet the doctor.” She headed for the front door.

Now he was grasping desperation by the throat. Asking Miss Baldwin would be a waste of time. To a lone woman, working in the interior probably meant a little ways outside the city.

Oh, no. A waste of time... Time. He groaned and checked his watch. As soon as Momma Elliott came back with the doctor, he’d have to leave. He hoped the man he was to interview had waited.

A soft rustle caught his attention. He looked and got his answer. Brown. Lovely deep brown eyes opened and blinked. She blinked again and the unfocused look began to fade from her eyes. When she tried to sit up, his reverie broke. “Miss, uh, Baldwin. Please don’t move. Just lay still. Momma Elliott will be right back.”

Her focus flitted around, taking in her surroundings before stopping to look at his face. For one short moment the room lost all its air as he fell into the depths of her serene gaze. How could she wake so calm after what she’d just been through?

She whispered.

He tilted his head downward. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you.”

She whispered again.

He shook his head and apologized, bending to catch her words. “Do you need something?”

Her soft voice quavered. “Nothing. You...you asked...”

“Asked?”

She tried again. “You...asked...where.”

“Where? Oh. You heard me talking to Momma Elliott.”

She nodded and whispered again. “Putu. Near the Putu Mountains. I work with the Pahn.”

His limbs turned to marble. The answer to his dilemma had been dumped literally into his arms. Or had it? Unease snaked its way into his thoughts just as Momma Elliott and a redheaded woman with a medical bag, waddling with the weight of the child she carried in her rounded belly, bustled into the room. A woman doctor? And her patient another woman who couldn’t protect herself in the relative safety of the city, yet lived among cannibals? What kind of country was this?

He gave a nod to Momma Elliott and headed for the front door. Even if he missed his meeting, he didn’t regret his actions. Not when a woman had been in danger. But he sincerely hoped the guide wasn’t too impatient and he would agree to the job. Otherwise Stewart would be trying to talk the woman he’d saved into saving him. Not good since the last time he’d placed his future in the hands of a beautiful woman, it disappeared in a cloud of mustard gas.

* * *

Anna Baldwin awakened to bright morning sunshine streaming in through her bedroom window, Dr. Mary Mayweather attending at her side and two sure conclusions about her life: God was looking out for her, as evidenced by last night’s providential rescue, and He wouldn’t have called her to the mission field without providing for her. True, last night was a trial of some magnitude. Being attacked, chloroformed and almost kidnapped made the news she’d received at the conference pale in comparison. At least she was still alive to serve another day, something she had failed to thank her blue-eyed rescuer for making possible.

Now she had to find a way to stay beyond the short weeks her limited funds left her. But first she had to reason with Dr. Mary. The good doctor wanted Anna to lounge in bed. Clearly a woman so heavy with child should be following her own orders. Anna rebuked herself for such an uncharitable thought about her dear friend. She was grateful that missionaries like Dr. Mary and her pastor husband had taken her under their tutelage when she’d first arrived. Still, they’d trusted her to God’s care when they’d helped establish her post with the Pahn, so being overprotective now about a random attack on city streets seemed a contradiction in that trust.

No, she needed to be out of bed so she could begin the process of looking for a new source of funding. This foggy-brained feeling from the drug would pass.

Dr. Mary sat on the edge of Anna’s bed. “Anna, did you hear me? Three days’ rest, minimum. Chloroform can be hard on the heart.”

“Three days? My ship leaves for Garraway tomorrow morning, Dr. Mary. And I can’t count on the Elder-Dempster Company refunding my fare.” Anna stifled a rising panic. “Even if they change my ticket, I have no money for the additional change fees.”

“Not to worry. I’ll ask my William to talk to them. Most steamship lines bend their rules to accommodate God’s work. Missionaries are lucrative business for them. If there is a fee, I’m sure we can appeal to the bishop for discretionary funds.”

Hot tears built a pool behind Anna’s eyes. She fought them back and spoke once she trusted her voice. “Is it really all about money? Even here as a missionary? No, an ex-missionary. I’m losing my posting over money. The bishop has already drawn on his discretionary funds to keep me here a little longer while I seek a new source of support.”

Dr. Mary tilted her head. “Well, that explains a lot. When you left the mission conference in such a hurry last night, I feared something was wrong. What happened to the support money your church promised?”

“They fell on hard times. It’s a small congregation, but they scraped and saved to help me get here. Their monthly pledge after my parents blocked all access to the trust my grandmother left me was a godsend.” Anna picked at a stray thread on her bedcovers. “Originally, I planned to fund my support myself. The trust included a monthly allowance from the interest. As long as I was frugal, that money would have been most of what I needed to stay here.”

“You never told me your parents so actively opposed you.”

Anna shuddered. “Because it does no good to dwell on their past actions. Having a missionary daughter went against all their social ambitions. They wanted me to marry someone handpicked for his social and financial standing. Blocking my trust was only one of the ways they dealt with my refusal. My only consolation is that the entire trust comes under my control once I marry or turn thirty-five, whichever comes first.”

“But eight years is a long time to wait when you’re in need now. Maybe like my father did, they’ll come around eventually. If you do end up having to return home, surely the time apart will have softened their hearts.”

Anna shuddered, remembering. “You don’t know my parents.” She reached out and gripped Dr. Mary’s arm. “And other than my facility with languages, I have no useful skills for employment. Returning home is one problem, but I have to get back to the Pahn. How can I live with myself if I can’t get the tuition to send Taba to the boarding school at Newaka? I promised him. You know what will happen to a twelve-year-old convert if I can’t get him out of the clutches of the devilmen. Once they get him into the sequestered Poro school...”

Dr. Mary paled. “He won’t be coming back out.”

Anna looked at Dr. Mary, waiting for some answer. After a moment Dr. Mary spoke in a low, serious tone. “I can’t tell you what God is going to do in your life or Taba’s right now. I can only remind you of how seconds before the Pahn chief was about to succeed in his plan to kill me, God proved He does work all things to the good. Whatever happens, don’t forget that fact. William and I are living testaments to God’s sovereignty in all things.”

Anna was humbled remembering the story of how Dr. Mary and her husband, Pastor William Mayweather, had narrowly avoided death at the hands of the cannibal tribe. “I believe, but I counted on Bishop Michaels to advance Taba’s tuition money. Before the board’s overhaul of financial policies, my request would have been no problem. Bishop Michaels is clearly sympathetic, but the new rules leave no room for any debt. He’s done what he can so I can return to the village temporarily and try to secure Taba’s safety.”

“Anna, does Taba’s family hold any status or wealth in the village?”

“No, which is why I was counting on my funds to help with tuition. I already made arrangements with Karl and Hannah Jansen when I passed through Newaka. They promised to keep him for two years if I can come up with the money for one.”

Dr. Mary absently rubbed her swollen belly. “The Jansens would be ideal, but even they can only stretch their sterling so far. Why not send Taba to Nynabo with us? We can manage.”

“You’re too close. Nana Mala proved that when he stormed your compound with armed warriors. The devilmen have enough reach that Taba wouldn’t be safe if he stayed with you.”

“Point taken. What about asking Bishop Michaels to let you use your return-ticket funds while you seek other means of support?”

Anna shook her head and the room spun. “No. You know the rules—no service under the Mission Board’s policies unless your return fare is banked against the day you leave the mission field.”

Dr. Mary stood. “Continue to pray, Anna. God has a plan for this boy’s life and yours. Sometimes God provides in ways we don’t expect. Look at last night. God provided a rescuer when you needed one.” She grinned at Anna. “A tall, strong one at that.”

Anna felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Dr. Mary!”

“What? I still have high hopes for you to find a fellow laborer in the mission field.”

“And you think you’ll help me find one by trying to play matchmaker with a total stranger? You don’t give up, do you? Not everyone can find a man like your William. Finding a husband isn’t a priority for me, and I don’t think our Heavenly Father would send me a mate by way of a robbery attempt.” She snorted. “Sounds like one of my father’s poorly thought-out schemes. Never mind the consequences to me, because the end of things always justified the cost, especially since he wasn’t the one paying it.”

Dr. Mary took her medical bag from the nightstand. “I guess it is a little far-fetched. God often requires sacrifice of us, but He has our best interests at heart. Pray and ask what He would have you do. Three days of bed rest should give you ample time to come to a conclusion.”

With no extra funds, missing the ship would curtail most of Anna’s options. She had to be on the SS Boma when it left in the morning. She hadn’t been this desperate since she’d escaped to the ship that carried her to Liberia, thwarting her parents’ plans to marry her off to the odious Dr. Reginald Hightower. Even without God’s call to the mission field, she couldn’t have married a man who’d made it clear that her “excess” of religion was unacceptable in his social circles.

God had provided a means for her then, so she had to believe that He would supply the means for Taba’s safety now. She respected Dr. Mary, but she would be on that ship.

As if she’d read her thoughts, Dr. Mary added, “Anna, I see that look. I’ll go to the bishop if necessary. Don’t you even think about sailing tomorrow. Missionaries who live long enough to serve past their first bout of malaria are too scarce here. He may have just arrived in Liberia, but even the bishop knows not to take chances with your health.”

Anna weighed her options. The bishop could prevent her from ever returning to the Pahn if he so chose. She’d have to get him on her side before staging a rebellion against Dr. Mary’s orders. “Fine, I’ll stay abed.”

“Three days, Anna.”

Dr. Mary knew her too well. Anna couldn’t promise that so she changed the subject. “You know, being a doctor doesn’t make you right about everything. Take matchmaking, for example. I still can’t believe you’d even suggest that being rescued by a blue-eyed, blond, Viking-like warrior type is a basis for an enduring, godly marriage.”

Dr. Mary laughed. “Blue eyes, huh? So you did notice him before he left.”

Anna’s cheeks heated to an alarming degree. A thundering rap on the bedroom door saved her from any reply.

Dr. Mary opened the door. “Just a moment, Bishop.”

Anna reached for the wrapper at the foot of her bed. Dr. Mary admitted a concerned-looking Bishop Michaels, the fringe of white hair on his head standing straight out all around like a demented halo.

Anna fanned her cheeks and forced her facial muscles into a pleasant smile. The bishop. If she couldn’t have his blessing to get on the ship tomorrow, how was she going to tell him she now needed more money just to return to an unfunded posting? This might be the proverbial last straw. She was at a loss as to how to spin it into gold.

Dr. Mary said, “Anna, I’ll send Momma Elliott right up with some nice broth. Send word if you need me again. Bishop, I’ll see you at meeting tonight.” She left the door open.

The bishop stood, hat in hand, sincerity to the forefront. “My dear Miss Baldwin. I have been ever so worried about you and not ceased to pray since I heard the terrible news. We all have. Are you all right? Have they caught your attackers?”

“No, the magistrates have no word about the two men. They left an hour ago with promises to keep looking. But I’m fine, Bishop. Only frustrated to be idle when so little time remains to me in Liberia.”

The bishop’s cheery countenance brightened further. “And yet, even in this trying situation, God has made a way. I have found the answer to all your problems, and he’s waiting in the hallway.” He stepped outside the room.

Anna’s nerves sounded an alarm. The answer to all her problems? Her father’s favorite phrase, the one that always preceded disaster in her life, now straight from the lips of Bishop Michaels. She shuddered and fought against the memories. No, this is not my father, but my spiritual authority. The bishop, a man who steeps his life in prayer and seeks God’s Will. Wait, did the bishop say “he”?

Two decidedly male voices in the hall, one the bishop’s. The sound of the other scratched at her memory. Finally the bishop walked back in, followed by a familiar-looking man, cap in hand, who ducked his blond head to step through the doorway. His crisp, white, high-collared shirt, jodhpurs and polished boots presented a striking picture. When his chin lifted as he cleared the doorway, she caught sight of his squared-off jaw and a patrician nose that didn’t quite follow its original lines. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. “Oh, it’s you! I never got the chance to thank you last night. You saved me from those men. Thank you.”

He grinned and humor sparked in his memorable blue eyes. “You were doing a pretty good job of fighting them off when I showed up. I think you’d have had them if it weren’t for the chloroform.” Her rescuer looked expectantly at the bishop standing next to him.

“Miss Anna Baldwin,” the bishop said, “let me formally introduce you to Mr. Stewart Hastings, a mining engineer with the American Mining Corporation. He and I just finished a long talk in the parlor. I believe it was God’s providence Mr. Hastings came along when he did. Had he not come to Monrovia on his current assignment...well, I shudder to think what would have happened to you last night.”

Her rescuer brushed off the compliment. “You give me too much credit, sir. Momma Elliott actually scared the miscreants off. I just held them at bay till she came on the scene.”

Was that a wink?

The bishop shook his head. “You’re too modest, sir.” He turned to address Anna. “Now that we’re all acquainted, we can get on with the plan.” The bishop rocked onto the balls of his feet, eager to impart his idea.

Anna asked. “The plan?”

“Yes, my dear. I found a way to solve all our problems. Rather, I should say God has provided.”

There was that phrase again. Tacking on that it was God’s provision still left her uneasy. And Mr. Hastings studiously looking everywhere but at her?

The bishop’s eyes twinkled. “I haven’t told Mr. Hastings, but while hearing his tale, the solution for both of you became obvious. It’s clear you two are a match made in Heaven.”

Anna almost came out of her sickbed. Was everyone in creation trying to marry her off?

* * *

Shock rendered Stewart mute. Had the kindly bishop been out in the brutal Liberian sun too long? Except it was only midmorning. By the look on Anna’s face, she harbored similar questions.

Bishop Michaels prattled on. “Mr. Hastings saved you, Miss Baldwin, and now you can save each other.”

Stewart ground his teeth to hold back a rebuttal. Was this some evangelical approach to win his soul? If so, the bishop had another think coming. God already had ample opportunity to show up in the trenches of the Great War.

Stewart found his voice. “Sir, even if I were a praying man, which I’m not, I’m not sure I would understand the course of this conversation.”

The bishop gave him a patient look. “Didn’t you just explain to me in the parlor how you exhausted your other possibilities and were in need of a guide to the interior while you explore for mineral deposits? In the Pahn territory and surrounding area? I believe you named a generous figure for the service you need.”

“I did, but...”

The bishop waved his hand. “Miss Baldwin here is in immediate need of an income and you are in need of a guide. Ergo, you two are a match made in Heaven.”

Stewart caught sight of Anna’s eyes widening in shock and disbelief. They must be mirroring his own. He hadn’t taken Bishop Michaels for an escapee from Bedlam when they’d first met. A match made in Heaven? “Bishop Michaels, Miss Baldwin told me last night that she works with the Pahn. But, with no offense intended to her, I need a guide, not a wife.”

The choking sounds coming from Miss Baldwin were alarming. Both men looked at her with concern. The bishop asked her, “Are you all right, my dear? Do you need water?”

She shook her head violently and managed to croak a response. “Not even to save my place here in Africa would I—”

The bishop broke in. “No, no. You both mistake me.” He turned back to Stewart. “I’m proposing a business agreement, one that will effectively save Miss Baldwin from having to make an untimely return home to Connecticut from the mission field.

“With the budget you mentioned, she can take you to the village and secure a relationship for you with the chief. Then she can afford to stay among the Pahn people another three months while she searches for longer-term funding. Along with the government permission your company already obtained for exploration, you, in turn, will have one of the only outsiders acceptable to the chief to vouch for you and your mining enterprise. God has provided for your needs, too.”

Anna protested, “Bishop, with all respect, Nana Mala is one of the most warlike and unpredictable chiefs in the interior. Government permission will only provoke him. We might lose any further chance to win souls in this village over mixing man’s business with God’s, especially since Mr. Hastings has already proclaimed himself an unbeliever. I cannot see... Oh, Mr. Hastings, I meant no slight.”

“None taken.” Being categorized as an unbeliever might be awkward in her view, but not in his. At least she had the sense to see how unworkable this plan really was, even if her reasons were different from his. He’d thought he was coming to discuss a guide, not hire Miss Baldwin.

The bishop’s jovial tone sobered. “Sometimes we need others, my dear, to see what’s best for us. I believe this situation will serve the Gospel by keeping one of my most fervent missionaries in a tribe that, if reached for Christ, could turn the tide in many surrounding villages. I’m sure you can manage the distinction between business needs and the Gospel.” He gave a fatherly smile. “Unless, of course, you have another financial solution, one God revealed since our conversation last night?”

She didn’t say anything at first, but Stewart could see the gears of thought turning. She nodded.

Was she really considering this? Was it money that swayed her? As for the bishop, had he lost his mind? But manners dictated Stewart not declare the sentiment aloud. “Bishop Michaels, I cannot see how your suggestion could possibly work. Look at her.” Stewart pointed. “She’s clearly incapacitated. I only wanted information on finding a guide. The last thing I need is a female missionary slowing me down on the trail.”

Anna glared. For a missionary she sure could give a look that would peel paint off a battleship.

Stewart ignored her and continued, “Besides, she’s an unmarried woman. Even if I had no objection, you can’t tell me you missionaries would send the two of us into the jungle alone.”

The bishop was not dissuaded. “Of course not. She’ll need someone to travel with her on board ship for her recovery and the proprieties of ship life. I met the perfect candidate last night at a late supper hosted in my honor. She and her husband are returning to their coffee plantation outside of Harper. Then, once in the jungle, you’ll be surrounded by your caravan. Last night’s incident notwithstanding, most Liberian men are quite protective of missionary women, as those who have served alone have found in the past. I think you’ll see that the caravan itself is more than sufficient as a chaperone.”

Every obstacle Stewart could think to raise was steamrollered flat by the bishop’s growing enthusiasm. He continued unhampered, “Besides, Mr. Hastings, even I know that being guided into the area isn’t enough. Not if you want to come back safely. You need Miss Baldwin.”

If he wanted to come back safely? He’d survived the Germans. Miss Baldwin had barely survived Monrovia. How could the bishop even suggest...?

The bishop must have taken Stewart’s silent ruminations for acceptance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to secure this companion for Miss Baldwin in the little time left before you two depart. Sir, if you will deposit half the funds with the Mission Board’s secretary, then you can make the rest of your arrangements directly with Miss Baldwin for the balance upon completion.”

For such a well-rounded man, the bishop was quick on his feet. Stewart stared at the now-empty doorway. What had just happened? He’d been waltzed right into another situation where a beautiful woman would be making arrangements for his life. He had a deadline; dragging a woman along through the jungle would only slow him down. No, if he was to fail, he’d rather it be on his own terms and not the result of a woman’s whims, as before, or her innate physical frailties.

“I’m sorry, Miss Baldwin, but despite what the bishop thinks, there is no way this arrangement will work. Nothing personal, but I simply wanted the name of a guide and felt sure you could steer me to one, since you must use one yourself. I’m in haste and can’t possibly consider taking the extra time that bringing a woman along would entail, no matter how valuable the bishop believes your contribution would be. If you could see fit to give me the name of someone willing to go there, I will send a letter of explanation to the bishop later today and be on my way.”

Her answer was delayed by the arrival of Momma Elliott with the promised bowl of broth. She placed it at the bedside and went to sit in a corner rocker. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just wait over here so the two of you can finish your conversation.”

Anna smiled at Momma Elliott, and then her voice, both gentle and authoritative, insisted, “Mr. Hastings, I’m afraid you do not understand the gravity of the situation, especially where the chief’s reaction to you being in his territory is concerned. The danger is greater than you realize.”

The sincerity of her tone carried through. She believed him to be in danger.

“I served in the trenches of the Great War. I feel confident I can handle the danger of jungle travel. The government has offered the territory’s mineral rights for sale. Certainly we wish to have good local relations, but ultimately the chief has no authority over these plans.” He softened his tone. “I do not wish to disappoint you, Miss Baldwin. I understand how much you need the money, so if you could just direct me to one of the guides you missionaries use, I’d be willing to pay you for the information.” He hated the distress shadowing those lovely brown eyes, but there was nothing else he could do for her.

Her pale cheeks flushed at the implication. Delicate hands punctuated her frustration as she spoke. “Yes, I need the money, but that’s not why I cannot let you go in there without me. Since the recent attempts of government troops to implement the infamous Hut Tax, Nana Mala views all outsiders with suspicion of working on the government’s behalf. He will not welcome you, even if you could find another guide. Which, by the way, you won’t.”

He got it. She wasn’t sharing her guides. “I appreciate the warning.” He turned to follow the bishop’s path out the door. Now what? He had no one else to interview. Should he board the ship and hope to find one farther down the coast? Every step toward the doorway felt like one step closer to failure, and failure, where his mother’s future was concerned, wasn’t an option.

Her soft voice stopped him. “Apparently my warning wasn’t strong enough. For your own sake...”

“Dear lady, I don’t wish my continued refusal of your services to humiliate you. I am sorry for your situation. I’m also well acquainted with desperation born of financial need. I would help you if I could. However, if you aren’t willing to share the names of your resources, I shall simply have to proceed without them. My deadline demands it. But I’m not one to hold a grudge, so I sincerely hope we can both conduct a civil relationship together once you reach the village after me.”

She expelled a deep breath. “Of course, Mr. Hastings. In fact, I’m quite certain civility will not be an issue between us.”

“Good.” He tipped his head and smiled at her agreement. “Then I’ll see you in the village when you arrive.” He nodded to Momma Elliott, who shook her head with ill-concealed amusement.

He didn’t clear the door frame before Anna’s words froze his limbs in place. “Probably not, Mr. Hastings. Should you arrive without me to intervene with the chief on your behalf, it’s more than likely that you will be killed on the spot.”


Chapter Two

Stewart leaned against the forward-deck rail and watched as Miss Baldwin’s companion, Mrs. Dowdy, helped her into the deck chair and tucked the blankets around her. Two days out to sea and her color was vastly improved. The multihued scarf around her head, protecting against the ship’s headwind, added appeal to that exotic face.

Not that he was interested. Just a little haunted by the first time he’d gazed into her eyes. Chalk that up to concern for her well-being after saving her. Rescuing her had engendered a protective feeling. He’d shake it off.

Maybe her personal watchdog would leave Anna’s side as she’d done yesterday and give them a chance to talk. After hearing Anna out about the chief’s murderous proclivities, and realizing exactly why he needed her specifically, preparations to make the next morning’s sailing had been his entire focus. He hadn’t counted on Anna’s chaperone circumventing most of his attempts at conversation since they’d boarded. He never should have told Mrs. Dowdy that he wasn’t a churchgoing man when she’d asked, but lying was his father’s style, not his. The price of his honesty included glacial stares and less-than-subtle hints that Mrs. Dowdy found him unworthy to associate with Anna.

Fortunately, Mrs. Dowdy wouldn’t be with them in the jungle. For now he’d have to watch for his moment. A lot of details needed to be worked out, and he had questions about the area and the people. He’d known there were risks. The Pahn tribe had a past reputation as cannibals, but he’d expected that government backing would protect him, or even that the stories had been exaggerated. Obviously there was a lot American Mining hadn’t known when they’d given him this assignment. He couldn’t afford any more surprises.

And there was his opening. Ten minutes after seeing her charge settled, she wandered off to one of the covered decks to play a couple rubbers of bridge. Finally his only firsthand source of information was alone, looking bright-eyed and a little bored.

He headed for the empty chair beside her. Besides information gathering, he hoped to find a way to make his expectations clear. He needed her to facilitate his explorations with the tribes along the way and vouch for him with the Pahn chief. But she must leave the decision making to him, her employer. That much had to be clear first. The last time he’d experienced confusion in the chain of command, men had died in the trenches beside him.

Stewart swerved around a group of passengers starting up a jump-rope game and crossed over to the starboard seating area. Anna glanced up at his approach and then cut her eyes back to the book in her lap. A hint she didn’t feel like socializing? Or just shyness? The irony of hiring a woman he knew so little about to protect him from a cannibal’s wrath struck him hard.

“May we speak, Miss Baldwin?”

She gestured to the adjacent deck chair. “Certainly. Please, have a seat.”

He settled himself in and stretched his long legs out in front, crossing his ankles. “How are you feeling today?”

A little sparkle lit those soft brown eyes. “Better than Mrs. Dowdy would have me believe. I’m afraid Dr. Mayweather’s permission for me to travel came with instructions my companion has interpreted very strictly.”

“In my experience, you can never be too careful with chloroform.” He waved off a steward bringing him a blanket.

“Yes, but who would have thought I would encounter chloroform-wielding bandits in Monrovia? Seems I’m safer in the jungle than on the capital’s streets.”

“I, too, find that odd. I trust the magistrates managed to apprehend the two men and get to the bottom of it?”

She shook her head. “No, but they believe I was targeted because I was thought to be a wealthy American. If they’d known I was a missionary, they probably would have picked a different victim. The magistrate searched, but Gradoo and his cohort were nowhere to be found. The officers that came around seemed happy to hear I was leaving. Either they feared word of what happened getting out, or they believed my departure solved their problem.”

“Until the next woman is their victim.”

“Exactly my concern.”

Perfect opening. He had to get this religious difference out of the way so business could proceed. “I can do nothing for that concern, but perhaps I could alleviate one of your others.”

Curiosity sparked her gaze as she inclined herself in his direction. “And what concern would that be?”

His thoughts scattered in response to her intense focus. He snapped them back to attention, but his plan for a casual conversation opener, making light of the differences in their beliefs, suddenly seemed inappropriate.

He tried a different tack. “Back at Momma Elliott’s you mentioned to the bishop your concern that my presence as both an unbeliever and someone with business interests might compromise your objectives with the Gospel. I want to reassure you that I have no intention of compromising your work there. I was raised by a churchgoing mother and fully understand what most religious folks consider acceptable behavior. I will be a model of missionary decorum, just without the preaching.”

She put one hand to her heart. “Thank you, Mr. Hastings. Just knowing that you understand the importance puts my concern to rest. I’ve worked hard to gain the trust of the chief and the parents who have entrusted their children to my teaching. If anything were to jeopardize that...”

“You teach?”

A soft smile played on her lips. “Yes. There are sixteen children in my school, and they are all such darlings. I miss them terribly.”

His expression must have given away his surprise.

She looked at him, merriment lighting up her face. “What did you think? Let me guess. You thought I walked around with my Bible open all day long praying and preaching.”

“Ah, you got me. I did think something like that. Bet you get that a lot.”

She reached over and her delicate hand patted his arm. “Don’t worry. Most people have no notion what a missionary’s life is actually like.”

The easy familiarity threw him, but he wished she hadn’t tucked her hands back under her blanket so quickly. “I would be one of them. But I did wonder about the danger for a lone woman, though. How does your family feel about your teaching in the wilds of the jungle?”

She stiffened. “My family has no idea what I do here. We don’t communicate.”

She’d chosen to bring her beliefs halfway around the world, but not to communicate with her own family? Proof, besides learning she was a teacher, he really didn’t know who he’d hired.

She studied his face. “I see by the shock and disapproval on your face that my answer is not what you expected. Tell me, Mr. Hastings, do you come from a close family?”

He cleared his throat to buy time as he contemplated how to answer. “I meant no disrespect. Your answer surprised me. I maintain a close relationship with my mother. My father is a different story. He died in an accident on the wharf where he worked when I was seventeen.”

“I’m so sorry. Must have been hard losing him at such an age.”

A hollow pit opened up in his stomach at her gentle condolence, and the truth poured out with no further provocation. “The difficult part was before his death. My father’s life revolved around the bottle. When he was drunk, he was violent. He had been drinking the day of the accident.” He listened to himself with amazement. He never talked about his past. It was those eyes and their long, sooty lashes drawing him in with every glance.

She adjusted her blanket and folded her hands together on top. “I am sorry for your loss. But perhaps you understand, then, that there are reasons family members might not remain close.”

“Yes, I can. I can also appreciate that you must be quite a force in the classroom, Miss Baldwin. You schooled me right out of disapproval and led me to a better conclusion effortlessly.” He omitted the part of how she’d also managed to avoid talking about herself.

The color in her cheeks heightened at the compliment. “Seeing the truth for ourselves is always more effective, don’t you think? We all need a reminder at times that there is usually more to the story than first meets the eye.”

He leaned forward in the deck chair, resolved to return to his original business. “Indeed. I’ve found that to be true with this job. A former commander taught me never to go into a situation without a good reconnaissance, and yet I now see I’ve walked into this one blindfolded by a very incomplete story. Since my stateside sources were so poorly informed, I not only wish to discuss our travel plans, but the people and their customs. Consider me your willing pupil.”

She tucked in windblown tresses and smiled broadly. “I would be happy to discuss my plans and local customs, but I doubt I’ll be much help with your mining concerns. I know nothing about prospecting for gold or other minerals. Perhaps I can question the villagers to help you locate what you seek.”

“That would be useful. But before we go much further, I must clarify whose plans we’re following. You said your plans.”

Her eyes widened. “I trust I didn’t misspeak?”

“No, but I while I appreciate the experience you bring to this job, I want to clarify that all final decisions about this journey must run through me.”

Confusion settled over her features. “Mr. Hastings, are you saying you hired me to be your guide, but you don’t trust my judgment?”

Sounded harsh when he heard it out loud. Maybe he should have soft-pedaled this a little more. “I’m sure you understand the jungle from a missionary point of view, Miss Baldwin. But I have been tasked with prospecting a large territory in a short amount of time. If I meet my assigned deadline, the bonus is significant. I have important plans for that money, plans I cannot risk. So I hope you can understand why I prefer not to leave a business success or failure in the hands of a...uh...a female missionary.”

Rather than taking offense, she laughed aloud, a melodious sound whose absence once she stopped made the ship seem empty.

“I take it I’ve said something quite humorous, Miss Baldwin. Enlighten me so I can do it again. Laughter agrees with you.”

Her smile lingered when she said, “You may need less instruction in local customs than I thought. You will fit in easily with the social structure here in Liberia. Only a Liberian man would not have tried to be so polite about not having a woman in charge.”

She waved off his protest. “For your first lesson, you should understand that there are rarely women in leadership. The Pahn, like most of the peoples here, are a male-dominated society with strict expectations of the roles each gender can play.”

“Sounds like they’ll respond better to a man leading then.”

She nodded and smiled.

Was she really this agreeable? Was she humoring him? “How do the local people handle you as a single woman, then?”

“Most are initially curious, but later decide that the white bush is different from their world.”

“The white bush?”

“Their term for our world. Their world is the bush. Of course, the reality of both worlds is that women rarely own much power in either.”

He snorted. She hadn’t seen how quickly his future father-in-law had responded to Julianne’s demands to sever business ties with him. “Maybe not in the eyes of the law, but you have to admit women still wield a lot of power in men’s lives.”

“Not here. In Liberia, a woman can be purchased with a bridal price, pawned later if her husband is in financial difficulties and even loaned to visiting male guests as a substitute wife.”

Chastened, he said, “I had no idea. Sounds barbaric, almost slavelike.”

“Exactly. But this is their culture, not ours.”

“I suppose, as a missionary, you hope to change those practices?”

Surprisingly, she shook her head. Both hands now animated her conversation. “While many missionaries in this modern age still seek to change a people’s customs, things like how they dress, their social structures, I prefer to focus on bringing God’s Word and allow Him to make the changes He sees fit. Immodest dress may make me uncomfortable, but God did not call me to convert someone’s wardrobe, only their hearts.”

It was his turn to laugh aloud. “You, Miss Baldwin, are an enlightened woman. If not for this God business, I think I would find you quite the enjoyable dinner companion.”

The corners of her lips twitched upward. “Let me have a turn at being direct, Mr. Hastings. I will serve many roles on the trail, some of which may not endear me to you as a dinner companion or otherwise. While I have no problem with your general authority and running most decisions through you, I must point out my experience here is not to be taken lightly and there will be times I have to act without your input. I apologize beforehand if that upsets you.” She smiled fully, as if to soften the blow.

A sour note gripped his stomach at the memory of a similar attitude, one he’d seen throughout his engagement. If Anna was anything like Julianne, this missionary woman would start small and before he knew it, take over. Precisely one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted a woman in this role. They knew all the polite maneuverings to get their way. She thought she’d make critical decisions on this trip?

Not on his nickel, she wouldn’t.

But there’d be time enough on the trail to clear up who was in charge. With no other guide and his budgeted funds already contracted through the bishop, Stewart had no choice but to make this relationship work. His mother’s future depended on it.

* * *

Stewart’s face clouded over with myriad emotions, none of them terribly happy and all of them giving Anna concern. He was her only hope for the additional time she needed to try to obtain tuition money for Taba. She had to make this work. If Stewart couldn’t handle the idea that her in-country experience might occasionally trump his plan to be in charge, there would be a lot of uncomfortable days on the trail. The jungle’s dangers wouldn’t wait on constant consultation. He needed to understand the impracticality of running every decision through him. A few days on the trail might accomplish what this conversation couldn’t.

Anna caught rapid movement in her side vision. Mrs. Dowdy was making a beeline toward Stewart. “Don’t look now, Mr. Hastings, but my companion must not have been able to come up with a foursome for bridge. I think she means to evict you from her chair.”

“We’re hardly finished conversing. I still have questions for you about what we’ll encounter along the way.”

Anna laughed. “You’re in luck for the moment—looks like she got waylaid by her husband. Perhaps we could talk later in the Grand Saloon after the rains start.”

“I don’t suppose there is something I could do to better her opinion of me aside from a sudden profession of faith? Mrs. Dowdy’s protection of you seems to have leaped beyond the normal bounds and straight into battle mode where I’m concerned.”

Anna shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped you hadn’t noticed. Once you told her you weren’t a churchgoing man, she decided you’d be a corrupting influence for a missionary.”

Piercing blue eyes plumbed her depths. “Do you think that, Miss Baldwin?”

“No, Mr. Hastings. My faith has not so poor a foundation that another’s unbelief might sway me to discard what I hold so dear and true. If Mrs. Dowdy knew what it took for me to come to Liberia in the first place, she might not be so concerned.” Anna reached out and patted his arm again. “I’ll have a talk with her. She means well.”

Anna broke off her gaze just as Mrs. Dowdy left her husband and covered the last of the distance between them. Her disapproval arrived before she did.

Stewart vacated the chair, tipped his hat and took his leave. Anna kept her laughter in check. Mrs. Dowdy was indeed in battle mode. But how funny to see a short, dumpling-shaped woman order a towering grown man around without a single word. Maybe Anna should take lessons from her to employ on the journey.

Mrs. Dowdy took the deck blanket the steward hurriedly provided and placed an order for hot tea for both of them. “I don’t know what the bishop was thinking. Sending off a young woman with some gold miner into the interior.”

“Mining engineer, not gold miner.”

“Humph. Whatever he is, nothing good will come of it. Mark my words.”

Anna’s reply, that the money for her service would save a child’s life and keep Anna spreading the Gospel, died on her lips as the woman launched into another tirade, this time about her husband’s shortcomings. Experience thus far told Anna she need only nod. She’d have to find a later moment to talk with Mrs. Dowdy about Stewart. Anna’s eyelids grew heavy when there was no sign of the wifely complaints winding down. She didn’t want to be rude, but the hot tea had made her sleepy. Maybe the chloroform had affected her more than she’d realized. Would Mrs. Dowdy notice if she dozed?

* * *

A raucous shout woke Anna and she looked around, alarm spreading through her. Mrs. Dowdy was nowhere in sight, but Anna located the source of the noise.

A crowd on the port side was cheering Stewart on. He was jumping rope.

An apple-cheeked matron Anna recognized from last night’s activities in the Grand Saloon and the woman’s twenty-year-old daughter were the turners. They stood red-faced and determined, a rope end in each gloved hand, swinging the double-Dutch pattern. The crowd chanted the count as the numbers climbed. Anna rose from her deck chair and walked over to get a closer look, her legs a little wobbly at first.

She edged to the side of a dozen or so watchers. A gentleman next to her, Wilson, an exporter who’d been seated across from her at dinner, leaned toward her and said, “Really something, isn’t it? He’s top-drawer to take the girl’s dare. He just beat her challenge.”

Stewart caught sight of her and grinned. He took the Ascot cap clenched in his hands and tossed it right at her to hold, all without missing the rhythm of the ropes. Blond waves of hair went up and down, landing just below his eyebrows before each jump. His white Arrow shirt whipped back in the sea breeze, revealing a muscular composition. The easy grin he now directed at the obviously besotted younger rope-turner marked him as a heartbreaker.

Dr. Mary was right. He cut quite the handsome figure. But she was wrong to think there was any potential in Anna’s rescuer being a future husband and help in the mission field. Not only wasn’t he a believer, but she’d escaped a controlling father already.

Despite an effortless appearance, Stewart’s face took on a sheen as he progressed. At a count of two hundred and fifty, he jumped out and bowed, to the obvious dismay of his audience.

He walked toward Anna and held out a hand for his cap. Wilson grabbed his hand first and shook hard. “I say, you won’t mind if I try to best your score, will you?” Breathless, Stewart nodded his head and Wilson declared himself the next competitor. Other men abandoned their deck games and lined up to “beat the record.”

Stewart settled his cap on his head. “I guess I started something. They’re determined to best me. Say, would you like a turn? I can shoulder all those men aside if you so desire. Think of it as an apology for deserting you earlier in such a cowardly fashion when your companion arrived on the scene.”

“No apology needed, thank you. You know what they say about discretion and valor. And I’ll skip the rope-jumping for now.”

“Ah, come on. Or does the missionary code forbid fun?”

Should she confess her lack of exposure to children’s games? No, a smart man like Stewart Hastings would only ask more questions about her childhood than she cared to answer. “Of course not. Missionaries can jump rope and have fun. It’s just not an activity I feel up to today.”

A roar went up and they both turned to see. Wilson was out. Another quickly took his place.

“You really did start something there. You must have been a real ringleader as a boy,” Anna declared.

He shook his head. “Mostly, I never learned how to turn down a dare. Got me in lots of trouble in my youth. Wait...what was I thinking?” He slapped his head. “Of course you can’t jump. Mrs. Dowdy would have my hide for endangering your health at the mere suggestion.”

She laughed. “I’m hardly an invalid. I...” The wind shifted and a sudden swell rocked her balance. Her legs, shaky from the imposed rest, followed the list of the ship and dropped her right into Stewart’s muscular arms.

“Caught you.”

Anna’s cheeks grew hot. He appeared in no hurry to let her go. She caught the faint scent of bay rum. No man had ever held her so close.

Or made her feel so safe.

This man...

Stop that. What are you thinking? Lord, give me strength to deal with this unexpected temptation of the flesh.

Anna righted herself and pulled away. “So sorry.”

There was that easy grin again. “I’m not. Remind me to thank the captain later for dumping a pretty girl right into my arms.”

She had to shut down this obvious flirtation. And quickly, before she endangered her witness for God. She forced a polite distance into her words. “No need. It won’t happen again. I don’t wish to be rude, but I’m afraid I also have certain requirements for our trip together. I must insist we keep our relationship strictly as a business arrangement or this will never work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few letters to finish so I can post them from our next port. I believe I’ll retire to the Ladies’ Saloon.”

His posture straightened and all his lighthearted bantered became a distant memory, lost in a most serious tone. “I apologize for any impropriety, Miss Baldwin. I was attempting to make light of an awkward situation.”

Anna nodded and walked down the passageway, relieved to escape. Had she done Mrs. Dowdy a disservice to have thought her too overprotective? Anna preferred not to use such rigid formality as a barrier, but they had a long journey ahead and if this flirtation was the result of only a small space of time spent together, what other choice did she have? Something about Stewart Hastings stirred errant and misplaced feelings in her. No doubt his romantic appeal sprang from his dramatic rescue and the trauma of the event. No man had ever put aside his own concerns to step in for her in any situation. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her needs had never mattered.

She reached her cabin and retrieved her writing supplies and her Bible before heading to the saloon. Studying God’s Word would surely conquer any stray thoughts of the handsome yet unsuitable Stewart Hastings.

* * *

Stewart would never understand women. And definitely not religious women. For a moment she seemed like any normal girl. A pretty one, too. The rigidness of her departing posture conveyed a valuable lesson. He’d lost himself in a moment of fun, forgotten his job, his worries for his mother and even the fact that the young woman he’d tossed his hat to wasn’t someone he could pass the time with, flirting harmlessly. No, Anna wasn’t the frivolous type. Her beliefs had carried her away from societal trappings that most women in their mid-twenties lived for and straight into the heart of the jungle to proselytize others. Religion would always rule the day with her, a belief system unsullied by the realities of war. He respected the strength of her convictions, even if they were misguided.

He walked to the ship’s rail and looked out on the Atlantic. Driven by the wind, small whitecaps peeked out of the deep sapphire sea and hid themselves again. He took a moment to settle back into the reality of his situation. He’d come halfway around the world after losing his fiancée and the life their marriage promised, taken this job out of financial desperation and now managed to offend the one woman who could possibly help him salvage his circumstances.

He’d lost the love of the first woman and a partnership in a prestigious firm because he’d failed in the trenches, ending up scarred for life. Now his momentary lapse might cost him the help of Anna, and he’d fail again at the cost of his mother’s future.

In truth, if there was a missionary rule book, jumping rope might be allowed, but flirting would probably take on the nature of a commandment, as in Thou Shalt Not. And that was exactly what he’d done. Flirted with a missionary.

Get ahold of yourself, man. Nothing good can come of flirting with her anyway. She has to be a means to an end. Nothing more. Beauty can’t be such a distraction this time. Making the same mistake twice would be foolish.

He should apologize and get on with the business at hand. She’d taken true offense at his actions; otherwise why remove herself to a ladies-only area? Usually she took in the air on deck until lunch or the rains, whichever came first. Once the rains forced everyone off the uncovered decks, she and Mrs. Dowdy joined the gathering in the Grand Saloon for polite conversations, games and music.

He heaved a sigh and mentally constructed his apology. This job was too valuable to endanger over a small, unplanned attraction. Even if religion wasn’t a barrier, his hidden scars stood between him and any woman. After all, Julianne had been the epitome of devotion to religion in her own way. She ran every important women’s church committee possible. Julianne proved that not even a strong religious leaning could overcome the natural revulsion from such a hideous sight. No, he needed to remember that love and marriage weren’t ever going to be in his future anyway and stick to business only from now on.

Resolved, he headed back to join the deck activities. He’d noticed the setup for tossing the rope rings was currently in disuse. If he found a few competitors, perhaps playing a game of quoits would help pass the time. Anything was better than remembering he had no real future, especially not with someone like her.

* * *

The early-morning sun had cleared no more than half the horizon by the time Anna stole up on deck, Bible in hand. Mrs. Dowdy lay below, sound asleep. Anna had dressed by the small amount of morning light coming through the port window, fearing to turn on the electric lighting lest she wake her companion. She no longer needed care. Any more hovering and she’d go mad. And with Stewart in doubt about letting her do the job without his constant supervision, a reputation as an invalid would never do. It was enough of a handicap to have a face that made men forget she also had a brain.

A few crewmen nodded their good-mornings and went about their business, casting glances her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. She took a moment and buttoned the jacket of her traveling dress. The thin fabric of her shirtwaist offered little protection against the strong wind on deck. Black smoke from the ship’s stack trailed behind at a sharp angle. She made her way to the wooden deck chairs. If the headwind kept up, it would be an unpleasant transfer when they reached Garraway later today. Just the thought of the mammy chair rocking while it was winched down to the ocean’s level was unsettling. Getting onto the waiting surfboats transporting them to the beach would be a challenge. She wouldn’t rest easy until her shoes sank into the sand.

The jungle she could handle. She’d climb a million downed trees and wade through as many swamps as it took, but the memory of her first mammy-chair ride, missing her footing and her sodden skirts dragging her downward into the sea, left her with a healthy fear of the ocean. There were no words in all of the languages she spoke to express the horror of that experience.

She looked toward the port side. The not-too-distant shore still boasted an empty beach lined with dense foliage. Garraway hid from sight, but couldn’t be far. Patience to reach her destination eluded her as she settled herself into the deck chair and tucked in a blanket.

What if the rice harvest came earlier than she expected and the devilmen started the school before she arrived? The rains weren’t due to end for several weeks, but she wouldn’t rest until she returned and saw Taba with her own eyes. She fingered the pages of the Bible in her lap but worry for his safety left her too distracted to read. After a few moments she closed both the book and her eyes to pray for the grace to trust that this business arrangement she’d entered into would be only the first of God’s provisions for her and Taba’s lives.

“Good morning, Miss Baldwin.” Stewart dropped down in the chair beside her. “Have you been out here long?”

Her heart raced from the startle. “Oh, goodness. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, had you nodded off?”

“No, I was praying. I like to spend time in prayer and reading while I’m waiting for the breakfast gong to sound.”

“Are you hungry? I can go find a steward to get something for you.” Concern etched his face.

There it was, the kid-glove treatment. Too much in the jungle depended on him being willing to defer to her, not to coddle her, especially since he’d already made his position on her authority clear. She’d have to work to change his opinion if she expected this trip to go smoothly.

“No, thank you. I prefer to wait until they’re serving and eat with everyone else.” Authoritative, healthy, strong—any of those would have been the better impression to make. Instead she’d sounded curt, almost rude.

He raised one eyebrow. “Am I being deliberately handed the cold and frosty?”

“Sorry, that came out more harshly than I’d intended. I don’t like to be fussed over. I’m recovered and fully able to take care of myself.” Now she just sounded formal and stilted.

He answered with a grin. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make a note of it. No coddling the missionary lady.” He rose from the chair. “You look like you’d rather be alone. I’ll push off, but perhaps we could talk on the promenade after breakfast if you can get free of Mrs. Dowdy.”

“Wait.”

He sat back down.

She heaved a sigh. “I’m a little grumpy today and taking it out on you. I apologize. I often suspect all the scriptures about the tongue were written personally for me.”

“Feeling a little punk is usually a good sign of recovery. Or so they told me when I used to bite the nurses’ heads off.”

“You’re being generous. Thank you. So what put you in the hospital?”

He looked like a trapped animal. What had she said wrong?

He rallied. “Just one of the many courtesies of the Great War. Nothing you’d want to hear about before breakfast.”

Anna watched the pulse in his jaw. More like something too painful to discuss that he kept hidden behind that smile. Her stomach rumble changed her focus at the familiar throaty resound of the breakfast gong. Anna shoved the blanket back. “Speaking of breakfast. Shall we head for dining?”

He reached out and took her hand to help her up. The gloves she wore were little protection from the heat of his touch or the sudden intensity in his voice. “Not until I speak to you about something. Now. Before I lose my nerve.”

Oh, no. She thought she’d settled this yesterday. The last time a man looked that earnest she’d been forced to turn down his unwanted proposal of marriage. Twice. Surely all his flirting didn’t actually mean something. Every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation of pending disaster.

“I owe you an apology. I was out of line yesterday with my attentions. I didn’t mean any offense. Flirting is an old habit I’ve yet to break myself from doing.”

She relaxed and allowed herself to breathe. “None taken. Apology accepted.”

“Good. To paraphrase Mr. Shakespeare, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. This is strictly a business arrangement and you’re my guide.”

“Of course. Business.”

His relief was palpable. “Good, we understand each other.” He let go of her hand.

“Most certainly.” She should clarify her whole position while she had the chance. “Of course, to avoid any other possible misunderstandings between us, I need to emphasize that the business of the Gospel is a constant with me and not something I intend to set aside during our journey.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you saying you intend to convert me?”

Wind tugged at her scarf and she reached one hand to hold it secure. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t share the Gospel with those I encounter, yourself included. But my main point is for you to understand that if there is a choice between God’s work and yours, the Gospel takes first priority for me. I’ll do the job you require, but I’ll not allow anything to compromise my higher mission.”

His gaze grew somber. “I think your standards are clear. But I would rest easier knowing you don’t intend to try to make another disciple out of me. You’ll have better luck with the local population.”

“Ah, now I’m being given the cold and frosty.”

“Apparently we both have our sticking points. How about you don’t try to convert me and I won’t flirt with you. Truce?” He extended his hand, this time for a shake.

Anna shook it firmly. “I’ll agree, provided you feel free to rescind your part of the agreement at any time you wish to know more about God. Better to clear the air now, since the jungle trek can be stressful enough. We may have to rely on each other in some very trying situations.”

“Having survived the trenches during the war, I’m sure I can handle anything your jungle has for me.”

His nonchalance urged her to further explanation. “Despite your military experience, you’re in for something quite different here—days on end of narrow, root-ridden paths, climbing over downed trees, wading through waist-deep water and dealing with the sometimes deadly wildlife.”

His grin returned. “You make the journey sound so appealing, but you left out the constant daily soakings from the rains. Not trying to get me to turn back, are you?”

Her misgivings must be more obvious than she’d thought. “No, I’m very grateful for the opportunity to fund my mission work.”

“Well, don’t worry about me. I think I can manage.” He offered her his elbow.

She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and headed to breakfast. “I’m sure you can. You appear very...able.”

“It can’t be too bad if a little bit of a thing like you can handle it.”

She laughed at his implication. “Maybe not. But don’t let that overriding confidence build up too far. When we get off the boat at Garraway this afternoon, you’ll find the trek to get to our first stop at Newaka a bit misleading as to the difficulty that lies beyond.”

He halted abruptly just inside the companionway and turned to face her, freeing her hand from the crook of his arm. “Garraway? No, we are disembarking farther down the coast at Harper. I informed the second steward of the mistake when he asked about the different destinations on our tickets. He noticed that our luggage and equipment were both stored under my name in the hold.”

Dismay snatched the core of her being. Oh, no. They hadn’t even left the ship and his need to take charge was causing problems. Why was it that every woman she’d met tried to marry her off and all the men—her father, her former fiancé—had to be in charge? No, maybe she was overreacting. Stewart didn’t understand the basic geography of the country. “Mr. Hastings, I wish you had consulted me first. I could have told you that departing from Garraway is the most direct route to the village.” Now to soften the blow by allowing him a semblance of control. “Shall I inform the second steward of the need to unload our supplies at this stop or would you prefer to be in charge of that?”

His voice repeated her patient tone. “I would have consulted with you. But, if you recall, yesterday we were interrupted by Mrs. Dowdy. Later you took to your cabin. I looked for a chance to discuss the details at dinner, but felt it improper to come directly to your cabin when I didn’t see you in the evening.”

He was too polite to say so, but between her self-imposed seclusion and her overzealous chaperone, he’d been left without all the information he needed to make the right decisions. At least he’d made an effort. “No matter. This is easily remedied. I’ll speak to the steward and meet you at breakfast.”

She turned to go. A hand at her elbow stopped her.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand. Harper is exactly where we need to disembark. The territory I must cover extends from the Putu Mountains near the Pahn village and well to the east. The mountains near the Pahn village will be my focus, but getting an overview of the entire area, prospecting and collecting samples as we go, those are all necessary objectives.”

Icy shards coated her stomach. This job meant the ability to save Taba and to have a provision for her to stay in the country while she sought more funding. The security of having all these needs met had been as much of an illusion as her father’s love. The journey Stewart proposed was far lengthier than she’d expected and over unfamiliar terrain. If there were significant delays, this plan could put her arriving after the Poro school started.

“Mr. Hastings, this was not my understanding of our agreement. I fully expected to depart this ship at Garraway today, hire my usual porters and travel to the mission post at Newaka just before first light in the morning. From there, on to the Pahn. I have my own obligations at my mission post.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Baldwin. We need to go up the Cavalla River and stop south of the first set of rapids. We’ll go overland to the west until we reach the outer edge of the prescribed mining concession area. Then we’ll slow our pace if I find areas with any real mining potential. This itinerary meets the company’s requirements and was planned with them before I left the States. I’ve mapped the whole thing out. Your bishop raised no issue with this when we discussed it in the parlor.”

“The bishop is as new to this country as you are, Mr. Hastings. He can’t be expected to understand the challenge your itinerary poses or the later implications of taking that route once we reach the Pahn.”

“Maybe not, but I understand the implications of not being thorough and doing my job. I studied all the available maps. This is the best route for my needs. I’m sorry for the confusion, but we have until Harper to discuss any other details so we are both in agreement after this.”

In her experience a man wrapped up in his own needs responded best to reason, never to emotion. If she’d learned nothing else from her father, this was one certain truth. “Do you have any idea how rudimentary and incomplete maps of the interior are? Rough approximations from a handful of explorers. Hardly accurate. Being unfamiliar with the terrain in those areas, I have to warn you that this could add unnecessary weeks to your travel time, especially with the rains still upon us. You are better off concentrating on your main objective and then journeying to the east if your deadline allows.”

“I recognize how little of this country has been mapped. I had not recognized that the terms of your employment would be such an issue, Miss Baldwin.”

He stood there without malice, just the natural confidence of a man used to being obeyed.

The buried frustrations of her lifetime made their way to the surface. Was there no end to men with plans designed around their own needs who must have their way? This delay...

Hold your tongue, Anna. Don’t... Lord, help me here.

“Mr. Hastings, this plan extends my service time in such a fashion that I must protest. I must get back to my village post. My needs have not been considered in your decision at all.”

He looked dumbfounded, but she had to stand firm now or lose any chance to redeem this situation. Panic over Taba rode on her words and made them stronger than she intended. “Simply put, this was not our agreement.”

* * *

Stewart took a slight step back, revising his estimate of the overall passivity of the missionary temperament. Then he remembered how she’d wielded her umbrella before her two attackers got the better of her.

Not their agreement? Was she trying to back out? He’d never thought to question her integrity before hiring her. Perhaps with her missionary background she knew little of how the business world worked.

“Miss Baldwin, I paid half the money down for you to guide me to the Pahn village, help me secure a working relationship with the chief and to do so in a timely manner so I can meet my deadline. The balance upon completion.”

An alarming red flush crept up her neckline and threatened to engulf her countenance. What had he done so horribly wrong? He must be explaining things incorrectly. “I did consider your needs, Miss Baldwin. A significant part of our journey will be on the Cavalla River.” He caught himself from rubbing his shirt-covered scars, a habit that only surfaced under stress. “Riding in canoes will be much less taxing for your delicate frame.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled. Her flush of temper receded. “I think you underestimate me, sir. The method of travel is the least of my concerns. Setting aside the issue of extra time, a route up the Cavalla in itself is neither prudent nor safe.”

“I don’t understand.”

As usual, her hands accompanied her explanation. “First, some of the Cavalla River territory was the scene of major uprisings against government taxations in recent years. A lot of the mission stations along your chosen route were deserted for safety’s sake. I cannot guarantee that some of the people we encounter won’t still harbor hostility.”

“All right, so we go armed and carefully through those areas.”

Her brows knit together. “More importantly, Nana Mala recently made a bid to become a Paramount Chief, one who rules over several villages near him besides his own.”

He stood unmoved, not understanding. “So?”

Her hands’ abrupt rhythm signaled her frustration. “His bid failed, placing a great strain on relationships with the villages directly to the east of Pahn territory, where your route takes us.”

“Does that make those villages more hostile to us?”

She shook her head and more mahogany tendrils escaped the bun at the back of her head and waved in the wind. He stopped from reaching to push them out of her way. “Probably not...”

“Then I fail to see the issue.”

“Nana Mala is the issue. He will wonder if we are plotting with those villages.”

“Surely you can reason with the man and explain when you vouch for me.”

Her laugh held no trace of humor. “Reason with a man who goes to war with little provocation? He almost killed the last missionaries who graced his compound. He will listen to me, but the danger to you is increased from your travel plans alone.”

She dropped her eyes, and the tight band around his heart eased until she spoke. “Mr. Hastings, you made an arrangement with Bishop Michaels for my guidance. You must take my advice and disembark at Garraway.”

“I appreciate your counsel, but there are many things about my position that you don’t understand. As to Nana Mala, if he can’t be managed through your influence...well, isn’t that the point of your employ? No, what I must do is disembark farther down the coast at Harper. Too much is riding on my timely completion for me to do this any other way.”

The muscles in her jawline tightened. “From my understanding, all that’s riding on your timely completion is more money. Are you so filled with...with...greed you’d traipse me all through the countryside at your leisure, taking advantage of my financial need and not considering that I might have other needs, as well? Not to mention you’re ignoring sound advice. Is money so important you must obtain it despite the potential cost for both of us?”

She might feel inconvenienced, but he had a job to do, a plan to meet his deadline and a vow to keep to his mother. Too much at stake to pull his punches now. “My greed, as you put it, is also out of desperation. Desperation to establish myself with my own employer and to earn the money to save my sick mother from an early death. For her, I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means inconveniencing you.”

Her eyes widened. He tried to soften the revelation and pleaded for her acceptance. “Miss Baldwin, we must move past this misunderstanding of the terms of your employment. Your bishop received funds from me in good faith. You yourself pointedly convinced me I had no alternative for a guide.”

Her eyes lost some of their intensity. He continued, “You were happy enough with me in the beginning when you found my funds useful, so I’ll ignore the judgment on my character for now. You wouldn’t be the first Christian woman to prove herself quick to break her commitment to me when things didn’t go the way she wanted.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand again, silencing her. “The way I see it, we have two choices. The first is for you to fulfill your obligation to me as promised in the manner I specify so that my needs, the needs of the man paying your salary, are met.”

Worry etched her face. He felt somewhat the cad for having placed it there, but the stakes were too high. If she was going to balk at guiding him where he needed to go, he had to know now. She was already plan B. He had no plan C.

She broke the silence. “And the second choice?”

“Obviously I cannot force you to honor your commitment. But if you refuse to do so, then I must insist we cable your bishop to return my funds by wiring them to Harper so I can attempt to replace you.” If he was a praying man, now would be the time. Failure stared at him through the troubled brown eyes of his only known hope. He held his breath and waited for her answer.


Chapter Three

Anna retreated to her cabin after begging time to think and pray about the decision in front of her. She opened the door to find Mrs. Dowdy up and dressed. The small trunk with her belongings sat partially packed on the floor. Maybe she hadn’t been to breakfast yet and Anna would get a few moments alone. Fortunately no one else had been assigned to the third berth in the tiny space.

“Anna, there you are.”

She forced a smile. “I was up on deck.” She raised her Bible.

“Oh, your devotions. I was putting mine off until I got my trunk ready for the steward to move back to my cabin with Mr. Dowdy.”

Anna took a slow breath. Mrs. Dowdy didn’t leave the ship until it reached Harper. There would be no way to keep this turn of events private. “About that. I may be continuing on to Harper, as well.”

Mrs. Dowdy paused midfold of the skirt in her hand. “Oh. Will you still need a chaperone? Or is Mr. Hastings leaving us at Garraway?”

Anna recounted her dilemma and braced herself for her chaperone’s poor opinions of Stewart.

“You are in a difficult position indeed, Anna. And I find I may have misjudged Mr. Hastings. Any man who would go to such great lengths for his mother is more honorable than I had believed. I would hope to find such devotion in my own grown sons if I were in need.” Mrs. Dowdy placed the skirt on top of her trunk and sat on her berth. “On the one hand, you might be walking away from the only chance to save your young convert and prolong your own time in the village. Ask yourself this. If you had understood the itinerary from the beginning, would you still have agreed?”

Anna sat on the opposite berth, ducking her head slightly because of the bunk above her. She was shocked to hear counsel instead of complaint. She thought hard. “I don’t know. As the bishop pointed out, I had no other immediate provisions. He was convinced this was God’s plan. Even had I known, I still would have faced the problem of returning to the village before the Poro school began.”

Mrs. Dowdy leaned forward. “I’ve been in this country a lot longer than you, dear child. We still have at least four more weeks of rain. And at least a couple more after that before the rice is dry enough to harvest. I’ve traveled up the Cavalla several times with my husband to look at property when we first arrived in Liberia. Once we went as far as the rapids, and it took approximately ten days. Of course, we weren’t loaded down with much in the way of supplies. Still, it seems to me if you manage your land travel, set a steady pace for yourself and your porters, you could both accomplish your goals.”

Hope flickered inside her. “Perhaps so, as long as we didn’t encounter any major setbacks. But Mr. Hastings has declared his need for time to prospect along the way once we get within the mining concession area. I considered explaining about Taba, but how can I burden Mr. Hastings with choosing between his own mother and a boy he’s never met?”

“Exactly so. And it is unnecessary, my dear. Once you get within reasonable traveling distance of the village, you could journey ahead if needed. Leave him some competent help so he can follow later. That will even give you time before he arrives to talk to the chief about Mr. Hastings’s business in his territory. In fact, it is what Mr. Dowdy likes to call ‘a selling point’ for your need to arrive ahead of Mr. Hastings. If Nana Mala remains hostile, then Mr. Hastings will not be in danger’s reach. You can send word so he will remain safe.”

Anna’s heart flooded with relief. This wasn’t the disaster she feared. Perhaps if she hadn’t spent a lifetime being subject to the impulsive, poorly conceived plans of her father, she might have been able to see this for herself. “The other point to consider is that Mr. Hastings’s concern for his mother will drive him to continue on without me. And it’s clear how little he really understands of this country.”

Mrs. Dowdy reached over and patted Anna’s hand. “Exactly, my dear. Most men need a strong guiding hand. Why, I can’t imagine how Mr. Dowdy would manage here without me. His dealings would be an epic failure without my input.”

Anna resisted the impulse to laugh. Poor Mr. Dowdy might wear the literal trousers, but not in any way that mattered. Stewart did need her experience, but she couldn’t picture him ever allowing a wife of his to dictate his life down to the smallest detail the way Mr. Dowdy permitted. It was as unthinkable as Anna imitating her mother’s cowed obedience in all things. Were all marriages doomed to such an imbalance of power from one side or another? What would it be like to marry a man who honored and respected God as well as his wife?

Mrs. Dowdy stood and smoothed her skirts. “I can see you’re thinking hard on this. I’m going to go to breakfast and give you time alone to pray and seek God’s Will. All the good counsel in the world can’t take the place of God’s peace and direction. I’ll have a plate fixed for you.”

Anna gave her a grateful smile. When the cabin door closed, she slid off the bunk and knelt on the floor.

Lord, I need Your guidance. Your peace that this is the right decision. You’ve called me to Nana Mala’s village. You opened the heart of Taba to your salvation. You alone hold Taba’s life in your hands. I know You can provide for all our needs, so if this is the way, then I don’t want to miss Your Will. Not for myself, or Taba, or this hurting man you’ve placed in my path. Please, show me what to do here. I choose to stand on Your will, not my reasoning or my fears.

A deep peace settled over her. She needed to fully embrace God’s provision and trust Him. And surely by trusting God in His provision, He would give her the strength not to be drawn in by a few frivolous romantic feelings.

Now to convince Stewart to keep her on. He’d given her the choice, but clearly he wouldn’t hesitate to dismiss her and ask for his money back. She prayed she still had a chance.

* * *

Stewart stood on deck after breakfast and listened with growing consternation as Wilson regaled him with the difficulties to expect in his travels.

Wilson said, “The translators, and mind you they speak Liberian English or a pidgin, are usually already hired by the traders, such as myself. They’ve no desire to go on an interior expedition, and even if they did, most were raised in or near the coastal towns. They won’t be experienced enough with interior tribes to be of much value.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Depends. Where exactly are you headed?”

“Eventually I’ll base near the Putu Mountain range.”

Wilson took on the look of someone about to reason with an asylum patient. “Cannibal territory?”

“Yeah, everyone gets that same look once I tell them my destination.”

Wilson slapped him on the back before he walked away. “Can’t help you there. Farthest my men will venture is about a day or so out of Harper. Talk to some of the traders in Harper.”

Stewart watched Wilson’s retreat. Giving Anna an option to get out of the contract was a big mistake. And now that he’d changed their destination, he realized the barrier that language might become. In his haste, he hadn’t thought this through.

He stared out at the distant yellow sands, focusing on the rhythm of the breakers hitting the shore as his mind worked on his latest problem.

Eventually the hint of civilization peeked out above the distant treetops. Garraway’s tin roofs winked in the bright sun. The transfer of passengers and goods by surf boat would soon commence and cargo would be taken on all through the night. A maddeningly slow process and the sound of the winch would preclude sleep.

Once at Harper, what would he be able to accomplish on his own?

He faced the hard facts. This was a problem of his own making. He could have insisted and gotten around Mrs. Dowdy to have more time to talk to Anna, if he had felt confident about relying on Anna in the first place, or any other pretty face with so much at stake. Yet there seemed to be much more than beauty where Anna was concerned. So why, with one little missionary in hand, did he balk twice about relying on her in the bush? He lacked the most basic understanding of this country, no matter how many maps he’d studied.

Truth was he still had reservations about relying on her or any other woman after his experience with Julianne arranging his future and then wiping it all away in an instant. He recognized that allowing his actions to be influenced by his past was poor business, but yielding his trust again was no easy thing. He had to seek a compromise before Anna refused him outright and left the ship. Surely his mother’s situation would soften her heart.

All around him, deckhands suddenly stood straighter. Stewart turned, expecting to see the captain.

No, not the captain. Anna appeared on deck. Her effect on men’s postures was profound. He, however, honed in on the absence of the small japanned steel suitcase she’d held when boarding from Monrovia. Did this mean there was hope?

As she came nearer, he caught himself straightening, as well. Must be an automatic male reaction. Did she know her effect on men? Most beautiful women did and used it to get their way. In the war between the genders, women fought with an unfair advantage.

He pinpointed the moment she caught sight of him. She tensed, her smile seeming forced. His mind raced to find the right words to say to regain her help. How hard could it be to apologize to one little missionary woman?

Her head tilted upward as she came to a stop in front of him. He looked into her face. His chest tightened. This would be harder than he thought.

Before he got out the first word, she spoke. “Mr. Hastings. I’ve come to apologize after reacting so poorly to our misunderstanding.”

In war, this same feeling followed the concussive shock of artillery fire. A complete disorientation that had the ground of expectations shaking under his feet. It was too easy. She must have reconsidered the loss of funding. So much in life came down to the money.

She continued, “I’m afraid I don’t take well to surprises or having my plans dictated to me, a character failing I need to work on.” Her cheeks pinked up as she spoke. “And to accuse you of greed...well, that was uncalled for on my part.”

Didn’t like her plans dictated? Maybe they had something in common, after all. “Nonsense, Miss Baldwin, I’m sure to someone like a missionary, I do appear to be a fortune hunter, but I take family responsibilities seriously. My delay in discussing the itinerary earlier is to blame.”

“How generous of you to say so. That you risked your life to save me back in Monrovia should have informed me better of your character without having to be told about your mother.”

Her manner and sincerity sliced away at his general distrust. “I did what was necessary at the time, like I’m trying to do now.” His breath waited on her next words.

“I prayed about this and am willing to take the longer route. I would, for my own needs, prefer to chart the course to minimize delays, but I will honor my agreement with you.”

Hope rang in his heart and he took in vital air. “I am quite relieved to hear so, but concerned that we still have a problem. Wilson bent my ear concerning the difficulties of our travel outside of Harper. The more I learn of this country, Miss Baldwin, the more I realize the bonus I was offered by my employer may have been given to encourage me to do the impossible.”

She smiled and his pulse elevated. “If you give me more details, perhaps we can form a plan together to deal with the issues he raised. After all, you’ll be traveling with a missionary. We perpetually believe our God is able to do the impossible.”

“I’ll put more trust in our planning, Miss Baldwin. In my experience, your God isn’t always available when it comes down to practical matters. I doubt God will stoop into our affairs to give you the name of a willing translator in Harper for the different dialects we’ll encounter. I fear we will be reduced to hand gestures for communication.”

Her smile broadened; her eyes caught a glint from the sun. “You’re concerned about obtaining a translator?” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she dissolved into laughter.

She’d gone from apologizing to him to mockery?

“Miss Baldwin!”

She clutched her side and took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m sorry. Back to your practical realities. When the bishop said we were a match made in Heaven, he was right, after all.”

“I’m not making the connection. Exactly what is funny here?”

Anna reached up, her hand resting on his shoulder while she tried to dampen her grin. She failed. “God already met your practical need.”

“What do you mean?”

His serious tone appeared to sober her, and her hand slid back to her side. “Languages have always been my gift. Which is one reason I was assigned to a post with such an obscure dialect. Native translators want nothing to do with Nana Mala on a long-term basis. Without the ability to translate, my sermons would be quite short and poorly understood.”

Incredible. “What about all the areas we’ll pass through before we get there?”

“Mr. Hastings, at the risk of sounding like a braggart, or ‘bluff boy’ as the natives say, translation will not be a problem, even if we fail to find any pidgin speakers.”

“How is this possible?”

She sounded embarrassed. “I speak a total of fourteen languages fluently, not counting a few more odd dialects.”

An offensive blast grenade would have stunned him less. Every time it appeared he would fail, his luck turned. An impossible plan might be in reach, all thanks to this modest little missionary. He didn’t stop to think as the sheer joy of the implications for his and his mother’s future overwhelmed him. He picked up the tiny bundle in front of him and swung her around in celebration. As he put her down, he said, “I thought all my plans were doomed to failure. Miss Baldwin, if you weren’t a missionary, I’d kiss you senseless.”

She grabbed the rail, dizzy from the spin. When her head lifted, he recognized the mistake he’d made. Passengers and crew members stared, reinforcing the impropriety.

Her voice trembled. “While I appreciate your...enthusiasm, I’m afraid I must insist on a couple more things in our association.”

“Anything.”

Wide eyes held his gaze. “No spinning your missionary like a children’s top. And definitely no kissing. Ever.”

* * *

Anna longed for the comfortable deck chairs and the tea trays they’d left behind two days ago. After a full day, including six hours of rain, on the wide, muddy waters of the Cavalla River, her cramped legs begged to stretch themselves outside the tight confines of the eight-man canoe. She dreamed of the luxury of a covered, motorized boat to traverse the river.

But hadn’t she given up a prison of luxury to come to Africa in the first place? The real sympathy belonged to the long-legged Stewart in the canoe trailing hers.

She’d nixed the idea of sharing a canoe upriver to avoid the close confines and to reinforce the necessary bounds of behavior between two unmarried individuals. Clearly he’d meant nothing improper by his actions on board the ship. He’d been like a child with an unexpected Christmas present when she’d revealed her ability with languages. She’d been caught off guard, that was all.

She’d worked hard since to banish the thought of how safe and secure being in those strong arms made her feel. God was her true source of strength, and with His help she’d conquer this sudden longing to feel secure in a man’s arms. Another reason for separate canoes until she overcame her failing.

Fortunately, between Mrs. Dowdy’s presence and the eventual sight of the red-tiled roofs of Harper, Stewart had stuck to the business at hand after that moment. Remarkable how fast things came together once they’d crossed the beach and reached the town. A virtual whirlwind ensued as she filled supply lists, gave him instructions for securing rowers when he’d insisted on taking care of the hiring himself and searched out lodging for Stewart separate from the quarters the mission university provided for her.

All that hurry and now nothing for entertainment beyond the occasional parrot in the endless landscape of piassava palms and mangrove trees along the river’s banks. The cadence of her Kru rowers singing to keep the rhythm threatened to lull her to sleep.

Earlier they’d passed several villages and one occupied missionary post. But it had been too soon in the journey to do more than say hello, stretch their legs a bit and gather information. She hoped their last source was accurate. Judging by the low-hanging sun and the lifting rain, if they didn’t come across another village soon, they’d be forced to make their own clearing and camp for the night.

Not a pleasant thought. She hadn’t seen any crocodiles so far, but she worried that the nocturnal, river-loving pygmy hippos might not be obvious until they made camp.

Thoughts of wildlife vanished when Stewart’s canoe pulled alongside hers. She addressed her concerns. “I’m not sure we should have pushed on from the last signs of a village, Mr. Hastings. We might be forced to camp by the riverbank. Not my favorite location.”

“I hate to waste good daylight with early camps this soon in the journey. Especially since our rowers couldn’t help slowing down in the hardest part of the rain. What about those drums I’ve been hearing? Don’t they mean we are close to a village?”

“Possibly, but hard to say with any accuracy. Those are talking drums. Their sounds travel hundreds of miles.”

“Are you having fun at my expense?” His head canted.

“No, not at all. Drums telegraphed village messages long before Mr. Marconi ever thought of sending signals through the air.”

“Amazing how people make progress in their own way.”

“I think you’ll find a lot of things here to surprise you, if you keep an open mind. You might spend time watching local blacksmiths. Most villages have one. They do a lot of work in iron.”

Stewart raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. Ironwork speaks to not only inventive thinking, but also tells me they are familiar with the metals and minerals available.”

“Yes, but they don’t value some metals the way we would.”

He smiled. “Better for my company if they don’t.”

Surprise threaded her voice before she thought to conceal it. “You would deliberately take advantage of their ignorance of the rest of the world?”

He shook his head. “Of course not, but it will allow us to negotiate affordable terms. Mining here will be an expensive proposition.”

“I guess I’ll hear your terms for myself if I’m the one doing the translating.”

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and then narrowed as he looked past her shoulder. One hand reached down and gripped the stock of his rifle. “In the area of translating, does your gift for languages extend to drum talk?”

“No.” She laughed. “Drum is not a language I’ve mastered.”

“Too bad.” He nodded to a spot behind her. “If you had, we might know if that rather formidable display of warriors holds spears of welcome or imminent death.”

* * *

Stewart was relieved to see that welcome prevailed. But three hours into the evening’s festivities, relief no longer sustained him. What he wanted was quiet and his bed. If Anna had not explained the courtesies and customs, he would have cut the evening short and lost the goodwill of his hosts.

The sheer skill of the drummers, their intricate beats accompanying displays of impressive athletic prowess, were all fascinating at first. He’d thought Monrovia exotic with its marketplaces full of colorfully dressed Kru men and the impressively tall Vai and their wives walking down the streets side by side with roaming cattle and pigs. But Monrovia hadn’t prepared him in the least for the sight of those fierce-faced, spear-laden warriors. He felt as green as new recruits on the front lines when reality didn’t meet the idealized expectations of war.





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