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Now she’d gone and offended him. She turned and walked forward down the trail, as much to avoid unintentional conflict as not to halt the progress of the porters behind them.
“We’ll be stopping at the next clearing.”
“For the night, Pastor Mayweather, or is it another rest break?”
“For the night.”
Silence fell, and Mary decided that even if she had been inclined to speak further, the trail itself was a barrier to companionable conversation. She’d wondered on the trek to Newaka why the trail wasn’t widened to make travel easier. Watching the men with machetes where the jungle encroached had answered that question. The amount of time needed to deal with even small patches of overgrowth was astounding. The arduous trail from coastal Garraway to Newaka was an after-dinner stroll in the garden compared to this route from Newaka to Nynabo.
When she rounded the next bend, the path appeared to broaden. Thank goodness. At least she could walk beside Clara’s hammock chair and pass the time amiably.
But no. They were stopping. The porters ahead of her were already disgorging their packs and scurrying around to make camp. Pastor Mayweather moved past her, and Mary turned and waited for Clara’s hammock-chair carriers to catch up.
Mary gave Clara a hand alighting. Clara glanced around and wondered aloud, “Where are we supposed to sleep? This space isn’t enough for all of our tents.”
“It does appear small. Still, I am ready to stop. This trek reminds me too much of those eighteen-hour shifts in the field hospital with no end in sight.”
Pastor Mayweather’s voice thundered an interruption in the small clearing. “Hannabo.” The porter in charge jerked up his head in response and stepped closer to the pastor.
The two huddled in conversation and then Hannabo barked out directions Mary couldn’t understand. Order began to fight its way out of chaos. Porters arranged packs around the outside ring of the camp as large stones were placed in the middle of the clearing, edging a small stack of firewood. A three-legged iron pot found its home on the stones and Mary’s stomach began to rumble.
Food! Oh, thank goodness. The afternoon’s repast of fresh bread and fruit Hannah had packed for them was long since a distant memory in their travel day.
A porter brought her the night’s bedding and then repeated the gesture for Clara. Clara stopped the retreating figure and asked, “Where is our tent?”
A simple shoulder shrug was the answer.
“Mary, are we expected to sleep out in the open with all these men?”
“It is beginning to look that way. Wait here. I’ll have a word with Pastor Mayweather and get this situation remedied.”
Mary laid her bedding on top of her pack and headed across the clearing. Pastor Mayweather had come to a sudden reversal about their assignment to Nynabo. Too sudden. Was depriving them of a normal amount of privacy part of a campaign to get rid of them or just an oversight? She intended to find out.
Nothing Pastor Mayweather could dream up could compare to the ingenuity of a professor in medical school unhappy with the enrollment of a female student. If the good pastor thought he could embarrass her and force her to leave, he was in for a rude awakening.
William saw his mistake. The clearing was too small to support their tents, but the sun was almost down and there was no time to move on. He’d called another porter, Jabo, and ordered only the bedding to be unpacked. Objections were swift. No sooner had the porters stacked the ladies’ bedding than Mary crossed the camp with an obvious target in mind.
His ear.
“Pastor Mayweather. Doing without a tent is wholly unacceptable.” The good doctor stood with her hands on her hips a mere two feet from him.
Rivulets of sweat ran down her neck, their origins hidden in her pith helmet. Sparse, dampened red tendrils flirted with his vision, their origins also secreted in the headgear. Little warnings went off in his brain. He should not be focusing on her physical attributes, but her annoyance factor. Instead, his mouth followed its own plan and upturned in a smile.
“Do you find discomfiting us amusing, Pastor Mayweather?”
“What? No, of course not. I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere occupied.”
His excuse sounded weak even to him. To her credit, the woman did not roll her eyes. “Then tell me please, why are we not to have a basic measure of privacy tonight?”
“It is only a matter of space. I cannot in good conscience ask the porters to sleep off the trail to give us more room. Not when they could become dinner for a roaming leopard.”
Mary’s hands left her hips and crossed her chest. This time she did roll her eyes. “Leopards? Am I supposed to believe that? Perhaps I should quake in fear and beg to be returned to Newaka?”
A loud report resounded in the near distance. Hannabo must have gone hunting nearby to add to the supper pot. A quick glance around confirmed he was not present. When William looked back at Mary to answer, he found all the blood had drained from her face and her freckles were the only color that remained.
He grasped her upper arms, concerned she would faint on the spot. “Are you unwell, Dr. O’Hara?”
The delicate doctor’s eyes blinked twice and then seemed to regain focus. “Please unhand me,” she insisted, pulling to free herself. “I’m fine.”
William’s touch fell away as if he had held glowing embers. What was it with this woman and his reaction to her? “Your appearance gave me reason to believe you were about to swoon.”
Sudden shards of crimson heat stained her cheeks. “I assure you, I’m not given to swooning like some ninny in a corset. But back to this leopard you claim will endanger us.”
“Listen to me, please, Dr. O’Hara.” He tried for a rational approach. “Leopards are only one of many dangers out here. I will not erect tents in this small space and force these men to sleep unprotected away from the fire and the watchmen.”
“You are serious?”
“The threat is very real. I would advise you not to wander outside the camp tonight. Now, if there is nothing else?”
“What about our…” She searched for an appropriate term. “Necessities?”
It was William’s turn to blush, and he felt the heat rising up from his collar. “I will make arrangements for a separate privy area. Just do not go without an armed escort.”
“Thank you.” Mary headed back to her friend.
Lord, if I had to be saddled with members of the fairer sex, why couldn’t they both be sturdy, easygoing women like Clara?
That woman was a salt-of-the-earth type who didn’t stir feelings that he’d thought were buried with Alice. He wasn’t sure which was the bigger danger on the trail right now. A hungry leopard on the prowl or the small-boned little redhead in men’s trousers marching away from him.
William turned his thoughts back to camp chores and making sure all was secure. Hannabo had returned with his catch dangling over his shoulder.
“I see you have had good hunting.”
Hannabo grinned. “Yes, Nana Pastor, I got a fine monkey. We eat soon.”
“Good. If you need me for anything, just call out. I’ll prepare the evening devotions while the light is still good.”
Hannabo nodded his agreement and headed off to skin and prepare the main addition to the meal.
William was deep in the Word when Hannabo appeared again at his side. From the sun’s position, he’d studied for almost an hour. A blessed hour of no interruptions from anyone, especially the women.
“Nana Pastor, the meal is ready. Would you and the mammies like to eat now?”
“Thank you, Hannabo. I will gather the ladies so we can bless the meal.”
William pulled his tin bowl and spoon out of his pack and headed toward the women. “Ladies, the evening meal is ready.”
“Thank the Lord,” Clara intoned. “I am starving.”
Mary nodded agreement and rummaged through her pack for utensils.
When all were gathered round the three-legged cook pot, William gave the signal to Hannabo and bowed his head to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father,” William paused at short intervals for Hannabo’s translation. “We thank you for this safe day’s journey…and the food we are about to consume. Be with us tonight as we sleep…and may we, through Your Divine Providence, arrive safely in Nynabo.”
Once Hannabo finished translating, William held out his hand to indicate the ladies should be served first. William followed next and sat on the ground a slight distance from Mary and Clara after he was served.
He wondered how long it would take before the realities of meals outside of Newaka became apparent and the complaints began. If his experience with his wife Alice was any indication, it would be soon.
It was Clara who broke the silence first. “What is this meat in the rice? It tastes like pork.”
Mary’s first bite was halfway to her mouth when Hannabo answered. “You like? It’s monkey. I shot special for you and Mammy Doctor.”
William dropped his chin to hide the smile when the doctor’s eyes went wide and she asked, “Monkey? Monkey like the ones overhead in the trees? Those monkeys?”
Hannabo’s head bobbed in delight with her understanding. Clara paled and set her bowl down. William held his breath. He should have warned her. He could not afford to lose his best guide and translator over a finicky woman. It was childish to want Mary’s surprise and revulsion to prove a point about her being unsuited for this trip. He let his breath out slowly, muscles tensed for her reply.
Mary looked straight at Hannabo and finished the fork’s circuit to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. When she swallowed she said, “It is the best monkey I’ve ever eaten. Thank you for your trouble, Hannabo.”
William stared in shock. The doctor was full of surprises. Alice had gagged and refused to eat more the first time she was served monkey. There was more to the doctor than he thought.
The rest of the meal passed in silence. Clara resumed eating, but seemed to be picking through the rice mixture. Mary finished hers and said, “If you will excuse me, today’s exercise has me ready for sleep. I’ll be heading for bed now.”
Clara rose. “I think I’ll join you.”
“Ladies, we will leave at first light. Please be ready.”
“Of course, Pastor Mayweather. Clara and I will be ready promptly.”
William waited to turn in until he saw that they were settled for the night. Rifle at the ready, he climbed into his own bedding. Despite his exhaustion, sleep was elusive. Even the presence of the women could no longer dampen his excitement at the nearness of his goal. His longing to be at Nynabo surprised him with its strength. Following God’s call on his life was joy enough, but to step into the broad footsteps of the uncle who had raised him as his own made it all the more meaningful. Despite the losses he’d suffered, achieving this goal was like a Christmas present in a shiny bow demanding to be opened.
Karl’s private conversation with him three nights ago had provided some comfort about taking the women. The doctor would have gone on without him anyway, taking her companion with her. No doubt about that.
His prayerful agony the night before he announced he had changed his mind didn’t leave him with complete peace; more like a restless armistice with his fears. In the end, he concluded he must go or leave two inexperienced women to fend for themselves. At least he could keep them from the worst of danger until they were replaced.
And replaced they would be as soon as the letter he’d left with Karl made its way to the Mission Board with his request for male workers. He prayed the wait wouldn’t be lengthy.
In the meantime, he would maintain a professional relationship, nothing more. Dr. O’Hara had managed the difficult trail with minimal complaint, handled the unique foodstuffs without giving offense and held her composure at the realization roaming leopards were a danger. He had to admire a woman like that. He also had to be sure admiration never crossed a line into something more. Not with Dr. O’Hara, not with any woman, while he served in one of the more dangerous parts of the world. Besides, she and Clara would soon find themselves on a caravan back out of the jungle.
He felt a pang of guilt for the letter he had sent, but brushed it off like the beetle scurrying across his blankets. It was for her own good. Dr. O’Hara didn’t understand the danger, so he had made the decision to ask for a reassignment for her.
He thought of how well she’d handled Hannabo’s feelings despite her obvious discomfort, and it caused his conscience a slight twinge. Examined rationally, there was no real reason to feel guilty over his actions. Wrestling with irrational guilt turned out to be as futile as getting comfortable where he lay. The hard jungle floor made its every bump felt through William’s bedding. He was on a first-name basis with most of them before sleep finally claimed him. His last thoughts were of how to most effectively protect the two women until the day they were recalled. Especially when the village of the warlike and lecherous Nana Bolo lay between them and Nynabo.
Chapter Three
Mary’s new boots had rubbed an angry blister on her right foot. The second day on the trail and her old boots were a fond memory whose faults she’d forgotten. She should’ve taken care to break the new ones in better before this trek. If the caravan didn’t stop for a midday break soon, she would be forced to ask for one. The risk of infection from an untreated blister in this humidity was high. Memories of field amputations flooded her brain, and she shuddered.
“Are you getting sick?” William asked, right at her back.
Mary almost jumped out of her own skin to stand beside herself. How did he do that? She could have sworn he was several places back. She would never get used to the noise of the jungle animals, the way it covered the most mundane sounds.
“I’m as healthy as the proverbial horse. Why do you ask?”
“You were shivering. While you may have had malaria as a child, you must know it frequently recurs. Often with no real warning.”
He, the pastor, was lecturing her, the physician, on malaria? “While I may not remember much from my personal experience, I’m perfectly aware of the disease and its ongoing nature. Medical school, even for females, was not a social experience.”
The short laugh from behind her was edged with bitterness. “You don’t know malaria until you have actually seen its devastation in this land.”
The intensity of his answer held her unruly tongue for her. Who had he lost to bring such pain to his voice? He probably wouldn’t appreciate her asking.
William edged past her while she answered. “Rest assured, I am not experiencing any symptoms of the disease.”
His back to her, he lengthened his strides to move ahead. “Speaking of rest, we will be stopping for a thirty-minute period shortly. Be prepared to march again after we’ve eaten.”
“Thank goodness,” she murmured. She didn’t want to start limping and be subject to more of a lecture. Both their tempers had been edging toward a real fandango.
It was bad enough the gunshot last night had affected her. The constant barrages at Argonne initially hardened her. But since her brother Jeremy’s death, she heard every shot in a new way. She would have been useless for frontline hospitals if the Armistice hadn’t come. She’d covered up her reaction last night, but she didn’t need to give this reluctant missionary guide another chance to look down on her and see weakness.
A long half-hour later, the caravan halted. Lunch was a quick and quiet repast of cold rice, absent monkey meat. No William in sight either, giving her time to tend her blister.
Sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the path with Clara, Mary unfastened her panniers, the leg coverings she still wore for protection from mosquito bites, and unlaced her left boot, carefully removing her sock. An angry red swelling on the outside of her small toe brought a hissed intake from Clara.
“That’s not good.”
Mary forced a smile in Clara’s direction. “I know. Do you think you can get me my small pack?”
Clara returned, pack in hand. “It doesn’t look infected.”
Mary agreed. She used gauze and canteen water to clean the blister and applied a small plaster for protection. Mindful of the imminent call to move, she reached for her discarded sock.
“Uh, Mary?” Clara tipped her head to indicate Pastor Mayweather’s approach.
She tried to stuff her foot in the sock, but didn’t succeed before the pastor got an eyeful of her exposed bandage.
“Is there a problem?” His deep rumble easily crossed the short distance between them.
“No, no problem at all.” Mary pulled the sock snug and reached for her boot.
In one swift movement, William snatched the boot from her hand and squatted in front of her, concern across his face. “Take off the sock.”
“No. I have a small blister and I’ve taken care of it. I’m not going to waste my plasters to satisfy your curiosity.” She stretched her hand out for her boot.
“Blisters in the jungle are serious. Any open wound is.”
If only she could get to her feet. He obviously meant well, but she still had an urge to knock him off his know-it-all hobby horse. “Medical school managed to cover both malaria and minor scrapes in my training.”
“Too bad your training didn’t extend to proper footwear. Those shiny new boots will probably rub both of your feet raw before we reach Nynabo.” William stood, forcing her to crane her neck to look up. He held out her boot. “You need to take the hammock chair. Let your foot heal.”
Mary laced her boot and Clara handed over her pannier, looking amused over the whole exchange. Mary joined the hooks and stood. She was so close that she could easily breathe in his earthy scent. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Even to her, the irritation in her voice sounded petulant.
