Читать книгу The Doctor's Mission - Debbie Kaufman - Страница 12

Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be the one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’d done it again. Whatever it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if they were more trouble than they were worth.

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

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

Clara’s hand fluttered to her chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary offered no argument. Surprising.

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

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

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