of a quick return to Nynabo sank slowly into a bog of despair, a spark of hope and understanding hit.
They’ve sent me a married couple. Of course! The Board would never send a single, unchaperoned woman to serve with a man.
He shook off the worry and quickened his stride as the second set of bearers rounded the corner. He reached the hammock chair just as a slim, trousered leg complete with protective panniers and an impossibly small boot emerged. Fiery red hair peeked out from under the pith helmet and topped a porcelain complexion reddened by the heat. Intense and very feminine green eyes stared up at him. Karl nudged him and William’s manners took over. He automatically offered his hand and let go of the breath he held.
Obviously these were no missionaries. Not two white women alone in the interior. Whatever sort of tourist trek these ladies were on, they must be hopelessly confused to have ended up here. He’d heard of the new travel fad of wealthy women, women who ran from the natural state of marriage to travel to exotic locales. But wasn’t it confined to Arabia? Liberia didn’t boast the excitement of ancient, lost civilizations that drew these types of sensation seekers. Yet here they were.
Disappointment at what would be a longer wait pulsed through him and he struggled to mask his irritation at receiving two adventuresses instead of two mission workers. Yet the hand he held, delicate in form, put him mind of his Alice. He’d not held a woman’s hand since hers as she lay dying. He was saved from grief’s hold by a hand that responded with a surprisingly sturdy grip.
“Thank you.” Her voice was melodic. “I was beginning to think I would never get out of that contraption.”
Despite his misgivings, William stood transfixed by the petite beauty as she emerged from the chair. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. It was not until her eyes crinkled in a puzzled look that he realized he was staring. He felt a gentle tug and released the hand he’d held a little longer than was polite.
“Forgive me, ma’am. Pastor William Mayweather at your service.”
“Excellent. Just the man I was looking for.”
“Me? I do not understand.”
“I’m Dr. O’Hara. I was told you would be expecting me.”
Dr. Mary O’Hara lifted her chin and stared up past a broad chest covered in a white cotton shirt minus the traditional attached collar to find rich, mahogany eyes. Eyes that made her forget that every known muscle in her body ached, plus a few muscles she’d forgotten existed. Three days on the trail had taken their toll. Yet somehow the sight of this tall, rugged man took her mind off her mundane pains.
This was the pastor she was supposed to meet? If she hadn’t heard his name from his own lips, she wouldn’t have believed it. When she pictured herself working at a bush station with a missionary, she’d imagined a wizened, older man, glasses perched on the end of his nose and maybe even slightly stoop-shouldered from bending over his Bible. Nothing prepared her for this magnificent, broad-shouldered, six-foot man without a stooped shoulder in sight. She certainly wasn’t expecting the warmth that radiated from his hand or the spark of awareness igniting. She tugged her hand back just to recover her ability to think straight.
Piercing eyes stared at her in frank amazement, probably doubting she could handle living in the jungle. Quite understandable. Men often looked at her like that when they first heard she was a doctor, underestimating her. The inevitable banter would follow while they tried to get her to admit she was joking. Last would be a final look of disgust or horror when they realized a member of the fairer sex had overstepped the bounds of propriety and actually studied human anatomy in detail.
She’d thought she’d hardened herself to the inevitable path that first encounter took. But for the first time in a long while, she regretted the disappointment she would soon see. Might as well get on with it.
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin higher than her five foot four inches normally allowed her to see. “The Mission Board sent letters. Weren’t you informed of the impending arrival of Mrs. Smith and myself?”
His eyes flashed disbelief and despite his polite tone, she could see the resolve of his answer in the set of his jaw. “I was indeed informed of the arrival of two new mission workers, Miss O’Hara, one a physician. I just did not expect the Board to send women, because of the deadly history of the jungle interior. I’m afraid you’ve been sent to the wrong place. I simply cannot take someone so delicate and unsuitable for the dangers to the compound at Nynabo.”
Unsuitable? She wanted to laugh at the irony of being found lacking after having just left a frontline mobile field hospital for this man’s dangerous jungle. She took a deep breath to steady her voice. It wouldn’t do to sound shrill and create a negative opinion of herself. She needed this position; was, in fact, desperate for it.
“Obviously, Pastor Mayweather, we are both surprised to find someone whom we did not expect. But I assure you that while your opinion is no different than most other men in society, ones who do not carry Bibles at their ready, it is entirely unwarranted.”
Mary could only imagine what her dear mother would say if she could hear her now. She’d managed to keep a polite tone but still broken her mother’s cardinal rule—don’t challenge a man in charge. Her own loving mother had never found herself able to hold an opinion that wasn’t first that of her husband, Mary’s father.
Pastor Mayweather’s eyebrows raised and his mouth opened, drawing in breath for the next volley. Before he could launch it, a matronly older woman put her hand on his arm and pushed herself forward. Mary couldn’t help but catch the disapproving frown the woman gave him before smiling at her visitors.
“Welcome to Newaka.” Thick arms enveloped Mary in a hug and squeezed the breath right out of her. “I am Hannah Jansen. My husband Karl and I serve here at this station.”
Hannah Jansen was as plump and well-rounded as her husband was spare. Mary resisted the urge to check her ribs when the apple-cheeked matron stepped back. “I’m Dr. O’Hara. But you may call me Mary.” She telegraphed the stuffy Pastor Mayweather a look over Hannah’s shoulder that she hoped said, “And you may not.”
“Hannah, this is my friend and travel companion, Mrs. Clara Smith.”
Clara stepped toward them and smiled. “We introduced ourselves while you were meeting Pastor Mayweather, Dr. Mary.”
“Yes,” Hannah said. “Dr. Mary, this is my husband, Karl.” She pointed to the tall gentleman who had helped Clara from her hammock chair.
Karl stepped up and took one of her hands between his bony pair and pressed gently. His eyes twinkled with good humor that carried in his voice. “We are so pleased to have you, Dr. Mary. I can’t tell you how happy we are to finally be assigned a physician in our area.”
“Why thank you, Pastor Jansen. It’s very polite of you to say so.” Mary avoided looking at William. “Most men are less accepting of a female doctor.”
“We just didn’t expect such a beautiful young woman.” Karl chuckled and offered Mary his arm. “Let me show you and Mrs. Smith to our home. Someone will bring your bags in a moment.”
“Dr. O’Hara?”
Mary swung around and forced a civil smile in spite of William Mayweather’s serious countenance. “Yes?”
“Please don’t unpack more
