truly. If Hades exists anywhere on earth, it would have to have been there at Argonne Forest. So many young boys lost tragically, brutally.” Tears brimmed in Clara’s eyes. “Why Dr. Mary here… .”
The chair legs screeched against the floor when Mary abruptly stood. “Clara. I don’t think we need to burden the Jansens with those horrors. I’m sure their imagination will suffice.” The last thing she wanted dredged up was the death of her brother. That wound was too raw to touch. Even now pain stabbed through her chest as she tried to shut out her memories—that final glimpse of him alive, bloody and barely breathing. Would she ever be free of that horrible image?
She caught the questioning look on Karl’s face. Those eyes saw too much. Before he could ask any questions, she turned to Hannah and asked, “May I lend you a hand with the dishes? I’m not used to being idle while others are working.”
“You’ll both be busy soon enough once you get to Nynabo. Tonight you’re our guests. Next time you come, I’ll put you right to work.”
“If Pastor Mayweather has his way, there won’t be any Nynabo in our futures. And certainly not a next time here.”
Hannah laughed as she continued her tasks. “Karl will set him straight on that. Won’t you, dear?”
Karl stood and pushed his chair under the table. “I’ll try, but it would be better if he realized the severity of the situation for himself, Hannah.”
Mary seized on what sounded like a life preserver. “The severity of what, Pastor?”
“Well, if he refuses to work with you ladies, he won’t be able to reestablish Nynabo for quite some time. When you consider how possessive the jungle is, any more significant delays risk the station not being restorable. He might have to start from scratch once the white ants get finished with an unoccupied compound.”
Clara asked, “The white ants?”
“African termites, dear. The natives call them bugabugs,” Hannah answered.
Mary’s curiosity overruled her good manners. “What’s stopping him from going on without us?”
“The malaria policy.” Hannah tossed the answer back over her shoulder on her way to the kitchen.
“Pastor Mayweather hasn’t had malaria yet?” Mary asked.
Karl shook his head side to side.
Clara’s confusion threaded through her voice. “What policy? Isn’t it a good thing that Pastor Mayweather hasn’t been sick?”
Mary heard the back door open as Karl explained. “Until missionaries have come down with the White Man’s Death the first time, and lived through it, the Mission Board will not allow them to staff any mission post on their own. Without you, William must remain here until a replacement can arrive. That could take precious months that he doesn’t have to spare.”
Mary watched as William stepped out of the shadows by the back door and into the room. Anguish churned across his face and his hands were clenched into fists tight to his sides. “I would rather give up my call than be responsible for the deaths of these two women.”
Mary’s arms and hands trembled as the tiring day and disappointing reception from Pastor Mayweather finally caught up with her. Anger coursed through her veins. “Responsible for our deaths? Why, you…”
Everyone but Clara froze. She moved quickly to Mary’s side and placed her arm around Mary’s shoulders, attempting to herd her out of the room. “Dr. Mary, please. We’re all tired and it’s been a long day. Do not say anything you will regret. He means no slight.”
Mary pulled away from what was meant to be a calming embrace. She deliberately lowered her voice to avoid its strident tones. “Clara, dear, I am not going to be stopped from speaking my mind any longer.”
Mary lifted her eyes and looked toward William, addressing him with her most formal of tones. “I am sorry to learn that you are one of those men who cling to antiquated ideas of women’s roles and set themselves up as Lord and Protector.” A bit of the exasperation she felt crept out. “It’s the twentieth century, for goodness’ sake.”
Mary glanced to Hannah for her reaction. The plate in the older woman’s hand looked dangerously close to slipping to the floor, so rapt was her attention. Karl looked down, but was that a smile he was trying to hide? William readied himself to answer her, but Mary raised her hand to stop him.
“Please, let me finish, sir. You, Pastor Mayweather, aren’t responsible for me. I am responsible for myself, my own actions and my own consequences. If I were afraid of dying, I would have never signed my agreement with the Mission Board after they spelled out the possible dangers.”
William wedged in a quick answer. “With all due respect, Miss O’Hara…”
“If you wish to accord me respect, then please address me as Doctor O’Hara.”
“Doctor O’Hara, then. I don’t see how you can possibly understand what you might be getting yourself into.” William relaxed his fists and stretched out his hands in an apparent plea. “The interior is fraught with dangers, and even if you manage to live through your first bout of malaria, there are still wild animals and hostile cannibals to face.”
A blanket of emotional exhaustion wrapped itself around Mary. The man meant well. It was tempting to just walk away. But where would she go from here?
Returning home to her parents was out of the question. Her father’s reply to her last letter clearly stated his anger and grief over what she’d done. Better to stay here where she could hope to do some good, to atone for her brother’s loss.
Resolved, Mary straightened her spine. “I thank you for your concern, Pastor Mayweather, but I had malaria as a child back in Virginia. The animals and cannibals I’ll deal with when the time comes. I have orders to establish an infirmary at Nynabo, and Clara is to run the school. While I would prefer to have a man of your experience along, I will do so with or without your help.”
William sat on the front porch rocker after the women retired for the evening and wished the inky darkness would simply swallow him whole. What was he to do with this impossible woman? Nothing he said dissuaded her. And to make matters worse, she was right. Her orders gave her all the permission she needed to proceed without him. It would be a total disaster and she would undoubtedly get both herself and her companion killed. Or worse. The only mission posts run by women tended to be on the coast where help was more readily available. Even government troops hesitated to travel the interior, a fact he’d ignored when he’d taken Alice to the bush.
His sweet Alice. She’d wanted nothing more than to please him when he’d told her he felt the call to salvage the mission where his uncle and aunt had been martyred. She’d trusted him. He’d let both her and God down. The year of compassionate leave helped, but what he really needed was to put his hand back to the proverbial plow once again. But not while responsible for not one but two women this time.
Panic at the very thought brought William to his knees, using the railing as if it was a makeshift altar.
Father, why have you sent me this woman? Have I incurred your displeasure that my task would be made so impossible? Please, God. Turn her heart. Show her the error of this decision or show me what I must do to end this foolishness.
