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
