Journey of Hope

“Yeah, everyone gets that same look once I tell them my destination.”

Wilson slapped him on the back before he walked away. “Can’t help you there. Farthest my men will venture is about a day or so out of Harper. Talk to some of the traders in Harper.”

Stewart watched Wilson’s retreat. Giving Anna an option to get out of the contract was a big mistake. And now that he’d changed their destination, he realized the barrier that language might become. In his haste, he hadn’t thought this through.

He stared out at the distant yellow sands, focusing on the rhythm of the breakers hitting the shore as his mind worked on his latest problem.

Eventually the hint of civilization peeked out above the distant treetops. Garraway’s tin roofs winked in the bright sun. The transfer of passengers and goods by surf boat would soon commence and cargo would be taken on all through the night. A maddeningly slow process and the sound of the winch would preclude sleep.

Once at Harper, what would he be able to accomplish on his own?

He faced the hard facts. This was a problem of his own making. He could have insisted and gotten around Mrs. Dowdy to have more time to talk to Anna, if he had felt confident about relying on Anna in the first place, or any other pretty face with so much at stake. Yet there seemed to be much more than beauty where Anna was concerned. So why, with one little missionary in hand, did he balk twice about relying on her in the bush? He lacked the most basic understanding of this country, no matter how many maps he’d studied.

Truth was he still had reservations about relying on her or any other woman after his experience with Julianne arranging his future and then wiping it all away in an instant. He recognized that allowing his actions to be influenced by his past was poor business, but yielding his trust again was no easy thing. He had to seek a compromise before Anna refused him outright and left the ship. Surely his mother’s situation would soften her heart.

All around him, deckhands suddenly stood straighter. Stewart turned, expecting to see the captain.

No, not the captain. Anna appeared on deck. Her effect on men’s postures was profound. He, however, honed in on the absence of the small japanned steel suitcase she’d held when boarding from Monrovia. Did this mean there was hope?

As she came nearer, he caught himself straightening, as well. Must be an automatic male reaction. Did she know her effect on men? Most beautiful women did and used it to get their way. In the war between the genders, women fought with an unfair advantage.

He pinpointed the moment she caught sight of him. She tensed, her smile seeming forced. His mind raced to find the right words to say to regain her help. How hard could it be to apologize to one little missionary woman?

Her head tilted upward as she came to a stop in front of him. He looked into her face. His chest tightened. This would be harder than he thought.

Before he got out the first word, she spoke. “Mr. Hastings. I’ve come to apologize after reacting so poorly to our misunderstanding.”

In war, this same feeling followed the concussive shock of artillery fire. A complete disorientation that had the ground of expectations shaking under his feet. It was too easy. She must have reconsidered the loss of funding. So much in life came down to the money.

She continued, “I’m afraid I don’t take well to surprises or having my plans dictated to me, a character failing I need to work on.” Her cheeks pinked up as she spoke. “And to accuse you of greed...well, that was uncalled for on my part.”

Didn’t like her plans dictated? Maybe they had something in common, after all. “Nonsense, Miss Baldwin, I’m sure to someone like a missionary, I do appear to be a fortune hunter, but I take family responsibilities seriously. My delay in discussing the itinerary earlier is to blame.”

“How generous of you to say so. That you risked your life to save me back in Monrovia should have informed me better of your character without having to be told about your mother.”

Her manner and sincerity sliced away at his general distrust. “I did what was necessary at the time, like I’m trying to do now.” His breath waited on her next words.

“I prayed about this and am willing to take the longer route. I would, for my own needs, prefer to chart the course to minimize delays, but I will honor my agreement with you.”

Hope rang in his heart and he took in vital air. “I am quite relieved to hear so, but concerned that we still have a problem. Wilson bent my ear concerning the difficulties of our travel outside of Harper. The more I learn of this country, Miss Baldwin, the more I realize the bonus I was offered by my employer may have been given to encourage me to do the impossible.”

She smiled and his pulse elevated. “If you give me more details, perhaps we can form a plan together to deal with the issues he raised. After all, you’ll be traveling with a missionary. We perpetually believe our God is able to do the impossible.”

“I’ll put more trust in our planning, Miss Baldwin. In my experience, your God isn’t always available when it comes down to practical matters. I doubt God will stoop into our affairs to give you the name of a willing translator in Harper for the different dialects we’ll encounter. I fear we will be reduced to hand gestures for communication.”

Her smile broadened; her eyes caught a glint from the sun. “You’re concerned about obtaining a translator?” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she dissolved into laughter.

She’d gone from apologizing to him to mockery?

“Miss Baldwin!”

She clutched her side and took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m sorry. Back to your practical realities. When the bishop said we were a match made in Heaven, he was right, after all.”

“I’m not making the connection. Exactly what is funny here?”

Anna reached up, her hand resting on his shoulder while she tried to dampen her grin. She failed. “God already met your practical need.”

“What do you mean?”

His serious tone appeared to sober her, and her hand slid back to her side. “Languages have always been my gift. Which is one reason I was assigned to a post with such an obscure dialect. Native translators want nothing to do with Nana Mala on a long-term basis. Without the ability to translate, my sermons would be quite short and poorly understood.”

Incredible. “What about all the areas we’ll pass through before we get there?”

“Mr. Hastings, at the risk of sounding like a braggart, or ‘bluff boy’ as the natives say, translation will not be a problem, even if we fail to find any pidgin speakers.”

“How is this possible?”

She sounded embarrassed. “I speak a total of fourteen languages fluently, not counting a few more odd dialects.”

An offensive blast grenade would have stunned him less. Every time it appeared he would fail, his luck turned. An impossible plan might be in reach, all thanks to this modest little missionary. He didn’t stop to think as the sheer joy of the implications for his and his mother’s future overwhelmed him. He picked up the tiny bundle in front of him and swung her around in celebration. As he put her down, he said, “I thought all my plans were doomed to failure. Miss Baldwin, if you weren’t a missionary, I’d kiss you senseless.”

She grabbed the rail, dizzy from the spin. When her head lifted, he recognized the mistake he’d made. Passengers and crew members stared, reinforcing the impropriety.

Her voice trembled. “While I appreciate your...enthusiasm, I’m afraid I must insist on a couple more things in our association.”

“Anything.”

Wide eyes held his gaze. “No spinning your missionary like a children’s top. And definitely no kissing. Ever.”

* * *

Anna longed for the comfortable deck chairs and the tea trays they’d left behind two days ago. After a full day, including six hours of rain, on the wide, muddy waters of the Cavalla River, her cramped legs begged to stretch themselves outside the tight confines of the eight-man canoe. She dreamed of the luxury of a covered, motorized boat to traverse the river.

But hadn’t she given up a prison of luxury to come to Africa in the first place? The real sympathy belonged to the long-legged Stewart in the canoe trailing hers.

She’d nixed the idea of sharing a canoe upriver to avoid the close confines and to reinforce the necessary bounds of behavior between two unmarried individuals. Clearly he’d meant nothing improper by his actions on board the ship. He’d been like a child with an unexpected Christmas present when she’d revealed her ability with languages. She’d been caught off guard, that was all.

She’d worked hard since to banish the thought of how safe and secure being in those strong arms made her feel. God was her true source of strength, and with His help she’d conquer this sudden longing to feel secure in a man’s arms. Another reason for separate canoes until she overcame her failing.

Fortunately, between Mrs. Dowdy’s presence and the eventual sight of the red-tiled roofs of Harper, Stewart had stuck to the business at hand after that moment. Remarkable how fast things came together once they’d crossed the beach and reached the town. A virtual whirlwind ensued as she filled supply lists, gave him instructions for securing rowers when he’d insisted on taking care of the hiring himself and searched out lodging for Stewart separate from the quarters the mission university provided for her.

All that hurry and now nothing for entertainment beyond the occasional parrot in the endless landscape of piassava palms and mangrove trees along the river’s banks. The cadence of her Kru rowers singing to keep the rhythm threatened to lull her to sleep.

Earlier they’d passed several villages and one occupied missionary post. But it had been too soon in the journey to do more than say hello, stretch their legs a bit and gather information. She hoped their last source was accurate. Judging by the low-hanging sun and the lifting rain, if they didn’t come across another village soon, they’d be forced to make their own clearing and camp for the night.

Not a pleasant thought. She hadn’t seen any crocodiles so far, but she worried that the nocturnal, river-loving pygmy hippos might not be obvious until they made camp.

Thoughts of wildlife vanished when Stewart’s canoe pulled alongside hers. She addressed her concerns. “I’m not sure we should have pushed on from the last signs of a village, Mr. Hastings. We might be forced to camp by the riverbank. Not my favorite location.”