The Doctor's Mission

Mary slid off her right sock and removed the plaster from her small toe. No signs of infection, but she pretended to study the healing area awhile to take in what Clara said. It sounded like what William had said, only without the anger. They both envisioned God’s plan so clearly. She just wanted to bury herself away, do some good with her training and not think so much about God’s plan for her. Since Jeremy died, her faith had faltered to the point she wasn’t sure she could even know God’s plan in her life anymore.

Mary took the fresh plaster Clara offered her from her bag. Even if the God of her childhood was real, did He have a plan for their lives? Otherwise, why would Jeremy have died? Jeremy and so many boys like him. Where was God’s protection, his plan in the Forest of Argonne?

Clara’s soft voice interrupted her contemplations. “We all have doubts sometimes, Dr. Mary. Take them to Him. He’s the only one with real answers for them.”

Mary’s tears hung back at the border of her lower lids and she blinked to dispel them. Clara generously pretended not to notice while she explored the small hut. “No place for a fire. I thought there would be some sort of pit in the center.”

“I don’t know. This hut seems a lot smaller than the ones we passed. Maybe they have them. Or they do all their cooking in the open like the groups we passed with cook pots.”

“True. Speaking of food, I wonder what we are to do about dinner.”

Mary formed a reply, but Hannabo stuck his head in the doorway first. “Mammies, food is here.”

“Oh, thank the Lord. I’m starved.” Clara’s enthusiasm was infectious and Mary’s stomach rumbled in response.

Two of the village women entered single file. One, a young girl of about fifteen whom Mary hadn’t seen on their walk through the village, smiled shyly. She wore twice the amount of necklaces Mary counted on the other women they’d passed and had a bright red skirt wrapped and tied around her hips and chest. Her well-fed appearance made sense when she bent to place a wooden bowl of steaming liquid in Clara’s hands. Pregnant. And so young. Only four to five months, but pregnant nonetheless. Mary hoped her own expression didn’t mirror the shock on Clara’s when she seemed to come to the same conclusion.

This girl, still a child in many ways, at home would have been in school, giggling with girlfriends, maybe even mooning over a handsome boy. Here she was already someone’s wife.

Mary stole her attention from the girl’s pregnant belly and focused on the wooden bowl offered to her. Steaming soup. What kind she didn’t know.

The woman in the faded blue skirt she’d seen earlier stirring the cook pot stood in front of Clara. A lot less jewelry adorned her. Was this a sign of status? If so, this young girl outranked her older counterpart. This woman looked to be only in her late twenties, but a hard life displayed itself in the weariness, the long lines around the woman’s mouth. Her life story was summed up in her face.

The same face also clearly advertised the woman’s feelings. Was all that hatred directed at her? Why?

Mary wondered as she took the steaming bowl and the women stepped back. The two women gave no indication of leaving, and Mary questioned if there was a ritual to the meal. Getting no cues from the women, she lifted the bowl up and inhaled the aroma.

She took a glance at Clara who sat holding her bowl with one eyebrow raised as if to say, you first. Ha! Afraid of monkey again.

Mary smiled at the two women now standing to the side, watching intently. She infused her voice with a cheery note and said to Clara, “Probably chicken soup. Whatever you do, let’s not offend them.”

Mary lifted the bowl to her lips and took a small sip which she balanced on her tongue, mouth open to cool the heat. Heat which never cooled.

She swallowed. Real tears came to her eyes and her sinuses began to run. She managed to stutter, “A little spicy.” Somehow she kept the smile plastered to her face. The younger woman giggled behind the hand now covering her mouth. The older one lifted her chin as if in challenge.

Mary managed to take another sip and smile. After all, once her tongue started singing soprano, what did more spice matter? The older woman’s eyebrows went up ever so slightly. Respect? Mary couldn’t be sure. But she never backed away from a challenge.

She finished the bowl completely and waited to grab for her canteen until the women backed out of the hut.

Clara’s face flashed between pale and a little green. Sweat poured off her. “I don’t know how you swallowed the soup, Dr. Mary. I’m not sure mine is going to stay down.”

“Did you catch the expression on the older woman? She expected her food to be insulted.”

“What was in that anyway?”

“Pepper of some kind. Let me ask Hannabo.” Mary stuck her head out the door. William and Hannabo held their heads together in conversation. Surely she hadn’t done something else she didn’t understand.

Hannabo caught sight of her and said something to William. He turned around and walked over to her. “Is there a problem?”

“Not unless you consider having our tongues completely numbed from dinner.” She tried for a smile so he’d know she spoke in humor.

The serious look on William’s face dropped instantly and his eyes crinkled in merriment. “Red pepper. A country-wide favorite. Since you’re an honored guest, I am sure the spicing was generous.”

“You could have warned me. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to taste food again.”

“You will. It was a little tough to swallow my first time, too. The wives looked pleased when they left, so you must have held your tongue, so to speak.”

Mary marveled at this lighthearted side of William. She’d begun thinking he possessed only a serious side. “Why Pastor Mayweather, is that a pun? Humor becomes you.”

And just as quickly as it was there, the smile vanished. “Is there anything else you need for the night, Doctor?”

Mary wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden turn in demeanor. “No, we’re fine. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, of course not. Not this time at least.”

Of all the things to say. Couldn’t he just be nice and let it go at that? She bit back a scathing retort as he said, “If there’s nothing else then, may I remind you a lot of celebrating will go on in the village tonight. A lot of religious ceremonies are conducted after nightfall.”

Mary shuddered despite the waning heat. “What kind of ceremonies?”

William’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head for emphasis. “None you need to be attending.”

This time she did sputter. “I assure you, I hadn’t planned to attend. I was merely curious.”

“See that you keep your curiosity in check this time.”

Of all the gall. He turned on his heel and returned to where Hannabo was waiting. Mary stood rooted and gape-mouthed at the man’s insolence. After a few seconds, William walked off and Hannabo came to stand at the entrance to their hut.

“Where’s Pastor Mayweather going, Hannabo?”

“Nana Pastor, he goes to speak to Chief. He hopes to show Nana Bolo the one true God and get him to put away his fetishes. He will not succeed.”

“Why not?”

“Nana Karl has tried for years. Nana Bolo’s devilmen are powerful. They have already given him what he wants. He will not listen to the stories of the white man’s God.”

“Devilmen? What do you mean?”

“They hold the magic. Their conjures are strong. The young girl who brought you dinner?”

“Yes, she is with child, I believe.”

Hannabo’s head nodded vigorous assent. “Because of the Devilmen. Nana Bolo made his offering when she did not conceive for some time.”

“Nonsense. Conception is not a sign of magic.”

“Devilmen do many things, miracles sometimes, Mammy Doctor. I believe in the Jesus God, but I’ve seen devilmen work. They hold much power.”

A shiver that belied the heat ran through her. Evil seemed so distant back at home in a Virginia church. Not so distant on the battlefield. Witchcraft prevailed in this darkness.