Debbie Kaufman - Journey of Hope

“You recognized those ruffians?”

“One of them. Taught him in Sunday school as a young lad. Obviously didn’t take his Bible to heart. Didn’t recognize the other Kru man with him. But birds of a feather...”

“No wonder they ran, seeing as you’re able to identify them. Is she going to be all right? I think they gave her chloroform.”

Momma Elliott seemed to weigh his words. “Now, that is surely a strange thing. Where would those two get something like chloroform? Good thing this one is tougher than she appears. I nursed her through the malaria when she first arrived from Connecticut. Still, for caution’s sake, I’ve asked for the doctor to come around.”

He nodded toward the unconscious woman. “Does she live nearby?”

“No, Miss Baldwin is rooming with me for a few days. She’s attending a mission conference. They’re installing the new bishop from the States. Only something big like that would bring her out of the jungle.”

“She lives in the jungle?”

“Of course. Miss Baldwin is a missionary spreading the Gospel to one of the interior tribes.”

Stewart couldn’t hold back the proverbial jaw drop. He’d saved a missionary who lived in the jungle. His mother’s voice and all her notions of God’s plans flooded his mind. Easy to see why she believed such things. He could almost believe it now. Almost. But rational thought reasserted itself. Missionary or not, no one would send a single woman anywhere near where he needed to go. Every time he’d been specific about his destination, grown men paled and refused. Or they laughed outright.

“Something wrong, young man?”

“Sorry, ma’am. Just thinking.” Might as well ask. “You don’t happen to know what tribal area she, uh, missions in, do you?”

Her head cocked at the sound of footsteps on the porch. “You can ask her all about it once she wakes. Wait here. Keep an eye on her while I greet the doctor.” She headed for the front door.

Now he was grasping desperation by the throat. Asking Miss Baldwin would be a waste of time. To a lone woman, working in the interior probably meant a little ways outside the city.

Oh, no. A waste of time... Time. He groaned and checked his watch. As soon as Momma Elliott came back with the doctor, he’d have to leave. He hoped the man he was to interview had waited.

A soft rustle caught his attention. He looked and got his answer. Brown. Lovely deep brown eyes opened and blinked. She blinked again and the unfocused look began to fade from her eyes. When she tried to sit up, his reverie broke. “Miss, uh, Baldwin. Please don’t move. Just lay still. Momma Elliott will be right back.”

Her focus flitted around, taking in her surroundings before stopping to look at his face. For one short moment the room lost all its air as he fell into the depths of her serene gaze. How could she wake so calm after what she’d just been through?

She whispered.

He tilted his head downward. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you.”

She whispered again.

He shook his head and apologized, bending to catch her words. “Do you need something?”

Her soft voice quavered. “Nothing. You...you asked...”

“Asked?”

She tried again. “You...asked...where.”

“Where? Oh. You heard me talking to Momma Elliott.”

She nodded and whispered again. “Putu. Near the Putu Mountains. I work with the Pahn.”

His limbs turned to marble. The answer to his dilemma had been dumped literally into his arms. Or had it? Unease snaked its way into his thoughts just as Momma Elliott and a redheaded woman with a medical bag, waddling with the weight of the child she carried in her rounded belly, bustled into the room. A woman doctor? And her patient another woman who couldn’t protect herself in the relative safety of the city, yet lived among cannibals? What kind of country was this?

He gave a nod to Momma Elliott and headed for the front door. Even if he missed his meeting, he didn’t regret his actions. Not when a woman had been in danger. But he sincerely hoped the guide wasn’t too impatient and he would agree to the job. Otherwise Stewart would be trying to talk the woman he’d saved into saving him. Not good since the last time he’d placed his future in the hands of a beautiful woman, it disappeared in a cloud of mustard gas.

* * *

Anna Baldwin awakened to bright morning sunshine streaming in through her bedroom window, Dr. Mary Mayweather attending at her side and two sure conclusions about her life: God was looking out for her, as evidenced by last night’s providential rescue, and He wouldn’t have called her to the mission field without providing for her. True, last night was a trial of some magnitude. Being attacked, chloroformed and almost kidnapped made the news she’d received at the conference pale in comparison. At least she was still alive to serve another day, something she had failed to thank her blue-eyed rescuer for making possible.

Now she had to find a way to stay beyond the short weeks her limited funds left her. But first she had to reason with Dr. Mary. The good doctor wanted Anna to lounge in bed. Clearly a woman so heavy with child should be following her own orders. Anna rebuked herself for such an uncharitable thought about her dear friend. She was grateful that missionaries like Dr. Mary and her pastor husband had taken her under their tutelage when she’d first arrived. Still, they’d trusted her to God’s care when they’d helped establish her post with the Pahn, so being overprotective now about a random attack on city streets seemed a contradiction in that trust.

No, she needed to be out of bed so she could begin the process of looking for a new source of funding. This foggy-brained feeling from the drug would pass.

Dr. Mary sat on the edge of Anna’s bed. “Anna, did you hear me? Three days’ rest, minimum. Chloroform can be hard on the heart.”

“Three days? My ship leaves for Garraway tomorrow morning, Dr. Mary. And I can’t count on the Elder-Dempster Company refunding my fare.” Anna stifled a rising panic. “Even if they change my ticket, I have no money for the additional change fees.”

“Not to worry. I’ll ask my William to talk to them. Most steamship lines bend their rules to accommodate God’s work. Missionaries are lucrative business for them. If there is a fee, I’m sure we can appeal to the bishop for discretionary funds.”

Hot tears built a pool behind Anna’s eyes. She fought them back and spoke once she trusted her voice. “Is it really all about money? Even here as a missionary? No, an ex-missionary. I’m losing my posting over money. The bishop has already drawn on his discretionary funds to keep me here a little longer while I seek a new source of support.”

Dr. Mary tilted her head. “Well, that explains a lot. When you left the mission conference in such a hurry last night, I feared something was wrong. What happened to the support money your church promised?”

“They fell on hard times. It’s a small congregation, but they scraped and saved to help me get here. Their monthly pledge after my parents blocked all access to the trust my grandmother left me was a godsend.” Anna picked at a stray thread on her bedcovers. “Originally, I planned to fund my support myself. The trust included a monthly allowance from the interest. As long as I was frugal, that money would have been most of what I needed to stay here.”

“You never told me your parents so actively opposed you.”

Anna shuddered. “Because it does no good to dwell on their past actions. Having a missionary daughter went against all their social ambitions. They wanted me to marry someone handpicked for his social and financial standing. Blocking my trust was only one of the ways they dealt with my refusal. My only consolation is that the entire trust comes under my control once I marry or turn thirty-five, whichever comes first.”