Debbie Kaufman - Journey of Hope

He grinned and humor sparked in his memorable blue eyes. “You were doing a pretty good job of fighting them off when I showed up. I think you’d have had them if it weren’t for the chloroform.” Her rescuer looked expectantly at the bishop standing next to him.

“Miss Anna Baldwin,” the bishop said, “let me formally introduce you to Mr. Stewart Hastings, a mining engineer with the American Mining Corporation. He and I just finished a long talk in the parlor. I believe it was God’s providence Mr. Hastings came along when he did. Had he not come to Monrovia on his current assignment...well, I shudder to think what would have happened to you last night.”

Her rescuer brushed off the compliment. “You give me too much credit, sir. Momma Elliott actually scared the miscreants off. I just held them at bay till she came on the scene.”

Was that a wink?

The bishop shook his head. “You’re too modest, sir.” He turned to address Anna. “Now that we’re all acquainted, we can get on with the plan.” The bishop rocked onto the balls of his feet, eager to impart his idea.

Anna asked. “The plan?”

“Yes, my dear. I found a way to solve all our problems. Rather, I should say God has provided.”

There was that phrase again. Tacking on that it was God’s provision still left her uneasy. And Mr. Hastings studiously looking everywhere but at her?

The bishop’s eyes twinkled. “I haven’t told Mr. Hastings, but while hearing his tale, the solution for both of you became obvious. It’s clear you two are a match made in Heaven.”

Anna almost came out of her sickbed. Was everyone in creation trying to marry her off?

* * *

Shock rendered Stewart mute. Had the kindly bishop been out in the brutal Liberian sun too long? Except it was only midmorning. By the look on Anna’s face, she harbored similar questions.

Bishop Michaels prattled on. “Mr. Hastings saved you, Miss Baldwin, and now you can save each other.”

Stewart ground his teeth to hold back a rebuttal. Was this some evangelical approach to win his soul? If so, the bishop had another think coming. God already had ample opportunity to show up in the trenches of the Great War.

Stewart found his voice. “Sir, even if I were a praying man, which I’m not, I’m not sure I would understand the course of this conversation.”

The bishop gave him a patient look. “Didn’t you just explain to me in the parlor how you exhausted your other possibilities and were in need of a guide to the interior while you explore for mineral deposits? In the Pahn territory and surrounding area? I believe you named a generous figure for the service you need.”

“I did, but...”

The bishop waved his hand. “Miss Baldwin here is in immediate need of an income and you are in need of a guide. Ergo, you two are a match made in Heaven.”

Stewart caught sight of Anna’s eyes widening in shock and disbelief. They must be mirroring his own. He hadn’t taken Bishop Michaels for an escapee from Bedlam when they’d first met. A match made in Heaven? “Bishop Michaels, Miss Baldwin told me last night that she works with the Pahn. But, with no offense intended to her, I need a guide, not a wife.”

The choking sounds coming from Miss Baldwin were alarming. Both men looked at her with concern. The bishop asked her, “Are you all right, my dear? Do you need water?”

She shook her head violently and managed to croak a response. “Not even to save my place here in Africa would I—”

The bishop broke in. “No, no. You both mistake me.” He turned back to Stewart. “I’m proposing a business agreement, one that will effectively save Miss Baldwin from having to make an untimely return home to Connecticut from the mission field.

“With the budget you mentioned, she can take you to the village and secure a relationship for you with the chief. Then she can afford to stay among the Pahn people another three months while she searches for longer-term funding. Along with the government permission your company already obtained for exploration, you, in turn, will have one of the only outsiders acceptable to the chief to vouch for you and your mining enterprise. God has provided for your needs, too.”

Anna protested, “Bishop, with all respect, Nana Mala is one of the most warlike and unpredictable chiefs in the interior. Government permission will only provoke him. We might lose any further chance to win souls in this village over mixing man’s business with God’s, especially since Mr. Hastings has already proclaimed himself an unbeliever. I cannot see... Oh, Mr. Hastings, I meant no slight.”

“None taken.” Being categorized as an unbeliever might be awkward in her view, but not in his. At least she had the sense to see how unworkable this plan really was, even if her reasons were different from his. He’d thought he was coming to discuss a guide, not hire Miss Baldwin.

The bishop’s jovial tone sobered. “Sometimes we need others, my dear, to see what’s best for us. I believe this situation will serve the Gospel by keeping one of my most fervent missionaries in a tribe that, if reached for Christ, could turn the tide in many surrounding villages. I’m sure you can manage the distinction between business needs and the Gospel.” He gave a fatherly smile. “Unless, of course, you have another financial solution, one God revealed since our conversation last night?”

She didn’t say anything at first, but Stewart could see the gears of thought turning. She nodded.

Was she really considering this? Was it money that swayed her? As for the bishop, had he lost his mind? But manners dictated Stewart not declare the sentiment aloud. “Bishop Michaels, I cannot see how your suggestion could possibly work. Look at her.” Stewart pointed. “She’s clearly incapacitated. I only wanted information on finding a guide. The last thing I need is a female missionary slowing me down on the trail.”

Anna glared. For a missionary she sure could give a look that would peel paint off a battleship.

Stewart ignored her and continued, “Besides, she’s an unmarried woman. Even if I had no objection, you can’t tell me you missionaries would send the two of us into the jungle alone.”

The bishop was not dissuaded. “Of course not. She’ll need someone to travel with her on board ship for her recovery and the proprieties of ship life. I met the perfect candidate last night at a late supper hosted in my honor. She and her husband are returning to their coffee plantation outside of Harper. Then, once in the jungle, you’ll be surrounded by your caravan. Last night’s incident notwithstanding, most Liberian men are quite protective of missionary women, as those who have served alone have found in the past. I think you’ll see that the caravan itself is more than sufficient as a chaperone.”

Every obstacle Stewart could think to raise was steamrollered flat by the bishop’s growing enthusiasm. He continued unhampered, “Besides, Mr. Hastings, even I know that being guided into the area isn’t enough. Not if you want to come back safely. You need Miss Baldwin.”

If he wanted to come back safely? He’d survived the Germans. Miss Baldwin had barely survived Monrovia. How could the bishop even suggest...?

The bishop must have taken Stewart’s silent ruminations for acceptance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to secure this companion for Miss Baldwin in the little time left before you two depart. Sir, if you will deposit half the funds with the Mission Board’s secretary, then you can make the rest of your arrangements directly with Miss Baldwin for the balance upon completion.”

For such a well-rounded man, the bishop was quick on his feet. Stewart stared at the now-empty doorway. What had just happened? He’d been waltzed right into another situation where a beautiful woman would be making arrangements for his life. He had a deadline; dragging a woman along through the jungle would only slow him down. No, if he was to fail, he’d rather it be on his own terms and not the result of a woman’s whims, as before, or her innate physical frailties.