Debbie Kaufman - Journey of Hope

“Until the next woman is their victim.”

“Exactly my concern.”

Perfect opening. He had to get this religious difference out of the way so business could proceed. “I can do nothing for that concern, but perhaps I could alleviate one of your others.”

Curiosity sparked her gaze as she inclined herself in his direction. “And what concern would that be?”

His thoughts scattered in response to her intense focus. He snapped them back to attention, but his plan for a casual conversation opener, making light of the differences in their beliefs, suddenly seemed inappropriate.

He tried a different tack. “Back at Momma Elliott’s you mentioned to the bishop your concern that my presence as both an unbeliever and someone with business interests might compromise your objectives with the Gospel. I want to reassure you that I have no intention of compromising your work there. I was raised by a churchgoing mother and fully understand what most religious folks consider acceptable behavior. I will be a model of missionary decorum, just without the preaching.”

She put one hand to her heart. “Thank you, Mr. Hastings. Just knowing that you understand the importance puts my concern to rest. I’ve worked hard to gain the trust of the chief and the parents who have entrusted their children to my teaching. If anything were to jeopardize that...”

“You teach?”

A soft smile played on her lips. “Yes. There are sixteen children in my school, and they are all such darlings. I miss them terribly.”

His expression must have given away his surprise.

She looked at him, merriment lighting up her face. “What did you think? Let me guess. You thought I walked around with my Bible open all day long praying and preaching.”

“Ah, you got me. I did think something like that. Bet you get that a lot.”

She reached over and her delicate hand patted his arm. “Don’t worry. Most people have no notion what a missionary’s life is actually like.”

The easy familiarity threw him, but he wished she hadn’t tucked her hands back under her blanket so quickly. “I would be one of them. But I did wonder about the danger for a lone woman, though. How does your family feel about your teaching in the wilds of the jungle?”

She stiffened. “My family has no idea what I do here. We don’t communicate.”

She’d chosen to bring her beliefs halfway around the world, but not to communicate with her own family? Proof, besides learning she was a teacher, he really didn’t know who he’d hired.

She studied his face. “I see by the shock and disapproval on your face that my answer is not what you expected. Tell me, Mr. Hastings, do you come from a close family?”

He cleared his throat to buy time as he contemplated how to answer. “I meant no disrespect. Your answer surprised me. I maintain a close relationship with my mother. My father is a different story. He died in an accident on the wharf where he worked when I was seventeen.”

“I’m so sorry. Must have been hard losing him at such an age.”

A hollow pit opened up in his stomach at her gentle condolence, and the truth poured out with no further provocation. “The difficult part was before his death. My father’s life revolved around the bottle. When he was drunk, he was violent. He had been drinking the day of the accident.” He listened to himself with amazement. He never talked about his past. It was those eyes and their long, sooty lashes drawing him in with every glance.

She adjusted her blanket and folded her hands together on top. “I am sorry for your loss. But perhaps you understand, then, that there are reasons family members might not remain close.”

“Yes, I can. I can also appreciate that you must be quite a force in the classroom, Miss Baldwin. You schooled me right out of disapproval and led me to a better conclusion effortlessly.” He omitted the part of how she’d also managed to avoid talking about herself.

The color in her cheeks heightened at the compliment. “Seeing the truth for ourselves is always more effective, don’t you think? We all need a reminder at times that there is usually more to the story than first meets the eye.”

He leaned forward in the deck chair, resolved to return to his original business. “Indeed. I’ve found that to be true with this job. A former commander taught me never to go into a situation without a good reconnaissance, and yet I now see I’ve walked into this one blindfolded by a very incomplete story. Since my stateside sources were so poorly informed, I not only wish to discuss our travel plans, but the people and their customs. Consider me your willing pupil.”

She tucked in windblown tresses and smiled broadly. “I would be happy to discuss my plans and local customs, but I doubt I’ll be much help with your mining concerns. I know nothing about prospecting for gold or other minerals. Perhaps I can question the villagers to help you locate what you seek.”

“That would be useful. But before we go much further, I must clarify whose plans we’re following. You said your plans.”

Her eyes widened. “I trust I didn’t misspeak?”

“No, but I while I appreciate the experience you bring to this job, I want to clarify that all final decisions about this journey must run through me.”

Confusion settled over her features. “Mr. Hastings, are you saying you hired me to be your guide, but you don’t trust my judgment?”

Sounded harsh when he heard it out loud. Maybe he should have soft-pedaled this a little more. “I’m sure you understand the jungle from a missionary point of view, Miss Baldwin. But I have been tasked with prospecting a large territory in a short amount of time. If I meet my assigned deadline, the bonus is significant. I have important plans for that money, plans I cannot risk. So I hope you can understand why I prefer not to leave a business success or failure in the hands of a...uh...a female missionary.”

Rather than taking offense, she laughed aloud, a melodious sound whose absence once she stopped made the ship seem empty.

“I take it I’ve said something quite humorous, Miss Baldwin. Enlighten me so I can do it again. Laughter agrees with you.”

Her smile lingered when she said, “You may need less instruction in local customs than I thought. You will fit in easily with the social structure here in Liberia. Only a Liberian man would not have tried to be so polite about not having a woman in charge.”

She waved off his protest. “For your first lesson, you should understand that there are rarely women in leadership. The Pahn, like most of the peoples here, are a male-dominated society with strict expectations of the roles each gender can play.”

“Sounds like they’ll respond better to a man leading then.”

She nodded and smiled.

Was she really this agreeable? Was she humoring him? “How do the local people handle you as a single woman, then?”

“Most are initially curious, but later decide that the white bush is different from their world.”

“The white bush?”

“Their term for our world. Their world is the bush. Of course, the reality of both worlds is that women rarely own much power in either.”

He snorted. She hadn’t seen how quickly his future father-in-law had responded to Julianne’s demands to sever business ties with him. “Maybe not in the eyes of the law, but you have to admit women still wield a lot of power in men’s lives.”

“Not here. In Liberia, a woman can be purchased with a bridal price, pawned later if her husband is in financial difficulties and even loaned to visiting male guests as a substitute wife.”

Chastened, he said, “I had no idea. Sounds barbaric, almost slavelike.”

“Exactly. But this is their culture, not ours.”