The Doctor's Mission
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The booming artillery at Argonne had been unnerving, but shells rarely reached the mobile field hospitals and both sides strictly left the Red Cross personnel alone, keeping in mind they themselves might end up in need of their services. Captured enemies were treated alongside soldiers. The only fact she could remember about the Liberian interior was that many missionaries had died in the attempt to break evangelistic ground here. She knew the fatality rate of malaria. How many died at the hands of the natives?
“Dr. Mary, look.” Clara gave a slight nod of her head. They followed a hut-lined path through the village, stepping around the roaming chickens and one stray piglet. A break in the huts revealed a small work area, complete with a low cook fire and large iron cook pot with steam rising.
Mary glanced over and saw a group of about ten young children, including one nursing baby, all sans clothing. The older ones were eminently curious. Three of the youngest fled behind their mother’s legs to peer out from safety as soon as they had seen them. The oldest of the bunch, not more than seven, stood stock-still and tried to look fierce, not quite pulling it off. Of the five women present, presumably their mothers, although there was little doubt about the one who was nursing, expressions ranged from wary to curious to downright hostile on one thin woman with blue cloth covering her modestly while she stirred the pot.
Without exception, the rest of the women wore nothing more than a cloth skirt fastened about their waists and a small fetish bag she’d come to expect hung around their necks. Mary found herself gawking and forced herself to take her eyes off the uninhibited display of uncovered skin. Even as a physician, the unabashed nudity discomfited her. Why did some cover more than others? Was it a status indication?
As much for herself as Clara, Mary said, “They might not have ever seen a white person, Clara. Try not to stare. I think we’re scaring the little ones.”
“Then we’re on equal footing. Some of those warriors scared me. All those tattoos on their faces. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Me neither. Maybe it’s something just this tribe does. None of our porters bear those kind of markings. Although Hannabo’s patterned scarring on his face resembles them a little.”
“Well, the children are adorable. I can’t wait until we’re in Nynabo and I can start the school.”
“Let’s hope it won’t be much longer. The excitement of jungle travel wore off soon after we left the beach at Garraway and headed to Newaka. I’m ready to be settled.”
Clara laughed. “I know what you mean. The first few miles when we left Garraway city behind, the trail seemed so exciting. So different.”
Mary adjusted the medical satchel she carried. “I agree. The endless dirt track, tree roots waiting in ambush and all the insects lost their novelty for me.”
Clara glanced around. “Well, we should be careful what we wish for, because there’s a lot of novelty here.”
Novelty aside, they passed in a tired, companionable silence through the rest of the village, the tableau of cooking they’d seen repeating once more. The village, large and well laid out in several divisions from the perspective of the hilltop trail, was different when you actually walked through it. Now an endless maze of mud huts, topped with the low-hanging dried brush used for thatching, surrounded them. Mary feared she would get lost in the sameness if she tried to navigate alone.
A wooden palisade wall came into view and the tribesman leading them halted before a hut outside the entrance to the private compound. He gestured to the hut and to the women, and Mary assumed it to be their quarters for the night.
Before she could enter the hut, William put his hand up and conferred with Hannabo, all the while with his back still to them.
Arrogant. That was the word that normally came to mind when she thought of Pastor William Mayweather. Then he took off his pith helmet and ran his hands through that wavy brown hair and the word changed. Striking. And worried.
William crossed his arms when Hannabo conveyed something to the tribesman and the tribesman shook his head and repeated his gesture indicating the hut. What was the problem? Was he holding out for a better hut? They all looked the same to her.
The weariness settling over her as the sun dropped halfway below the horizon overrode her resentful obedience and she stepped forward. “What’s the problem? Is there something wrong with this hut? Because it looks fine to me.”
William turned to her with narrowed eyes, glaring. She flinched. If those rich, brown eyes had been spears, she would have been impaled on the spot.
She’d done it again. Whatever it was.
William’s deep rumble came out deceptively low. “I’m sure the hut is quite fine.” He came closer, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned down and in until he was only inches from her face. “If, that is, you don’t mind being separated from Hannabo and myself. Alone with only your sharp tongue for protection. Of course, we could always share the hut.”
William pulled back, the discomfort of being close enough to Mary to see her smallest freckles befuddling his thoughts. He had tried counting to ten, reciting Proverbs to himself about the futility of arguing with the foolish—none of it worked. No sooner did he get things back under control than this obstinate woman tried to insert herself right back into the thick of things. At least Alice let him be in charge, hung back and allowed him to do the man’s work. This woman wanted to literally and figuratively wear the trousers. At least…
William derailed his mental train of thought on the memory of Alice and traveled back to the reality of an impatient redhead in front of him with her eyes bugging out at his sarcastic statement about sharing a hut.
Oh, so her suffragette sympathies didn’t extend to sharing a hut with him. The shocked look on her face proclaimed outrage. Good to know. At least her morals stood firm, not loose like her definition of a woman’s place in life. What had the Mission Board been thinking to send him this female physician?
Mary took a deep breath in and out and straightened her spine, all under his careful observation. Indignation rolled off of her. “That is quite unacceptable. No tents on the trail were one thing, but sharing a private hut is another.”
William’s smile wasn’t one his Aunt Ruth would have approved of if she had been there. “My point exactly. Now maybe you’ll let me continue making my point with this tribesman so neither of us ends up indulging in scandalous behavior.”
“Can’t we be in separate huts but next to each other?”
“Not possible. Let me finish here and I’ll explain.”
The slight tic in her right eye gave away the fact Mary had more to say. Much more she suppressed with a great deal of effort. He turned his back to her and planted himself between her and their appointed village guide’s line of vision. He nodded to Hannabo and continued his negotiation.
He walked a fine line to accept the hospitality and yet require his own special guard for the women without impugning his hosts. When it became clear he risked insult to village hospitality, he’d explained his concern for the crazy woman with red hair wandering away and getting into trouble. Certainly true. Just not the whole reason.
When his tribal host laughed, he knew he’d won the day. Troublesome women, the universally understood notion among men.
The best negotiating ploy too, although the good doctor would have a conniption if she could only translate the language. Why couldn’t she understand he was in charge without constantly challenging him?
She thought western sensibilities would prevail in the situation with Nana Bolo. That sort of attitude would have her married and bearing the chief’s children in no time.
Hopefully, the idea that she was troublesome and a little crazy would get back to Nana Bolo. That wily schemer caught the turn of the phrase where William avoided claiming her as his wife. By indicating she was under his care, a phrase the chief took to mean Mary was William’s property, he left himself wide open to this. The chief would think he only held out for better terms.
Of course the only other option available to him would have been lying and saying that she was his wife. Not an acceptable course for his conscience or the mission of winning souls. Scripturally, lying about Sarah backfired on Abraham twice.
This way he could protect the women to the best of his ability. He would go to the palaver hut, an honor reserved for male guests only, but leave Hannabo to sleep at the threshold of the women’s hut. He may not want women in the interior with him, but he couldn’t leave them undefended this close to the chief’s compound.
Even if they were more trouble than they were worth.
Dr. O’Hara did have a tendency to forget to stay put. Her reasons may have been admirable. How many women would have run toward a gunshot to help? But now more than before, he needed her out of the sight of the villagers. She would be easier to protect once he could get to Nynabo. He refused to think about her return trek out of the jungle when the time came. She would be someone else’s responsibility then. He’d be sure they steered clear of Nana Bolo on her return trip.
He outlined his plan to Hannabo, who nodded. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Clara and Mary. “Ladies, for your protection, our hosts agree Hannabo will stay with you, sleeping outside the threshold of your quarters. I would do the chief a grave insult if I don’t sleep in the palaver hut allotted to honored guests. And, as women are not allowed in that hut, you will stay here outside the palisade walls.”
Clara’s hand fluttered to her chest.
“Not to worry, Mrs. Smith. We will keep you safe.” With a sweeping hand gesture, he indicated the doorway of the hut. “If you need something, ask Hannabo. I will be just on the other side of the wall.”
Mary’s voice filled with concern. “Pastor Mayweather, our needs should not deprive Hannabo of his comfort for the night.”
William laughed despite his desire to attract as little attention as possible. “I assure you your comfort levels will be quite equitable. At the most, you will sleep on planks to elevate you off the dirt. I promise you sleeping directly on the dirt is little more hardship.”
Clara’s face echoed Mary’s surprise as the two exchanged looks. It was Clara who finally spoke. “But can we not retrieve our camp beds from the porters and set them up in the hut? I know the trail was too narrow for tents where we camped the first night, but surely this hut will easily hold them.”
William understood her desire. The relative comfort of his folding cot would be a nice reprieve from the hard surface. “I’m afraid not, ladies. Don’t insult our host by refusing his provision.”
“That’s too bad.” Clara’s voice held the same longing for her own bedding William ascribed to his. “I guess we’d better just make do.”
Mary offered no argument. Surprising.
“I’m going to have to ask you ladies to stay inside the hut till morning. No matter what you hear. There will undoubtedly be a lot of revelry tonight.” William hoped his plea wasn’t words to the deaf.
He reached over and laid his hand on the physician’s arm. “Dr. O’Hara, I am only one man. Our caravan is too small to intimidate the chief here. Please, don’t put us in any more situations where I might not be able to talk our way out.”
Conscious of Mary’s eyes on the hand still resting on her arm, he pulled back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m begging you. Consider all our lives in this.”
Chapter Five
Mary clutched the extra blankets Hannabo had surreptitiously secured for them from their gear and followed Clara, ducking into the low opening of the mud hut. Once inside she straightened. The conical roof gave more openness than she’d realized. The floor was smooth, packed dirt with faint round marks overlapping at regular intervals. The smooth clay walls lacked a window and the only real light came from the open doorway.
Squinting against the dimness, she made out two elevated wooden pallets to her right. They seemed high for a bed, sitting a few feet off the floor. She placed the blankets on the one closest to her.
She slid her pack off her shoulders and laid it at the foot of the pallet. Clara groaned in relief enough for both of them as her pack came off and said, “Right now almost anything looks comfortable. Even wood covered with a thin reed mat.”
“Not exactly my idea of comfort. But I’m too exhausted from being such a troublemaker to care.”
“You aren’t a troublemaker, Dr. Mary.” Clara’s grin came through as Mary’s eyes adjusted to the low light. “You’re just used to being in charge.”
“Exactly. If Pastor Mayweather would only talk to me instead of barking orders, maybe I wouldn’t have caused him such problems.”
“Rare is the man who can treat a woman like an equal. Even at the hospital they wanted to relegate you to anesthesia and not surgery.”
The pain of loss stabbed Mary’s chest. “They were right. The most important operation of my life and I botched it.” Tears threatened to flow. Exhaustion was breaking down both her muscles and her emotions.
Clara stepped close and put her arm around Mary. “You didn’t botch anything. Your brother was too far gone by the time he arrived at the hospital. Not even that braggart Dr. Hubbard could have saved him—no matter what he said.”
Mary looked at Clara through unshed tears. “I wish my father saw it that way. Jeremy died on my operating table. Father’s letter spelled out whom he held responsible for his only son’s loss.”
“Now, now. Grief did his speaking for him. Grief will pass and he’ll think it through. He’ll come around. Your father loves you. He supported your studies to become a physician in the first place.”
Mary pulled away and picked up the blankets. “I don’t know, Clara. He made his opinion pretty clear that nothing I did could ever atone for costing him his only son.” Mary arranged the blankets over the planks as best she could. “I’m afraid I agree with him.”
“Nonsense. A German soldier killed him. Men die in war, plain and simple.”
Mary sat down on the pallet and unhooked her panniers one at a time. “Well, what’s my excuse this time? If I hadn’t reacted to that gunshot and just stayed put, we wouldn’t be in any danger.”
Clara’s belly laugh startled Mary. She looked up from unlacing her boots. “Dr. Mary, we’re in the middle of the Liberian jungle with heathen tribes known for their cannibalism. Of course we’re in danger. You think the chief wouldn’t see or hear about a pretty woman with red hair anyway?”
Mary turned up the corners of her mouth despite her fatalism. She reached and pulled the pins from her hair, letting down the long plait and wagging the tresses ruefully. “I suppose you’re right. My hair has always been a beacon for trouble.”
Clara’s face turned serious. “God made you exactly right, my girl. From the color of your hair to the desire He gave you to be a doctor. We just have to trust that He will protect us in this eternal battlefield.”
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.
“Our worlds are very different this way, Hannabo.”
He nodded in response.
“There is another difference I wanted to ask about. Why do some of the women cover their…uh, chests and some do not?” She felt silly being embarrassed, but it was one thing to examine someone and another to ask about modesty issues so specifically to a man.
Hannabo replied as if it was no issue at all. “Young girls who are not promised in marriage wear only the skirt. Once they are promised or married, they wear more to show their status.”
So it was a question of status, just not the way she’d thought. She said good night and went back into the dark hut, feeling her way to her bed. Clara was stretched out, already snoring. Mary sat on the hard pallet and wondered what kind of witchcraft Hannabo had seen to make him think it held power. Exhaustion took a stronger hold than her questions, and she lay back to fall into a fitful sleep filled with the rhythm of drums, shouts and fervor.