The Doctor's Mission. Debbie KaufmanЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

      Mary slapped at the millionth mosquito trying to make her a meal. Futile, but instinctive. Ten hours into the journey to Nynabo should have taught her that swatting was a waste of energy. Clara was smarter. She had stayed in the hammock chair and draped netting to keep the pests away. Mary, on the other hand, just had to prove she was capable of walking on her own.

       The waning light through the heavy jungle canopy told her evening was near. Night’s fall brought a sudden inky blackness that only campfires relieved. So surely William would call camp sometime soon. No, not William, she corrected herself. Pastor Mayweather. It wouldn’t do to think of him in anything but the most formal of terms. The man acted as if she were his own personal trial.

       Mary’s foot hit a root and the jungle floor came rushing toward her. She threw out her hands to break her fall just as strong arms grabbed her from behind and righted her. Mary turned and found herself face to chest with the object of her ruminations. How had he moved up so far in the single-file line of the caravan without her knowing? She’d thought he was still at the back trying to encourage some of the stragglers.

       “Careful. Are you all right, Doctor?”

       “I’m tired and I stumbled, that’s all. Thank you for coming to my aid.”

       “Are you sure you don’t want to get back in the hammock chair?”

       Mary bristled like a cat stroked the wrong way. “Most assuredly. My poor porters are obviously exhausted from the day’s trek and I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

       “It was never my plan to carry two women into the bush. The two days of preparation after your arrival was not enough time to engage additional bearers if we were going to get to Nynabo and complete repairs before the rainy season begins.”

       Now she’d gone and offended him. She turned and walked forward down the trail, as much to avoid unintentional conflict as not to halt the progress of the porters behind them.

       “We’ll be stopping at the next clearing.”

       “For the night, Pastor Mayweather, or is it another rest break?”

       “For the night.”

       Silence fell, and Mary decided that even if she had been inclined to speak further, the trail itself was a barrier to companionable conversation. She’d wondered on the trek to Newaka why the trail wasn’t widened to make travel easier. Watching the men with machetes where the jungle encroached had answered that question. The amount of time needed to deal with even small patches of overgrowth was astounding. The arduous trail from coastal Garraway to Newaka was an after-dinner stroll in the garden compared to this route from Newaka to Nynabo.

       When she rounded the next bend, the path appeared to broaden. Thank goodness. At least she could walk beside Clara’s hammock chair and pass the time amiably.

       But no. They were stopping. The porters ahead of her were already disgorging their packs and scurrying around to make camp. Pastor Mayweather moved past her, and Mary turned and waited for Clara’s hammock-chair carriers to catch up.

       Mary gave Clara a hand alighting. Clara glanced around and wondered aloud, “Where are we supposed to sleep? This space isn’t enough for all of our tents.”

       “It does appear small. Still, I am ready to stop. This trek reminds me too much of those eighteen-hour shifts in the field hospital with no end in sight.”

       Pastor Mayweather’s voice thundered an interruption in the small clearing. “Hannabo.” The porter in charge jerked up his head in response and stepped closer to the pastor.

       The two huddled in conversation and then Hannabo barked out directions Mary couldn’t understand. Order began to fight its way out of chaos. Porters arranged packs around the outside ring of the camp as large stones were placed in the middle of the clearing, edging a small stack of firewood. A three-legged iron pot found its home on the stones and Mary’s stomach began to rumble.

      Food! Oh, thank goodness. The afternoon’s repast of fresh bread and fruit Hannah had packed for them was long since a distant memory in their travel day.

       A porter brought her the night’s bedding and then repeated the gesture for Clara. Clara stopped the retreating figure and asked, “Where is our tent?”

       A simple shoulder shrug was the answer.

       “Mary, are we expected to sleep out in the open with all these men?”

       “It is beginning to look that way. Wait here. I’ll have a word with Pastor Mayweather and get this situation remedied.”

       Mary laid her bedding on top of her pack and headed across the clearing. Pastor Mayweather had come to a sudden reversal about their assignment to Nynabo. Too sudden. Was depriving them of a normal amount of privacy part of a campaign to get rid of them or just an oversight? She intended to find out.

       Nothing Pastor Mayweather could dream up could compare to the ingenuity of a professor in medical school unhappy with the enrollment of a female student. If the good pastor thought he could embarrass her and force her to leave, he was in for a rude awakening.

       William saw his mistake. The clearing was too small to support their tents, but the sun was almost down and there was no time to move on. He’d called another porter, Jabo, and ordered only the bedding to be unpacked. Objections were swift. No sooner had the porters stacked the ladies’ bedding than Mary crossed the camp with an obvious target in mind.

       His ear.

       “Pastor Mayweather. Doing without a tent is wholly unacceptable.” The good doctor stood with her hands on her hips a mere two feet from him.

       Rivulets of sweat ran down her neck, their origins hidden in her pith helmet. Sparse, dampened red tendrils flirted with his vision, their origins also secreted in the headgear. Little warnings went off in his brain. He should not be focusing on her physical attributes, but her annoyance factor. Instead, his mouth followed its own plan and upturned in a smile.

       “Do you find discomfiting us amusing, Pastor Mayweather?”

       “What? No, of course not. I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere occupied.”

       His excuse sounded weak even to him. To her credit, the woman did not roll her eyes. “Then tell me please, why are we not to have a basic measure of privacy tonight?”

       “It is only a matter of space. I cannot in good conscience ask the porters to sleep off the trail to give us more room. Not when they could become dinner for a roaming leopard.”

       Mary’s hands left her hips and crossed her chest. This time she did roll her eyes. “Leopards? Am I supposed to believe that? Perhaps I should quake in fear and beg to be returned to Newaka?”

       A loud report resounded in the near distance. Hannabo must have gone hunting nearby to add to the supper pot. A quick glance around confirmed he was not present. When William looked back at Mary to answer, he found all the blood had drained from her face and her freckles were the only color that remained.

       He grasped her upper arms, concerned she would faint on the spot. “Are you unwell, Dr. O’Hara?”

       The delicate doctor’s eyes blinked twice and then seemed to regain focus. “Please unhand me,” she insisted, pulling to free herself. “I’m fine.”

       William’s touch fell away as if he had held glowing embers. What was it with this woman and his reaction to her? “Your appearance gave me reason to believe you were about to swoon.”

       Sudden shards of crimson heat stained her cheeks. “I assure you, I’m not given to swooning like some ninny in