The Final Adversary (29 page)

“Barney?”

He stopped, surprised to see her. “Katie—” he began, then could say no more.

Katie walked over and stood by his side, waiting for him to continue. A night bird cried in the darkness, the echo fading as silence washed back over the land.

Barney sighed. “Katie,” he said again, “I wish . . . Oh, what’s the use. I’m not really sure of anything anymore. What will
you
do?”

“Me? I’m going back,” she replied unhesitatingly. Her voice was firm and void of any doubt. “If I didn’t go back, it would mean Pearl and Lily died for nothing.”

“I never thought of it like that.” Barney’s face lost some of the tension. Turning his head, he smiled at her. “You’re a strong woman, Katie Sullivan.”

“Maybe I’m just stubborn,” she replied. “My mother always said I was.”

He nodded absently and looked up at the sky. “Dad wondered if the skies looked different over here. I guess they do in a way—but life goes on here just like at home.”

Katie impulsively put her hand on his arm. “Barney, be sure about your decision before you do this.”

He looked at her, his eyes tired. “I can’t seem to do anything right, Katie.”

“Not true! That’s not true!” she insisted.

“Yes, it is.” Barney’s eyes mirrored something she couldn’t understand. “Remember the old nursery rhyme ‘London Bridge Is Falling Down’? Well, that’s what it’s like to me, Katie.” He looked up at the sky again, let out a slow sigh, and said under his breath, “Everything is falling down.” Then he turned and walked away.

Katie’s heart ached for him, but she could do nothing. Beecham had told them about missionaries who performed
well at first—then gave way under pressure. But she never thought Barney Winslow would be one of them.

With sad resignation she walked back to the beach. For a long time she listened to the waves washing in and out, throwing stones up on the beach.
We can be just like those waves,
she thought,
tossed about by doubt and fear when everything is coming apart. But, Lord, aren’t you enough? Can’t you energize and create within us the power and desire to do what you want—for your satisfaction, delight and pleasure, not ours? I’ve seen you work. Oh, Jesus, make my heart like your heart in this situation.
As she stood quietly waiting, her mind was triggered by the memory of Irene and the muddy grave in the jungle, and she lifted her head and walked back to her room. At dawn the next day she left Monrovia without saying goodbye. By the time the sun was high, she was pushing steadily through the jungle with Bestman at her side, headed back to Maoli and her people.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Winslow’s Counseling Service

Dorothy Hansen stretched lazily, took a sip of tea, and looked toward Barney at the window of the City Mission office. He had been gazing for some time at the busy vendors in the courtyard below. His healthy, strong tanned face was a handsome contrast to the stark white of his shirt and trousers. Studying his profile, she thought,
He’s not as handsome as Andy, but good-looking in a rugged way. And somehow he grows on people.

When he had come to work with the City Mission four months earlier, she had not been overly impressed. Of course, at that time she had eyes only for Andy. Though Dorothy was not open with others, to herself she could admit her capriciousness.
It didn’t take me long to trade one Winslow in for another!
she laughed to herself.
This one’s not as flashy, but Andy will never settle for anything less than big time. But Barney will stay, and he’s coming around much faster than I thought. He never mentions going back to the interior.

“The meetings were fine, weren’t they, Barney?” she said, speaking to him, more to gain his attention than anything else.

“Yes, they were,” he replied. “I only wish they could have gone on longer.”

The last service of the Bible convention had been held the previous evening, with national pastors from all over Liberia attending. It had been a stirring time, seeing so many coming to know the Lord and for the pastors to return to their ministries with new inspiration as God touched their hearts.

Dorothy sipped her tea and went on. “I haven’t seen much of you. You really threw yourself into the meetings.” She smiled, adding, “I think you must know every one of our pastors by name. And they all know you. How do you get so close to them, Barney? Nobody else has managed to become so well known so fast.”

“I don’t know, Dorothy,” he shrugged. “I just like to be with them.”

She knew that was true. Her father had said, “Barney Winslow has what most white men never have—a real gift for getting to the hearts of the African people. Most of us try too hard, but he doesn’t have to. They’re a discerning people, Dorothy. They
know
when somebody really likes them, just as they sense when someone feels superior.”

The conversation had both disturbed and pleased Dorothy. She was disturbed because she knew she had never possessed the love for people she saw in Barney, but pleased that he was becoming known all over the country as a coming leader in the world of African missions.

“Let’s take a few days off for a steamer trip,” she suggested. “Meetings are good, but draining.”

Barney shook his head. “No time for vacations, I’m afraid. Have you forgotten we’re starting the new school for the Kru tribe?” The Kru people lived on the coast, and Barney had responded with alacrity when an opportunity had come to expand the City Mission in that area.

“Oh, we can throw ourselves into that when we get back. And we’ll do better if we start in fresh.” She came over to stand beside him, fresh and pretty. “Please, Barney.” She smiled and tugged playfully at his arm. “Let’s just take a couple of days.”

“I don’t know,” he said, hesitating, then nodded. “Maybe you’re right. On second thought, it’s a good idea. We could catch the banana boat and go down as far as Tannmouth. I’ve wanted to visit the pastor there. I hear he’s doing a fine job.”

“Of course, Barney,” she agreed, smiling at him radiantly.
That might be your idea,
she thought.
I’ll just have to get your mind off work and onto other things, though.
“I’m going to tell Daddy and Mother.”

“Sure. They’ll probably want to come along,” Barney nodded.

“Maybe,” she replied, but she knew they wouldn’t. With a contented look on her face, she went to her father’s office.

“Hello, Daddy,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He looked up with surprise. “Well, what makes you so demonstrative, Dorothy?”

She pushed his hair back from his forehead, saying innocently, “Why, Daddy, you act as though I never paid you any attention!”

“You do when you want something,” Hansen grinned. He knew this daughter of his well, and leaned back in his chair to consider her. “What’s in that pretty head of yours?”

“Oh, nothing,” she went on airily. “I’ve just been talking to Barney and he wants to go on a trip down the coast for a few days. I thought I might go with him.”

“Oh?” He eyed her suspiciously. “Does he think it’s his idea?”

Dorothy laughed. “I guess so. But he’s worked too hard. He needs a vacation.”

Hansen sobered. “You’re right about that. Ever since he started working here he’s gone night and day. We make a pair, I suppose. He works too hard—and I don’t work enough!”

“I thought you would approve,” Dorothy said demurely.

“Why, you never gave my approval a thought!” Shaking his head, he said rather strictly, “You’ve managed to manipulate
me
for so long, I suppose you’re bored with it. Now you’re out to run Barney Winslow’s life.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to run anybody’s life, Daddy!”

“Dorothy, you do it all the time.” Hansen paused for a moment. “You never were able to control Andy as you do Barney—but I suppose you realize that.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Daddy!”

“I’m not silly—and I’m not blind. Neither is your mother. It’s a good thing young Winslow is. Are you really interested in him?” her father demanded.

“He’s . . . different.”

“Yes, he is. But the question is, do you
want
somebody as different as he?”

Dorothy had asked herself that same question often enough, but the answer had not been easy. “Well, Daddy, the supply of eligible men isn’t very plentiful out here,” she said candidly. “Barney is stronger than most men, but he needs a push.”

Hansen grinned. “Well, you’re good at that, you know. And since he’s rid himself of those ideas of the interior, I think he’ll go far.”

“You wouldn’t mind having him for a son-in-law, I take it?” Dorothy asked quizzically. Despite her father’s rather foppish appearance, she knew he was clever and shrewd.

“Not a bit—now that he’s got his head out of the clouds. But you might want to look around a bit. There’s the Ranken fellow. He’ll marry again. And don’t forget Del Saunders.”

Dorothy shrugged lightly, tossing off the suggestion. “Not for me,” she said and left the room, saying, “I’m going shopping. I don’t have a thing to wear for a river cruise.”

Shopping for clothes was one thing, while actually taking the holiday was another, she found. Barney had agreed, but he had thrown himself into the work of the mission with full vigor, making it impossible to simply walk off. Substitutes had to be found, and when that was done, they learned that the next boat wouldn’t depart until the middle of September. Dorothy worked feverishly to find another ship, but failed.

For the next few weeks, Barney moved around the city, preaching and being available for any ministry needed. He was restless, and only by working long hours could he sleep well. He said once to Dorothy, “It’s odd, how I slept so well in the jungle, lying on the ground with a million bugs trying
to eat me alive. And now with a nice bed in a good room, I toss and turn half the night.”

He enjoyed most of the work he did, for there were great needs in the city. A real hunger for the gospel message among the people existed, and many were saved as a result of his labors. But he dreaded the long hours he spent in the office. Myron Hansen was careful not to overburden him, yet warned, “It’s not glamorous, Barney, but if nobody tended to the office details, the work would never get done in the back streets.”

Barney did his best, yet no matter how busy he kept himself, he thought much of his time in Gropaka. He missed the life, and he missed Awful Gardner. He had missed the man’s cheerful spirit, missed hearing him say every morning, “Well, dear boy, what can we do for Jesus today?” He had not realized until he left the interior how much he had enjoyed the long talks the two had daily, mostly on Bible themes, but on other subjects as well.

One late Tuesday afternoon in early September, after visiting the very poor in the heart of the worst sections of Monrovia, he was returning to his room, thinking all the way about Awful. Again that sense of loneliness pressed in on him. Once he paused and looked in the direction of Gropaka, then kicked a loose stone with a rare exhibit of frustration.

“Getting to be a spoiled brat!” he chided himself, and picked up the pace. When he entered the compound, he was surprised to find Del Saunders waiting.

“Barney!” Del’s fair skin was sunburned, as always, and his blue eyes sparkled as he rushed over to give Barney a hearty blow on the back. “About time you got here,” he said. “I was ready to come look you up!”

“When did you get in, Del?” Barney asked with a grin. Saunders had been a disappointment to Andy and the Rankens, for after two months of working with the City Mission, he had left to go back to Chodi. Barney missed the cheerful
redhead and their many talks. They had much in common, and enjoyed each other’s company.

“About ten o’clock,” Del answered. “Came in for some supplies and a little wise counsel.”

“I can get you the supplies, Del, and maybe both of us can find some wise counsel.”

Del gave him a quick glance. “I think the kind of counsel I need,
you
can give.”

“Well, I do all my heavy counseling over a steak,” Barney smiled. Come along.” As he led the way to his room, he asked, “Have you seen the Hansens yet?”

“Just Dorothy. Her folks are gone, you know.”

Barney and Del foraged in the larder until they found some fresh beef steaks, which they gave to the cook to grill.

Del had not changed, Barney discovered as they dined. He was still a hypochondriac—eating like a starving field hand, enjoying every bite, yet complaining about his delicate stomach. “I’ve got to get something for this stomach problem, Barney,” he said between mouthfuls. “It’s just awful.”

“It must be,” Barney nodded with a straight face. “Doesn’t it bother you to eat huge meals?”

Del looked at the havoc he had wrought on the large amount of food and shook his head sadly. “Doesn’t seem to matter. Large or small, it gives me trouble. And I’ve been having awful cramps, too.” He went on for some time, listing his symptoms.

Barney did not allow himself to smile, though Del’s imaginary illnesses amused him. Del Saunders was tough and muscular, could work almost any man to death, and, aside from the inevitable bouts with malaria, was never ill—except in his mind, of course. Barney could not understand the paradox, but medical complaints were so common with Del that they were part of his very makeup.