Journey of Hope. Debbie Kaufman

audience.

      He walked toward Anna and held out a hand for his cap. Wilson grabbed his hand first and shook hard. “I say, you won’t mind if I try to best your score, will you?” Breathless, Stewart nodded his head and Wilson declared himself the next competitor. Other men abandoned their deck games and lined up to “beat the record.”

      Stewart settled his cap on his head. “I guess I started something. They’re determined to best me. Say, would you like a turn? I can shoulder all those men aside if you so desire. Think of it as an apology for deserting you earlier in such a cowardly fashion when your companion arrived on the scene.”

      “No apology needed, thank you. You know what they say about discretion and valor. And I’ll skip the rope-jumping for now.”

      “Ah, come on. Or does the missionary code forbid fun?”

      Should she confess her lack of exposure to children’s games? No, a smart man like Stewart Hastings would only ask more questions about her childhood than she cared to answer. “Of course not. Missionaries can jump rope and have fun. It’s just not an activity I feel up to today.”

      A roar went up and they both turned to see. Wilson was out. Another quickly took his place.

      “You really did start something there. You must have been a real ringleader as a boy,” Anna declared.

      He shook his head. “Mostly, I never learned how to turn down a dare. Got me in lots of trouble in my youth. Wait...what was I thinking?” He slapped his head. “Of course you can’t jump. Mrs. Dowdy would have my hide for endangering your health at the mere suggestion.”

      She laughed. “I’m hardly an invalid. I...” The wind shifted and a sudden swell rocked her balance. Her legs, shaky from the imposed rest, followed the list of the ship and dropped her right into Stewart’s muscular arms.

      “Caught you.”

      Anna’s cheeks grew hot. He appeared in no hurry to let her go. She caught the faint scent of bay rum. No man had ever held her so close.

      Or made her feel so safe.

      This man...

      Stop that. What are you thinking? Lord, give me strength to deal with this unexpected temptation of the flesh.

      Anna righted herself and pulled away. “So sorry.”

      There was that easy grin again. “I’m not. Remind me to thank the captain later for dumping a pretty girl right into my arms.”

      She had to shut down this obvious flirtation. And quickly, before she endangered her witness for God. She forced a polite distance into her words. “No need. It won’t happen again. I don’t wish to be rude, but I’m afraid I also have certain requirements for our trip together. I must insist we keep our relationship strictly as a business arrangement or this will never work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few letters to finish so I can post them from our next port. I believe I’ll retire to the Ladies’ Saloon.”

      His posture straightened and all his lighthearted bantered became a distant memory, lost in a most serious tone. “I apologize for any impropriety, Miss Baldwin. I was attempting to make light of an awkward situation.”

      Anna nodded and walked down the passageway, relieved to escape. Had she done Mrs. Dowdy a disservice to have thought her too overprotective? Anna preferred not to use such rigid formality as a barrier, but they had a long journey ahead and if this flirtation was the result of only a small space of time spent together, what other choice did she have? Something about Stewart Hastings stirred errant and misplaced feelings in her. No doubt his romantic appeal sprang from his dramatic rescue and the trauma of the event. No man had ever put aside his own concerns to step in for her in any situation. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her needs had never mattered.

      She reached her cabin and retrieved her writing supplies and her Bible before heading to the saloon. Studying God’s Word would surely conquer any stray thoughts of the handsome yet unsuitable Stewart Hastings.

      * * *

      Stewart would never understand women. And definitely not religious women. For a moment she seemed like any normal girl. A pretty one, too. The rigidness of her departing posture conveyed a valuable lesson. He’d lost himself in a moment of fun, forgotten his job, his worries for his mother and even the fact that the young woman he’d tossed his hat to wasn’t someone he could pass the time with, flirting harmlessly. No, Anna wasn’t the frivolous type. Her beliefs had carried her away from societal trappings that most women in their mid-twenties lived for and straight into the heart of the jungle to proselytize others. Religion would always rule the day with her, a belief system unsullied by the realities of war. He respected the strength of her convictions, even if they were misguided.

      He walked to the ship’s rail and looked out on the Atlantic. Driven by the wind, small whitecaps peeked out of the deep sapphire sea and hid themselves again. He took a moment to settle back into the reality of his situation. He’d come halfway around the world after losing his fiancée and the life their marriage promised, taken this job out of financial desperation and now managed to offend the one woman who could possibly help him salvage his circumstances.

      He’d lost the love of the first woman and a partnership in a prestigious firm because he’d failed in the trenches, ending up scarred for life. Now his momentary lapse might cost him the help of Anna, and he’d fail again at the cost of his mother’s future.

      In truth, if there was a missionary rule book, jumping rope might be allowed, but flirting would probably take on the nature of a commandment, as in Thou Shalt Not. And that was exactly what he’d done. Flirted with a missionary.

      Get ahold of yourself, man. Nothing good can come of flirting with her anyway. She has to be a means to an end. Nothing more. Beauty can’t be such a distraction this time. Making the same mistake twice would be foolish.

      He should apologize and get on with the business at hand. She’d taken true offense at his actions; otherwise why remove herself to a ladies-only area? Usually she took in the air on deck until lunch or the rains, whichever came first. Once the rains forced everyone off the uncovered decks, she and Mrs. Dowdy joined the gathering in the Grand Saloon for polite conversations, games and music.

      He heaved a sigh and mentally constructed his apology. This job was too valuable to endanger over a small, unplanned attraction. Even if religion wasn’t a barrier, his hidden scars stood between him and any woman. After all, Julianne had been the epitome of devotion to religion in her own way. She ran every important women’s church committee possible. Julianne proved that not even a strong religious leaning could overcome the natural revulsion from such a hideous sight. No, he needed to remember that love and marriage weren’t ever going to be in his future anyway and stick to business only from now on.

      Resolved, he headed back to join the deck activities. He’d noticed the setup for tossing the rope rings was currently in disuse. If he found a few competitors, perhaps playing a game of quoits would help pass the time. Anything was better than remembering he had no real future, especially not with someone like her.

      * * *

      The early-morning sun had cleared no more than half the horizon by the time Anna stole up on deck, Bible in hand. Mrs. Dowdy lay below, sound asleep. Anna had dressed by the small amount of morning light coming through the port window, fearing to turn on the electric lighting lest she wake her companion. She no longer needed care. Any more hovering and she’d go mad. And with Stewart in doubt about letting her do the job without his constant supervision, a reputation as an invalid would never do. It was enough of a handicap to have a face that made men forget she also had a brain.

      A few crewmen nodded their good-mornings and went about their business, casting glances her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. She took a moment and buttoned the jacket of her traveling dress. The thin fabric of her shirtwaist offered little protection against the strong wind on deck. Black smoke from the ship’s stack trailed behind at a sharp angle. She made her way to the wooden deck chairs. If the headwind kept up, it would be an unpleasant transfer when they reached Garraway