In Spite of Lions

by Pike Scarlette

  I stared at him in disbelief. What was happening?

  He seemed agitated and uncomfortable waiting for my response. Finally, I said, “All my life, at every party I was forced to attend, I’ve been told how to stand, eat, behave. I suppose when you advised me, I retaliated to you in the way I wish I should have retaliated to all those who would belittle and direct me heedlessly.”

  He looked up into my face, and I could have gasped out loud at the intensity of his gaze. Then he looked down at his shoes and nodded softly.

  “Thank you, Miss Kensington,” he bowed, eyes still downcast. “There is nothing to forgive in your words if they were meant for those who have abused you.”

  “Thank you,” was all I could say.

  Sometimes it was difficult to separate my memories from what was happening in the moment. But I didn’t think even my distorted head could have come up with that conversation.

  He abruptly changed the subject. “I hope you will forgive me if I feel I must persist in endeavoring to help you when we reach our destination.” He paused. “The country we are arriving into is … unforgiving. You will need every resource available to you to survive there.” My heart gave a small leap of fear at the use of the word survive. “Please allow me to disclose our destination and how we, Mrs. Livingstone and I, can help you.”

  I considered his words for a moment.

  “Well then,” I said hesitantly, “where are we going, Captain?”

  He did not smile. “Africa.”

  I gasped, and a light wind brushed my face. The Madras was moving again. A promise of good things to come. Through clouds of uncertainty, I could feel God smile.

  Soon everyone was bustling, preparing for our final leg into our berth. Is there anyone more eager than those who have been stagnant and suddenly given motion? It appeared sailors are particularly keen on movement. Their excitement was exhilarating! Grown men leapt as nimbly as monkeys to the top sails to release them from captivity, then swung down on ropes as if they were vines. What a spectacle they made!

  The captain ordered a special treat to be delivered to us all. The ship’s cook had made delectable doughnuts, covered in sugar, to celebrate our voyage’s end. The cook had been holding out on us, and had been saying we were out of sugar for days now. The children, Mary, and I took our first bite all at once. After weeks of biscuits, stale tea, and stew, I was sure I had never had anything more delightful in all of London. I closed my eyes to savor the bite.

  I felt relief knowing a bright future was ahead of me, but I was still so very tired from all the emotions that had coursed through me. I dragged my feet behind me as I left the mess hall and out onto the deck to spend some time in the sun before it set.

  Chapter 7

  It had taken us twelve weeks to sail from London to a town in the south of Africa called Durban. My ignorance of the continent on Africa was immense. I could tell you every cut of the sleeve Her Majesty, the Queen of England, had ever worn, but I could not tell you a thing about an entire continent of souls. Since Mother was so concerned with my privacy, I never had a tutor or teacher for longer than six months at a time. None of them had enlightened my mind on this subject.

  As I prepared myself for the day, I wondered at the mysteries that lay ahead of me. The captain, Mary, and Lieutenant Warley had been informing me of what they knew of the continent. Mary was the most helpful, having been born and raised in a place called Kuruman, not far from Durban. Her parents were missionaries like her husband. They established Kuruman as a mission and raised it from the ground up. There were gardens, fruit trees, economy, and even roads.

  She surprised me at her pride in the town having roads. Weren’t there roads everywhere?

  The captain focused on informing me of the dangers of Africa. There were wild animals in abundance. People died every day from animal attacks, starvation, and a lack of water. Not to mention the slave trade that was growing in strength and range. The stories he told me added to my nightmares. Now, in my dreams, after Mother had terrorized me, I would be taken screaming from Father by heartless, cruel men and made to work alongside little children in hot, dry fields. When I would push the captain to know how he came to know these things, he would avoid the question or simply walk away.

  Lieutenant Warley focused on the positive, as usual. He talked about how there are numerous different terrains and they are all beautiful in their own way. There are mountains, plains, gorges, and waterfalls. The people are family oriented and adore their children. In the city you can see them making and selling jewelry with their little ones strapped to their backs and a giant load of fruit on their heads. I told Warley I had a teacher once as a child that made me balance a book on my head to try and teach me balance and grace. That made him laugh.

  “Wait until you see the amount these women balance. You’ll be astonished, I promise you.”

  “And when will I get to see this balancing act?”

  Lieutenant Warley estimated we would land at high noon the next day. We had been seeing land for some time now, but continued onto the port for which we were destined. What would these people think of my now tattered clothes and short hair? What if they were unkind? I knew they were not expecting me. How would they react to a new obligation, someone who was absolutely useless in practical living?

  It did not take me long to collect my few items. I carried them myself and mounted the deck for the last time. The captain was standing on the helm, staring out in the water.

  I stood on the deck with all that I owned lying at my feet. Mary and the children stood with me. All of us looked toward that small piece of land that would soon be home. I had no plans to return to my native country. In fact, if I returned to London, it would have to be through extreme force. I would move forward. Even if moving forward was difficult, it would prove easier than moving backward.

  Soon we could see Durban. As we slid into view, the city draped in front of us like a smooth curtain being drawn at evening. I was amazed that the town came directly up to the water. There was one detail that took me off guard—the town was absolutely ordinary. The buildings were short, low to the ground, in a typical brick design. Small windows remained open, I guessed, most of the time. Flowers were on verandas, mothers walked along the beach with their children, vendors and market places lined the narrow streets. When the captain had told me we were landing in Africa, my mind’s eye had imagined large bonfires with natives in full celebratory dress performing traditional dances along the shores. Durban was small, but seemingly hospitable. I breathed a sigh of relief. And there were several women with the fruit on their heads! I smiled in appreciation.

  In the midst of my speculations, I was particularly drawn to one face. A tall, lanky man was walking toward the shore. He wore a loose white smock against strong shoulders and simple trousers above bare feet. He was calm and dedicated and seemed to me about fifty years of age. As we drew closer, I could see a distinct determination in his face, as if walking were the most important of his day-to-day functions. I had never experienced such determination in anything I had ever done. What was his existence like? Was he well treated by others? Was he a leader? What were his experiences? Surely no one could reach his age and not accompany heartache with some happiness. His mind must be filled with memories that I could not begin to guess at. He was utterly unique. All this I noticed after I realized his skin was the blackest I had ever seen.

  I liked him.

  A wind built up and swept across my face. God had directed me to this exact spot for a purpose. Whether that purpose was known to me or not, did not matter in the slightest! Knowing that I was in the place God meant me to be in this very moment filled my aching heart. I could have stayed in that moment for all eternity, feeling loved and honored.

  “There he is! There he is!” Robert jerked at my hand as he shouted at an incredible volume.

  I broke my gaze and turned it into the general direction of Robert’s exclamations. A sturdy man stood on the very edge of the bea
ch. His broad rimmed hat covered his weathered face and shook as he waved his arm in anticipation of the Madras’s occupants.

  “Daddy!” Robert called.

  Mary’s head cocked affectionately to the side as she surveyed her husband.

  “David,” she pronounced reverently.

  Fortunately, Robert did not have to sit idle for long. A heavy anchor plunged into the deep and at long last, we were there. Several crew members manned smaller ships to take us to shore.

  Standing a small distance behind David was the middle-aged man with dark skin I had seen walking along the beach. He had dark curly hair that was cropped short and I could see even from several yards away was beginning to gray at the temples. He wore a hat like David’s, which effectively protected him from the rays of the sun. He wore a white tunic and trousers in simple, light colors. I got the distinct impression that he was not a servant or slave to David, but a loyal companion, an impression that was confirmed later. A distinct nod passed between him and Mary, a mutual respect, almost a kinship.

  David squatted down to the level of his running children and caught them up in his arms. Robert squeezed his father so fiercely his arms shook with the excitement. Memories of reunions identical to this, with my father, played over in my mind. I felt more happiness for Robert than sadness for myself. Perhaps I had finally found some measure of healing.

  Agnes caught up at long last and timidly hugged David, whom she had not seen for a year. It was possible she was simply mirroring Robert’s excitement at seeing their father. I wondered if she remembered him at all. She was already inspecting him uneasily, a wary eye set on his large, brown mustache. Out of David’s eyes came large tears—in response, I supposed, to their grown faces. Suddenly, he stood and turned all his attention to Mary. In that moment I felt intrusive to their privacy, even standing five yards away. What love and tenderness passed between them in a single glance! The world could have passed away in fire around them and I felt convinced they would not arrest their gaze until they were ready. Trust and compassion flowed between them like a strong and steady beacon of light. I knew that many things were going to be new and foreign to me on this new continent, yet this was the most foreign of all: true, real love between a man and a woman.

  I ducked my head away in embarrassment. The sun was straight above me and the shine glistened off the water while the Madras looked stalwart on the soft current. It was peculiar to look on the ship from this position. It had come through the storm unharmed, and possibly even better than when it had started the journey, and it was satisfying. Improved. Sturdy.

  I thought of our misery during some moments of the voyage. If only I could have reached back in time and told everyone on board that we were going to arrive here safely! If only I could have assured Mary’s children that Mary would get sick, but she would heal! If only I could have touched the long planks of the Madras and told her she would make it here in one piece. But then, what faith would we have needed? Would we really have been better off flipping the pages and arriving at the last pages of the story?

  Several more boats were coming back to the dock with other loads of supplies and passengers.

  “Anna,” Mary said to call me back. I turned my attention to her.

  “May I introduce you to my husband, David Livingstone,” she introduced him. “And to our good friend and fellow missionary, Mebalwe.” She gestured to the native man who stepped forward to shake my hand warmly. When he smiled, his eyes sparkled. I smiled warmly at him and David.

  “It is such a pleasure to meet you, David and Mebalwe,” I spoke formally.

  Mebalwe did not speak English, so David translated my greeting and he smiled again.

  David shook my hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Anna. Mary was telling me of your help to my family during a storm and some illness. I can say I am very grateful to you.”

  “I am hoping, sir, that your gratitude may assist me,” I hedged.

  He looked at me perplexed. Mary interceded.

  “Anna is needing a place to stay, I had hoped she might accompany us to Kolobeng, and be a help to us in our work.”

  “Kolobeng is not a safe place for single women,” David responded.

  “Anna is becoming incredibly capable,” Mary defended me. “Her practical skills will need to be improved, but I feel sure she will be ready to help me with my duties. I should like some help.”

  David was looking doubtful as he looked at my hands. They had not seen hard work. I tucked them behind my back.

  “I do not mean to put you in a difficult situation, sir,” I said. “If there was any other occupation open to me I would take it.” I looked at Agnes in his arms. “Even then, sir, I should be saddened to leave these children and Mary.”

  He regarded me differently, turning something over in his mind.

  “You see, my dear,” Mary spoke to her spouse, “she is determined. As am I.”

  David mulled it over in his mind for a moment.

  “Miss Anna and I have something in common,” he said, surprising me. “She and I have trouble being separated from this group.” He smiled. “Let me speak with Mary.” Mary took his arm and led him a way off.

  I began to gather all of our luggage and the children around me. Mebalwe quickly jumped to my aid, and together we took slow trips to the wagon with the children until the wagon was full and we were ready to embark. I could sense already that Mebalwe was a very easy soul to be around. There was one last trunk to be loaded and when I reached for it, Mebalwe waved his hand at me. For a moment I thought he was saying “hello,” but then he rushed over and took the trunk from my hands, loading it in the wagon himself.

  Robert, Agnes, and Mebalwe settled down in the shade of the wagon. I was amazed as Robert began rattling off in their common native language of Sechuana.

  “I must tell Mebalwe of my many travels,” Robert explained to me. I smiled as I walked toward the crew to say goodbye.

  A small group of the crewman walked directly toward me. I had only spoken with them in passing, but I was ashamed to say I did not know many of their names. Several of them took off their caps as they approached. I thanked them for their service with a handshake.

  “Thank you for your hard work, gentlemen! I do indeed appreciate your efforts!”

  Nothing. No expression, no words, no response whatsoever to my voice. Their fatigue must finally be showing, I thought. I turned to the man who had given me arrowroot for Mary, and repeated my thanks to him.

  “I appreciate your help when Mary was sick. I never got a chance to thank you.” He, at least, had an expression. His face was afraid. I turned perplexed to Lieutenant Warley, who had made his way to my side.

  “Anna,” Lieutenant Warley began, “the crew and I would like you to return with us.”

  “Return?” I turned to witness the men whose opinion was being stated for them. They all nodded solemnly.

  “We have all discussed it,” he continued. “We have, each of us, seen what this country does to grown men. We cannot bear the guilt that would come with allowing a young girl to traverse this land with no prior experience. Please return to England and we will all work to find you a new situation there.”

  “But Mary—” I defended, “Mary has led most of her life here, and she believes me to be capable.”

  “It is not that we doubt your strength, Anna,” Warley expressed. “It is that this land changes people. It is different for Mary because she was born here. You cannot possibly imagine what you are going to be subjected to. We will protect you if you would allow it. We will make London a safe place for you again.”

  He was so confident, so sure that he could confront and fight that silent monster from which I fled. The man whom I trusted most in the world could not halt her. No one ever would. No man could defeat a dragon that didn’t roar.

  Every person besides Father and myself had thought her perfectly amiable. Several times I had tried to confide in my closest friends at the abuse I endured at home and
they had laughed me to scorn. Several said that I must be wrong, that Mother was the most agreeable woman in town!

  I felt some disbelief at these men’s sudden need to protect me, but I also felt appreciation. Men whose names I had not even bothered remembering had communed together to defend me.

  “I cannot tell you how grateful I am,” I told them, my eyes threatening to overflow. I took a moment to collect myself. “I run from oppression. It cannot be killed, but I am indeed grateful to you for offering to try.”

  I looked into their faces, willing them to understand. They did. One crewman whom I had always taken for one of the most intimidating creatures I had ever beheld was biting the inside of his lip in an effort to not appear emotional.

  “Then we would like to give you this, ma’am,” one sailor spoke as he stepped toward me. He placed in my hand a white bracelet, made with the fine white line I had seen them use on the Madras. The delicate rope had been tied into thousands of minuscule square knots to form a sort of lace pattern. A small buckle held the piece together.

  “Thank you,” I said, breathless. I took my time with each man now, shaking his hand in mine and then laying another hand atop theirs.

  “Please do try to stay out of harm’s way,” Lieutenant Warley said fretfully.

  “I will not be running into the face of trouble, that much I will promise you,” I returned.

  He smiled weakly as he shook my hand.

  Suddenly, the captain was beside me. I turned to him.

  “And you, Captain? Are you not worried about this English damsel being swept up in her African adventures?” I gestured dramatically. No one laughed.

  He peered down on me for five heavy seconds, and then looked away as he spoke.

  “Do not watch the hopo,” was all he said.

  “The hopo … ?” I looked questioningly to Lieutenant Warley, who shrugged his shoulders. “What is the hopo?”