Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Yes, Captain. The Scriptures say, “ ‘With good advice make war.’ And God be with you.”

  The three men shook hands, then Dr. Varley watched the soldiers mount their horses and ride toward the column. He continued to watch them until they had been ferried across Buffalo River into Zululand, then he sighed. Dear Father in heaven, I am worried. War … and death! Souls will be entering eternity totally unprepared for Your holy presence. So few know the beloved Savior.

  Junia Varley cradled baby Evy in her arms and tried to hush her crying. Father God, how You have blessed me! I feel like Sarah holding Isaac. With Sarah I can say, “Who would have said … that Sarah should have given children suck!” Yet you have given me this precious daughter to raise to know You.

  Perhaps, when Evy grew a little older, Junia would ask Clyde to let her go home to Grimston Way in England for a visit with her sister, Grace, who was married to Vicar Edmund Havering.

  Junia secretly dreamed of the quiet rose gardens and village streets of England with its cool misty fog. The stony hills of Zululand, the thorn trees, and the wildlife were all a part of God’s wonderful creation, but the heat, dust, and dangers from the different African tribes were a worrisome burden to live with, especially now with a baby.

  She heard the sound of horses and carried Evy to the door in time to see the soldiers being ferried across the river to the hinterland. Thank God some soldiers were still left at Rorke’s Drift. She walked out into the early morning to join her husband, who turned and smiled down at her and the baby, putting his arm around Junia’s shoulders.

  “There may be trouble ahead, Junia. The Boer might be right after all. Perhaps I should send you and the baby to Pietermaritzburg until this war with the Zulus is settled.”

  “They would never cross the river to the mission station, would they?” She did her best to sound calm and confident.

  “I do not think so, my dear, but we’ll take no chances. I’ll arrange a wagon and ox today.”

  “I’m certain tomorrow will be soon enough, Clyde. Look, someone is coming in a carriage. Why, its Jendaya … and an English woman. I wonder who that could be?”

  “I don’t know, but this is the wrong time for visitors to see the mission.”

  “Maybe they’ve come to warn us?”

  Clyde shook his head. “Seems they would have sent a few men with rifles for that. Let’s go greet them.”

  “She’s a lovely young girl. Do you suppose she’s one of the soldiers’ wives?”

  “If she is, I shall need to give her worrisome news. Captain Durbin’s troops have ridden to Isandlwana to reinforce the base camp there.”

  They waited until the carriage drew to a halt, then Clyde lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello, Jendaya, you’ve brought us a guest?”

  Jendaya did not get down immediately, but the young English woman did, as though she were exhausted from the ride. Junia watched her, taking in the dazed expression as the woman stood staring, first at the baby, then at Junia. She smiled again and patted the baby. After a moment of silence, Junia walked toward the woman.

  “Welcome to Mercy House. I’m Junia Varley, and this is my husband Dr. Clyde Varley. We’re the missionaries here, but I’m sure you’ve been told that already. Won’t you come in and refresh yourself? I shall make tea. And you must be famished too.”

  The woman walked toward her with slow steps. She swayed a little on her feet, and Junia was relieved when Clyde stepped forward, taking hold of her. “My dear woman, are you ill?”

  When she said nothing, he looked up at Jendaya for explanation.

  “Bring her into the hut, Clyde,” Junia said hurriedly. “She may have sunstroke. Jendaya can explain everything once we get the girl settled.”

  Odd, Junia thought, leading the way to the mission hut, how she keeps staring at Evy.

  After they had gotten the young woman indoors on a cot, Junia sent Jendaya to start the water boiling on the outside earthen oven to make tea. Junia went for a jug of water so she could wash the woman’s face and hands and feet. She looked so exhausted and frightened and she still had said nothing.

  When Junia came back into the hut she stopped. The woman had gotten up from the cot and was kneeling beside Evy’s little crib, rocking it gently and humming Brahms’s “Lullaby.”

  Junia felt awash with pity. Was the woman—mentally ill? Had the heat gotten to her that badly on the trip from Natal? Maybe Clyde had learned what this visit was about from Jendaya. She glanced toward the carriage. What was taking Clyde so long? Junia saw Clyde talking with Jendaya some distance from the hut, near where the baking oven was located. She could see Jendaya stooping down while watching the water and talking to him. Clyde was standing, tall and lean and very British looking, a safari hat on his head, his arms folded, paying close attention to the woman. Junia knew her husband well enough after all these years to realize when something troubled him. He was not pleased with whatever Jendaya was telling him.

  She turned back to the young woman and smiled at her, wondering what her name was. She must be a soldier’s wife in fear for her husband who had decided to chance everything to come here. Some wives were like that when they knew their husbands were being sent into the hinterland during conflicts with the tribes, especially the Zulus. Yet she had not asked about her husband. Perhaps she had seen that most of the soldiers had already left Rorke’s Drift and crossed the river. Junia went to kneel down beside the woman and the baby.

  “Her name is Evy,” Junia said gently, quietly, because the baby was asleep now. “Isn’t she a precious one? She’s only two months old. She’s adopted—or soon will be. We must go to Capetown for that. Then she’ll be our very own Evy Varley.”

  The woman had ceased her singing, but she was still rocking the cradle, staring down at the sleeping infant.

  Junia tried again: “What is your name?”

  The woman’s hand stilled on the cradle. “Katie. Katie van Buren.” She looked across the cradle at Junia, and Junia saw a look of tragedy in her eyes that brought a silence between them. The girl seemed to be watching her expectantly, as though she thought Junia would know who she was.

  Junia smiled. “Van Buren? That is Dutch. Then you must be a Boer? Did you come from the Transvaal or the Orange Free State?” Although the Transvaal and Natal were no longer under Boer rule, the Transvaal had recently been annexed days after the new British governor and high commissioner, Sir Bartle Frere, had arrived from Bombay, India.

  “Do you have family in the Transvaal?” Junia tried to restrain her curiosity.

  At this Katie seemed frightened. “I … I don’t know anymore.” Katie’s hand went to her forehead and she rested it there, closing her eyes. “I don’t know about anything anymore. I’m so weary, everything is so hopeless …” Despair pinched her voice.

  Junia frowned. Katie was indeed ill. “Come, my dear, you must rest for now. We can talk later, after you’ve eaten something and finished your tea. And a good sleep will do wonders to put worries into perspective.”

  “May I hold the baby while I rest?”

  Junia saw the wistful look on the woman’s soiled, sweat-stained face.

  “Evy is fast asleep, but yes.” Junia could feel the young woman’s need to touch something fresh and beautiful. “You lie down, I’ll wash you with cool water, and then I’ll bring Evy to your arms.”

  Katie smiled, her lips quavering, and a tear ran down her cheek leaving a line through the dust. “Thank you.” She spoke so meekly, so quietly that Junia could hardly hear her.

  Worry nudged Junia as she removed the woman’s shoes and socks and loosened her bodice. She washed her face and arms, then her feet.

  “You’re very kind,” Katie murmured, watching her.

  “It is the least I can do, Katie. A little tea, some food, and when you wish to talk I can listen to your worries. You are welcome at the House of Mercy.”

  “And you’ll let me hold … hold the baby.”

  “Yes, you can hold Ev
y.” Had Katie lost her own child? Was that the reason for her behavior? Junia felt growing sympathy for her.

  Lord, please help this sad young woman. Meet her need, and heal the ache within her. And if I can help in any way Lord, please show me.

  Junia stood looking down at Katie van Buren holding the sleeping baby in her arms. The woman was smiling, her eyes closed. Junia started when Katie spoke in those quiet tones.

  “Thank you, Junia. They were right. You are a worthy woman.”

  Junia frowned. What on earth? She shook her head, then left the hut and stepped outdoors. The afternoon sun was golden; a few fleecy clouds chased each other across the sky toward the distant hills. Jendaya had disappeared, and Clyde was standing alone some distance away by the river, hands in his pockets, staring off.

  Something was wrong. She could sense it.

  She came up quietly and tucked her arm through his. “So what is this mystery? You look worried, Husband.”

  He sighed deeply, then looked down at her, a frown between his brows. His deep-set eyes were kind and sympathetic.

  “Junia, my dear, you mean Katie has not told you yet?”

  “Told me what?” Tension rose within her as she searched his sober face.

  “Then she has not.” He rubbed his chin, watching her, his love—and his unhappiness—clear in his eyes. “I must say I am surprised by her actions and her silence. Jendaya says that Katie was very upset until she arrived here and saw you holding the baby. Then something came over her, and her emotions seemed to recede into a surprising calm.”

  “I don’t understand.” She searched his face for answers, growing more tense as she read his concern. “What’s this all about?”

  Clyde patted her hand between his, then clasped it tightly. “Katie van Buren is Sir Julien Bley’s ward. She is Evy’s mother. She’s come to take Evy with her to America.”

  A sword might just as well have pierced her heart. Junia sucked in her breath and gripped his hand tightly, as though she would sink to the ground. He watched her, a worried crease between his brows.

  “I see.” She looked back toward the hut. “Yes, I see now. That explains her behavior.” Her heart thumped, causing an ache in her chest. Take Evy to America?

  “I do not see how we can turn her away. If she asks us for our help, we must try.”

  Junia’s throat constricted. Am I so soon to lose this brief time of fulfillment? Her first cry to God was one of bitter disappointment. Why? Oh, Father, why? It is unfair!

  “Junia?” he said in a ragged whisper, reaching a tender finger to brush against her cheek. “If she wants her baby …”

  She tore her gaze from the hut and looked at her husband. His sympathy was so real, so visible, that his love for her warmed her heart and comforted her.

  “Our faith is being tried.” After an awkward moment he shook his head. “We can only trust His wisdom, His mercy in bringing Katie here to us. There must be a reason. If God gave us Evy for only a little while, then … though it hurts to release her—”

  She had no answers, only questions that throbbed like festering wounds in her soul. Although she struggled for composure, all too soon the inevitable tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, Clyde!” She stepped toward him, and his arms wrapped about her and he buried his face against her hair.

  “Darling Junia!”

  She wept, trying to keep the sounds as quiet as possible, letting her sorrow flow, until her throat hurt. As all her happy dreams of having her own daughter ebbed away, she finally thought there were no more tears to flow. She looked up at her dear husband. “The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”

  “Now I know why God gave you to me, Junia.” Clyde’s voice was hoarse, and his eyes now filled with tears. “There are few as brave and trusting as you. Few with such a lovely spirit of submission to the LORD.” He reached over and brushed the windblown dark hair from her face.

  She tried to smile. “I love you for saying that, but I feel neither brave nor trusting.” She only knew that she must choose to act upon what she knew of God’s character. His good plans for them. Comforting words from Isaiah, chapter forty-three, breezed softly across her soul: “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the LORD thy God.”

  Her sigh seemed to come from the depths of her soul. “I suppose there are reasons … I know there are reasons, though I cannot understand them.”

  “The wounds are too raw, Junia, do not try to ignore the hurt. Wait. Time will prove our Savior can be trusted with pain. Perhaps there are reasons why God has brought us all here now. He knows the future, while we stumble along trying to understand.”

  She was quiet, just holding him. The wind came up and blew dust and brush along the rocky slope by the river. Though words failed them, their quiet embrace spoke volumes.

  “Do you want me to talk to Katie?” he asked after a long while.

  “Not yet, Clyde. She is asleep. But perhaps this afternoon, or even tomorrow morning. I wonder if Sir Julien will come here?”

  “I’m sure he will. We need to pray about all this before he arrives. We need God’s intervention.”

  Junia looked again toward the hut. Oh yes, they needed that. And His mercy. For without that, Junia feared she would not be able to endure what was coming.

  Katie opened her eyes. Her mind and heart churned, and she looked around her. It must be early afternoon. Evy was still asleep in her arms. She held her little girl, running her palm along the baby’s back. From outside she heard voices. Someone, most likely Dr. Varley, was reading from the Bible. She could hear his calm, kind voice carried on the wind.

  “ ‘The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field:

  ‘The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the LORD bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass.

  ‘The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.’

  “This is a reading from Isaiah forty, verses six through eight.”

  Katie closed her eyes and felt her tears run down her cheeks and onto a pillow.

  There followed a hymn. Katie had never heard it before; it was unlike any she remembered singing as a little girl. Whether because of the words Dr. Varley had read from Scripture, or because of the sweet voices of the missionary doctor and his wife as they sang, Katie felt a strange yearning and tugging at her heart. And for the first time in years, she found her soul crying out.

  Help me, God! Help my baby, help these good people—help me do what’s right. What do You want of me, Jesus?

  The missionaries’ voices filled the warm air and drifted in to Katie on the cot, the hymn like balm on chafing wounds.

  “Savior, like a shepherd lead us, much we need Thy tender care; in Thy pleasant pastures feed us, for our use Thy folds prepare; we are Thine, do Thou befriend us, be the Guardian of our way; keep Thy flock, from sin defend us, seek us when we go astray.”

  From somewhere closer at hand another voice joined in, hesitant at first … a deeper voice struggling with the English language, yet resolutely humming the music. It was Jendaya, singing from where she sat on the hut floor: “Thou has promised to receive us, poor and sinful though we be; Thou hast mercy to relieve us, grace to cleanse, and power to free; early let us seek Thy favor; early let us do Thy will; blessed Lord and only Savior, with Thy love our bosoms fill;

  “Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, Thou hast bought us, Thine we are; blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, Thou hast loved us, love us still.”

  The baby stirred.

  Katie looked at the sweet, innocent face. Yes, early let us seek Thy favor; early let us do Thy will.

  She touched the perfectly formed little head, the intricately shaped ear. “May you grow up to do God�
�s will, sweeting,” she murmured, “may you learn early to do what is good and pure—”

  She stopped abruptly, raising her head from the pillow to look at Jendaya. The Zulu woman had sprung to her strong legs like a lion and stood frozen, looking toward the hut door. She had heard something that brought her terror. Something in the far distance. Something far different than the music of the hymn.

  This music did not bring peace.

  Katie sat up, fear gnawing at her. She heard it now too. Humming. Humming from thousands of voices, like some great beehive on the move.

  Katie struggled to get up, holding Evy to her breast. “Jendaya—? What—?”

  “Night of the full moon. I forgot the full moon!”

  “What?” Katie’s teeth chattered.

  Evy began to whimper as though hungry, and Katie tried to quiet her. “What do you mean, Jendaya?”

  “Hide!”

  “What?”

  “Hide! Hide!”

  “Jendaya!” From outside the distant hum grew still louder, and it seemed the ground shook from the pounding feet of a great and terrible army beating across the plain. Then there came a blood-chilling rattle, a sound Katie knew well. The Zulu Impi—the twenty-thousand strong army of bachelor warriors—were taking their short, wide-bladed spears and beating them against their shields.

  Preparing for an attack.

  The sounds grew deafening: the humming, the jogging feet, the rattle of blades—

  “Oh, God in heaven!” Katie wailed. She ran to the hut door and stumbled out to where Dr. and Mrs. Varley stood shading their eyes with their hands, looking across the South African plain.

  Katie looked too, and the sight nauseated her. A sea of black came rolling across the plain toward Rorke’s Drift. The great Zulu Impi were trotting forward—thousands upon thousands of black and white cowhide shields. The warriors would charge forward like the buffalo to encircle their victims: They came with their assegais flashing in the sunlight, blinding her. The slow trot was more frightening than if they had been racing. They rattled their blades, humming steadily, coming in a human tidal wave.