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The Amazon Quest (House of Winslow Book #25)

Page 28

by Gilbert, Morris


  “Of course.”

  Emily began to speak of a particular custom of the Guapi life she had noticed, ostensibly for putting in her notebook. The two walked for some fifteen minutes, and she did take a few notes. In truth, she was concerned at the cloud that seemed to have settled over him. His face was drawn, and the happiness that he normally displayed was now gone. They had reached the point where the harpy eagle looked down at them from his roost with his fierce gaze. Emily saw no joy in Ian’s expression. His eyes appeared almost dead, and his voice had lost its usual vibrancy. Staring up at the eagle, she said, “Ian, is something wrong?”

  He turned his face away from her and seemed to be studying the vegetation in the jungle that made a wall fifty yards away. “Things haven’t been going too well,” he said finally.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Emily asked quietly.

  Still with his head turned, Ian said, “I’ve had to give a pretty hard jolt to a good friend of mine.”

  Emily knew then how bad it was with him. “Sometimes it helps to talk about what’s bothering us. Sometimes it doesn’t, but I’d be glad to listen.”

  Ian glanced at the eagle and then shook his head. “Come along,” he said. “I might as well tell you.”

  Emily followed, and the two reached the edge of the jungle. She saw a brightly colored bird, all red and yellow and green, as it made its way, weaving between the trees. Soon Ian began to talk, and his voice was low and sad. “It’s Sarita,” he said. “She’d gotten too fond of me in the wrong way. I’ve always had an affection for her. She’s been so kind to me, but I let it get out of hand. And I had to tell her that there would never be anything between us.”

  “That must have been very hard for her. I could see she cared for you.”

  And then something happened that Emily Winslow would never forget. She had known this man when he was no more than a common crook, out to serve himself at all costs. She had refused to forgive him because she could not believe he could ever change. Now, as he turned, she was shocked to see tears in his eyes. She could only stare at him and wonder at how much he had changed. She sensed how bad he felt for having hurt Sarita deeply without meaning to.

  “I feel worse than I can tell you, Emily,” he said. His voice was unsteady. “She’s such a fine young woman, and I’d literally rather cut my arm off than hurt her. But I had to tell her how I honestly felt.”

  Emily wanted to put her arms around Ian and comfort him, but she did not move. Finally she said in a soft, consoling tone, “I know it’s terrible, but time will make a difference. She will find someone to love her the way she needs.”

  Ian blinked his eyes, stiffened his back, then turned and walked away without another word. As Emily watched him go, she thought, James Parker would never have cared for a woman’s feelings like that. She stood there at the edge of the jungle knowing that she had received a revelation of some kind. She knew she would never forget the tears in Ian Marlowe’s eyes over the feelings of another—and she knew he was not the man she had hated for so long. A deep transformation had happened to him, and now she knew it full well.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Prison Doors Open

  Wes came in shortly after daybreak, happy, even though he was clawing at the mosquito bites he had collected. As he entered their camping area, he found Emily cooking pancakes over the open fire. “Hi, sis,” he said. “Better throw an extra pancake or two on the griddle for me.”

  Waving the smoke away from her face, Emily looked up from where she was sitting on a stump. “Did you get some good shots?”

  “First class!” Wes turned to his tent, stored his equipment, then came back and sat down across from Emily. “Those look good,” he said.

  “You never taste anything anyway. You gobble your food down so fast you don’t have a chance to taste it,” Emily teased.

  She had no spatula, but using a broad-bladed kitchen knife, she lifted one edge of a pancake. “They don’t rise as much as I’d like. When we get home I’ll fix you some good ones. I really miss Mom’s cooking.”

  “So do I,” Wes said. “This trip has been a great time for me, but I’m looking forward now to going home and putting this story all together.”

  “How long do you think it will take you to get the pictures all developed and arranged?”

  “It depends on what you want. You’re the boss. I’ll make the pictures fit the story.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Emily said. She lifted a pancake, put it on a tin plate, and handed it to Wes. “You go ahead and start. There’s honey in that little jar there.”

  Wes bowed his head and said a quick grace, then, taking out his pocketknife, cut the pancake into small pieces. He poured the honey over it and laughed. “Look. There are three dead bees in this honey.”

  Emily smiled. “Just fish them out.”

  Wes did as she suggested, speared a bite-sized morsel of the pancake with the tip of his knife blade, and put it in his mouth. “Really good,” he mumbled, nodding vigorously.

  He continued to eat while Emily cooked another pancake and put it on her own plate, then poured out some more batter for the next one. As she cut her pancake up and began to eat, the two talked about how they would compile the book about their adventure here in the Amazon when they got home.

  “This is the last of the coffee that Adriano brought. Enjoy it. I saved a little bit for you and Ian.”

  Wes took the tin cup, poured a little honey in it, and stirred it with the tip of his knife blade. “Manners go to pot around here, don’t they? But we’ve made out fine. You’ve really taken good care of me, sis.”

  “No more than you’ve taken of me.”

  “Where is Ian?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Wes was sipping his coffee, and he looked up on noting the rather terse edge to his sister’s voice. He studied her carefully, for he knew her quite well. Something was obviously troubling her, and he struggled as to whether he should inquire. Finally, knowing that there was no one else for her to talk to, he said, “What’s the matter, sis? You’ve been so subdued lately—not like yourself at all.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just tired, I suppose.”

  Wes shook his head and sipped the strong black coffee again. “It’s more than that,” he said. “You’re like a candle that’s burned out. I’ve been worried about you for a while. Do you think it’s still the effects of the malaria or something else getting you down?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Emily suddenly put down her tin plate and turned the pancake over in the pan with the knife. She did not pick up her plate again but sat on the log, a strange expression on her face.

  “I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.” A thought suddenly came to Wes, and he said quietly, “It has something to do with Ian, doesn’t it?”

  Startled, Emily shot a glance at Wes. This brother of hers knew her too well! He was watching her expectantly, and she shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose it does.”

  “You’ve had quite a struggle with your feelings about Ian since we got here,” Wes observed. “It’s been eating at you a long time.”

  Suddenly Emily began to speak. In truth she had kept her thoughts bottled up. She couldn’t talk to Ian about what was bothering her, but with Wes it was different. The two had grown very close since Jared’s death, and now alone, with no other person to share her true feelings with, she suddenly knew she had to unburden herself. “I’m having a terrible time,” she confessed. “You know how I felt about Ian when he called himself James Parker. I’ve hated him for years for what he did to me.”

  “I know you have, sis, and I think you’ve been wrong.”

  “You’re probably right,” Emily said. She shook her head and fell silent for a moment. The morning sun was rising, throwing its pale gleam over her face.

  Wes noticed that there was a seriousness in her that went very deep. He had seen her upset before but never like this. “How do you feel about Ian now
?” he asked. “I can’t even think of him as James Parker anymore. That man seems to be dead and buried.”

  “You’re wise to think of it like that, but . . .” Emily hesitated, then ran her hand down her hair in a gesture of dismay. “The two come together in my mind, James Parker and Ian Marlowe. Yet I haven’t been able to really think of them as the same person. They seem so different.”

  “I think, sis, your pride is getting in the way here.”

  Emily lifted her head and stared at Wes. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, in effect, James Parker deceived you by making you fall in love with him.”

  Emily’s face flushed. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “Everyone else thinks it is. I know Mom and Dad do.”

  “You talked about it with them?”

  “Why, of course. What did you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said wearily. She saw that the pancake was done and reached over to take it off the fire. “Here. Have another pancake.” She put it on Wes’s plate, but he merely held the plate in his hand and continued to watch her with an expectant light in his eye.

  “Who was it that said, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? I don’t remember, but that’s pretty well what happened. In a way he used you, and I can guess that no woman could go through that without some pretty strong feelings.”

  Emily did not answer for a time, but finally she said quietly, “I think you’re right, Wes. My pride was hurt, so I’ve kept this anger and bitterness smoldering inside me all these years. I just haven’t been able to shake it off. I’ve got these two men,” she said almost in despair. “One is a coward who was responsible for the death of my brother, the man I thought I was in love with—but when I look at Ian, I can’t see that man at all. I’m all mixed-up, Wes.”

  Wes put his plate down and came over to sit beside Emily. He put his arm around her and drew her close. His voice was warm as he said, “I’ve seen this coming on and wanted to help you with it, but I didn’t know how. But I think you need to understand, Emily, that people can change. That’s what the gospel is all about.”

  Emily listened as Wes spoke. She was thankful for his arm around her, for she needed someone to encourage her and to hold her. Then suddenly as Wes spoke on, she realized that if she had not been thrown into this situation and found Ian after all these years, she would never have gotten rid of that bitterness. She probably would have gone to her grave hating James Parker and ruining her own spirit.

  Wes said, “Ian did a terrible thing back in his youth, but there’s something good in him now. I think you’ve seen it since we’ve been here. I surely have. How he lied and deceived us all was terrible, but if the Bible is true, Christ can wipe all the past away. Don’t you think?”

  Emily nodded, unable to speak. Her throat was tight, and she could only whisper, “That’s right, of course.”

  “I didn’t trust Ian when we first met him,” Wes said gently. “But after watching him serve these people out in the middle of the jungle, I’ve seen that he’s really changed.” He tightened his grip on her and said, “Emily, you’ve got to let go of the past. I know it has hurt you for years, but it’s time to forgive and to get on with your life.” He squeezed her hard, then got up and went back and began eating his pancake.

  Emily had lost all of her appetite, for his words had cut deeply. She was confused, but she recognized the truth when she saw it, and now she quickly got up, saying, “Would you wash the dishes? I think I’ll walk around a little bit.”

  “Sure, sis. You go right ahead.”

  Emily moved away from their campsite and walked slowly toward the village. As she did, her brother’s words echoed in her mind, and the truth loomed as large as a mountain. Yet even now it was difficult for her to put away all of her bitterness for the man she had held a grudge against for so long.

  She passed by two Guapi mothers who had seated themselves near cooking fires. She noted absently that they were using green twigs to turn over the ears of corn. Each of them was suckling a baby riding in a swing at her hip. Emily moved on and observed that two young men and several young boys were just beginning to stir in their hammocks. She smiled at them as they came out, and one of the youngest boys waved at her. She did not know their names, but their faces were familiar. They were a family that never missed the services Ian held every Sunday. She walked past another hut and noticed that a baby was crawling across the dirt floor. He snatched up a puppy and held it, laughing and pulling its ears.

  A young girl who was cooking alongside her mother picked up a morsel of meat sizzling on a stick and took it over to her father. He reached out, took it with one hand, and patted her head with the other, smiling at her as he did so.

  Emily wandered around the village speaking to many of the people and was greeted as Lomisah, which Ian told her meant “the fire-headed woman.” When he had told her the name the Guapi had given her, she had laughed and said, “Redheads can’t get away from teasing even in the midst of the Amazon jungle.”

  Finally she completed her tour of the village and came to herself with a start. Ian had appeared, and the natives were beginning to gather. She had not realized she had been there so long and almost turned to go away. But she had vowed she would attend every service, and she saw Wes entering the village, so she waited for him, and then the two went to where the small crowd had gathered.

  Ian smiled at them and said, “Welcome to church.”

  “A good crowd this morning,” Wes said. “Maybe we ought to take up a collection.”

  Ian laughed. “These people wouldn’t understand that at all.”

  Emily did not enter into the discussion, and Ian almost at once moved to one of the huts to his back. The villagers spread out, some sitting on the ground, some standing, and Ian began to speak. Since he spoke in the Guapi language, neither Emily nor Wes understood what he was saying. He had offered once to translate into English, but Emily had said quickly, “No, that won’t be necessary. We can worship even if we don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Ordinarily Ian sang a hymn, and many of the villagers had learned the tunes of several, enough to hum along, although, of course, they did not know the words.

  Ian bowed his head, and Emily, before she bowed her own, saw that the natives did the same. She wondered what went on in their hearts. Even if they did not understand all that Ian was trying to teach them, they still obviously respected and even loved Ian Marlowe.

  After Ian’s brief prayer, he sang two songs that he had translated into the Guapi language, one, “The Old Rugged Cross” and the other, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” The Guapi joined in with these.

  Emily was taken off guard when suddenly Ian said, “It would be nice if you would sing for us, Emily.”

  Emily started to refuse but knew she must not. “What would you like for me to sing?”

  “Anything. I remember you have a good singing voice. These people like singing of any kind.”

  Emily thought quickly and decided to sing one of her favorite songs, “Take My Life and Let It Be.”

  She had sung this hymn many times in her life, but at this moment the words took on new meaning for her as she lifted her clear alto voice and began:

  “Take my life, and let it be

  Consecrated, Lord, to thee;

  Take my moments and my days,

  Let them flow in ceaseless praise.

  Take my hands and let them move

  At the impulse of thy love:

  Take my feet and let them be

  Swift and beautiful for thee.

  Take my voice and let me sing

  Always, only, for my King;

  Take my lips and let them be

  Filled with messages from thee.

  Take my will and make it thine,

  It shall be no longer mine;

  Take my heart; it is thine own,

  It shall be thy royal throne.

  Take my love, my Lord, I pour
/>   At thy feet its treasure store;

  Take myself, and I will be

  Ever, only, all for thee.”

  A murmur went around the crowd, and she noticed that her song was well received. Wes whispered, “That was great, sis. I never heard you sing better.”

  Emily sat down beside Wes and listened as Ian preached. He said, “I am preaching on Jesus this morning. John 3:16 is the text.”

  Emily sat quietly listening, intrigued by the sound of the words as they fell from Ian’s lips. His face was alight, and his eyes sparkled as he spoke, and from time to time he lifted his right hand while holding the Bible up toward the sky with his left in a strange gesture of surrender. Even though she could not understand the words, Emily Winslow knew that this man was speaking the truth as he saw it. His bronzed face was fixed in an expression of joy, and his voice showed the eagerness in his heart to give the message of salvation to these who sat in darkness.

  As the service progressed, Emily became uncomfortably aware that she felt very strange. It would have been difficult for her to put it into words, but she felt . . . guilty. A dark sense of what could only be shame came to her, and as she listened, the feeling seemed to grow more intense. Emily Winslow had been guilty of sin in the past, and she recognized conviction when it came to her. She knew that God was laying this burden upon her heart. And now as the voice of Ian Marlowe sounded in her ears, she heard beyond that voice, and in her spirit she knew that God was placing her in judgment.

  Emily let none of what she was feeling show. She kept her eyes fixed on Ian, aware of the congregation and of Wes sitting beside her, but her heart was crushed in a way she had never known. Thinking it would pass away, that it was a mere mental attitude, she endured. But as time passed, there was no doubt at all. God was bringing her to judgment for the anger and bitterness she had actually cherished in her heart for so long, refusing to let it go and extend forgiveness!

 

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