No Greater Love

by Kathi Macias

  He bent his head and kissed the top of her hair. “You’ll see, my dear. Emma will be back safe and sound before you know it.”

  Anana’s heart squeezed with gratitude, but also with doubt. She wanted so desperately to believe her beloved husband, but something told her his words, though well intentioned, wouldn’t prove to be true.

  The day was nearly gone before Themba found a spot that satisfied him. “We’ll set up camp here,” he announced, and Chioma felt the warmth of relief wash over her. They had come across several places that seemed qualified and safe, as far as she was concerned, but always Themba ignored them and pushed on. Chioma wasn’t sure why this place was different from the others, but she was pleased they had finally found it.

  With little direction, everyone went to work, setting up lean-tos, building a fire pit, stashing weapons and ammunition, and establishing sentry posts. Chioma doubted Themba would ever again leave just one guard on duty, and for that she was grateful. Even if she was now to join the warriors when they left the camp during the day, she shuddered to think of Mandisa and the baby being left behind without adequate protection.

  She was still stunned at the way things had transpired the previous day. The fact that she and Mandisa and Sipho had survived unscathed, when a fierce and fearless comrade had been killed while keeping watch, seemed almost too strange to be true. And yet it was. Perhaps the gods had a purpose for her after all, she thought—and for Mandisa and Sipho as well.

  Chioma smiled. She had been pleasantly surprised at the outpouring of gratitude she had received from the others in the camp when they learned what she had done. It wasn’t so much her bravery they applauded, as life-and-death struggles were an everyday part of their tenuous existence, but the fact that little Sipho had been protected seemed to bring great joy to his communal family. Chioma had come to learn that though the members of this group didn’t hesitate to take a life in the name of the cause for which they fought, these same members placed great value on the life of one little child.

  A ripple of excitement rolled through her stomach then, as her thoughts moved from the previous day to the next one. Themba had told her she would accompany him and the others when they went out in the morning. As much as she had anticipated this great day, she also feared it, for she didn’t really know what it was these brave warriors did when they were gone from the camp. She knew they often came back with blood on their clothing and booty to share with the others. She also knew they were often wounded, and one time two of their people didn’t return with the others. But nothing was said of what happened to them, or what they had done to make such a thing take place.

  With all those thoughts dancing through her mind as she worked, Chioma wondered what would be required of her when she armed herself and went out to fight. It was what she wanted, what she had dreamed of for a very long time—and yet, she hesitated at the implications. It was one thing to speak of revenge, quite another to carry it out. Would she prove herself worthy of being Themba’s wife, or would she put him to shame in front of the others?

  She shook her head. No, she couldn’t think that way. Failure wasn’t an option. She wasn’t a coward, after all. Hadn’t she already nearly single-handedly taken on three violent men, all stronger and more experienced in warfare than she? And hadn’t she prevailed?

  Yes, of course she had. And she would prevail yet again. She wouldn’t shrink from her responsibility to avenge her ancestors and to show the others she was no coward, that Themba’s wife could be trusted in battle.

  She lifted her head and found herself looking straight at Themba, who stood across the camp, watching her. When he caught her gaze, he nodded, and his gesture of approval brought a fresh surge of courage to her heart. She would do well tomorrow, and her husband would be proud of her.

  For now she would finish her work and fetch him something to eat. She might be on the verge of becoming a true comrade, but Themba would want her to remember that her primary responsibility was to serve as his wife.

  Her first full day at the missionary post had been a pleasant one, as Emma had spent most of the day in the one-room classroom with its twelve young students. When the school day ended that Friday afternoon, she was saddened to discover the children wouldn’t return to school for several days, long after she was scheduled to leave the missionary compound. She realized now she should have arranged her visit to be able to spend more time with the children.

  But even as she accepted that she wouldn’t be able to do so, many of the parents began arriving to collect their offspring. How Emma rejoiced to see the excitement on these parents’ faces when they realized that one child per family had been given a Bible to take home. For a single household to have its own copy of the Scriptures was quite a rare privilege, and obviously not one these families took lightly. When Jeannie and Paul explained to the children’s parents that Emma was the one who had brought the precious books all the way from America, they thanked her profusely, until Emma became embarrassed at all the attention.

  But what a joy it was to watch the families leave the post, carrying their treasured possession with such honor and respect. Emma knew she would never again treat her own copy of the Scriptures with such little regard. She knew, too, she would never forget the humility and gratitude she had experienced that day, nor would she regret having made the trip to this tiny spot on the globe. For whatever purpose God had brought her there and regardless of what happened before she left, the eye-opening, heart-bursting joy she felt at this moment made it all worthwhile.

  Chapter 21

  AS FRIDAY NIGHT SUCCUMBED TO THE EARLY HOURS OF Saturday, Anana was restless. It was more than her usual sleeplessness when she fought tears and reminisced about her children; it had to do with Emma, and her sense of unease grew as the night progressed.

  Oh, Father, she prayed silently, determined not to wake Pieter, who slept peacefully beside her, am I worrying about nothing? I do that at times, I know, but—

  She sighed, interrupting her own thought. The clock on the bedside stand showed two A.M. It was useless. She might as well get up and fix a warm drink. Perhaps that would help her get to sleep.

  Slipping noiselessly from the bed, she slid her feet into her slippers and donned a light robe. Carefully she made her way to the door and was soon safely in the hallway, padding along toward the kitchen. She and Pieter always left a few small lights on throughout the house during the night, so she didn’t bother to turn on more until she got to her destination.

  Once there, she stood at the sink, waiting for her milk to heat and gazing out into the darkness beyond. If only there were a phone at the missionary post! But, of course, there wasn’t. The dear young couple who was now serving there had to depend on a very slow mail delivery service, so there was no point in Anana’s trying to get a message to her sister, who no doubt would be back from her journey before the message arrived. Anana would simply have to wait—and trust God.

  “Keep her safe, Father,” she whispered. “Please! I couldn’t bear to lose my sister, too.”

  But the sound of the ticking kitchen clock was all she heard in the otherwise silent house.

  Chioma decided there were advantages to living as they did, simply and without any comforts beyond the bare necessities of life. Moving one’s residence was as easy as packing up a few belongings and then unpacking them again upon arriving at the chosen destination. As she lay beside Themba in the darkness of their lean-to, it was as if they had never left their previous location. The sounds and smells of nighttime in the bush were almost exactly the same as they had been twenty-four hours earlier, and several miles away.

  But a sensation in Chioma’s stomach, like the fluttering of paper-thin moths’ wings, told her that much had changed. Her husband now approved of her and had given her permission to fight alongside the others. Was it excitement or fear that caused the turmoil inside her? Both, she imagined. It was natural to be excited—and prudent to be fearful. Chioma could only guess at what wen
t on during the times that Themba and the others left the camp. She had overheard comments and conversations, yes, but that was not the same as being there. Even Mbhali told her little of their experiences except to assure Chioma that she would find out soon enough.

  What exactly did that mean? Chioma wondered, even as she considered the words her friend did not say equally with those she did. Was she about to embark on a journey that would take her even further from her previous existence than when she became Themba’s wife?

  A shiver passed over her, and she found herself wishing she could sneak away to read from the holy book that lay in the pocket of her clothes beside the sleeping mat. But there was no moon tonight, so reading would be difficult. Besides, Themba had made it clear he expected her to remain by his side throughout the night. Her reading would just have to wait.

  She sighed and rolled away from her sleeping husband, pressing her eyelids together and wishing she could will herself to sleep. Chioma was determined to be alert and ready when daybreak arrived, but for now sleep continued to elude her.

  It would be at least a couple more hours before the first silver tinge of light broke on the horizon, signaling the beginning of another day. Sitting at the kitchen table, the milk in her half-empty cup now cold, Anana wished she knew what the day would bring. Then again, perhaps she didn’t.

  She closed her eyes, envisioning the car as it pulled away with Emma in the backseat and her precious cargo of Bibles in the trunk. “I’ll be back in a few days,” Emma had called through the open window, “and we’ll have boerekoffie and a lekker kuier together.”

  Now, in the very early hours of Saturday morning, Anana prayed it would be so. Though she did her best to leave her sister in God’s capable hands, she knew she wouldn’t rest until Emma was safely home, sitting beside her and regaling her with stories of a brave and selfless young couple, serving God at a lonely missionary outpost, far from their own home and loved ones.

  Forgive me, Father. I know I should be more trusting. And yet … Oh, please, God, don’t tear out another piece of my heart, as I have so little left to spare …

  Pieter couldn’t be sure whether it was the emptiness within him or the emptiness of Anana’s side of the bed that woke him, but suddenly he was alert, staring into the darkness and wondering what had kept his wife from sleep this night. Always, he knew, she grieved for their children, but now her worries for Emma seemed to be consuming her, overshadowing all else. Pieter wanted to protect Anana, to reassure her that no more pain or loss would come to her, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to prevent it before, and he certainly couldn’t do so now.

  Why, God? Why, if You’re truly the great and mighty Lord of the universe as the Scriptures say You are, if You’re everywhere and can do anything, and if You love us as You claim to … then why? Why do my children lie dead and buried in the ground? Why does my wife grieve and long to hold her babies just once more? I couldn’t protect them or save them, but You could have. Why didn’t You, God? Why?

  His heart constricted as the words from a familiar Scripture passed through his memory: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son ….

  World. Why did that word stand out from all the others? World. Everyone in it? Equally? If God was indeed trying to speak to him, what was the message He wanted Pieter to understand?

  Frustrated, he threw back the blanket and sat up, hanging his legs over the side of the bed and slipping his feet into the familiar, worn slippers. Enough of this prayer and philosophical reasoning for one night. He had a wife who needed him, and he would go to her, convince her to come back to bed with him and rest before the morning dawned upon them and another day began. Yes, that was the right thing to do, the common-sense thing. Prayer and Bible verses were best left to weekly services. The rest of life needed tending to, and he had never been a shirker, nor would he be one now.

  Throwing a robe over his shoulders, he headed for the door, determined to comfort his wife and reassure her that all would be well.

  “Get up.”

  Chioma stirred. Where had the words come from? Themba. Yes. Her husband. She opened her eyes and slowly discerned his outline in the darkened lean-to, as he stood above her, already dressed and preparing to leave as he slung his battered AK-47 over his shoulder.

  “Get up,” he repeated. “We must go before daylight.”

  Chioma forced herself to a standing position and commanded her senses to arise as well. How long had she slept? An hour? Two, perhaps? Since the first hints of dawn hadn’t yet lightened her surroundings, she knew it couldn’t have been much more.

  And yet, strangely, now that her mind was beginning to focus, she didn’t feel tired at all. Today was the day she was to become a comrade-in-arms, a fighter for the cause that had claimed the lives of her family, her ancestors—and, indirectly, others she loved as well.

  Themba thrust an object at her, and when she took it from him, she realized it was the rifle she had used to kill the three intruders. Its stock felt cold and hard in her hand, and she wondered if she would once again be required to use it to end someone’s life.

  “Don’t waste your time thinking or wondering,” Themba cautioned. “Just do what you must. It’s you or them; remember that.”

  Had he read her mind? Did he already know her so well? Or was he simply relaying the words he knew from his own experience that she needed to hear? Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the advice and imagined she would need to fall back on it before the day was over.

  Themba stepped outside, and Chioma followed, surprised that nearly everyone in the camp stood ready and waiting. Where were they going? What did Themba have planned for them—and for those they would meet before the sun went down again? Did the others already know what the day would hold? Did they care, or was she the only one with questions and concerns?

  A shudder ran down her spine, and she was glad it was not yet light enough for the others to see her clearly. She took deep breaths, willing away the now-familiar sensations of fear and excitement that danced in her stomach. This is what she had wanted … wasn’t it?

  Themba’s touch on her arm brought her back to the present. They were moving out, earlier this morning than usual. Why? What was different about this day? And how would she be changed as a result of it?

  For a brief moment she envied Mandisa, staying behind with little Sipho. Chioma was certain, after the events of the previous day, that Themba had assigned at least two or more others to stay behind and guard the camp, so Chioma knew Mandisa and the baby would be all right. Still, a part of her longed to stay behind with them.

  No. Her place was at her husband’s side, fighting for the cause that would one day liberate her people and grant them their rightful place in the land. If it meant extracting revenge and restitution along the way, so be it. She would remember Themba’s advice and focus only on what needed to be done. Then she would be successful. Her husband would be proud of her, her ancestors would be avenged, and her descendants would be assured a safe and secure homeland, where their voice would at last be heard and respected.

  She struck out behind Themba, determined to keep the pace and fight honorably, whatever the day might bring.

  Chapter 22

  EMMA HAD HOPED TO SLEEP IN A BIT ON SATURDAY, as she’d had a difficult time getting to sleep the night before. But it was not to be. Jarred from her sleep before dawn by a loud crash and what sounded like angry voices, she threw herself from the bed and raced to the doorway that separated her from the young couple in the main room.

  Before she could grab the handle, the door burst open, nearly knocking her to the floor. Struggling to keep her balance, she felt her head jerk back painfully, as her hair was grabbed from behind, then a large, rough hand covered her mouth, stifling her scream. The scent of sweat, blood, and fear mingled to make her head swim. She struggled to breathe against the hand that held her mouth. What was happening? Who was this person who held her captive? She tried to speak, but co
uld manage only a muffled grunt.

  “Shut up,” growled the man who held her, pushing her through the door and out into the main room where Paul and Jeannie sat huddled together on the floor, leaning against the wall, as a tall, shirtless black man stood over them with an automatic rifle pointed in their direction while another black man, shorter though appearing equally as strong, busied himself wrapping cords around the captives’ wrists and ankles. Blood oozed from a gash over Paul’s right eye, but they appeared otherwise unharmed.

  “Sit down with the others,” growled the man who had briefly held Emma captive, continuing now to push her from behind. “And keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to speak. Understood?”

  Emma didn’t understand much of anything, but she knew enough to nod her assent and quickly join the young couple, who looked up at her fearfully. She had no sooner sunk down beside Jeannie than the man who had been tying up the couple yanked another cord from a nearby wall plug and began tightening it around Emma’s wrists. Within moments all three were trussed up, sitting silent and terrified in the presence of three men and a young woman, each now brandishing weapons and very angry expressions.

  How had this happened? What did they want from them? Paul and Jeannie were simply two poor missionaries, with little or no money or worldly goods. Why would anyone attack them or take them hostage? And Emma, though undoubtedly well off enough to pay a small ransom, had none of her money with her. What would be the point of killing or kidnapping them? Did their captors know the young couple and Emma were Americans and think they could somehow obtain a large sum of money from their families or even the United States government? Doubtful, Emma thought, but at this point, anything seemed possible.

  She closed her eyes. She knew she should pray, but her thoughts wouldn’t focus. Father, she cried silently. Father! Help us!