The White Hunter Page 6

  “Have you figured out what they are, Doctor Johnson?”

  “The closest thing I can come to putting a name on it is asthma. It’s not that, exactly—but something very like it.”

  Annie nodded, and the thought of the attacks that came frequently after she had first gotten ill was indeed a bad memory. It was as if the air was being cut off, almost as if a huge hand closed about her throat and she felt herself close to death and unable to breathe. “That’s good news, isn’t it?” she said brightly.

  Doctor Johnson did not answer for a moment, then he shrugged. “Yes, it is. Have you been taking the tonic I’ve given you?”

  “Yes. It tastes so bad that it must be of some value. Why does something good for you have to taste so bad?”

  Johnson smiled, his eyes twinkling. “It won’t hurt you. It does a young woman well to suffer a few inconveniences.” He studied her carefully and then went on. “I believe you’ve got a little more color in your cheeks. Are you getting much exercise? But no, then, I guess it’s too cold. It looks as though the whole country’s going to freeze up this winter. Hate to think what it’ll be like when December and January hit.”

  Annie sat listening as Doctor Johnson spoke quietly, and finally he asked, “Are you still busy with all your mission work?”

  “Oh, of course, Doctor.” The two belonged to the same church, and Johnson, being one of the deacons, was highly appreciative of Annie’s activities. It had become her passion to support missionaries around the world. Before her illness she had been a whirlwind of activity—encouraging people to give money, writing letters to various missionaries, including her relatives in Africa, and getting barrels full of cast-off clothes ready to go all around the earth. Her heart went out to those in the foreign countries of the world who had no way of hearing the Gospel unless a missionary would bring the Word of God to them.

  “Well, I’m not doing as much as I would like, but I can still write letters,” she smiled. “And by the way, I’m taking up a collection for a village in Africa.”

  “Why am I not surprised about that? How much do you want?”

  “All you can spare. It’s in the continent’s interior. My relative, Barney Winslow, wants to go in with supplies and help them with medical needs and food as he preaches. They’ve had a severe famine there and people are starving.”

  Doctor Johnson smiled as he dug into his pocket. He came out with several crumpled bills, looked at them, then wadded them up, reached out, and took Annie’s hand. He pressed the cash into it, closed her fist, and said, “There. Now, I want you to go see that worthless brother-in-law of mine and tell him I said to give you a hundred dollars. He can spare it.”

  “I’ll do it, Doctor.” Annie rose, smiled back at him, and after receiving familiar instructions from the physican, left the room.

  As the door closed, Doctor Johnson went back and sat down. Leaning back in his chair again, he again locked his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He was silent for a while, and then he muttered, “That’s a fine girl, but she’ll never make it to Africa. She’s too weak for that. Why, the climate would kill her in two months!”

  ****

  “Here, Mom, let me help you set the table.”

  Bill Rogers had been sitting in a wooden kitchen chair at the oak table reading the newspaper. He rose now and began to gather dishes, cups, saucers, and glasses out of the large walnut step-back cupboard. He moved awkwardly, as many men do with such tasks, adorning the table first with a white linen tablecloth that had embroidery around the edges, then adding white linen napkins folded into neat squares, silverware with gold etchings, cut glass water goblets, and finally the fine, white china with delicate red roses around the rims.

  Laurie Rogers, who had been cooking, stuck her head through the door and wiped her hands on a dish towel. She was wearing a light blue dress covered with a white apron. “I can use all the help I can get,” she smiled. For a time she stood there framed in the doorway, her eyes following her son. He looks so much like Cody, she thought.

  Bill had returned from his voyage to the South Seas with his wanderlust thoroughly extinguished. He had said fervently on his return, “I don’t care if I never see anything but this ranch again!”

  Laurie snapped out of her thoughts and smiled at Bill. “Now, you hurry up and finish. The roast is done. Annie and your father ought to be here any moment.”

  Indeed, by the time that Bill had set the table, Laurie came in carrying the roast on a platter, the door slammed. As his sister entered, Bill nodded. “You’re just in time for supper, Annie.”

  “Good.” Annie pulled the green cloth cap off, tossed it on a chair, followed by her muff, then came to the table rubbing her hands briskly. “It’s freezing out there! That fire feels good.” She stepped to the fireplace and stood holding her hands out for a few moments, then came over and gave her mother a kiss. She did the same for Bill and smiled up at him. “You set the table better than I do. You can have it as a regular job.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll stick to herding cows.”

  Cody then came in, and after kissing his wife, he joined the others in sitting down for supper. He asked the blessing, then looked at the food that was on the table and shook his head. “Well, we’re not going to starve to death if we dig into this, are we?” The large roast was done to perfection and was surrounded by small onions and delicately seasoned carrots. Next to the roast was a large bowl of mashed potatoes, a small bowl of gravy, a plate of freshly baked biscuits with butter, and a small bowl of jam. Glasses were filled with water, and cups of hot, black coffee sent steam up into the air. For dessert an apple pie fresh out of the oven filled the room with its tantalizing aroma.

  As they ate, Bill kept his family entertained with small talk. He had an eye for unusual facts and events, and soon he announced, “Well, I see the world’s coming to an end pretty soon.”

  Annie stared at him blankly. “What are you talking about, Bill?” she demanded.

  “Why, it can’t go on much longer.” Bill leaned over and picked up the newspaper he had tossed on the floor beside his chair. “Says right here that they started putting curls in women’s hair over in England.”

  “Oh, that’s nonsense!” Laurie sniffed. “You made it up!”

  “I did not! It’s right here!” Bill lifted the paper. “Found out a way to give women curly hair. Permanent waves, they call it.”

  Cody shook his head. “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard of! If God wants a woman to have curly hair, He certainly knows how to give it.”

  “But that’s not good enough for the ladies over in England,” Bill grinned. He winked at Annie and said, “What do you say we take Mom down and curl her hair? They use a hot iron to do it, I understand. I believe we could figure something out.”

  “You crazy thing!” Annie giggled, amused as always at Bill’s sly wit. “That’ll never catch on.”

  “No. I guess not,” Bill said.

  Annie ate little, though, and seemed to have something on her mind. Her parents noticed it, but neither said anything for a while. Bill continued to speak about the events in the paper.

  “This new president, Taft—he’ll never be the man Theodore Roosevelt was.”

  “Well, he’s twice the man physically. He looks like a whale,” Annie said.

  “Yep, he’s big all right,” Bill nodded. “But I don’t think he’s got Teddy’s spunk. I’ll miss Roosevelt.” He severed a biscuit, smothered the bottom half with rich, yellow butter, then put the top on for a lid. Biting into it, he chewed thoughtfully and said, “You know, that comet is something, isn’t it? We’ll have to go out tonight and look at it again.” He meant Halley’s Comet, which was moving across the skies with people all over the country following its progress. A puzzled expression touched his eyes. “How did they know it would come in 1910? I don’t see how those astronomer fellows figure that out.”

  “You know what,” Annie said. “It’s real strange. Mark Twain was
born in 1835, and that’s the last time the comet appeared—and he just died. Something strange about that, isn’t it? He came in with the comet and he went out with the comet.”

  Laurie sat thoughtfully considering her daughter and finally nodded. “Yes. That is rather unusual.” She hesitated, then asked, “What did Doctor Johnson say, Annie?”

  “Oh, he says I’m better,” Annie said cheerfully. She knew her parents and her brother were concerned about her and tried to put as good a face on Johnson’s remarks as possible. “He said I had more color in my cheeks, and I could take more exercise now. Things are looking very good.”

  “Well, that’s great, sis,” Bill said. “Come spring I’ll have you out bulldogging steers again, just like before you got sick.” He said this cheerfully enough but actually was far more concerned. He had been convinced that Annie would die during her sickness. He himself had never had a sick day in his life. When Annie had become so ill, he did not have the slightest idea how to deal with it. All he knew was that she had practically turned into a ghost for a year, keeping to her room, and each day he had expected one of his parents to come down and say, “She’s gone, Bill.” Now, however, he said heartily, “Here, buck into some more of this pot roast. It’ll put some meat on your bones.”

  “Oh, by the way—these letters came for you Annie. The mail was late today.” Laurie had risen and gone over to the table against the dining room wall, picking up a small packet of letters. “I see there’s one from Jeb.”

  “Jeb Winslow?” Bill said, reaching out for a slice of apple pie. He put it on his plate, cut off a piece with his fork, and shoved it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he said, “He writes pretty often. What all does he say to you, sis?”

  “Mostly he writes about his studies. He’s in college now, you know. He’s going to be a famous scholar, I think, one of these days.”

  “From what I hear, he isn’t much for riding horses.”

  “No, he wasn’t very good at that. But he’s faithful to write, and he writes interesting letters, too.”

  “Do you ever hear from that cowboy out in Montana, our relative John Winslow? You used to get mail from him quite a bit.”

  Quickly Laurie’s gaze went toward her daughter’s face, and as she expected, she saw a slight break in Annie’s expression. Laurie well knew that the visit Annie had made to the Winslows in Montana had in no way been forgotten. She’s still got a crush on him, Laurie thought, and that’s not good. It’s one thing for a girl of fifteen to have an infatuation, but Annie’s twenty now and should have gotten over it. She remembered then how Annie had written thick letters, page after page, to John Winslow when she had first come back. He had answered her for a time, but his letters had grown more and more rare until finally they had stopped altogether.

  “No, I haven’t heard from John in over a year,” Annie responded quietly.

  “Is he still in college, I wonder? He went to Yale, didn’t he?”

  “He dropped out of college.” Annie looked over at Bill and smiled faintly. “He became a sailor for a while just like you. I get a letter from his sister, Gail Winslow, from time to time, and she says he doesn’t write her very often, either. That’s too bad; she’s so fond of him.”

  “Well, he can have ships. They’re dirty, smelly, uncomfortable things,” Bill shrugged.

  Cody finished off his pie, picked up his coffee cup, went and filled it from the stove, and said, “I’m going to read the rest of the paper, unless you want me to do the dishes, sweetheart.”

  “No. Annie and I will do them.”

  Cody went into the parlor and sat down on his favorite chair covered with black horsehide and propped his feet up on the hassock. Bill joined him. Electricity had not come out to the ranch yet, so Cody turned up the hurricane lamp, which threw a warm, brilliant light over the paper. He read carefully for a while until finally Laurie and Annie came in; then, as usual, he pointed out the interesting parts of the news.

  That evening was much like all other evenings for the Rogerses. They seldom went out, and sometimes had family members from nearby ranches in for a meal, but basically they lived very quiet lives.

  “Something’s troubling you, isn’t it, Annie,” Laurie finally said quietly.

  Cody looked up, for he had had the same thought. “What is it, dear?”

  A faint flush came into Annie’s cheeks, and her hand went to her throat. It was a moment she had been dreading, but now she took a deep breath and knew she had to speak. “I . . . have something to tell you all.” She hesitated for an instant, then said, “The Lord has been speaking to me more strongly lately, and I’ve made a decision. I’ve got to go to New York.”

  “New York!” Cody exclaimed, lowering his paper and sitting straight up. “Why in the world would you want to go to New York?”

  “Because,” Annie said, “that’s where most of the head-quarters are for the large missionary groups. I’ve written to nearly all of them, but none of their responses has been favorable.”

  “What would you do in New York that you couldn’t do here?” Laurie asked. A touch of fear came to her, for she had been expecting something like this. She knew this daughter of hers very well, and now she said, “It wouldn’t be easy living in a big city like that, Annie.”

  “I know it, Mother, but ever since I started improving, God has put it on my heart to go.”

  Bill shook his head. “You can’t do it, Annie,” he expostulated. “It’s crazy. What if you had one of your attacks there? Who would take care of you?”

  “God will have to take care of me,” Annie said, and she smiled as she spoke. “That’s the way it is with missionaries in faraway places. He’ll have to take care of me in New York just as He’ll have to take care of me in Africa.”

  At her mention of going to Africa, he began speaking earnestly, insisting that it was not a good idea. He gave all of his reasons and finally ended by saying, “You just can’t do it, Annie. You just can’t!”

  “I’ve got to do it, Bill. It’s not my decision. I know God is leading me.”

  “But how will you do it? It takes money to get over there. And because of your past health, you yourself say the missionary groups won’t accept you.”

  Annie Rogers sat very quietly, and then she said, “God will make a way.” Her eyes went to her parents, for she knew that the most difficult part, perhaps, of what she was going to do would be her parents missing her. “I wouldn’t leave you, Mama, Daddy, if I didn’t have to—or you, Bill. But I have to obey God.”

  The discussion went on for over an hour, but there was no break in Annie’s composure. Her father and mother pleaded with her to wait, but Annie said, “I’ll leave right after Christmas.”

  Bill argued until he grew almost impatient with her, but she knew it was because he loved her. Finally she rose and said, “I think I’ll go to bed now. I know you think this is not possible, but I’ve got to do it.” She went over, kissed her mother, hugged her father, then went to Bill and said fondly, “I know you’re thinking only of my good, Bill, but you’ll see! God will make a way.”

  As soon as Annie left, Bill shook his head and turned to his parents. “She’ll die if she goes to that place.”

  Laurie Rogers sat silently. Her lips had grown tight, and she struggled with her deep love for her daughter. She had cared for her constantly during the years of her sickness, but now she knew that that part of Annie’s life was over. After looking to her husband for assurance, she said quietly, “She’s going, Bill, and there’s no way to stop her—and God will have to make a way.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  An Old Friend

  The first day of 1911 introduced itself to New York with a relatively mild face, but the sun was sullen behind gray skeins of tattered clouds. The last day of the past year had been deceptively mild, but old hands like Pete Frazier knew that the weather was not to be trusted. Frazier, a small man of thirty, peered out from under his black derby at the skies outside Grand Central Stati
on, gave his bushy black mustache a sweep with the back of his hand, and shook his head. Tugging at the lapels of his worn, gray overcoat, Frazier glanced down the line of carriages waiting for business and spoke to his horse as cheerfully as he could manage. “Don’t worry, Nellie. We’ll get us a fare. Got to make enough to buy you some warm mash when we get home.”

  Resolution swept over Frazier’s lean, pale face. He leaped out of the cab and forged his way rapidly toward the entrance that loomed just ahead. Angry clouds, he noted, were gathering above him. The temperature was dropping like lead and already transformed particles of moisture had changed to crystal flakes that stung his eyes. Dodging through the crowd that hurried to get in out of the coming storm, Frazier moved quickly, sidestepping from left to right and jostling those who were not moving fast enough to suit him. Ignoring the angry stares and muttered curses that followed these tactics, he stepped inside, then made his way to the multiple tracks where the incoming trains would be arriving.

  The tracks stretched out endlessly, trains lined up one after another. The engines were spewing boiling clouds of steam and smoke high into the air, and the sound of hissing jets of steam was almost deafening. Frazier’s sharp, gray eyes moved restlessly until he spotted a Union Pacific engine huffing to a stop. It gave one last gasp, almost like an animal expelling breath from its steel throat, and then fell silent.

  Quickly Frazier moved along, stopping in front of one of the Pullman cars. He was an enterprising man, his wits having been sharpened on New York’s streets on the lower East Side, and now he studied the faces of those that got off. Times were hard and fares were hard to come by, but drawing on his years of experience, Frazier quickly spotted his target.

  He moved toward a young woman who was wearing a plush dark blue coat trimmed at the collar, hem, and sleeves with beaver fur. Her face was half hidden by the soft hat she wore made of the same material but with a light yellow bow adorning the top. She wore black leather shoes covered with gray spats and was pulling on a pair of woolen gloves as the conductor helped her down. A good judge of character, Frazier thought, Just in from the farm, it looks like, and don’t know much. She ain’t rich, but she ain’t poor. About twenty, I reckon. If she don’t know the big city, I can give her a long ride to wherever she’s going, and she ought to be good for a little extra, too. Stepping forward, he tipped his black derby and said, “Good afternoon, miss. Would you be needing transportation to your hotel?”