The White Hunter Read online

  ****

  The Reverend Roger Casement was a small man, almost diminutive. His lack of size, however, did not trouble him. He had learned as a child, then as a young boy growing up, that one’s value could never be measured by size. When he was sometimes ridiculed for his smallness, he would turn his piercing blue eyes on the speaker and say, “So you think a six-foot man is more important than a five-foot man? Then you must also think that a gorilla that weighs 500 pounds is more important than a 150 pound man such as yourself?”

  Usually such sharp observations would quiet his detractors, but he was by nature noncombative and actually very humble. He did not care whether he was five feet or six feet tall. His biggest concern all his life had been to serve God faithfully. He had worked as a young man and as a pastor in upper New York State. He had been a missionary to South America, where he had almost died of a tropical disease. Indeed, he had left many friends buried there—missionaries who had given their lives. When he had grown too frail to endure the hardship and privations of the missionary life, he had been appointed the head of the mission board of his denomination. In this capacity, which he enjoyed greatly, there was one unpleasant side of his work that he disliked intensely. It was the duty of informing applicants for the mission field that the mission board could not support them. This was always something that gave Casement trouble, and especially so when the candidates were as appealing as the young woman who now sat across from him. His eyes fell down to the letter that lay before him, and he thought, I’ve never hated to say no to a candidate so much in my whole life, but there’s no help for it. . . .

  “Well, Miss Rogers,” he said heavily and forced himself to smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have very good news for you.”

  Annie looked up and studied the lean face of Reverend Casement. “You can’t send me as a missionary?” she asked quietly.

  “Well . . . not at the present time.” Casement spoke with some hesitation and for one wild moment almost broke his rule. And despite the medical history that made her a poor choice, he had to fight down the impulse to approve her. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together and shook his head. “You see, Miss Rogers, we only have so much money. Not nearly enough as you might well guess. When we make our decisions, we have to use two things. Divine guidance and human wisdom. In your case my inclination is that you would make a fine missionary. Just what we’re looking for—in the spiritual sense. I have letters here from your pastor in Wyoming, fine recommendations from other ministers and missionaries that you have supported over the years, and despite your youth, you meet every qualification in that area.”

  “What is the trouble, Reverend Casement? Why can’t you send me?”

  Shifting uneasily in his chair, Reverend Casement replied, “Well, there are two factors. For one thing, you are single. We do send a few single women, but almost inevitably they are somewhat older than you and have led a much more active life. As far as possible, we like for couples to go.” His eyes grew thoughtful and he shook his head. “If I hadn’t had my dear wife with me when I went on my first mission tour, I doubt I would have survived. You know the Scripture, ‘Two are better than one, for if one falls, who shall pick him up?’ I can testify to the truth of that. When you’re all alone, away from friends and family, there’s nothing but strange faces day after day, month after month. All that you have loved is gone. I can’t tell you how much it’s worth to have a companion there! Although we are not adamant, on the whole, we feel it would be better if you were married.”

  “But that’s not the real reason, is it, Reverend?” Annie asked.

  “Well, no, it’s not the primary reason. Your health is a matter of concern. I have a letter here from your physician, and while he said you are doing much better, your past health record has not been good.”

  Annie could not answer this, for she knew well that this was true. “I was very strong as a young woman until the sickness came two years ago. But I’ve been slowly getting better.”

  “Have you had any more of these attacks?”

  Annie might have avoided the question, but she was honest to the bone. “Yes. I did have one about three months ago. It didn’t last long, though, and it wasn’t very severe.”

  “What was it like?”

  “I can’t tell you very much, Reverend Casement. It’s like suddenly the air is cut off and I can’t breathe. When I first grew ill this would last for days sometimes. I would have to lie there struggling for breath, but I grew better,” she said defensively. “And this last attack only lasted for half a day.”

  “I admire your determination to follow the will of the Lord, and I have no doubt about your call, but I think you need time. And we need time here at the mission board to pray for you and for your life.” Casement once again had an impulse to throw up all restraints and send this young woman. There was a godly air about her, a spiritual aura that he had learned to recognize in people. She loves God with all of her heart. He can surely take care of her, was his thought. But he was responsible for many people, and he knew how hard it was to get a sick missionary home again. So now he said regretfully, “Why don’t we wait a year? Who knows,” he smiled, “you might find a husband in that time. A good stout fellow to stand beside you. And your health could improve even more. We’ll keep in touch.”

  “All right, Reverend Casement.”

  Casement was surprised. Most applicants would argue in a situation like this, but there was a gentle and meek spirit in this young woman that joined to a steely determination, which he saw in her dark blue eyes. “I wish I could do more,” he said.

  “Perhaps I could help you some here with your work with the missions. I don’t know anything about the work, but I could help with mail and things like that.”

  Casement’s eyes grew warm. “That is most generous of you, Miss Rogers—very generous indeed! We are always in need of help here, and I would appreciate anything you could do.”

  After Annie had left, Casement called his secretary in, a man named Simms. “Simms, that young woman’s going to be coming in to help with the paperwork.”

  Simms, a tall, thin man of forty, studied the face of Casement. “You disapproved her application?”

  “Yes, and I’m not sure I did the right thing. But we don’t have to worry about this one. She’ll go to Africa if she has to crawl on her hands and knees.”

  Simms grinned. “That would be difficult all the way across the ocean.”

  “You know what I mean. She’s a good one. I think God’s got great things in store for her.”

  ****

  From the first day that Annie moved into her room, Rosie had taken up residence with her. Every night faint scratching at the door would alert Annie, who would go and open it a crack, whereupon Rosie would come strolling in with his large golden eyes gleaming. During the bleak month of January, having the huge furry cat to sleep with was a blessing for Annie, since he radiated heat like a small furnace. He also liked to get under the cover and curl up down at the foot of the bed, so that he served as a foot warmer for Annie.

  Another habit Rosie had developed was rather peculiar. Many days Annie would spend the afternoons in her room studying books on Africa that she had checked out of the library, as well as reading her Bible and praying for an appointment. Annie had learned to treasure these hours alone, but so had Rosie. He learned quickly that after a time Annie would lie down flat on the bed with the light streaming in from the window and read a book. This gave Rosie an opportunity to assume his favorite position. He would leap up on the bed, shove with his blunt head at the book, and crawl up on Annie’s chest, his face as close to hers as he could get. He would begin purring, and Annie delighted in the miniature rumble that transferred itself to her body. From time to time Rosie’s eyes would half close with the pleasure he evidently felt, then he would reach out gently with his claws sheathed and touch her on the lips. Annie never knew why he did this, but she found it comforting somehow.

  It was a month an
d a half after Reverend Casement had given Annie her first rejection that she was lying flat on her back with Rosie stretched out full length on her chest. Annie was sleepy. Her head was propped up with a pillow, and she had been reading the book of Lamentations on her way through the Old Testament. The weather outside was inclement, and she had spent all morning going from one mission headquarters to another, as she did one day every week. She now had a collection of rejections from every mission board she could locate. All of them repeated, in effect, what Reverend Roger Casement had already told her. You’re single and too sick. It was never phrased exactly like this, but every interview ended in another rejection.

  Annie had determined never to let herself grow despondent but to rejoice in the Lord. She read over and over again the Scripture, “In everything give thanks.” She copied the verse several times and pasted the copies over her mirror, over her bed, and over her desk, and every day in everything she did give thanks. It baffled her, because she did not see how she could give thanks for this. Reverend Aubry Sikes, the pastor of her new church, had spoken with her once in one of their meetings together. “Annie,” he had said, “it doesn’t say to give thanks for everything. For example, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to give thanks for a toothache. It says in everything give thanks. In other words, when you have a toothache, even then you can give thanks. Be thankful that you have a tooth to hurt,” he had said, smiling at her gently. “Be thankful that you have health, that you have friends, that you have a church, that you’re in the kingdom of God. In everything give thanks.”

  His insightful wisdom had helped Annie tremendously. She appreciated his ministry, and she appreciated the time she spent with Reverend Casement and his small staff at the mission board. As she lay there with Rosie pressing heavily upon her chest, she reached out and stroked his heavy fur, and he responded by stretching out one paw and touching her lips. “You love me, don’t you, Rosie?” she smiled. “Well, I love you, too. I’m going to take you to Africa with me when I go, if I can. But you’ll probably get eaten by a lion or something.”

  For a long time she lay there musing, thinking about the many failures she had had, and then almost dozed off until she was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.

  The door opened and Alice Simmons announced, “You have a visitor.”

  “A visitor? Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a young man.”

  “Oh. I’ll be right down.”

  Annie sighed as she straightened, picking Rosie up. He dangled as she held him by the middle and gently tossed him on the bed. “There, you can sleep on the bed instead of on me. I’ll be back, I suppose, and you can crush me again.” She stopped by the mirror, gave her hair a few strokes with the brush, then left her room. Descending the stairs she wondered who it could be, thinking it might be someone from the church or from the mission board asking her to do some extra work. But when she turned into the drawing room she stood stock-still, for there stood Jeb Winslow!

  “Jeb!” she exclaimed and rushed forward, holding out her hands. “What are you doing here?”

  Jeb Winslow, at the age of twenty-four, was almost as lean as he had been when Annie had seen him five years ago, but now he was six feet three and towered over her. His brown hair was longer, and his face had filled out slightly. His crooked smile came, and he said in a surprisingly deep voice, “Annie, my, it’s good to see you!” His large hands enfolded hers until they were lost, and for a moment they stood looking at each other. They had written letters many times over the years, but this was their first reunion.

  “Why, Jeb, I’m so glad to see you. How did you know I was here?”

  “Your mother gave me your address.”

  “But what are you doing in New York?”

  “Going to school.” Jeb was still holding her hands, and very much aware of it. He had thought about this young woman countless times since their parting. They had exchanged pictures two years earlier, but now as he looked at Annie, he saw that the picture had done her little justice. Her eyes were as dark as he remembered, a blue so dark that they almost seemed black at times, and she had grown up into a most attractive young woman. She was wearing a simple green dress, trimmed with lace at the throat and wrist, that clearly outlined her womanly figure.

  “Well, what am I thinking? Sit down, Jeb. We’ve got so much to talk about.”

  “Have you eaten?” Jeb asked suddenly.

  When she shook her head, he said, “Let’s go out and get something to eat if you know a place.”

  “Oh, I know a fine place. Let me get my coat.”

  Thirty minutes later the two were seated in a cozy restaurant after a brisk walk through the slush that was the aftermath of the snows of January. When the proprietor came over to their table, Annie said, “Devoe, this is my friend Jeb Winslow. He’s from Virginia, but he’s moving here now. I told him you were the best chef in New York.”

  Devoe Crutchfield was a rounded man of fifty with warm brown eyes and half a head of very black hair. The front half was bald and glistened under the electric light. “You bet,” he said. “What’ll you have today? The lamb is good.”

  The two agreed on their choices, and then as Crutchfield placed steaming cups of tea in front of them, they drank it, all the time interrupting each other in their eagerness to hear everything that had happened since their trip out west.

  Finally Jeb leaned back and shook his head. “You’ve grown up, Annie. What were you, fifteen the last time we met? Now you’re twenty. A young woman.”

  “You’ve grown, too, Jeb, and so tall! And when did you start wearing glasses?”

  “Oh, about two years ago. I’m blind as a bat for close work, although I can see far enough in the distance. It’s so pesky. I do so much reading that I just wear them all the time.” He pulled the glasses off, leaned forward, and grinned. “It makes you sort of a fuzzy, blurry Annie, not sharp and clear.”

  “Keep them off, then. I don’t want you looking at me too closely. Now, tell me everything about school and what you’re studying.”

  Diffidently, Jeb gave a brief sketch of his college years. “The first two years of college you don’t study much of anything special, just general courses. But I know what I’m going to study. I’ve gotten in with one of the professors, and he’s been a great help to me. He’s an anthropologist.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The study of man.”

  “Which men?”

  “Just man. Races. North America, South America, Australia, Africa, the East. You study all about them.” Jeb leaned forward and his warm, blue eyes seemed brilliant. He was excited and used his hands, almost knocking over the tray when Devoe Crutchfield brought it and set their food before them. Then he could barely eat for talking. Finally he leaned back and said, “I’ve instantly become a regular talking machine, Annie. I don’t talk this much with anyone.”

  “No, you were always quiet, Jeb.” Annie studied Jeb carefully. His eyes were well sunk in his head and widely spaced, overshadowed by light brown eyebrows. She had forgotten that his nose had been broken, and it still showed evidence. He had told her once it had been broken in a fight, but she had not asked anything more than that.

  Finally Jeb urged, “Now, what’s all this about your going to Africa?”

  It was Annie’s turn to share all she had done over the last few years. Jeb leaned back, sipping coffee from time to time and picking at his dessert. He had known her heart was in Africa ever since she was a young girl, and now he saw a steadiness and a determination that made him murmur, “You’re going to Africa. I can see that.”

  With a half laugh Annie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Nobody wants to send me.” She explained her failure to get an appointment with any of the mission boards and ended by saying, “But I’ll get there some way or other.”

  “I think about our visit to Montana a lot. I’ve never forgotten it.”

  “Neither have I, Jeb.”


  “Do you ever hear from them?”

  “Oh yes. I got a letter from Phil last week. He’s somewhere in New York now, a famous artist, very successful. He married a woman from a wealthy family.”

  Jeb laughed. “That’s one way to get ahead, but I’m glad to hear it. Maybe we can go look at some of his paintings if they’re in a gallery around here.”

  “Oh, I’d like that! I’d like to see Phil again. It’s been a long time.”

  “Do you ever hear from John?”

  Instantly something changed in Annie’s face. “Not anymore,” she said briefly.

  It was as if a door had been shut, and Jeb, remembering the infatuation she had had for John, studied her carefully. She had been cheerful, and now it seemed that was replaced by something he could not identify. Her eyes grew hooded and her lips tightened.

  “No, I don’t expect to hear from him anymore. Even his family doesn’t hear much.”

  After the meal the two walked slowly home, and Jeb said as he left, “We’ll have to see more of each other, Annie.”

  “Yes, we will.” She sighed and said, “I get lonesome sometimes. I miss my family.”

  ****

  During the next few weeks, they did meet several times and found that they enjoyed each other’s company a great deal. A month passed, and Annie grew restless. “Am I never going to get a missionary assignment? I might as well go back to Wyoming,” she moaned to Rosie as he lay on her chest pawing at her lips one afternoon.

  It was the day after this that God spoke to Annie in a very real way. She had been going to a business school, taking a course in shorthand, and she had become fairly proficient with these new typewriters. It had been in the back of her mind that if she could get a job, she could save enough money in a few years to send herself to Africa. As she lay on her bed, she was thinking, I’ve got to do something, Lord. I can’t stay in this room forever. A stillness came upon her room, and she felt the rumble of Rosie’s purring as she closed her eyes and stroked his rough fur. She was not exactly praying, but the questions that had been troubling her for some time about what to do with her life seemed to occupy her thoughts more today. Quite unexpectedly she began to feel God’s presence in the room and in her spirit in a very special way. This had happened to her more than once, and she had learned that when thoughts came into her mind, sometimes they were from God. Other times, of course, they were not, but she had learned to wait and try to discern between her thoughts and what God was putting in her heart.