A Walk through the Waters: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 4) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chief Banda's Village

  Episode 5, The Trail of Chains

  By Lynnette Bonner

  The

  SONNETS OF THE SPICE ISLE SERIES

  is a serialized historical Christian romance novel

  by Lynnette Bonner

  Episode order:

  — Find All the Episodes Here —

  On the Wings of a Whisper, Episode 1

  Lay Down Your Heart, Episode 2

  Made Perfect in Weakness, Episode 3

  A Walk Through the Waters, Episode 4

  The Trail of Chains, Episode 5

  …and Episode 6 Coming Soon!

  — To be notified as each episode releases, sign up here —

  Other books by Lynnette Bonner

  PACIFIC SHORES SERIES

  — Contemporary Christian Romance —

  Beyond the Waves, Book 1 — Also available in audio

  Caught in the Current, Book 2 — Also available in audio

  Song of the Surf, Book 3 — Also available in audio

  Written in the Sand, Book 4 — Also available in audio

  ISLANDS OF INTRIGUE: SAN JUANS

  — Christian Romantic Suspense —

  The Unrelenting Tide — Lynnette Bonner — Also available in audio

  Tide Will Tell — Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Deceptive Tide — Janalyn Voigt

  THE SHEPHERD'S HEART SERIES

  — Christian Historical Romance —

  Rocky Mountain Oasis — Also available in audio

  High Desert Haven — Also available in audio

  Fair Valley Refuge — Also available in audio

  Spring Meadow Sanctuary — Also available in audio

  HEART'S OF HOLLYWOOD SERIES

  — Contemporary Christian Romance Novellas —

  My Blue Havyn

  Mistletoe & Mochas

  Find out more at LynnetteBonner.com

  A Walk through the Waters

  SONNETS OF THE SPICE ISLE, Episode 4

  Published by, Serene Lake Publishing

  Copyright © 2016 by Lynnette Bonner. All rights reserved.

  Editing by Dori Harrell of - Breakout Editing

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design - www.indiecoverdesign.com

  Images ©

  www.istock.com, File: #000021432518, Girl

  www.bigstock.com, File: #26740817, Old Map of Equatorial Africa

  Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Made Perfect in Weakness is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Published in the U.S.A.

  Isaiah 43:2

  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

  And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.

  When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned,

  Nor shall the flame scorch you.

  Chief Banda's Village

  Lake Nyasa

  At the Dawning of a New Day

  The sun was just cresting above the horizon when RyAnne woke and stepped onto the sand outside her and Papa’s hut. The breeze off the lake cut through her blouse and breeches in a way that reminded her she could probably resume wearing proper women’s attire now that they’d arrived at the village. And yet, after wearing the men’s clothing for the past several weeks, she’d found them to be quite freeing—certainly much less restrictive. Perhaps she would grant herself a few more days’ reprieve from corsets and hoops.

  She folded her arms against the chill and enjoyed the orange and pink hues of dawn spreading across the dome of the sky.

  Trent and his men were already gone. Even though she’d known they would be, she felt as though another weight had just dropped onto her shoulders.

  It was nonsense for her to miss him. The man had made it perfectly clear on numerous occasions that nothing could grow between them. And if she wanted to be fair to him, and she did, she wouldn’t pursue a relationship with him. For to do so would require her to be honest with him about her heritage. And if word ever got out about her ancestry, it would be the death knell to Mother’s social standing and to the captain’s business workings on Zanzibar. Not that she feared the captain would say anything to anyone, but still… Right at this moment there were exactly four other people in the world who knew that Anne Hunter was not RyAnne’s real mother, and those were the immediate members of her family. The more people who knew, the more likely the news would somehow leak to the public. She had to be mindful of that and consider carefully before she said anything to the captain.

  She wrinkled her nose. She simply wouldn’t think of him. Instead, she wrapped her arms about herself and forced her concentration to the clean scent of the morning breeze wafting off the lake. The birds had already been warbling for the past half hour, and it appeared, by the bustle of activity she could observe from all the huts around theirs, that the villagers were not far behind.

  Papa’s breaths had rattled in his throat the whole night long, but he seemed alert and excited when she went back in to check on him.

  “Would you like some porridge, Papa?” She offered him a hand and lifted him into a sitting position.

  “I think tea will suffice this morning. Thank you, daughter.”

  She didn’t like to see him skipping a meal, but had learned over the past few weeks that if she left him to his own choices, he would eat eventually. She placed his Bible next to him on the cot and set about to quietly prepare his tea.

  When she brought it to him, he said, “See if you can’t find Kako, would you, dear? I want him to arrange a meeting with the chief for me. I’d like to put up a shelter of sorts for chapel services. Part of it can be used as a clinic also.”

  “Shouldn’t a clinic and a church be separate?” She helped him draw on a clean shirt and handed him his boots.

  He smiled. “I think the good Lord will forgive us for being frugal with our construction, for the time being.”

  That was probably true enough.

  After breakfast, she left Papa seated on a rock near the fire pit outside their door, and made her way through the chatter of a village just coming to life to see if she could find Kako.

  Two women, walking toward the lake with clay pots, giggled with each other and altered their course when they took note of her. Both women stepped right into her personal space, and one was even bold enough to reach out and finger the linen of her shirt. The other—apparently emboldened when RyAnne, in her shock, could come up with no appropriate negative response to the first—reached out to touch RyAnne’s hair. She gave a vocalization of awe that drew her companion’s hands to RyAnne’s hair also.

  RyAnne grimaced but bore the relatively intimate inspection with as much grace as she could muster. She felt rather like a baby baboon being groomed by a troop of boisterous mother baboons. But she realized that their behavior was born of simple curiosity, and let them finger a curl for a moment longer before offering them each a smile and taking a purposeful step back. One woman seemed reluctant to release RyAnne’s hair, and RyAnne had to somewhat forcefully extract the curl from between the woman’s fingers. Next time, she made note, she would pin her hair all the way up.
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  But this time she pasted on a smile. “My name is RyAnne.” She laid a hand on her chest. “And you are?” She waited, bouncing a glance between the two women.

  But they only looked blankly at each other and then back to her. They apparently did not understand the Kiswahili that she spoke fluently.

  And RyAnne felt her hopes deflate a little more. It was one more weight that pressed on her. If Papa passed away, she didn’t even know enough of the language to communicate, much less get herself back to the coast. Oh why had the captain had to rush off the moment they’d arrived?

  She bade the women farewell and found Kako down near the shore and led him back to Papa.

  Papa explained what he wanted and was quite pleased when Kako assured him there was no need to talk to the chief, for the man had already indicated Kako should give them every possible concession. Papa was even further pleased when Kako had a crew of the village’s men working to erect a small shelter near the beach by that very afternoon.

  The walls were naught more than strips of bamboo split the long way and then woven together to form a matting of sorts, but the roof was thickly thatched and sturdy, and the bamboo weave would allow a breeze to flow through to cool the building’s occupants. Even before the last wall had been tied into place, Papa insisted on being helped into the building. There were tears shimmering in his eyes when he stood at the front and turned to face the room.

  RyAnne swallowed, once again thankful that she’d given her all to help her father fulfill his calling. She was blessed to have a man such as this one for her papa.

  The next day and for a week afterward, Papa’s energy seemed to be in peak form. Each day a couple hours before noon, he would ring a gong he’d fashioned from an old piece of iron tied to a string outside the shelter, and as many as were free and wanted to come hear him speak made their way to the chapel-clinic near the beach. After Papa read from the Bible, he would, with Kako translating, answer any questions the people had, and then he and RyAnne would doctor any wounded who would accept their help.

  Mostly, they only bandaged small cuts and abrasions, for any serious illness was considered too important for the white azungu to handle. For those sicknesses the people went to the village doctor, who was more likely to cast a spell over them than heal them. The man, with his large ivory nose ring and body piercings shot through with porcupine quills, made a chill run down RyAnne’s spine each time she saw him.

  Each day fewer and fewer villagers came to hear Papa speak, and finally Kako informed Papa that the village doctor had made it clear it would displease him greatly if the people continued to listen to the white man’s lies about a nonexistent god.

  But, though RyAnne was tempted to despair, Papa refused to give up hope. He reminded her to put her trust in the God who had brought them here.

  And then one day just when Papa was saying the closing prayer over the chapel hour—two men had been brave enough to ignore the medicine man’s instructions—there arose a great commotion outside.

  “Miss RyAnne! Miss RyAnne!” That was June’s voice rising above all the hubbub.

  RyAnne rushed out to see whatever the matter could be.

  June motioned madly for her to come. “It is the wife of Chief Wankulu. The babe faces the wrong way. And the village doctor says to leave her alone and that they will both die!”

  RyAnne’s eyes widened.

  On their trip here, they had taken rest in a village just a day’s journey back along the trail. The chief of that village had misused his people terribly, including his wife. And when their party had left his village the next morning to continue on their way here, many of the people of that village had accompanied them, including the man’s wife, who had been full with child.

  RyAnne rushed back into the chapel. “Papa, we are needed right now.” She snatched up his doctor bag and reached for his arm to help him rise. But he was so slow to gain his feet, she changed her mind about her approach. “Kako, you bring him down, would you? I’m running ahead to see what I can find out.”

  As she rushed out the door, one thought pounded over and over. If that baby died in this village, not only would the people’s belief in their sham of a doctor be shored up, but a war would begin, of a certainty.

  Wankulu would not let an offense like that stand. Especially not after the way Trent had allowed the man’s abused wife to accompany them to this village. Wankulu had already been livid over that.

  The woman’s hut was far back in the concentric circles of the village. Outside it, a crowd of women already keened the way they might over a corpse. RyAnne pushed through them and into an interior so dark and smoky that her lantern did little except to illuminate wafts of churning gray clouds. Finally she was able to locate the moaning woman, who squatted against the wall near the door. She met June’s wide, terrified gaze.

  “Remind me of her name?”

  “Yani.”

  “Okay. We’re going to need to be able to see. We need to move her outside. Lay a blanket in the shade of the banana tree, and we’ll move her there. And”—she motioned through the door toward the crowd of wailing women—”that keening must stop! She’s not dead!”

  While June made those preparations and remonstrated the crowd to silence, RyAnne laid a hand to Yani’s forehead. She was warm, but not overly so. Probably only from her exertion. A contraction must have gripped the woman, for she suddenly gave out a gritty moan and clutched at her womb in anguish.

  “There now, Yani,” RyAnne soothed, rubbing the woman’s shoulder. “My father is a doctor.” Likely Yani couldn’t understand her any better than the two women along the path the other day, but RyAnne hoped her tone at least conveyed a reassuring message. “All will be well. We are going to help you.”

  Or at least give it their best attempt. She set to rolling up her sleeves while she waited for the preparations outside to be completed.

  June returned and indicated that the blanket was ready, and they helped the agonized woman out to it, but Yani refused to lie down and instead squatted in the middle of the blanket. RyAnne was thankful to see that at least the woman’s waters had not broken open yet. Now that she could see better how to help, RyAnne realized she was trembling all over. If Papa couldn’t save this baby…and maybe its mother… She swallowed and pushed the thought aside for the moment.

  Just then Papa shuffled up holding on to Kako’s arm. RyAnne blew out a breath of relief. If anyone could make this better, Papa could. But instead of pitching in to help her, he motioned to a log-round by a nearby fire pit, and Kako fetched it for him. Papa sank onto it, panting.

  Movement just behind Papa drew RyAnne’s attention. The village doctor, his face smeared white with a mixture of ash, glowered so angrily RyAnne felt the look like she would have felt the thrust of the long feather-decorated spear he held in one hand.

  “Papa?” RyAnne’s tremors had ratcheted up to full force.

  “Calm yourself, RyAnne. You must trust in the Lord and pray for His protection. There is great power in the name of Jesus against a spirit such as that.” Papa spoke some words low to Kako, who in turn strode across to say a few words to the medicine man.

  Though Papa bowed his head and RyAnne could hear his low supplications, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the confrontation taking place, nor lift up any other prayer except Jesus… The village doctor started toward her and Papa. Kako stepped into his path and placed one hand to the man’s chest. There was a fierceness in Kako’s stance that RyAnne didn’t remember seeing before.

  Behind her, Yani moaned loudly. June cooed a few soothing words and fussed over her, but the woman did indeed sound like she might be dying.

  RyAnne’s fingernails bit into her palms.

  At the sound of Yani’s great distress, the medicine man threw up one hand and said a few angry words, but Kako stood his ground, and after a moment the man turned and stormed away.

  Despite the fact that June had managed to shush their keening, the whole village, it
seemed, still stood gathered about the hut and had just witnessed the medicine man stomp off in a fit of rage.

  Papa lifted his focus from his prayers and returned his attention to RyAnne. He continued as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “‘Tis just a birthing. Now you must get her to lie down.”

  June passed the instructions to Yani, who reluctantly collapsed onto the blanket as requested.

  Papa nodded. “Now palpate her stomach and tell me what you feel. Remember? We’ve done this before, you and I. The head will be firm, hard, and round. Feel for it.” Papa placed a hanky over his mouth and coughed into it a couple times.

  Helplessly, RyAnne looked down at the woman, who writhed and whimpered and rubbed her belly. Her faith was so lacking, yet it seemed that once again God was asking her to simply offer what she had. Limited though it might be. Heaving in a fortifying breath, RyAnne complied with Papa’s order.

  “The head is high, Papa, just under her ribs. The babe does indeed face the wrong direction.” The feel of that little head so high up sent a wave of certain fear shooting through RyAnne. The medicine man might be right, in the end. But the first rule of medicine Papa had taught her was to never let your patient see your fear. No matter how strong it might be.

  “Is there room to turn the child? Or is it already too far down?”

  RyAnne assessed the situation, and as another contraction bore down on the woman, she realized with dread the babe was too far into the canal to turn. She shook her head at Papa, doing her best to keep her breaths from banging against her teeth.

  But Papa remained as calm as the placid lake. “Fine, then we’ll have to carefully watch that the cord doesn’t get clamped off at the last, but ‘tis not impossible to deliver.” Papa smiled. “You yourself came into the world in this manner. You always have been determined to do things your own way.”