The Amazon Quest (House of Winslow Book #25)

by Gilbert, Morris

  The service closed, and as usual, Ian was surrounded by the villagers who wanted to ask questions about this God of his. Emily slipped away unobtrusively and made her way out of the village. She did not want to return to her hut, for she did not want to speak with anyone, and she knew Wes would return soon and probably Ian as well. Instead, she turned and took the familiar path that led down to the river. The yellow-and-scarlet bird made a rattling sound over her head, and then a howler monkey a little farther out in the jungle loosed his startling scream.

  When she reached the river, she turned and walked slowly along the bank. She saw several natives fishing who did not choose to go to the service. For the most part the riverbank was deserted. She passed a naked young child, a boy no more than five or six, and she thought of the folk legend that one of the storytellers of the tribe had told one evening. Ian had translated it for her. The story was about the curupira, a demon that appeared as a small child, and whose feet were always turned backward. White men had cut off his feet, and a god had sewn them on backward. Some of the villagers believed they could solicit curupira’s help for hunting and crop failures, and they brought him offerings of matches and sometimes liquor. But if they ever told anyone, curupira would hunt them down and stab them to death with his long, sharp fingernails.

  The memory of the folklore passed swiftly through Emily’s mind, and she prayed that the truth of the gospel would replace their fears of the curupira. She had recorded it in her notes and knew that many of these aspects of the Guapi way of life would be in the book that she planned to write.

  Only once did she see anyone else. Two men had lassoed a caiman, which inhabited the Amazon in large numbers. These crocodiles sometimes caught the dogs of the tribe.

  Emily watched as the two men dragged the scaly monster to the bank and killed it after some difficulty. Then she walked on. Finally she reached a place that was quiet and sat down beside a large tree that arched over the riverbank. She looked carefully for ants and snakes before sitting down, but she saw none.

  Although the setting was a peaceful and quiet one, she felt no peace in her heart, for the conviction that something was terribly wrong with her intensified. She bowed her head and tried to pray but could not seem to get through to God. She had learned by experience that when God did not answer her, it meant something in her own life had broken the fellowship between them.

  One verse of the hymn she had sung at the service came back to her memory:

  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.

  As the river rolled along gently in front of her, Emily sat thinking of that hymn, then began to pray, “Oh, God, I haven’t let you have my will! You know my heart—how bitter I have been because of the wrong that was done to my family—and to me. I’ve tried to forgive, but I can’t. But now, Lord, I’ve gone as far as I can go. I must have peace!”

  The peace that she sought did not come easily. For a long time she sat there, her face at times buried in her hands as tears rose to her eyes. She wiped them away and prayed, even more determined to settle the matter once and for all.

  She never knew how long she had sat there on that riverbank, but finally there came a time when she felt completely drained. Weakness seized her, and she cried out, “Lord, I give all my bitterness to you. Jesus died for my sins, and I claim your forgiveness—not because I deserve it, but because Jesus died for this sin on the cross. Forgive me, Lord, in the name of Jesus. . . .”

  ****

  Ian looked up with a startled expression. He had not known that Emily was near, for he had been reading in the shade of one of the large trees close to his tent. He got up at once and started to speak, but then he saw something in Emily’s face that silenced him. He had noted that for the past three days she seemed different, but he could not tell what was going on in her heart. Now he waited and was shocked when she said quickly, “Ian, I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.”

  Ian stared at her. “Why, Emily—”

  “No, let me finish.” Emily’s face was pale, and tears began to gather in her eyes. “I’ve hated you for years for what you did to me and what you did to my family, and it’s torn me to pieces. Last Sunday after the service I went down to the river, and it took a long time, but I asked God for His forgiveness—and, Ian, He gave it to me.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. “For the first time in years I feel free. The prison door has opened. So I’ve come to ask you to forgive me for my bitterness and the hatred I had for you.”

  Ian suddenly smiled and put out his hands, and Emily took them. “Of course, I forgive you,” he said quietly.

  Emily felt her hands held so tightly that it pained her, but she did not care. She knew she had closed the door on something wicked—a plague of her own heart that had almost destroyed her, and her voice was tremulous as she said, “Thank you, Ian . . . !

  That night Emily wrote a letter to her parents. She had been writing all along, waiting for an opportunity to send the letters home. She knew they might not arrive before she did, but she wanted to record her experiences and feelings as they were happening. Now it was paramount to explain to her parents the miracle of forgiveness that had just taken place in her heart.

  For a long time she tried to begin to explain what had happened during her time of prayer down by the river, but she could find no way that satisfied her. Finally she put down the facts, telling them how the man they had known as James Parker had appeared. She did not spare herself, but set down how the bitterness she’d had for years had leaped out and nearly consumed her. But then she wrote about how Ian Marlowe had been honorable in every way since she’d encountered him. Finally she described how he’d behaved toward Sarita—including the moment when she’d seen tears in his eyes.

  “I’ve been wrong all this years,” she said as she closed the letter. “People can change—and Ian is a changed man. His heart is open and honest, and I believe he’s a fine Christian. No man could weep over a woman’s feelings as he did without having a good and pure heart. I know God has forgiven me for my bitterness toward Ian, and I want you to know what an honorable man he’s become.”

  She sealed the letter and put it with the others, hoping that she would soon find a way to send them home to her parents when they returned to Santarém or Belém.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  No Greater Love

  Three days passed, during which Emily sensed that Ian had grown more distant. Since her surrender to God out on the riverbank after Ian’s sermon, she had kept to herself, seeking God, for the peace that had come upon her was marvelous indeed. She had not realized how bound her life had been with the bitterness she had carried for years. Now that it was gone, she sensed a freedom in her spirit she had never experienced before. She spent many hours reading the Scriptures and walking down by the riverside, giving thanks to God and asking for guidance.

  But somehow she had not been able to find a way to communicate to Ian what had really happened to her. True enough she had asked his forgiveness, but she had expected that after her honest talk with him, the two of them would—well, she was not quite sure what she thought. But certainly she hadn’t expected to be ignored!

  Finally late one afternoon she finished her writing and noted that the material for the article was more than complete and that a book could certainly be made out of all that she had gathered, along with the pictures Wes had taken. Leaving her hut, she moved over to where Wes was sitting outside his tent simply staring out at the village. She sat down beside him and said, “What are you doing, Wes?”

  “Thinking.”

  Emily found his answer slightly amusing. “That’s a little bit unusual for you.”

  Wes grinned at her and turned his head to face her. “I guess it is. This trip has affected me in a way I never thought it would, sis.”

  “I know what you mean. I think every spoiled America
n should have to make a trip to a place like this to see what the real world is like. We’re living in a fairy-tale world over there,” she added. “Everyone has enough to eat. They can call the police if there’s trouble. They ought to live in a village out here in the Amazon for a month. I think we all need to appreciate all the blessings God’s given us in America.”

  The two chatted for a while, and finally Emily said rather cautiously, “Wes, something has been bothering me.”

  “What’s that, sis?”

  “It’s Ian. He . . . he doesn’t seem . . .” Her voice broke in confusion, and she brushed her hand down the back of her hair. “I don’t know how to say it. He’s cut me off, and I don’t know why.”

  Wes turned to face Emily squarely. “I’m surprised you don’t see it. I do.”

  “What is it?” She had told Wes all about apologizing to Ian and reminded him of it now. “I thought when I told him how God had changed me, we would—well, we’d get closer together.”

  “You know what I think? I think you’re still in love with him. I think you always were.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Emily said defensively. “I certainly admire him now.”

  “I think it’s more than that, Emily. There’s something in your eyes when you look at him. Even when we first got here, I could see you hadn’t really forgotten how much he meant to you at one time.”

  Emily shook her head and said, “We won’t talk about that, but why won’t he have anything to do with me now?”

  “You’re supposed to be smart, Emily. I’m just a dumb photographer.”

  “But I just don’t see it. What is it, Wes?”

  “Why, he’s still in love with you, of course.”

  Emily stared at Wes in shock for a moment. “How . . . how do you know?”

  “The way he looks at you. The way he treats you. I don’t think he ever got over you. And since we came out here, I think it’s all come back to him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t treat me like he loves me!” Emily said almost petulantly.

  “And you don’t know why?”

  “No. And I don’t think you do either.”

  “Yes, I do.” Wes thought for a moment, then said, “Look, what’s he going to say to you? That he loves you? When a fellow says that to a girl, the next thing is ‘Will you marry me?’ But do you think he could say that?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “That’s because you haven’t thought about it. What does he have to offer you? He doesn’t have any money. God brought him out to this wild place where no American woman could live forever. Oh, you’ve roughed it out here for a while, but all the time you knew you were going home again to a comfortable way of life.”

  Emily sat there quietly drinking in what Wes had just told her. “Do you really think that’s it, Wes?”

  “I’m pretty sure it is. I’ve talked with him a lot since we’ve been out here, and I really admire him, Emily. He’s really straight this time. He had a bad beginning, but now he loves God more than any man I’ve ever seen. And faith. Wow, has he got faith! To come out here with no money, not speaking the language, no mission board behind him to support him. Just to walk into this jungle alone among dangerous tribesmen. I don’t know how he did it. I know I couldn’t.”

  Emily rose slowly, and her eyes were strangely thoughtful. “Thanks, Wes. It’s good to have a brother like you.”

  “Anytime. Wes Winslow’s Courtship Bureau. We never close.”

  Emily tried to smile, but her mind was filled with thoughts and questions about what Wes had said. Could he still be interested in me? she thought as she turned to leave. She moved away from Wes and walked along the path to the village, where she spent two hours watching the women as they worked. She wished she knew the language so that she could get to know them better, but what she did know of the Guapi had come simply by watching them day after day.

  All the time, however, she was thinking about what Wes had said, and being the determined young woman she was, she finally came to one conclusion. I’ll have to talk to Ian. I don’t know what I’ll say, but I’ve got to say something.

  ****

  Emily’s intention to talk to Ian was never fulfilled. She tried several times to work up her courage, but never once was she able to do so. What would I say to him if he asked me to marry him? she thought. My life isn’t here and his is.

  The following day after her conversation with Wes, she borrowed one of Wes’s cameras, saying, “I’m going to get some shots of those orchids and whatever else I can find.”

  “Don’t get lost,” Wes said.

  “No, I won’t. I won’t be going far.”

  The sun was high in the sky, but Emily was shielded by the canopy overhead as she walked along between the huge trees. Some of the trees had knees that came up nearly as high as her head, and she felt like a pigmy as she walked along. Dwarfed as she was by the gigantic trees, she took a wrong turn and could not find the orchids. The briars began to catch at her clothes, and she had to extract herself carefully to keep from tearing them, for she had so few clothes to wear.

  Finally she decided to give up her search and started back. She was startled to meet Ian, who came from another direction, evidently having been on some business of his own. “Hello, Ian,” she said with some restraint.

  “Emily, what are you doing out here alone?” Ian was wearing his faded khakis and the sun helmet that had been used to drink out of so many times it was almost past redemption. He pushed it back on his head and added, “You taking pictures for Wes now?”

  “Oh, I just wanted to get a few shots of my own.”

  “Maybe I can help you. What are you looking for?”

  “Trying to find the orchids I saw the other day.”

  “Well, they’re over there about three hundred yards. Come along.”

  Emily followed Ian, envying him as he seemed to be able to find an easy path through the lush vegetation. As always she kept her eyes open for spiders and snakes and jaguars, although she had never seen a jaguar or a poisonous serpent since they had arrived at the Guapi village.

  Finally Ian stopped and pointed. “How about those?”

  “Oh, those are just right!” Emily exclaimed. She moved past Ian and began taking pictures. She noted that Ian did not speak but waited silently, and she wished she could come up with the words she needed to say to him.

  After getting several shots, she turned and said, “This will be—”

  “Look out!”

  She looked down at her feet and saw a green serpent coiled and in the process of striking. She tried to move but did not seem to be able to. At once she knew that this was a poisonous snake or Ian would not have shouted.

  The snake struck, but Emily, at that same moment, was shoved aside. Ian had leaped at her and given her a tremendous shove that sent her reeling backward.

  She fell down flat on her back, her hair caught in some thorns, and saw that Ian was thrashing at the snake with a stick.

  Getting to her feet, she whispered, “Was it a poisonous one, Ian?”

  “Fer-de-lance.”

  The very name sent a chill through Emily. This was the snake that the natives called in their language “a five-stepper,” because five steps was about all anyone got before they died. She looked at Ian and saw his face was pale.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He got me—here on the leg.” Ian raised his pants leg and was fumbling in his pocket.

  “Oh, Ian, we’ve got to get help.”

  “Too late.” Ian sat down and pulled a knife out. It was only a small penknife, but it had a keen edge. Emily saw him cut two crosses across the fang marks, small red dots, and the blood began to pour freely.

  “I must get help, Ian.”

  “There’s no help for this,” Ian said. He sat down and watched the blood as it gushed from the gashes he had cut in his leg.

  He looked up at Emily, and his lips were in a straight line. “It’s not likely I’ll make
it through this. This poison is really bad. I’ll start having trouble pretty soon, and then I’ll probably die. I can feel it working on me now.”

  Emily felt as if she were going to faint. She moved forward and knelt beside him, and she leaned against him, and the feeling of helplessness seemed to drain her of all strength. She felt light-headed and wanted to scream out, but she knew that would be useless.

  Ian took his eyes off of the wounds he had made and said steadily, “Emily, if I don’t make it, there’s one thing I want you to know. I love you, Emily. I did long ago—and I still do.”

  “Oh—Ian!” Holding on to his arm, she could not speak for a moment, then she whispered, “I love you, too, Ian.”

  “Do you? I never thought you would. I never thought you could really.”

  Emily saw that his breathing was becoming more labored, and his face was growing more pallid. His eyes fluttered, and he closed them, and he would have fallen, but she held him up, putting her arms around him. She held on to him with both arms and began to cry out, “Oh, God, let him live! Please, Lord, don’t let him die!”

  She could feel the labored breathing, and only her strength of will kept her from passing out herself. She had never been so frightened in her life. She put her hand over his chest and thought she could feel his heart laboring. All time seemed to have stopped, and she knew that Ian Marlowe was dying in her arms!

  Afterward it seemed like a dream, but at the time it did not. She was holding Ian, trying to will her life into him and crying out to God both in her heart and aloud in a gasping prayer that came from the deepest part of her soul. And then, even as she prayed, she had the strongest impression she had ever had of God’s presence. She saw nothing, for her eyes were tightly shut, and she was certain she could not have heard anything with her ears. But inside her spirit there was something almost like a voice that said very plainly, I will heal him, Emily. Only trust me.