The Women of Jacob’s Mountain Boxed Set

by Hining, Deborah;

  John felt a sudden unease as he watched her walking away. When he drew breath to call her, a glimmer and a flash caught his eye, and to his horror, a Ugandan soldier stepped into the sunshine, wrapped an arm around Sally Beth’s waist, and pushed a knife against her throat.

  She gasped, but silenced herself when the knife pressed closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John standing in deep shade, looking at her. The blood was slowly draining from his face.

  John crouched, halting into a stuttering half-step in which he pivoted his left leg forward, the right hip turned slightly back, obscuring his holstered revolver. He had learned from his past mistake not to venture out into a war zone unarmed, but still, he was woefully unprepared for battle. Out in the open like this, even hidden by shade, he knew that if the soldier saw him, he would not be able to reach for the revolver and flip off the safety before the man drove his flashing knife into Sally Beth’s throat. He eased sideways, creeping higher up the bank to the shelter of the trees above him. In the eternity that passed second by second, he sensed the tension of the others behind him. Glancing back, he saw that they were partially hidden, crouched behind the sedge, but the boats still lay in the water, highly visible in a shaft of sunlight. If the soldier glanced in their direction, he would surely see them.

  Alice’s guide was armed, but John did not know if he would be willing to kill in order to save Sally Beth; the Holy Spirits soldiers were trained never to shoot directly at the enemy. He did not know if the man who held Sally Beth was alone or if companions were nearby. There were sounds of distant gunfire and grenades, but all around the immediate vicinity lay deadly quiet. If he were to fire his revolver, anyone nearby would hear it.

  Sally Beth concentrated on breathing and on keeping the eyes of the man who held her from straying to John. He was not easily visible, for they were standing in bright sunlight and John was in deep shade, but she could sense that he was slowly moving upward toward the trees. Oh, Lord, please keep John safe. And Lilly. I don’t care what happens to me, but let them get away. Tell me what to do to help them.

  The man hoisted Sally Beth in one arm, the knife pressed in the soft, white place underneath her chin. She did not struggle, but risked one backward glance to John. He saw the terror in her clear blue eyes, and felt a jolt hit him full in the chest as he realized that her fear was not for herself, but for him. Those eyes begged him to run away, to leave her behind and find safety for himself. And beyond that, he could see the authentic soul of Sally Beth, and he remembered the way those eyes had looked into his when her words had come, without guile, without pretensions, John, I love you.

  The heavy air suddenly lightened, turned clear and transparent, and in a flash, he recalled the sound of Holy Miracle’s voice floating to him, Your happiness is standing right in front of you. All of a sudden, he knew it was true, and that he had been blind and obtuse. Even as he had denied it, Sally Beth was everything he had ever said he wanted: here was his adventure, his challenge, his chance to be a hero. But all that meant little, for what he had said he wanted was simply a fiction he had created—what he thought he wanted, what had seemed to be a holy grail of his manhood. But as he looked into her eyes, limpid with love and fear for him, he knew that he had lied to himself for years. What he really wanted was the Sally Beth he saw standing before him, looking at him with such love pouring from her clear, honest soul, full of longing and hope and fear for him. She was more than beautiful, so much more than the script he had written, and he realized he could not live without her.

  His heart beat against its cage. What had he done? Twenty-four days ago, she had told him she loved him. Twenty-four days ago, she had been willing to give herself to him. Twenty-four days ago, she had looked into his eyes, he had seen the golden heart of Sally Beth, laid bare and open to him, and he had flinched, had closed his heart. She had seen it, had seen his cowardice, his shallowness, and still she loved him.

  He would have given his own life if only he could go back to that moment and take with him the love he felt for her now, if he could have, in that moment, made her know that her heart was safe with him, that he would cherish it as it deserved to be cherished. He forgot his weakness, his pain. He would die before he lost her, but more important than that, he knew he was capable of killing, more than capable. He would find a deep satisfaction in killing this man who was threatening Sally Beth.

  Already, the man had begun to slowly back up, dragging Sally Beth with him. Within seconds, they would vanish into the forest. John steadied himself and locked eyes with Sally Beth.

  She saw him shift his focus to look at her and saw his face soften, saw the raw, naked feeling for her, saw the anguish etched there, and she knew he was willing to die or kill for her. It made her sad, to think about the missteps they had taken, the love that they had juggled between them like a hot stone, tossing it from hand to hand, and up into the air, but never able to hold it together, never quite able to find a way to let it warm both of them at once. She wanted to shout out to him that whatever happened, she needed him to know that she loved him, loved him with her heart’s blood, with her spirit, with her soul. If she died in this moment, she wanted to send him the message that he had awakened something in her that was worth cherishing.

  As the man began to drag her away, she fought to keep her eyes on John’s and saw his gaze harden, then he subtly moved his head to the right and let his eyes flicker in the same direction. She nodded, steadied herself, drew a sharp breath, and jerked her head upward, away from the knife. She tried to spin out of the man’s grip, but it seemed that he was a mountain of strength while she had the weight and power of a butterfly. All she managed to do was make him more aware of her. He tightened his arm around her head and laughed as it began to crush her.

  During the struggle, John had managed to pull his revolver and snap off the safety. But before he could take aim, the attacker suddenly noticed him and swung Sally Beth around so that she was between them. Frustrated, John took a step forward, but the Ugandan reached behind him to flip his AK 47 around from his back, and he was forced to stop again.

  Sally Beth saw the situation in slow motion. It was going to be up to her. If she did not disarm the Ugandan now, he would kill John, and most likely, everyone there. Taking the moment that the knife was absent from her neck, she spun around, lifted her knee sharply, and jerked it hard into the man’s groin while she simultaneously pressed her fingers against his carotid artery. She knew she did not have the strength to throw him, but if she pressed hard and long enough, she might be able to incapacitate him. His eyes bore directly into hers, and there were demons in them.

  Not taking his eyes from hers, he grinned, then swept his arm upward, knocking her backward. She staggered and fell, skimming down into the water, just as a shot rang out. The soldier spun backward, clutching at his shoulder as another shot sang through the air. He cried out as he fell, blood blooming at his groin, his hands clutching at air, and John rushed forward, gun in hand, shooting again and again until the revolver clicked impotently, spent. That did not stop him. He raised his gun above his head, then pummeled the man’s head with a rage that filled him as he felt the satisfying crunch of metal on bone. Seconds passed before he felt Sally Beth tugging at his arm.

  “John, stop! We have to go. Stop! There may be others.”

  His vision cleared, and he saw the bloody revolver in his hand, the limp form of the man at his feet, the now-feeble pulsing of blood staining his uniform and the ground below him. John took Sally Beth’s hand, and they ran.

  One of the boats was in the water, with Phil, Pastor Umbatu, and Lyla already paddling away. Alice lay in the bottom of the boat, her gray, chalky face resting in Lyla’s lap. The second boat remained at the bank, half in the water with the guide sitting in the forward section, but both Lilly and Howard Graves were crouched beside it. Lilly had her eye pressed to the viewfinder, intently focusing and shooting. Howard was next to her, a rifle in his hands, and he, too, had his eye t
o the scope.

  Francis and Tabor suddenly rose from the reeds at the shoreline to hustle Howard and Lilly into the boat. They held it steady as John and Sally Beth reached the bank, splashing through the water with agonizingly slow steps. He picked her up, dumped her into the boat, and then grabbed the hands reaching for him to haul him out of the water.

  “Get away!” whispered Francis urgently as he shoved them off. “Our country depends on her.” Then they slipped back into the shadows of the forest as John and Howard picked up their paddles and began the frenzied task of steering away from the bank.

  When they had gone about a hundred feet, the first bullet whizzed by. Another hit the water beside them, and several others embedded themselves into the wood. Yet another splintered the oar that Howard held. He threw it away and picked up the rifle beside him. Throwing himself down, he leveled the rifle toward the shore just as another burst of fire spat into the water nearby. Two men stood at the edge of the forest, rifles pointed toward the small boats hurrying through the swamp.

  Lilly lay beside Howard in three inches of water, and more water slowly poured into the craft riddled with holes. Her camera rested on the edge of the boat, her face, calm, concentrated, was plastered to the viewfinder. She was snapping and advancing film nearly as fast as the AK-47 fired bullets at them. Sally Beth dove on top of her, grabbed her by her blonde hair, and yanked her head toward the soup at the bottom of the boat.

  “There are only two of them,” said Howard as he raised himself to one knee and took careful aim. He fired once, then again, and silence suddenly fell upon the reedy water. After a long moment, Sally Beth raised her head enough to look over the edge of the boat. There was nothing but marsh grass and mangrove trees visible in the tranquil, dappled, empty forest.

  “Howard!” cried Lilly. “When did you learn to shoot like that?”

  Howard sat in the bottom of the boat, stunned, the rifle lying beside him in the water. “This summer. After what happened last year when that boar attacked Geneva, I figured I ought to learn. How to ride, too.” He looked up, pale and shaking, and tears rimmed his lashes. “I didn’t know I would ever actually kill somebody.”

  “I know what you mean, buddy,” came John’s choked voice from the other end of the boat. He sat still, his paddle hovering above the water for a moment before he flung himself at Sally Beth and gathered her into his arms.

  November 24, 1978,

  Lawn of the Victorian Hotel Inn, Nairobi, Kenya

  John woke, shivering, with lights bouncing off his eyes. The sound of the Super Cub’s engine rattled his ears and his head, and he jumped up from the lounge chair in which he lay, only to feel such pain piercing his thigh that he fell flat on his face. As he was trying to pull himself up, he felt gentle arms around him and the sweet, warm smell of Sally Beth.

  “Why aren’t you in bed? You’re shivering. And you’re wet. Did you sit out here in the rain all night?”

  “Didn’t notice. It was bad enough I didn’t go to Bukoba with you. The least I could do is wait for you. Gordon is sitting by the radio. I could have gone to you if you needed me.”

  “John, there was no need. We made it fine, and you needed to get the others back. Howard, help me get him up to his room. He’s freezing and plumb done in.” Howard Graves appeared at his other side, putting his arm around him. “Okay, man. You’ve played the hero enough today. No need to die of exposure just because we had to take a side trip. None of us are full of bullet holes, you know.”

  “How’s Alice?”

  “She’ll make it. We waited until she was out of surgery, but if we had known you were going to stay out here all night waiting for us, we would have come back sooner.”

  Together Howard, Lilly, and Sally Beth helped the limping, shivering John up the hill to the hotel. “Don’t go to bed yet,” he said to Sally Beth when they had brought him to his room. “I’m going to take a hot shower, and I’ll be quick. Could you get me a cup of coffee?”

  “Don’t you want to sleep a little? The sun won’t be up for another hour.”

  “No, if you can stay up a little longer. I just need some coffee. Please. I need to talk to you, and I need coffee.”

  Everyone fell quiet, assessing John’s condition. He looked better. At least he wasn’t shivering, and his eyes looked tired but more alert. At last, Sally Beth said, “You two go on. I’ll run down and get him some. The kitchen will be open by now.” Howard and Lilly looked at John and Sally Beth, then at each other. Something flashed between them, and Sally Beth thought about giving some cautionary advice, but then she reconsidered. Lilly was her sister, not her child. “Go on,” she said, as she slipped out the door. “I’ll be right back, John.”

  When she returned ten minutes later, bearing coffee for each of them, he was dressed and sitting at the table waiting for her. “Thank you,” he said as she handed the coffee to him. “I’m sorry to make you go get it for me, but I got stiff out there, and walking is—”

  She cut him off. “Don’t be silly. You have already done too much. You shouldn’t even have gone with us, but I’m so glad you did. How are you feeling now?”

  “Fine, I guess. Except I’ve realized that I’m the world’s biggest idiot.” He paused, then his words came out in a rush. “Sally Beth, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know where to begin. How to begin. I’ve been blind; I’ve been arrogant; I don’t know why I’ve resisted loving you. But when I saw you with that knife at your throat, I knew that I can’t live without you.” He stopped. His hands were shaking, and he was dangerously close to bursting into tears.

  “Hush,” she said. “You just got scared, and you feel responsible for me. You know, when you save somebody’s life, you think you’re accountable to them forever, or something like that. I think you just need to get some sleep. You’ll feel better.”

  “I can’t feel better until I’ve told you. Until you know I love you. Until I have done right.” He put his hand to his forehead, blinking back tears, then looked at her again, imploring her to understand.

  She chose her words carefully. “John, you’re overtired.” She did not say that she was overtired, too, and right now this was more than she wanted to deal with. When John had looked into her eyes there on the banks of the swamp, when the knife was pressed to her throat, she thought she had seen his feelings for her, but in reality, she knew that was just wishful thinking. John did not love her, but he really wanted to, he wanted to do the right thing, and he was willing to believe he was in love with her to make her happy. She sipped at her coffee, inwardly writhing at how painful this moment was. “Why don’t we talk about this after we’ve both rested a bit?”

  He saw the doubt in her face, her misgivings. Drawing a shaky breath, he began again, “Yes, we can do that. But Sally Beth,” he said as gently and as non-threateningly as he could, “would you do something for me? Return a favor?”

  “Of course, John.”

  “Stay with me a while. Curl up with me on the bed and sleep with me. I need to hold you, and I can’t sleep unless you are here with me. I need to feel you, alive, in my arms.”

  She remembered the night he had offered her the comfort of sleep in his arms, and how beautiful that night had been, under the stars, under the orange tree, an oasis in the midst of terror. Blinking back tears, she nodded. “Yes, I will,” and she stood and held out her hand.

  He awoke hours later, feeling calm and warm. Sally Beth’s head was on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, and his arm was wrapped tightly around her. As he allowed consciousness to lighten his being, he felt the rightness of having her beside him, the sweetness of her regular, soft breath, and he felt an overpowering urge to hold her there forever. He studied her face for a long time, newly astonished at her beauty. The face of an angel.

  At one time, he had said he wanted a woman who had read War and Peace and who could discuss it with him. Sally Beth, barely literate, would never read War and Peace, or anything like it, but she had lived through war and peace, an
d she had emerged from the darkest moments stronger and more beautiful than any woman he could imagine. What kind of fool had he been? The chuckle rose unbidden in his throat as he considered his own arrogance, his pretentiousness at trying to construct the “perfect” woman, and how Sally Beth was so much more than that.

  She stirred, opening her eyes, but she did not move. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “You don’t have to wake up just yet. Sleep all day if you want to.”

  She smiled as she sat up. “I’m hungry. And really, really dirty.” Lifting her arm, she gazed at the mud caked on it. He had not even noticed the mud until now. She was covered with it, and streaks of blood fouled the blouse she was wearing. He remembered anew the blood foaming from Alice’s stomach, the blood spewing out of the man’s shoulder and groin. Only her face and hands were clean; she must have washed them at the hospital while they were waiting through Alice’s surgery.

  “Oh, gosh, I really need a shower, and clean clothes,” she said, looking forlornly at the filthy pink skirt and white peasant blouse. It had been her favorite outfit, the one Lilly had bought her for her birthday, and she had donned it for the Thanksgiving lunch as a private tribute to her sister. Now she would never be able to wear it again, for the memory of yesterday lay over it like a violation.

  “I don’t want you to leave.” He was afraid she would never come back.

  “I just want to get cleaned up. We can go to breakfast. Or lunch, whatever time it is.” She smiled at him, and hope fluttered in his heart.

  “Go shower and change and meet me at the landing strip in thirty minutes. I’ll bring something to eat.”

  He was glad she had not walked with him. Shards of glass seemed to find their way into his thigh and work their way up to his hip with every step he took, and he felt nearly helpless trying to manage the picnic basket as he hobbled the hundred yards to the plane through a shimmering drizzle. By the time she arrived, he was already in the cockpit waiting for her, and although he would have liked to help her get in, the best he could manage was having the door open for her. He did not want her to see him so helpless.