Dove's Way

Africa 1891 She nearly missed the train. Finnea Winslet raced across the makeshift platform of the Congo Free State Railway, her hunter's pants and cotton shirt splattered with mud because she'd had to run the last quarter mile to the train. Her father's longtime servant Janji hurried along at her side as they came to the line of antiquated railcars that waited deep in the African jungle. Only the long, metal scrape of train tracks marred the thick tangle of vines and evergreen trees. The train would take Finnea across the most impassable portions of the Congo to the Congo Free State's major port of Matadi and the steamship that would take her to America. Take her to see her mother and brother, whom she hadn't seen in nineteen of her twenty-five years. "Tusanswalu," Janji said in Kikongo, telling her to be quick as they ran. Janji was a powerful man both in size and respect from his tribesmen. His skin was dark against the white of his flowing African robes, his gray hair gleaming in the brutal midday sun. Though years older, he wasn't out of breath and he spoke with ease. "If we don't hurry, the train and the guide I have arranged to escort you to Matadi will leave." Finnea wasn't particularly happy about the guide, hadn't known about him until minutes ago, when Janji informed her of the arrangement. But she was determined to make this trip, and it was no secret that Africa was not a kind place to a woman alone. And now that her father had succumbed to spotted fever, she was alone. "The guide will be waiting for you in the second car," Janji added. "His name is Matthew Hawthorne." "How do you know he will be there?" she asked, her Kikongo as fluent as his. "Be assured, I know. We made the arrangements just yesterday. And Matthew Hawthorne is a man of his word." Janji hesitated, his face looking distant but determined. "He is also a good man." "But-" "You go now," Janji stated in his blunt, forceful way, cutting her off. But then he hesitated, his wizened old face softening. "You are like a dove in the morning that must find its way home. There is nothing for you here." He was right, deep down she understood that. But that didn't make it easier to accept. Despite the fact that she knew he wouldn't like it, she flung her arms around him as the train lurched and sent up a great puff of steam. "I will miss you, my friend." Refusing to let Janji see her tears, Finnea boarded the train and went in search of the guide. It was as she stepped into the second car that she found him. Her head tilted in confusion, and her heart seemed to still. Unlike the first car, the second was empty except for one man. He stood like a warrior, fierce and commanding, staring out at the thick, green landscape, indifferent to the reckless way the train hurtled down the mountainside. While the rest of the passengers in the first car shook about like dice in a box, he stood erect, his body fighting the motion of the train as if he could overcome a greater power by sheer force of will. He stood in profile, but even so she could tell he was more beautiful than any man she had ever seen. But then he turned, just slightly, and she saw the scar. Long and angry like the slice of train track carved through the once perfect landscape. Straightening with surprise, Finnea realized who he was. Janji had called him Matthew Hawthorne. But the natives called him Mzungu Kichaa mwenye Kovu. The Wild White Man with the Scar. For weeks now, stories of a scarred white man who recklessly disregarded the dangers of Africa had filtered through the Congo. There were stories of the man walking unarmed into a villageLinda Francis Lee is the author of 'Dove's Way', published 2004 under ISBN 9780345478917 and ISBN 0345478916.