The Witch Doctor's Wife Read Free Page A

myself properly.” He bowed slightly at the waist and extended his hand. “I am Captain Pierre Jardin of His Majesty’s Colonial Police. My jurisdiction is the town of Belle Vue, where we are now, and the workers’ village across the river.”
    Amanda couldn’t help but smile. Pierre was tall, deeply tanned, with curly blond hair and dancing blue eyes. But it was his courtly manner, and the khaki uniform, with its baggy, wide-legged shorts and epaulettes, that made her think of British officers she’d seen in movies. He even had his own version of bobby sox, although his came up to his knees. But of course Pierre was Belgian, and the king he referred to was King Baudouin.
    “I am Amanda Brown,” she said, “from Rock Hill, South Carolina. I’m here to run the missionary guesthouse.”
    “Yes, I know, I’ve been expecting you. Please, to sit.”
    “ Really? You’ve been expecting me?”
    “You are the replacement for Monsieur and Madame Singleton, am I correct?”
    “Yes, but how did you know?”
    “They are friends of mine. Besides that, Belle Vue is a very small town, and everyone knows the—how shall I say this—business of everyone else. Do you understand?”
    “Like Rock Hill.”
    “But very much smaller, I think. We are less than two hundred Europeans, and the Singletons are the only Americans. At any rate, they regret that they were unable to meet you here at the plane yesterday and will, in fact, be stuck—if that is the word—in Kikwit for some time.”
    “For how long?”
    The handsome captain gave her a Gallic shrug. “Perhaps two weeks, maybe three. You see, Amanda, we are almost at the end of our dry season, and river levels are very low. The Loange River, which they must cross, has no bridge. Only a ferry. At the moment the water is too shallow and the ferry cannot cross.”
    “Can’t they drive across?”
    “I’m afraid that it’s impossible. A vehicle would get stuck in the soft bottom. And also, there are still places where the water is too deep. The Singletons must either wait for the rains, or else wait until the state constructs a new ferry landing in a place where the water is deep all the way across.”
    Amanda felt a moment of panic. Her official reason for being in the Belgian Congo was to run the missionary guesthouse. George and Catherine Singleton were supposed to train her for a month before they retired to the States. How could she possibly do the job without any training? And she couldn’t very well just shut it down.
    From what she’d been told, the guesthouse was very important to long-term missionaries. Isolated on mission stations deep within the bush, and without electricity and running water, the averagemissionary went weeks without seeing any new white faces, and even years between visits to a real store. That’s why Protestant missionaries vied for the available rooms (Catholic missionaries, of course, were not welcome).
    A visit to Belle Vue meant a chance to shop in a small department store stocked with merchandise flown in from Brussels, as well as a grocery store that sold meat and fresh vegetables. For visiting whites there was even the opportunity to swim and play tennis at the mine-owned Club Mediterranean. And for those who craved a little more decadence, the clubhouse served real Coca Cola and freshly churned ice cream. It also served beer and a variety of hard liquors, but, with the exception of a few Presbyterians, any missionaries caught indulging in the latter were soon sent packing back to America.
    She couldn’t resist a smile. “Hmm.”
    “Perhaps you would wish to share your joke?”
    “I was just thinking that if I can’t handle the job—running the guesthouse, I mean—I could always go to the club and have a drink.”
    Pierre laughed heartily. “Ah, like Madam Wheeler, yes?”
    “You know about her?”
    “It was my misfortune to drive her back to the guesthouse on more than one occasion. But you should not worry. The Singletons