Read Online A Different Sun: A Novel of Africa by Elaine Neil Orr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elaine Neil Orr
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American preachers. Jonathan Edwards was ruthless; Winthrop too benign. He found his best direction in John Wesley, with a little bit of Calvin thrown in. Though firmly based in scripture, Wesley never divorced faith from reason and he believed in personal experience, salvation by grace. But Calvin kept you on your toes. God couldn’t be taken for granted.
Henry aligned himself with the Baptists because it was his mother’s church. When the debate over ministers owning slaves came up, he argued against it on the principle that ministers must live simple lives common to the lowly in their flock. At an associational meeting in Decatur, he heard there was going to be a split in the denomination. The new Southern Baptists wanted to send missionaries to Africa. The dark continent fairly glittered in the light of south Georgia, where more than once, revival meetings broke up into calls for whiskey. Henry was the first to volunteer, putting his cavalry money into the mission. He left the smooth-bore Yager with his pa and purchased a fifty-caliber percussion cap rifle. Trimmer than the Yager, with brass pipes and furniture, steel lock and hammer, and a rifled barrel, the percussion offered greater accuracy than the Yager. There was, in the country to which he would travel, the same sort of fighting over territory he had seen in Texas. He meant to be protected. Wild game was abundant and the firearm could bring down an antelope or stop a lion. At least he hoped it could.
In 1850, he had gone to Africa. But in his three-year tour he had greatly desired a wife. There was the practical side; he needed a nurse for those times he was ill. Furthermore, he was sometimes attracted to an African woman and felt he might—in a rash moment—give in. Spiritually he needed a companion. Perhaps his penance was over.
The evening he found Emma in the vestibule of her church, he looked with new admiration on the Lord’s capacity for humor. She was a tall girl of ordinary looks but with a swayback that suggested motion even when she stood still. It was clear she was waiting for him and just as clear that she was going somewhere regardless of who took her. Cleave, he thought, and meant it both ways, but it was not a sin because he intended to marry her.
The sun slipped behind the bare trees around the Eno. Henry sat up and as he did, a blue heron lifted and flew across the river. Its wingspan was astonishing and he felt a thrill of communion with the magnificent animal. The bird resettled itself. From across the way, it turned its head to look at him. After a bit it went back to its activity, collapsing its long body, pulling in its neck so that the head was just over the current. Occasionally it cocked its head sideways, listening rather than looking for fish. And then like a snake the long yellow beak struck water. How various were the wonders of God, that an animal of such size could be so agile. Just so was it with Henry—a body of contradictions, a man of great sin chosen to carry the love of Jesus. He pulled on the borrowed coat and headed back to the hotel.
The next day, Henry was on his way to Richmond. He spent a week in the company of his fellows at the mission board. They expressed pleasure with his progress: the fledgling church in Ijaye, the house building, Henry’s articles on the African country. Still it burned him how men of God were keeping on with their slaves and luxurious houses. Yet what was he to do? He needed their support. People died by the thousands every day who had never heard the gospel. These men couldn’t
feel
it as he did. He left them more determined than ever.
He spent Christmas with a minister in Petersburg and from there picked his way south into the New Year, 1853, stopping where he might to preach and raise money. He wrote to Emma.
I am comfortably set in Ijaye.
A year, he thought, long enough for her to become acclimated.
A British missionary has his own mission in the town, a Rev. Moore, a mighty fine
Henry aligned himself with the Baptists because it was his mother’s church. When the debate over ministers owning slaves came up, he argued against it on the principle that ministers must live simple lives common to the lowly in their flock. At an associational meeting in Decatur, he heard there was going to be a split in the denomination. The new Southern Baptists wanted to send missionaries to Africa. The dark continent fairly glittered in the light of south Georgia, where more than once, revival meetings broke up into calls for whiskey. Henry was the first to volunteer, putting his cavalry money into the mission. He left the smooth-bore Yager with his pa and purchased a fifty-caliber percussion cap rifle. Trimmer than the Yager, with brass pipes and furniture, steel lock and hammer, and a rifled barrel, the percussion offered greater accuracy than the Yager. There was, in the country to which he would travel, the same sort of fighting over territory he had seen in Texas. He meant to be protected. Wild game was abundant and the firearm could bring down an antelope or stop a lion. At least he hoped it could.
In 1850, he had gone to Africa. But in his three-year tour he had greatly desired a wife. There was the practical side; he needed a nurse for those times he was ill. Furthermore, he was sometimes attracted to an African woman and felt he might—in a rash moment—give in. Spiritually he needed a companion. Perhaps his penance was over.
The evening he found Emma in the vestibule of her church, he looked with new admiration on the Lord’s capacity for humor. She was a tall girl of ordinary looks but with a swayback that suggested motion even when she stood still. It was clear she was waiting for him and just as clear that she was going somewhere regardless of who took her. Cleave, he thought, and meant it both ways, but it was not a sin because he intended to marry her.
The sun slipped behind the bare trees around the Eno. Henry sat up and as he did, a blue heron lifted and flew across the river. Its wingspan was astonishing and he felt a thrill of communion with the magnificent animal. The bird resettled itself. From across the way, it turned its head to look at him. After a bit it went back to its activity, collapsing its long body, pulling in its neck so that the head was just over the current. Occasionally it cocked its head sideways, listening rather than looking for fish. And then like a snake the long yellow beak struck water. How various were the wonders of God, that an animal of such size could be so agile. Just so was it with Henry—a body of contradictions, a man of great sin chosen to carry the love of Jesus. He pulled on the borrowed coat and headed back to the hotel.
The next day, Henry was on his way to Richmond. He spent a week in the company of his fellows at the mission board. They expressed pleasure with his progress: the fledgling church in Ijaye, the house building, Henry’s articles on the African country. Still it burned him how men of God were keeping on with their slaves and luxurious houses. Yet what was he to do? He needed their support. People died by the thousands every day who had never heard the gospel. These men couldn’t
feel
it as he did. He left them more determined than ever.
He spent Christmas with a minister in Petersburg and from there picked his way south into the New Year, 1853, stopping where he might to preach and raise money. He wrote to Emma.
I am comfortably set in Ijaye.
A year, he thought, long enough for her to become acclimated.
A British missionary has his own mission in the town, a Rev. Moore, a mighty fine
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