no doubt that you shall see heaven when your time comes."
"But this is about the Reverend," Ahcho began, "and something he never told you."
Grace suddenly felt fully awake, although she did not show it so that he might continue. "Yes?" she asked, as if with vague interest.
"Years ago," Ahcho said, "when your belly was ripe with little Wesley, I accompanied the Reverend into the plains and hills on a visit to the outlying churches. He was intent on rebuilding them since their abandonment after the Boxer Rebellion."
So far he was telling her nothing she didn't already know, but Grace offered an interested sound to help him carry on. Ahcho seemed so uneasy, and yet what could he possibly have to say to warrant such nervousness?
"The Reverend Watson was most brave and determined as he tried to help the heathens know the great Jesus."
"Yes, he was quite zealous at his task," Grace said. "Go on, then, tell me what you recall."
And although her eyes remained shut, she listened most attentively. She let her head loll to one side and occasionally muttered an encouraging word so that he would continue. With each step, Ahcho revealed the tale of what had happened many years before in the insignificant hamlet of Yao dao ho.
Thirty
A ll those years ago, the door to a hovel had swung open and the whitest man ever to enter a miserable hamlet west of Shansi had ducked his head below the lintel and stepped inside. After him came an almost equally tall and thin Chinese man. Ahcho shut the door behind them, and the Reverend removed his Western-style bowler hat and held it in his large hands. Inside the room, the peasants who lived there did not appear awed or even surprised. Instead, they carried on as if unaware of the remarkable strangers in their midst. Ahcho had rarely seen such lack of interest before but supposed it was because they were preoccupied with the dying boy.
A Chinese medicine man let out a low, mournful cry as he swung a smoking lantern slowly back and forth over the child who lay on a straw mat on the floor. The pungent smell of incense drifted across the room. The medicine man wore a matted sheepskin vest, tattered robes, and several belts across his chest, each bearing animal-skin flasks and silk pouches. Two elders stood nearby, one with his eyes crusted over from blindness, the other frowning down at the scene. The boy's mother knelt at her child's side and held his fingers, which resembled brittle twigs.
Ahcho spoke to the elders in their dialect. "We are on a great journey, Grandfathers, and have stopped for the night. Your neighbors told us about the dying boy. The Reverend here would like to help the child to be saved," he said.
Torches appeared at the window just then, and a row of faces pressed against the soot-covered panes. The elders conferred with one another. Finally, the one with blind eyes shook his head. "We want no help."
They turned back to the sick boy, and the medicine man rubbed packed herbs and oils onto his chest.
The Reverend whispered in English to Ahcho, "They seem to be performing some sort of primitive last rites. That can't be doing any medical good."
"It is the custom," Ahcho replied.
"I left my Bible in my bedroll on the donkey's back. I shall go for it."
Ahcho caught his arm. "Better for the Reverend not to go out there alone."
"You're right. And the poor child might not make it until I got back."
"Your own words will do just fine," Ahcho encouraged the young minister.
The Reverend stepped forward and was about to speak when the mother threw herself over the boy as if to protect him.
"Has the child finally passed to the other side?" the Reverend asked Ahcho. "Sometimes it's so difficult to discern even the simplest of things with these people."
Ahcho shook his head, and they watched the mother cradle her still living son. She began a song, her words unrecognizable but the meaning of her lament clear. The Reverend appeared moved by the sorrowful sounds. His young wife was expecting a child soon. Ahcho knew that she had lost two others already. Out on the trail in those months, the Reverend bent his knees each night and prayed beside his kang, or straw mat. Ahcho had overheard him asking that their child be born alive and healthy. He also prayed that the native children survive, and even thrive, as well.