Page 35 of Fear No Evil
“C’est une mauvaise idée.You could fall.”
“So, if I fall, you’ll catch me.” She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. “Please, Jacques, I’m starving, and I’mgrincheux, and I’ll be cranky all the time if I can’t get some calories.”
Looking unhappy with his decision, Jake crouched as he’d done at Fontainebleau when she’d wanted to stand on a high boulder.
Holding the hand he held out, Maggie stepped on his upper thigh, then his shoulder, while grabbing the lower branch. He slowly straightened and turned, making it possible for her to sit on the branch.
“Fais attention.”
She had no choice but to pay attention because the branch was slick with moss. While clinging to the higher branch, Maggie scooted along the lower branch so she could shake the higher one more effectively. After several scoots, she gave the upper branch a good shake.
Thump, thump, thump.
Just as fruit hit the ground, Maggie slipped off her perilous seat.“Merde!”Hanging now on the higher branch, she watched it bow and then break. “Jacques!” All she could do was close her eyes and pray he caught her.
She crashed into him, and both of them hit the ground with a squishy thud, sliding immediately downhill. Gravity lassoed them, dragging them over slick layers of rotting vegetation.
“Hold on!” Jake’s English words were entirely unnecessary, as Maggie had a death grip on him.
As a sapling came into sight, Jake flashed out a hand and grasped it, bringing them to a jarring halt.
Lena, who was hanging on to his jacket, dug her toes into the loam to keep them anchored. Jake briefly closed his eyes, steadying himself with a deep breath. They were fine. He opened his eyes to Lena’s remorseful gaze.
“Je suis tres désolée.”I’m so sorry.
Man, she was cute when humiliated. He pretended her apology was for everything—for choosing her career over a lifetime spent together. But, of course, she meant for falling out of the tree. “No big deal. Are you hurt?”
She rubbed her right kneecap. “I hit a root on the way down.”
The one that had whacked the back of his head, probably.
She stared up at the mudslide they’d created. “How are we getting back up there?”
If he’d said it once, he’d said it a thousand times. “Teamwork.”
His frustrated tone brought her wide eyes back to his. For once, she had no reply.
Jake offered up directions. “Look for something to hold on to about five feet above my head. See anything?”
“Um…Oh, there’s a vine by the root of a tree.”
“Good. Now climb up me, onto my shoulders and grab hold of it. Once you’re good, then I’m going to do the same thing and climb up you.”
Her gaze darted back to his. She swallowed. All this physical contact was clearly getting to her. Well, good. Maybe she’d realize what she was missing, not living her life as his other half.
By the time they arrived at the camp, covered in mud, the rain was falling in earnest and anti-American hour had given way to music—not the nativecumbiaor traditionalvallenatomusic Jake expected to hear, but modern, lyrical songs in Spanish.
Rather than return to their cubicle muddy and soaking wet, they sat by the empty firepit to let the rain shower down onthem. Ten young rebels, including the two girls and their four soccer buddies, sat in the downpour singing to the radio,
Jake tuned his ear to the words.
Father, You are holy. In You, I put my trust.
What? He cocked his head, listening more intently. These FARC were Christians?
Remembering the missionary Lobo had mentioned in passing, Jake turned to Lena, who was staring at the kids like they wore halos over their heads. The two girls sang out with confidence while glancing self-consciously in their direction. The song came to an end, the music faded, and a voice came over the radio that was utterly unlike that of the ranting Marxist.
“Good afternoon, my children.” The speaker with the warm, soothing voice was obviously an American, given his accented Spanish. “Peace and love to you from Father Joshua. I hope you are feeling happy today, for, indeed, your Father in Heaven knows every hair on your head and is with you wherever you go.”