"I'm listening."
"I think I saw a case of malaria in the other village today. Mosquitoes carry it and it spreads quickly."
Nate began scratching and was ready to hop in the boat, then he remembered his pills. "I'm safe. I'm taking chloro-something."
"Chloroquine?"
"That's it."
"When did you start?"
"Two days before I left the States."
"Where are the pills now?"
"I left them on the big boat."
She shook her head with disapproval. "You're supposed to take them before, during, and after the trip." Her tone was medically authoritative, as if death could be imminent.
"And what about Jevy?" she asked. "Is he taking the pills?"
"He was in the army. I'm sure he's okay."
"I'm not going to argue, Nate. I've already spoken to the chief. He sent two fishermen out this morning before sunrise. The flooded waters are tricky for the first two hours, then the navigation becomes familiar. He will provide three guides in two canoes, and I'll send Lako to handle the language. Once you're on the Xeco River, it's a straight shot to the Paraguay."
"How far away is that?"
"The Xeco is about four hours away. The Paraguay, six. And you're going with the current."
"Whatever. You seem to have everything planned."
"Trust me, Nate. I've had malaria twice, and you don't want it. The second time almost killed me."
It had never occurred to Nate that she might die. The Phelan estate would be chaotic enough with Rachel hiding in the jungles and rejecting the paperwork. If she died, it would take years to settle things.
And he admired her greatly. She was everything he wasn't-strong and brave, grounded in faith, happy with simplicity, certain of her place in the world and the hereafter. "Don't die, Rachel," he said.
"Death is not something I fear. For a Christian, death is a reward. But do pray for me, Nate."
"I'm going to pray more, I promise."
"You're a good man. You have a good heart and a good mind. You just need some help."
"I know. I'm not very strong."
He had the papers in a folded envelope in his pocket. He pulled them out. "Can we at least discuss these?"
"Yes, but only as a favor to you. I figure you've come this far, the least I can do is have our little law chat."
"Thank you." He handed her the first sheet, a copy of Troy's one-page will. She read it slowly, struggling with parts of the handwriting. When she finished, she asked, "Is this a legal will?"
"So far."
"But it's so primitive."
"Handwritten wills are valid. Sorry, it's the law."
She read it again. Nate noticed the shadows falling along the tree line. He had become afraid of the dark, both on land and on water. He was anxious to leave.
"Troy didn't care for his other offspring, did he?" she said with amusement.
"You wouldn't either. But then I doubt if he was much of a father."
"I remember the day my mother told me about him. I was seventeen. It was late summer. My father had just died of cancer, and life was pretty bleak. Troy had somehow found me and was bugging my mother to visit. She told me the truth about my biological parents, and it meant nothing to me. I didn't care about those people. I'd never known them, and had no desire to meet them. I found out later that my birth mother killed herself. How do you figure that, Nate? Both of my real parents killed themselves. Is there something in my genes?"
"No. You're much stronger than they were."
"I welcome death."
"Don't say that. When did you meet Troy?"
"A year went by. He and my mother became phone pals. She became convinced his motives were good, and so one day he came to our house. We had cake and tea, then he left. He sent money for college. He began pressuring me to take a job with one of his companies. He started acting like a father, and I grew to dislike him. Then my mother died, and the world caved in around me. I changed my name and went to med school. I prayed for Troy over the years, the same way I pray for all the lost people I know, I assumed he had forgotten about me."
"Evidently not," Nate said. A black mosquito landed on his thigh, and he slapped with enough violence to crack lumber. If it carried malaria, the insect would spread it no further. A red outline of a handprint appeared on his flesh.
He gave her the waiver and the acknowledgment. She read them carefully and said, "I'm not signing anything. I don't want the money."
"Just keep them, okay. Pray over them."
"Are you making fun of me?"
"No. I just don't know what to do next."
"I can't help you. But I will ask one favor."
"Sure. Anything."
"Don't tell anyone where I am. I beg you, Nate. Please protect my privacy."
"I promise. But you have to be realistic."
"What do you mean?"
"The story is irresistible. If you take the money, then you're probably the richest woman in the world. If you decline it, then the story is even more compelling."
"Who cares?"
"Bless your heart. You're protected from the media. We have nonstop news now, twenty-four hours of endless coverage of everything. Hours and hours of news programs, news magazines, talking heads, late-breaking stories. It's all junk. No story is too small to be tracked down and sensationalized."
"But how can they find me?"
"That's a good question. We got lucky because Troy had picked up your trail. To our knowledge, though, he told no one."
"Then I'm safe, right? You can't tell. The lawyers in your firm can't tell."
"That's very true."
"And you were lost when you arrived here, right?"
"Very lost."
"You have to protect me, Nate. This is my home. These are my people, I don't want to run again."
HUMBLE MISSIONARY IN JUNGLE SAYS NO TO ELEVEN-BILLION-DOLLAR FORTUNE
What a headline. The vultures would invade the Pantanal with helicopters and amphibious landing craft to get the story. Nate felt sorry for her.
"I'll do what I can," he said.
"Do I have your word?"
"Yes, I promise."
The send - off party was led by the chief himself, followed by his wife, then a dozen men, then Jevy followed by at least ten more men. They snaked along the trail, headed for the river. "It's time to go," she said.
"I guess so. You're sure we'll be safe in the dark."
"Yes. The chief is sending his best fishermen. God will protect you. Say your prayers."
"I will."
"I'll pray for you every day, Nate. You're a good person with a good heart. You're worth saving."
"Thank you. You wanna get married?"
"I can't."
"Sure you can. I'll take care of the money, you take care of the Indians. We'll get a bigger hut and throw away our clothes."
They both laughed, and they were still smiling when the chief got to them. Nate stood to say hello or goodbye or something, and for a second his vision was gone.
A surge of dizziness rolled from his chest through his head. He caught himself, cleared his vision, and glanced at Rachel to see if she had noticed.
She had not. His eyelids began to ache. The joints at his elbows were throbbing.
There was a flourish of grunts in Ipica, and everyone stepped to the river. Food was placed in Jevy's boat and in the two narrow canoes the guides and Lako would use. Nate thanked Rachel, who in turn thanked the chief, and when all the right farewells were finished it was time to go. Standing ankle-deep in water, Nate hugged her gently, patting her on the back and saying, "Thanks."