Free A Different Sun: A Novel of Africa by Elaine Neil Orr

neighbor.
Meanwhile, he would explore a more northern location. It was his dream—reaching the interior, converting the Mohamedan. A sudden worry crept up and tapped against his brain. What if his sweetheart was less flexible than he thought? He believed he had taken her measure. But wouldn’t most women want a home, and hadn’t he implied as much? She might want to sew curtains, that sort of thing. He penned his next sentence as delicately as he could.
I must consider how the Mohamedan mind can be brought to Jesus. It is my greatest desire to travel to their district, farther north.
    Yet another delicate subject needed explaining.
Spirits are a necessary part of mission life in the tropics
, he wrote,
as medicine, to calm the system and fight the malaria. It’s better than quinine.
Through their correspondence, Henry grew fond of Emma’s mind, and when finally he saw her again, he was fond of the whole of her. Nothing in her physical appearance had changed, but he believed she cherished him. And because no other woman had shown such care for his ideas, he felt the proudness of a young man, not a near-forty-year-old.
    In the Davis parlor he asked for Emma’s hand. Her parents seemed a bit shrunken, as if slipping into oblivion, and Henry felt his advantage. Later, he joined Mr. Davis in the family library. The man was dusting a frame above his desk. Henry thought he was meant to take an interest. “Miss Davis’s college diploma,” he said after reading the print.
    “Yes,” Mr. Davis said. “I should have seen her ambition.”
    Henry made no response. Mr. Davis folded his handkerchief and offered him a seat.
    “You’re a talented man,” Mr. Davis said. “You’ve soldiered and traveled in places most Georgia men have not. Emma tells me you’re self-taught but know more than any professor.” The man studied his fingernails. “Your father is a farmer, if I’m not mistaken.”
    Henry thought of his papa’s few acres, dull beside this man’s plantation. He resented Mr. Davis for drawing comparisons that went against him and felt a tremble in his left hand. How had this thing turned so quickly? Mr. Davis must have observed his consternation because he took a deep breath and now he looked not at all like the shrunken man in the parlor. His vest expanded and Henry heard the rich leather breathe.
    “I was wondering,” Mr. Davis went on. “How many bales of cotton you think a man could make off an acre of Greensboro land?”
    “I have no idea,” Henry said. “I’ve not been studying cotton.”
    Mr. Davis pulled on his mustache. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I had planned to give you fifty acres as a wedding gift.” He got up and stood at the window. “Thought to plant it for you while you’re traveling. And put the money up toward future need.”
    “I have at present no way to pay for beginning the administration of such lands,” Henry said, feeling his indignation stiffen him up.
    “I’m talking about a gift,” Mr. Davis said.
    “It would be a great distraction to you,” Henry said.
    Mr. Davis sat back down. Henry could have sworn it was for the effect of the vest. He knew this sort of man, had met him many a time.
    “I have plenty of Negroes,” Mr. Davis said, and then he added, with the drama of a practiced line: “Don’t tell me you’re for setting niggers free just because you preach to them.”
    The man was baiting him. “I’m not telling you anything about your livelihood.”
    “I’d like to know how you’re going to care for my daughter.”
    “I can teach and I can preach and I’ll be productive for as long as the good Lord wills.”
    “Small harvest comes that way,” Mr. Davis said. “But I won’t press lands on one who’ll do nothing but fallow them for jackrabbits and mountain lions.”
    “No sir, I reckon you won’t.” For a moment Henry wondered if Emma had been in on the design. Perhaps he had been reckless, not giving the man time to explain. He reprimanded