Free Baptism of Fire by Christine Harris

chance, he did, Hannah could not imagine him remaining silent while there was the slightest possibility of a homily.
    Uncle Henry closed the Bible, then gazed around the table. She was thankful the tedious reading was over. There was a place for scripture, she was sure, but she couldn’t take to it this early in the morning.
    â€˜Hannah.’
    Momentary panic seized her. Was Uncle Henry going to question her about the reading? Shecould only recall snippets.
    â€˜To help you settle in I have decided to give you some responsibility.’ He inclined his head in the direction of his wife and she smiled in return. Did that mean they had discussed it, or was he consoling her because he had not consulted her?
    â€˜Deborah!’ His attention distracted, Uncle Henry glared at his youngest child. ‘Must you bring that absurd doll to the breakfast table?’
    The little girl pushed out her bottom lip, her eyes flaring rebelliously as she gripped Charlie. Uncle Henry would have a fight on his hands if he pushed the issue.
    Wisely, he sighed and renewed his instructions to Hannah. ‘It is important the Lord’s converts learn to speak English. To that end, we have lessons in the church: males in the morning; females in the afternoon.’
    Uncle Henry tapped his fingers annoyingly on the cover of the Bible. ‘Timothy has an excellent command of English, and he usually teaches the men, but he’s engaged elsewhere today. So I am assigning you both sessions, with Joshua as chaperone in the morning, of course. This willgive you the opportunity to prove yourself capable.’
    Hannah’s hackles rose. She didn’t particularly feel like proving anything , and resented his autocratic manner. But it was an opportunity to escape the awkward atmosphere in the house and meet the villagers.
    Next came the ‘Kurt Oslo’ lecture. She had been expecting Uncle Henry to warn her about him, but it took a few minutes to decipher his meaning: so vague was his language. A peep at Deborah showed the message was sailing above her little head, which meant there was no danger of her blurting out something that would give Hannah away. Joshua looked blank. He did that so well: a useful skill to cultivate.
    â€˜Places like this attract flotsam,’ said Uncle Henry. ‘They drift in, drift out, making no real contribution. Itinerants arrive thinking life here is free and easy, but little in life is free, and certainly nothing worth attaining is easy …’
    â€˜ Oh !’
    The family turned to see what had startled Hannah. Two dark faces stared in through theglass. Even after their presence was discovered, they made no attempt to hide.
    â€˜Be calm, my dear. It’s treatment day. Once a week, the villagers come if they have a health problem and we try to help. Often, if we soothe the bodily ailments, we can also heal the spiritual …’ Another interruption: this time a squeal which unmistakably came from a pig.
    Uncle Henry smiled. ‘Obviously, some wish to barter for goods this morning.’
    That smile made Uncle Henry seem years younger, and Hannah wished he would do it more often. Her own family background had been full of skylarking and good humour. A familiar sense of loss reminded her that those days were gone forever.
    â€˜The first lesson begins in half an hour, Hannah.’
    It took only a few minutes to prepare. Into a large bag she dropped her paint set, brushes and a sketchbook because they might be useful. If not, they were on hand if she felt inspired. What should she do about a hat? Regretting the loss of her wide-brimmed straw sunhat, she donned a cotton bonnet.
    Slap! Her hand met the smooth surface of the looking glass and a mosquito met its match. Even in daylight the insects sneaked inside to spear victims with their tiny needles.
    A casual glance at her bedroom window revealed an audience similar to that at the front of the house. A cluster of dark faces