So that’s jungle justice, Betty thought as she watched the men ride away. The police had been more interested in the show than in actually getting to the bottom of what had happened and determining who had committed the murder.
By now the sun had set. Doreen and Barbara got some flashlights and took the body to the schoolroom for the customary wake. Since Don Macario had no family in the area, the members of the Brethren Assembly took charge. Betty took her turn staying part of the night with the body. She joined in the hymn-singing and prayers and the long silences. As the all-night vigil wore on, endless cups of coffee were consumed. Betty could hear the sounds of hammering as a coffin was constructed across the clearing. Early the next morning a funeral service was held, and Don Macario was buried in the small cemetery nearby. Light rain fell as his body was laid to rest, mimicking Betty’s gray mood.
After the funeral service, Betty went to her room to rest, but rest would not come. Nightmarish images played before her eyes, and unanswerable questions plagued her. Had the fact that Don Macario was her informant led to his death? Did God care that her one link to the language of the Colorados was gone? Was this part of His plan for the Colorado people, or had Satan just won a huge victory? And how would she overcome her discouragement and find the will to keep going when everything now seemed empty and lost?
No answers to her questions were forthcoming, but Betty found solace in reciting the simple Bible verses that she had learned as a child. She recited the verses like lifelines. “Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…and with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5) was one of her favorite verses. Yes, she knew she would never understand what had happened, but she would try hard to trust God to help her carry on with her linguistic work.
The following morning Betty pulled out her file box and pen and continued with her work, reviewing the notes and charts of the Tsahfihki language she had made so far. As she worked, she silently prayed that God would show her the way ahead without Don Macario at her side.
Three nights after her informant’s murder, Betty once again heard the sound of horses’ hooves galloping into the clearing. A friend of Doreen’s had come to visit. She also brought with her a telegram that had Betty’s name on it. Betty’s heart skipped a beat as she opened the telegram. Was someone ill, or dead? What could be so urgent as to warrant a telegram?
A huge smile spread over her face as she read, “Meet me in Quito. Love, Jim.”
Suddenly the way seemed clear to Betty. Although she was willing to stay with the Colorado Indians, she had a wonderful feeling that God was unfolding the next stage of His plan for her. She hurried upstairs to pack. She would leave for Quito first thing in the morning.
The next day was one of the longest in Betty’s life. She felt like she was moving in slow motion—even the delays had delays. Landslides blocked the way on the truck ride to Quito, and the driver waited endlessly for passengers who waved him down and then disappeared. The chain on the road over the Andes opened late—almost too late to make it to Quito by nightfall. But finally she made it, and two days after receiving the telegram, Betty was in Quito chatting across the table with Jim Elliot. Betty and Jim were at the Tidmarshes’ house, where they had been invited to stay.
The dinner conversation was fascinating. Ed McCully and his wife, Marilou, had been invited to dine with the Tidmarshes. Betty knew Ed from Wheaton College. Ed had been in the same year as Jim at college and planned to become a lawyer. In his senior year, Jim had been the president of the Foreign Missions Fellowship, and he had challenged those in the fellowship to target five people and pray that God would call them to be missionaries. Ed McCully was the senior class president, and Jim had targeted him as one of the five people he was praying for. Nonetheless, at the end of his senior year, Ed had not been called to missions but had gone off to earn his law degree at Marquette University. He and Jim had stayed in touch, and somewhere along the way Ed finally felt the call to missionary service. And now here he was in Ecuador. He and Marilou had been in Quito for a month, learning Spanish in preparation for joining Jim and Pete Fleming in the work at Shandia.
Ed and Marilou had many questions about the work at Shandia, and Betty was enthralled as Jim answered them. Jim told how he and Pete had managed to clear the overgrown airstrip at Shandia, making it no longer necessary to make the six-hour trek from the nearest airstrip at Pano to Shandia. Nate Saint, the Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) pilot who serviced the missionaries of the Oriente, could now fly people and supplies in and out of Shandia.
Jim also spoke of a recent experience in which he and Pete had been called out in the middle of the night to try to save the life of a small child sick with pneumonia. They had given the young girl a shot of antibiotics, but despite their best efforts, the child had died. It had been a heartbreaking experience, and Jim explained that he hoped that Ed’s presence would vastly improve the quality of the medical care the missionaries could offer at Shandia. Jim explained to Betty that before leaving for Ecuador, Ed had taken a yearlong course at the School of Missionary Medicine in Los Angeles.
When dinner was over, Ed and Marilou returned to the house in which they were staying to check on their nine-month-old son, Steve. The Tidmarshes tactfully retired to their room, leaving Betty and Jim alone together.
A fire crackled in the fireplace as the couple talked. They discussed the similarities and differences of their missionary journeys thus far. After a few minutes their conversation fell silent, and then Jim simply asked, “Betty, will you marry me?”
Betty’s heart skipped a beat. This was the moment she had been waiting for! She thought for a moment and then asked, “Jim, do you believe God has given His permission for us to get married and for you to give up the life of a single missionary and take me as your partner?”
Jim nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “Yes, Betty, I do.”
That was enough for Betty. “Then the answer is yes.”
Their conversation soon turned to practical matters. Jim was adamant that Betty learn to speak the Quichua language before their marriage. He explained that he had seen too many missionary wives who had good intentions but had become weighed down with household duties and babies and never got around to learning the local language. He also said that the wedding could not be anytime soon. He had already committed to building a new house for the McCully family, and he had undertaken several other large projects.
Betty told Jim that she was willing to wait as long as it took, and in the meantime she would begin her Quichua language studies—just as soon as she could figure out a way to do so.
Jim and Betty enjoyed a wonderful week together in Quito: Betty had a ring on her finger and a man at her side. And while in Quito, Betty decided to take advantage of the unexpected trip to civilization and get a medical checkup. On the day that Jim left to return to Shandia to continue with his work there, Betty received some stunning news—a routine chest X-ray had turned up something ominous: an active case of tuberculosis.
Surely not, Betty silently prayed. Was this just another test, another suffering that she had to go through? And how would it affect her plans to marry Jim? There was no way she could go back to the jungle with TB. At the very least she would have to stay and be treated in Quito. Or, if the tuberculosis was too far advanced, she would need to return home to the United States—possibly to die!
Chapter 13
Success and Heartbreak
Betty and Jim began to pray about the situation. They were sure that they were supposed to be married and to work together in the Oriente, but how could that happen now that Betty had tuberculosis? Then, a week after receiving the initial diagnosis, Betty received some great news. No one knew why, but more X-rays showed no TB damage at all to her lungs. Betty wondered—had the first X-ray belonged to someone else, or had God healed her that week? Whatever the case, she was delighted with the outcome.
With a light heart, Betty returned to San Miguel de los Colorados. She was healthy and engaged to Jim. And one day, she hoped not too far in the future, she would be Mrs. James Elliot.
In the meantime, Betty determined to find some way to continue her linguistic work. This was not easy. Now she had to go out to the Colorados in their own homes. The people lived scattered throughout the jungle and spent much of their time either hunting or planting crops away from their houses. More often than not, no one was home when Betty visited. And if someone was home, it was difficult for Betty to communicate her reason for coming. Despite this difficulty, Betty continued to make progress understanding Tsahfihki, jealously guarding every word or phrase that came her way.
It took five more months, but on June 16, 1953, Betty put the finishing touches on the alphabet for the Tsahfihki language. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had forged the first link in the chain that would eventually lead to a translation of the Bible in the language of the Colorados.
Betty now felt sure that it was time for her to move on. The Conns, a missionary family serving with the Christian and Missionary Alliance at Dos Rios in the Oriente, offered her room and board while she learned the Quichua language. Betty eagerly accepted the invitation.
The Conns lived in a delightful spot on the Mishahualli River. A sandy path lined with citrus trees led from the beach on the river to the house set on a hillside overlooking the water. Betty smiled when she saw the clean, white clapboard house with its screened windows. No more bats flying around her room at night!
The Conns were a hospitable family. Everyone knew that Betty wanted to learn Quichua as fast as possible so that she could get married, and Carol Conn spent hours helping her. Betty also enlisted the aid of the kitchen helper and anyone else around who was patient enough to explain the language to her. She made good progress, relieved at how much easier it was to learn a language when others were around to answer questions.
Betty prayed that Doreen, Barbara, and Dorothy back in San Miguel would find small ways to keep adding to the Tsahfihki files she had left with them. She also prayed that someone else with linguistic skills would feel called to go to the village and move the translation work further along. However, Betty was shocked when she read the letter from Doreen Clifford bearing terrible news. In the letter Doreen apologized profusely as she explained how she had taken all of Betty’s linguistic notes and materials with her on a bus trip to Quito. She had placed the material in a bag that was slung on top of the bus, but when she arrived in Quito, the bag was gone. Doreen assumed it had been stolen somewhere along the way.
Betty put down the letter and stared out the window, unable to take in what she had just read. What had happened? Where was God in all of this? First her informant was killed, and now her work—the files, the charts, the notebooks—had vanished. The chain, only on its first link, was already broken. Someone else would have to begin again from scratch with the Tsahfihki language. It was almost too much for Betty to comprehend. Nine months of her life—gone! During the next few days, Betty tried hard to convey in a letter to Jim how she felt. But it was difficult. His work seemed to be progressing nicely at Shandia, while her work had been stripped away from her.
On July 28, 1953, Betty sat at the two-way radio. She often helped Carol Conn out by standing by for the mission updates each morning. All of the missionaries in the area participated. Nate Saint, or more often his wife, Marj, gave an update on the MAF flights for the day. People placed orders for deliveries and asked for prayer and advice on issues that involved them all. Sometimes as she sat by the radio, Betty heard Jim’s voice, and it filled her with delight to hear him, but not this day. Jim’s voice did come across the airwaves amid a lot of cracking and hissing, but he sounded desperate.
