Alana (31 page)

“Soon,” she promised herself as she heard her door opening.

She smiled when James Allison stepped inside, his eyes bright with desire, a desire, Crystal had learned, that never flagged. Soon, she repeated silently as she chased away the knot of disgust that was once again forming in the pit of her stomach.

Alana
sat at Edward’s desk in the wood-paneled study, her hands trembling as she held the letter from Crystal. She wanted to open it and read it, yet at the same time, she was afraid.

In the five months since she’d arrived in Cape Town, her life had changed drastically. In the beginning, after the Harmony had left, each day spent in search of information concerning Rafe.

No word of Rafe had come from the Maklin-Parkins representative who traveled to the company’s mines and other properties, although detailed reports constantly arrived at the main office in Cape Town.

When she’d learned nothing further in the port city, she had insisted on going to the small settlements near Cape Town and then to the other ports that line South Africa’s coast.

Edward had been more than patient with her, and had accompanied her whenever possible. They had traveled overland, across sections of the interior’s great plateau. They had gone to Port Elizabeth, to the Natal province, and to the port at Durban. Still they had learned nothing, but Alana had at least been busy trying.

They’d returned from their search by ship, passing through the Cape of Good Hope, and when they had arrived in Cape Town, Alana had realized that all she could do now was to wait and hope.

Late yesterday, the Marabella had docked. She received Crystal’s letter his morning. Edward had left it on the table for her.

“So kind,” she’d whispered, thinking of Edward’s unlimited patience and consideration. She had never met a man like Edward Parkins, who she had learned was a titled nobleman as well as one of the richest Englishmen in Cape Town.

Edward had never once made an advance to her, although, as Alana had discovered, he was in love with her. She’d seen it written clearly on his face, and she sensed it in his every gesture.

Edward had finally spoken of his feelings for her two weeks before. It had been at dinner, and Alana had sensed that he wanted to speak to her of more than just generalities. Aware of the warm look he’d favored her with, she had gently questioned him on his silence.

“I don’t want to push myself on you,” he said.

“In what way?”

“Surely, Alana, you must know by now that I have certain feelings for you.”

Alana had dropped her eyes for a moment, but then she’d looked at him. “I have sensed that, yes. I am sorry, Edward. I like you very much, but–”

“You love another. I know that, Alana, and I understand. If I did not–” He’d left the rest unsaid.

“Perhaps I should find myself different living quarters,” she’d ventured in a low voice.

“No,” he’d said quickly. “The fact that I love you does not mean you cannot stay here. I will never force myself upon you. I respect you too much. No, let us remain friends, and please do not mention leaving again.”

Alana’s eyes had misted. “I’ve never known a man like you, Edward. I thank you for understanding.”

After that evening, no mention was made of Edward’s feelings again, and Alana continued to stay on in his house. Not once had she given up her hope of finding Rafe.

Sighing, Alana lifted the silver letter opener and neatly sliced the heavy envelope. She took out three sheets of paper and began to read. By the time she’d finished, tears had blurred many of the words, and she no longer saw the paper she held or the room she was in.

Her mind was in a state of shock, and she fought vainly to recover her senses. It was all too much, she realized. All the coincidences, all the strange happenings were interconnected; they had been from the start, and she had never once recognized it.

Crystal was Rafe’s sister. The reality of that knowledge was like having the sun break through a storm-laden sky. Suddenly Crystal’s story of the loss of her family business came into her mind, and when it did, Alana quickly saw what she had missed before. She remembered, too, the way Rafe had spoken of his sister Elizabeth.

“How could I not have known?” she asked herself, but realized everything had been cloaked in mystery, and for that very reason nothing had been clear until now.

She thought about Crystal’s–Elizabeth’s, she corrected herself–tale of becoming James Allison’s mistress, and terror struck her fiercely. She was afraid for Crystal, even though she knew Crystal had devoted her life to destroying the man.

Alana did not know how long she sat at the desk, but when she blinked her eyes, she saw Edward standing across from her.

Edward had formed the habit of returning home for lunch ever since Alana moved into his home. And today, when he’d reached the house and found that she was not on the porch waiting for him, he had gone to look for her. When he saw her tearstained face, he said nothing until she acknowledged his presence. “What is it?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Alana couldn’t speak; she simply handed him the letter. A few minutes later, Edward put down the sheets of paper and went around the desk.

He took her hand firmly in his. “She is as brave a woman as you. Perhaps she’ll find out where Rafe is.”

Alana tried to smile, but she could not.

~~~~~

Chaco’s long legs stretched out over the flat ground; his chest rose and fell powerfully with each deep breath he took. He was a mile from Cape Town, and the freedom of the open plateau and the scents brought to him by the sea-bound breezes all stirred his senses.

Every day for the last months, when he was not traveling with Alana, he had come to the edge of town, removed all but his pants, and had run beneath the gentle sun.

Chaco’s promise to Crystal and his devotion to Alana–as well as his lingering guilt over what had happened in New York–kept him in Cape Town, rather than returning to the interior and to the people from whom he had been stolen thirteen years before. He would not desert Crystal or Alana until yhey’d foundRafe Montgomery and Alana no longer needed him. Only then, would he return to his people and become the man he had been destined to be since birth.

Chaco slowed his pace and finally stopped. He looked down at the small tattoo, just below his left nipple, put there just after his birth. No one in Cape Town, white or black, had ever seen that mark. None would until Chaco returned to Basutoland to claim his rightful place.

Chaco, only nine when they had kidnapped and enslaved him, was the grandson of Moshweshwe, the greatest king of the Basuto people. Moshweshwe had aligned his people with the British when the Boers started their great trek through Basutoland and had allowed the British to protect them from the Boers.

It was during that time that the last bands of white slavers roamed the plains looking for blacks to capture and sell far across the ocean. It had been Chaco’s misfortune to be out at that time practicing the hunt, as was his duty.

When captured, they had tried to break his spirit, but he had not let that happen. Instead, he had taken refuge in silence, swearing to himself that he would not speak again until he had returned to Basutoland.

Now Chaco was almost home. And each day that he ran free, he began to use his long-neglected voice. At first, he’d discovered he could not speak at all, and he feared his years of silence had become permanent. But when he ran, he tried to chant a tribal song. As the weeks passed, he started to make strange, almost strangling noises. Once he found he could make sounds, he forced himself to continue.

At the beginning, the pain was intense. The taste of blood always rose in the back of his throat. But it had not stopped him, and on this day, even as Alana read Crystal’s letter, Chaco took a deep breath and let out a loud, piercing shout that echoed across the flatlands.

“I am ready!” he declared to himself.

A half hour later, he was in the black section of Cape Town. This too had become a daily habit for him. He stood silently wherever groups of his people gathered, listening to the rumors that were always rife within the community.

This afternoon he sensed a difference in the atmosphere. Standing in the shade of a small building, Chaco watched a group of men whom he knew to be Zulus. A few moments after he’d arrived, an excited babble broke out. Chaco watched two emaciated men being half-carried between several others.

They looked fearfully around, and when they were certain there were no whites about, the other natives lowered the men to the ground.

Chaco pretended disinterest, but his ears were sharp. He discovered the two were escapees from a prison mine, and as he listened, he heard a tale of horror that made the memories of his slavery return fresh to his mind.

It was even worse, he realized, as the men told of their desperate escape. They spoke, too, about a white man who was with them, a man who was shot a half day after they had broken free.

Slowly, trying not to show any emotion, Chaco went over to the men. In the Basuto language, he asked about the prison and especially about the white man who had escaped with them. He realized he had broken his vow of silence, but the information meant more to him than his oath.

The escaped prisoner he spoke to looked up at Chaco and studied him silently. Then he responded to something he saw within Chaco’s face. “He was a good man, a brave man. He said he was from a land called America.”

“Describe him,” Chaco commanded. In that instant the eyes of all the other people were upon him, and somehow they sensed that he was not just another man. The tone of his voice and his commanding stature told them he was much more than he appeared to be.

The escaped prisoner gave Chaco a description of the man, telling of his full beard, light eyes, and dark hair. He told Chaco about the prison mine they had been in, deep within the Vaal, a mine worked by black political prisoners and white criminals. When he was finished, Chaco had no choice but to believe that the man who had died was Rafe Montgomery.

He left, trying to figure out how he could tell Alana what he had learned. He knew Alana was a strong woman and that she would survive this as she had the other difficulties in her life.

Yet Chaco understood how much his words would hurt her, and his anger at the way people used other people erupted dangerously.

“Dear God! How is it possible?” she asked, turning her back to Chaco after he had conveyed, in sign language, the information he had learned.

He had not spoken aloud because he did not want to shock Alana any further and because he still believed in his vow. Until he returned to his people, he would resume his silence.

Alana turned back to him. “How can you be certain?”

Chaco signed his answer; the finality of his statement only added to Alana’s grief.

“I shan’t accept that. Not until I see his body and kiss his lips one last time!”

Then she fled the room. Alone in her bedroom, she allowed herself to cry out her grief and loss, even though her sorrow went against what she had told Chaco moments before.

When Edward returned at the end of the day, Alana greeted him dry-eyed. With Chaco present, she told him Chaco’s story.

Edward stared at her and felt Alana’s sorrow. “It seems hard to believe. Is he the type of man who would try to escape?”

“With every ounce of his strength.”

“I am sorry,” Edward whispered. “Where was this prison?” he asked Chaco.

Chaco began to sign, but he realized that his signing vocabulary was American and that he could not sign the African or Dutch names. Instead, he slowly spelled out the letters.

“Germiston mine,” Alana translated.

“That makes no sense,” Edward said, shaking his head slowly.

“Why?”

“It is a well-known prison mine. It is also a poor surface mine–the diamonds are of little value. It is used for colored political prisoners and for only the worst white offenders. It’s regularly inspected and the officials would discover a man not properly sentenced. But I shall check on it, Alana, I promise you.”

Alana said nothing as a spark of hope rekindled in her breast.

Chaco, looking at her now hopeful face, was not so certain. He was experienced in the ways of the white man, and he knew that those in control did things with impunity. Chaco believed Rafe was dead. But Chaco’s face did not reflect the blame he placed upon himself for Rafe’s death.

Two weeks later, Edward learned the story of the escape at Germiston prison camp and told it to Alana.

“I was wrong,” he admitted. “The white man who escaped was not on the roster of prisoners. He was an American, and–” Edward paused when he saw the flash of pain cross Alana’s features. He made himself go on, knowing that to soften his words would only add to her hurt.

“His description matched the one you gave me of Rafe Montgomery. He was tall with dark hair, and he was very clearly an American. It seems there is only one American sentenced to serve in a mine, and that man is four hundred miles from Germiston. I am afraid, Alana, that it was indeed your fiancé who was killed.”

Alana accepted his words stoically, but a moment later, her eyes flared. “Then I will claim his body and give him a decent burial.”

Edward shook his head slowly. “That is impossible. He has been dead over a month. He–they never buried him. They left him in the bush. That is the way with escaped criminals.”

Alana’s eyes dulled. She stared at Edward, turned, and left the room. She went up to her bedroom, closed the door, and sat on her bed. No tears spilled from her eyes; rather, her mind brought out her memories of Rafe, and she willed herself to relive them, from the very first day they had met at Riverbend a lifetime ago.