Diamond Mine (20 page)

****

“You have to let me see him!” said Hannah, her voice rising with each spoken word.

The bald monk shook his head.

Hannah ran a hand through her long hair in frustration. This was the first time she'd felt like fixing her hair in weeks, and this man was making her ruin it. Taking short, deep cleansing breaths, she tried again.

“Listen, I know you're probably under a religious vow of silence or something like that, so you don't have to speak, but I have to see Rory. No! Don't shake your head again.” The urge to stomp her foot was barely contained. “Melanie is running out of time. Rory can't hide forever.” She jumped, startled by a stray hand landing on her shoulder.

“Rory is not avoiding you, my child.”

“Oh, Father Thomas,” she said, casting her eyes downward in embarrassment.

“Lift your head. There we are. I understand you're frustrated with the wait, but Rory cannot help you.”

Defiant, she lifted her head. “You mean he doesn't want to help me.”

“No, I mean he cannot help you. I'm afraid Mr. Chance is very ill.”

“Ill?” she gulped.

“Yes, Miss Baker. It appears he pushed himself a little too hard.”

Breathlessly, she said, “I didn't know.”

“Of course not. I instructed the others to keep the information from you.”

“Why?”

“I had hoped Rory would improve, and you would not need to know of his condition.”

She lurched blindly toward Rory's door, but the priest barred her way. “Please. I have to see him. He saved me.”

“Miss Baker, I do not believe he would want you to see him under these circumstances.”

“Duly noted, but I'm going in anyway.” Hannah pushed past the gawking father. The monk beside him dropped his jaw in stunned silence.

She entered the room. An oil lantern with the wick trimmed low provided the only light. A figure sat huddled on the small bed against the thin walls. A plastic leg rested at an odd angle against the edge of the bed.

A raspy voice sent a ripple down her spine. “You need to leave.”

Hannah ignored the remark and placed a rag into a nearby bowl of cool water. Squeezing out the excess liquid, she gently rubbed Rory's forehead. He flung his hand into the air and attempted to knock her away.

“Rory, please let me help you.”

“Go away,” he said.

Stepping backward, she placed her hands on her hips. “No.”

“Hannah…”

“Rory Chance, give it up. I'm not going anywhere, at least not yet.”

“You're not…”

“Yes, I am. But don't worry, I'll be fine. I have a plan.”

The warmth of his hand on her arm seared her skin; his grip tightened until red marks appeared. “No!”

“Rory, I can't leave her there.”

“Wait. I'll take you.”

Scooting to the edge of the simple metal bunk, his foot fell to the floor, shakily he pushed upward. Hannah caught him as he toppled over.

An expletive left his lips.

“Rory, sit down.”

He pushed her away as he fell backward. The bunk bounced and settled. “I get it. You don't want the help of a cripple.”

“Rory! You're sick. You need to rest.”

“No, it's okay. I understand. Really I do. I've seen that same look of pity and disgust for so long I know what it looks like. Did you know Monica left me?”

“No,” she whispered. She didn't want to hear this. Her heart ached; her pulse fluttered. Was he going to tell her about his fiancée? Would she be forced to relive his past loves?

He ignored her admission and started to ramble. “She did. She said she couldn't be married to only half a man. Can you believe that? The whole of Europe touts me as a hero! Parades in my honor. Medals around my neck. Keys to the city. And she calls me half a man!”

Hannah helped Rory to lie on his back. She laid the rag to his flushed skin as he continued.

“John was trapped. This huge piece of wood crushed his leg. I pulled him out, slung him over my shoulder, and carried him back to our unit. After I laid him down, I passed out. When I came to I was like this. This wrapped-up stump. I'd been hit by shrapnel, and they'd taken my leg while I slept. They should have let me die. What good is a military man without his legs? What good is half a man?

“Reporters followed me for weeks. All the papers calling me a hero. Yet my fiancée, someone who should love me no matter what, treated me like a leper.”

The new information caused her voice to quiver. Quietly, she asked, “Why are you in South Africa?”

Her throat constricted as he clasped the collar of her shirt and gazed into her eyes. “Why am I here? It should be obvious. I'm here to get away from all of them.” His arm spread wide and he released her. Leaning back, she took in a deep breath as the plop of his head hitting the pillow resounded.

“I'm here because I can't stand the lie. I'm not a hero! John is in a wheelchair, his spine completely severed.”

“But he's alive,” she whispered.

“Yeah. He's alive.”

“How does John feel?”

“Oh, he called me a hero too. Said I saved him. His kids are calling me Uncle. But what did I really give them?”

“You gave them their father,” Hannah whispered as hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Sure. I did that. I did nothing. I tried to tell them but no one listens. His family, my family, they all think I'm crazy.”

The tears flowed freely. “Tell me.”

He laughed hysterically. “The thing is I don't remember helping him. He's the one that said I did those things, rescued him, I mean. He said I was like a man possessed, like I had the strength of ten men. He could see my open wound, blood pouring from my leg. He told me my eyes were wild and he was afraid I'd lost it. But I carried him out. Something must have taken over in me because I wasn't in charge of my body, I tell you. Only with therapy did I start to remember, but still things are fuzzy.”

“Is that why you came here? To the monastery, I mean?”

“Yes. I had to get away from all the hero worship and the pitying looks. Not to mention the tongue lolling about my condition. Always behind my back but just loud enough for me to hear. Besides I needed to search for answers.” He averted his gaze.

“Do you believe God helped you?” Hannah asked.

Cynicism pervaded his tone. “God help me? Why? Why would he do that? I've never done anything for Him.”

“Rory, what God gives, He gives freely.”

“So you believe me? I mean, you believe I don't remember saving John?”

“Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?”

“The doc said I forgot because it was traumatic. He said the memories would come back slow. What do you think?”

“Honestly, Rory? I don't know. What I do know is that all things are possible with God.”

Father Thomas entered the room and brought fresh water. “And, how is our patient?”

“I'm alive,” Rory answered.

****

Rory was feverish off and on for two more days. When he was well, he was still too weak to travel. Hannah was worn to a frazzle. She begged Father Thomas to contact the authorities, but he staunchly refused. She begged to be allowed to contact the authorities, but he wouldn't trust her to leave the monastery. She begged him to go to the camp and demand release of the prisoners, but he said it was too dangerous. Then she threatened to go on her own, and he locked her in her room.

Like a caged animal, she paced a rut into the carpet. Every hour that passed was sheer torture. Conjured images of what a slave trader could do to a helpless person drove her mad.

The unexpected thud of a knock made her jump. She hit her head on the low ceiling. “Ow.”

The door squeaked open and there he stood. Thinner than before, his lithe body relaxed. A grin rested upon his face.

“Sorry, love. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Without speech she covered the distance of the small room and fell into his arms. He stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort.

“Rory, are you okay now?”

“Aye, love, I am.”

Leaning back, she punched him in the arm.

“What was that for?”

“That was for scaring me. And this one,” she socked him in the other arm, “is for making me wait. Do you realize that I've lost a whole week and a half? There is no telling what has happened to Melanie and the children by now.”

****

It was the first death Korzan had witnessed. To kill their workers was counterintuitive. However, they couldn't have dissension. The threat of death was all Tapiwa's men really had to make a prisoner obey.

Rolling over, he struggled to get comfortable. The cool night air wafted through the bamboo bars and strayed across his exposed skin. He lay upon a bed of week-old grass. No blanket was provided. No new clothing. No comforts at all. He guessed he should feel blessed he was given food on a regular basis.

The mess hall was the only place he ever received true warmth. The mass of bodies kept the building heated. Unwashed odors could make a new person ill, but an individual who had been there for a while looked at the place as the only time they felt normal. It reminded him of a school gymnasium.

Now in the open-air cage, he curled into a ball and forced himself to rest. Soft snores emitted from the others in the tiny cage. Looking through the bars, he peered at the night sky. Stars winked in and out. Perhaps, wherever Melanie was, she stared at the same sky.

When they'd dated, he'd told her of the beauty of his country. How one was able to see every star clearly. Lights from American cities only distracted from the beauty of God's creation.

When they'd married and moved to Africa, they'd enjoyed many a night in each other's arms, staring at the sky. He'd shared all the constellations he could remember. If he couldn't remember, he would just make one up. He'd created an entire story around each set of stars. Melanie had never questioned him. She'd believed every word. Or if she hadn't believed, she'd never said so.

Flopping onto his back, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the wooden plank roof. Look at what he'd gotten them into. Her parents had been right all along. Why had he thought this would be a good life for them? They'd lost everything. Their child, their home, and each other.

Bitterness threatened to consume him. Why had this happened? He'd given his whole life for the furthering of God's kingdom. It wasn't fair.

Even as the thoughts left his mind, thoughts of the man who'd died today came. What had that man done to be in this situation? He knew the answer. Nothing. None of the men in Tapiwa's camp deserved the evil that had been thrust upon them.

The cold wind whistled over his frame, but he didn't shiver. There was only one course of action left — pray that someone out there would come to their aid.