Today's Embrace (37 page)

“Oh, dear … I see. So that's why Rogan seems a bit distant toward you. I noticed it at once. It surprised me because I knew how much you
meant to him before he left for England. It was cruel and beastly for Julien to have lied to him, telling him you were Henry's child.” She shook her head. “Julien is a hard and cruel man. I'd put nothing past him, mind you. Absolutely
nothing
.”

Evy looked at her, feeling a shudder run through her. Rogan had said that once as well. She believed he and Camilla were right. But
surely
Camilla didn't think Julien had killed Anthony? Julien had made Anthony his chief heir in the diamond business. All that had changed now. Who was next in line? Darinda?

“Why would anyone wish my father dead?”

Camilla looked drawn and thoughtful. “I've lain awake nights wondering. Money is the first motive that comes to mind, but Anthony has left most of the wealth to you. No—don't look embarrassed. I knew all along; we had talked it over. You see, I have enough income from my side of the family.” She looked at Evy. “You were very gracious to accept Anthony as your father even after his weakness and failure to tell you all those years.”

Evy looked at her rather surprised. Camilla seemed stronger than she remembered. Perhaps it was Anthony's death that roused her.

“So his inheritance has not benefited any who could have murdered him. The other motive that's come to mind is politics,” Camilla said thoughtfully.

They had reached the landing. It was a magnificent house with Viennese crystal and lots of polished wood.

“You mean the Matopos Hills and the Kimberly Black Diamond?”

“So you know about that? I suppose Rogan told you. Well, it's not much of a secret now, is it? The fear of an uprising among the natives, if Julien proceeds with his expedition to find Lobengula's grave, was much on Anthony's heart when he left,” Camilla admitted thoughtfully. “However, I think there was another reason that burdened him. You see, Anthony had no intention of going to Bulawayo. He wanted to be here when you and Rogan arrived. He had talked so much about you when
he came home from London. He was so sure you and I would become friends.”

Evy slipped an arm around her stepmother's waist as they walked down the spacious hall toward the bedrooms.

“But something important came up in the last hour before leaving,” Camilla told her. “He didn't explain the details, just told me he must go and reason with Julien and Dr. Jameson. One thing Anthony did accomplish before he left was to pay an unexpected visit to Sir Cecil Rhodes. What they discussed, Anthony didn't say, but he was worried when he left, even angry.”

Evy looked at her. They had stopped outside a bedroom door.

“Angry?” Evy asked, wrinkling her brow.

Camilla mused a moment. “Yes, I would say he was angry about something.” She sighed. “I wish now I had asked him more questions. I wish I had …” She stopped. “Wishes are too late now. There comes a time in life when it's too late.”

She wondered what it was that Camilla wished she had done differently with Anthony?

Evy considered herself and Rogan. It couldn't be too late for them. There had to be a way to work through this situation, to gain Rogan's trust again, to make him see how much she loved him. But what? What could she do, when Rogan was still determined to reject her overtures?

“This is Katie's old room,” Camilla said softly. “I knew you'd want to see it, to be alone here for a time.” She looked at Evy with sympathy. “Don't think that you must stay here tonight, though. If it bothers you, we've another room.”

Evy walked into the pretty room with its lace and satin. She walked over to the grand bed and ran her palm across the satin comforter, touched the furniture, and walked to the window. Her mind tried to take in the past with Katie and Anthony and, yes, Henry Chantry, too. Katie had left this very room that night to meet Henry at the stables, to flee to the mission station at Rorke's Drift to find her daughter. It all had
ended so tragically. While Evy remembered the history, her heart ached. She looked about her, trying to find Katie, but could not. It was merely a lovely room with ghostly memories. Time had moved on.

What truly matters now is the present
. She placed her palm against her womb.
Have I neglected you, my own child? And Rogan—oh, Rogan, my love! Will you ever decide to forgive me? Will this barrier stand between us for the rest of our time together?

Dear Lord Jesus
, she prayed.
Lord forgive me, and help me to trust in You. But now it seems too late for me, heavenly Father. I've set my own course without trusting You or my husband. I desperately need Your guidance, for us—the three of us. And now, for better or for worse, as though my little ship were at sea in the midst of a storm. And will I be pushed onto the rocks, or, by Your grace alone, reach a fair haven? All I can do now is fall upon You, asking that You forgive the path I've willfully taken, and trust that somehow You will be honored. Father, be with me, be with us, all three of us
.

Bulawayo

Rogan did not recognize Bulawayo from when he'd visited just a few short years ago to accompany Rhodes's delegation to meet Lobengula. Back then this section of land consisted of Lobengula's kraal of beehive-shaped huts and acacia trees. There'd been a
setenghi
, an airy, open-sided hut of white mopane poles and a thatch roof. Lobengula also had a wagon with his throne made of empty canned milk crates. Yet he'd owned bags of diamonds and pieces of gold. Rogan could still envision the giant chieftain standing there with shrewd eyes and a knowing, mocking smile. “You white men have fat smeared on your lips,” he'd accused. To this day Rogan thought it a fitting description of a smooth talker! He recalled having to crawl on hands and knees through inches of hot dust to meet with the feared Ndebele chieftain, while flies plastered upon his sweating flesh, biting and stinging him.

Here, Lobengula had held his diabolical ceremonies of “smelling out” his enemies for witchcraft, and executing those he found guilty by hideous means.

“I didn't go on the war hunt,” Derwent Brown was telling Rogan. “But I heard about it. Dr. Jameson led the column to strike against Lobengula because the Ndebele were attacking some Shona around Fort Victoria and raiding their cattle. Lobengula's warriors raided some of the pioneers' farms, too, maybe by mistake, but everyone was up in arms.
Dr. Jameson and Sir Julien said we'd never be able to live in peace with them. Now was the time to fight Lobengula once for all. Mr. Parnell went riding through as one of Sir Julien's field officers and had been with Sir Julien to enter the burning kraal after Lobengula fled.”

“Yes, the Black Diamond,” Rogan stated unpleasantly. “I'd say it was the main reason for Julien's going along. He found out Lobengula had it.”

“Aye, not a nice picture, was it, Mr. Rogan? All that bloodshed for gold and diamonds and land.”

“We'll make this land into something far better,” Rogan commented briskly. “We'll build schools and hospitals. Soon the Ndebele and the Shona, along with new Rhodesians, will have some kind of understanding of peace, so we can all dwell together reasonably.”

Derwent shook his head and sighed. “I don't know, Mr. Rogan. You really think that? Dr. Jakob says there's little but suspicion, misunderstanding, and hatred right now.”

Rogan's mouth turned as he caught Derwent's sober eye. “Well, if it's up to Rhodes and Jameson and men like them to represent peace and integrity, then everyone is in for more of the same, especially the tribes. Rhodes, Jameson, the others—they're just men who have their own selfish interests at heart.”

“Aye, you're right there, for sure. They don't have God's interests at all, but their own worldly kingdom. And the Company would like to stop what they call the missionary lobby from growing in numbers here. Just the way the East India Company put a stop to missionaries entering India. They were set against William Carey, for sure. They're content to let the Africans and East Indians believe in their many gods and idols and don't want missionaries to stir up trouble. For the most part, all the Company wants is rights to the land and rights to the minerals.”

“Now you've gone from politics to preaching, Derwent,” Rogan said with a smile.

“Guess I have. I've been listening to Dr. Jakob.”

“You had a heart for the people long before you listened to Jakob van Buren.”

“It's not just Matabeleland and Mashonaland they want for their empire. They want the Boer Transvaal and the Orange Free State, too.”

“Of course. Gold was discovered in the Transvaal, Derwent, old friend. Of course they want the Boer holdings. Until gold and diamonds were discovered here in huge quantities, England would have been content to allow the Dutch to have all of South Africa. And that's why there will be a war. They want to get rid of Kruger once for all. And because there're more Uitlanders working the gold fields in the Transvaal than there are Boers, Rhodes thinks they have a right to it.”

Derwent looked at him. “How did Bechuanaland escape Rhodes's Company and become a British protectorate, I wonder?”

“Must not be any diamonds or gold there,” Rogan joked.

“Now you're pulling my leg, Mr. Rogan.”

Rogan reached over and pulled Derwent's hat down. “All right, I'll tell you why. You ought to know the African tribes. They're not a united and peaceful ‘brotherhood.' Far from it. The butchery of one tribe against another is fact. They invade another tribe, killing, maiming, taking women and children as slaves, stealing away cattle and goods.”

“Aye, it's true enough. Even Dr. Jakob says the Ndebele people raised cattle, but the other half of the time they were out raiding the cattle from the weaker tribes, mostly the Shona.”

“So the old Bechuanaland Chief feared the British less than he feared his neighboring Zulus or the Boers. So he signed a concession with Her Majesty's Government. That also keeps Rhodes and others from colonizing the land.”

“Seems a good and wise thing to me. Have you seen Sir Julien yet?”

“No. I understand he's hand in hand with Doc Jameson in governing Rhodesia.”

“He is. After Chieftain Lobengula's death, Mr. Rhodes appointed Dr. Jameson Custodian of Enemy Property. And Dr. Jameson has been
mostly responsible for rounding up the captured herds of Ndebele cattle and redistributing them as booty to his troops, about four hundred soldier police, I'm guessing. They're all volunteers. So they support the cause.”

Rogan had heard how Company troops under Jameson, after defeating Lobengula, made huge bonfires of the Ndebele long rawhide shields and hauled away the assegais by the wagonload, disarming the impis and their ruling indunas.

“They took the Martyn-Henry rifles, too,” Derwent told him.

Rogan recalled the rifles with which the Company had paid Lobengula for a concession on the mineral wealth.

“I've a feeling that if they hadn't taken them, we wouldn't be able to walk safely down the dirt street in Bulawayo,” Rogan commented. But after Anthony's and Major Tom Willet's deaths, he wondered if it was still safe.

Bulawayo was a growing white man's town under British control through the Charter Company of Cecil Rhodes. The indunas had moved farther away into new kraals, living under the rules of the Company. Rules and a lordship that many did not like. Resentment was written on the dignified faces of the warriors of Zanzi blood, royal blood, and hatred seethed in the hearts of the impis, whose assegais had been confiscated and broken, their shields burned, their spears snapped in two. Rogan mentioned to Derwent that he could easily sense the resentment in the sullen Ndebele who worked building roads, mining, and helping to harvest crops.