Diamond Mine

by Felicia Rogers

  “So you are the great war hero I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Humph.”

  “Father Thomas said you would say that.”

  Rory ignored the comment and weaved his way through the dense crowd. He said, “Father Matthew, if you’ll tell me which case is yours, I’ll get it.”

  “That would be the old, beat-up, leather one. I take it on every trip.”

  Rory nodded and left him as he shoved through the crowd. Halfway in, he stumbled into an elderly man.

  He turned on Rory and drew his brows together. “Watch where you’re going.”

  “Pardon,” said Rory, between gritted teeth.

  The man shook his head in disgust, and Rory restrained his rising temper. Balance regained, he continued.

  The mass of bodies produced a cornucopia of smells. Rank body odor, heavy musk, and the faint hint of roses.

  The familiar scent wafted over him, and he lifted his head. Ladies surrounded him. One sashayed toward the exit. Long brown hair flowed down her back.

  Whisking the bag from the carousel, Rory ran to Father Matthew. He grabbed the wheelchair and shoved.

  “Whew! I haven’t popped a wheelie in a while. Where’s the fire?”

  Rory remained silent as he navigated the chair to the waiting jeep. He deposited Father Matthew inside, while secretly looking for the mystery lady.

  A cab sped past and he caught a brief glimpse of the passenger.

  He leaned against the dusty jeep. The heated metal burned slightly and he moved back. Taking a deep breath, he climbed behind the wheel and asked, “Ready to go?”

  Father Matthew nodded.

  The jeep glided smoothly along the highway. The yellow cab never drew too far out of his range.

  “How do you like living at the monastery?” asked Father Matthew.

  “It’s not what I expected.”

  “And what did you expect? A four star resort?”

  “Is that supposed to be a crack about my wealth?”

  “Perhaps,” said the Father.

  Rory didn’t respond as he concentrated. The cab’s direction mimicked his own, and he silently rejoiced.

  “Forgive me.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Rory.

  “The crack about your wealth was inappropriate. Father Thomas has shared your contribution amount with me. You have been more than generous.”

  Rory turned his head and studied the father.

  “Do not be angry with Father Thomas. I pressured him into telling me. It isn’t often that a person of your status comes to our humble establishment to work.”

  “So you thought I was lying?”

  “The thought crossed my mind. But from what I’ve heard, I was mistaken. You are taking your penance very seriously.”

  Rory turned his attention back to the road. He frowned. The cab with the mystery lady was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  The man nodded. They pulled out into moving traffic. Along the way, the driver talked non-stop. Hannah leaned her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes. She wasn’t a very good tourist. She should be looking around, soaking in the sights and sounds of beautiful South Africa, but instead all she wanted to do was take a nice hot bath and sleep. Her eyelids grew heavy, and before long the noise of the cab driver faded away.

  The honking horn and the cab driver’s foreign tongue ranting and raving at anything blocking his path startled her. Sitting straighter, she peered at her watch. Almost an hour had passed since they’d left the airport.

  Looking around the ancient vehicle for a meter, Hannah cringed. She might be in trouble. The cash she carried was limited. She contemplated the idea that she might have to work off the payment. Disgusting thoughts like cleaning the cab came to mind.

  A smile graced her face. Perhaps the driver will take an autographed copy of my first novel in lieu of payment.

  Facing the window, she looked outside. The countryside flashed by in slow motion. The air inside the cab became musty and stifling. Hannah rolled down the window to take a breath of fresh air, but instead her lungs filled with dust.

  The cab driver hid a laugh behind his hand and started talking again. Hannah ignored him, took out a pair of well-worn sunglasses, and settled them on the bridge of her nose. “How much farther?”

  “Not far, not far,” he replied. A smile split his mouth and showed off pearly white teeth.

  Hannah settled back against the seat once more and gathered her purse onto her lap. Discreetly she counted the bills within. Sighing, she realized it had been a mistake not to call Melanie. She’d wanted to surprise her. It would be a surprise, all right.

  She would show up on Melanie’s doorstep and say, “Hi, Melanie so happy to see you. Do you have a couple of hundred rand to throw my way so I can pay the cabby and stay out of jail? Okay, thanks.”

  Yeah, that was going to go over real well.

  The home probably employed workers whose only job was to drive to the airport and pick people up.

  Leaders from the missionary board frequently visited, bringing potential investors. Melanie once complained this was the only part of her work she detested, putting on a show for the bigwigs that came to visit.

  Melanie herself came from a wealthy family and was used to entertaining. She’d met Korzan Sekibo while in college. From a wealthy Sudanese family, he’d been sent to the United States to receive an education. Korzan spent hours in the library with his nose buried in one book or another. That was where they’d met. Hannah had heard the story so many times she felt like she’d been there…

  A young woman stood on a ladder trying to reach an elusive book stowed on the top shelf. Without warning, the ladder folded in upon itself. The lady was in dire need. Korzan leapt from his chair, jumped over tables, people, and any other obstacle in a single bound, and as Melanie fell from the sky, he caught her. As they tumbled to the ground together, in a mass of tangled appendages, they confessed their undying love.

  Hannah smiled. Her remembrance of the story was probably more romantic than theirs, but truth was, Melanie had fallen from the ladder, but instead of Korzan catching her in a romantic embrace, she’d actually landed on top of him. He’d spent six weeks in therapy with a broken leg. Melanie had felt so guilty she’d visited him every day. During that time, they’d begun a friendship which had morphed into a shared love.

  Melanie’s spiritual awareness grew. It was a beautiful progression from Melanie, the roaring socialite, to Melanie, the peaceful lamb.

  Korzan proposed and asked Melanie to help him live out his dreams. She readily accepted. But oft times when one gives their life completely to Christ, they leave certain things behind. This instance was no different.

  On Melanie’s wedding day, she was overjoyed to marry Korzan and embark on a new life. They’d applied to be missionaries in Sudan. Their papers of acceptance had been received and welcomed and they were scheduled to leave one week after the wedding.

  Even though the wedding brought joy, it had also brought sorrow. Melanie’s parents had not approved. They liked Korzan well enough. They even liked the idea of Melanie growing closer to the Lord. Her father was a deacon. But what they couldn’t abide was Melanie donating her ball gowns and fancy attire to an auction for sick children, or Melanie allowing a homeless family to stay in her apartment until they could get on their feet, or leaving her car in the care of an elderly couple who needed transportation.

  They liked the words Melanie spoke about putting the Lord first, just not the actual practice of those words.

  When Melanie’s parents learned of her and Korzan’s desire to become missionaries, they’d threatened to disown her. They’d refused to attend the modest wedding Melanie had planned, even going so far as not speaking to their only child.

  Hannah offered to talk to them on Melanie’s behalf but she had said no. She said her parents knew of the Lord and if she prayed, they would listen and respond.

  Melanie had walked herself down the aisle, an
d as Hannah walked in front of her, she could hear muttered words from the Footprints poem.

  Korzan and Melanie’s romance had been the inspiration behind many of Hannah’s novel ideas. From romantic candlelight dinners, to surprise visits while bearing gifts, lots of her story plotting came from their interludes. Fortunately for Hannah, Korzan was a total romantic and wasn’t afraid of being watched when his love was expressed. This had allowed her to witness true love in action.

  A sigh left Hannah’s lips as she gazed out the window. Now if only she had someone to show that same affection toward her. She couldn’t keep living in the past. The hero she dreamed of wasn’t coming back. Perhaps he’d never been real in the first place. Her mother had said she’d imagined him. No guy was that perfect, she’d said. But Hannah knew her mother was wrong. Rory was perfect. And he was out there. But what did it matter? He was gone to her forever.

  Chapter Nine

  From sunup to sundown he stumbled around the roots of the tree. Painstakingly, Rory dug. He tried to focus on moving the monstrosity, but his mind wandered.

  His earlier trek to the airport brought back memories, and as he edged slowly around a root, he thought about his parents. Both of them were still alive — one living in England, the other in America.

  After his parents separated, his paternal grandfather, Gary Chance, had primarily raised him. He’d spent his summers on American soil with his mother, and his holidays with his British father. This was the only time he wasn’t jet setting around the country, blowing grandfather Chance’s money.

  Every moment of every trip could be recalled. His father constantly trying to pass him off on some nursemaid, fights and arguments between his grandfather and father over the holidays because of his father’s behavior, finding his father in a drunken stupor.

  On the other side of the pond, his mother had fawned and doted on him until he’d been more than a little embarrassed. Guilt and shame over not being with him the rest of the year had caused her to behave this way.

  To this day his parents had yet to officially divorce. As far as he could tell, they were still faithful to one another, even as they lived an ocean apart. On several occasions, he tried to discover why they maintained this relationship, but neither one of them seemed to know the answer. Or if they did, they weren’t telling him.

  Stretched to his full height, Rory gulped from a jug and water dribbled down his chin. His shirt was wrapped around his neck, and he used it to dab sweat from his forehead.

  His leg itched where it met the prosthetic, but he refused to scratch. There would be no relief, so why bother.

  The shovel struck the hard ground, sending vibrations along his arm. The work reminded him of a particular visit to America…

  As Rory grew older, there was less and less to do on his trips to America. With no auto and all his hangouts and friends thousands of miles away, the only logical choice to stave off the boredom was to help his mother.

  Mother had just moved into a nice neighborhood, lots of houses filled with bustling families. She loved flowers and this particular summer she’d asked for landscaping help. Of course, Rory’d agreed.

  Margaret Chance, his mum, had marked places in the yard. Each spot needed a one foot by one foot hole. His job – dig the hole.

  Rory had completed three when he heard a decidedly feminine voice headed his way. Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and earbuds from a music player stuffed in her ears, she sang loudly. The short running shorts she wore showed off long, slender, shapely legs.

  A low whistle escaped his lips as she drew closer. Rory cocked a brow at her erratic pace. She squinted as if having trouble seeing, then she turned drastically and ran in an oblique line.

  Rory jumped from his position and waved frantically, but she smiled and waved back. Prepared to shout, he realized he was too late. Before the words could leave his lips, she yelled.

  Rory reached her side. One leg buried knee-deep in the rosebush hole while the other lay bent on top of the ground. He extended his hand and pulled her free. He introduced himself. “Hullo. I’m Rory Chance.”

  Her hand came forward to grasp his, and as it did, she placed her weight on both her feet, yelped, and fell forward into his chest.

  Rory swept her into his arms and carried her to the porch. Setting her gently on one of the lounge chairs, he commanded, “Don’t move.”

  Inside the kitchen he located an icepack. When he returned, she lay against the cushion. The girl was more beautiful in this position than she had been while in motion.

  She opened her eyes and a look of mirth formed in their green depths. “I didn’t move.”

  Heat rushed to his cheeks, a completely new sensation for him. He was a charmer, lucky with women. He made them blush, not the other way around. So why did this one make him feel awkward?

  He shook his head to free his thoughts. “Indeed you didn’t.”

  The icepack hurt his hand. He wanted to touch her leg — no her ankle, but was so thrown by her beauty, he was having trouble communicating past the last few words spoken.

  A smile tugged her lips and she stretched her hand forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hannah Baker.” When she twisted to reach him, the smile turned into a grimace. Here was his chance.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Hannah. Now, if you please, stretch out your leg and let’s have a look at your ankle.”

  Tenderly, Rory removed her shoe and sock. He marveled over the smooth feel of her skin and the well-defined muscle of her calf. To cover his discomfort, he made noises under his breath and a great show of studying the swollen, purpling area.

  “Well, Dr. Chance, is it broken?”

  Raising his head to gaze into her eyes, he noted her smile had returned. At least she wasn’t angry with him.

  “I don’t believe so. But I think you should stay off of it for awhile and wear this ice pack. Make sure to rotate it off and on at fifteen minute intervals.”

  “Okay. But I might need to borrow your phone.”

  “Of course.” He left her and hurried inside to fulfill her request.

  After giving her the phone, he walked to the other side of the porch and sat down. He shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but he did.

  “Mom?” she said, pausing to allow a response.

  “Okay. Just tell her I went for my jog and I’m taking my time.” Pause. “Thanks.”

  Turning off the phone, she laid it on the table. Rory didn’t come near until she started talking.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you from England? Because I’m detecting a distinct British accent.”

  “I am.”

  “Okay. Now I have another question.”

  “Of course.” Rory was prepared for anything. She could ask him out, she could ask for a kiss, she could ask for the moon.

  “Why in the world are you digging gigantic holes in your yard? I could have broken my leg! Okay, admittedly I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. I’m bad for daydreaming and making up stories in my head, but this time wasn’t my fault. Although my mom will never believe me. Oh man! I hope my ankle looks better before I get home. She’ll have me at the emergency room. She’ll make them give me a cast just to make sure I don’t move and hurt myself worse. And…”

  Rory felt like he’d been run over by a Mack truck. Didn’t the girl breathe?

  She must have noticed his expression because she looked at him and said, “Sorry.”

  She bowed her head, and pink tinged her cheeks. Obviously she hadn’t meant to shoot off at the mouth as she had.

  “Rory, forgive me. I don’t normally go all ballistic like that. Especially with people I don’t know. It’s just, well, you’re making me feel a little, hmm, awkward.”

  Rory couldn’t fathom what she meant. Cool air blew across the porch and fell across his flushed skin, and he realized he was only half-dressed. His t-shirt lay across his shoulder, dripping we
t with sweat. He walked inside and found a clean one. When he came back, he held out a glass of tea.

  He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “Better?”

  “Yeah,” she took a sip. “Why are there huge holes in your yard?”

  “My mum is planting roses.”

  “Oh.” She squirmed.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, it’s just…” Pausing, she sighed. “I feel bad for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Rory, those holes are too close to the sidewalk.”

  “What? I don’t understand. Just because you fell—”

  “No, I’m not saying it because of that. That was my own fault. You see, this is a gated community, and it has certain rules. One of said rules is no bushes or flowers can be planted within two feet of the sidewalk.”

  “Oh.” He frowned. That meant he’d wasted the whole day. Since he had nothing else to occupy his time, he guessed it didn’t really matter. Whether he liked it or not, by the end of summer he was going to be an expert hole-digger.

  His flesh felt hot, and he looked down to see Hannah’s hand resting on his arm.

  “Rory, don’t worry. I’ll help you. We just need to fill in these holes and dig new ones.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “I like your accent.”

  He helped her home, which wasn’t hard since she only lived a few houses away. But true to her word, she returned to help with the roses.

  A bird cawed and drew him back to the present. Rory dug around the roots of the tree, realizing how fruitless it was to rehash the past. That whole summer, he had talked and visited with Hannah. It had started as a friendship, just hanging out and having a good time while in America.

  But she became his pet project. The girl had needed serious help when it came to talking to people. Prone to run on and on, he found himself smiling secretly at her antics. A vivid imagination had kept the girl in trouble with her mother, stepfather, and a dozen other people at any one time.