Diamond Mine

by Felicia Rogers

  “Ouch!” she yelled as she landed. Standing, she smoothed her skirt and beat away the dust.

  The room was dark. Slivers of light peeked through the dirt-streaked windows. Shadows danced in the corners, and tiny squeaking noises caused her to squirm. Feet stomped against the stairs, and her pulse quickened in a matching rhythm.

  A quick study of the area revealed furniture comprised of splintered wood. No closet or cubbyhole existed.

  Running to the hallway, Hannah looked both ways. The top of someone’s head peeped over the landing. Unsure where to go, she picked a location opposite the stairs. One of these empty rooms had to have a place to hide.

  “She went through the window on the third floor,” came a rich, timbered voice.

  “I’m almost there,” answered the other pursuer.

  Hannah cringed and fought the urge to check behind her. At the end of the hallway was a bright light. Following the glow, she entered. A hulled-out room appeared before her. This room was more open than the last one. Twisting in a full circle, Hannah’s forehead beaded with sweat. She walked farther into the room.

  By the time the cracking noise was heard, it was too late. The floor disappeared. Her arms raised above her head as she fell through the floor.

  ****

  “Where is she?” mumbled Rory.

  The sidewalks teemed with people. The pressure on his sores sent him reeling sideways, and he caught himself against a storefront. An expletive left his lips as he straightened. Sunlight blinded him as he gazed at the crowds. How would he find her in this mess?

  Stumbling along, a plume of smoke drifted from a collapsing building. Reflexes on autopilot, he jumped.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  A native standing beside him shrugged. “Who knows? The building was old.”

  Rory walked closer.

  “Someone is trapped!”

  Rory’s pulse increased. Frantically, he pushed bystanders aside, forcing his way to the scene. Once he arrived, several men could be seen standing on the precipice above, eying the rubble.

  Someone yelled. “No one is there. We saw no one.”

  Complaints were mumbled as disgruntled bystanders moved on, sad their spectacle had ended.

  “Wonder who will clean up this mess?”

  “No doubt it will hurt our businesses.”

  “Why do we stay?”

  Rory listened but ignored them as he moved forward. The two men hanging over the edge disappeared. Fear gnawed at his gut. Something wasn’t right.

  Closer and closer he walked, until his foot touched the corner of the rubble.

  “Ow…”

  The moan coming from the debris sent Rory into a flurry of activity. On one knee he bent; his hands clawed through the broken rock. Alert for any signs of a body, the color yellow stole his breath. Working faster, he dug.

  When the body became more visible, Rory’s heart almost stopped.

  “Hannah!” he screamed.

  Faster and faster he raced to free her. The rocks pushed aside, blood ran from his open wounds. Seconds turned to minutes, and then she was free. He felt for a pulse. It was slow but steady. He leaned back and raised his gaze to the sky.

  After a brief prayer, he scooped Hannah into his arms. He stood up and walked. There was no plan. No destination in mind. Chills raced along his spine as his fever returned and delirium set in.

  He was back in the desert. Instead of carrying Hannah, he carried a war-torn John. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain through his shrapnel filled leg.

  “Hold on, John. We’re almost there. I promise to take care of you. Just hold on. We’re going to make it.”

  Day became night as Rory continued. Hours passed. The horizon changed. Tiny structures appeared.

  “We’re almost there. Almost…”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  In both directions, Hannah expanded her arms and placed them above her head, lengthening her legs and wiggling her toes. Her eyelids fluttered opened. She lay in a soft bed covered by a cotton sheet. Heat flooded her cheeks when she noted her indecency.

  Sunlight filtered into the room through an open window. The door slapped the wall as it swung open, and she snuggled farther beneath the sheets to conceal herself.

  “Oh, you’re awake. I brought you tea.”

  Hannah cleared her throat and said, “Thank you.”

  A woman of at least sixty years of age with graying hair and kind brown eyes sent her a sincere smile. “I’m Mary.”

  She brought her hand out from under the covers and extended it in the nun’s direction. “I’m Hannah.”

  The tray placed on a small table, Mary clasped her hand and squeezed. “So, I’ve heard.” Released, the nun turned and poured tea into a China cup. Gold paint rimmed the edges, and a tiny blue scroll design was etched along the sides.

  The full cup of steaming tea was handed to her.

  Adjusting her long flowing robes, Mary took a seat in a straight back chair. With a pointed stare, she said, “You and Rory have caused quite a stir.”

  Hannah was startled. “Excuse me?”

  An insignificant giggle escaped Mary as she shifted to a more comfortable position. Red color tinged her cheeks. “Oh, do let me explain. Father Thomas has been praying non-stop for Rory’s safe return; we were ready to declare it a hopeless cause when Rory straggled over the hillside with you unconscious in his arms. We thought you were dead. Then you rose in Rory’s arms and said, ‘I love you’, before falling out again.”

  Hannah’s voice left her. Her throat worked to clear the huge lump that had formed. What was this woman talking about? Wouldn’t she remember something like that?

  Consuming a sip of the hot tea, Mary sighed. Head bent, and gazing low, she said, “Rory almost dropped you. The poor fellow was dehydrated, filthy, and it must have been more of a shock than he could handle. Father Thomas and a few of the other brothers were nearby and able to catch you. They brought you to me. The sisters and I washed you. I hope you don’t mind. You were very unclean.”

  Heat infused her cheeks as she nodded and gazed at the quilt, fighting the instant burning desire to see Rory. She had to get out of this room. “Of course, I understand.” She paused then added, “Perhaps you could tell me where I can find my clothes.”

  With a reassuring hand the sister patted her covered leg. “Oh, my dear. They had to be burned. You understand.”

  Hannah nodded and sipped the hot liquid. The tea burned, bringing tears to her eyes. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “But do not fret, we will find something suitable as your attire.” Mary moved to open the curtains.

  “Pardon me for asking but you don’t appear to be Zulu.”

  Mary shook her head. “I’m not. The brothers and sisters here at the monastery are predominantly from France. We are on a missionary journey to provide comfort, aid, and love to the people of South Africa.”

  Hannah sipped the hot bitter brew. “Have you been here long?”

  “Yes. Almost thirty years,” she said, a grin rested on her aged visage. “Some only come for a short time, but some of us come and we cannot leave.”

  “Do you know Melanie Sekibo?”

  “Ah, yes. I believe I do know of whom you speak. I’ve never met her, but is she not the Christian lady running the orphanage? Her and her husband, I believe, yes?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Recognition lit her eyes. “You must forgive me. I’m not involved in all the information that comes through the monastery. But is this perhaps the Melanie that Rory has told us about? The one that Tapiwa now holds captive? She is your friend, yes?”

  “Yes.” Hannah sat up straighter. Pleading, she asked, “Can you order help?”

  Sighing, Mary shook her head. “Sadly I fear we are not allowed to interfere in such matters.”

  “But, but, you’re supposed to be here to protect God’s people! Melanie is a child of God and…”

  Her wrinkled hand rested on Hannah’s
arm. She wanted to apologize for her inappropriate behavior, but before she could, Mary interrupted. “Child, do you know what Mary means?”

  “Of course. It means bitter.”

  “Yes, it does. Mary wasn’t my given name. It was the name I chose when I entered the convent. And do you know why? Well, of course you don’t. The reason I chose bitter was because I was bitter about my lot in life. I’d been engaged to a wonderful man. We were set to be married, then he disappeared. I prayed for his safe return. He was found but not as I expected. He was found in the arms of his true wife. I joined the convent because I was bitter and angry. But over time I realized I was where I was meant to be. I was where I could do good for other people. And while I cannot summon armies in the physical sense, there is one thing I can do for you. I can pray.”

  “Hmm, thank you,” Hannah said, knitting her brows together.

  Mary stood and spun in a semi-circle, clapping her hands together. “Now I must find you some clothing. Your love will be waiting. The proper attire is paramount.”

  With a shuffle and a rustle of prickly wool skirts, Sister Mary left Hannah. In the silence of the small, sparsely furnished room, Hannah tried to remember confessing her love, but she couldn’t. Throwing her head back against the fluffy pillows, she stared at the ceiling and sighed. What should she do now? Pretend it never happened or lie and deny that she meant it.

  ****

  During the wee hours of the morning, Rory’s fever spiked and delirium set in once again. When Rory had arrived with his burden, the poor fellow believed he was carrying John. Then the young lady had sat up in his arms and said she loved him, snapping him into reality. Now Rory had digressed back to that former state.

  Father Thomas made tsk tsk noises at his patient. Even though Rory couldn’t hear his anger, or see his frustration and worry, perhaps he could feel his love.

  This young soldier had come to him for peace, and Father Thomas had sent him on a fool’s errand. Sighing deeply, he admitted to himself perhaps he was being harsher than necessary. Rory had succeeded in rescuing the girl, had he not? Now the question was at what cost.

  The poor soul, whom Thomas held dearer than a son, had allowed sores to develop on his amputated leg. Those sores had been aggravated by his constant moving and had caused the openings to fester, and now an infection had set in. All that could be done for him was being done. Medical care was limited at the monastery. Oral antibiotics, held in reserve for emergencies, had been administered. An antibiotic cream was applied; the dressings changed hourly. Even a doctor from town had come and inspected the infection. The news from that front wasn’t promising. If the leg didn’t improve soon, the doctor wanted to amputate farther.

  Father Thomas had said, “Not yet. First we pray.” And so they had.

  Hannah, the ex-captive, had recovered nicely. Mary and the sisters had taken the role of assisting with her care. However, with her recovery came other issues. The woman was determined to return to Tapiwa’s compound and rescue her friend.

  Father Thomas was familiar with Melanie Sekibo. There was another headstrong woman if he’d ever met one. Americans! She’d entered this country with her Sudanese husband, taken on a slew of children, and then set about rescuing more and more every day.

  Thomas smiled at her tenacity as she’d fought the government officials to take care of the minors rather than allow them to wither away and perish in a state home.

  While drawing the attention of the government to their mission, they had also drawn the attention of Tapiwa. Workers for his illegal activities were best found on the streets or in state homes. When this avenue was closed to him, he’d needed other sources.

  That’s when Korzan, Melanie’s husband, had been taken. When Tapiwa kidnapped him, Melanie had come to the brothers at the monastery for help…

  “Father Thomas, they’ve taken Korzan!”

  “I am sorry, my dear.”

  Hanging his head and kicking at the dry ground, he didn’t have the courage to look her in the eye when he had whispered, “There is nothing I can do.”

  Falling to her knees with her hands folded before her, she pleaded. When that didn’t work, she gave up. “Nothing…” fell quietly from her lips.

  He’d placed his hand on her bent head. “He is in God’s hands now.”

  A shudder ran through Melanie’s frame. She jumped to her feet; a fire lit behind her eyes. She said, “No! I won’t believe it. There is something that can be done. I have risked everything to come here. I can’t give up.”

  “For the sake of the children do not…”

  “Don’t what? Don’t attempt to rescue my husband? Their father?” She grabbed his hands and squeezed. “Father, I implore you. Help me.”

  He wished he could claim to have helped her, but he had not. Pray for her, yes, with utmost urgency did he beseech the Master, but nothing else.

  How many others had suffered and died as he’d stood protected behind his collar? It wasn’t enough to detest their actions. One must act! He could have worked through proper channels, but fear, yes fear, had caused him to neglect his responsibilities to God’s children. By his neglect, he had placed Rory’s life as well as many others in danger.

  Father Thomas now added a spring to his step; his eyes crinkled at the corners with hidden insight. It wasn’t too late. He would fix everything.

  ****

  “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.