by Nancy Morse
He set his jaw to her intake of a sudden, short breath, followed by her hurried footsteps retreating across the veranda and the screen door closing behind her.
His frustration was building to agony, and his rage mounted with the quickening of his breathing. He went to the edge of the veranda and stood at the railing looking out at the night. The moon appeared as if snagged in a low-hanging cloud over the Ngong hills. How was it possible to feel so miserably alone when so much was going on out there? Beyond the confines of the farm, animals were feeding upon one another, leaving no waste. What the lions left the hyenas feasted upon. What the hyenas left the jackals and vultures consumed. There was no waste in death. But what about life? Without love or even the hope of love life was just one big wasteland.
How much longer could he endure this torture? He slammed his fist on the wooden railing. Damn her for not remembering, and damn him to bloody hell for caring.
Chapter Nine
Morning broke hot and clear with a stiff wind blowing through the thorn trees. Jonathan was standing beside his Model T Ford, one foot on the running board, fingers drumming impatiently on the fender as Julia approached.
His gaze moved over her in a quick but thorough sweep. She was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt clasped at the neck with an amber brooch. A skirt of khaki drill fell to her booted ankles. The sunlight flickered through the weave of her broad-brimmed straw hat, dappling her face with light and rendering him momentarily speechless.
She climbed into the car. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all,” he mumbled sarcastically under his breath. “I love standing around in the heat.”
He was annoyed at the effect she had on him as he went through the motions of starting the car. With the ignition off and the hand brake locked, he went around to the front of the car, grasped the crank with his left hand and pushed it in. Then he pulled out the choke lever, set the throttle and choke, and cupping the crank in his hand, tucked his thumb under the handle so that if the engine kicked back, as it often did, the rapid motion of the crank would not twist his wrist or break his thumb.
The engine roared to life, its old pistons and bearings sounding like native drumbeats. Sliding his six-foot frame behind the steering wheel, he griped, “One of these days I’m going to get a car with an electric starter.”
“Will Kibbi be coming with us?” Julia asked.
“He returned to his village. One of his wives is about to give birth.”
“One of his wives?” she echoed. “How many wives does he have?”
“Three. Masai men are encouraged to have more than one wife. It’s the Masai way. Any other questions before we go?”
“Aside from the obvious of why you’re in such a grumpy mood this morning, do we have enough petrol?”
He looked at her dubiously. “I filled the tank yesterday. These old Model T’s rely on gravity to fuel the carburetor and can’t climb steep hills when the fuel level is low.” He laughed in spite of himself. “But don’t worry. We won’t be climbing any hills in reverse.”
Amid a shrill whirring sound, the Ford got underway. They had not driven more than a few yards when furious barking rose up behind them.
Jonathan shook his head. “Molo can’t bear the thought of me going anywhere without him.”
“Aren’t you going to stop?” Julia exclaimed when Jonathan gave no indication of slowing down.
“That dog is part bird. Watch.”
She turned over her shoulder and watched as the dog gained on the car, launched himself into the air and soared through the open window, landing in the rear seat with a self-satisfied look on his face.
Impressed by the dog’s acrobatic agility and sheer determination, Julia turned back around, settled against the worn flannel seat, and said ironically, “I should have guessed that any dog that can survive drowning can also fly.”
They drove on into the dust and heat of the African plain. The sky was pale blue and tinged by slow-moving clouds. Everything was dull and lifeless, except for the air which seemed like a living thing and the ranges of hills in the distance that looked to be swaying in the heat. For a long time they saw nothing. Then, appearing as if by magic, they spotted a huge bull elephant grazing among the thorn trees, his hindquarters looking like huge grey boulders.
Slowing the Ford to a crawl, Jonathan said in a low voice, “He’s got a couple hundred pounds of ivory on him.”
Julia leaned forward in the seat and peered out the window, and asked in a whisper, “Do you think the hunters will get him?”
Jonathan put a finger to his lips and watched the ever-shifting wind in the treetops. Confident that their scent had not yet reached the bull, he inched the Ford slowly along. But just when it seemed they were safely out of range, Molo let out a warning bark.
The bull raised his head, lifted his trunk, and turned to face them, his giant ears spreading to capture the sound.
“His eyesight’s not good,” Jonathan said. “He can’t see us.”
Suddenly, the wind shifted, carrying their scent aloft. “But now he can smell us.”
The bull issued an angry, shrill bellow and advanced.
Julia drew back and watched with frightened eyes as Jonathan grabbed his rifle from the rear seat and said in a rough whisper, “I may have to shoot him.”
Molo growled. Ignoring the furious look Jonathan shot at him, he sprang from the car and ran toward the bull, barking furiously.
“Damn that dog,” Jonathan cursed through gritted teeth. “He’ll get himself flattened to a pulp.”
Having no choice, he got out of the car and raised his Winchester slowly, ready to fire. Holding the rifle steady, he stood stock still as the bull advanced. His bullets would strike that hide like pebbles. His only chance was a shot to the brain. A feeling of unfathomable sadness washed over him at the thought of it.
Whether it was luck or because of Molo’s crazy heroics, the big bull elephant lifted his trunk, gave another bellow, turned, and ambled away, crashing through the thickets with Molo hot on his trail.
The air went out of Jonathan in a long, low whoosh. For an indeterminable amount of time there was no sound as he waited for the inevitable scream of a fatally wounded dog. After a lengthy pause he lowered the rifle and turned back to the car, his face mirroring his distress.
Julia sat there limp with residual fear. She wanted to say something to him, but didn’t know what. And then, “Jonathan! Look!”
It was Molo, trotting across the open plain.
At the sight of him Jonathan unleashed a string of colorful invectives, but Julia heard the relief in his tone.
Molo returned to the car and jumped into the back seat as if nothing had happened.
“If you expect me to thank you, you can forget it,” Jonathan griped to the dog as he slid his frame behind the wheel, stepped on the accelerator and got the Model T rolling.
Julia swallowed down a lump of fear and ventured, “Were you afraid?”
“Damn right,” he said. “It’s bloody bad news when you stop being afraid. Being afraid is what keeps you alert and alive.”
Julia turned her face toward the window and watched the terrain slip by. It was hard for her to imagine that Jonathan Shane was afraid of anything.
Chapter Ten
Nairobi lay at the foot of the Kikuyu hills, facing north toward Mount Kenya and south toward Kilimanjaro. On the outskirts of town they drove past small villas with stone balusters and gardens made for afternoon tea parties inhabited by the Indian merchants who ran the native business section of the bazaar.
They entered the town by way of a dusty street lined with rows of eucalyptus trees. What began as a shunt for the Uganda Railway was now a modestly sprawling hub where land sales and trades were executed, and shops sold food and supplies for shillings, pounds, and rupees. Although it had grown over the past thirty years, Nairobi was nevertheless still a raw and unsettled place by wes
tern standards.
Men strolled the dusty streets in bush shirts and khaki shorts. Women wore long-sleeved blouses, long skirts and broad-brimmed hats to protect their cream-colored complexions. The pitted road was crowded with motorcycles, motorcars, and lorries laden with crops of flax and sisal. Jonathan jerked hard on the steering wheel to narrowly avoid an oncoming lorry, and hit the horn, blasting out an ay-ooo-gah warning to the other driver.
“When we first arrived in Africa, there were no cars,” he said. “My father used to pack us in an oxen cart and drive us here. The place has changed quite a bit, as all towns do, I suppose. These days there’s a ballroom in the new Government House and flower shows, and you can dine at the hotels and dance at the Muthaiga Club.”
He pulled up before a stone building bearing the words Standard Bank of South Africa. “You can arrange for the money to be wired into my account while I go buy supplies.” From the pocket of his bush jacket he took out a piece of paper upon which he had scribbled his bank account number, and handed it to her. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
It took less than an hour for the transaction to be completed. Five thousand dollars. All the money she had in the world. A small price to pay, Julia thought, as she left the bank and stepped outside into the hot African sunshine. And if this trip failed to turn up the memories she lost, she would return to America and her work at the Zoological Society and save enough money for another trip to Africa. Business in America was booming after the war. She would take any assignment Natural World threw at her. There was also the Magazine of Arts and Public Affairs, a progressive monthly well-illustrated with halftone engravings from photographs. Surely, she could sell some of her photographs to them to earn extra money.
She vowed to come back to Africa as many times as she had to. But as she wandered down the street, she began to wonder if it was only to chase memories, or if something more lured her to this primitive place teetering on the verge of civilization.
Perhaps it was the tens of thousands of animals unmarked by human interference, unbound by cages and man-made exhibits, running wild and free as they were meant to do, or the unconquered mountains and untraveled roads. This land had the stamp of wildness and freedom about it. Just like…
The image of Jonathan Shane loomed in her mind. Earlier today, while she had cowered in the car, he had stood alone and brave against a charging bull elephant. She had no doubt that if Molo had not chased the beast away, Jonathan would not have hesitated to stand his ground and do what had to be done. He was the kind of man who wasn’t ashamed of being afraid, but who didn’t let fear stop him. That solid, dependable, self-assurance, combined with his good looks, was a heady combination. But there was something else about him that she could not define. It went beyond his bravery, athletic body, and handsome features to a deeper core of emotion. Something haunted him. The war, maybe? He had eluded to a past relationship, and from what she surmised, it hadn’t ended well. Perhaps that was it. Whatever it was, there lurked behind those blue eyes a haunting sadness as if he were longing for something that might have been.
And then there was his kiss. Deep down in the depths of her being she had sensed it was much more than just a kiss. She had tasted the hot need in it. In that moment of time when she’d been trapped in the tender desperation of his arms, all doubt and confusion had whirled away, leaving only awareness of the bruising pleasure of being held tightly against him. He had seemed to be struggling with himself over whether or not to go further and take the kiss to its logical conclusion. And she would have let him. Was it for her sake or his own that he had pushed her away before they were consumed by a fire over which they had no control?
Today, he was cool and aloof, as if purposely trying to maintain distance between them. Yet even at a distance he was intriguing. Was it because of the strength and comfort he imparted? Was it the exciting notion of being intimate with a man who was, by all intents and purposes, a stranger to her? Yet was he? Something nagged at the back of her mind, not a voice really, but more of an intuition telling her that being in his arms was the right place to be.
She wandered aimlessly around the dusty little town, past new stone buildings and old corrugated bungalows and the Indian Bazaar. Despite the government office, the churches and the shops, it was still a raw place. It would be a long time before modern times caught up with Nairobi, she thought, as she turned into an alley to take a shortcut back to the bank.
It was darker here, the sunlight obliterated by the buildings on either side of the narrow alley. Yet despite the coolness, distinct beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead, and a queasy feeling overtook her. Turning around, she saw a dark-skinned man walking a short distance behind her. Something about him gave rise to a sense of nervousness. Her footsteps quickened. So did his. A painful knot formed in her chest as she broke into a run. Looking back over her shoulder she gasped to see him advancing rapidly.
Panic coalesced into a sudden overwhelming fear that spread rapidly through her body. The fear lodged in her throat, threatening to choke her when hands reached from behind to grab her in a merciless grip to stop her flight.
She tried to scream, but his hand clasped over her mouth, forcing the sound back down her throat. With one arm snaked painfully around her waist constricting her breath, he brought his face close to her ear and in fractured English whispered a chilling warning.
“If you know what’s good for you, you will leave this place and never come back.”
Then, just as suddenly as he had apprehended her, he let her go with a forceful shove. Her hat flew from her head. She fell sideways and hit the ground with a thud. Paralyzed with fear, she remained motionless as his footsteps hurried away.
When the alley fell silent and still, she pushed herself to her knees with a grunt of pain. She remained there unable to move, trying desperately to summon the strength to call for help, but the only sound that emerged was a faint squeak of lingering terror.
“Molo!”
A familiar voice pierced her web of fear. Lifting her head, she saw the dog running toward her, followed in hot pursuit by Jonathan.
“Come back here, you—”
His command stopped short when he saw Julia at the far end of the alley.
“Julia!”
He raced to her, catching up with Molo just as she was staggering to her feet. His hands went out to catch her as she stumbled.
“What happened? Are you all right?” His breathless voice matched the anxiety written all over his face.
She fell against him, unable to hold back the emotion. “A man,” she sobbed. “A man.”
Alarm shot through him. “Did he hurt you?”
She gave a tremulous shake of the head.
His arms went around her, grasping her trembling body in his protective embrace. He whispered soothing words until he felt her trembling subside. Then, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He bent to scoop up her hat, and with an arm clasped about her waist to steady her, he led her out of the alley with the dog at their heels.
Back at the Model T, Molo jumped into the rear seat while Jonathan held the door open for Julia and then went through the mechanics of getting the car cranked.
As they drove away, Julia noticed a man dressed in a white suit of perfect cut, dark brogue shoes, and gold cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. Something about him caused her to stare as he disappeared into the bank. “Who was that?”
“Never mind him,” Jonathan tersely replied. “Can you describe the man in the alley?”
“He was shabbily dressed. His coat was torn and looked like some kind of military jacket. He wore leather sandals.”
“Abyssinian,” Jonathan muttered. “They often come into town to spend the money they get from a kill.”
Julia was bravely trying to hide her fear, but her face was pale and there was a tremble in her voice when she asked, “How did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t. I was he
aded back to the bank when Molo took off. I was chasing after him. It was him who found you.”
She turned in her seat to pet the hound.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Jonathan’s voice, inquisitive yet commanding, turned her back around.
“I got done at the bank early, so I thought I’d have a look around on the chance that anything looked familiar.”
“Did it?”
“No. I cut through the alley on the way back, and…” She fought to keep her voice level, without success. “A man appeared from out of nowhere. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he said…he said…” Her voice quivered as the warning flashed in her mind. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave this place and never come back.”
Jonathan jammed his foot on the brake and stopped the car short. He sat there with his fingers flexing around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. This wasn’t an attack on a white woman to rob her purse, as he had first suspected. It was much worse.
“What is it?” Julia questioned. “What’s wrong?”
He expelled an uneven breath. “I wasn’t going to tell you this. I figured you had enough to worry about. But the day after I found you I went back to take a look at the Roadster. I saw tracks leading away from it.”
“The guide,” she said weakly. “He was going for help. When he didn’t return, I thought something terrible must have happened to him.”
“I followed the tracks. About half a mile away they met up with tire tracks. Apparently, your guide got a ride back to Nairobi. I don’t think he ever intended to return.”
She stared back blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m thinking he swerved the car on purpose to leave you there, and what just happened in the alley was no coincidence.”
Julia pulled in a stunned breath. “But why?”
“My guess is you know something, and whoever’s behind these things doesn’t want you to tell anyone what it is.”