An Unquiet Place

by Clare Houston

  ‘You okay?’ asked Alistair, glancing between her and the road. Hannah nodded but looked out her window rather than answer. ‘Finding the Badenhorsts really knocked you, didn’t it?’

  She nodded again, feeling tears prick her eyes. All she had discovered that morning threatened to overwhelm her and she drew a deep breath. Come on, Hannah, she told herself. Pull yourself together. Just until you get home.

  Alistair looked across at her again. ‘I found some helpful stuff this morning.’

  She knew he was trying to distract her. Pulling a tissue from her bag, she blew her nose and turned towards him. ‘Sorry, I didn’t even ask. Were you done? Did you want to leave just then?’

  His smile was gentle as he said, ‘I can come back if I need to.’ A moment passed while he negotiated his way through an intersection. ‘So, it turns out that the blockhouse line split at Bethlehem. One line followed the road down towards Fouriesburg and the other ran across to Harrismith.’ He looked at her, clearly expecting to see understanding dawn across her face, but she remained blank. He sighed. ‘Goshen sits right in the middle. If, as Rachel says, they were growing food for the troops, it would have been perfectly placed. Those blockhouses were manned by British infantry – at least seven men, but sometimes double that. They were built about a kilometre apart, in sight of one another, and joined by barbed wire. That’s a lot of blockhouses. And a hell of a lot of men to feed.’

  Hannah lay her head back against the headrest and smiled at him. ‘You almost sound excited.’

  He kept his eyes front but smiled. ‘Okay. Go ahead.’

  ‘Go ahead with what?’

  ‘You know you want to.’

  She scrunched her brows. ‘Want to what?’

  ‘You’ve been dying, from the first time we met, to put me in my place.’ He swung one arm wide. ‘Go ahead. I told you so. I told you it was true. I told you this was real. I told you this was gripping. Come on.’

  ‘No. It doesn’t have the same effect. You can’t tell me to tell you so. There’s no satisfaction in being prompted. I need to wait for my own “na-na-na-na-na” moment.’

  He shot her an amused glance. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, shutting her eyes but allowing a grin to play on her lips.

  She must have fallen asleep, because she awoke with Alistair’s hand on her shoulder, not shaking her awake but running down her arm, softly. She sat up, pushing her hair off her face. Alistair came around to her side of the pickup, opening her door, but she stayed in her seat.

  ‘You okay?’ he said.

  ‘I feel a bit ridiculous. Like Rachel’s waiting in there for me. When I open her journal again, she’ll be there, still longing for them, still hoping they’re okay, and now I know the truth. It’s awful. Even just a touch of her grief is so heavy. I can’t deal with it. I don’t want to deal with someone else’s grief!’

  When she glanced up at him, he was still holding the door open for her, but his face had closed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘I didn’t mean you …’

  He stepped away onto the curb, pulling the door wide, and she climbed out, feeling drained and inadequate.

  She let him open the gate for her and escort her up the steps to the deck. Joseph was sprawled on a lounger there.

  ‘My favourite farmer,’ he said, swinging his legs to the side and reaching up a hand for Alistair to shake. ‘Productive day?’

  ‘Revealing,’ said Alistair.

  Hannah stepped towards the French door. ‘I think I’m going to lie down for a bit. Thanks for driving me, Alistair.’ She disappeared inside, leaving Joseph staring after her.

  ‘Is she okay?’ she could hear him ask Alistair.

  She had scrubbed her face clean and was tying her hair back in front of the bathroom mirror, when she looked up to find Joseph lounging against the doorframe. ‘What happened up there that has both of you acting so weirdly?’

  She ignored him.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Alistair says you found out the Badenhorsts all died in a camp.’

  ‘Yes.’ She stepped past him, and he followed her back into the kitchen where she picked up her keys off the counter.

  ‘I thought you weren’t feeling well,’ he said.

  As she walked out onto the deck, she said over her shoulder, ‘I’m just going across to Kathryn’s. I’ll be back for supper. Maybe you could make some for a change.’

  ‘You don’t know my cooking,’ he called after her. ‘You’ll have to take your chances.’ But she didn’t respond, walking quickly out the gate and disappearing around the corner.

  Hannah found Kathryn serving her last table. A family were enjoying coffees and pretty milkshakes, the children shrieking in delight at the tall plastic glasses, piled with marshmallows and sprinkles. Hannah pulled out a bar stool at the counter and asked Maisie for a pot of tea. She soon had a pot covered in a pink-and-grey crocheted tea cosy which she found immensely comforting. Kathryn came up behind her and, placing a hand on her shoulder, spoke across the counter to Maisie, ‘Please take over that table – they want double fudge cupcakes all round.’ She pulled out another stool, still with her hand on Hannah’s shoulder, and sat down. The gentleness communicated through Kathryn’s touch brought hot tears to Hannah’s eyes.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you today, hon,’ said Kathryn. ‘Something to do with Alistair and Marilie?’

  Hannah turned swimming eyes to Kathryn. ‘How do you do that? When I first arrived, you spoke like this too – like you know stuff without being told. Are you clairvoyant or something?’

  Kathryn laughed and shook her head. ‘Nooo!’ She stood up on the rungs of her stool and reached over for another cup, pouring herself tea from Hannah’s pot. She said matter-of-factly, ‘It’s Holy Spirit stuff. I’ve learnt to listen to him, but I want to hear this story from you.’

  A part of Hannah’s brain wondered at her own lack of surprise or suspicion of something so weird, but deeper than that was the fact that she trusted Kathryn completely. ‘Alistair and I went to Bloemfontein to do some research today. It was all going so well, and then I found out that Rachel’s sisters, her mother, and her grandfather died in the Winburg camp. I just felt so desolate afterwards.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t explain it. Then I shot my mouth off to Alistair, saying I can’t deal with someone else’s grief, that it feels like too much. He shut down after that.’ Kathryn tutted, making Hannah bridle. ‘What? You think I was insensitive too? Don’t you think he should be over her by now? Eight years, Kathryn!’

  Kathryn put her hand on Hannah’s arm to draw her attention fully. ‘It’s not just the loss of his wife he had to get over, Hannah. Alistair carries the scars of that day on his face, and no doubt scars of that day in his mind for the rest of his life. He lost his life as he knew it. Esme has attacked him over and over. The press picked up the story because Marilie was so well known in sports circles. People came crawling all over the farm, looking for where it happened, for the blood stain on the driveway.’ Kathryn caught Hannah’s raised brows. ‘No, really, they did. Which is why he is so wary of strangers on the farm. That he is allowing this dig at all is a miracle, and perhaps testament to how much he feels for you.’

  Hannah shook her head, not wanting to deal with that added load of emotion.

  ‘Hannah, he is a kind, gentle, damaged man who deserves to live again. Don’t step away from him.’

  ‘I’m not strong enough to deal with all of it.’

  ‘Who said you aren’t strong?’ Kathryn’s voice had sharpened.

  ‘Todd … my mother … me.’ Hannah twisted her hands in her lap.

  ‘Stop it this instant!’

  Hannah looked up in surprise at her friend’s fierce face. Kathryn was oblivious to the curious glances from the occupied table, her eyes flashing. ‘You haven’t even begun to discover the depths of your strength, but you will. You have made a new start here. It could be a new life. Don’t run
away now, at the first obstacle. Why do you think you have such a connection with Rachel? Because she was strong like you, a survivor like you. You’ll see.’ Kathryn settled back down and Hannah thought of a bird unruffling its feathers.

  ‘More tea?’ Kathryn asked, as if her mini tirade had never happened.

  Hannah shook her head.

  ‘Are we still on for Christmas day?’ said Kathryn, moving behind the counter and reaching for their cups.

  ‘Um, yes. Do you mind if Joseph joins us?’

  ‘No, you must bring him. Douglas is also coming.’

  Hannah got to her feet, tucking the bar stool back under the counter. ‘What can I bring, Kathryn?’

  ‘How about some Christmas crackers? The kids love them. And chocolates for the table, maybe?’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like much,’

  ‘It’s that or nothing – your choice,’ Kathryn called from the kitchen at the back.

  ‘Mean and bossy,’ muttered Hannah.

  ‘I heard that!’ She appeared again, grinning.

  ‘Can you believe it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow already?’

  ‘I can’t wait. I close this place tomorrow at lunchtime. And then two days of bliss.’

  ‘Two days of cooking up a storm at home, you mean,’ said Hannah with a wry smile.

  ‘Who said I was cooking? Didn’t I tell you we have toasted sandwiches for Christmas lunch?’

  Hannah picked up her keys and turned for the door. ‘That would be fine with me. It’s you who would never allow it.’ She could hear Kathryn’s burble of laughter as she walked down the front steps.

  As she ambled back to the shop, Hannah was lost in thought. Kathryn’s words came back to her. She didn’t know her strength. She had never flexed that muscle. But then, the thought of Alistair’s complexity frightened her. If she wasn’t strong enough to deal with him and his past, she certainly wasn’t strong enough to manage the fallout which would certainly come when she left him.

  * * *

  24 December 1901, Goshen Camp, Orange River Colony

  Dear Wolf,

  I am dreading Christmas in the camp, ashamed I complained about last Christmas at all. I didn’t know then how bad things were going to get. We were on Silwerfontein. We roasted chickens and potatoes. We pulled beans from the garden, and glossed carrots with honey. And then you surprised us. The girls sang for us at the pianoforte, Lizzie’s lisp and earnest eyes making us smile. Oupa Jakob scooped her up and danced her around the room, her little feet swinging as she threw her head back in delight.

  Kristina was the star, though, wasn’t she? I wonder if, after the war, she might explore music further? It seems the only thing she feels passionately about, the only discipline she will sit under. She would certainly draw a crowd with her singing, even now, untrained. And Pa took Ma in his arms and they danced on the stoep in the dark, with the music floating through the lit windows. It added a headiness to the night, the joy of being together after so many months apart. It is a dangerous dream now.

  I think, if I ever leave this place, I will always remember this December 1901. It has changed my picture of December, but it is right to remember the great loss this month. So many have died – the worst month I have seen. We have not been able to dig graves fast enough.

  People don’t stop dying because it’s Christmas. I am the bearer of their names and perhaps I, more than anyone else in the camp, realise how many we have lost. Because I keep count and write their names, the lists haunt me. People know they must come and report a death to me, and they do. Sometimes a mother comes, the grief and horror slack on her face. Sometimes it’s a child, telling me his sister or mother or granny is dead. Sometimes they are so little, I have to wheedle out their name. Sometimes the child doesn’t know what their mama’s name is. The worst for me, though – and perhaps because I fear this for myself – is when someone notices a body in a neighbouring shelter. It might have been lying there for a few days but because they were alone or the last of their family, nobody was there at their passing. This fills me with dread, because it will happen to me. More than anything I want to know that I am loved.

  Am I?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Christmas day dawned with an intense Free State blue sky. Hannah could see it would be fiercely hot later. She walked through to the kitchen, finding Joseph nursing a cup of coffee at the table. Reaching for a mug, she flicked the kettle back on to boil.

  ‘I think I might go across to the church this morning,’ she said.

  Joseph looked up in surprise. ‘What for?’

  ‘It’s Christmas day, Josey!’

  ‘Yes, and have you ever been to church on Christmas day before?’

  ‘No, but so what? I think I’d like to try it.’

  ‘Hannah, it’s not a new flavour of ice cream. You kind of have to believe in God to go to church. Just as a bare minimum.’ Amusement was thick in his voice.

  ‘Laugh all you like. It might be fun. And who knows, I might meet him there.’

  ‘Who? Alistair?’

  ‘No, you muppet, God! I might meet God at church.’

  ‘Riiight,’ said Joseph, earning himself a soft clip to the head.

  Hannah, not sure what one should wear to church, eventually pulled on a gypsy top with a denim skirt which almost reached her knees. She twisted her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck and pulled on simple sandals.

  The sun was already hot on her neck, even at eight in the morning, as she crossed the square, ducking into the deep shade of the plane trees. Cars were parked on the verges outside St Luke’s, and smartly dressed people streamed through the lychgate into the arched doorway of the church. Douglas stood at the door, looking strangely comfortable in a long white robe and white-and-gold embroidered stole, its two ends hanging in front to mid-calf.

  His face lit in a smile when he saw her. ‘Hannah!’ he said, pulling her into a big hug.

  ‘Douglas, you look … different.’

  ‘Weird, hey?’ he said cheerfully; then, drawing closer, he whispered loudly, ‘But you would never know I only have my underpants on underneath this robe.’ He winked at her shocked intake of breath, and she had to smother her laughter as he turned to greet a staid-looking couple behind her.

  The service was a surprise. The church was full of holidaymakers and local families. Little children, dressed in their new Christmas outfits, snuck up the aisle and hung on the communion rail while Douglas led traditional Christmas carols. After the singing, Douglas began to tell the nativity story by enacting a play on the fly. He pulled members of the congregation up to the front, furnishing them with donkey ears and shepherds’ crooks. He charmed the women in the church by turning some into angels, complete with halos and wings. Even a frail ninety-year-old lady was pulled into the fun, garlanded with tinsel and told she was gorgeous. Douglas called a mother from the back, where she was jiggling a baby and trying to be unobtrusive. He pulled a blue sheet around her, turning her into a shy Madonna, and the story came alive. The laughter and strong sense of family were intoxicating. Hannah’s memories of the posh London cocktail parties, designer trees, and elaborate gifts fell away. She felt like she was experiencing Christmas for the first time.

  Neil and Sarah caught up with her outside afterwards. Neil tucked her into his side with one arm and kept hold of her while they chatted about the service. Alistair exited the church with Suzanne on one side and a pretty woman, who looked so like Sarah, Hannah thought she must be another sister, on the other. They came over, and Sarah introduced Hannah to Gen, who had arrived the day before. She was small and immaculately dressed in a pastel shift dress with flats to match, her hair falling in glossy waves to her shoulders. You couldn’t get two more different sisters. Suzanne, her beautiful face clear of make-up and red hair pulled into her habitual looped ponytail, had put on a faded-blue cotton sundress for the occasion. Hannah wondered how much Sarah had had to do with that. Yet, with no effort or self-awareness, Suzanne still manage
d to look like a model off a summer shoot.

  Alistair kept to the background of the family chatter, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, listening and smiling at the bubbling interactions of Gen and his mother, but looking at the ground as he did so. He glanced up as his mother spoke. ‘Hannah, we always hold a picnic braai down at the river on Boxing Day,’ said Sarah. ‘We would love you and Joseph to come.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Hannah, thinking of the alternative of sitting at home with Joseph and her laptop.

  ‘Good. Come at twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Can I bring something?’

  ‘Heavens, no,’ said Gen rolling her eyes. ‘The ladies of the district will bring every possible version of three-bean salad.’

  Suzanne laughed. ‘And the men bring enough meat to put the whole district into cardiac arrest.’

  Sarah patted Hannah’s arm. ‘Ignore them. It’s a fun day, and it would be good to have you there.’

  Neil, his arm still around Hannah’s shoulders, gave her a squeeze. ‘You’re part of Leliehoek now, whether you like three-bean salad or not.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘Good thing I do, then.’

  The rest of Christmas Day continued in a similar vein. Lunch with Kathryn’s family was noisy, chaotic, and morphed from the afternoon into the early evening. Everyone was in and out of the enormous old-fashioned pool behind Kathryn’s house. Wet footprints sizzled on hot paving, and damp swimming costumes left dark patches on the ancient canvas folding chairs. They sipped pretty coloured cordials with ice and fresh mint leaves crushed into the glasses, holding their hands over the tops to keep the bees out. The day smelt of zinc sun cream and honey-glazed gammon. By the time Joseph and Hannah drove home, they felt like they would never need to eat again.