An Unquiet Place

by Clare Houston

  ‘It’s fascinating, Josey.’ Hannah looked up at him with a smile.

  He grinned back at her. ‘There’s something else you can see on these pictures. Look here.’ His finger marked a number of spots. Hannah and Alistair both stared at the picture, then looked at him blankly. ‘Make that, something only I can see,’ Joseph said with a wink. ‘I think this area may have been a cemetery. I can count at least twelve obvious places which look like low, long cairns of rock. But these are too even in size simply to be random piles of stones. I reckon that if we examine this place’ – he circled a wide area on the photo – ‘we’re going to find graves.’

  ‘Twelve graves sound way too few to be a camp cemetery, especially how Rachel describes it,’ said Hannah.

  ‘I can identify at least twelve cairns on the photos,’ said Joseph, standing up and stretching his arms behind him. ‘We might find more on the ground, and then some graves might not be marked with stones. We just don’t know at the moment, but we have twelve graves as a start. That’s significant, Hannah.’

  ‘What are you busy with at the moment?’ said Alistair.

  ‘We’re using GIS and mapping the site. It’s terribly tedious, but we have to do it. With so many workers, it shouldn’t take too long, but we’re systematically combing the surface of the site and marking anything we find on our GIS grid without removing the item.’

  ‘Have you found anything yet?’ said Hannah. ‘Apart from our ration tin, I wouldn’t think much would be left on the surface after a hundred or so years.’

  ‘More than you would think, especially on a site so remote. The surface has hardly been touched, even by animals. Your ghosts have been doing a really good job keeping everything away.’

  ‘They’re not my ghosts,’ muttered Hannah, earning a fleeting smile from Alistair.

  ‘So far,’ continued Joseph, picking up a notebook from the counter behind him, ‘we’ve found some shards of glass, part of a hoe, a tiny earring, a piece of what looks like crate strapping, and some odd bits of leather – one piece might be some plaited rope. Oh, and the best so far, a ration tin with a handle ingeniously hammered on to it.’ He looked up proudly.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like much, Josey,’ said Hannah, and Alistair could see his face fall somewhat. He wondered if perhaps Joseph’s confidence had some weak points after all. Or was it that, in getting to know him, Joseph was becoming easier to read? That the easy-going, unshakeable surface had always been just that, a thin veneer for strangers?

  ‘It doesn’t seem like much to you maybe,’ said Joseph, ‘but to an archaeologist, that’s really good.’

  ‘Why is the ration tin important?’ said Alistair.

  ‘It tells us that they didn’t have much crockery, if they had to improvise cups from ration tins. When we have all the official permits lined up, we’ll be able to examine the artefacts more closely, research each one to find out what it is and where it came from. Just think, determining whether a shard of glass comes from a medicine bottle or a whisky bottle tells us something significant about the camp, doesn’t it? And this is just the surface scatter!’ he said.

  ‘How is the official side of things coming along?’ said Alistair. ‘Do you need any more help with it?’

  ‘No, your part is done. I’ve finished most of the application. I just need to include the artefacts from the surface survey. We should finish that this week. I thought I would go in person to SAHRA. Nothing speeds up an application like someone hanging around, waiting for it. I’m good at sitting politely in people’s offices until they do the paperwork to get rid of me.’

  ‘I can just see you doing that,’ said Hannah, shaking her head.

  ‘Any progress on your side?’ said Joseph.

  ‘No, not since Bloemfontein. I’d like to go through to Winburg at some point to see the family’s graves, but that’s more of a personal pilgrimage than pertinent to the camp. I’ve got a strong feeling there’s more in Gisela’s cottage.’ Joseph looked confused and Hannah went on, ‘You know, Karl’s mother had a little house on Silwerfontein? I want to go through that house again, look at the album, the Bible, everything. I think I missed something there. Anyway, it’s pointless even talking about it, because there’s no way any of us will get access there now. Not after the picnic.’

  ‘Please don’t even try, Hannah,’ said Alistair, his stomach clenching at the thought of Hannah meeting Esme again.

  ‘What about the journal, Hannah? Are you finished?’ said Joseph, still focused on the camp.

  ‘Almost. I have one last section to do, then I can make copies and give you each one. Maybe when you read it you’ll see why I’ve grown so attached to Rachel.’ Alistair reached over to touch her arm, then dropped his hand. Watching her in his kitchen, looking so relaxed, he felt his heart contract, like new scar tissue pulling. He was still waiting for her to make a decision. Every day that passed without her coming to see him hurt. As much as he wanted to give in, just sink into something easy just to be with her, his heart couldn’t risk it.

  ‘And you, Alistair, anything new?’ said Joseph.

  ‘I told you about the blockhouse lines. From what I’ve managed to find out, there was a hang of a lot of British and Boer movement after Surrender Hill. The British camped down the Fouriesburg road, then they camped right near us here, probably mopping up problems. Then they moved out of the area and set up command centres in Bethlehem and Ficksburg. At that point, the mobile remnants of the commandos came out of the woodwork and moved through here a lot. The blockhouse lines stopped large-scale movement and sabotage of the bridges and railway lines. But they couldn’t stop small units of Boers cutting their barbed wire or simply pulling their fence posts out the ground and riding underneath them.’

  ‘In a nutshell?’ said Joseph.

  ‘Sorry, I get carried away with this stuff.’ Alistair’s smile was rueful. ‘In a nutshell, I can find no reference to a camp here, but I can’t find a reason why there shouldn’t have been one. There were enough civilians in the area to warrant a refugee camp, and enough soldiers in the area to warrant the camp’s growing food for them.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ said Joseph, gathering the photographs into a pile and slipping them into a folder.

  ‘Something which has been bothering me,’ said Hannah. ‘Why send Rachel’s family all the way to Winburg and send her to Goshen? Surely other families in the area would have been sent to Goshen too, and people would have heard about it?’

  ‘From the stories I’ve heard,’ said Alistair, ‘camp allocations were pretty random. One Leliehoek family was split and some sent all the way to Heilbron. That’s miles from here. Another thing I’ve noticed is that the only way details like that are still known today is because someone kept a journal. Most modern families wouldn’t know which camp their great-great-great-granny was in, or perhaps even care.’

  ‘So,’ continued Hannah, ‘some families might well have been sent to Goshen but not kept a written record to pass on.’

  ‘Or not survived,’ added Alistair. They were quiet for a few seconds.

  ‘On that cheery note,’ said Joseph, ‘let’s adjourn. Hannah, I’ll take you back to town?’

  ‘Actually, I’m having dinner in town with Kathryn and Suzanne, so I’ll catch a lift when Suzanne’s ready, thanks, Jose.’

  ‘No problem. I’m going to take a ride up the hill and make sure my reprobate team pack up properly for the night. See you, Han.’ She raised her hand in a goodbye as he left through the back door.

  Hannah sat across from Alistair, wondering what to say. He held her gaze for a few moments.

  ‘I’m not going to beg, you know,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, hoping confusion would cover her guilt.

  ‘You know what I mean, Hannah. The ball is in your court this time.’ He pushed out his chair and waited for her to do the same. ‘I’ll walk you over to Suzanne.’

  She followed him through the garden towards the cottage, wishing sh
e could make the awkwardness between them dissipate. It was another clear Free State summer day, the skies cobalt, and Sarah’s garden awash with colour and alive with the hum of bees. Hannah wanted to grab Alistair’s hand and pull him onto the lawn to lie there and look at the sky, but followed him silently instead. When they came to Sarah’s back door, he opened it for her. ‘I’ve got work to do in my office.’ He left her there feeling frustrated and disappointed in herself.

  Suzanne borrowed Sarah’s Ford to drive them back into town, and they stopped at the bookshop for Hannah to change. Soon they were sitting on the deck of the bistro with Kathryn, enjoying glasses of crisp white wine as the sun disappeared over the mountains above Leliehoek.

  White daisies and scented geraniums tumbled out of tubs along the edges of the deck, and every time a waitress brushed past, the sharp lemony scent carried over the table. Hurricane lamps were lit as the light faded, the citronella oil adding to the scent-filled air.

  Kathryn leant forwards on the table. ‘Hannah, you have to end the suspense. I can’t bear it any more. What on earth is going on with Alistair? It all looked so promising at the picnic, and now? You’re both buried in your houses.’

  Hannah looked down at her glass, running her finger around the base. ‘I don’t know what to do. He says he’s not interested in a fling. That marriage has to be a possibility, and nothing less will do. For Pete’s sake, we’ve only kissed once. It’s madness.’ She looked up and saw the other two girls staring at her. ‘Why are you looking at me like I’m the crazy one?’

  ‘Because that is the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.’ Kathryn shook her head as she saw Hannah nod in agreement. ‘Not Alistair, you nutcase – you! Don’t you see that he doesn’t want to mess with you? It’s romantic and honourable and sweet, and I can’t believe you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself!’

  Hannah, stung, drew herself up a little. ‘I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve never begun a relationship thinking of marriage. I’ve kind of been telling myself I might never get married—’

  Suzanne quietly interjected, ‘Have you been hurt before?’

  ‘No … yes,’ she paused. ‘Todd was my only other significant relationship. We were together for nearly ten years, lived together for most of that. He bought me a ring and called me his fiancée, but he said it was because we needed to clarify our relationship for his colleagues.’

  ‘Charming!’ said Kathryn, causing Hannah to look at her in surprise.

  She became thoughtful. ‘It actually doesn’t sound so nice, does it? I suppose I always just let him take control. I followed him wherever he went, dressed as he expected, socialised with the right people. I never took initiative. Until I found a woman in my bathtub.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Suzanne, taking a sip from her glass.

  ‘Alistair says the ball’s in my court. The awful thing is that I feel like my feet are planted in cement, like I can’t physically get myself across the court to reach the ball.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘And even if I wanted to marry him, I would be an absolutely useless farmer’s wife. I’ve only lived in Cape Town and London. I have no experience of the country at all. It would be a disaster.’

  ‘You seem to be managing country life perfectly fine,’ said Kathryn. ‘In fact, I would go further and say you’re blossoming.’

  ‘And,’ added Suzanne, ‘you only get experience by doing something. Yes, my mother is a model farmer’s wife, but she has been one for forty years! More importantly, my parents love you. That carries more weight than a lifetime in the platteland. Actually, my mother would dance on the table if she knew we were having this conversation.’

  ‘Which she absolutely can never know, Suzanne!’

  Suzanne put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘Of course. It all stays right here.’

  Their meals arrived and they tucked into slices of fillet with chips, and salad picked from the bistro garden.

  ‘Speaking of your parents,’ said Kathryn, ‘I picked up some concern about Gen and Glen at the picnic.’ She snorted, making the others look up from their meals as she lifted a napkin to her mouth. ‘Sorry, Gen and Glen? Even their names! Like a nursery rhyme.’

  ‘You know that his surname is Wren, right?’ said Suzanne smiling. ‘Yep, Gen and Glen Wren.’

  ‘I liked him,’ said Hannah. ‘Not that I got to talk to him much, but he seemed like a nice guy.’

  ‘He is a nice guy,’ said Suzanne. ‘I’m just not convinced he’s the right guy for Gen. Already, they spend the bare minimum of time on the farm. I’m worried he’ll draw her away completely.’

  Hannah thought of her conversation with Gen about children. Suzanne was right to be concerned, but she kept quiet.

  ‘What can you do? They’re engaged and planning a huge society wedding in Joburg,’ continued Suzanne.

  ‘Not on the farm?’ said Kathryn, shocked. ‘How’s your mother handling that?’

  ‘Gen said it’s too far for their friends to travel.’ Suzanne rolled her eyes, but there was concern on her face. ‘Mum doesn’t know about it yet.’

  ‘Although,’ said Hannah, ‘a big wedding on the farm would raise that awkward thing of the De Jagers. Imagine Esme pulling a stunt at Gen’s wedding? Gen would never forgive your mum.’

  Suzanne shook her head. ‘Gen thinks in black and white. She finds Esme creepy and cannot understand how other people make allowances for her. Esme gives me the creeps too, but she’s a very ill woman. You can’t shut her out for that.’

  Kathryn leant back in her chair, cradling her wine glass on her stomach. ‘The thing is, though, she’s also dangerous. We know she torments Alistair. My impression is that she’s becoming more unstable, not less.’

  Hannah’s skin lifted in a shiver, and she pulled her cardigan off the back of her chair and around her shoulders. Glancing at her watch, she saw the hands shift to half-past eight. The next moment, the lights went out.

  ‘Damn, I forgot there was load-shedding tonight,’ said Kathryn, ‘Eight-thirty to ten-thirty.’ A few seconds later, the restaurant generator kicked in, and fairy lights flickered and came on again. ‘What these power cuts do to my fridges in the shop, I hate to know. I have a recurring nightmare that one morning I’ll come in and find my shop swimming in melted ice cream and mousse cake.’

  ‘Speaking of nightmares, Hannah,’ said Suzanne, ‘Mum says you spoke to Kobie about the plateau. What did he tell you?’

  ‘What’s this?’ said Kathryn.

  ‘There’s an old guy who’s lived on Goshen his whole life, and his mother and grandmother before him,’ said Hannah. ‘Sarah suggested I ask him if he knew anything about the camp.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘Not as such, but he’s experienced strange things up on the plateau. Seen women dressed in Boer clothes, smelt smoke or sewage, heard keening. Did you ever hear these stories, Suzanne?’

  ‘No, Mum never told us. I suppose she didn’t want to frighten us as kids, but I saw something once.’

  ‘What?’ both Hannah and Kathryn said in unison, sitting forwards in their chairs.

  Suzanne smiled at their response. ‘I was home on holiday from university, dealing with some stuff … Anyway, I rode up to the plateau on my own, just for some space. I don’t know why I did – I’ve always found it unsettling there. I got to the gate, and my horse wouldn’t ride through. He was a bit silly sometimes. I thought he was just acting up, so I got off and tethered him to the fence post. Kept going on foot. As I crested the slope, I saw, down at the other end of the plateau, two women digging a hole. One was standing in the hole, hip deep, and one was on the edge. I thought they must be workers doing something for my dad. But, for some reason, something unnerved me, and I turned before they saw me, went quickly back to my horse, who was trying to get away from the post. He nearly threw me off when I eventually managed to mount. We bolted home.’

  ‘And?’ said Hannah. ‘Were they workers?’

  ‘This is the weird part. When
I got home, I realised they had been dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Their heads were covered and they wore dresses to their ankles. I know some women labourers still wear dresses, you know, over trousers? But this was different, long sleeves and cinched-in waists. And then I went with my dad the next day in his pickup. There was no hole. He didn’t know what I was talking about.’

  ‘So freaky!’ said Kathryn, enthralled.

  ‘What’s your take on ghosts, Kathryn? You’re into spiritual stuff,’ said Hannah.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Kathryn tipped her head to one side. ‘I certainly believe in the spiritual realm. You can’t be religious and not believe that there are other realities out there. But I’m no expert. I don’t understand why only some people see them, or why some people might get stuck after they die and reappear.’

  Hannah took a sip of wine. ‘I’ve been raised in an atheist household – all this kind of stuff has always been termed nonsense. Then I come up here and meet rational people, like you’ – Hannah gestured to Suzanne – ‘who have stories like that. I don’t understand.’ She paused for a moment. ‘And then a crazy part of me wants to ask you about the hole they were digging.’

  Suzanne laughed. ‘What about the hole?’

  ‘How big was it?’

  ‘Maybe a metre and a half? And narrow.’

  ‘Could it have been a grave?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Suzanne. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Joseph said he thinks he’s identified the cemetery. If your hole is in the same place he’s identified, it just adds another whole level of weirdness to this story.’

  They sat for another hour, sipping Amarula Dom Pedros for dessert, enjoying the soft evening air. They kept the conversation light, trying to steer away from any topic which might unsettle them now that it was time to make their way home.

  They parted in front of the bistro, Kathryn and Suzanne getting into their cars.