A Whisper of Danger

by Catherine Palmer

  Near the small gas-powered refrigerator in the kitchen, Jess tacked up lists of her own dreams for each section of the house. New cushions for the chairs. Tablecloths. Curtains. A sofa. A rack for sweaters and hats. An outdoor shower to rinse off sand and seawater. More shelves in every room. Electricity. And a telephone. Definitely a phone. Jess knew her dreams would have to wait until more money came in, but she liked passing by her set of lists each morning. They spoke of hope.

  Of course, she couldn’t deny the realities of her fears—for Splinter, for Hannah, even for herself. There were times when confusion almost consumed her. Her most troubled thoughts centered in one area, like a sea urchin whose black spikes radiated doubt, dread, and despair. The center of her turmoil was Rick McTaggart.

  As hard as she tried, Jess could not make sense of the disruption the man had caused in her life. Why did she wake each morning before sunrise and listen—with her heart pounding against her ribs—for the sound of two trucks and a motorcycle roaring up the driveway of Uchungu House? Why couldn’t she stop herself from sliding out of bed and tiptoeing to the edge of the verandah to hide in the purple-pink shadows? Why did she wait, holding her breath, for the moment when Rick took off his helmet and raked a hand through his mop of brown hair? He always lifted his head and searched the windows of her bedroom. Always. She made sure he never saw her.

  Every morning she lingered on the verandah until he had shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the handlebar of his cycle. She waited until he had peeled off his T-shirt, slung a towel over one shoulder, and ambled to the cliff-side stairway. When he was gone, she loathed herself for having watched him.

  She told herself she did it to remember how much she despised him and to rub salt in her wounds so they would stay fresh and raw. She wanted to keep her anger as it had always been—hot, alive, and easily touched off. She wanted to remind herself how much she hated the man who had cut at the core of her soul.

  Instead, his voice haunted her.

  “What I did to you was wrong, Jessie. I’m not asking you to deny that. I’m asking you to forgive me. . . . Forgiveness means you stop feeling resentment toward the person who hurt you. You stop being bitter. You stop letting the past affect how you live in the present. When you forgive me, it will change you.”

  Did she want to change? Of course not. Things were just fine. She had Splint. Her home. Her art.

  “You may not want to be healed, Jessie, but I do.”

  Healed? Could broken lives be put back together, shattered hearts mended, lost years restored? The whole concept was ridiculous, Jess told herself again and again. Forgiving Rick would not make one iota of difference in her life.

  “With God’s grace, I’ve rebuilt my life from the ground up. But there’s still one big hole, and I can’t figure any way to patch it. That hole is our marriage.”

  Jess tried her best to shut off the memory of Rick’s words. If there had been any healing in her life, she had done it herself. She had patched her own holes. Sealed off her own heart. Most important, she had blocked off the jagged scar left by her marriage. She wasn’t about to let McTaggart tear into it again.

  “Unless there’s something I don’t know, you’re still my wife.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know,” she said out loud as she lit a citronella candle on the courtyard table one evening in preparation for supper. In the last couple of days, she had found it necessary to vocalize her mental arguments. It was the only way she could shut off the constant assault of Rick’s words swirling around and around inside her head.

  “Marriage means relationship,” she said to the empty courtyard. “You and I didn’t have one ten years ago, and we certainly don’t have one now. You know little about my past and nothing about my dreams for the future. Most important, you don’t know the woman I’ve become. I’m strong, determined, independent. The sooner you finish your work on the shipwreck and get out of my life again, the better.”

  She cocked her hands on her hips and stared at the three neat place settings on the table. Hannah, Splint, and Jess. They made a good team. A family. Starting tomorrow, Jess would get to work on her impala sketches. In two weeks, Splint would start school in Zanzibar town. In another month or two, the police would finish their investigation, Hunky Wallace would move on to a different shipwreck—or maybe go to jail if he turned out to be the killer—and Rick would leave. Things would feel normal. And that would be good.

  “Einstein believed in time travel, you know.” Jess heard Splint talking to Hannah as they walked from the yard onto the verandah. His voice drifted through the long narrow rooms almost as clearly as if he had been in the courtyard. He and Hannah had been on the beach all afternoon. Hannah would be tired. Splint would be sandy and sunbaked. Both would be happy.

  “Just about every one of Einstein’s theories has been proven,” Splint continued. “He was a genius.”

  “As wise as King Solomon? This I cannot believe.”

  “Did King Solomon write about relativity and energy and time? I don’t think so, Mama Hannah.”

  “Time? Oh yes, he did. ‘There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal.’”

  “Whoa, dude,” Splint interjected. “Did King Solomon really think about time way back in the olden days?”

  “He thought about time and about many more things.”

  Jess straightened a chair and smiled. Hannah held the boy in the palm of her hand. If he wasn’t telling her every thought that poured out of his overactive brain, she was busy teaching him a hundred wonders from her bag of tricks. The tender love blossoming between Hannah and Splint was the one part of coming to Africa that Jess could feel perfectly right about.

  “Still, what King Solomon said has nothing to do with time travel,” Splint said. “See, Einstein was interested in the past and the future and how we could go back and forth between them.”

  “To go into the future before it has happened?” Hannah asked. “How can this be?”

  “You’re the one who’s always telling me God knows everything past, present, and future. If he can see the future, then it must have been determined already, right? So that means we could go visit it, right? Huh?”

  “Ehh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she’s thinking about it.”

  Jess jerked at the sound of the deep male voice. Rick.

  “Just because God can see the future,” he said to Splint, “that doesn’t mean he’s already set the whole thing up. If he had, we’d be like little robots. We wouldn’t get to make our own decisions about how we’re going to act and what we’re going to do with ourselves.”

  Rick was coming toward Jess through the house. She could hear his voice getting louder and louder. She didn’t want him in her house. He didn’t have permission. He couldn’t.

  “God gave us the right to choose,” he said. “Even though he’s the king of the whole universe, God decided to put your future into your own hands. You’re the boss of your life, Splint—unless you decide to give it to him.” He stepped out of the shadows into the late-afternoon light. “Hey, Jessie.”

  “Guess what, Mom!” Splint skipped into the courtyard barefoot. He was followed by Hannah and Andrew Mbuti, Rick’s African associate. “Hunky’s crew found the mother lode today! Take a look at this buckle!”

  Jess grabbed the back of a chair for support. She couldn’t look at Rick. She didn’t want to see him. Not this close. She studied the corroded black mass in her son’s palm. It didn’t look like a buckle. It didn’t look like anything. But Splinter was dancing around in circles, and Rick was walking ever closer.

  “I invited Rick and Andrew to have supper with us, Mom,” Splint sang out. “I asked them if they’d tell me all about the day from sunrise to sunset. Every second of every minute. I knew you’d want to hear about it, too. Mom, just think of
the book you and James could do about something this important. Treasure hunting is a ton more interesting than Kima the Monkey. Kids will love it. Rick said he’d talk to me tomorrow down at the beach, but I was sure you wouldn’t mind if he and Andrew came up for dinner. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Spencer Thornton—”

  “If I could time travel, I’d go back to the day that ship sank,” Splint went on. “Wouldn’t it be awesome to watch the storm? Rick, do you think the captain was trying to get over the reef? Or do you think he just smashed into it on accident?”

  “That’s something I’ll be trying to determine in the next few weeks.”

  Jess straightened and took a deep breath. “All right, Splinter. Now go wash your hands, and rinse the salt water out of your swimming trunks.”

  “Okay!” The boy raced past her toward the staircase at the back of the courtyard. “What are we having for supper?”

  “Fish. Hang up your trunks in the bathroom.” She watched him disappear into his room. “Look in that chest by your bed for clean shorts.”

  “We don’t have to stay, Jessie.” Rick’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

  She couldn’t turn around. He was standing too close. Right beside her shoulder.

  “There’s a kiosk near the main road,” he said. “Andrew and I usually stop there in the evening. They have great samosas.”

  “It’s okay.” She let go of the chair and walked away from him toward Hannah. If she protested too much, Andrew would wonder why. Worse, Splint would wonder. “You can stay. I’m sure Miriamu fixed enough fish. We usually have leftovers. Mama Hannah, I’ll go tell Miriamu we’re having company. Would you mind coming to the kitchen with me for a minute?”

  “Ehh.”

  It was all Jess could do to make herself walk the few steps into the long narrow kitchen. As soon as she was safely through the door, she swung around and took Hannah by the shoulders.

  “How much time did they spend talking?” she whispered. “Do you think Rick knows? Does Splint suspect anything? Mama Hannah, I can’t do it. I can’t sit there and eat in front of him.”

  “Why not?” The bright brown eyes searched Jess’s face.

  “Why not! Because . . . because of the past. Because of what happened between us. I can’t stand him, and I don’t want Splint to suspect that Rick might be . . . that he was . . . Splint’s my son, and I won’t lose him, Mama Hannah. I won’t have our relationship ruined because of some . . . some drunk who—”

  “That man is a drunkard?”

  “He was. You remember that, Mama Hannah. I told you everything. He was hopeless.”

  “In God’s eyes no man is without hope.”

  “Oh, Mama Hannah, don’t start that. Rick’s drinking ruined my life, and you know it.”

  “He is drinking in these days?”

  She gave a huff of frustration. “I don’t know about now. I only know how he was, and that’s enough for me.”

  “Perhaps he has changed, as you have.”

  “I don’t care if he’s changed. I don’t care about him at all.”

  “Ehh.”

  Jess whirled away and grabbed two plates from the shelf. Hannah could be incredibly irritating when she wanted to be. Couldn’t she see how devastating all this could be to Splinter? What if Rick wanted to be a part of her son’s life? Splint obviously found Rick fascinating. What if he preferred the company of his father over the mother who had raised him from birth? How could she and Kima the Monkey compete with a treasure hunter?

  “I am not going to do this!” she hissed, fighting the knot in her throat. “I refuse to put my son in jeopardy. I’m going to walk right out there and tell him to hit the road.”

  Hannah’s warm hand covered hers. “It is you who bears the greatest pain in this matter, my toto,” she murmured. “The boy is the child of your flesh. His heart is tied to yours with ribbons of great love that nothing . . . and no one . . . can cut. The man is strong and wise. But he has no power over you. When he asked your forgiveness, he gave away his power. He gave it to you.”

  Jess brushed at the tear sliding down her cheek. “I don’t want anything from him.”

  “Ehh. But he wants something from you.”

  “Forgiveness. I can’t. It hurts too much. I feel too threatened by him. It’s not just about me, Mama Hannah. It’s about Splint.”

  “You fear if you cut down the vines of bitterness that have grown around your family, then your son will run away from you. In this matter you are wrong.”

  “But Splint might want to be with Rick. He might want a father.”

  “Does he not already wish for a father?”

  “Of course he does. But I can’t let him know his father is Rick. You remember what kind of person Rick is, Mama Hannah. He’s irresponsible and wild. He’s unreliable. He would be a terrible role model for my son.”

  “Do you know this?”

  “I was married to him, wasn’t I?”

  “Ehh. Ten years ago.” Hannah took the two plates from Jess, picked up a couple of napkins, and set some silverware on the stack. “In Swahili we say, Ndovu wawili wakisongana ziumiazo ni nyika. When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers. If you do not wish your son to suffer, toto, perhaps you had better strive for peace.”

  SEVEN

  Jess managed to eat three bites of fish and a sliver of pineapple in the hour she sat beside her husband. She had decided to take Hannah’s advice and observe Rick. If she couldn’t get rid of Rick or keep him away from her son— and both were proving impossible—at least she should know what she was up against.

  Unfortunately, during dinner he charmed the socks off everybody. She should have expected this. Rick had always been funny, an avid listener, a top-notch storyteller. He kept Splint enthralled with tales of his adventures on one shipwreck after another. He talked about airlifts and compressors and flotation drums. He explained magnetometers, grid systems, depth gauges, Aqua-Lungs. Splint’s eyes grew bigger and shinier with each wonder Rick revealed.

  Not only did Rick prove himself interesting, he left no doubt about the warm relationship he had with his coworker. Andrew Mbuti joined in every story with anecdotes of his own. “Remember the time we were caught in that storm off Pemba Island?” Andrew asked, and then he told everyone how Rick had rescued him from the rough sea. “I will never forget the day we used those empty barrels to try to bring up the anchor from the Santa Louisa shipwreck,” he said and proceeded to relate how Rick and he had brilliantly solved a sticky problem. As the dinner went on, it became clear that the two men relied on each other, expected the best of each other, trusted each other completely— and had done so for many years.

  Even worse than the fact that her enemy was showing himself both interesting and trustworthy, Rick made every effort to be thoughtful toward Jess. She found it horrifying. He filled her glass with water when she ran out. He picked up her napkin when it accidentally slid off her lap. He asked all about her art. He complimented the house. He even offered to talk to the electric company about hooking up the power.

  “I can do that,” Jess said. “I’m going into town tomorrow to register Splint at school and buy his uniforms.”

  “Jonathan Wariru is the man to see at the power company,” Andrew said. “He’ll sort out the billing problems for you.”

  “Uniforms!” Splint said. “Aw, Mom.”

  “I used to wear uniforms at the boarding school where I went from third grade on up,” Rick said. “Khaki trousers, khaki shirt. Boring, but useful as camouflage for sneaking around in the brush looking for the infamous three-legged, dog-eating leopard.”

  “You went to a school where they had a three-legged leopard?”

  “That was the legend. My boarding school’s still there— on the edge of the Rift Valley in Kenya. And the story about the leopard is probably still there, too. I never saw the animal, but I sure spent time looking.”

  “I didn’t know you grew up in Africa.” Splint chewed on a
chunk of mango. “My mom grew up in Kenya, too. Did you ever meet her?”

  “Splint, would you please finish up that mango?” Jess said quickly. “All of us are through with dinner, and you’re still eating. I want you to get on up to bed, kiddo.”

  “Already? Why? Do I have to go into town with you tomorrow? I don’t want to see that school. I don’t even want to think about school.”

  “I’m going to town by myself, but you and Mama Hannah have been invited to Nettie Cameron’s house to play Scrabble in the morning.”

  “Scrabble!” He pushed back from the table. “I’m gonna whip her. She thinks just because I’m ten, she can beat me. She doesn’t know I can spell ionium and qoph and subcutaneous. I looked up hydrofoil. I’ve memorized the names of all my shells. Nettie doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Jess stood and began to clear the table. “But you’ve been out on the beach all day long today, and she hasn’t. If you don’t get some rest, she might have the edge on you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, she might pull aoudad out of her hat,” Rick said. He leaned over to Splint. “It’s a wild sheep from North Africa.”

  “Really?”

  “Or eosin. It’s a sodium or potassium salt we scientists use as a biological stain for cytoplasmic structures.”

  “If she knows scientific words, I’m dead meat.” Splint studied Rick for a moment. “Hey, would you play Scrabble with me sometime?”

  “I don’t know about that. Qoph might do me in.”

  The boy laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon when you come ashore, Rick.”

  “Not tomorrow, pal. I’ll only be here a couple of hours in the morning. I’ve got to fill out reports in town. You can ask Andrew what they bring up from the wreck.”

  “I sure wish I could go out there on the boat.” Splint eyed his mom. “I know I’d be safe. I’m an ace swimmer.”

  Jess fastened her glare on him. “Upstairs, Spencer. Now.”