Out Of The Darkness

by Crawford, Dianna; Druten, Rachel;

  He suddenly realized that the man was not only casual, but he was coming to a halt.

  Had he not been the doctor, Colin would have throttled him on the spot. “Why are you stopping?” he roared.

  Dr. Lukin gave him an indulgent smile. “We’re here.”

  “Oh.”

  Colin pulled up his horse and hit the ground before the animal had completely stopped. Slipping the reins through the hitching ring, he hurried to help the doctor down from his buggy, then, carrying the man’s medical bag, hustled him through the gate and up the walk. Not bothering to knock, he pushed open the front door, propelling the doctor before him.

  Daniel strode down the hall toward them. “She’s in here,” he said, indicating Mary’s door just past the parlor.

  It occurred to Colin how strange his excessive concern must appear to Daniel, who had seen Mary with him only under the most circumspect of circumstances. He cleared his throat. “If I’m in the way, I’ll go.”

  “Of course not.” Daniel took his arm. “Let’s see if Nandi has a pot of tea brewing. She usually does.”

  As they sat down at the kitchen table, a muffled cry came from down the hall.

  “Mary—” Colin began to rise.

  Daniel drew him back into the chair. “I fear you and I are of little use to her right now. The best thing we can do is pray.”

  “Why bother?” Colin, whose nerves were tighter than the strings on his violin, yanked away his arm. “It didn’t help when your baby—” The words froze on his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly. Daniel was too good a man to hurt, no matter how blind and misguided he was with his platitudes and prayers.

  Colin stared down at his clenched fists.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. Breathing a deep, despondent sigh, he looked up into Daniel’s contemplative gaze.

  Quietly, Daniel said, “I can’t tell you why one baby dies and another is spared. But I do accept that our Heavenly Father loves Emma and me very much and, if we trust and believe in God’s promise, good will come, even out of our baby’s death.”

  “If it gives you comfort, so be it.”

  Daniel shook his head. “You’re a hard sell, Colin.” He shrugged. “Faith isn’t something you can prove. It’s. . .well, as the Bible says, it’s the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

  He contemplated his friend for a moment. “I’m going to confide in you.” Pouring two cups of tea, he pushed one toward Colin. “It may not have appeared so on the surface, but since we came to South Africa, Emma and I had begun to lose touch. Both of us so busy. Me preaching, running the mission, and then being gone weeks at a time. Emma was wonderful, holding down the fort, keeping up with her women’s Bible studies, helping the needy, playing the piano for the choir. It seemed our tasks were never done. Even we were too busy to notice.”

  He gazed down into his cup. “But underneath, we’d lost track of each other. Something was missing that we’d once had. And then our child died, and we were forced to look at ourselves and our relationship. Our loss brought us close again. Closer than we’ve ever been or even dreamed of being. Now, as the Bible says, we are as one. And that’s the way we intend to remain. Always. So you see, Colin, that baby, however briefly on this earth, was a blessing.”

  If any face could be transformed by the Spirit of God—if there was such a thing—it would surely be Daniel’s.

  A long, silent minute passed before Colin said, “I envy you your faith. I, too, once believed, but. . .” His voice faded.

  Daniel leaned forward, dropping his hand on Colin’s arm, resting on the table, and looked into his eyes. “I’m convinced that spark of Christ is still in you, my friend. I pray that it will flame again, stronger than ever.”

  “Were it that easy,” Colin muttered, averting his gaze.

  At that instant, they heard Mary cry out, followed at once by the lusty wail of a baby.

  Both men sprang to their feet.

  It seemed an eternity that they waited, but it was only moments before Nandi rushed down the hall. “It is a girl!”

  “Mary. How is Mary?” Colin cried.

  “She is fine. The baby is fine. Mr. Colin, you got the doctor here just in time.”

  Colin had to see for himself.

  ❧

  Weak, but utterly grateful for a swift, if painful, delivery, Mary sat on the edge of the bed as Kweela helped her change into a clean gown.

  Across the room, the doctor returned his instruments to his bag. But Mary’s gaze was on her baby. She watched with wonderment as Emma cleaned and dressed the wee infant in the little gown that Mary had so lovingly embroidered. She could hardly believe that this squalling little bundle was actually her own dear baby girl.

  Suddenly, the door burst open.

  “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  Colin! When did he get here? How?

  “We’re not quite ready for visitors yet,” the doctor said.

  Tugging down her gown, Mary peeked around Kweela and met Colin’s eyes.

  “Ah. . .yes. . .er, I’ll wait outside,” he mumbled, looking flustered, but hugely relieved.

  As the door closed behind him, Kweela and the doctor exploded with laughter.

  Nandi bustled into the room with fresh towels. “That Mr. Colin acts as nervous as if he is the papa.”

  “For someone who has not bothered to check for six months, he seems mightily concerned.” Kweela picked up the large bowl of water from the nightstand. “Now that you are in bed, Missy, I will tell him to come in.”

  “I doubt you can get rid of him until you do.” The doctor snapped his bag shut and followed Kweela and Nandi out the door.

  Mary glanced up and caught Emma’s eye. It lasted no longer than a heartbeat, but in that brief moment, she saw that Emma had perceived her feelings for Colin.

  Emma tucked the blanket-wrapped baby into Mary’s arms and smiled. “See how the little one stops crying when she’s next to her mommy? She knows where she belongs.”

  Mary touched the incredibly downy hair, soft and shining as cornsilk in the sun.

  “Dear heart,” Emma said, “what a gift you have given us.”

  As Emma reached out and touched Mary’s cheek, her expression of love filled Mary’s heart to overflowing.

  And then an ugly thought crept in.

  Mary was glad, glad that it was Mrs. Emma, not Ed, with whom she’d shared this moment.

  As Emma left the room, Colin entered. He stepped just inside the door, closing it behind him. He came no farther, but stood there, hesitant, silent, his eyes dark with emotion as his gaze traveled from Mary to the baby and back.

  Mary could hardly breathe.

  He cleared his throat. “All is well? With both of you?”

  He loved her. And he loved her baby. She saw it in the way he looked at her, in every gesture he made. She heard it in the gentle timbre of his voice when he spoke to her. How could she not respond to such depth of feeling? “Yes—I mean, I think all is well.” She offered him a tremulous smile and shifted her gaze to the baby. “I haven’t counted all her fingers and toes yet, to see if she has the right number.”

  “Let me help.”

  What was the harm if just for this little time she pretended that he, not Ed, was her husband? That it was right for him to sit beside her as he was doing now.

  He was so close. Only inches away. She could almost feel his breath on her wrist as she unwrapped the baby.

  “You count the fingers.” He lifted a wee foot in his large tanned hand. “I’ll take the toes. Oh, but they are such tiny things.”

  As Mary heard the wonder in his voice and watched his tenderness, there was a poignancy in her joy. She dragged her gaze away.

  Intent on her own endeavor, she picked up the little hand and held it in hers, caressing the velvet skin with her thumb. She marveled at its symmetry and perfection and wondered how anyone, looking at the miracle of a newborn baby, could doubt God’s existence.

/>   “I counted ten,” Colin murmured. “How about you?”

  “Me, too,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet his.

  “Good.” His gaze lingered on her face, and his smile softened, then he reached down and touched the baby’s soft, fine hair just as she’d done. “So silky.” He examined the little face. “I think she has your eyes.”

  “My eyes are brown.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  “Hers are blue, but dark blue. Perhaps they’ll change.”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Oh, Colin, don’t do this to me. Don’t pretend we have a future together. Now is all there is.

  “I predict she’ll be a beauty like her mother.”

  Mary knew she should put a stop to this.

  She shouldn’t be listening to his loving words. She shouldn’t ache to hear them.

  “Have I—” He hesitated. “I hope I haven’t overstepped the bounds.”

  “No.” Unthinking, she touched his hand, and as quickly, pulled away. “Something just came to mind. It wasn’t important.”

  But it was. Vitally.

  “Have you picked a name for her yet?” he asked, looking relieved.

  “I think I might name her Kathleen, after my mother. She died when I was twelve.”

  He touched the soft little blanket that Mary had wrapped again around the baby. “If she were mine, that’s what I would want to do.”

  “Your mother died, too?”

  “When I was a small boy.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Elsa. Elsa VanRensburg was her maiden name.”

  “Isn’t that Dutch?”

  Colin nodded. “She was a wonderful mother. And a wonderful woman. Unfortunately, my father’s family never accepted her.”

  His sad, distracted gaze tore at Mary’s heart. She’d been in South Africa long enough to understand the English settlers’ prejudice against the Dutch Boers. No wonder Colin was more tolerant than his peers of the less fortunate.

  Mary’s hand gravitated to his again. Softly, she said, “It must have been very hard for her.”

  “It was.” Slowly, gently, as if not to frighten her, he turned his hand until it enfolded hers.

  And her gaze was captured in the mesmerizing journey of his, following the line of her cheek, her lashes, the tip of her nose. . .her mouth.

  Her breath suspended.

  “Mary, dear.” Emma was at the door.

  Mary snatched back her hand.

  Too late.

  Emma glanced from her to Colin. “I think you need to rest now, dear.”

  Reluctantly, he rose and looked down, his lingering gaze palpable as a kiss.

  Mary watched him go. She pulled the sleeping infant closer, leaned over, and touched its downy-soft head with her lips. Looking up, she met Emma’s searching gaze.

  Suddenly the guilt and fear and tears could not be stemmed. “Oh, Mrs. Emma,” she sobbed. “I know it’s a sin to love him so much. But I can’t help myself, he’s so good and kind and caring.”

  Emma dropped down onto the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around Mary and the baby. “I know, I know,” she crooned, swaying with them, holding them close.

  Mary felt like a baby herself, so vulnerable and small. “What am I to do? I’m a new Christian, and I’m so weak and the temptation is so strong.”

  Emma leaned back and looked into her eyes. Deep into her soul. “Don’t be afraid, Mary. You must pray for strength. First Corinthians in the Bible promises that God will not let you be tempted beyond your strength.”

  “I will pray, Mrs. Emma. I will.”

  But would she be able to really mean the words?

  fourteen

  Colin tilted the bill of his cap lower to keep out the glare of the afternoon sun. From beneath the brim he studied Gordie Poole. The foul-smelling drunk swayed, nervously twisting his beat-up hat as he watched the two Kaffirs throw out shovels full of dirt from a hole—the spot where Gordie claimed Ed McKenzie was buried.

  There were two things Colin was pretty sure of. First, that they’d find a body—whether or not it was McKenzie remained to be seen; and second, that Gordie knew more than he was telling.

  This was one case where Colin was having a hard time keeping a professional detachment. If ever he’d wanted to find a man dead, God help him, it was now.

  The irony was, Mary had been baptized just a few yards away. If this proved to be McKenzie, she might very well have stepped on her husband’s grave.

  No better than the blackguard deserved.

  “There is something,” one of the diggers yelled.

  Pulse racing, Colin stepped closer to the edge and peered down.

  With their callused hands, the two men threw out clods and brushed aside the dirt until a leg was exposed, then a torso, and finally, the entire decaying corpse.

  Deputy Scott leaned over the pit. “I’d say he was about five-foot-nine or ten. What do you think?”

  Colin grunted, his eyes on the tattered green shirt clinging to the last shreds of putrefied flesh. A tuft of wiry red hair sprang from above the deteriorated face.

  One of the Kaffirs surreptitiously slid something into his pants pocket.

  “I say, what do you have there?” Colin demanded.

  Reluctantly, the guilty fellow dropped it into Colin’s palm. A coin. A Spanish doubloon—like the one Mary had described. If the red hair hadn’t been the clincher, the coin was.

  “It looks like for once Gordie is telling the truth,” the deputy murmured.

  “I told ya,” the drunk whined. “Now I’ll be gettin’ my reward.”

  It was McKenzie, all right, and if Gordie Poole was accurate, he’d been dead since last summer. The sucker probably never reached the outskirts of Johannesburg before he was murdered.

  After all these months of looking. No wonder there’d been no trace of him.

  Mary was a widow, had been all along. And Colin had a pretty good idea who had made her one.

  He didn’t know whether he wanted to give Kryzika a medal or a hangman’s noose.

  ❧

  Mary sat at the kitchen table wrapped in a plum silk dressing gown that had once been Emma’s. As she sipped her tea, she watched Emma and Nandi giving the babe a bath. Emma hummed along as Nandi sang a soothing lullaby in her native tongue.

  Mary’s heart was full. I have so many blessings, she thought. She would not stray again from God’s precepts by dwelling on Colin. Now, with little Kathy to consider, there was too much at stake. She must lead an exemplary life, if for no other reason than to be a good example for her child.

  Emma held up the baby, diapered and dressed in a new gown.

  “I think pink is her color,” Nandi said, chucking the baby under her chin. “Don’t you, Missy Mary?” She looked at Mary, then past her.

  Mary turned.

  Colin stood just inside the back door, but filled the kitchen with his presence.

  Oh Father, give me strength.

  He was in his military tunic and high-booted jodhpurs, holding his cap in his hand.

  As he greeted the others, his eyes only grazed Mary. She sensed a remoteness in his behavior that seemed out of character. Clearly, something was bothering him.

  “What do you think of our little Kathy?” Emma asked, holding the baby up.

  “Dare I not say she’s beautiful?” He smiled. “But anything else would be a lie.” He touched one of the baby’s tiny feet peeking out from under the gown. “And ten toes,” he said softly.

  Mary stared down into her cup. That was far from remote.

  When she looked up, he was standing in front of her. “Mary, will you join me on the verandah. I have some official business to discuss.”

  “Of course.” She shot a guilty glance at Emma.

  Easing herself up, Mary felt Colin’s hand at her elbow and sensed Emma and Nandi’s eyes as he helped her rise. He supported her gently as they moved down the hall toward the French doo
rs off the dining room.

  “Do you want some tea, Mr. Colin?” Nandi called.

  “No, thank you, Nandi.”

  Depositing Mary in one of the rattan chairs, he pulled another close and sat down, tossing his cap on the table.

  “Is it too cool for you out here? Would you rather go back inside?”

  She shook her head, concentrating on the flapped pocket of his tunic.

  He took her hand.

  Startled, she raised her eyes and was struck by his concerned expression.

  “The mystery of your husband is over, Mary.”

  “You found Ed?”

  Oh, no, she wanted to scream.

  “His body,” Colin said quietly.

  “His body?” Had she heard correctly.

  “I’m afraid, Mary, your husband met with foul play.”

  A chill ran through her. “Ed is dead?”

  Colin nodded.

  Even in her most embittered moments, when she never cared if she saw Ed again, she didn’t wish him dead. Maybe once or twice it had occurred to her that he might be, and the thought hadn’t saddened her as it should.

  But that didn’t mean she wished it.

  ”How? When?” She tried to withdraw her hands, but Colin held fast.

  “We think he’s been dead since the day he left for the northern gold fields. He scarcely got past the city limits.”

  Why wasn’t she crying? She almost felt as if they were discussing a stranger. She glanced toward the kitchen. “Then I guess he didn’t actually abandon us.”

  Colin shifted in his chair. His expression told her he didn’t agree, but at least he didn’t say so. “As much as I hate to tell you, I think you’d better hear it all,” he said.

  “There’s more?”

  “A United States marshal came by headquarters a couple of weeks ago, looking for an Ed McKenzie. Wanted for robbing a dress factory in New York. There was a sizable reward posted for his apprehension.”

  Ed? A thief?

  Mary couldn’t believe it. Her agitated gaze whirled around the verandah. She wouldn’t believe it. Ed was hardly the ideal husband. But a thief?

  But the more she thought about it, the more things fell into place—his eagerness to change their destination when he discovered the ship for South Africa left seven hours before the one for Alaska, and how he had all that money to gamble every night in the boiler room.