Out Of The Darkness

  “Mary.” Colin was squeezing her hand to get her attention. “There’s more. I’ve arrested Ryzzi Kryzika, along with a couple of his cohorts, for the murder.”

  “Well, at least that doesn’t surprise me. That man is capable of anything.” She shook her head. “Poor Ed.”

  “Kryzika would have gotten away with it. But his greed got the best of him. Bilking your husband and murdering him wasn’t enough. He couldn’t resist the reward for locating him. But to get it, he had to produce the body. I won’t go into the details, but, rest assured, he will be punished.”

  “Ed a thief and Ryzzi Kryzika a murderer,” Mary murmured. “I came to South Africa in the company of very unsavory men.”

  Then a terrible thought occurred to her. “What does this mean for my baby, my little Kathleen? My sweet, innocent little girl? Why, she’ll grow up with the stigma of a thief for a father. Who was murdered. The rest of her life she’ll be living with that scandal.” Mary could take anything dealt her, she already had, but the thought that her dear child would suffer was more than she could bear. Until then, she hadn’t cried, but now the tears spilled, washing down her cheeks in a bitter flow.

  Colin brought out his handkerchief and handed it to her. It wasn’t the first time. She remembered when Peterson had brought her to his office the day she was arrested. Colin was so good and kind then, so sensitive. Just as he was being now. She wiped her eyes and balled the damp handkerchief in her fist.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way, Mary.” Colin lifted her chin. “In fact, little Kathy need never know about her father. You can count on Deputy Scott to remain discreet. As for Peterson, he’s the only one who might talk. . .and I need him in the north country.” He gave her a small smile. “Immediately.” He leaned close. . .much too close. “It seems to me, the best thing is for you to remarry as soon as possible. Then, neither you nor the baby need bear McKenzie’s name. It makes sense. You need a husband, she needs a father.”

  Suddenly, Colin stood up, as if his own words had shocked him. He ran his hand through his hair.

  “Yes,” he mused, “I think marriage is the answer for you.”

  For me! “And who, pray tell, did you have in mind? The vegetable man?” She lifted her tear-streaked face and glared at him. She did have some pride, after all.

  Colin looked astounded. “Why, Mary, I’d never expect you to marry him.”

  “Why not? He’s very nice.”

  “His name is Dhimitrakopoulus. Mary Dhimitrako-poulus?” Colin shook his head. “You’ve become a very good speller, but that name might be too much of a challenge, even for you.”

  First he plans her future and then he ridicules her.

  “Me, Mary. I want you to marry me.” His voice softened and he dropped back into his chair, taking her hands into his. “I know I’m speaking too soon. But please think about it. I love you, and I’d do everything in my power to give you a good life.”

  She could not believe what she was hearing. She reached up and touched his cheek. “What did you say?”

  He turned his face into her hand and kissed it. “I said, marry me. I love you. I tried hard to stay away from you, knowing you weren’t free to return my love. Six months I stayed away, and then one look at you, and it was as if I’d never left.”

  “Oh, Colin. I know, I know. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help loving you, either.”

  It had happened so fast. One minute she was Ed’s wife; the next, his widow. And now she was receiving a proposal of marriage from the man she so desperately loved.

  She smiled up at him. “Emma was right. Things do work out for the best for those who love the Lord. God is so good.”

  Colin cleared his throat and glanced away. “I suppose,” he mumbled.

  Colin’s wife.

  Reality ripped through Mary like a bolt of lightning.

  She took a ragged breath. “Oh, my beloved. You have been—you are—my sweet, sweet temptation. . .but. . .I cannot marry you.”

  Colin stiffened, his expression incredulous. “Why ever not?”

  “I’m a Christian.”

  “What difference could that possibly make?”

  “You are not.”

  “I see no problem with your going to church. A lot of my friends do. And if it will make you happy, I’ll even escort you there myself.”

  How convincing he was. How easy it would be to say yes, when she loved him so desperately. Becoming Colin’s wife had been an ephemeral dream. But faced with its reality, now that she was a Christian, she realized that he was no more accessible to her than when she was Ed’s wife.

  Through her wash of tears, she could see the hurt clouding his eyes. If only she could make him understand. She twisted his damp handkerchief between her fingers, searching for a way, knowing that no matter how she couched the words, their wound would be as deep.

  “In these last months I’ve come to know how important it is to share my belief in God with those close to me.” As she spoke, miraculously, her resolve strengthened—at least for that moment. “If I marry again, it must be to someone who loves God as much as he loves me. Someone who will want to live by His precepts and teach them to our children.”

  She felt as if she were thrusting a sword into his heart. And her own. “You’re not that man, Colin.”

  Again, Colin came to his feet. Anger and hurt pride flinted his eyes. “I should never have brought you here. These people have filled you with fairy tales. They’ve stolen your senses.” He swung away from her. “If you ever retrieve them, let me know.”

  fifteen

  Colin leaped onto his horse. He dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks, and it shot forward. Barely did he notice the landscape flying by or hear the horse’s hooves pounding the dusty road, or the hollow clatter as they crossed the bridge. He was propelled by the volatile mix of anger, pride, and pain that churned within him. His eyes were blinded by the sight of Mary’s sad face; his ears rang with her final words.

  “You’re not that man, Colin.”

  Who did she think she was that she could toy with him the way she had?

  She even said she loved me.

  Loved me. Ha!

  What a fool he’d made of himself. He hadn’t come intending to offer marriage. But she’d looked so forlorn, so lost when he’d told her about Ed. And there was no one to take care of her and the baby. He took pity on her. It was out of the goodness of his heart. Had he not been so convinced she loved him, he never would have considered asking her to marry him at such an unorthodox moment.

  He confessed his love for her. And she him. And her eyes had told him more, so much more.

  Then she rejected him!

  Him, the district magistrate.

  Was she holding out for better?

  If so, her chances were slim to none. No other gentleman of education and good repute would offer himself to an ignorant little factory worker from America. Barely able to read or write. And who would take care of her when the Bryants were gone? Another ne’er-do-well like Ed McKenzie or Fourth Street Ryzzi?

  If she thought she could come crawling back to Colin then, she had another think coming.

  How could she treat him so cruelly? His dear, sweet Mary. His brave little Mary. His beautiful, kind Mary.

  It was those people. Those Bryants. He’d been a fool to take her to those fanatics. All they did was fill her mind with nonsense about an amorphous God. A specter. Neither to be seen nor heard. Let alone proved.

  Colin was a modern, sophisticated man, a hard-headed realist. A man of the twentieth century. His life’s work was built on provable facts. He’d gone to Oxford, by heaven. He was no dimwit who fantasized about some ubiquitous phantom.

  Nearing the center of town, he slowed his mount. He couldn’t face going back to headquarters, not yet. He needed to sort things out. If only there was someone he could talk to.

  Daniel.

  Always the first person he thought of when he had a problem.

&nb
sp; What a farce that was. Daniel was responsible for Mary’s delusion.

  If anything, he was more deluded than she.

  And if he spoke to Henry, his old chum would just smirk and make some inane remark.

  No, he’d have to go this one alone.

  ❧

  “Colin was certainly in a hurry.” Emma ventured as she walked out onto the verandah, carrying Baby Kathy in her arms.

  Mary stared at her dumbly. How long had she been sitting here, frozen, numb?

  “It’s not like him to leave without saying good-bye—there you are, my little darling.” Emma laid the infant in Mary’s arms and dropped into the chair that Colin had vacated. “Why, my dear, what is the matter?”

  Mary hugged the baby against her breast. “Oh, Mrs. Emma, sometimes it’s so hard to be a Christian.”

  Emma reached out and stroked Mary’s arm. “Did Colin bring bad news?”

  Mary nodded, rubbing her cheek against the sleeping baby’s fine Titian curls. “They found Ed’s body.”

  “Oh, my dear—”

  “Murdered before he barely got out of town.” Mary drew a sobbing breath. “Poor Ed.”

  “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”

  “I also learned he was a wanted criminal. An unsavory character, Mrs. Emma, but I wouldn’t have wished him dead.”

  “I know dear, I know.” Emma pulled her chair closer, encircling the trembling girl in her embrace.

  “It was that Ryzzi Kryzika that killed him,” Mary murmured into Emma’s shoulder. “If anybody would do such a thing, it was that evil man.” Mary pulled away from Emma, her heart bleak. “It’s not that I was all that shocked about Ed. It had been so long since anything had been heard of him, I’d begun to wonder at the possibility that maybe he was dead. But still, to hear the words. . .”

  “So much trouble for such young shoulders to carry.” Emma leaned back and lifted Mary’s chin. “But now you understand that you need not bear the burden alone. Our Lord is here to sustain and support you.”

  “I know,” Mary murmured, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t imagine what I would have done had I not had that assurance.”

  “And, my dearest, you can count on Daniel and me for as long as you need us.” Emma stroked her arm again. “You know that.”

  “But there’s more, Mrs. Emma.” Mary lifted stricken eyes.

  “Your brothers. Something’s happened to your brothers?”

  She shook her head. “It’s Magistrate—it’s Colin. He asked me to marry him.”

  “And you said?”

  “I had to tell him no, because. . .because—”

  “He’s not a Christian.”

  Emma’s words twisted Mary’s heart.

  Again the dear woman’s arms locked around her and the baby in an embrace of love and protection. “No wonder he raced out of here as if he were on fire.”

  “It’s so hard, Mrs. Emma. He’s so good, so compassionate. And I’ve heard you talk about how he treats everyone with equal kindness and justice. Natives, the Dutch settlers—even me, when I first came to South Africa and had no one.”

  “He is, indeed, a good man,” Emma agreed, “and a reason for much prayer. Daniel has not a better friend in Africa. And yet, there is always that separation, that gulf, between them.”

  Mary turned sorrowful eyes in the direction of town. “That one great gulf,” she whispered, the tears beginning to flow again.

  ❧

  It had been two weeks since Colin had seen Mary, given her the news about Ed. . .asked her to be his wife.

  Been rejected.

  For two weeks he’d done his job with brusque efficiency and little patience. His staff had been wise enough to give him a wide berth.

  He could hardly blame them.

  He’d felt no inclination to accept any social engagements, sparing his friends the burden of his disagreeable presence. Rather, he had sought the silence and solace of his books—and his own bleak thoughts.

  Little comfort there.

  The report of a minor skirmish at the Stratton Mine had just come in. And he was grateful. It gave him the excuse he needed to get out of town, now that his second-in-command was back from holiday.

  But before he left, he felt obliged to visit Henry.

  Much to his relief, Sylvia was nowhere in sight when the servant answered the door, and Colin managed to slip up the three flights to Henry’s “playroom” without being observed.

  After a hearty greeting, and “It’s about time you showed up, old man,” Henry said, “You’re in luck. My little lady is having tea with the Carter twins. Had you been a moment sooner, no doubt she’d have dragged you along. Family just moved here from Durban—bring us some iced cider, Modjadji,” he interjected to the servant who had followed Colin up. “New brand my brother-in-law shipped from the UK—with Grace Ellen gone—”

  “So I heard.” Even now, Colin’s spirits rose a tad at the thought.

  “Don’t expect Sylvia to give up that easily, m’boy. She’s checking out the Carter sisters as we speak. Say, what about the little wren? Hear she had her baby. Ever locate her husband?”

  Much to Colin’s relief, Henry didn’t pause for a reply, but moved toward a large table in the middle of the room covered by an intricate landscape of city streets and buildings, mountains, trees, a running stream and waterwheel. He flicked a switch and a train moved out of the depot. “Did you ever see anything like it? All battery-operated. I’ve been working on it for weeks. It’s for my son.”

  “So I see.” Colin smiled.

  “You won’t be smiling when you have a boy of your own, old chap.”

  Henry’s words rubbed salt into Colin’s wounded heart. He looked toward the window, but found no comfort there, as his eyes fell on the telescope and he was reminded of the first day he’d caught sight of his sweet Mary.

  “I wanted to see you before I headed north,” he said.

  “Again?”

  “Labor problems at the Stratton Mine.”

  “Seems to me we’ve got as many problems in the mines around here—watch how the train takes the mountain—”

  At that moment the servant came huffing up the stairs with iced glasses of cider, and Henry turned off the switch. The two men sat down in a couple of easy chairs on a small porch overhanging the garden.

  Henry took a long draught and sighed. Leaning back, he crossed his legs. “What do you think of all the excitement?”

  “You mean the body we dug up?” Colin asked tentatively, unwilling to give more information about the case than absolutely required.

  Henry waved a dismissive hand. “Not that. Murder and mayhem are standard fare around here. I’m talking about Daniel’s miracle. It’s all over Johannesburg.”

  Colin lifted a censuring brow. “Come now, Henry.”

  Henry leaned forward. “I’m serious. You know Nyati, that Kaffir who delivers chickens? The one with the lame son he pulls around in the cart? It seems he was at Daniel’s healing service a couple of weeks ago. Now, the boy’s leg is as straight as an arrow. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

  Colin shook his head. “You’re as gullible as the natives. I thought you Anglicans had more sense.”

  “And you’re as hard-headed as my marble bust of Caesar Augustus. But I don’t blame you. I didn’t accept it either, till I saw it for myself. One look at that restored leg made a believer out of me. And he’s had other healing, too, I understand. Starting next Sunday, Sylvia and I are taking the children and going to Daniel’s church.”

  “Come on, Henry,” Colin scoffed, “you’ve been duped. It’s got to be a different boy.”

  The good-natured man looked annoyed. “I’m not a simpleton, Colin. I’ve seen that lad since he was a tike. He has a large birthmark on his cheek and a withered—had a withered leg.”

  Was it possible? Colin’s heart pounded. Henry had a tendency to exaggerate sometimes, but he was no liar. He studied his friend. The man was deadly serious.
If it was a hoax, Henry was completely and honestly taken in.

  And there was certainly no way Daniel would knowingly perpetrate a hoax. Mass hysteria. That’s what it had to be. Colin had read of such things.

  “Check it out yourself,” Henry said.

  Colin rose abruptly. “I think I will.” Even as he strode out, he couldn’t believe he was giving credence to the possibility.

  “I didn’t mean now,” Henry said, lumbering to his feet and following Colin to the door.

  But Colin was already halfway down the stairs.

  ❧

  It took some doing, but Colin found Nyati’s small poultry farm located at the end of a dirt track on the outskirts of town.

  As he approached, he saw Nyati, a tall, scrawny Kaffir, his head shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat, standing in a wire-fenced enclosure, tossing grain from a cotton sack to the frenetically pecking and squawking chickens. Spotting Colin, the man threw a large handful of feed into a corner and escaped out the gate opposite.

  With a merchant’s smile and handshake, he greeted his visitor.

  At that moment, a lad came around the corner of a coop, lugging a fresh bag of seed. He had a birthmark on his cheek, red, in the shape of a ragged-edged C.

  The birthmark of Nyati’s son!

  Colin’s gaze shifted to the boy’s leg.

  His throat constricted.

  The once twisted limb was, indeed, straight as an arrow. And as far as Colin could see, in shape and size, perfectly matched to the other.

  “But how?”

  “A miracle from the God of Umfundici—of Reverend Daniel.” Nyati’s black eyes blazed with the fire of his faith.

  Colin could only stare at the boy, who by now had dragged the heavy bag across the yard. And he continued staring until the youth disappeared from view behind a shed.

  And still Colin stared, as the carefully crafted structure of his disbelief crumbled and fell from him, dry and useless as the dust beneath his feet.