No Greater Love

by Kathi Macias

  She leaned against her husband, grateful for his arms that held her. “No. Not a nightmare. Just a dream about … a baby. Crying.”

  Pieter hesitated. “A baby? What baby? One of … ours?”

  Anana knew what he was thinking, that she had dreamed of Gertie or Andrew.

  “No. Not Gertie or Andrew. But—” It was her turn to hesitate. In some strange way the baby really had seemed like hers, but that made no sense. And if she couldn’t understand it, there was no reason to think she could explain it to Pieter.

  “But what?” Pieter asked.

  “Nothing. It was just a dream. You know how confusing dreams can be.”

  As they lay back against the pillows, Anana settled into the crook of Pieter’s arm and rested her head on his shoulder. She sighed, grateful for the sense of security she always found in the familiarity of her husband’s nearness. Perhaps, if she lay very still, she would fall back to sleep and make it through the rest of the night without any more disturbing dreams. “

  Who is Sipho?” Pieter asked.

  Startled, Anana bolted upright once again. “Sipho?” she gasped, looking down at Pieter in the semidarkness. “What do you mean? Why do you ask?”

  “Because you spoke the name before you woke up.” He reached up and pulled her back to him. “I believe it means ‘gift’ and is common among the Xhosa. But why would you say it?”

  Shrugging, she tried to make light of it. “I heard it in my dream, but I didn’t realize I said it. I must have heard one of the servants using it at one time or another. It’s … not important.” She kissed his cheek. “Go back to sleep, my love. Morning will come far too quickly.”

  Morning did indeed break quickly over the Vorster farm—and beautifully. After a slight predawn rain that left the air smelling fresh and fragrant, Pieter was up and off to oversee the never-ending work that kept his mind occupied and his heart on hold throughout the day. Anana and Emma, on the other hand, settled into the wicker chairs on the veranda, sipping boerekoffie and reveling in one another’s company as they listened to the distant chirping of the small weaver birds near the creek that ran through the Vorster property.

  “Did you sleep well?” Anana asked, her gaze lingering over the expanse of veld that spread out from the front of her home.

  Emma smiled, her hands clasped around the large, steaming cup. “I did. Your guest room is as comfortable as I remember. And the bed—” She choked on the word, pausing before continuing, and Anana knew Emma was remembering her previous visits, when she had slept in that same bed with John. “The bed is very comfortable,” Emma added, her smile taking on a forced strain.

  “You miss him very much, don’t you?” Anana asked, her voice soft as she, too, hugged her cup with her hands.

  Emma’s eyes dropped before she nodded. “It’s as if half of me has been ripped away. I knew it was coming, of course—he was sick for so long. And I’m truly glad he’s no longer suffering. But …”

  Anana sighed. Her sister’s trail of tears had been different from her own, but no less painful. The thought of losing Pieter, of not having him there beside her when she awoke from a dream or faced yet another loss …

  “I’m sorry,” Anana said. “It was foolish of me to ask. Of course you miss him. You were married for nearly twenty-five years.”

  Emma looked up, her pale blue eyes glistening. “Don’t apologize, dear sister. You were just making an observation, not prying. And there are no secrets between us.” She smiled. “Not even when we were children.”

  Anana returned her smile. “That’s true. Though I’m afraid we kept them from Ma and Pa on occasion.”

  Emma laughed, and Anana felt a tingle of excitement at the familiar sound. On previous visits they had laughed nearly all the time; she realized that morning, however, that though they had chattered a lot since Emma’s arrival, they hadn’t laughed until now. Perhaps they had been too focused on not crying.

  “Yes,” Emma agreed. “We did keep a few secrets to ourselves, didn’t we? Including that abandoned kitten we found behind the barn that time, remember? Oh, how we wanted a cat! Pa was allergic, and we knew we weren’t allowed. But finding one that needed a home … well, we couldn’t possibly leave him there to die.”

  Anana laughed, too. “I’d forgotten about that. What was that pitiful cat’s name? It was orange and white, wasn’t it?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes. I believe we called it Pretty, or something equally unoriginal. And we got away with it for almost a week, if I remember correctly.”

  “Even when Pa’s sneezing got out of hand and Ma commented on how much worse it got each time he came into our room to kiss us good night, but still they didn’t catch us.”

  Emma laughed again. “Do you remember how nervous we were, each time anyone came into our room—not just Pa? We were so worried that Pretty would meow at the wrong time. I think she must have known she’d lose her home if she did, though, because she always seemed to sleep quietly in her box under the bed whenever anyone was there.”

  “Until Ma ordered the servants to begin the spring house-cleaning. Then, as they say in your country, the jig was up!” Anana laughed. “I’ll never forget Ma’s face when the servant came walking from our room, carrying the box with Pretty still sleeping in it. I guess we never realized they’d clean under the bed.”

  The memory of her ma, eyes wide and a storm cloud gathering around her head at the sight of the culprit that had been causing her husband’s allergy attacks, swam in Anana’s mind, bringing a warmth of nostalgia to her heart. “Ma wasn’t happy, but once she settled down, she did agree to let us keep her in the barn, remember?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes. Ma blustered a lot, but underneath she was as soft as that kitten’s fur.” Smiling, she added, “We had a good life growing up, didn’t we?”

  “We certainly did. But oh, how I miss Ma and Pa!”

  Anana had scarcely completed voicing her thought when she paused, frowning. “Do you hear that?”

  It was Emma’s turn to frown, as she answered with a question of her own. “Hear what?”

  Anana spoke without thinking. “That baby. It’s crying—somewhere …” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Emma, realizing how strange she must sound, particularly since it seemed Emma didn’t hear anything. Come to think of it, Anana no longer heard it either. What was wrong with her? Had she imagined it? Of course she had. But it had seemed so real … like the baby from her dream last night, calling to her …

  “Are you all right?” Emma asked.

  Anana blinked. Perhaps she hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately. Or maybe it was a reaction to losing yet another child …

  “I’m fine. It must have been … the wind, or … or one of the servants.” She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Really. Just my imagination getting the better of me.” She smiled. “Can I get you another cup?”

  Emma nodded. “I’d like that.”

  By the time Pieter returned to the house, it was late afternoon, and Anana was in the kitchen, supervising the making of dinner while Emma read in the sitting room. When Emma looked up from her book and saw Pieter walk by, heading in the direction of the master bedroom, she called his name, then smiled in welcome when he returned to stand in the doorway.

  “Hello, Pieter. How was your day?”

  “Good. And yours?”

  “Anana and I have scarcely stopped talking for a moment. We have so much to catch up on.”

  Pieter nodded, smiling, though Emma sensed his heart wasn’t in it. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. Anana needs this visit.”

  “As do I. And you? How are you doing, Pieter?”

  The tall, lean man, dusty from many hours of work, shifted from one foot to the other. “Fine. Good.”

  Emma could almost feel Pieter’s unease, and she understood it well, as John, too, had been uncomfortable discussing his feelings. She had better turn the conversation to something more comfortable.

  “Your ho
use is as lovely as ever. I always sleep well in your guest room. Anana thinks of every possible comfort and convenience.”

  Pieter smiled again. “Yes. She’s very thoughtful.”

  Emma eyed her brother-in-law, recognizing his pride in Anana but sensing something else as well. “Is everything … all right? With Anana, I mean.”

  Pieter frowned, taking a step into the room before stopping again. “I … As well as can be expected, I suppose. But …” He swallowed, and Emma watched his Adam’s apple bob up and then down again before he continued. “She had a dream last night. I could tell it bothered her more than she’d admit.”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “What sort of dream? Did she tell you?”

  “A little … but not all of it, I’m sure. She said it was about a … a baby. That she heard it crying.”

  Emma nearly dropped her book to the floor, as she felt her eyes widen and her heart rate increase. “A baby? Crying?”

  Pieter frowned. “Yes. Why? Is there something strange about that? Something I should know about?”

  Emma shrugged and shook her head. “I … don’t know, Pieter, but …” She took a deep breath, wondering why she was even mentioning it, since there was obviously no connection. And yet …

  “She … said she heard a baby this morning—crying—while we were sitting out on the veranda. But I … heard nothing. When I asked her about it, she shook it off, said it had probably just been the wind or one of the servants—or her imagination, which no doubt is the case. But … like the dream, I think it bothered her more than she let on.”

  Pieter’s eyes narrowed and his frown deepened. “Emma,” he said, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice, “do you think Anana is all right? She’s been through so much …”

  Emma nodded, wanting to reassure Pieter but unsure even as she spoke the words. “Of course, she is. But you’re right. She’s been through a lot, and this may just be part of how she’s grieving.” She paused, locking eyes with Pieter in hopes of receiving some sort of reassurance that her words were true.

  “Don’t you agree? Don’t you imagine that’s all it is?”

  Pieter returned her stare, but his words of assurance seemed shaky at best. “Yes. I’m sure that’s it. What else could it be?”

  “Nothing,” she answered quickly. “I … shouldn’t even have brought it up. She’ll be fine in time, I’m sure.”

  Pieter continued to hold her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “I must go wash up for dinner,” he said, turning to leave the room.

  Emma watched him go, then leaned back and picked up her book, breathing a silent prayer for her younger sister who had begun to hear a baby crying … somewhere.

  The contractions were coming quicker now, and Chioma knew it was up to her and Mandisa to deliver Ebele’s baby. How could that be? Neither of them had ever even been pregnant, let alone helped to deliver a child! If only they had taken more interest when one of the servants on the Vorster farm had given birth in the presence of a midwife, but it was too late now for wishing or regret. All the others in the camp had gone on a raid, and now Ebele was screaming with pain, though both Chioma and Mandisa urged her to remember Themba’s admonition to remain as quiet as possible within the camp. But even the rag Ebele twisted and bit down on didn’t drown out her agony.

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?” Mandisa whispered, her eyes wide with fright as she and Chioma knelt on either side of the writhing, moaning Ebele.

  “How would I know?” Chioma shot back, irritated that Mandisa would expect her to be more experienced in this sort of thing simply because she was slightly older. Chioma had seen a few animals born on the farm, but that was the extent of her personal experience. Oh, if only Mbhali or one of the other women had stayed behind! But Themba had insisted he needed all available comrades at his side. Only Chioma and Mandisa were left behind with Ebele, who had already been complaining of not feeling well.

  “What should we do?” Mandisa asked, persisting in her apparent delusion that Chioma had an answer for her.

  “Why do you ask me?” Chioma spat. “Do I look like someone who’s done this sort of thing before?”

  Ebele yanked the rag from her mouth and reached out to grab Chioma’s arm, nearly squeezing a scream of terror from the hapless young woman. “Help me,” Ebele begged. “Can’t you see that I’m in trouble, that the baby is distressed? Something isn’t right. You must fix it—quickly.”

  Chioma’s eyes widened, as she sucked in a deep breath. “What do you mean? How do you know something’s wrong? And how can I possibly fix it?”

  Ebele shook her sweat-drenched head. “The baby—it needs to be turned. Surely you know how to do that.”

  Chioma looked at Mandisa, who appeared more distraught than ever. It was obvious neither had any idea what to do, though Chioma did remember once seeing one of the men servants on the farm reach inside a cow and turn the calf so it could be born. But she had been so far away, watching from a distance—and it had been an animal, not a human!

  Terrified, Chioma answered, “I’ll go for help. I’m sure I can find Themba and the others. They can’t be too far away. Mandisa will stay here with you until I return …”

  Chioma heard Mandisa squeal in protest, even as Ebele dug her fingernails into Chioma’s flesh. “You … will … not … leave … me,” she demanded, her jaws clenched as she issued her order one definitive word at a time. “Turn … my … baby … now!”

  Chioma tried to break free, pulling her arm in an attempt to jump up and run away, but Ebele would have none of it. Her grip on Chioma only tightened as another contraction sent her screaming for relief. “Help me or I’ll die!” she screeched. “And my baby, too! Help us, Chioma, please!”

  Why me? thought Chioma. Why do I have to do this? She looked at Mandisa, but the poor girl was trembling, her eyes wide with terror. Quite obviously, if anyone was going to do anything—right or wrong—it would have to be Chioma. She only hoped her efforts would be successful.

  When Ebele’s contraction eased, Chioma took a deep breath and said, “All right. Tell me what to do.”

  It was apparent Ebele’s strength was ebbing and there was not much time, so with the pain-wracked woman directing the process, Chioma obeyed, praying silently to whatever unknown gods might be listening that she would be used to save a life—preferably two—before this horrifying event was over.

  In less than an hour, Chioma found herself holding a wet newborn in her hands, a tiny boy that lay lifeless as Mandisa wailed beside them. When Chioma raised her eyes to look at Ebele, whose name meant “mercy,” she knew her prayers had not been answered, nor had Ebele’s name done her any good. Despite their best efforts, they had lost her too. The last push to expel her baby into the world had finished the young mother’s life on earth.

  As Chioma stared at the dead woman, she decided it was best the infant had died as well. How would they care for a newborn orphan? It was as it should be. Maybe they had received mercy, after all.

  And then the baby stirred—just a kick, but Chioma was so shocked she nearly dropped him. Jerking her head down to look at the now squirming child, she opened her mouth in amazement—even as the child opened his mouth and uttered his first cry.

  “Sipho,” Mandisa muttered, and Chioma turned to look at her friend.

  “Sipho,” Mandisa repeated, her eyes shining as she looked from the screaming baby to Chioma, then back again. “We should call him Sipho. I had a cousin by that name. It means ‘gift.’”

  As Mandisa gazed in wonder at the little one who intermittently shoved a fist in his mouth to suck on it and then removed it to wave it in the air and cry again, Chioma nodded. Sipho it would be … though she could think of no reason to be grateful for such an unwanted or untimely gift.

  Chapter 13

  BY THE TIME THEMBA AND THE OTHERS RETURNED, Mandisa was holding a quiet Sipho, exhausted from screaming for nourishment. Chioma was nearly frantic with worry about how they would feed the h
elpless infant, not to mention what Themba would say when he discovered what had happened in his absence.

  She didn’t have long to wait.

  “So, Chioma,” Themba barked, fixing his dark eyes on hers, while seemingly ignoring Mandisa who stood beside her, “I leave for a few hours and come back to find a dead woman in my camp. What am I to think?”

  Chioma swallowed. She had no answer for him, as she had no idea what to think herself. “I … don’t know, Themba. It just … happened …”

  The tall warrior, with his ever-present chest scar and what appeared to be fresh blood on the front of his faded khaki pants, continued to stare down at her. Chioma noticed the flash of light in his eyes just before he broke into laughter. “Yes. That sort of thing does just happen, doesn’t it? One life ends …” He paused and, still smiling, turned his eyes to the silent bundle in Mandisa’s arms before looking back to Chioma. “… and another begins.”

  Chioma recognized the meaning in Themba’s comment but chose to ignore it. What would happen now? Would she and Mandisa be punished for Ebele’s death? Would the baby be allowed to live? If so, how would they care for it?

  Themba broke eye contact with Chioma and quickly searched the compound. Apparently spotting the object of his search, he called to one of the men, who hurried to Themba’s side.

  “Find a milk goat,” Themba ordered, “and bring it here. Quickly.”

  Without question, the man turned and hurried from the camp, as Themba turned back to the two waiting women. He raised his eyebrows. “Babies need milk, don’t they?”

  Mandisa was the first to respond. Nodding rapidly, she said, “Yes, Themba. And thank you very much for your kindness and wisdom! I knew you’d take care of things when you returned.”

  Chioma gave her friend a quick, surprised glance. It was the first time she had heard words of praise for their leader coming from the young woman. Maybe it would have been better if Themba had set his sights on Mandisa …