by Kathi Macias
Stepping forward even as she cocked the rifle, she took aim before the men could respond to the sound and turn on her. Remembering her father’s caution to prepare for the rifle’s kick, she stood her ground, and her shot was straight and true. The man with the firearm dropped to the ground, even as the other two looked on in obvious astonishment. The element of surprise had served her well, but she would have to move quickly if she was going to take out the other two before they gathered their senses and ganged up on her.
Ignoring the ringing in her ears from the first shot, she now had the second man in her sights when she recognized him and realized who they were. These men had lived in the camp with them, fought at Themba’s side, eaten from their communal cooking pot—and then sided with Abrafo when he fought their leader. They were three of the men who had disappeared when Themba killed Abrafo, and now they had come back.
A cold snake of fear slithered up Chioma’s spine as she realized there were more than these three. By her count, seven men had sneaked away that night. Where were the other four?
The brief hesitation had cost her, and the two men were now focused on bringing her down before she dealt with them as she had with their companion. Bellowing with rage, they ran toward her, as Chioma pulled the trigger just in time to topple the man closest to her. He dropped, but she doubted he would stay down, as her aim had been shaky, and she could tell he was still moving.
She couldn’t waste time worrying about him, though, as the other man was now on top of her. Before Chioma could even think about using her rifle, he had knocked it from her hands and put his own hands around her throat, as they toppled together to the ground. Kicking and writhing beneath him, Chioma fought for her life, and for Mandisa and Sipho’s as well, for she knew this man would kill them, too, when he finished with her. But his strength was too great. The harder she fought, the tighter his grip grew around her throat. Her vision was beginning to go black when suddenly the man jerked and his hands loosened their grasp. Chioma gasped, catching the oxygen she needed to regain her sight, just as the man rolled off her and Chioma spotted Mandisa, still naked but standing over them, with Themba’s rifle clutched in her hands like a club. Her eyes were wide with fright and her lips pressed together in a thin but determined line. It was obvious she had pushed past her fear and used the dropped weapon to deal Chioma’s attacker a brutal blow.
Grateful but still unable to speak, Chioma sat up, rubbing her burning throat. Sipho wailed then, as he thrashed on the ground where Mandisa had placed him near the water, and the sound brought his adoptive mother racing back to his side. Chioma reached for the rifle Mandisa had dropped in her hurry to get to the baby, but before she could get her hand on it, the second man she had shot also made a move for it. Launching herself toward the gun, Chioma reached it just ahead of him and snatched it out of his grasp, though the look in his eyes told her he was not going to quit without a fight.
Chioma jumped to her feet and stepped back, as the man on the ground snatched a knife from his boot and aimed it in her direction. There was no time to think or consider. Chioma pulled the trigger. This time she knew she had finished him, as the bullet had penetrated his forehead and the man now lay facedown, unmoving, his knife still clutched in his hand.
Turning her attention to the third man, the one who had tried to strangle her and who had been stopped by Mandisa’s powerful blow to his head with the rifle butt, Chioma saw that he wasn’t moving either. Was he dead? Did she dare take a chance?
Her father’s words echoed in her ears, as she remembered the first day he had taught her how to hold and fire a gun. “Never assume your prey can’t turn on you and finish you off. Finish him first. Take no chances, my daughter.”
Glancing quickly at Mandisa, who had slipped her clothes back on and was tending to the squalling baby, Chioma thought of the other four men who had also stolen away from the camp after Themba killed Abrafo. If she was going to have to take them on as well, she certainly didn’t want this one coming back to fight her at the same time.
She took aim and fired, watching the body jerk and then settle back into quiet stillness. Her bullet had found its mark, and for now they were safe.
Chapter 19
EMMA HAD STRUGGLED WITH SAYING GOOD-BYE TO Anana, even for a few days, but she also looked forward to her visit with her daughter’s friend and her new husband. Emma had attended Paul and Jeannie’s wedding before they left for their one-year term in South Africa, and she had promised Jeannie’s mother to send pictures. With her camera safely packed away in the one suitcase she had brought with her from Pieter and Anana’s, along with the box of Bibles and study materials she was scheduled to deliver, she was on her way at last.
As the car proceeded toward its destination, Emma noticed the roads had become almost corrugated, more often made of sand than tar. She smiled, proud of the dedication of the newly married couple who had come to serve in this lovely area of the world, despite its turmoil and unrest—or perhaps because of it. She wondered if she would have had the same courage or dedication to make such a commitment when she was young and newly married. Many had commented on her courage to leave her homeland behind and move to America with her new husband, but that was entirely different. Yes, she’d had to deal with cultural changes, but she had been comfortable and, for the most part, safe. Besides, the move had been necessary in order to be with the man she loved. Jeannie and her husband had made this commitment out of love for God and for those who needed to learn about His great love for them. It was a noble sacrifice, indeed.
The driver slowed, and Emma was certain she heard him utter a curse under his breath before getting out of the car to move yet another rock from the roadway. This trip certainly wasn’t anything like driving the crowded freeways of Southern California, but it seemed they were making nearly the same amount of progress as during rush hour in Los Angeles.
Rush hour. She smiled again. Nothing much rushed in LA during those heaviest of traffic times, except perhaps one’s thoughts while sitting in a barely moving car. And yet, in its own way, Southern California—and America in general—had become dear to her after so many years. After all, she had raised her daughter there. She had friends there, and her church, and …
Her eyes teared, as she thought of the cemetery where John was buried and where she often went to pour out her lonely and aching heart. How she wished he were here with her now, to experience what would surely be a blessed visit with this young couple whose life together had just begun and who had such a promising future ahead of them!
She retrieved a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes as the driver resumed his position in the front seat. Emma sighed. She would simply have to learn how to live on this earth without her beloved partner until she could join him in eternity. There were times she wished it wouldn’t be long.
Pieter was anxious, knowing how much work he wasn’t getting done but determined to spend the day with Anana, helping her not dwell on Emma’s temporary departure. He knew how concerned Anana was for Emma’s safety, and though he had repeated his assurances that Emma would be fine, he himself had doubts. There had been too many rumors lately of uprisings and raids, of kidnappings and rapes and murders, extending on occasion even into their own relatively safe and quiet area. Going farther into the bush, as Emma was doing, only compounded her exposure to danger.
Pieter knew Anana was praying for her sister; the two women had, in fact, prayed together before Emma left. Pieter often wished his own faith were as strong and personal as Anana’s and Emma’s. He was a dominee who preached the gospel, yet he often questioned the very words he spoke. He knew Andrew had questioned those words as well, but he had seemed at peace as he lay dying on the ground near the creek on the family farm. Had his son discovered something in his last days or hours of life that Pieter had never experienced, some personal assurance or peace that Pieter longed for but despaired of finding?
He hoped so. Pieter thought losing a child would almost be beara
ble if he knew they would one day meet again, that their final farewell on earth was not so final. He knew what the Bible said, of course, but how could he be certain it was true?
He sighed. Maybe a walk across the veld and a picnic beneath the trees would be good for both Anana and himself. He went to the kitchen to instruct the maid to pack a lunch.
By the time Themba and the others returned to camp, Chioma had the evening meal waiting for them, and she was relieved they didn’t appear to have noticed the absence of the guard, whose body now lay in a heap with the three men she had killed. Then Themba went inside his lean-to and, when he came out, headed straight for Chioma, who stood at the cooking fire, pretending she didn’t know that he approached.
“My gun has been fired,” he announced. “And the sentry was not at his post.”
She swallowed, wincing at the searing pain in her throat as she tried to calm her breathing and wondered how her husband would react when she told him of all that had transpired in his absence. Surely he wouldn’t be angry with her! She had only defended herself and Mandisa and the baby. She had done what she had to do … hadn’t she? But if she had done nothing wrong, why was she shaking so inside?
“I … had to shoot the men who came,” she managed to say, though her voice was raspy from her near-strangling, and she still refused to raise her eyes to his. “Down by the water.”
For a moment Themba didn’t react. Then, turning on his heel, he ordered, “Follow me,” and strode purposefully toward the creek. When she caught up with him, he was stopped at the edge of the trees, gazing down wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the four lifeless bodies stacked beside one another just inches from where he stood.
Chioma wanted to explain, but sensed it would be best to wait until he asked. At last he did.
“You did this? Alone?”
Chioma nodded, then realized he was still staring at the bodies and couldn’t see her. She also noticed for the first time that she and Mandisa had placed the bodies next to a clump of wild King Proteas. The thought struck her that they were a protected flower, and she wondered why that would occur to her at that particular moment.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice strained as she struggled to explain her actions. “I killed them, but Mandisa helped. She knocked one unconscious and then aided me in dragging the bodies into this one spot so they wouldn’t be so noticeable.”
For another moment Themba stood, silent and unmoving, and then he turned to her. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Reluctantly she raised her head, trying to read the meaning behind the sharp glint in his dark eyes. Had she done something wrong, broken some protocol or tradition? Should she have allowed the intruders to harm or even kill Mandisa and the baby rather than take Themba’s rifle without permission?
And then his laughter broke the silence, startling her to the point that she nearly fell backward. Stunned, she regained her balance and watched in amazement as Themba continued to laugh and then reached out and drew her to himself. “So, it seems you have become a fearless comrade as well as my wife—something those poor, unfortunate fools hadn’t counted on when they came into my camp to make trouble.”
Still holding her to his chest, where the feel of his newly healing wound pressed against her cheek, he turned his head and spat on the bodies that lay at their feet. “They deserved to die at the hands of a woman,” he snarled. “They were cowards, and now their miserable lives are over.” He held her away from him and looked down into her face. This time she didn’t avoid his gaze.
“You’ve done well, my wife. You killed those who deserved to die. Now we must think of the four who didn’t come with them.”
She swallowed, though with difficulty. She had done little but think of those four men since killing these three, wondering if and when the others would appear and what would happen when they did. Would they find her and Mandisa alone again? Could she successfully defend the camp a second time?
Themba afforded her a rare smile. “Don’t worry, beautiful woman. We won’t wait for them to return. We’ll break camp in the morning. It’s time to move on. We’ve been here too long as it is.”
He rubbed his rough hand against her cheek, his expression serious once again. “I told you I’d protect you, and I will. You’re my wife, and you belong to me. So long as I have breath, I will not allow anyone to hurt you. Come, we’ll tell the others so they can prepare to leave at sunup.”
Relieved at Themba’s positive reaction and promising words, Chioma followed him gratefully. After a few steps, he stopped and turned back to her. “You have proven yourself, Chioma. Once we’ve set up camp in a new location, you’ll join me and the others when we go out to fight. Someone else will stay behind with Mandisa and the little one.” He nodded, apparently satisfied that she understood. “You’ve earned the right.”
And then his broad back was to her again, as she scurried to keep up.
Chapter 20
EMMA WAS STUNNED AT THE SIMPLE CONDITIONS OF Jeannie and Paul’s two-room home, and humbled when they insisted on sleeping on the floor in the room that served as their kitchen/living area so she could have their bed in the privacy of the tiny bedroom.
“I don’t need the bed,” Emma had argued. “I’ll be perfectly fine using a mat on the floor in the main room.”
“You’re our guest,” Paul had repeated. “You’re also our elder, and we respect your position. In this country, we might even call you our tannie.”
Emma laughed, even as her heart squeezed at being referred to as “auntie.” Still, she certainly couldn’t deny she had more than twenty years on the young couple, and she appreciated their deference to her seniority. It was a point of respect that had no doubt been taught them by their parents, but which also was commonly practiced in the South African culture. And so Emma had yielded to her hosts’ good manners and the local custom.
Now, on her first night at the missionary outpost, Emma lay in the small but immaculately clean room that would otherwise be occupied by the young missionary couple, trying to read by the dim light beside the bed. Anana had insisted Emma bring the journal with her so she could finish reading it while she was gone, and then the two of them could discuss it when she returned. Opening to the page that was marked by a ragged piece of white paper, Emma began to read.
I have tryed to beleve in this white man’s god, this Jesus, and I mite exept for apartheid. How am I to beleve a messege of love when it is preched by a messenger of hate? Perhaps this Jesus was a kind man as they say, but his folowers are not so. If they were I coud not justify killing them so easly.
The words were like a knife to her heart, sharp and searing, flooding her eyes with molten tears. What had Anana thought when she read these words? And what would Pieter say if he knew his wife was reading and even contemplating what the adherents of apartheid would consider a blasphemous opinion?
Anana was right to be concerned, Emma decided. These words, this sort of thinking, could surely cause trouble between a husband and wife if they didn’t see them in the same light. But what was the alternative? Could they continue to ignore this author’s legacy and that of so many like him? Didn’t they somewhere, some time, have to stop and examine all aspects of the truth before declaring which was the correct path on which they should continue to walk?
She closed the book and laid it gently on the crude table beside the bare-bulbed lamp. She was seldom able to read much from the journal without stopping to think … and pray. Tonight was no exception. As she turned off the light and lay back against the rough, muslin pillowcase, she turned her thoughts to the One who held her in His hand—and the entire world as well. The thought of how big His hand was and how safe she was resting in it brought a smile to her lips. Whatever He had in store for her, she could relax, knowing it was exactly as it should be.
Anana couldn’t sleep. She had tried for hours, but the fear wouldn’t turn her loose.
It was ridiculous, she knew. There was no logical reason to believe her si
ster wouldn’t return in a few days, as planned. No doubt her unreasonable concerns were due to the many losses they had experienced in their family through the years. But whatever the reasons, the fear of losing yet another loved one gripped her heart with icy talons, bent on crushing what little life and hope was left inside her.
Pieter also seemed restless, and though he had said nothing since bidding her good night, she doubted he was asleep. Was he, too, concerned about Emma, or was he simply missing Andrew, as they both did, day after day, with little respite?
She turned on her side toward him and reached out her arm to gently touch his shoulder, not wanting to wake him if he truly was sleeping. He responded immediately, rolling toward her and pulling her to his chest.
“Forgive me if I’m keeping you awake,” he said.
She shook her head, her voice muffled against him as she spoke. “You’re not. I can’t sleep, either.”
Pieter pushed her back slightly, and she sensed he was looking down at her. “Emma?”
She nodded. “I keep telling myself she’s fine, that she’ll be back in a few days, but …”
Pieter hesitated before answering. “But you’re not convinced,” he said at last, pulling her back against him. He sighed before continuing. “I wish I could tell you there’s no chance of danger, but you know better. However, it’s minimal, and I can’t imagine anything will happen to her while she’s there at the missionary post with her friends. In just a few short days, our driver will go back to fetch her.”