Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  Lorna laughed and turned to Will. ‘Mr Green, Dallas tells me you have taught him a thing or two about trading. May I ask how you came to be a trader?’

  ‘Trial and error, miss . . . er . . . missus,’ Will growled, his words clipped by the embarrassment of being singled out. He was not at ease.

  ‘Right,’ Lorna said briskly, when it became obvious Will had given all he intended. ‘You asked about Sarah, Mr Burton. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall retire.’ She kissed Dallas on the cheek. ‘Don’t be long, darling.’ Nodding to the others, Lorna drained her glass and left.

  The silence hung heavy with curiosity. Dallas sighed. ‘Let me freshen your drinks. Sit down and don’t interrupt.’ He told the two men some of his story.

  Will was far from convinced. In fact, with the ladylike marchioness gone from the room, he became quite vocal. ‘You left this one in Scotland, about to marry an old man, and carrying your child. So you married another, also with child, this time not yours. Then the first one reappears, your wife obligingly lets you live with her but refuses a divorce. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t get it. There’s something you’re not telling us.’

  ‘Perfectly simple, old chap,’ Logan said.

  ‘Yeah? Then perhaps you’d be good enough to explain, seeing as how you know so much.’

  Dallas had never heard such garbled guessing come so close to the truth.

  ‘Why leave this beauty? They are so obviously deeply in love.’ Logan turned to Dallas. ‘I’m not asking, dear boy, just woolgathering.’ He looked back at Will. ‘Our young friend here is the type to adopt a stiff upper lip and get on with things. For some strange reason, he didn’t do that. Instead, he left her and came out here. Now, it’s a sad but true fact that the aristocracy rarely marry for love. The British Isles are positively drenched by bleeding hearts. His lady becomes betrothed to a man she doesn’t love. Dallas cannot marry her himself. What does this tell you? They’re aristocrats.’

  ‘You’ve only got to listen to them to know that.’

  Logan frowned and went on. ‘But why leave?’ He held a finger up, ready to make his point. ‘Our young and probably titled friend has another reason. What, I hear you ask? Ah, well, that could be any number of things but I suspect keeping one step ahead of the law had something to do with it.’ He cocked an eye at Dallas. ‘A duel? Illegal in Britain now. Shot somebody? No? Something else, then. Let’s move on.’

  Will was starting to look impatient.

  ‘Bear with me.’ Logan anticipated his interruption.

  ‘You’re guessing,’ Will accused.

  ‘Indeed. And our young, probably titled, escapee friend’s silence tells me I might be on the right track.’

  ‘Close enough,’ Dallas muttered.

  Logan looked smug. ‘For some reason, he marries Sarah. Why? As you and I both know, Will, Dallas paid no more romantic attention to the girl than either of us. So, perhaps the ghastly Mr Wilcox discovered our young, probably titled, escapee friend’s secret and forced him to marry his daughter. Blackmail. How can that be? We now find our hero’s up and left his wife to set up house here. Suddenly, he is no longer concerned with whatever Sarah’s father held over his head. Could that mean Dallas has something to hold over his?’ Two very intelligent eyes bored into Dallas’s. ‘The threat of scandal. Yesssss! Where is the baby?’

  ‘Enough,’ Dallas cut in.

  Logan nodded, making one last guess. ‘Thulani.’

  ‘The Kaffir driver!’ Will was outraged. ‘That’s disgusting. They should shoot the –’

  ‘No, dear fellow. Don’t tell me you haven’t indulged.’

  ‘That’s different.’ Will turned to Dallas. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Logan advised. ‘You’ll force him to lie.’

  Uncomfortable in the ensuing silence, Dallas changed the subject. ‘What brings you two here?’

  ‘We’re broke,’ Will said flatly.

  ‘Come, come, let’s not be crude.’

  ‘What would you call it then?’

  Logan ignored the question. ‘You’re leaving again soon. If you could see your way clear to offer the same conditions as before, we’d both be most grateful.’

  ‘I don’t need partners.’

  Two beseeching expressions confronted Dallas. He couldn’t help smiling. ‘Very well. Same deal as before. We leave in two days. Do either of you have a wagon?’ The looks on their faces gave him the answer. ‘Then get organised, and quickly. Put them on my bill. If you’re not ready to leave when I am, the deal’s off.’

  Lorna was still awake when Dallas went up to bed. ‘Are they coming with us?’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No. I liked them. Do hurry, Dallas. I’ve been lying here thinking the most lascivious things.’

  He grinned, slid into bed and kissed her deeply. Logan and Will must have worked around the clock because both men were ready and waiting when Dallas arrived at Cato’s to pick up trading goods and supplies.

  ‘Is she coming with us?’ Will asked in an undertone.

  Dallas heard. ‘She is. So is the baby. They are my family. Any other questions?’

  Will backed off. ‘No. Just asking.’ When Dallas adopted that tone there was no point in discussing matters.

  THIRTEEN

  Lorna and Cam took well to the road. The wagon was comfortable and a makeshift barrier had been erected to prevent the baby from falling out. Mister David, Tobacco and July were once again only too happy to accompany them. In every respect save one, the three worked well as a team. They argued good-naturedly, even displaying petty jealousy, over time spent with Cam. Mister David usually won since he drove Dallas and Lorna’s wagon. The youngster adored sitting on the Zulu’s lap as they rolled along and often curled into Mister David’s chest taking a quick nap.

  When outspanned, Tobacco and July would vie for favour, and as their bickering became more heated, Lorna was forced to intervene, suggesting they take it in turns – one day each. This solution had not occurred to either man and they happily accepted the compromise.

  Logan, Will and their Africans also claimed a share of Cam’s attention. Each had his own way of entertaining the child. With constant company, not to mention that of his parents, the little boy remained happy and stimulated.

  ‘He was always a contented baby,’ Lorna told Dallas. ‘Now he’s positively enraptured. It must be good for him.’

  ‘How different from our upbringing.’

  She pulled a face at the memory. ‘I’d have loved to grow up like this.’

  Dallas laughed at her whimsy. ‘You’re wild enough as it is.’

  And she’d laughed with him, knowing he wouldn’t want her any other way.

  If there was a sour note, it had to do with Logan. The man was, in one respect, being an obstinate fool. Zulu and European alike tried to dissuade him, but to no avail. Lorna came closest, using feminine wiles, until she went too far and Logan saw through it.

  ‘Nice try,’ he told her, ‘but I happen to be impervious to expressions of devotion from a woman who is so obviously bound until death to another. I know you mean well, but my mind’s made up.’

  ‘Fine,’ Lorna snapped, frustrated. ‘Kill yourself. See if I care.’

  ‘What will be, will be,’ Logan responded blandly. ‘Our fate is written the day we are born.’ Then he grinned. ‘And you would care.’

  Lorna threw up her hands in disgust.

  Logan’s left arm had healed quite well. Although there was practically no feeling from elbow to shoulder, he could, with difficulty, lift and fire a rifle. This led to the announcement that perhaps his hunting days weren’t over after all, a statement that worried everyone. They could see how slow he had become, something that could get him killed if he went after elephants. Which was exactly what Logan intended.

  Otherwise, it was proving a dream trip. Will had a new wagon master, his other boys the same as before. Logan’s murderous ski
nner had never reappeared, and his replacement was an excellent tracker and gun bearer. Squabbles, normal among the Africans, were minimal and easily diffused. All in all, Lorna could not have been introduced to a trader’s life under more agreeable circumstances.

  Will, who firmly believed that he alone could purchase the required quality and quantity of trade goods, had cast his experienced eyes over Dallas’s stock and nodded approval. ‘You’ve learned well. You’re one of us.’

  The compliment, casually made to sound like a mere observation, coming from someone who normally looked for negatives, filled Dallas with a level of self-respect and satisfaction he’d never anticipated. Respect shown him in the past had largely been due to who he was, not what he’d done. This was different.

  Before setting off, rebellion from Lorna over the matter of clothes had Dallas almost speechless with amazement. He knew she was different from most women and this latest idea, outstanding in its audacity, made the utmost sense. Still, he didn’t know whether to applaud or try to talk her out of it. In the end, because he could see how determined she was, Dallas went along with her.

  ‘God help the women of Durban,’ he said dryly. ‘They’ll be having the vapours in public when they see this.’

  Secretly, he thought she looked wonderful.

  It all stemmed from Lorna’s refusal to ride side-saddle. ‘It’s too uncomfortable. You have to keep changing sides to avoid backache. That means dismounting, adjusting the stirrups and remounting. It wastes so much time.’

  ‘Travel on the wagon.’

  ‘No. I want to ride with you. I like the freedom of having my own horse.’

  Dallas thought that was wonderful too.

  Lorna found a local seamstress to improvise with store-bought calico dresses, turning skirts into trousers and tops into pinafores under which she could wear a light blouse. Not for her the fashionable bustle and leg-of-mutton sleeves, which were both hot and cumbersome. The horrified seamstress tried to talk her into at least allowing the leg covering to remain full and billowing, caught in at the ankle to give some impression of modesty. But no. Lorna insisted on straight legs, tight fitting, with pockets like those in a man’s trousers. And that was what she proudly wore when they went to provision at Cato’s. The sight of a woman in such a shockingly revealing outfit tested a disapproving Durban society that grudgingly had to accept that the aristocracy seemed to do, and get away with, anything they damn-well pleased.

  Dallas, who had long since discarded his impractical attire for lighter store-bought clothes, couldn’t fault Lorna’s thinking and decided her courage deserved his encouragement. ‘You’ll start a new fashion, my darling. Fetching and practical.’

  She’d grinned. ‘As long as you don’t think of me as a man.’

  ‘With that beautiful hair and lovely face? I think not.’

  ‘You’re biased.’

  ‘Guilty.’

  ‘I’ve packed a couple of good outfits just in case. Are you sure you don’t mind my dressing this way?’

  Dallas leered. ‘I know what’s underneath.’

  ‘Naughty!’

  They bantered constantly. It was part of their fun and Dallas delighted in the way Lorna could give as good as she got. And quickly. Her mind was sharp and she wasn’t afraid to speak it. When he thought back, their friendship had always been peppered with incidents where each tried to get the better of the other. Much to Dallas’s amusement, Lorna would swear like a trooper when the occasion called for it. She didn’t hold back either. Logan and Will were shocked that a woman could be so outspoken, but Lorna quickly won them over. Even so, they were careful with their own language in her company.

  The Africans were enchanted by her hair. Long, shining blonde curls were a rarely-seen thing. Most European women wore theirs up, covered with a hat. Lorna liked her hair to flow freely, only using a hat when the sun became too hot. So, hatless, locks tied loosely by a ribbon at the base of her neck, dressed in cream with a blue shirt underneath and wearing soft handmade riding boots, Lorna became a talking point on trails from Durban to the Thukela. Further north, those they met along the way either didn’t care what she wore or were too polite to mention it.

  Mister David needed to overcome a deeply held belief that women were put on earth to bear children, cook meals, brew beer and tend crops before he would talk with Lorna of Zulu ways, as he had with Dallas. Her questions differed, tending to focus on the woman’s role. He would speak from a man’s viewpoint, surprisingly unlearned about how Zulu women actually felt, what their main concerns were or even what was discussed when they spent time alone together. Lorna had to be content with an overview but became determined to learn Zulu so that her curiosity could be satisfied.

  She readily accepted some of Mister David’s advice regarding Cam’s mode of dress. He convinced her to discontinue the use of a napkin during the day. ‘It is not normal for him to be wet or dirty. The boy must do his toilet as our children. On the ground.’

  For practical reasons – Cam slept snuggled into his parents – Lorna still insisted on a napkin at night.

  Their routine was only marginally different from the first time the three white men had worked together. The freedom of bathing in streams and wandering naked back to the wagons could not continue. Frank conversations about the female sex were strictly off-limits. Dallas outspanned their wagon well apart from the others, his excuse being that should Cam wake in the middle of the night they didn’t want to disturb anybody. The truth was rather more basic. Lorna and Dallas’s delight in each other was often clearly audible. Add to that a rocking wagon and no-one had any doubts about the goings-on inside. As for Cam, he obligingly slept through it all.

  Will had many concerns about bringing a woman and child along, but as the days passed and both thrived on the experience, he was forced to admit that Dallas had an extraordinary family. Lorna was accepted as Dallas’s wife. After all, Cam was his son and neither Will nor Logan had thought Sarah particularly suitable, particularly since learning something of the circumstances.

  The journey to Pietermaritzburg went without incident. Their oxen and horses were from good salted stock, the wagons in fine condition. Although the weather remained hot and sultry, the trip was timed so that, once they reached the Thukela, the nights at least would be starting to cool down.

  In Pietermaritzburg they topped up supplies and Dallas bought a second double rifle, just in case. News of his marriage to Sarah had reached the town, but intimidated by Lorna’s title, no-one mentioned it to them, although it was obvious from sidelong looks and smirks that tongues were wagging. Lorna breezed through such disapproval with a nonchalant air that belied her vulnerability. Dallas knew he was responsible for most of her uncertainty, and went out of his way to support and reassure her when they were out and about together.

  They were both pleased to leave Pietermaritzburg behind. Being the administrative centre for Natal, the town was largely populated by devotees of British-style red tape. Everyone lived strictly according to rules and codes that gave them comfort borne of familiarity, sorely needed by most in a strange land. To these people the rumours circulating about Dallas and Lorna were scandalous. To Dallas and Lorna, the town and the people in it were most tedious.

  Back on the road, riding together, Lorna voiced what was on both their minds. ‘I never thought that being different would be so hard.’

  ‘Do you care what they think?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  Dallas smiled. ‘We all seek approval. Some of us conform, and receive it. But from whom? People we respect?’

  Lorna smiled back. ‘You’re right. Logan’s and Will’s support is far more meaningful.’ She glanced over at him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You know very well for what. You give me confidence.’

  ‘You already have that in abundance. You were wonderful.’

  ‘Without you there –’

  ‘That will never happen.’

&nbs
p; She leaned sideways and kissed his cheek. ‘I feel so happy.’

  He grinned his pleasure. ‘Me too. It’s like no-one can touch us.’

  ‘Um . . . Dallas?’

  Something was in her voice. He gave her a long look. ‘Am I going to like this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He was still watching her. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘Don’t be so bossy.’

  ‘You’re hedging. Come on, out with it.’

  ‘I’m definitely with child.’ It came out in a rush, as if she were scared of his response.

  Dallas was instantly concerned. ‘Are you positive? How will you cope? The Thukela can be pretty rough. Perhaps we should return to Durban.’

  ‘I knew you would say that. I’m not returning anywhere. I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m thinking of. How do you feel about it?’

  His smile was soft. ‘Nothing special. Just overjoyed.’

  She laughed. ‘Is that all?’

  He laughed with her but was still worried. ‘If anything should go wrong . . . Promise you’ll take it easy.’

  ‘Dallas.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do me a favour.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Don’t be such an old woman.’

  He ducked his head, smiling. But he was serious as he spoke to her. ‘I’ll be right there, should you need me.’

  ‘I know,’ Lorna said softly. ‘That is what makes me so happy.’

  In Colenso, they again restocked. To Dallas’s intense relief there was no sign of Mr Wilcox. However, he was quite certain that their passing through would be reported back to him. Reaching the Thukela River they left the road north and headed into Zululand. ‘Here we go,’ Dallas told Lorna. ‘This is where it starts.’

  She smiled, but it was strained and her face pale.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously. Lorna had been quiet all morning.

  ‘It’s the early month’s sickness,’ she explained. ‘Bloody nuisance. I’ll be fine. It will pass in a few weeks.’

  ‘Why not lie down in the wagon?’