Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  Relief glowed back. ‘Will I see her?’

  ‘Bound to, I have no doubt of that. Just remember, son, your mother did what she believed would be for the best. If you do meet her again, I would like to think that you will accept that and remain respectful.’

  ‘I will, Father.’

  ‘Good. Now, for the next few days it is my wish that you stay at home.’

  Torben nodded his understanding.

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past that man Hardcastle,’ Dallas added. ‘Come on, let’s get back.’

  At their gate, Torben stopped, kicked at a pebble, and looked up at his father. ‘Aunt Lorna feels like my mother.’

  ‘Son,’ Dallas said, smiling. ‘Are you too big for a hug?’

  The following day Jeremy Hardcastle returned. Jette was with him, though she was not the woman Dallas remembered. It had been nearly seven years since he had seen her but she had aged twenty. Heavy make-up did not conceal the bruises on her face. Her eyes, once sparkling with mischief and amusement, had become dull. ‘Hello, Dallas.’ A front tooth was missing.

  ‘Jette.’ He kissed the offered cheek and, as he did, felt her body trembling.

  ‘Are you satisfied?’ Hardcastle looked smug. ‘Here is the boy’s mother.’

  Dallas scrutinised the once beautiful face. Whatever catastrophe had caused Hardcastle’s injuries had not afflicted Jette. Yet somehow she seemed more wounded than him. The once proud tilt of her head was gone. The erect body had a frailty of which loss of weight was not the cause. Once lustrous black hair, now streaked with grey, hung in lifeless proof that she was no longer concerned with her appearance. Dressed plainly, the quality of her clothes was good but her little touches of flair were not there.

  ‘You wish to see Torben?’

  ‘We intend to take him with us. Don’t we, my dear?’

  Dallas kept his eyes on Jette. ‘I was speaking to the boy’s mother.’

  A gesture, so small Dallas wondered if he’d imagined it. A tiny shake of the head and a warning of some kind in her eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came. ‘I want my son.’

  There was no passion in the voice, no hint of longing. Instead, Dallas heard only despair. ‘You may of course see him, for I would not deny you access. However, Jette, Torben has made it quite plain. He wishes to remain with us.’

  A gleam of satisfaction shone briefly as she held his gaze. Then it was gone.

  Jeremy Hardcastle who, until now, had remained leaning on his cane, had gone quite pale. ‘Help me sit,’ he demanded.

  Jette obeyed immediately.

  Once settled, he looked up at Dallas. ‘You have poisoned the boy’s mind against us.’ The coughing spasm that followed was painful to watch. Lorna brought a glass of water, which Hardcastle drank greedily. ‘Water, madam,’ he said cuttingly when finished. ‘Yesterday it was wine.’

  ‘Yesterday,’ she replied with spirit, ‘I was unaware of exactly how vile you are, Mr Hardcastle. One only has to look at Jette to see what cruelty you are capable of. I would not place a mangy dog under your care, let alone a child.’

  Jette remained standing next to the chair, hands hanging listlessly by her side. At Lorna’s reference to her appearance, she showed no reaction.

  Hardcastle’s good eye glared. ‘The boy is rightfully hers. Return him to us and we shall leave you in peace. We will not go from here without Torben.’ The cane, which now lay across his lap, whipped out suddenly, banging hard against Jette’s leg. ‘Tell him, you stupid woman.’

  Showing no outward sign of pain, Jette kept her eyes lowered as she said in a voice devoid of expression, ‘We want Torben.’

  Dallas’s and Lorna’s eyes met. Whatever was being played out in front of them had nothing to do with any feelings of compassion on Hardcastle’s part, and taking Torben certainly did not seem to be what Jette wanted.

  ‘Damnation, woman!’ Hardcastle tried to shout but failed. Furiously, he raised the stick. ‘Tell him again.’

  A sob rose in her throat as she cringed back from further abuse.

  Dallas took two steps and snatched the heavy ebony cane, bringing it down hard across Hardcastle’s shins. ‘You bastard!’ he shouted in fury.

  Tears of pain welled from the man’s right eye as he reached down and rubbed his legs. ‘She is my woman.’ The words came with no remorse. ‘I’ll treat her as I wish.’

  ‘Not in my house.’ Dallas turned and addressed Jette. ‘You are welcome but he goes.’

  ‘Wait,’ Lorna said suddenly. She went to Jette and placed an arm around her. ‘Better than that, stay with us. I extend an open invitation. What do you say, Jette?’

  Slowly the Danish woman shook her head. ‘Too late,’ she whispered. ‘Far, far too late.’

  At that moment, the door opened and Torben stood looking at them.

  ‘There he is,’ Hardcastle crowed triumphantly. ‘Get your things, boy. This is your mother. You’re coming with us.’

  Torben turned confused eyes to Dallas.

  ‘Stay where you are, son. You will remain here as I promised.’

  Jette kept her head turned away from Torben, unwilling to look at him.

  ‘There’s your son, dear.’ Hardcastle seemed to be enjoying the moment. ‘What a fine boy. Aren’t you even going to greet him?’ He stared at Torben, who stood transfixed in the doorway. ‘Do forgive her. She’s overcome with emotion.’

  ‘Mother?’ Torben’s voice wavered. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘Please,’ Jette extended imploring hands towards Jeremy Hardcastle. ‘Don’t do it. I beg you, don’t make me do this.’ She fell to her knees in front of the chair. ‘Please,’ she cried brokenly.

  ‘Get up,’ he hissed, one hand roughly twisting and pulling her hair.

  Dallas had seen enough. He plucked Jette away from Hardcastle. ‘Get her out of here,’ he said to Lorna. ‘I’ll see to this cretin. Take Torben and Jette somewhere they can be alone.’

  Lorna tried to steer Jette from the room but she twisted away. ‘No. You don’t understand.’

  Dallas had his attention focused on Jeremy Hardcastle. ‘Out,’ he ordered the Englishman. ‘Leave my house immediately.’ He moved towards him.

  ‘Look out,’ Jette screamed. ‘He has a gun.’

  Dallas saw the murderous intent on Hardcastle’s face. He was aware that the man had produced a pistol and was pointing it at him. ‘Run, Lorna,’ he shouted desperately, lunging. It was too late. Just as the gun went off, Jette, screaming hysterically, dived between them. She crumpled to the floor.

  ‘No!’ This time Hardcastle managed to scream, a sound that was half-animal as it tore through the damaged tissue of his larynx. In disbelief he moaned, ‘Jette, no. I didn’t mean . . . Jette, get up.’

  Dallas took advantage of his shock, easing the weapon from limp fingers.

  Glancing swiftly over his shoulder Dallas saw that Lorna and Torben hadn’t moved from the doorway. He dropped to one knee beside Jette. ‘She’s alive.’

  Hardcastle was trying to rise from the chair. Without his cane he made little progress. Dallas pointed the pistol. ‘Stay where you are.’

  ‘Jette. I must help her.’

  Dallas cocked the small revolver. ‘One more move and I’ll shoot you.’

  The man slumped back, weeping.

  Alerted by the gun going off, Cam burst into the room. ‘What happened?’ Big round eyes took in the scene, not comprehending. Behind him, Percy, Queenie and two other servants hovered nervously. Outside, the three dogs set up a frenzied barking as they sensed all was not well in the house.

  ‘Saddle up,’ Dallas said tersely, knowing he could count on Cam to act sensibly. ‘See if Doctor Grey is at home. Tell him to come immediately, someone’s been shot. Then ride into town and fetch the police.’

  Cam didn’t hesitate.

  Jette gave a pitiful cry. Easing her over, Dallas saw that the bullet had hit just above her right breast. ‘The doctor is coming, Jette.’

  ‘Torben?’r />
  Lorna, her arm around him, drew the trembling boy to his mother’s side. He clung to his stepmother, frightened and confused. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ Lorna soothed. ‘I’m right here.’

  Jette finally allowed herself to look at her son. Tears damped the pain in her eyes. ‘A day has not passed when I haven’t thought of you,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t be frightened. I never stopped loving you.’ A shudder ran through her. ‘I knew your father would protect you.’

  Torben still stood next to Lorna, his face a mixture of disbelief, horror and a kind of denial. Dallas and Lorna had always told him how beautiful his mother was, yet what seemed to him to be an old woman at his feet was anything but. For years he’d held a shimmering image in his heart. This woman, and the scarred man who shot her, were so far removed from his fantasies that Torben wanted nothing to do with either of them. He buried himself closer to Lorna. ‘She’s not my mother.’

  Jette heard. Hurt and understanding crossed her face. Pleading eyes sought Dallas. ‘There were good reasons for leaving Torben here. What I didn’t know was that Jeremy himself told the sultan where to find me. I was a fool, Dallas. Jeremy seemed to have changed and I believed we could be happy. Instead, he betrayed me. By the time I came to my senses it was too late.’ She coughed and blood trickled down her chin.

  Dallas gently wiped it away with a clean handkerchief. ‘Hush. Don’t tax yourself. The doctor will be here soon.’

  Jette grimaced and shook her head slightly. ‘I must tell you. The sultan sent a messenger saying I had two days to return the money. I couldn’t, it was tied up in the shop and factory. My panic played straight into Jeremy’s hands, as he knew it would. He suggested we disappear, leaving Torben with you for safekeeping. At first I refused. Then the factory burned down. I thought it a warning from the sultan, never suspecting for a minute that it was Jeremy’s doing. Finally, I agreed it was too dangerous to remain in Durban. I was terrified Torben would be hurt. I thought my heart would break when I left him here.’

  ‘Did the sultan do that to him?’ Dallas asked, indicating Hardcastle.

  ‘No. I know he told you differently but Jeremy was caught in a building when the British set fire to Kumasi.’

  ‘You could have left him.’

  ‘How? I had no money and Jeremy threatened to reveal Torben’s whereabouts. Moroccans are not particular how they take revenge. If the sultan couldn’t find me, he’d get revenge through my son.’

  ‘Then why come back for him?’

  ‘The sultan died. We were safe, but it meant Jeremy’s hold over me was also gone.’ Jette gasped as pain flared in her chest. Slowly she went on. ‘Jeremy’s violence . . . well, it took its toll. I knew what he was up to, suggesting we get Torben back. It was power over me, the only thing he has to have. Dallas, I was desperate to see Torben and came up with a plan of my own.’

  She was becoming upset in her urgency to explain.

  ‘Enough, Jette. Save your strength.’

  She managed a shaky smile. ‘We both know where this will end. Let me tell the rest.’

  Jeremy Hardcastle tried again to stand. Dallas didn’t notice until he heard Lorna say, ‘I’ll break your legs with this cane if you move again.’

  Dallas looked round and saw fury on the man’s face.

  ‘Don’t listen to Jette. She’s lying.’

  Dallas passed Lorna the pistol. ‘It’s loaded. Don’t hesitate to use it.’

  Lorna’s hand was steady. ‘Not for a second,’ she said calmly.

  Dallas looked back to Jette. Beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead. The effort was costing her dearly, but he understood her need to tell the story. It was for Torben’s sake. ‘I planned to take our son and run. I had money here – it would have been possible. When we reached Durban I found that Jeremy had been one step ahead. False marriage and death certificates. He’d sent them to a lawyer years ago. Everything I own is in his name. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘You could have come to me.’

  ‘Hadn’t I done enough to you, Dallas?’ She shivered. ‘So cold. Is it getting dark?’

  Dallas pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa and covered her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her voice fading. ‘You’re a decent man. Take care of Torben. I’ve made such a mess of my life. He is the one good thing to come from it.’

  ‘Please,’ Hardcastle begged, ‘let me be with her.’

  ‘I think not. Jette has made it plain enough. She despises you.’

  ‘Jette!’ It was a cry of pure anguish. ‘I love you.’

  She turned her head away and closed her eyes.

  Percy appeared at the door with Doctor Grey. When Dallas looked back at Jette, he could see it was too late.

  Pronouncing Jette dead, the doctor asked about her bruises.

  ‘The man who shot her,’ Dallas said coldly. ‘He has much to answer for.’

  ‘No!’ Hardcastle was beside himself, trembling, crying and shaking his head. ‘I loved her. She was mine. I never meant to kill her. I didn’t want to hurt her. I only did things when she . . . when I thought . . . I had to make her stay. Don’t you see?’ A mad obsessiveness gleamed in his good eye. ‘She needed me,’ he sobbed. ‘She had to be taught that.’

  The doctor looked disgusted. He rose from Jette’s side. ‘I gather the police have been summoned. An autopsy will show how much this woman has suffered. I will send the cart.’ With that, he turned towards Jeremy Hardcastle. ‘As for you, sir, I hope you rot in hell.’

  The police arrived soon after and took Hardcastle away in handcuffs. Two months later a court tried and convicted him of Jette’s murder. In front of a jeering and mainly drunken crowd of spectators who had nothing better to do, Jeremy Hardcastle was hanged. Dallas and Lorna stayed well away.

  Torben took some time to recover. Strangely, the fact that his mother was not the beauty he’d expected bothered him most. Almost immediately he stopped calling Lorna anything other than Mother. It was as if he needed her image to replace the reality of what Jette had become.

  Despite patience, love and understanding from Lorna and Dallas, it was Cam who finally bridged the gulf between Torben and his siblings.

  The two boys were having a rough and tumble in the garden. It started as fun but a blow to Cam’s ear stung like hell and he responded in kind. The fight turned serious.

  Lorna moved to stop it.

  ‘Leave them,’ Dallas said, some instinct telling him this was a defining moment in the boys’ relationship.

  They were identical in size and strength. Ten minutes later they were still slugging it out, both boys bloodied and bruised. It couldn’t go on. Exhausted, they gave up, collapsing on the lawn and lying side-by-side, trying to get their breath.

  Lorna couldn’t stand back any longer. Skirts flying, she ran towards them. ‘My God,’ she cried. ‘Look what you’ve done to each other. You’re brothers. This is disgraceful.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Torben managed.

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ Chest heaving from the physical exertion, Cam turned his head and looked at Torben. ‘Sure feels like it from where I’m lying.’

  Torben snorted.

  Cam grinned, though it hurt his split lip.

  Suddenly the two of them were laughing in earnest. They laughed until their bellies ached and heads hurt.

  Lorna threw up her hands and walked away. ‘When you’ve quite finished, come and get cleaned up in the kitchen.’

  She and Dallas stood at the window, watching. They saw both boys on their hands and knees, then slowly rise. Cam hung an arm around Torben’s neck and Torben held Cam’s waist as they helped each other to the house.

  What they didn’t hear were Torben’s words. ‘You mean that?’

  And Cam’s reply. ‘Hell, yes. Why else would I sometimes feel like killing you?’

  It set them off laughing again.

  The following day Dallas asked Cam what they’d said to each other. Lorna failed to appreciate he
r son’s reply but Dallas understood.

  With impeccable timing, and a little help from the grapevine, Mister David presented himself at Morningside the day after Lorna, Dallas and the children arrived.

  ‘I see you,’ the Zulu greeted Dallas.

  ‘I see you,’ Dallas responded, delighted to see him again.

  ‘I am thinking you will need an induna.’ Mister David had a huge grin on his face.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Mister David’s hand indicated a pregnant woman who waited patiently some distance away. ‘My wife,’ he said simply.

  Dallas nodded. There was no point suggesting she join them.

  ‘I need good men for the cattle.’

  ‘I will find them.’

  Mister David moved in.

  Three days later, July arrived. He was hampered by a wounded leg. A bullet had shattered his right tibia. Tribal healing had been able to do little but fight off infection. He walked with the aid of a stick. Dallas put him in charge of farm equipment, a position that required July sit at a workbench for most of the day.

  Will’s trading store in Swaziland was a disaster. He simply could not settle in one place. Regular trading trips kept him away for months at a time. In his absence, the Swazi woman who Will had taken as a wife did her best. Unfortunately, tribal responsibilities were far stronger than any understanding of commerce. Will would return to find most of his stock given away or loaned out.

  ‘The damned woman falls for every hard-luck story,’ he complained on a visit to Lorna and Dallas.

  ‘Does she have a choice?’ Dallas asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Will admitted. ‘She’s obliged to obey all the male members of her family. I just didn’t realise there were so many of them.’

  ‘Get rid of the store. You’re hardly ever there anyway.’

  ‘Never!’ Will looked horrified. ‘She’d give away my things if I did that.’

  ‘Then go and talk to John. See how he deals with it.’

  Will said he might.

  He kept the store and took a second Swazi wife. Whether it was Dunn’s advice or his own canny idea, Dallas didn’t know, but whenever Will went away, the store carried hardly any stock. It was a solution that pleased everyone. His wives could hardly give away something that wasn’t there.