The Queen of Diamonds

by Moore, Juliet

  The men frowned at the intruder and one of them raised a fist in protest. That man's chest was impacted with the butt of a large rifle. As he cried out, the other ruffians backed away.

  Her savior pulled her away from the rowdy bunch, his head downcast and his broad-rimmed hat shielding his face. "Are you all right?" he asked, as he turned to face her.

  Her response of "Yes, thank you" caught in her throat when she raised her gaze to meet familiar features. The recognition brought tears into her eyes and a dumbstruck look to her face. She knew she was staring at him like a simpleton, lips parted and eyes wide, but she couldn't help it.

  It was Harrison.

  In South Africa.

  She wondered what he was doing there, still speechless from the shock. She was nervous and afraid that she'd say something monumentally stupid if she opened her mouth.

  His eyes had become wide as well. "You don't look so good," he said.

  And she supposed she didn't. She didn't often run into a childhood fantasy, eight years after the fact. "I'm just shaken," she finally said, breathlessly.

  "You're not alone here, are you?" he asked. He was just as she remembered: kind, thoughtful, and concerned. He'd saved her for the second time. Did it mean something?

  Catherine winced at the thought. I have a husband, she forcefully chastised herself. A dark, gorgeous husband who'd proposed after only three weeks of courting. She was a lucky woman and she did her new husband a disservice by wondering about a man who was nothing more than a stranger.

  But childhood fantasies were hard to forget. "No, I'm here with my husband," Catherine finally said.

  "Then please tell him how foolish it was to desert his wife in a place like this. You're not in England anymore."

  "He didn't-"

  Harrison raised his hand to stop her protest. "There are people of all types here. That includes both the good and the bad."

  Her nod was quick and abrupt. "I shall tell him you think so. Thank you very much for helping me." She turned away.

  She felt his large hand on her arm.

  "What is your name?" he asked.

  "Catherine, there you are!" Marcus cried, catching her from behind. "Don't run off like that."

  Marcus then looked at Harrison and nodded abruptly, already pulling Catherine away. Trying to ignore the interest she thought she read in Harrison's eyes, she followed her husband to their new wagon.

  Their home for the next thirty days.

  Chapter Four

  Catherine was sullen and quiet on the first leg of the long journey to Kimberly, angered by Marcus's actions. Not only had he put her in danger, but he had caused her to be reunited with Harrison-a danger in itself. Soon, however, she became reconciled to what had happened. Marcus had probably been lulled into a false sense of security by the relatively prosperous colonial town-and Harrison, she would never see again. Exactly what you thought after the first time you met him.

  Watching the mules plod along the road to Kimberly, Catherine thought of how much farther they had to go. Their wagon was just one of many, all heading north through a waterless, treeless country. They only stopped for meals, sleep, and the occasional outpost. The wagon, pulled by three old mules, carried all of their stock. They carried fuel for cooking-dry cow dung that needed to be replaced at nearly every outpost-and non-perishables like grains and tinned food. They had some old pots, blankets, and a couple of rifles. Their small casks of water had to be rationed, the dry homesteads they passed not having any to spare.

  Catherine sat on top of the wagon, her feet dangling over the end. She had gotten used to the appalling dust, and though it was still bothersome, she no longer lay in the wagon bed in an attempt to avoid it. The heat was atrocious, though.

  Catherine tried not to look at the roadside. Resting amidst thousands of dusty hoofmarks was more than the occasional body. David had not thought to warn them of that. Horses, mules, and oxen that hadn't survived the hard journey were simply left where they had fallen and no matter what one did, one could not avoid the stench. It was a scourge for the living, a feast for the scavengers.

  Amidst such death and greed, it was difficult to find pleasure in anything. But Catherine loved to observe the many different wild species, some of them quite fearless. If she sat at the top of the wagon, she could look past the dead animals and see the vibrantly alive ones. The springbok, looking like tiny deer, would jump high into the air and playfully run sideways, in a zigzag-like motion. Catherine was watching one when they stopped for the night, Marcus and David quickly making camp.

  Already feeling like an adventurer, she sprang from the top of the wagon. "What an experience this has been so far!"

  David unrolled some blankets beside the cart. "How are you holding up, Mrs. Watson?"

  Wondering if she'd ever get a full night's sleep and rubbing her arms against the chill of the night, Catherine replied, "It's hell."

  "I warned you."

  She climbed into the back next to Marcus. "You should have warned me before I left England."

  Making humorous sounds beneath his breath, David pulled a rifle next to him on the ground. "Then I would have been denied the pleasure of your company."

  Marcus pressed his moistened chest against her back. On the crest of a yawn, he said, "Find your own, Abraham."

  David laughed.

  Her husband no longer seemed to distrust their helpful guide. In their long talks while driving the mules-Catherine resting inside the wagon-they'd come to some sort of an understanding.

  David lay back on his bedroll, as he had every other night. "It's not much farther now. You'll soon be sleeping in a real bed, Mrs. Watson, with a roof over your head. It might be leaky, but it'll be a roof."

  Catherine drifted off to sleep, David's final words reverberating in her head.

  * * *

  Catherine was joyful when they finally reached Kimberly. Her elation faded rapidly as she looked around, the mid-afternoon sun brutal on her neck. The only trees in the mining town some miles in the distance. Grass was merely a distant memory.

  Some people cheered when she alighted from the wagon.

  David explained. "Not many women come to the camp. There's always a certain amount of excitement when a lady arrives."

  "That makes me feel quite conspicuous."

  "Don't fret over it," he said, unhitching the mules. "It's nothing."

  Shortly afterwards, Catherine took a quick tour of the ramshackle city. Kimberly was a disorganized mess with a little bit of everything. There were hundreds of tents, stretching as far as the eye could see. Along with the tents were huts made out of old crates, countless piles of rubbish, and even native kraals. The main street was made up of flat storefronts proclaiming their services. On the east end of town were strong redbrick buildings belonging to the more prosperous-and more permanent-settlers. Everything else was corrugated iron and wood shacks.

  Catherine coughed through the reddish-brown dust they kicked up on their walk to the big hole, the deep gouge in the earth where they mined for diamonds. Her lips were already dry and cracked from the tropical heat. "This place could use some rain."

  "It almost never rains here. Which in some ways is good. We wouldn't want the hole to become an extra-large swimming pool."

  The hole in question was incredible. She stared at it, dumbstruck, for many moments before saying anything. "Oh, Marcus. It must be ten acres across!"

  David cleared his throat. "Twelve, last time it was measured. And more than two-hundred feet down."

  Her eyes were wide with shock. "I had no idea it was like this," she said, watching the horses walk around in circles attached to whims that pulled buckets of dirt from the bottom of the deep hole. One never knew if the next bucket held the find of the century.

  Looking down from the rim, Catherine though it resembled a human-sized anthill, busy with activity. She glanced at her husband over her shoulder. "So what do we do now?"

  Marcus gestured to the hole. "We need to
buy a claim."

  "I'd also like to speak to the postmaster. See if he has any knowledge of my parents."

  Reaching for her hand, Marcus led her away from the mine. "We'll get to that. Promise."

  Catherine nodded, her gaze going to a woman walking in their direction.

  David followed her gaze and said, "That's Mrs. Dander. Always has her nose into everything. But she'll fill you in on all the more feminine questions you might have." He turned away with a blush. "Why don't you speak to her while Marcus and I discuss specifics?"

  Not liking the way David passed her off to the first person he saw, she wanted to refuse. But knowing that a long conversation was exactly what Mrs. Dander probably had in mind and, in truth, desiring more information from a woman's point of view, she acquiesced.

  It was only their first day and Catherine was optimistic. She just knew that they would make a success of it and she couldn't wait to start. Soon, Marcus would return with exciting news, possibly a claim all to themselves, and they'd be on their way to a brighter future.

  So Catherine did as David suggested and spoke to the woman.

  Then she waited.

  * * *

  By the time Catherine saw Marcus again, nearly an hour had passed. Wanting to know every piece of news he possessed, she started on the questions immediately. After saying good-bye to Mrs. Dander, she grabbed Marcus's arm excitedly. "So did you buy the claim Mr. Abraham told us about?"

  "Yes, I did. It's right next to ten of his," her husband replied wryly.

  "We'll get there, Marcus," she said, caressing his thick arm. "It's only a matter of time."

  "Listen, David found us a small place to live. It isn't much, but it's only temporary. Once we start bringing in the big finds, we'll be able to live in one of those nice brick houses."

  "Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

  Snaking his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close and gave her a quick hug. "It will happen."

  Hand in hand, they walked to the ramshackle avenue that held their new home. As they passed a few harsh, corrugated iron dwellings, Catherine shuddered at their stark appearance. When Marcus stopped in front of one of them, she practically quaked.

  "This is it," he said, opening the door.

  Before putting into words the dismay in her heart, Catherine walked inside the small shack. It consisted only of one room. There was a dirty pallet, a bureau, a wooden folding table, and a washstand. There was one tiny window that didn't close completely and a door without a lock.

  "What do you think?"

  While her first reaction was to scream that it was the most horrible thing she'd ever seen, she then remembered her reasons for coming to Kimberly. It was to make a future for herself, and the conditions didn't involve having the perfect living arrangement while she did. In fact, she was probably lucky they didn't have to live in a tent. "It's sufficient for our needs."

  Marcus squeezed her again. "I'm so glad you don't hate it. I was afraid you'd be mortified."

  "What's to hate?"

  She heard a heavy footstep behind her. "Checking out the new home?"

  "Mr. Abraham," she said as she turned. "Thank you for arranging this for us."

  "Well, I did have to pull a few strings." He scratched behind his ear casually. "Most new settlers are stuck with tents until they can build their own shack out of scrap."

  Her husband pointed to the large sack David had strapped across his shoulders. "Did you get the stuff?"

  David pulled the pack off his back and tossed it to Marcus. "It's all there."

  Catching the bulky object with a grunt, he said, "These are our digging supplies, Catherine. David got them for me secondhand."

  Catherine shook her head. "I just can't believe how much you've helped us, Mr. Abraham. You've done just about everything for us."

  "I didn't want you to be overwhelmed by anything and be forced to leave."

  She shivered. While she rubbed the goose bumps away, she nudged the pallet with her foot. A cloud of dust rose from the straw-filled mattress. Coughing, she backed away towards the door. "I see I have a lot of work to do."

  David watched her. "Must be quite different from the life you left in England."

  "You'd be surprised," she said, remembering the long days assisting the household staff. What her aunt liked to call earning her keep.

  Marcus hefted the bag over his shoulder. "We're going to go hire a couple of men to dig. I'll be back before it's dark."

  The two men left the small shack and Catherine began the long process of setting their home to rights. Marcus came back that night and physically showed her how much the trip had energized him. Even though he didn't find anything during his first dig, he didn't lose hope that the next day would bring amazing riches. And for many days, he continued to think so.

  * * *

  A week after they'd arrived in Kimberly, Marcus started to have doubts about their future.

  Now, with his handsome face darkly tanned, he strapped on the hat he wore every day and took a gulp of coffee. "Off I go to sift through dirt for little bits of nothing."

  Catherine brushed the dust off his shoulders. "We've only been here a short time. Do you need help sifting? I could-"

  He finger-combed through his hair, causing more dust to billow around them. "David said it's bad for your health, remember?"

  "I know, but it's not as though I don't breathe dust with every breath anyway. Just living here is bad enough."

  "You've already lost so much weight, except here, of course," he said, cupping her breast with one of his dark hands. "No, I won't let you sift. I'm not that bad a husband."

  "You're not bad at all, Marcus. I love you."

  He stepped away from her. "I can't even provide for you, keep you in the lifestyle you deserve."

  "We'll get there."

  Marcus kissed her cheek. "I'll be back this evening."

  An hour later, Catherine walked outside, sponge and bucket in hand. She started washing the window. Though it was a depilated iron shack, her meager changes had made a big difference in what they had to look at every day. She'd banged the dust out of the pallet, washed the grime off the floor, and chased the dust mites out of the bureau drawers. She'd added handmade curtains to the window, sheets to the mattress, and an old tablecloth to the table. While nothing was of the best quality-it simply wasn't available in Kimberly-it brightened the place considerably.

  She glanced around occasionally as she washed. She had her long, wavy hair wrapped into a bun and covered with an ugly scarf. Her face was dirty with dust and her lips were dry and sore. Squeezing the excess water from the sponge into the dirt at her feet, she scrubbed the cloudy glass.

  "You really shouldn't be alone, even during the day," spoke a voice over her shoulder.

  The sponge slipped through her fingers to splash in the bucket, sending droplets of water fanning out in all directions. She turned, wiping her face with her sleeve, angry at the thought that she now likely had dirty streaks on her cheeks.

  "Mr. Foster," she said when she saw the face of her reluctant hero.

  "I don't remember exchanging names," Harrison replied.

  Catherine was glad the reddish dust covered her blush. "You were pointed out to me the other day. I realize we haven't been formally introduced."

  "As there is no one proper here to introduce us," she said, holding out her hand, "I will do the honors myself. I'm Catherine Watson and Marcus Watson is my husband."

  "Oh," he said, tilting his head to one side, "I'm sorry."

  "It wasn't a comment intended to be pitied." She took a deep breath. "No matter. I have every confidence that you're merely trying to aggravate me. I'm sure you've never met my husband."

  "Indeed I have." He crouched down, retrieved the sponge, then handed it to her. "Regardless, I'm sorry he would leave you alone like this."

  "Marcus is working our claim and he is the one to be pitied. It is backbreaking work."

  "How does ordering his kaffirs a
round break his back? Must he lean over to shout at them?"

  She grumbled at his response, dumping out the dirty water and bringing the empty bucket back into the house. She reached for a casket of clean water. "If you don't mind, I must bring my husband some clean water."

  "I don't just say these things to pester you, you know."

  "It's just a bonus, then?"

  He continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I'm truly concerned about your safety. I suppose you're not used to that." Harrison took a gulp of water from the canteen he carried. "You shouldn't avoid me because I speak the truth."

  "I think perhaps you're not used to a woman avoiding you for no more complex reason than not being interested."

  He smiled, removing his hat to wipe his brow. "Why, Mrs. Watson, what would make you assume I am so lucky with other women?"

  Stifling a groan, Catherine increased her pace. She hated his quick responses. She hated that she wished she didn't look like an old washerwoman when he'd come.

  "I hope you'll allow me to accompany you to wherever you're going."

  "No, you can not accompany me."

  "I'll follow you, then."

  Catherine turned to face him. "Please, Mr. Foster, I have a husband. I don't believe he would approve of your presence."

  "And what is he going to do to stop me?" he asked, stifling a laugh. "He doesn't even know your whereabouts."

  "You don't know that." Walking faster again, she said, "As I've already explained, Marcus is very busy trying to make a success of our trip."

  Running his fingers along the edges of his sandy-colored beard, he replied, "He won't find success in a saloon."

  "A saloon? What are you suggesting?"

  Harrison looked around furtively. "I don't relish the idea of causing problems between a man and his wife."

  "Why would I trust your estimation of him anyway?" Catherine demanded.

  "I don't know. Maybe because I'm on the outside looking in. I can see things uncolored by the emotions through which you view them."