The Golden Angel

by Gilbert, Morris

  She knew that her spear had played no part in the lion’s death, but she was proud to be there. When she rose Nbuta smiled and handed her the camera. “You are truly a woman of the Masai. You have the courage of a warrior,” Nbuta said, clearly pleased with her.

  Erin took the camera with unsteady hands. But when she looked down at the lion, a deep sadness overtook her. She murmured, “All that strength and all that courage, and now he’s dead.”

  “He did what lions do, my daughter. He fought, and he showed no fear.” Nbuta reached down, dipped his hands in the lion’s blood, and marked Erin’s cheeks with it. “You must be as brave as your brother the lion.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Out of the Sky

  1921

  As Erin entered the house from the front yard, her eyes went up to a framed picture mounted over the mantel in the living area. On an impulse she stopped, then turned and walked over to stare up at it. It was the photo that Nbuta had taken of her one year earlier with the lion. She was fascinated by the picture, which she had sent off to have enlarged, and she now considered it. Somehow, even though she was only a year older, the girl in the photograph looked much younger than sixteen. Her eyes were open wide, and she was staring into the lens with an intensity that was matched by the straightness of her body. To her right lay the dead lion, and her hand rested on its rough hide. As Erin studied the picture, she could almost feel the roughness of the fur and smell the rank odor of the dead beast, even as she had on that day. The head of the spear was dark, stained with the blood of the lion, and something in the whole tableau had always caused a pull inside of Erin Winslow. Perhaps it was grief over the dead lion, but more likely it was the fact that a year had passed and nothing eventful had happened since, nothing like that moment with the Masai on the grasslands.

  Discontent seized Erin as she wheeled away from the picture and walked down to the study. She had struggled through school and hated every day of it. Somehow she had managed to win the coveted piece of paper stating that she was a high school graduate, but it meant nothing to her except a record of years of failure and painful discontent. Patrick had graduated with honors and was now working with a business firm in Nairobi. She was happy that he had done so well, but the only other happiness that came to her at the moment was the knowledge that she did not have to go to Mr. Simms’s classroom again. Never again would she be forced to endure the humiliation of having much younger students rise above her.

  At least I learned some humility—always being last at everything. Even as the thought passed through her, she knew it was a lie. She had not learned humility, but instead had become obstinate and determined to excel in those things she was good at. A satisfaction gripped her as she realized she had become an expert at things women were not supposed to excel in. She was a first-class hunter, a dead shot with the rifle that her father had given her on her fifteenth birthday. She understood cars and could strip down the engine of her family’s ancient automobile and replace the rings in it quicker than anyone outside the professional garages in the big cities. She knew every square mile of the country surrounding their mission field. She was healthy and strong from long hikes across the veldt and from following the discipline imposed by Nbuta, so that he had often repeated what he had told her on the day the lion had died: “You are a woman of the Masai.”

  She turned into her father’s study and found him standing at the wall staring at a map with red pins scattered randomly. “Going to start another mission station, Dad?”

  Barney Winslow turned and smiled crookedly at her. “I’d like to.”

  “You’d like to have a mission station for every hundred square miles.” Erin smiled and reached over to push a lock of his black hair off his brow. At the age of fifty-one her father’s hair was as black as it had been as far back as she could remember. He needed no spectacles, and his light blue eyes, she had always thought, were the most attractive color in the world.

  “Sit down. Time to have a talk.”

  Erin made a face. “That sounds ominous.” She took a seat in the cane chair woven by one of the Masai and pulled her feet up under her.

  Barney sat down and looked across at her and grinned. “You always did sit on your feet like that.” He studied her for a moment, thinking about how she had matured in the past year. She looked older than her seventeen years. The African sun had given her a golden tan, and her hair was sun-streaked. He searched her countenance, looking for some trace of the small child who had come to bless his life, and he thought finally of her first years when she had been such a delight to both him and Katie. Now where was that child? She was gone except in memory and in a few snapshots; now a young woman with a mature build and beautiful features had taken her place. “So, you’re all through with school—unless you want to go to college.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Erin shook her head so vigorously her blond hair swung from side to side. She usually tied it with a ribbon in the back, but now it fell loose about her shoulders. “I’ll never go inside a schoolroom again!”

  “What will you do?” Barney asked quickly.

  Erin stared at him. “That’s what you wanted to talk about, isn’t it?”

  “Well, you can’t go on washing dishes around here for the rest of your life.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She laughed suddenly. “I’m more fitted to be a Masai than I am a white girl.”

  “That’s right. Not every seventeen-year-old has killed a lion with a spear.”

  “Oh, pooh!” Erin sniffed. “I didn’t kill that lion. Nbuta did that.” A smile touched her lips as a thought came to her. It brought out a dimple on her cheek and made her appear winsome indeed. “But you did once, Dad. ‘The Lion Killer’—that’s what the Masai call you.”

  Barney gave her a pained expression. “That was a long time ago. I still don’t know how it happened.”

  Barney had indeed once killed a lion. It should have killed him, however. He had somehow gotten behind it and strangled the animal with his bare hands—something that had never happened in the memory of the Masai. Even though it had happened many years ago, the memory was still fresh in the minds of Nbuta and his fellow warriors, and they had always shown a deep respect for Barney Winslow. But right now Barney was not thinking of killing lions. “What would you like to do, Erin?”

  Erin sat quietly for a moment, and as she did so Barney admired the way her face could express her thoughts. He knew she was filled with joy—that is, when not bound by a classroom! A love for life now seemed to lie impatiently behind her eyes. She looked up at him eagerly. “Maybe I’d like to train horses.”

  Barney blinked with surprise, but then he nodded quickly. “You’re good with horses.”

  “Maybe I’ll become a jockey.” Her eyes sparkled with fun, and she saw her father shake his head quickly. “Of course, I won’t be a jockey, but lots of the planters are breeding horses now. Maybe I could help with that.”

  “Well, if you’re serious, we’ll see about getting you a job as a trainer.”

  Erin thought for a moment, chewed on her lower lip, then said, “No, I don’t think I’d want to do that.” She suddenly laughed shortly. “You have a lot of trouble with me, don’t you, Dad?”

  “Not nearly as much as my parents had with me.” He sat quietly in his chair, both of them aware of the affection that existed between them. It had been, perhaps, her inadequacies that had created the unique bond between father and daughter. He had quickly seen that Patrick was an excellent scholar, while for whatever reason, Erin was not good with books. It had reminded him of his youth when his own brother, Andrew, had been so brilliant, and he himself had been so slow. During those years he had always been in second place, which helped him to understand his daughter and caused him always to give his first allegiance to Erin rather than to his self-sufficient son—of whom he was also very proud.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you what,” Barney said. “Why don’t we make a trip home to the States next year?
You need to spend some time with your relatives—especially your grandmother.”

  “Oh, could we really go, Dad?” Erin had only been in the States once, and that was when she was ten. It had been an exciting time for her, and she had never forgotten it. She had collected every book she had about America, and now she sat up straight and cried out, “I’d love to go to America! And I love my grandmother. She writes me the best letters!”

  “She’s very fond of you, Erin. Very fond indeed.” Barney reflected slowly, “My folks are getting on in years now, and they’ve begged for you to come for a long time.”

  “Let’s do it then, Dad.”

  “Well, my dad’s offered to send the money often enough. We’ll see what comes of it.”

  The two sat there talking for a long time until finally Katie came and stuck her head in the door. “What are you two up to? Plotting something, I’ll bet.”

  “Plotting for supper,” Barney said. “Are you going to starve me to death?”

  Katie shook her head at him impatiently. “I don’t think you’re in any danger of that.”

  “I’ll help with supper, Mom. Now that I’m out of school, I’ll have lots of time to help you.”

  Erin left the room, giving her father an affectionate touch as she passed.

  When she was gone, Katie asked, “What was that all about?”

  Barney got up and went to stand beside her, a worried expression on his face. “Just talking about her future.”

  Katie knew this man well, and she put her arms around him and said, “Don’t worry. We’ve prayed for her since the day she was born. God’s going to give her something wonderful to do!”

  ****

  Sitting astride her mare, Erin guided the horse carefully along the rough path, for she was farther from home than usual. When she spoke, her voice seemed very loud in the silence. “Careful, Princess. If you break a leg, I can’t carry you back.” The mare snorted, tossed her head, and moved forward in a spirited trot.

  A small peal of thunder set off a screeching of baboons that spread the length of the area. As Erin turned toward the sound, a blue monkey dropped from a lone tree in the savannah and scampered to the forest.

  She rode on, knowing that the thunder was not a trustworthy harbinger of the weather, for it was the dry season, and no rain would fall for many weeks yet. She continued her ride across the wide grassland, and once in the distance she saw a herd of elephants making their way toward the north. The impulse came to get closer, but her father had made her promise to stay away from them. “They’re explosive as dynamite,” he had warned her. “Ordinarily they’re quiet and peaceable, but when something sets them off, they’ll charge anything!”

  She followed the bank of an almost dried-up riverbed, where several species of animals were still seeking the small trickle of water. She passed a herd of waterbuck, and later on she caught a glimpse of a leopard. It was unusual indeed to see one at this time of day, since they were nocturnal creatures. Half an hour later, she skirted an area of desert country, and far off in the distance she could see gazelles in quest of salt. They moved like ghosts across the white fields of alkali, and behind them a herd of jackals slunk, looking for anything that could be eaten.

  She stopped to rest, ate half a sandwich, and drank sparingly from the large water bottle slung over the pommel of her saddle horn. She took off her sun helmet, partially filled it with water, and let Princess drink from it. The mare was thirsty, but on the hot grasslands it was better not to drink too much.

  A great stillness lay about her, and she had the feeling that many eyes were watching her, although she saw nothing. This was the hunting ground of the lion, and though her heavy rifle rested in her boot, she did not want to shoot one.

  Far in the distance the Mountain of God, as the natives called it, rose up, a mighty beacon in this flat land. She had been there once with her father on a mission trip, to a beautiful spot at the foot of the mountain. She could still remember the bed of lavender and yellow flowers and the clouds curling past the magnificent peak.

  Finally she stepped into the saddle and touched Princess with her heels. The mare obediently moved along at a leisurely walk. The plains were bare and bony, with only a whisper of grass, yet the animals always kept to the ridges where the grass was shortest. She watched as a herd of wildebeest grazed, their black tail tassels sweeping behind them. A solitary bull, thin-ribbed and rag-tailed, his old beard showing, trailed along at a distance, and Erin knew that he soon would die a victim of a lion or of the prowling hyenas. She wondered if he felt his own death upon him as he moved along at a broken pace.

  Not wanting to see the animal’s demise, Erin pushed her horse into a gallop and soon was getting into a different kind of country. She avoided the low thorny scrubs and the toothbrush plants that grew prolifically here, and also the morari bush with its pink, fleshy flowers and rubbery limbs containing poison sap.

  It was nearly one o’clock before she began to think of turning back home. She would have to ride steadily to get home before dark, and her father had strictly told her to be home before then.

  She turned her mare around, but as she did, something bright caught her eye. At first she thought it was a small pond and would have gone on, but then the thought occurred to her, That can’t be a pond. It’s the dry season. There’s no water out here. She turned Princess back, and her eyes searched the terrain ahead of her. As she moved her head, the sun reflected again on the silvery spot, and she shook her head and spoke aloud. “Well, Princess, that can’t be water—but if it is, we need to know about it. We’ll take one look—then we’ll go home.”

  She nudged the mare into a slow trot, which was harder on Erin but easier on the horse. Winding her way around the rise, thirty minutes later she came up to the crest, and then she gasped with surprise.

  There before her was a silver biplane, its tail up in the air!

  Erin had seen planes before, since they flew over the area on occasion, but this one was obviously in deep trouble. “Come on, Princess,” she said quickly. “Let’s have a look.” She drove the horse at a dead gallop, and when she came to the plane, she looked around for the pilot but saw none. Stepping down, she threw the reins to the ground, and Princess, trained to stay, did not move.

  Erin ran to the plane. She knew practically nothing about aircraft, but out here in this wilderness the pilot had to be either dead or injured—or else he had walked out. She approached the plane and called out, “Hello! Is anybody here?”

  A faint noise caught her attention, and she whirled to see a man who was lying under the shade of a shrub. There was not room enough for his whole body, but his head and shoulders, at least, were in the shade. Erin ran toward him and knelt by his side. She knew instantly that he was nearly dehydrated. His face was pale, and he had blond hair and a stubbled beard. His eyes were a ghostly blue, and he was badly sunburned.

  “Are you all right?” she said quickly.

  The man struggled to lift his head, and his lips were so cracked he could hardly speak. “Water!” he gasped.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Running back to the mare, Erin unstrapped the water jug, ran back, and knelt beside the injured man. She helped him sit up, and he sucked at the jug noisily, spilling some down his chest.

  “That’s enough for now,” Erin said quickly. “You’ll have to take it in small sips.”

  For the next fifteen minutes she nursed the water along, allowing him only small portions. She saw that the man was not tall and was rather small boned and trim. He had aristocratic features, with a narrow English nose and a sandy mustache. Finally he gasped, “Glad you . . . came along.”

  “How long have you been down?”

  “I think two days—no. Three. I don’t know. I don’t know how long I was out.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Something wrong . . . with my right leg.”

  Quickly Erin looked down. She didn’t see any blood or anything obviously wrong with his leg. She touch
ed it and saw him wince. “Can you move it?”

  “I think I’ve done something to the knee. It took everything I had to get out of that plane, and then I fell and hurt it again. I crawled over here. There was water up in the cockpit, but I couldn’t get back to it.”

  “Well, you’re all right now,” Erin smiled. “It’s a good thing I came along.”

  “Yes, I think it is. Could I have some more of that water?”

  Erin gave him a somewhat longer drink and saw that his eyes were looking more alert. “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “Before I went down I couldn’t see a town in any direction. I was pretty well lost anyhow.”

  “I come from a mission station over there. About a six-hour ride.” She shook her head. “If you’ve been out here two or three nights, you’re lucky that a lion or hyenas didn’t get you.”

  “God loves a sinner, I expect. That’s the only thing I know. I know I was pretty scared.”

  “I don’t blame you. Night’s not a very good time to be alone out here.” She thought for a few seconds and then shook her head. “You can’t stay here. I’ll bring my horse up, and you’ll have to get into the saddle. I may have to tie you on, but we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Whatever you say. My name’s Stephen Charterhouse.”

  “I’m Erin Winslow. I’m very glad to meet you.”

  Charterhouse smiled at her. His lips were cracked, and he was in great discomfort, but his face still reflected some humor. “Not nearly as glad as I am to meet you, Miss Winslow. Well, bring the animal up, and we’ll see what can be done.”

  Erin led Princess up to the injured man and said, “She’s very steady. Here, hold on to me and see if you can stand up.” She bent over, and Charterhouse put his arm around her neck and held on. She gave a sudden upright lunge, and he came to his feet.