Under the Desert Sky (14 page)

“Please don't leave.”

“I have to.”

Christian closed the distance between them and embraced her, holding her close against his nude body. He nuzzled her hair with his lips as his hands explored the curves of her back. “I want to say thank you, Phoebe. The gift you've just given me means more than you can know.” He kissed her gently as he opened the door for her to leave. “I can't wait for tomorrow.”

•  •  •

When Phoebe reached her own room, she didn't go to bed but stepped up to the window as she'd done many nights before. She never tired of the beauty of a star-filled night sky. When she saw the tree that guarded Edwin's grave . . .

“What have I just done?” She spoke barely above a whisper.

She continued to stand at the window for a long time, her mind a jumble of emotions. When she'd allowed Edwin to come to her bed that first time, it was because she'd been miserable and alone. But what was her excuse now? She wanted—no, needed—Christian De Wet. In her mind she'd used him to bring her pleasure. From this night on, her relationship with him would be changed. Christian's parting words had been “I can't wait until tomorrow.” Hers should be “I hope tomorrow never comes.” How could she face him after what she'd done?

P
hoebe was awakened the next morning by the smell of breakfast cooking, and by a tune someone was singing. Dressing quickly, she went into the kitchen, where Christian was standing at the stove. Seeing Phoebe, he turned and, with a smile and an extended arm, improvised the lyrics of the song.

Phoebe, Phoebe, give me your answer do,

I'm half-crazy, all for the love of you.

It won't be a stylish marriage,

I can't afford a carriage,

But you'll look sweet, upon the seat

Of a bicycle built for two.

With a laugh, Phoebe responded:

Christian, Christian, here is my answer true,

You're half-crazy if you think that that will do.

If you can't afford a carriage,

There won't be any marriage

'Cause I'll be switched if I'll get hitched

On a bicycle built for two.

“Oh, that was funny, Mama!” Will said, coming into the room. “Sing it again.”

“We can't sing it again,” Phoebe said. “If we do, Wet will burn the collops, and we don't want burned collops, do we?”

Then July came into the kitchen. Taking his place at the table, he was unusually quiet.

“Did you hear Mama and Wet singing?” Will asked.

“I did. My people can hear things that others don't.” He looked pointedly at Christian.

Phoebe lowered her face as she grasped the meaning of his statement.

“It wasn't his fault,” she said, so low that she wasn't sure July heard her comment.

“It doesn't matter. It happened, and I don't intend to be a party to whatever you two have in mind—that is, until you make it right.” July placed his hand on Will's head. “Have you given any consideration to this child?”

“A party? We're going to have a party?” Will smiled up at July.

“Maybe so,” July said, “but now I need you to help me clean out the bunkhouse. Can you do that?”

“Sure. Then when Cornello and Trinidad come home, it'll be all clean.”

“I'm not sure they'll ever come back,” Phoebe said, “but it may be best if Wet and July stay out there.”

“No! Don't make them do that!” Will grabbed hold of July's leg. “I like it when there are daddies in the house.”

Christian spoke for the first time, looking first at Phoebe and then July. “It won't happen again.”

July turned to Will. “Come on, let's go see how Wapi is doing this morning.”

“But you didn't eat your breakfast,” Will said.

“I'm not hungry.”

When Will and July were gone, Christian turned to Phoebe with a sheepish smile. “I never thought it'd be July who made me get a conscience.”

“Do you think what I did was so terrible?” Phoebe's eyes glared and her chin jutted out. “If you do, you can just go back to the Prinsens, because I don't need you. July can take care of us.”

“What will the Sloans say?” Christian asked, confused by her comment.

“No more than what they said when I slept with Edwin.” She threw down a dishcloth and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Christian watched her go, helpless to say or do anything. Last night had been nearly perfect for him—a woman whom he cared for had come to him, a woman who clearly wanted him. He'd told her he was looking forward to this day, and he meant it. After she had left him, he'd lain awake a long time, envisioning what it'd be like to stay in America married to Phoebe. When he had finally drifted off to sleep, he'd convinced himself that he was through with South Africa.

But now that had all changed.

•  •  •

Cleaning the quarters proved to be quite a chore. The floors hadn't been swept in a long time, cobwebs were in every corner, the mattresses on the two bunks had to be aired, and the single window was so dirty that it was practically opaque.

When the quarters were clean, Christian and July began moving their personal belongings from the house.

“What will you do when Trinidad and Cornello come back?” Will asked as he followed Christian back and forth from the house.

“We'll all live together,” Christian said.

“Don't you like us anymore? Did you forget? You said you loved me.”

Christian knelt down to the child, seeing in his eyes a sadness that was heartbreaking. “I'll tell you what. When I get all my belongings moved, would you like to go for a ride?”

“Oh, goodie. Wait till I tell Mama.”

As Will ran pell-mell toward the house, Christian looked on with a glum face. He was going to miss this little guy, but he felt he had to leave Phoebe alone after what had happened between them. Setting his bag inside the bunkhouse, he withdrew his Rudyard Kipling book. This would be the time to read to the boy.

•  •  •

Christian and Will rode for quite a while, going down the lane that separated the ostrich kraals, and Christian smiled. In his mind, he had thought the word for
pen
that was used at home.

He thought of home and wondered if, perhaps, he should tell Yhomas that he'd decided to go back home right away. That might be the best thing for him and Phoebe, before they let this thing between them get any further. Right now he could see even more problems down the road if they continued, problems that might prove insurmountable. That could only lead to heartache for both of them. Besides, if Yhomas was correct, the water project could take years to complete. The committee didn't need Christian to explain how they could get private capital when it seemed to be the consensus among the members that the government should pay for the project.

But then he thought of the Woodsons. It'd be loutish if he wasn't here when they arrived—especially after the note he'd written to Ina Claire. He didn't think he'd been too personal in the letter, though he had written it in a way that could be interpreted as suggesting more than he intended.

But that was before he'd gotten to know Phoebe Sloan.

When they got to the Grand Canal, Christian and Will dismounted and, for a while, threw rocks into the water.

“Did you bring a fishing pole?” Will asked.

“No, I didn't. Is that something you like to do?”

The little boy shook his head. “I don't like to fish.”

Christian laughed. “Then I'm glad I didn't bring a pole. Do you like to read?”

Will scrunched up his nose. “Don't you know I haven't had my birthday yet? I can't read.”

“Well, then, let's go sit under that tree over there and I'll read to you.” Christian took out
The Jungle Book
and found a comfortable spot to sit down. Will climbed up on his lap and lay his head on Christian's shoulder, and he started to read:

Mowgli's Brothers

It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in the tips.

“Do you ever get a sleepy feeling in your tips?” Christian asked, but when he looked down, Will's eyes were already closed. Christian laughed gently as he repositioned the child and held him tight against his chest. “I guess we won't find out what happened to Mowgli's brothers today.”

•  •  •

The two sat for a long while as Christian let his thoughts wander. He was disheartened to see how small the trickle of water was in the canal. It was a shame. The potential for the Salt River Valley was so immense if only the committee would get the reservoir project started immediately.

He thought back to Kimberley, a town in the Karoo; yet, thanks to his power and money, Cecil Rhodes had built the suburb of Kenilworth to the north of the diamond mines. Rhodes had demanded that anyone who lived in the community should plant trees—not just any tree, but those that Rhodes personally approved. Consequently the town had an abundance of orange and lemon groves, as well as orchards containing apricots, peaches, pears, apples, and quinces, and of course grapevines were growing everywhere.

Christian thought that an orange grove would be much easier for Phoebe to handle than the obstreperous ostriches.

Christian decided what America needed was a man who had the strength of character to lead the country to make decisions that would benefit all the people. From what he'd read, President McKinley, who was running for reelection, didn't have that trait. Neither did William Jennings Bryan, the man running against him. But Christian liked what he'd heard of McKinley's choice for vice president. Christian believed that, if given a chance, Arizona would come to appreciate the young Teddy Roosevelt.

After almost an hour, Will began to move. He raised his head. “The brothers, what happened to them?”

“I think they went home to see their mama, and I think we should go find your mama, too.”

“She's not worried. She knows I'm with you.” Will turned and hugged Christian. “I'm so glad you didn't leave us.”

“I'm glad, too.” A knot formed in Christian's throat. “Now, let's find our horse and get out of here.”

•  •  •

On the way back to the house, Will sang little songs that his mother had obviously taught him. He tried to get Christian to join him, but they were songs Christian had never learned. When they arrived, Christian rode up to the porch and lowered the child to the ground.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you'd kidnapped my son.” Phoebe laughed nervously. “Did you have a good time?”

“Wet read me a story. It was about a wolf.”

“Oh, dear. What was that about?” Phoebe frowned at Christian.

“The wolf went to sleep and then he came home to find his mama,” Christian said.

“It sounds like a good story. By the way, the bunkhouse is going to be a little crowded. Trinidad came home while you were gone.”

Christian pursed his lips. “I guess that's my cue to ride out of here.”

“No! I don't want you to go!” Will yelled as he moved toward Christian.

The horse, frightened by the sudden movement and noise, reared up, his hooves thrashing at the air in front of him.

Phoebe screamed as she pulled Will out of the way.

The horse was bucking wildly as Christian tried desperately to get the animal under control. When he did, he jumped down to find Phoebe lying still on the ground. Will was sitting beside her, not reacting at all.

“She's dead.” Will's eyes were wide. “Your horse killed her.”

Christian was confused by the child's reaction, but he knelt beside Phoebe. He saw a big lump forming on her forehead as he checked to see if she had a pulse.

“You have to help me,” Christian said as he picked up Phoebe. “You have to get me a cloth with some cold water. There isn't any ice anywhere, is there?”

Will didn't move.

Christian ran toward the house carrying Phoebe. When he looked back, Will was still sitting in the exact same spot as if he were in a trance. As loud as he could, Christian yelled for July, hoping he was within hearing distance. He knew he shouldn't leave Will, but Phoebe needed him more.

He carried her into her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He felt for her pulse, and when he found it, he uttered a silent prayer. Her breathing was shallow, so he knew she was alive, but she'd been knocked unconscious.

Leaving her on the bed, he went to the kitchen and found a cloth. Taking it out to the cistern that was beside the house, he began to pump, but no water came.

“July!” he called. “July, I need you now!”

July came running. “What's wrong?”

“It's Phoebe. The horse kicked her in the head and she's been knocked out. Now I can't get this damned pump to work.”