Under the Desert Sky (26 page)

“Am I your woman?” she'd asked.

“What do you think?” he'd answered. Why couldn't Christian have said, “Yes, I love you, and I want to be by your side forever.”

There had never been a suggestion of marriage, but Phoebe had assumed that would be the natural outcome. He was so good with Will, with mutual affection between them.

But tonight, when Mrs. Woodson had suggested that “fate has brought us together again,” Phoebe had been jolted back to reality. Christian had had another life before he came to America. In passing, he'd told her bits and pieces of his history, but he'd never shared the things Ina Claire and her mother had talked about this evening.

As Phoebe had sat across the table from them, she had watched Ina Claire fawn over every word Christian said, as if she were entranced by him. But when her mother said “Fate has brought us together again,” Ina Claire's expression could only be described as pure joy.

Phoebe had no doubt that Ina Claire Woodson was in love with Christian De Wet.

And so was Phoebe Sloan.

But the question was: Did she have the will to fight for him?

•  •  •

Out at the Tonto Basin, Christian, Yhomas, and Clarence examined the dam site. Yhomas pointed out what they intended to use as the catchment basin and where the dam should be built. Clarence got out the transit and level, and the tripod, and measured from one side of the gorge to the other, establishing the distance as well as the angle of inclination with the help of the other two men.

That night they cooked bacon and beans over an open fire. As the fire burned, glowing embers drifted up to add pinpoints of red to the myriad stars in the night sky.

“Look at that.” Yhomas pointed to the vault of blackness. “I wonder how many stars there are.”

“If you're talking only about the stars visible to the naked eye,” Clarence said, “it's a total of about nine thousand, but that's in the total sky from both hemispheres. It breaks down to about forty-five hundred depending on the season of the year and where you're located on the face of the earth.”

“Don't tell me you've counted all the stars. I know that engineers love numbers, but this . . .” Yhomas said.

“I haven't, but some astronomers have.”

Yhomas laughed. “Now, you show me a man who has counted every star in the night sky, and I'll show you a man who has nothing to do.”

In the distance, they heard a long, plaintive howl.

“What sort of creature is that?” Christian asked.

“A coyote—nothing to worry about. They're afraid to come around people.”

A few minutes later they heard another sound, heavy and long, rising and falling, sort of an
oh wouh uu
sound.

“And that, my friend, is a mountain lion,” Yhomas said. “We don't want to run into one of those if we can avoid it.”

Christian stretched and yawned. “Well, you two can talk all night if you want. Neither one of you had to move around much today. But Clarence had me running all over the place with that blasted measuring stick of his.”

“A surveying rod,” Clarence said. “If you're going to be an engineer's assistant, you have to know the terminology.”

•  •  •

Throughout the week, Clarence continued his work. Then he announced that he thought he had enough data to make his assessment, and after taking a few bore samples they'd be ready to go home.

Christian had enjoyed the time spent with Yhomas and Clarence. Although he'd teased Clarence about being run around, he was actually enjoying it. During the surveying, he was separated enough from the other two that it was almost as if he were alone. He'd heard no sound made by man, only the sounds of nature: the rattle of ocotillo limbs moving in the wind, the quiet scurrying of a desert mouse, or the occasional coo-coo-cooing call of a roadrunner. He liked the towering and graceful saguaro cactus, extending its arms as if reaching for the sky, and he was particularly impressed by the variegated hues of the mesas that rose from the desert floor.

His stay in the desert had been much more pleasant than he'd anticipated, and he found himself thinking about how he would enjoy camping out here with Will when the boy was old enough. He fantasized that they might shoot some game, and he, Phoebe, and Will could cook it over a fire.

Hmm, how had Phoebe worked her way into his thoughts? He wondered what she was doing this week while he was gone. He'd asked her if he could court her, but she didn't quite understand that he was serious. When he'd asked her if she'd let someone fall in love with her, Phoebe had deflected her answer by saying that Will loved her.

What did she think of Christian?

He wished he knew the answer.

Clarence said he'd be finished with his surveying today, so Christian walked slowly back to the campsite to begin packing up.

He'd brought his Martini rifle and had intended to fire it, but Clarence had kept him so busy, he hadn't found the time. He'd hoped he might see a bighorn sheep while they were here, but that opportunity never presented itself. He was determined to find a target to shoot at, just so he could zero in on the sights; so as Yhomas continued striking their camp, and Clarence made a few final drawings, Christian loaded the rifle, sliding the long, slender .303-caliber round into the chamber, then lifted the lever.

Clarence was squatting under a rock overhang, boring out a rock sample, when a mountain lion appeared on the precipice, about ten feet above him.

“Oh, my God, look!” Yhomas pointed to the lion.

“Maybe I can scare him away.” Christian raised the rifle to his shoulder and sighted in on the animal. It was magnificent, and he didn't want to shoot it.

“Woodson, look out!” Yhomas yelled.

Whether activated by the shout or by Clarence's sudden move, the lion leaped. Christian fired, and his bullet struck the cat in midair. It fell to the ground exactly where Clarence had been but a moment before.

“What the . . . ?” Clarence shouted.

“Get back!” Yhomas called. “The cat might just be wounded.”

Clarence moved away several feet, keeping a wary eye on the lion. When the lion didn't move, he started back toward it, taking slow and cautious steps, examining the creature closely. Then, boldly, he moved right up to it.

“Beware, Clarence,” Yhomas said.

Clarence chuckled. “Beware of what? This cat is as dead as a doornail. Great shot, my friend.”

“It's a wonder I made the shot at all,” Christian said. “This rifle seems to be a bit out of balance. It's somewhat stock-heavy.”

“There's your problem,” Yhomas said. “The butt plate looks like brass, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was brass-plated lead.”

Christian looked at the butt plate. “You might be right.”

“Well,” Clarence said, “I'd say that's a fitting conclusion to our exploration.”

•  •  •

Clarence's close call was the subject of conversation when the men returned home.

“You should have skinned him,” Andy said. “You could've hung the skin on the wall as a trophy.”

“I didn't want a trophy,” Christian said. “I really wish it hadn't been necessary for me to shoot him: he was a magnificent animal.”

“Well, you should've brought him back for me. I'd be glad to hang a pelt like that,” Andy said.

“Isn't that July?” Yhomas asked as he saw an approaching buckboard.

“It's him. I hope there's nothing wrong at Phoebe's place.” Christian's words and expression showed genuine concern.

“July,” Christian said, greeting him as he came in. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“We rode in pretty late last night and decided to spend the night here.”

“Well, you got here at the right time. Phoebe thinks we should pluck the birds today, and she sent me over to get Andy to come help us out—that is, if it's all right with you, Mr. Prinsen.”

“Of course Andy can go help,” Yhomas said.

“Would it be all right if I went, too?” Ina Claire asked. “I'm not sure there'd be anything I could do, but I don't have anything to do here.”

“I'm sure Phoebe would be glad to have you.” Yhomas chuckled. “Everybody needs to be around for a plucking at least once in their lifetime.”

“W
et, you're back!” Will ran out to meet the buckboard, his arms spread wide.

Christian jumped out of the wagon before July stopped it and scooped Will up into his arms. He whirled him around in the air, causing the child to giggle uncontrollably.

“Did you miss me?” Christian asked.

“I really, really did.” Will planted a big kiss on Christian's cheek.

“Now, that's a welcome.” Christian turned and saw Phoebe coming out of the house.

Phoebe had wanted to run to Christian and kiss him as well, but when she saw Ina Claire, she held back, saying, “Will speaks for both of us. I missed you, too.”

Christian smiled at her. “It's good to be missed.”

Turning to Ina Claire, Phoebe said, “Ina Claire, I'm happy to see you again.”

“I hope you don't mind I came, too.”

“Of course not. We can always use another pair of hands to sort feathers.”

“I'm glad she came along,” Christian said. “We greenhorns need to stick together.”

“A greenhorn? Do you mean to tell me you've never seen an ostrich plucked?” Phoebe asked.

“That is correct, madam,” Christian said with an exaggerated nod. “I've seen my share of ostriches running wild on the Karoo and I've eaten ostrich eggs, but this'll be the first time I've ever seen the taking of the feathers.”

“It's not a particularly hard job,” Andy said, “but it is . . . how should we say it, Phoebe?”

“It's messy.” A wide smile crossed her face.

“You're going to miss seeing the hard part,” July said, “because Trinidad and I already brought them in from their pens. I'm glad you don't have any more adult birds than you do, Phoebe, because you can't bring in more than two or three at a time.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Ina Claire said. “Why couldn't you bring them all in at once?”

“The males are very feisty, and I guess the females would be, too, if they thought another female was trying to take their mate.” July looked directly at Phoebe when he said these words.

“Well, they're all in the plucking pen now, so we'd better get organized. Andy, why don't we all step onto the porch for a cup of coffee and you can tell our greenhorns what they can expect,” Phoebe said.

A short while later, they all gathered at what Phoebe called a pen but July insisted was a kraal. This small enclosure forced the birds to crowd together so that the more disagreeable birds wouldn't have a chance to attack. All one could see was a forest of long necks, huge eyes, and gaping beaks. Since their normal routine had been drastically interrupted, the birds were all emitting short, hollow sounds that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a cough.

“This isn't exactly how I pictured this,” Ina Claire said, “but I'm ready to do whatever you say, Phoebe.”

“At this stage, it's better that you and I just stand back and watch,” Phoebe said. “The men do this part.”

“Is Wet going to die?” Will's eyes were large and questioning.

“No, honey, he's not. You see how close the wood is in the plucking box. If a bird started kicking, the sides of the box would stop him from hurting anyone.”

“I don't want Wet to die.”

“Neither do I.” Phoebe put her arm around her son.

Ina Claire was curious about Will's seeming fascination that something might happen to Christian. “Phoebe, I don't understand. Why would Will ask such a thing?”

“Will saw his father killed by an ostrich.”

“Oh!” Ina Claire gasped. “Oh, you poor child, what a terrible thing for you to have seen!”

Ina Claire leaned over and wrapped her arms around the child. Phoebe thought Will might resist the embrace and was surprised that he didn't. She was also surprised to see that Ina Claire's eyes had welled with tears. Her concern for Will was genuine.

“I'm not sure that he's ever gotten over it,” Phoebe said, remembering his reaction to her own injury.

“I can see how such a thing could be so traumatic—for anyone, especially someone as young as Will. Oh, but, Phoebe, you have done such a wonderful job with him. The Prinsens and the Bucknells think the world of him, and I can see why. He is such a delightful child.”

Phoebe could see exactly how Christian could have found comfort in Ina Claire's company when they were in Africa. She was a good woman.

•  •  •

Christian and July cautiously singled out the first bird. They guided him away from the rest of the troop, and July, coming from behind, slipped a black hood over the ostrich's head. Once he was covered, he was easily maneuvered into the narrow plucking box. Trinidad stood on one side and Andy was on the other. July followed the bird into the box and began removing the tail feathers while Andy and Trinidad, with a few rapid snips of their shears, took the wing feathers.