“Are these your parents?” Bryan asked Jerrod.
“Yes, sir. I am young and strong and can fight this sickness, but they are tired and cannot rise from their beds.”
Noticing Jerrod’s agitation, Bryan encouraged him to leave. “How about you show me around while the doctor examines his patients?”
After a quick glance at the activity on the far side of the dwelling, he nodded. “Yes, the air is better outside.”
Bryan listened attentively to the boy as he gave him a detailed tour of his village, adding some comical comments about some of the people who lived there.
“You will think us strange,” Jerrod said.
“Not at all. Unique and interesting are more the words I’d use. Tell me about the odd shapes of your houses.”
“Not houses. The Maasai word is Inkajijik and making them is a woman’s job.”
“Women build these?”
“It is their responsibility to build and maintain shelters for families to dwell in. Some are circular and others resemble a loaf of bread, shaped to the woman’s taste.”
“What do the men do?”
“They build strong circular Enkang to keep the village and cattle protected against wild animals at night.”
“Fences, right?” It was a good guess because the boy nodded. “They do, indeed, look strong.”
“Where are the cattle now?”
Jerrod appeared nervous, and he scanned the area for onlookers. “I cannot show you the sick cows. The men are tending to the cattle outside the walls, but the healthy ones are grazing on the back grassland.”
“Well, let’s see them,” Bryan said, pleased they’d had the good sense to separate them.
When they’d rounded the corner of the last building, the area in which he saw the animals “grazing” was far from ideal and nutritious. The vegetation was sparse and seemed more brown than green, yet the cattle appeared healthy enough. They must be adding something to their diet to fatten them up, he decided.
“These look like a happy lot.”
“The men guard them and watch closely for signs of the sickness. We pray that these will stay pure, and our tribe will not be disgraced.”
“It’s not your fault that animals contract diseases,” Bryan said. “Did you eat meat from the sick cows?”
“Many of us did before we knew better.”
“And where do they keep all of these infected people?”
He pointed to a larger building. “There.”
“Why are your parents not in there?”
“We don’t want them to die, so the family hides them and make excuses for why they stay indoors.”
“Are you not afraid the infection will spread to the rest of your family?”
“My brothers and sisters live in their own houses with their families.”
“So, just you and your brother live in the sick house?”
“I am not sick anymore. Doc’s medicine is good.”
“Glad to hear that.” Bryan looked at the billow of smoke drifting over the high fence. “What’s on fire?”
“The men burn the carcases of the dead cows. Soon, the village will be purged, and we can work to rebuild our herd.”
The walk back to where the team was working to save Jerrod’s parents’ lives was covered in silence. Once inside, Bryan pulled Katelyn to the side and said, “The men are burning the dead cattle outside the village walls while trying to save the ones still standing. Healthy cattle are nibbling on a sorry-looking field this side of the fence.”
“I feel so sorry for the Maasai,” Katelyn said. “They try so hard to hold onto their traditions while Kenya’s government establishes programs to encourage them to leave their out-dated lifestyle behind. Many have dug in their heels, but the youth are tempted.”
“The world changes daily,” Bryan said. “Some things for the good, and some not-so-good. It’s hard not to succumb to the pressures society imposes.”
“I agree,” Katelyn said. “They’ve suffered great losses in their history, and the stories passed down through the generations are disturbing. In the late 1800s, many died or were scarred by epidemics of smallpox, other contagious, slow-killing diseases, and rinderpest. Almost ninety percent of cattle died, and it was a solemn time for the warriors whose livelihood depended on them. Even many of the wild species perished.”
“Do you think what’s happening now is that serious?”
“Time will tell. Humans won’t get sick unless they digest the contaminated meat. We’ve caught the source early, so it should be a quick turnaround.”
“Still lots of cows in the back, hopefully not close to the ninety percent of this village’s animals.”
“The agricultural department will be notified, and they’ll see how widespread it is. It’s to the tribe’s advantage to do what they can to right the situation. In the past, the Maasai have resisted the government’s interference in pursuing them to conform, while at the same time, demanding grazing rights. The conflict is ongoing.”
Bryan sighed. “Guess that’s out of our hands, but Jerrod says there’s another building housing sick people. Want to check it out?”
“Suppose that’s why we’re here.” Katelyn’s expression grew sad. “I figured one lone family with three infected residents was too good to be true.” She picked up her bag. “Let’s go.”
By the time the sun had set that evening, the number of sick Maasai stood at thirty. Five dead bodies had been left out in the fields for scavengers the day before, and the doctor was fit to be tied. The elders had gathered outside the building, wearing the traditional attire of layered cloth wrapped around their bodies accessorized with decorative sashes.
Dr. Jonas stood firm as he addressed them. “You must not do that! These bodies are infected, and when the wild animals feed, they will get sick, too. The Maasai are asking for trouble from the wildlife agency.”
“We cannot contaminate the soil with our dead,” one elder stated. “We shall have to burn our people with the cattle.”
“That’s not my call. Take it up with the authorities,” Jonas said.
The medical team was directed to a place where they could sleep, and the crowds dispersed to their separate homes. The mood was solemn and quiet but for the odd wailing of voices, beseeching Enkai, their god.
“Surprised you haven’t won them all over to your God,” Bryan said.
“We have professed our faith when given the opportunity, and some are curious enough to come to the Nairobi church to investigate. Some are miraculously saved. It is all His timing, Bryan. I don’t rush God.”
“The supernatural always sounded, pie-in-the-sky Mystique to my way of thinking.”
“And we both know your thinking has been sadly compromised with alcohol for most of your adult life.”
“But I’m clean now,” Bryan defended. “And you’ll be pleased to know that I accosted a group of young lads, hiding behind a tree, swigging from a bottle a while ago when I went hunting for the outhouse.”
“You did?” Katelyn’s voice had an element of a tease in it.
“Told the fellas my story, and they seemed eager to hear it.”
“What? You told them you were a spoiled rich boy who has pretended to turn a new leaf to gain an inheritance that will enable you to return to the easy life? That must have impressed them.”
Bryan clutched his heart with mock drama. “That hurts. I did tell them some of your condensed version but not the last part.”
“Because it’s not true or because it would not have helped your mini-sermon on the evils of hard liquor?”
“You can be rather blunt and harsh at times, Miss Simms,” Bryan said with annoyance. “I’m ready for bed. I’ll take that mat over there. Goodnight.”
It took him a while to go to sleep. He lay facing the wall, listening as the others settled in. He heard the night sounds, shivered, and pulled the blanket over his head. There was no net to protect him from the creepy crawlers, flying insects, or wild
animals that could easily get through the structure’s doorway.
Though Katelyn’s remark had gotten to him, he fully realized that he warranted her distrust and skepticism. Every vibe he gave off did little to convince her—or anyone else—what was happening on the inside. Was it a last-ditch effort for self-preservation? If it was, what was it for—the life he’d been living? If he were to be honest, the past few weeks had been the most fun he’d had in a long time. Maybe fun was the wrong word—it was the most satisfaction he’d known, ever. His initial compromise to endure his father’s penance to get the money and run was growing dimmer each day.
While portraying his playboy image, he’d never once anticipated how difficult it would be to reverse his scandalous reputation and gain respect from those he now wanted to impress, and he undeniably wanted to impress Katelyn. When his tolerance had changed to interest and then to admiration and to whatever label suited the attraction mercilessly gnawing at him now, he couldn’t say for sure, but it had crept up on him and pierced him like an arrow from cupid’s quiver. The worst thing was not knowing what to do about his new, heartfelt awakening.
On the third day, the volunteer medical team from America arrived in the village. Katelyn was never so glad to see a relief team in her life. Jonas, Shirley, Bryan and her, had worked long hours and had taken turns overnight in an effort to get the epidemic under control. The Maasai had been cooperative with them, but not so when it came to the wildlife group forcing their regulations. Of course, the government had won, and the proud group of warriors sat quietly by and watched their livelihood go up in smoke. The boys tended to the healthy cows, the women occupied themselves with their daily chores, and a death-hush hovered over the village.
Bryan and Katelyn brought a plate of food and a calabash of milk and sat under a tree to eat the noon-day meal.
“So, what is this?” Bryan held up what looked like bark from a tree.
“Exactly what you think it is,” Katelyn said, grinning. “The Maasai diet has high-fat content, so, they walk a lot, eat bark and herbs, and drink fermented milk to counteract it.”
Bryan peered into his gourd. “It doesn’t look curdled.”
“They drink it fresh, as well,” she said. “Be grateful there’s no cattle blood mixed into it.”
“Blood? Now I really appreciate your intervention in our meal choices. The idea of buttermilk is gross enough, but blood? Well, that’s never going down my gullet.”
“I don’t blame you,” Katelyn said. “The fatty meat is quite tasty, and the flatbread will fill you up. Dip the bark in the honey and give it a try.”
He did, and he screwed up his face. “The honey is good, but the bark still tastes like wood.”
Katelyn looked around while she nibbled on hers. “I hate to see the tribal people suffer under this pressure. Cattle are their primary source of food, and they, like other ethnic groups, measure a man’s wealth by how many children and cattle he has. The outbreak is drastically cutting the numbers of both.”
“The cow that this meat came from has been tested, right?”
She laughed. “Of course. The people aren’t stupid, and the ministry has examined all of the remaining herds.”
“Just checking.”
“Hopefully, the loss of cattle won’t cause the rebellious, young Maasai to start rustling,” Katelyn said, her heart breaking over their tragedy.
“Really? Just like the cowboys in the Old West?”
“Yes, sir. A Maasai myth says that God gifted to them all the cattle on the earth, which led to the belief that rustling from other tribes was claiming back what rightfully belonged to them. The practice used to be a normal way of life, but not so much anymore.”
Dr. Jonas came over to where the couple was sitting. “Have you seen Jerrod around?”
“Not for a while,” Bryan said.
“His folks died. The boy took it hard and raced out. I just wanted to see if he’s all right.”
Bryan jumped to his feet. “I’ll peek around. He must be devastated. His older brother is rather possessive when it comes to the few herds they have left, and he’s pushing him aside. Jerrod is very lonely and vulnerable right now.”
Katelyn joined him. “I’ll go this way, and you go that way. Ask the people, too, in case he’s hiding out.”
Thirty minutes later, the weary couple met back under the tree. Katelyn felt a tap on her shoulder. It was one of the tribal women wearing a colorful shuka draped loosely around her body and rawhide sandals. “My daughter says that she saw the boy leave the compound with a sack slung over his shoulder, his orinka sticking out the top, and he was carrying his father’s spear,” the woman told her.
“Did she say how long ago?”
“Maybe an hour, heading southeast.”
“Did she know where he might be headed?” Bryan asked.
“No, sir, but I know that some of his grown siblings and other young marrieds who did not want to modernize, moved to the foothills away from the parks where the tourists invaded our peace.”
Katelyn noticed the pleading in Bryan’s face, and she was pleased to see his concern. She took hold of his hand and squeezed. “Let’s go grab an emergency kit, some food, and supplies. We’ll find him.”
Your mourning shall turn to joy.
Chapter 10
Within the hour, the Jeep was packed, the gas tank was full, with reserve cans stored in the back, and all the necessary people were informed as to where they were headed. Katelyn climbed in behind the wheel, and Bryan jumped in beside her.
Upon departing the village, they headed in the opposite direction of the park, farther east, toward the shadow of a distant mountain. Bryan kept his eyes peeled on the front and sides of the vehicle. Never in his past could he recall feeling so worried about another human being, let alone a stranger he’d only met the day before. The boy had somehow seized his heart. He hoped he could be of help when they found Jerrod, for Bryan understood losing a parent and the inability to deal with it.
“Are you all right, Bryan?”
He looked at her, and at the same time, felt his eyes pooling. “I don’t think so. I need to find the boy and try to…I don’t know. It’s almost as if the news of Jerrod’s grief over his parents’ passing brought my father’s death crashing in all around me.” He looked away. “I never grieved for him the way a son should.”
“It’s never too late to start the process. A grief-stricken heart needs to be recognized, not ignored.”
“But we weren’t friends in the end. We were barely so during the years I lived under his roof.”
“A father was never meant to be a son’s friend. I realize he made many parental mistakes but believe me when I say he tried to make amends at the end.”
“By then, I wasn’t listening, and we ran out of time,” Bryan said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Katelyn stopped the Jeep in the middle of the field they were crossing and turned to him. “God knows what it takes to reach a man’s soul, and often, it is only through death. His final prayer was that his demise would bring glory to God through the salvation of the earthly son he’d been loaned for such a short time. The Spirit is calling you, Bryan Charter, and when you surrender, He, your father, and all the angels will celebrate in heaven—a party the likes of which we can only imagine.”
“I am willing to forgive him for the neglect when I was a kid, and I feel sorry for myself that I never got to know the new man before he died,” Bryan said, “but as for my bowing the knee, I think I can be a good guy in the future without using God as a crutch. He doesn’t need any weaklings pulling Him down.”
“Come as you are is all He asks. The Almighty is strong enough to hold up the weaklings of this world.”
He brushed the dampness from his cheeks and held her gaze. “All I want to do right now is gather you in my arms and kiss you, Katelyn Simms, but I’m not a man fit for you or Him, so you might as well start the car, and let’s continue searching for Jerrod.”
> Katelyn did not blink, but she continued to hold him captive with her eyes.
When Bryan knew he could not bear the intensity of her gaze a second longer, he turned away. She grabbed his hand and leaned in. “Maybe we should test that kissing idea out, Mr. Charter. It’s a good place to start.”
Bryan could scarcely believe his ears. She was inviting him to close in on the last two inches separating them and indulge in his wildest fantasy of late. To kiss perfection—for this was his opinion of the woman offering herself to him at this moment of crisis—the attraction was too strong. He crept his hand under the hair that had blown loose and felt invigorated by the warmth of her neck before pulling her toward him. His lips brushed hers, and he experienced a deep gasp in the back of his throat. It was she who’d incited the greater intimacy as she’d sought to satisfy her hunger, and he knew at that moment that his heart was lost to her.
When they pulled apart, she bit her lip as if to stop its trembling. “That went well,” she said.
Bryan smiled at her honesty. “I’d say very well, Miss Simms, and it was indeed, a very good place to start.”
She gripped the wheel and started the ignition. “Let’s find Jerrod.”
After a few minutes, Bryan shouted, “Over to the left. I see a candy wrapper like the ones you hand out at the foundation.”
She turned the wheel in that direction and stopped close to the debris.
Bryan jumped out of the vehicle and picked it up off the ground. “It is, and I’m sure Jerrod snatched a handful when he visited the clinic.”
Katelyn examined the ground and saw a child’s footprints veering off to the left. “He’s headed for the river.”
“Smart boy,” Bryan said. “Let’s go.”
They sped up until Bryan noticed the small figure ahead. “There he is.” He could not hide his excitement. Katelyn looked at him with those gorgeous browns, grinning with a new endearment that his heart savored.
A Legacy for Bryan Page 8
