His voice was so dark and malicious it sent chills up my spine. Sechele’s chest burst out in defiance.
“You speak lies,” he spat.
The men with bleeding hands had reached the door and were making their exit. Without support, Abraham found himself nervous. He lashed out at David next as he inched toward the door.
“You supply weapons to the heathen! We thought you were friend to the righteous but you are making bullets for the damned. You call yourself a missionary preacher. Nothing could be further from the truth! We shall meet at judgment for your disgrace!”
“Yes,” David replied steadily. “I will meet you there, Abraham.”
Soon the hostile prophet was at the door as well.
“We shall see,” he said.
Having had the last word, he now felt free to go, and the tension relaxed in the room.
I realized that Motsatsi still held my hand, and what was more, had placed his other hand on mine and had his head laid on my arm. Sometimes when he was startled or afraid he could take on the appearance of such a sweet babe, no more strong or brave than a flower. I reached another hand over to hold his head and bent down to kiss his soft curly locks.
“Thank you, good sir,” I whispered to him.
Suddenly, he was himself again and he nodded with a jerk and released me to take back his chair.
Everyone slowly returned to their respective places at the table and an awkwardness settled in, with only the coo of babes to break the silence.
I knew I would have to begin the conversation and yet I did not know how. Emotions warred within me. On the one hand, I was overwhelmed by the compassion of my friends. They would protect me despite danger to themselves, a show of courage I had never before seen exercised on my behalf. And yet on the other hand, I could see the desperation of the Boers. My mother was searching for me, and had offered a generous reward for my return. How could they not go searching desperately for a source of income that could mean water for their families?
Since I had no way to articulate how I felt, and because I could not form any of these things into actual questions, I simply spoke my chief’s name.
He had been looking in his lap, pondering. At my saying his name, he looked up and studied my expression for a length of time. My opportunity had come to speak the truth.
“I am sorry I lied,” I said to everyone. “I had hoped I was out of my mother’s reach. I had hoped I could live as if she never existed.” I started to shake and felt so tense I could not say more. I didn’t dare look up, but I could feel their eyes on me. I took several deep breaths and then looked to Sechele again.
His gaze seemed to bore into me.
“It is unkind and a sin to bear false witness,” he told me. But his eyes soon became understanding and comforting. “I forgive you,” he said. I looked down and nodded with tears of gratitude in my eyes. I glanced to the rest at the table and the response seemed to be about the same. No one forced me to say more. Instead, Sechele spoke.
“The Boers sent messengers to my home after my baptism, with negotiations for the English girl I held hostage in my village.” He paused. “I told them outright I held no one against their will. Today these men came and said they would split the reward with me if I could fool Miss Anna to go with them back to Durban.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hating that the scheme had even been brought to him. “I refused them and they became quite angry. They said there was nothing I could do to stop them, and I agreed, since Anna is a free lady.”
“And yet, you mysteriously invited us all to dinner this evening,” I concluded for him.
He smiled, unashamed. “I worried the men would come to David and Mary’s home. A suspicion that proved to be correct. I knew the safest place for you all was right here.”
Part of the story tugged at my conscience.
“How much is the reward?” I asked.
“Don’t tell her,” David and Mary spoke in unison.
“It does not matter,” Sechele spoke firmly. “All that is important is that you be kept safe exactly where you are. Do not think these men can take you by force.”
But how could I not? The only people willing to protect me sat in this very room, and the Boers by all accounts were a veritable force of men.
“Take me back yourselves and receive the reward,” I urged. “I’m sure it is not a small sum. You could buy supplies for the village!” I spoke excitedly. “Things for the schoolroom, Mary! Pencils, quills, papers, books! Merchandise to help you in your work, David.” I turned to confront him as well. “Clean bandages, needles, medicine,” I listed them off easily, knowing he was in need of them. I was getting only obstinate stares from all of my companions so I cried out in frustration, “And water!”
“Miss Anna,” Sechele began calmly, “I asked you once if you would trade the poverty in my village for the memories you have experienced.”
“This is different, Sechele!” I said, pounding the table.
“We will not subject you to it,” Mary protested. “It will rain. The Kolobeng will fill up again and we will continue on as before. We will not sacrifice your free will for money. Surely you can understand that.”
“You cannot deny the plan seems wise,” I begged her. David spoke up.
“The most foolish plans sometimes do,” he said. “There is no use arguing with this self-sacrificing nonsense, Miss Anna. You are staying here.”
Another strong silence followed. I could not argue more tonight with my loved ones. But I knew what I must do, for their sakes.
Suddenly the silence broke with Sechele piping up, smacking himself on the forehead and bolting to the kitchen, as cheerful and unaffected as he had ever been.
“Ah! Forgot my dessert!”
Dinner finished and our thanks given, we began our walk home. We had stayed later than expected and Agnes was asleep on David’s shoulder. Robert looked as if he could be sleeping as well, but his four-year-old ego would not allow him to be carried. When we arrived home, I aided Mary in preparing the children for bed. All the while I was thinking how badly I would miss them when I left. For I was certain now, that if my mother was looking for me, and she was willing to give a reward for my return, it would be a source of much needed supply for this family.
So absorbed was I in my thoughts and plans of escape, that I did not realize something that was staring me directly in the face. Now, a realization hit me. Mary had kept excusing herself, again and again, from dinner. She had quickly departed from me for ten minutes at a time, then returned pale and gradually more and more withered. Now that I reflected on the issue, I knew she had not eaten a single morsel at Sechele’s dinner. The last time she returned, I had asked her if she was quite well. At the time she shook her head at me, but now everything became clear. Mary wasn’t sick solely because of the lack of water.
Mary was pregnant.
When David came home one evening, a few days later, she told him the news. He was shocked, to be sure, but soon gave her a very tender and warm embrace. After speaking with her quietly for a moment, he carried her effortlessly to bed. Obviously he knew, despite Mary’s protests, that she was too ill to carry her typical load. In the coming days, I knew, she would need me more than ever. I couldn’t leave her now.
Chapter 16
During this part of the drought, the lack of water made it necessary to choose between giving the water to your animals or to your children. Many of the people clung to hope and kept a select few of their goats, cattle, or sheep alive. Mostly, however, the animals were killed and cleaned to increase the water supply for the living. Several oxen had to be put down as well, because the lack of water was making them ill. Thus, for a time, there was meat to be had by all.
I could not watch David and Mebalwe slaughter the animals, and fortunately I was not needed in that part of the process. I hid in the home until Mary needed assistance cooking the meat.
The oxen were not the only ones to get sick. The slow, creeping infirmity of maln
utrition spread among the people, producing a depressing lethargy and vulnerability to disease. My classroom became less populated because of illness. Several families began to leave the area looking for water, jobs, or survival somewhere else. No one knew if they found it or not. In just three months from Mary’s announcement, sixty-six families had abandoned the tribe in search of something better. Walking through the village, the sinking feeling of absence crept through one’s heart.
It was, however, the illness of my own adopted family that affected me most. Of course all our mouths were dry, the lips of the children being the most injured. Although Mary covered their little faces with a salve her mother procured, their tiny lips produced such wide cuts and sores, my heart broke at the sight of it.
Though they would not speak of it, their parents were affected as well. Mary suffered from a terrible ache in her chest. The influence of it forced her to sit outside of meal time—a habit she was not accustomed to. Their father found it difficult to go through an entire sermon without pause, his headaches being truly severe.
My desire to rescue them was so strong, sometimes it was almost physically painful to me that I could not do more. However, I could see that Mary was fading, and remembering her pregnancy always shocked me into a new wave of energy and determination, despite the ache in my throat. I urged Mary to sit as often as I saw her that day, and I took on the heavy burdens she typically carried.
Another realization came to me. Mary had taught me how to do everything that needed to be done around the house. To be sure, there were still deeds that only Mary could do. Her nurturing touch was lost when I overtook the care taking of her children, but she had taught me enough of the basics that she could sit back comfortably, knowing that I could handle what was needed.
Perhaps she had known from the beginning this could happen. Maybe she had taken me in, pushed me so hard and been unforgiving of my weakness because she knew her children would need someone capable when she was sick. Even if that were the only reason for her kindness and instruction, I could forgive her unequivocally.
When each day came to an end, I had often done nothing but cook and endlessly clean that fine layer of sand that entered our home no matter how many rags I stuffed into the window sills and door frame. David, the children, and I would sit in the main room and play delightful games while Mary slept. I had had such little time with these children as of late, since they spent so much time with young girls from the village.
One day, David entered and sat down heavily upon his favorite weathered chair.
“The world has come knocking on our door suddenly, has it not?” he posed the question, but I sensed it was not a query to be answered. He sighed heavily. “We’ll have to send to Kuruman for more corn and water, as soon as Mebalwe returns.”
“Where has Mebalwe been?” I asked, curious.
David chuckled humorlessly. The motion gave him a coughing fit and I waited, afraid, until he finished.
“Kuruman,” he answered.
So Mebalwe was already fetching supplies from Mary’s parents, or wherever else he could find it. Yet there would be more need as soon as he completed his journey.
“To add to our load, I fear I must tell you, several stock animals have been taken off in the night by lions. The tribesmen hope to assemble a hunting party to scare them away.”
“Scare them away?” I repeated bewildered. “The lions?”
“We need only kill one lion,” David explained. “And that is usually enough to scare the entire pride into leaving the area.”
“That sounds dangerous,” I hedged.
“Which is more dangerous, Anna? Seeking out one lion or allowing them to come close to our little children? I guarantee you they have been a stone’s throw from this very spot.”
I shivered as I watched Robert and Agnes play a game of catch. How desperate would the animals become?
I had a few days to learn a few more things from Mary in the schoolroom, before she became too ill to leave the house. I focused all of my attention on her those last couple of days, willing myself to learn Sechuana from Mary and Motsatsi in time to teach these children while she was away. I will admit I was absolutely terrified of the future, especially after Mary informed me she was typically sick for the entire duration of each pregnancy.
All too quickly for me, my first day of teaching school, without Mary to supervise, came upon me. I trudged up the hill a full hour before school was to start, dreading the moments that would come with each step I took. At least my muscles had become accustomed to the climb. There was one less thing to worry about. Because of the early hour, I was surprised to see Motsatsi waiting for me at the door, flashing me a ridiculously wide smile, despite his cracked lips.
“Motsatsi!” I exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here so early, good sir?” It had become my custom to call him “good sir.” It pleased him tremendously.
“Father thought you would like some help this morning, with Mma-Robert becoming round,” he explained logically. “Also, I am to deliver a message. Some of the mothers of the village were hesitant to send their children to be taught by an unmarried pale girl who indulges in witchcraft.” He paused only to breathe as my mouth fell open. “But Father has informed them that all the same children who have been attending will attend still or their plows will be taken away.”
Word got around this village faster than a team of fine horses. I shook my head.
“The chief cannot mean to take away their only means of supporting themselves on my account,” I protested. “Will you please let him know his threats are quite unnecessary?”
“I will not,” Motsatsi replied complacent, “because he told me I should take no message from you except your compliance. Nothing else will do.”
The sun was barely up and already I was taking discipline from a child. I sighed in defeat. I suppose how Sechele threatened his villagers was up to him. He was so desperate they all learn the English way that I’m sure, to him, it was worth it. I started inside before I turned around to address him once more.
“How did you know I would be early?” I questioned him.
“Father guessed.” He grinned again.
I scoffed. “Of course. Well, no time to waste then, come in and I will practice my lesson on you. I’m afraid you will need to be my translator for a good part of it.”
He followed me inside and sat directly on the dirt floor with no thought to his trousers, which I suppose didn’t matter, because his clothes were as dirty as the rest of us who also had no water to wash with.
In a small way, I had become excited. The children were much easier to relate to than their austere parents. Their honest little faces were not as judgmental as their mothers’ and older sisters’. Still I would catch a glance of a young girl who had heard too much rumor in her home and she would eye me with fear. In response, I could do nothing but smile as genuinely as I could and continue on.
When my pupils arrived, they tried to be seated without their apparel being inspected, but I cleared my throat in such a pointed way at each that I could not be ignored. They each walked up to me, in turn, and were dismissed after their cleanliness inspection was complete. I was trying to mimic all Mary’s practices in order to be taken seriously. At last, all the children were seated in front of me, and I stood in the front and began the school day in the same way that Mary had. I was determined to not let one rule slip while Mary was ill. It would not do to have Mary come back to anything less.
I continued in the Mary order by offering prayer. I had not picked up enough spiritual words to make the prayer understandable in Sechuana, so I spoke it in English. Motsatsi did not translate as I gave a simple prayer of gratitude and asked for direction.
“Amen,” I concluded.
“Amen,” they all mimicked me.
I looked up and smiled, and received several smiles back. Perhaps they did not know witches prayed.
I spent the day in simple review of Mary’s instructions. The chi
ldren and I raised our voices together singing the alphabet song and other silly rhyming songs Mary had taught them. After our songs, I instructed the children to take out their little spelling books. Mary had acquired them long ago from Cape Town on one of her many travels. Each of the books had been used, abused, and tenderly loved by so many past students that they were barely legible. Where certain letters or words were missing, the children were used to turning to their neighbor’s copy to read where their copy had left off. We went through several pages of the thin little books. When there was no paper left to be written on, some wrote on corn-boxes, some on the stonewall, some on broken deal boxes or planks. All while they sat on the floor.
Our spelling segment complete, I separated the girls from the boys and began my sewing tutorials while the boys worked longer on their letters. It continued to be an absolute joy to these sweet darlings to see me stitch a beautiful flower within a matter of short minutes. I could never begin my instruction until I had made a flower or decoration. Each day I awarded the pretty little thing to a different little girl. While I made the flower, they all tried to discreetly straighten their bonnets and frocks to appear the most worthy of a pretty little decoration. They were each on their utmost polite behavior—backs were never straighter, hair was never out of place. And when I chose a recipient, her face glowed in appreciation. Motsatsi had informed me that the girl who received the flower of the day was seen as the social center for a day. Having already made thousands of different variations of flowers in an effort to impress my mother, this was in no way difficult for me. Left to myself, I would never sew a flower again, but their smiles of delight outweighed the terrors of my past.
The end of the school day came quickly, and I excused my students. Each ran to the door. As soon as they were all outside, the children began their run of joy, throwing their proper English clothing to the wind. It was a relief to me that none of them stripped down to complete nakedness. They each wore their native clothing underneath their school coverings. Softly on the afternoon breeze, their creamy white frocks floated down around them. It made my day complete to see this display. I know their white clothing on the dirty ground disconcerted Mary in a way, but it proved to me, daily, that although we taught them many useful things in school, we could not take away their spirit. We would never replace their culture.
In Spite of Lions Page 18
