Diamond Mine

by Felicia Rogers

  Before he’d realized it, he had to leave. He hadn’t told Hannah that he spent most of his year in London with his grandfather. He hadn’t told her that he’d spent most of this summer begging not to return home.

  One day, under false pretenses, his mother took him on an excursion and dropped him and his luggage at the airport. She had claimed his father was furious that he was a week behind schedule. It seemed his father was home and wanted to see Rory before he left again. Rory hadn’t even had time to tell Hannah goodbye.

  Arriving in England, Rory had written Hannah a letter of explanation, but he’d never received a reply. On more than one occasion, he had attempted to contact her, but always there was nothing.

  The next summer his mum had moved again. He had borrowed her car and drove to the old neighborhood. He had pulled into Hannah’s driveway and an empty feeling had encompassed his gut. No curtains hung in the large bay windows. Knee-high grass had covered the front lawn. It had been obvious Hannah wasn’t there.

  The sun felt hot against his back. He paused and ran a rag over his sweaty face. Placing the rag in his back pocket, he continued to dig.

  Eventually he’d found Hannah. How could he not? Although the author’s name read April Desray, her picture had clearly decorated the back of several romance novels.

  Before his accident, a brief investigation had led him to discover her new home.

  As he had sat outside the building, a longing had grown in his gut and his heartbeat had increased. All he’d had to do was approach the door and knock. He’d wondered about what would happen. Would she fall into his arms and declare her love? Would she tell him to get lost and leave her alone?

  Fear had caused him to turn around and leave. He’d had no rights to her then or now. What’s done is done. There was no going back. When they said you can’t go home again, they meant it.

  Staring at the setting sun, he propped up on the shovel handle. Muscles tense, his mind wandered. Where is Hannah Baker now?

  Chapter Ten

  Hannah had imagined a grandiose two-story white house with a comfy wraparound porch. Melanie and Korzan would be sitting in rocking chairs, sipping ice tea and watching their multitude of orphaned children run around a grassy yard. But what she found was vastly different.

  The cabby drove along a dirt lane, deeply rutted and devoid of trees. The grass was brown, crunchy, dead. The white two-story was actually a wood cabin with mud for mortar. It was no larger than an American trailer from a 1970s trailer park. Instead of the sounds of playing children, Hannah was struck by barren silence.

  The cabby faced her. “Here you are — Grace Children’s Home.”

  “Are you sure?” Hannah couldn’t refrain from her incredulous tone.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind waiting until I see if someone’s home?”

  The cabby nodded, and a wide grin tugged at the corner of his pink lips. Obviously the man had glanced at his hidden meter and realized he had a big fat pay-off coming.

  It took only a minute to extract herself from the back seat. Spine stiff, she leaned against the dented metal and took a deep breath. She walked toward the cabin. Over her shoulder she sent a furtive glance, not trusting the driver to wait. Instead of watching her, or focusing on a detail in the cab, his head shifted as if he searched for someone else. She swallowed and shoved aside her worry.

  If she wasn’t in the correct place and he left her, what would she do? Of course, she hadn’t paid him yet. That should deter him. However, the way he acted made her feel that if he wanted to leave, the money she owed wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

  A few steps before she reached the door, it opened. Melanie stood there; a shocked expression covered her face.

  “Hannah?”

  “Melanie!”

  They embraced, laughing and jumping around the small porch like school girls. Each of them tried to talk but nothing sensible came out.

  The driver interrupted. “I can go, yes?”

  Hannah looked over her shoulder and answered, “Yes, of course. I see you brought my luggage. Thank you.”

  “My pay?” he asked, with a raised brow.

  “Oh, of course.” Hannah rifled through her purse.

  The driver quoted an amount and Melanie ranted. “That is highway robbery!”

  “No, I didn’t rob her on the highway. I drove her from the airport.”

  Melanie’s piercing gaze hit the driver. He shifted and stared at the ground. The desire to retreat was there, but there was nowhere to hide. Louder and louder, she shouted. “Are you crazy? Do you know how far it is from the airport to here?”

  He shrugged and answered, “About sixty miles?”

  After his answer, Melanie redirected her questions. “Seriously Hannah? Sixty miles? Sixty miles, you say! You’re lucky he’s not charging you more. Why didn’t you call me? I could have—”

  Hannah shrank from the harsh words, but Melanie’s voice faded and Hannah finished her sentence. “Come and got me?”

  Melanie gazed at the ground. Her feet shuffled. “No, I couldn’t have. I guess you should pay the fee.”

  Hannah dished out the ridiculous amount.

  The driver grinned broadly and waved as he walked backward to his vehicle. “You ever need another ride, you call me.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Not going to happen, buddy.”

  The motor sputtered. Dust billowed from the back tires as he sped away. Hannah faced Melanie. A smile tugged at her lips.

  Melanie said, “What are you doing here? No, never mind, it doesn’t matter. We have to find a way to get you home, now. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Hannah’s lips drooped. “But—”

  Melanie looked back and forth and ushered her inside. “Come, let’s talk in here.”

  Hannah thought of a storyline. Arriving in a foreign land, a heroine would meet a strange and an exotic man. He would whisk her away to explain the secret details of their not so chance meeting...

  “Hannah! Snap out of it. This is no time to plot your next story.”

  Hannah shook her head and sighed. She hated leaving a hero behind.

  Melanie glared. Anger and a type of desperation came from her tone. “What are you doing here?”

  Hannah arched her brow. “I traveled halfway around the world to get here, and that is all you can say?”

  Melanie drew a ragged breath and changed her tone. “Hannah, it is good to see you, but you shouldn’t have come.”

  “But, Korzan, he sent me a ticket. He said you were homesick and needed a friend.”

  “He what?” Melanie asked, her eyes widening.

  “Yeah. It was an open-ended ticket. Honestly, it couldn’t have come at a better time. I mean, my publisher is driving me bonkers, and Tonya was yelling at me to take a vacation, and I kept telling her I had to sell some books before I took off. And — why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Korzan sent you a ticket?”

  “Yes. I said that already. He told me he purchased a ticket to South Africa because you two had left Sudan and moved here. He said you needed a friend.”

  Tears coursed along Melanie’s face. Hannah admired Melanie’s beauty — black silken hair, dark, almost-black eyes, and light cocoa-colored skin. She wore a kanga, a traditional African dress, and held an authentic presence, as if she belonged in her new home. But something about Melanie seemed different, changed.

  Hannah expected the fresh dirt under her nails, and the change in style wasn’t odd either, but what she never expected was Melanie’s defeated and dejected appearance.

  Wrapping her arms around Melanie’s weeping frame, Hannah led her to the sofa. The sparsely populated room contained one couch and several hardback wooden chairs. Bookcases lined the walls, filled from floor to ceiling with paperback books. Their spines were worn and broken, showing how many times they’d been read and enjoyed.

  In the corner of the small living area was a piano. Dark wood shone as light
streamed in from the front windows.

  Hannah picked a seat and perched on the edge. “Melanie, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “He’s gone,” came her muffled words.

  Hannah shook her hand in confusion. “What?”

  Melanie looked at Hannah, their eyes met and held. “Korzan is dead.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Impossible! Melanie was wrong. Wasn’t she?

  Hannah opened her mouth to ask about Korzan, when the house started to creak and groan. She twisted in her seat.

  “Miss Melanie, Miss Melanie, we saw a car—” The voice stopped as a tiny girl skidded to a halt.

  Melanie swiped her tears away, smiled sadly, and beckoned the guest forward. “Cara, I want you to meet my friend from America. Hannah Baker.”

  Cara’s shoulders rose in a shy manner. Bending toward Melanie’s ear she whispered, “She’s white.”

  Hannah hid a smile behind her hand and studied the child. Beautiful brown eyes and dark-skinned, Cara’s face and arms were marred by pink lines, indicating healed burn marks.

  Tears pooled in her eyes and Hannah cleared her throat.

  Melanie grimaced. “Cara, it’s not polite to whisper. We will discuss your questions later.”

  The girl nodded and scampered away.

  “Charming kid,” said Hannah, swiping away a stray tear.

  “She can be.” Melanie twisted her hands in front of her.

  Hannah changed the subject. “I don’t want to assume, but I’m getting the impression you would prefer I wasn’t here. And what is all this business about—”

  Interrupted again, this time a plethora of children flooded the room. Voices chattered. Hannah twisted her neck from side-to-side trying to follow the conversation.

  “Children, calm down. It was just a cab.”

  “Why did it come?” asked one fretting child.

  “It’s bad. It’s always bad. Visitors come here for no other purpose.”

  Melanie’s hand rose. Silence ensued. “I assure you this visit is not nefarious in nature. Now go outside and play.”

  The children complied. The room empty and silent, Melanie stood. “Why don’t you settle in and I’ll make us some tea?”

  Hannah hesitantly agreed. Directed to the first bedroom off a narrow hallway, she dragged her luggage, careful not to scar the wall. Pushing back the door, she stood at the entrance. Sparsely furnished, the clean room smelled of roses. A filled vase sat on a small, round, wooden table. A twin bed nestled against the wall, decorated by a thin blanket covered in large wildflowers.

  “I know it’s not the opulence you’re used to, but it’s clean and comfortable.”

  “No, this is great,” said Hannah.

  “If you’d rather stay at a hotel…” Melanie’s voice drifted.

  Hannah faced Melanie. “Of course not. I came to visit you, not be off locked away in some hotel.”

  “When the tea is ready we will take it outside so I can watch the children.”

  “Sure. Just let me grab my hat and some sunscreen. If I go home burned to a crisp, Tonya will never let me hear the end of it.”

  Melanie smiled. “Sounds like the same old Tonya.”

  Hannah shrugged and followed Melanie. She carried a plateful of cookies. Outside they sat on a rough wooden picnic bench and watched the children run.

  “Tell me about Tonya. Is she still working at the firm?”

  She wanted to ask questions about Korzan, but as she studied Melanie, how her eyes darted down the road, how she watched the children’s every movement, she hesitated. Maybe Melanie needed this distraction, this sense of normalcy.

  “No. She quit when Mikey was born.”

  “Mikey?”

  Hannah batted her lashes. “Do you mean you haven’t talked to Tonya in the last two years?”

  Melanie shrugged and sipped her tea. A tear escaped her blinking eyes. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Mikey is close to two now, and Tonya has another on the way. Babies and more babies. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you and Korzan never had any of your own.” Hannah reached for a cookie. It was gooey, and the chocolate melted in her mouth.

  Sobs raked Melanie’s body. Hannah moved closer and patted Melanie’s back. She bit her tongue and waited for Melanie to gain control.

  Clearing her throat, Melanie stood and walked inside the house. Hannah followed. Several shelves on the bookcase held Bibles and other theological books. Melanie selected a tome, flipped through a few pages, and pulled out a black and white photo. Placing the glossy picture on the table, Melanie stared out the window.

  Hannah bent at the waist and studied the fuzzy image. Eye sockets, distinct appendages, a heart. It was an ultrasound picture.

  A frown furrowed Hannah’s brow. “What happened?”

  “The doctors don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Hannah asked.

  Melanie shrugged and studied the carpet.

  A date, scribbled across the bottom, drew Hannah’s attention and she gasped.

  Korzan sent me the ticket right after Melanie lost the baby. The post office obviously misplaced the letter.

  “Why do you think I’ve been sent here?” asked Hannah breathlessly.

  Melanie sighed. “Don’t read into it.”

  “But, Melanie, it has to mean something. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you said Korzan was dead and—”

  The sound of thunder reverberated throughout the tiny living space as Melanie’s wards rushed inside. Oxygen depraved, they huffed and puffed. Their tiny chests heaved, their mouths opened wide, and they gasped.

  “Melanie! Melanie! They’re coming!” They shouted in unison.

  Melanie’s eyes widened with shock. “Again? Hurry children. We must hide!”

  Even with the urgency expressed in her friend’s voice, Hannah didn’t move. Children swarmed around them, insisting there was danger, but it was as if the ground held her rooted in place. The former brightness of the room dimmed. All sound faded. The only noise she could hear was the rapid beating of her heart. She barely registered the warmth of someone’s hand as it dragged her from the couch.

  “Come on! We have to get out of here!” Melanie pleaded.

  Hannah shook her head. “Why? I don’t understand? What’s going on?”

  Melanie implored. “Hannah, listen to me. There is no time to explain. We have to hide.” Under her breath, she mumbled, “You shouldn’t have come. What was Korzan thinking?”

  The hairs on Hannah’s arms stood on end. Something didn’t feel right. Half a day she’d been here, and the children were already crazy. They ran in circles. Several of them waved their arms in hushed excitement. She couldn’t tell from how they behaved if what was happening was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Allowing herself to be hauled from her position, she stood and listened as Melanie spoke in calm hushed tones. “Children, form a train and don’t let go. We need to stay together and be quiet. Just like last time.”

  In the middle of the train, Hannah joined hands. They weaved around the comfortable furniture and shuffled toward a room in the back. Melanie lifted the curtain.

  “No,” she whispered. She faced them and said more loudly. “I have to go outside. I’ll be right back.”

  Hannah lifted her hand to protest being left alone with the strange children, but Melanie didn’t stop. The children stared at her with widening gazes.

  Gnawing her lip, she rubbed her hands. Noises filtered in. Agitated, the children grabbed her hand and pulled her outside. They made it no farther than the front porch.

  Melanie stood there. Dust flew through the air, and Hannah fanned it away. Kids coughed and spit as the particles swirled. When the smoke cleared, she wished she could bring it back. In front of the house sat a convoy and two jeeps full of angry men, brandishing weapons.

  The kids moved out of line and gathered in a small tight circle around Melanie. Her arms attempted to wrap around all of them at one time, while H
annah did her best to move in close as well.

  As they huddled together, one man leaned over the side of a vehicle and eyed them critically. “Ah, what do we have here?”

  Melanie trembled, but not with the rage Hannah expected. Her lip quivered, a moan flew from her lips, and sweat beaded her brow. She is afraid.

  What could have happened to cower her so? In school, Melanie had championed many a cause, going up against some of the toughest speaking men and women on campus. Now it looked as if the speech of this one man caused her to crumble.

  Hannah refused to be intimidated. Spine erect and head held high, she demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”

  Melanie’s gaze urged her to be silent, but it was too late. A man lunged from his perch and strutted forward. Instinctively, Hannah moved closer to Melanie.

  Seconds passed. The man converged on them, lifted his ebony hand, and pointed to the ground. Gulping, Hannah gazed at Melanie before stepping off the porch.

  The man stepped toward her. Inches separated them. His hot breath hit her face. She would not tremble, she would not tremble.

  Masking her fear, Hannah stared him in the eye. He grabbed a lock of her brown wavy hair and twirled it around his finger, giving it a sharp tug.

  Hannah itched to slap him or spit at him, but Melanie’s swift intake of breath made her think insulting this man wouldn’t be a good idea. Anger in check, she stood frozen as he spoke in a foreign tongue. Whatever he said to his comrades must have been funny because all the men laughed aloud. Only Melanie and the children’s expressions conveyed worry.

  Hannah looked back and forth from Melanie to the gunmen. Suddenly he shoved her to the ground. Controlling her rising temper, she pushed up on her elbows, spitting dirt from her teeth. The sun blared, blinding her.

  Afraid to turn her back on her adversary, she attempted to stand without rolling over. On her feet, she searched for Melanie. Sweat beaded her brow, and her pulse raced as she spotted her. Each soldier now held a different person. Watching the scene unfold in front of her was like a bad dream.

  Hands were roughly pulled together in front of them and tied in place. Neither the kids, nor Melanie, resisted the rough treatment. Secured, they were hauled into a truck at the rear of the small convoy. They allowed themselves to be shoved into the stationary vehicle without even a whimper.