The Crocodile's Last Embrace

by Arruda, Suzanne

  “I’m certain Miss del Cameron will be happy to teach the older girls in due time,” said Beverly, “but for now, you had better concentrate on using the sling. Besides being handy for chasing vermin out of your garden, it can be very useful in bringing down small game if you’re lost and in need of food. And it will help you develop hand-to-eye coordination.”

  Jade retrieved her knife and slid it into her boot sheath as the girls each selected a small stone and pushed it into the pocket of her leather sling.

  “Miss Jade, have you ever killed someone with your knife?” asked Elspeth.

  “Elspeth Archibald!” scolded Beverly. “Is that how a Girl Guide talks?”

  “I’m sorry,” Elspeth said, although her expression suggested she was sorrier that she was being reprimanded. The downcast look vanished as quickly as a dewdrop under the hot Nairobi sun. “It’s only that I’ve heard all sorts of exciting stories about Miss Jade. How she’s captured criminals, and roped wild animals, and how she’s flown a plane, and—”

  “Is it true you’ve been traveling the globe these past months, looking for your lost love?” asked Mary. The other girls’ heads all snapped around in unison to stare wide-eyed at Jade.

  “Where in the name of Saint Peter’s goldfish did you hear that load of . . . ?” asked Jade.

  Undaunted, Mary persisted. “My mother heard from Nancy, the telephone girl, that your sweetheart died in the war. But Uncle Steven said that your sweetheart left you and went away.” She put a finger to her lips and crinkled her brow as she tried to reconcile the conflicting accounts.

  “Uncle Steven?” Jade asked.

  “Steven Holly,” said Mary.

  “Oh,” replied Jade in a flat tone. She remembered Mr. Holly only too well. During her first visit to the Muthaiga Club, he’d made a drunken pass at her and she’d punched him in the face. And if the telephone operator was spreading stories, everyone in the blooming colony would know by now that her beau, Sam Featherstone, had left her at the train station.

  Jade pulled her own sling out of her trouser pocket and picked up a small stone. “Shall we get back to your practice? Perhaps Mary would like to emulate William Tell’s son, put a tin can on her head, and let us try to knock it off.”

  Mary hung her head. “I apologize, Miss del Cameron.” Her head popped back up as though on a spring. “It’s just that both you and madame here,” she added, addressing Beverly in the approved Girl Guide manner, “have led such exciting lives driving ambulances and traveling, and we’d dearly love to hear about some of it.” All the girls’ eyes opened wide in expectation.

  “No!” Jade’s voice was low, but firm. “Now, if you are ready, we’ll continue with your sling practice.”

  She put an empty canned-meat tin on top of a fence post and lined up the girls from youngest to oldest. “Remember what I taught you. Keep one strap wrapped around your hand; hold the other end loosely. Swing around several times to get the proper speed but keep your eye on the target, not on your sling. Release at the top of your downswing and let the stone fly.”

  Each girl took a turn. A few stones smacked straight down into the dirt by the girls’ feet. Others made great sweeping arcs up and down, falling short or long, depending on the girl’s strength. One stone went straight up before plunking down on the thrower’s hat. Jade explained to each girl what had gone awry: releasing too late or too soon or without enough speed and force. The last girl, Helen, stepped up and flung the stone with enough accuracy to graze the tin and make it jiggle.

  “Very good, Helen,” said Beverly. “It really is just a matter of practice.”

  “This is harder than archery,” said Gwendolyn Walker, a plump little blonde. “I can’t see where I’m throwing with the sling.”

  “That’s part of practice,” said Jade. “Teaching your hand to obey your eyes. It’s not much different from throwing a ball.” She told the girls to continue practicing, and let her mind drift while keeping half an eye on them. Beverly joined her.

  “It’s no good, Jade,” Beverly said softly. “I’m not going to let you stand alone over here and brood. And,” she added when Jade arched one eyebrow as though to express her disagreement, “I know you too well, love. You keep stealing off to be alone, and when I find you, you’re in a dismal mood. I knew I shouldn’t have let you wander off to France for the Armistice remembrance. It simply was not healthy.”

  “I couldn’t stay here, Bev. You know that.”

  “You could have gone to your home in the States and voted in that election. And you know you always have a home here with Avery and me.”

  Jade didn’t argue. It wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. Beverly had always been protective of her friends, and now that she was the mother of a little girl, her maternal instincts had kicked into high gear. Jade had known she had to come back to Nairobi when Beverly had written to her in France, pleading for her help in getting the Girl Guide troop into operation. The four months that Jade had given Sam Featherstone to return to her had been over and she wanted to be here when he came back. The desire had grown into a need, as vital as that for water or air.

  If he comes back.

  She shook her head to chase out the dark thought that had clung to her like a parasite. Since Sam had left in September to sell his motion picture in the States, Jade hadn’t heard a word from him. He’d intimated that he wasn’t the right man for her, that she should forget him, but that was as impossible as forgetting how to breathe.

  After the first two weeks of trying to keep busy, she’d turned her pet cheetah, Biscuit, over to Madeline and Neville Thompson on their coffee farm and taken a boat to Europe. She’d wandered through France, visiting the battlefields and searching out some old friends from the countryside. Then, at her mother’s insistence, she’d spent Christmas with a distant cousin in Andalusia. Over the holidays she’d sent a telegram to Sam, care of his parents in Battle Ground, Indiana. It read simply, I love you. Haul your horse’s patoot back here. Jade. She had no idea if he’d ever received it.

  “Your house is crowded, Bev,” Jade said. “Between baby Alice, her nanny, and now your sister, Emily, I wonder you don’t kick me out for the space. It’s time for me to find a place to stay somewhere in town.”

  “Nonsense. Emily’s doing her level best to snag a husband in the colony. I should have her out of the house in no time.”

  Jade laughed. “I think you’re actually more fond of her than you let on, Bev.”

  Beverly chuckled, a musical laugh like a gently rippling stream. “I suppose she has improved of late. For as long as I can remember, she’s been my bossy, bullying, proper older sister. But she’s had her own rough times, taking care of Father after Mumsy passed. Or perhaps all it took to temper her was knowing that I’m all the family she has left.” She paused and watched as one of the youngest girls, Clarice, accidentally clunked herself in the head with her sling as she spun it around. “Or maybe it took that same knowledge to temper me.”

  “Don’t look at the sling, Clarice,” Jade called. “Look at the target.”

  Bev laughed and turned back to Jade. “You never did tell Avery and me about your time in France. I’m happy to listen if—”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Bev. But since you won’t let the matter drop until I do, this is the short of it. I went back to each of our corps shelters to do a story for The Traveler about the changes in the countryside since the war.”

  “A terrible choice of articles,” muttered Beverly.

  “Do you want to hear this or not?” Without waiting for a reply, Jade pressed on, eager to get it over with. Much like removing a splinter, it wasn’t any easier for going slowly. “I thought writing the article would help me think.”

  “You mean help you to forget,” said Beverly. “You thought that seeing places where you hadn’t known Sam would get him out of your mind. And all it did was confuse you more, didn’t it? You thought about David instead. You probably went back to the place where his pla
ne crashed, didn’t you?”

  She had lowered her voice when several of the girls turned to watch and listen. Now she raised it to tell them, “If you are finished with your sling practice, then you may go inside and practice sitting quietly.”

  As one, the girls returned to their throwing, but Jade heard snatches of whispered phrases. “So tragic” and “How romantic” drifted back to her.

  “Wonderful,” said Jade. “I’m sure that will make the gossip rounds now. Don’t the Kenyans have anyone else to talk about besides me and my dead or absent loves?”

  David Worthy had courted Jade during the Great War, proposing to her three times, and each time Jade had laughingly said no. After each refusal David had worked that much harder to impress her, flying deeper into enemy territory. On his last run he crashed defending her ambulance. He died in her arms, tasking her to find his missing half brother. Jade had never completely gotten over her guilt concerning his death.

  How do I recover from holding him as he died, knowing I fueled his death? Or that his mother tried to kill me in the belief that I had murdered her son?

  She walked back towards the girls. Biscuit, who’d been napping in the shade of a lush rosebush, stood up and stretched before ambling over to Jade. The beautiful cheetah chirped once in greeting and butted his head against her thigh. Jade responded by stroking his broad head. Since her return, the cat had been very attentive to her, rarely leaving her side. It was as if he’d grown more sensitive to her moods, much like a pet dog.

  Or he’s just making sure I don’t go off and leave him behind again.

  The girls’ attention, having already been diverted by Jade’s previous comments, was now engaged by the sleek cheetah. Each girl insisted on stroking his back or scratching him behind his ears. Biscuit endured it all with regal indifference, but even he had his limits. After a few minutes of receiving the giggly attention, he padded back to his rosebush and lay down.

  “Perhaps it is time to put away the slings, pick up the stones and tins, and get ready for your mothers,” said Beverly.

  As if to illustrate her statement, a black Fiat driven by an Indian chauffeur pulled into the Dunburys’ drive. He opened a rear door and an elegantly dressed lady stepped out. More motorcars, a taxi, and a rickshaw arrived soon after. The women in the latter two were neatly but more plainly dressed than those arriving in the motorcars, but every woman wore a hat and white gloves. Beverly advanced to meet them.

  “Ladies,” she said, “you are just in time. The girls were about to organize afternoon tea.”

  “Lady Dunbury,” said Mrs. Archibald, the first woman to arrive, “Elspeth has spoken of nothing else since you took on this Girl Guide company. At first I assumed that Lady Northey herself would be in charge, but I’m delighted that it is headed by such a charming lady as yourself. Good breeding is so important for the girls, you know.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Archibald. I’m sure it is, but of course, the Girl Guides are founded on the principle that young ladies can and should serve king and country in a variety of ways.”

  “Mother,” said Elspeth, tugging on her mother’s sleeve, “come and see what we’re learning today.” She ran back towards the firing line, took her leather sling from her skirt pocket, fitted it with a small stone, whirled the sling, and let the stone fly. It smacked the tin straight on, knocking it to the ground. Elspeth turned towards her mother, her eyes bright with pride in her marksmanship.

  Mrs. Archibald and two of the other mothers each gasped in unison, gloved hands covering their open mouths. The other women said nothing, waiting perhaps to see how Lady Dunbury would respond.

  Beverly pretended she hadn’t heard the shocked gasps at all. “Very good, Elspeth! Very good, indeed. Now please join the others inside and prepare for tea. I think we might take it on the veranda.”

  Elspeth, still oblivious to her mother’s horror, said, “Yes, madame.” She raised her right hand in the guide salute with the three middle fingers upraised and the thumb and pinkie crossed over the palm. Then she joined the others as they lined up, eldest to youngest, and went into the house. When they were out of hearing, Beverly turned back to Mrs. Archibald.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Archibald?” she said. “I thought I heard your breath catch a moment ago.”

  “I am shocked, Lady Dunbury! Shocked and horrified that my only daughter is engaged in such . . . such outlandish activities.” The woman’s gaze turned towards Jade and her brows arched. “It is most unladylike. Of course, I presume you are not to blame for this choice of activity. I shall speak to Lady Northey.”

  Jade walked over and stood beside Beverly. She knew that Mrs. Archibald’s statement was meant as a slap in her face. She didn’t care about this woman’s opinion of her, but she was prepared to defend her friend. Beverly believed strongly in the Girl Guides, enough to begin a company years before her own infant daughter would be able to participate.

  Beverly drew herself up straighter, maintaining her benevolent—if no longer warm—smile. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Mrs. Archibald. Your disapproval can only be a result of your lack of knowledge, knowledge of the brave deeds performed by some of the finest women the world has ever seen. Women with whom I had the honor of serving in the late war.” Her chin rose a notch higher. “The women of the Hackett-Lowther ambulance corps were brave, bold, quickwitted, and able to repair their own vehicles. They would have applauded a skill in stone throwing, and they were all ladies down to the last one, including Miss del Cameron.”

  Jade cleared her throat. Her own mother might have disagreed with Beverly on that last point. She’d sent Jade to London to become a lady. It never took. Jade remained what Sam termed a varmint, through and through.

  “It’s also very practical,” Jade added. “After all, this is Africa and one never knows when a cobra will appear in your garden. We don’t want the girls to be afraid in their own homes.”

  “Well, I’m certain . . . I mean to say, I never,” stammered Mrs. Archibald.

  Beverly smiled. “Apology accepted. I knew that once you were informed of all the facts you would certainly agree with me.” She made a gathering motion with her left arm while her right pointed the way to the veranda. “Ladies, shall we take tea?”

  Jade stayed where she was. The daughters were an affable group by and large, if a little giddy at times, but Jade didn’t wish to spend more time with the mothers than was absolutely necessary. Several of them reminded her of the arty set that in recent years had taken over Taos, New Mexico.

  “Aren’t you coming, Jade?” whispered Beverly. “I won’t serve coffee, you know. It isn’t good for you. You are jumpy as it is. But you could have some cake.”

  “No, thanks, Bev. It’s enough that I have to see these mothers in two days at Mary’s birthday party. If Mrs. Archibald isn’t happy with me now, imagine how she’ll feel when she learns that we taught the girls how to cauterize a deep wound as a last resort by igniting black powder in it. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to wait by the lane for Emily to return with the mail.”

  Beverly laid a hand gently on her friend’s shoulder. “Jade, dearest. I do hate to see you waiting for word from Sam. It breaks my heart to think that he might never come back, but it saddens me even more to see you so expectant, and then so disappointed.” When Jade didn’t reply, Beverly persisted. “Going to France was a mistake, Jade. All you did was mix yourself up even more. Now you have your feelings for Sam and whatever guilt or loss you still carry for David battling it out in your heart.”

  Jade fingered the sapphire ring that she wore on her right hand. Every time she gazed into it, she saw herself aloft in the blue with Sam in his plane. It was impossible to look at the sky without searching for him, without listening to the familiar purring drone of the engine. Sam’s engagement ring didn’t belong on her left hand, since he’d broken off their engagement right after Jade had finally accepted him.

  “I will always mourn David,” said Jade, “but as I
mourn for any good friend and for all those brave young men who died in that horrid war. But Sam has to come back. Because if he doesn’t, Bev, then I have no home. Africa will be dead to me, and if I return to the States, I’ll be trying to find him there. I’d lose more than him, Bev. I’d lose my home, my friends, my family.” She hugged herself against a gnawing emptiness and looked past the rose garden and the stables as if she might see the grasslands far beyond, where the great herds and the prides still roamed. “He’s coming back, Bev. I’m not giving up hope.”

  “It’s still early,” said Beverly. “Your four-month edict was hardly enough time.”

  “One month to travel, two to sell his motion picture, and one month to return. More than enough,” said Jade. She called to Biscuit to join her and walked down the drive. She chose a shady bench under an arched arbor of bougainvillea and sat to wait for Emily. Bev’s sister had driven off into Nairobi earlier in the day when the local newspapers had announced that the mail boat had docked in Mombassa two days ago. If one assumed a speedy unloading and sorting, the mail could have arrived on yesterday’s afternoon train. Jade doubted that the mail would actually appear in the post office for pickup until tomorrow, but Emily had seized the excuse to do some shopping.

  And perhaps accidentally run into one of the gentlemen she has her eye on.

  Biscuit butted up against Jade, turning his head for an ear scratch. Her left hand did the job as she kept her gaze on the lane. The cheetah’s raspy purr erupted in the stillness, and in it Jade imagined she heard the Jenny’s purring motor. She stopped her caresses, and Biscuit settled sphinxlike at her feet.

  Maybe Bev was right. Maybe going to France had been a bad idea. But staying here would have been worse. Still, things had happened on that trip that Jade hadn’t told Bev. Beverly had been afraid that Jade’s nightmares would begin again. They hadn’t. In fact, sleep had been her one respite. But awake? Awake she’d been pursued by living nightmares. Twice she’d had unnerving experiences, too insubstantial to be real, too corporeal to be dreams. Once, she swore she heard the cries of the wounded drifting up from an old battlefield.