When I Found You (A Box Set)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Malone and Ruth have had a long flight, and I’m sure they could use some privacy right now.”

  “You got that right, big brother.” Malone pulled out his wife’s chair, then bent to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear.

  “Thank you for the lovely meal, and for making me feel a part of this family.” Now that Brett had rescued her once again, Ruth could be gracious and charming. So very much like her mother.

  She wouldn’t let herself think of Margaret Anne. Mississippi was thousands of miles and thousands of years away.

  Eleanor and Joseph walked them to the door, but Brett hung back, one foot propped on the andirons, both hands gripping the mantel.

  Ruth wouldn’t let herself glance back at him.

  Outside, Malone kissed her cheek. “Let’s go home, honey.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

  Eleanor stood at the window watching until they were down the path.

  “After all that time, that entire meal, we know nothing about her.” She knew she sounded petty and nitpicking, but she was past caring. A ghost was walking on her grave, and she felt the chill.

  “Now, Eleanor.” Joseph patted her arm. “She’s a perfectly lovely young woman.”

  Brett was so rigid, his back looked as if it had been carved in stone. When he turned around, she could see a muscle working in his clenched jaw.

  “We know that Malone loves her,” he said. “And that’s enough.”

  Abruptly, he wheeled away from the fireplace.

  “Brett,” she called.

  But he was already out the door.

  Chapter 20

  Now that he was with Lorena, Brett couldn’t bring himself to take what he had come for. He stood just inside the bedroom door, watching her step out of her shoes. They were solid, sturdy shoes, much like the woman who wore them—dependable, comfortable, reliable.

  Lorena stopped in the act of taking off her stockings.

  “Brett, what’s wrong?”

  “You know me too well, Lorena.”

  “Nobody will ever know you well. You’re full of mystery.” She padded toward him in stocking feet, buttoning up the front of her dress as she came. “But I do know you well enough to know that a little tea and sympathy are in order.”

  He sat in a straight-backed chair while she brewed the tea. She hummed while she worked, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to smile at him.

  If he had any sense, he’d marry Lorena. Forget about the age difference. Forget about children. She was a good woman, an honest, hardworking, plainspoken woman who always knew exactly what he wanted.

  But he would never marry Lorena. Especially not now. Guilt consumed him. He didn’t like to think of himself as a person who used others, and yet that was exactly his purpose in coming there.

  “I’m not complaining, mind you.” Lorena handed him a cup and sat down on the chair facing him.

  “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “Because I was thinking it, too. I was thinking that I’m getting tired of dealing with that damned buffalo in my flower garden and too old to satisfy a man like Brett Corday.”

  “You’ll never grow old, Lorena. Your spirit is too young.”

  “It’s not my spirit that’s sagging and wrinkled.” She laughed heartily and took a big drink of tea. Lorena did everything with relish. Of all her good qualities, Brett found that one the most endearing. “What you need is a lovely young woman with enough grit and gumption to stand by your side come apes or high water.”

  As Ruth would stand by the side of his brother.

  China clattered as Lorena set her cup down and squatted beside his chair. She put both hands on his knees and leaned toward him.

  “I’ve hit the nail on the head, haven’t I? Tell me about her.”

  “There is no woman, Lorena. At least not for me.”

  “But there is one, right?”

  He’d never lied to Lorena and never would. “My brother’s wife.”

  “Malone is married? My Lord, I didn’t even know he was dating.”

  “Ruth is not the kind of woman men date. She’s the kind men capture, the kind they beat their chests over, then throw over their shoulders and carry into the jungle.”

  Lorena said nothing, but her dark eyes moved over his face, alive with interest and sympathy. That she knew exactly when he needed sympathy was another reason he should marry her. He caressed her work-roughened knuckles.

  “I acted a fool over her, Lorena. For the first time in my life, I tried to hide my eye patch.”

  “Your eye patch is beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m scarred. And I didn’t want Ruth to see, and so I was rude to her.”

  “You could never be rude to anybody.”

  “I got over it, finally, and managed to act like a civilized human being. But I was jealous, Lorena, jealous of my own brother.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You just found out you’re human, after all.”

  They chuckled together as she bent over the cabinets, taking full advantage of the situation to wag her butt at him.

  “Tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll stir us up a big pot of soup, and you can talk about anything that suits your fancy, anything except why I don’t take that job back in the States. Shoot, if I went back to Georgia, folks would drop dead at the sight of me. ‘My Lord, Lorena,’ they’d say, ‘you’re wrinkled up like a prune. How will you ever catch a husband looking like that?’”

  The sound of her voice soothed him, made him forget.

  “What would you tell them, Lorena?”

  “I’d say if I caught one, I’d have to throw him back.”

  “Why?”

  “Compared to the big ole catfish I’ve had, they’re all fingerlings.”

  Lorena always made him laugh, and that, more than anything, was the reason he kept coming back. All these years.

  “Are you expecting flattery to get you somewhere, Lorena?”

  She set her pots down and put her hands on his shoulders.

  “Just having you for a friend is enough.”

  “For me, too, Lorena.”

  As long as he had her, he knew he could survive.

  Chapter 21

  “This is it, Ruth. Our home.”

  Her home. Deep in the Virungas. A hundred miles from the nearest village, but only two miles from the main house. Close enough to Eleanor and Joseph not to feel totally isolated from humanity, but far enough away to give the sense that she and her husband were alone. A married couple. Starting to build a life together.

  She looked around at the home Miranda, stretched on a rug, had already made her own. It was a small cottage with wooden floors polished to a high sheen, braided rag rugs the colors of a sunset scattered about, simple furniture made to endure rather than to look pretty. Plantation shutters on the windows were open, letting in the smells and sounds of Africa. Ruth loved the simplicity of the cottage, loved its look of courage and endurance and warmth. There was even a potted plant in the window, not a red geranium as she had imagined, but an exotic-looking plant whose name she didn’t know.

  But she would find out. She’d find out everything about this land to which she’d come.

  “It’s not much,” Malone said, taking her silence for disappointment.

  “It’s absolutely charming.” She walked to the window and bent over the potted plant. The fragrance wasn’t sweet like the gardenia outside her bedroom window in Mississippi, but something wild and mysterious. She was glad. She wanted everything about her life to be new and different. “Your mother must have put this here.”

  “I’m sure she did. Eleanor likes to manage things. Throw it out if you don’t like it.”

  “Oh, but I love it. I’ll have to remember to thank her.”

  She loved everything about her new home—the endless sweep of sky, the mountains that shrouded their secrets in mists, the strange, haunting cries of animals she didn’t yet know—everyth
ing except her husband. The knowledge that she didn’t love him saddened her beyond imagining. She felt like a thief. And worse. In her panicked haste to make herself safe from Maxwell Jones, she’d robbed Malone of the right to find a woman who would give him the love he deserved.

  But she would try. With every bit of strength and breath in her body, she would try to love this man she’d followed to Africa. She would be good to him, as thoughtful and gentle and kind as he was to her. And if there was any redemption for her, if somewhere in the uncaring universe there was a Being who cared, perhaps real love would come. One fine morning she might awaken and look at Malone sleeping on the pillow beside hers and realize that she’d loved him all along, that it just took a while to understand what real love was.

  “Please, God,” she whispered. “Let this be so.”

  “Did you say something, darling?”

  “No. I was just wondering which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

  The glow on his face made her ashamed.

  “You mean you’re going to sleep with me? I mean really?”

  “I’m your wife, Malone, and this is our home.”

  He started toward her and tripped on the rug. “Shit, I’m as nervous as a bridegroom.”

  “I believe that’s what you are.”

  “I’ll be good to you, Ruth.”

  “I know you will.”

  “That’s a promise.”

  The bed was covered with a patchwork quilt in shades of purple, the colors of the shadows that descended on the mountain looming just beyond their window. Already the fates were kind to her. She couldn’t have endured a white bed.

  Malone stood beside the bed, so shaken with love, he was powerless to move.

  “I’ve never done this with a bride before.” His grin was sheepish. “I don’t know whether to go into the bathroom and change into pajamas. Heck, I don’t even have any pajamas.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “I guess I won’t be needing them anyhow.”

  His humor eased her own embarrassment and fear. Malone’s belt buckle clattered as it hit the wooden floor. She shivered.

  “I’ll be gentle with you, Ruth.”

  She expected to feel revulsion and fear when he touched her, but his kisses were tender and sweet, given not out of great need, but out of great love. She genuinely tried for a response, but all she felt was a deep sadness that she couldn’t return the love he so freely gave. If he noticed that she didn’t reciprocate, he didn’t say so.

  Drawing back the covers, he pulled her down beside him onto the soft mattress.

  “Touch me, Ruth.”

  It was a command she understood. All the old horror came back to her as Malone placed her hand where he wanted it. She flinched from that hateful contact.

  “Honey? Is something wrong?”

  “No. Just nervous.” Lying to him, she felt tarnished, unworthy. Would the lies ever cease to hurt?

  Malone kissed the side of her neck. “It will be all right, honey. Trust me.”

  “I trusted you from the very beginning, Malone, trusted you enough to follow you all the way to the Dark Continent.”

  “They’re going to have to change the name now that you’re here, darling. The Magnificent Continent or maybe something more passionate. How about the Erogenous Zone?”

  How he made her laugh. Wasn’t laughter the first step toward loving? Oh, she hoped so. Opening her arms, she embraced him. From a distance came the call of a strange bird, deeply mournful as if he had some secret sorrow he wanted to share with the world.

  Her mind swung backward to a steamy hot afternoon in New Orleans when Max had raped her in the backyard while the loons called ceaselessly from the lake. Sometimes she still heard the loons.

  Revulsion filled her—revulsion and something close to panic.

  “Oh, please.” Her broken whisper was more than a plea for freedom from fear; it was a supplication for mercy and grace.

  If there was any justice in the world, the bird would cease its calling, and Malone, in one pure, clean stroke, would forever wipe Max from her mind.

  “Please,” she whispered once more, expecting a miracle.

  “That’s what I love to hear,” Malone said, his breath hot against her throat. “Eagerness. A wife who can’t wait. It’s going to be wonderful, darling. I promise.”

  She braced herself. In one smooth stroke he was in her, but where was the purity? Where was the redemption? Instead she felt the familiar jolt of shock and outrage, and the certain knowledge that she had brought everything upon herself.

  “Ruth ... Ruth.” Malone moved in ever-increasing rhythm.

  She knew how to endure. Closing her eyes, she thought of all the things she loved best—sitting beside a warm fire with Miranda in her lap, taking long walks in the woods, singing along with the jazz greats.

  The woman on the bed had nothing to do with her. As she had with Max, she floated out of her body, taking her heart and soul and spirit with her. No one could ever touch that part of her.

  Brett, with his eye patch and his gorilla who talked, floated into her consciousness.

  Making her mind a careful blank, Ruth lay in her quiet cocoon of deep-purple mountains shrouded with mists. But one memory would not go away: the gleam of a single black eye. As she had at the age of fifteen, she focused on it, taking courage, taking strength, determined not merely to endure, but to triumph.

  Finally it was over.

  When Malone rolled off, he pulled her into his arms and caressed her hair then settled her head on his shoulder. “You’re probably just a little tired.”

  “Yes,” she said, knowing that she lied.

  He ran his hand down the length of her thigh. “You’re good, Ruth. The best.”

  Shame fell upon her like a damp, gray fog. She hadn’t openly swapped her body for money, the way her mother had, but perhaps what she had done was even worse. She’d exchanged her body for freedom, and Malone had no idea of the price he was paying.

  If she rolled away, he would be hurt. And if she cried, even quietly, he’d feel the dampness on his bare chest. Thinking how she would roam this new continent she now called home, how she would make it her own, she lay quietly in her husband’s arms and swallowed her tears.

  Chapter 22

  Brett’s camp was deep in the heart of the Virungas. The shortest route from Lorena’s was through the main compound, past the small cottage where his brother lay with his new wife.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  He couldn’t go by that cottage, couldn’t bear to think that Ruth might be looking out the window and see his eye patch gleaming in the moonlight. Worse yet, she might think he had driven by to spy on them, as if he cared that they were tangled as close as the vines that intertwined the enormous trees of the rain forest.

  The Jeep jarred his teeth together as he left the main trail and bounced over the rutted path that wound upward. The blackness of the dense rain forest soothed him. Tonight he didn’t even want the moon shining on him.

  He came into the light suddenly, into the compound that sprawled at angles on the contours of the mountain slopes.

  When he’d first come back to Africa, he’d set up a simple tent close enough to the mountain gorillas that he could monitor their lives around the clock. After Cee Cee had been orphaned, the camp had grown. Knowing how quickly she would outgrow the tent and need facilities that would contain her, he’d built a multi-purpose compound. The west side was designed to house a grown gorilla and the center portion served as his living quarters. The east wing housed Bantain, his twice-weekly housekeeper who served as security guard while Brett was away, as well as an occasional visiting professor who came to observe Brett’s work.

  Cee Cee was waiting for him inside her fenced-in recreation area. Bantain had left the outdoor lights glowing, for Cee Cee hated the dark. The gorilla’s face was pressed against the fence, and when she saw him, she beat her rag doll against the chain links and jumped
up and down so hard, she almost lost her hair bow.

  Brett was immediately drawn into the artificial world he’d created. If he hadn’t known himself so well, he might have believed that the sight of a three-hundred-pound gorilla in a pink hair bow could make him forget everything.

  “Hello, Cee Cee,” he called. “How are you?”

  She immediately turned her back and pretended not to notice him, a behavior pattern she’d started using when she’d entered gorilla puberty.

  “How was dinner?” he asked.

  She kept her back staunchly toward him. The cold shoulder. Punishment for being gone so long.

  He let himself through the gate then moved so that he was in her line of vision. Adopting a typical gorilla stance, he hunkered in front of her and began a conversation, speaking and signing at the same time.

  “I had a good trip in the wheels move. What did you do?”

  Cee Cee turned her back, then glanced over her shoulder and signed.

  “Brett no-good stinkpot.”

  “Why?”

  She pouted a while before she decided to turn back around and converse with him. Brett let her take her time, knowing that these conversations evolved Cee Cee’s way or not at all.

  Finally she placed her doll between her haunches and signed, “Cee Cee sad, no like Brett go, dirty stinkpot.”

  Brett was absolutely delighted with Cee Cee’s responses. Over and over she proved that she was not only capable of abstract thought, but she was capable of the emotions generally considered distinctive to the human race—jealousy, hatred, and love.

  Until the 1960’s man was the only creature thought capable of speech. In an age when everything that had been accepted as true was called into question, the singularity of man’s language was considered inviolate.

  When Dr. Francine Patterson and others had started doing language studies with primates, the world at large had scoffed, and even the scientific community had been skeptical. “Signing is no proof of language. The animals are merely imitating,” they’d said—until a gorilla named KoKo had proved them wrong.