When I Found You (A Box Set)

by Webb, Peggy

  Quiet pleasure filled her. Compared to the vaulting joy she felt in Brett’s presence, it was merely a consolation prize—but it would do. It would do.

  “Yes, Malone. I’ll let you.”

  Book Three

  Chapter 56

  Sterile. The word echoed like thunder around the walls of the stark clinic in Ruhengeri. Ruth didn’t dare look at Malone, afraid of what she’d see in his face. Disappointment. Anger. Accusations. As if somehow their failure to conceive was all her fault.

  “Are you sure?” Malone said. “Labs make mistakes.”

  “There’s no question about it.” Dr. Tigrett doodled on a notepad on his desk. “You are sterile. You will never be able to father a child.”

  “We could go somewhere else, get more tests.” Malone turned to her, desperate. “We’ll go to Nairobi. They have a bigger medical complex, more sophisticated equipment.”

  Ruth’s heart bled for him, bled for them both. In spite of the uncertainty over the fate of the gorillas, she’d been at peace these last few months. True to his word, Malone hadn’t touched a drop of liquor. He’d been kind, thoughtful, attentive. She’d come to love him. Not in a grand, passionate way, but with a quiet sort of contentment.

  “You’ll be wasting your money,” Dr. Tigrett said.

  “We’ll adopt.” Ruth reached for Malone’s hand. “There are many children who need a good home, good parents.”

  Malone didn’t answer her.

  o0o

  “Are you disappointed?” he said later that night as they lay in bed side by side.

  Was she? When they’d first started trying to conceive, she hadn’t viewed the child as real. Rather, it had been something that would fix their marriage, much like a cure for a disease. But since Malone had reformed, since she’d stopped going to the mountaintop to see Brett, the child had taken on a life of his own, as if he had already been born.

  “Yes,” she said. “Our son would have been beautiful.”

  She pressed her hands together over her empty womb, mourning her loss, as if her son had lain there for months and had suddenly been ripped away.

  “How do you know it would be a son?”

  “I made up my mind.”

  Malone laughed. “Lord knows, when you make up your mind, it’s as good as done.”

  “Are you calling me stubborn, Malone Corday?”

  “Yes, I’m calling you stubborn. Who else but you would have coaxed that coconut-cake recipe out of Matuka?”

  “Eleanor helped.”

  “She didn’t have a thing to do with it. Matuka’s been eating out of your hand ever since you let her play your piano.”

  Through the open doorway the rosewood cabinet gleamed in the moonlight. It was an old upright with real ivories, yellowed over the years, and a stool that swiveled. Malone had bought it for her shortly after he’d returned from Rumangabo.

  She would never forget the day. She’d been bent over the pots on her front porch watering her flowers when she’d seen them laboring up the mountain, Malone at the wheel of an ancient flatbed truck, and four husky natives stationed at the corners of the piano to keep it from toppling off.

  She’d shaded her eyes against the setting sun. The old truck had shuddered to a halt, and Malone had got out with a flourish, as if he’d dismounted from an Arabian stallion.

  “What in the world?”.

  “A piano. For you.”

  “For me?”

  “Who else would I be bringing it to?”

  “You brought a piano all the way up the mountain for me?”

  “Is that a smile I see? Just a little one, maybe?”

  “It’s ...” She’d felt her face to be sure. “Yes. It’s a smile.”

  “’Bout time. You’ve been Miss Gloom ever since I got back from Rumangabo.”

  Missing Brett. Wondering how she could get through each day without him.

  “I can’t forget the death of Petey and his wives.” She’d hated lying to him. Especially since he was trying so hard to be good. “Where did you get it?”

  “Ruhengeri. I didn’t plan to buy a piano. It was just one of those things that happened, you know? I was sitting at that run-down cafe next to the post office trying to cool off with a piss-warm cola, when this old man pulls up out front and comes in looking for directions.”

  Malone was so proud of himself, he was strutting like an actor on a stage.

  “He’s leaving this hellhole, he says. Taking his whole family and all his worldly goods.”

  “One of which happened to be the piano?”

  “How did you know? Are you clairvoyant, in addition to your many other talents?”

  “Maybe.”

  “He said he had no use for it. He’d never played, himself, and his wife was long dead, but he couldn’t see driving off and leaving a perfectly good piano behind.” He’d smiled at her. “Do you like it?”

  She’d climbed into the back of the truck and run her hands over the wood. With a bit of polish it would shine like a full moon in Indian summer.

  “Do I like it? I love it.”

  Music surged through her in currents as strong as the Pacific. Why had she done without it for so long?

  “I figured anybody who could sing like you was bound to be able to play too. Am I right?”

  One of the men leaning against the piano had helped her down from the back of the truck, and she’d kissed Malone’s cheek.

  “Tonight there will be a private concert. Just for you.”

  “You really do like it?”

  “Malone, it’s the best gift I’ve ever had.”

  The piano had somehow set the tone for their marriage. Things had got better for them, as if the music had lifted them out of their old ways and taught them a new appreciation for each other.

  The piano had even brought her closer to Eleanor. It was one of the civilized things she’d missed, she told Ruth, and now, in the evenings sometimes, Eleanor and Joseph walked down from the main house to sit in rocking chairs and listen to Ruth play and sing.

  Tonight the moon was full. It gleamed on the ivories. Ruth had imagined herself sitting at the piano with her child, teaching him how to sing.

  “Malone?”

  “What?”

  “I’m disappointed about the baby, but I certainly don’t blame you. We can have a baby, we can adopt, and he will be every bit as much our child as if we had conceived him.”

  Malone had pictured how Ruth would be after she’d borne a child—mellow and passionate for the first time in their marriage—and he wasn’t ready to give up on that dream.

  “You can have a child,” he said, seized by sudden inspiration.

  “That’s what I was saying. There are plenty of homeless children—”

  “Your child,” he said. “One you’ve carried nine months in your womb.”

  Her heart quickened, but she lay very still, not daring to hope too much.

  “Donor sperm,” he said. “People do it all the time.”

  Could Malone handle that? He was doing so well, but seeing her pregnant with another man’s child might be just the thing to tip him back into a drinking spree.

  “I don’t know. There are children already born who need homes.”

  “Why should you be denied the joy of giving birth just because I’m sterile?”

  “Malone, I don’t look at it that way.” She sought his hand, but he got out of bed and pulled on his pants.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  “I’m not upset. I can’t sleep, that’s all.”

  “It’s not that I’m against artificial insemination. It’s just that I don’t want you to feel left out of the process.”

  “Don’t coddle me, Ruth. I would never have suggested it if I couldn’t handle it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop being sorry!” Immediately contrite, Malone sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “Look, I’m an asshole. We both know that.” Smiling, he
covered her lips with two fingers. “Shhh. Don’t say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “We both know what you’re going to say. ‘You’re a dear, sweet man, Malone Corday, and don’t you deny it.’”

  “Do I say that?”

  “About six million times since you married me.”

  Laughing, she reached for the bedside lamp then scooted up against the headboard.

  “Malone, do you think we can get started right away? I think it would be nice to be pregnant when I go to Hawaii to defend my dissertation.”

  “Double cause for celebration?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’ve always imagined three on a honeymoon.”

  “You’re a dear, sweet man.”

  “I know ... I know.”

  They both laughed. Malone reached for his shirt, and Ruth glanced at the bedside clock. Midnight.

  “Why are you getting dressed at this time of night?”

  “I thought I’d check on the patrols. Juma’s not on tonight, and the others can always use some support.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Go to sleep.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “As soon as I can. Don’t worry.”

  It was the wrong kind of night for what he needed to do, but Malone didn’t care. He might be too useless to father a child, but he could prove he wasn’t completely powerless.

  He knew which side of the rain forest Brett’s man Bantain would be patrolling. Malone headed to the other side of the mountain. The patrols he’d organized in Rumangabo were mere covers. It was a perfect setup. Under the guise of protecting the gorillas, they’d know every move Brett’s patrols made. There was no chance of getting caught. When the time was right, they’d strike again.

  And the time was right. Only this time Malone would be there. He wouldn’t risk another fiasco like the one with Petey.

  Shadows hung violet around the peak of Mount Karisimbi. From somewhere in the distance a lone elephant trumpeted, and the air was heavy with the laments of night birds, as if they were already mourning the loss of their own.

  The giant Watusi, Shambu, emerged from the shadows.

  “Tonight is the night,” Malone told him.

  “The moon is full. It’s not a good time.”

  “Who will be there to see? I say the time is right.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

  “That’s right. I’m the boss.” Malone began to sweat. Telling himself he was going to be there when the kidnapping took place was one thing, but doing it was another. He hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself.

  “Who’s on the slopes?”

  “Old Doby’s group. He’s a mean-looking son of a bitch.”

  “Looks don’t deceive. We can’t mess with Doby. He’d create too much trouble. There’d be too much killing. Who else have you spotted?”

  “There’s a little fringe group higher up the mountain. But it’s awfully close to Brett’s camp.”

  “Ned’s group. He’s a pussycat. Still young, unsure of himself. It’s perfect. Lead the way.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “He patrolled last night. He won’t be out tonight.”

  Silently they filed through the rain forest. In some places the growth was so thick, it felt as if they were in the center of the earth, totally without light. They came upon Ned’s group suddenly. It was a peaceful scene with most of the gorillas nested down, asleep. A couple of teenagers halfheartedly roughhoused on the fringes, but they were too young to create problems.

  “Which one’s Ned?” Shambu asked.

  “That’s him.” Malone pointed to the male silverback on the slopes of the mountain. “Two of his wives are with him. We’ll go well to the east of him. See, over there. Three young females and their babies are separated by that group of trees. Try to cut them off from Ned.”

  Shambu slid his panga out of his belt. Malone had a sudden vision of his brother, lying on the floor with blood pouring down his face.

  “For God’s sake, try to take the babies without bloodshed. There’s been too much bloodshed.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “No. I’ll wait here ... to keep a watch on Ned.”

  Moonlight gleamed on the blade of Shambu’s knife and on the spears of the Batwa pygmies. There was too much light. If Malone hadn’t had so much to prove, he’d have called a halt to the whole thing.

  Lucy, the youngest of Ned’s wives, was the first to spot the enemy. Clutching her baby to her chest, she sounded the alarm. Suddenly the slope was dark with moving shapes. Gorillas leaped for the safety of trees, snatching babies and screaming at the youngsters.

  One of the Batwas hurled a spear. With a sound as sharp as a hammer striking flint, it buried itself in the trunk of a tree.

  Suddenly there was a new sound, a roar of outrage as Brett Corday crashed through the bushes. Malone’s bones turned to butter when he saw his brother.

  For a moment he was temporarily paralyzed; then his brain kicked in.

  “Halt!” Malone yelled. “Don’t let the poachers get away, Shambu.”

  “Which way did they go?” Shambu was nobody’s dummy.

  “That way.” Malone pointed to the direction opposite Brett’s camp.

  Shambu and the rest of his patrol raced off into the jungle in hot pursuit of the “poachers.” Brett would have followed, but Malone grabbed his arm.

  “Leave it to them. Anyhow, they have such a head start, you’d never catch up.”

  “You’re right. Still, I’d like to get my hands on the ones who did that to Petey and his group.”

  “If they can be caught, Shambu is the one who will do it.”

  “They’ll be caught. And when they are, I’ll see that justice is done.”

  The look on his brother’s face sent shivers down Malone’s spine. Ten minutes more and he’d have been caught red-handed. He didn’t even want to think about what would have happened.

  “You and me, too, bro. Let’s go up to your camp and wait for them,” Malone said.

  “What are you doing out tonight?” Brett asked as they made their way back through the thick jungle growth to his compound.

  “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

  “Same thing. And then I heard the gorillas screaming. Any particular reason for your insomnia?”

  Something inside Malone snapped. Everything he’d been holding inside, the dark secrets, the rage, the insecurity, all boiled to the surface in one screaming need.

  “Yeah.” He was close to tears, and he realized suddenly that he needed his big brother, needed him in ways that he could never need his wife or his father or his mother. Brett was his anchor, always had been and always would be.

  There was no need for words between them. Brett understood. He draped his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders, and when they were inside his compound, he led Malone to the sofa, then straddled a chair opposite him.

  “Now ... tell me what’s bothering you, Malone.”

  How could he tell his brother that it was all the blood that was bothering him, that he was the one killing the gorillas?

  “It’s this damned jungle. If I could only get out ...”

  “You really hate it, don’t you?”

  “I always have.”

  “I’ve done you a disservice, keeping you here.”

  “Don’t go blaming yourself, bro.”

  “I thought if you did something that let your light shine, you’d be all right. You’re good at fund-raising, Malone. The best.”

  “It’s more than that, more than this whole mess.”

  The burden of deceit weighed so heavily on him that he put his head on the table and shut his eyes. He didn’t really care whether he ever opened them again. Brett’s hand was on his shoulder.

  “There’s nothing wrong that can’t be fixed. Remember that, Malone.”

  “Yeah. As long as you do t
he fixing. If I try, all I do is mess up.”

  Malone rammed his fist into his palm, and Cee Cee roused from her sleep. Seeing Brett, she shambled over to the bars, dragging her blanket behind her.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Brett said.

  “Why the hell not? I can’t do anything right. I can’t even get my wife pregnant.”

  Brett felt as if a large hole had been blown through his chest. All these weeks he’d tried to put her out of his mind, had even succeeded, to a certain degree. It was only late at night when he was in bed alone that he felt the loss. And now Ruth was with him, as if she’d walked through the door.

  “Ruth wants a child?” Not just a child. Malone’s child.

  “Yeah. But it seems I’m shooting blanks.”

  Brett hid his thoughts behind a carefully blank expression.

  “What about adoption?”

  “I want her to have the joy of carrying a child, of giving birth ... and I want you to be the father.”

  Brett’s chair toppled over as he strode to the window. He didn’t dare let Malone see his face, even in the moonlight.

  “What does Ruth say about this?”

  “This is my idea. Not Ruth’s.”

  “She’ll never stand for it.”

  “She’ll never know.”

  The full moon was enormous in the black sky, its light making everything in the jungle seem bigger than life. That’s how Brett felt. Bigger than life. He had a vision of Ruth, large with his child. His. The wonder of it almost broke his heart.

  A child of his own, with his grit and Ruth’s spirit. A child who would grow strong and sturdy under the watchful eye of his mother and his father.

  Could he sit back and watch Malone rear his child? Could he play the role of uncle? Could he hide the truth from his child? From Ruth?

  “I can’t,” Brett said, turning back to his brother.

  “Why not? Just think about it. My child would at least have Corday genes. If we get an anonymous donor, there’s no telling whose genes the baby will have.”

  “It’s too complicated, too risky. How would you feel knowing I’m the biological father?”

  “Hell, I never would have asked you if I’d expected to feel anything except gratitude.” That’s what Malone had always felt for his brother. Gratitude. If he lived long enough, maybe the tables would be turned and someday Brett might have occasion to feel gratitude to him. Of course, he loved his brother. Still ...