When I Found You (A Box Set)

by Webb, Peggy

  He didn’t try to stop her from packing, didn’t try to keep her from getting into the Jeep. With her fingers white on the steering wheel she felt the most horrible stab of guilt. She hadn’t even said good-bye to Cee Cee.

  She thought about getting out of the Jeep and going back inside, but she knew if she did, she’d never leave at all. If she saw Brett, she’d crumble. She’d forgive and forget, brush this monstrous lie under the rug where it would grow and fester until it was so big, it would rise and consume both of them.

  Resolute, she set her face down the mountain and never looked back.

  Chapter 68

  He knew exactly where she had gone. Not one day went by that he didn’t get a full report on her.

  But Brett didn’t attempt to see her. Not yet. He would give her a little while to cool off so she could think rationally. When she realized that he’d had no malicious intent, that what he’d done had been out of great love, she’d come back to him.

  And if she didn’t, then he’d go down the mountain and bring her back. It was that simple.

  Meanwhile he concentrated on finding his brother’s and his father’s killers.

  His break came unexpectedly with a call from the chef des brigades in Ruhengeri, Michael Fouche, an old and trusted friend.

  “We’ve caught one of the poachers,” he said. “We thought you might like to be here for the questioning.”

  The poacher was one of the Batwas, and he came into the stuffy, windowless room with a bandy-legged trot and a defiant look on his face. The look faded when he saw Brett.

  Brett motioned Michael aside.

  “You’ve got the wrong man,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That man is not a poacher; he’s part of one of the antipoaching patrols Malone organized.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain. There’s no need for you to keep him.” Brett turned to leave.

  “Brett. You’re going to want to stay for this.”

  Something in his tone made the hair on the back of Brett’s neck stand on end, and he stopped cold.

  “All right. I’ll stay.”

  He stationed himself so he could see the Batwa’s face, then stood silently as Michael began the questioning. The Batwa was confident, even defiant, until Michael started asking about his hunting habits.

  “Have you ever killed a duiker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In the mountains. Too many in the Virungas, anyway.”

  “Are you aware that the land is a national park?”

  “The land is the land. Nobody owns the land,” he replied.

  “Did you take baby gorillas?”

  “What do I need with baby gorillas?”

  “Did you take them?”

  “Where would I put them? With my wife? She hates gorillas. Says they are hairy and ugly.”

  Michael tossed a spear onto the table.

  “Have you seen this before?”

  “Everybody has one like it.”

  “Everybody’s fingerprints aren’t on it. Only yours.” Fear crossed the Batwa’s face. Michael pressed his advantage. “Did you help kill male silverbacks in order to take baby gorillas illegally out of the national park?” Silence from the pygmy. “Did you throw the spear that caught Malone Corday in the chest? Did you wield the knife that sliced Joseph Corday’s throat?”

  Brett smelled the stench of blood, saw the bodies of his father and his brother. He waited, still as the panther he sometimes glimpsed above the waterfall.

  “It was not my idea,” the Batwa said. “Corday wanted the gorillas. He paid good money.”

  For a moment Brett’s entire world turned upside down. “He’s lying,” he said, starting toward the Batwa. But Michael motioned him still.

  “Joseph Corday started the foundation in order to protect the mountain gorilla. Malone Corday was its major fund-raiser. Are you asking me to believe that either one of them would pay you to kill male silverbacks and take the babies captive?”

  “I’m not asking you. I don’t care what you believe. I only speak the truth.”

  “You wouldn’t know the truth if it came through that door and bit your skinny ass,” Brett said in a tight voice.

  “Ask Shambu.”

  “Shambu is a park guard. What do you expect him to know of your sleazy activities?”

  “He was there.”

  “I’ll bet he was. Trying to catch your lying hide and throw it in jail.” Brett pounded a fist on the table.

  “He was the boss. Corday was the only one who told him what to do.”

  The words spread through Brett like a sickness. He wanted to shake the Batwa into telling the truth, but somewhere deep inside he knew the pygmy was already telling the truth.

  “Which Corday?” Michael asked.

  “The young one. He paid the money.”

  Suddenly it all made sense to Brett—Malone’s drinking, his increased trips abroad, the ruby necklace.

  Malone, Malone, what have you done?

  A terrible silence fell over the room, and Michael looked at Brett, embarrassed and ashamed that he had been the one to discover the truth of this dirty business.

  “Go on with the questioning,” Brett said. “The truth has to be told.”

  Michael turned his attention back to the Batwa.

  “Why did you kill Malone Corday?”

  “The old man came and discovered us.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘us’?”

  “Shambu, the Little Gorilla Man ...”

  Brett didn’t hear the rest of the names. He was too busy trying to shut out the memories. The storm. The conviction of something afoul. The horrible discovery.

  “They argued,” the Batwa said.

  “Who argued?”

  “The Old Gorilla Man and the young one.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t understand.”

  “Then you killed them both?”

  In the long, flat silence Brett saw the future—the Corday Foundation discredited, their entire life’s work negated by the stunning betrayal of his brother. How would he ever get past that betrayal?

  “Yes,” the Batwa finally said. “We killed them both.”

  While Michael escorted the Batwa back to his cell, Brett stood at the window looking out. The rain forest girded the mountains in a solid wall of green, and the mists hovered over the peaks of the volcanoes, shrouding them in mystery. The Virungas looked brooding, almost malevolent, and Brett finally understood how Malone had hated them. They could suck a man up and steal his soul.

  Michael came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Brett.”

  Brett faced his old friend. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “Do you want a pretty lie or my honest opinion?”

  “I want the truth.”

  “The truth is that the Batwa’s fingerprints are on the spear, so it looks as if we have at least one of our murderers. After I bring in Shambu, I expect we’ll have the whole story.”

  “You’re skirting the issue.”

  “You want me to tell you whether your brother did or did not hire Shambu and his gang to kidnap gorillas?” He studied Brett. “What do you think?”

  “It’s going to take more than the unsubstantiated story of that little Batwa to make me believe my brother would do such a thing.” He wished he really believed what he was saying.

  Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want me to call you when I bring Shambu in?”

  Brett already knew what Shambu would say.

  “Yes. Call me.”

  o0o

  Brett hardly remembered getting into his Jeep and driving back to his compound. He went the long way around to his office so he wouldn’t have to pass by Cee Cee’s enclosure; then he shut the door, drew all the blinds, and sat in the gloom, staring at the file cabinets. Row upon row of them. Accounts of the Corday
Foundation. Research into the habits and the habitat of the mountain gorilla. Details of language studies with the orphan, Cee Cee.

  Brett felt as if he were on a desert island viewing the records from afar, a mountain of them, obscured by the mists of uncertainty.

  He’d been so certain of his mission, so confident that everything he did was for the good of the mountain gorilla and the good of humankind. What a fool he’d been. How quickly had Malone’s betrayal turned the spotlight of truth on the work of the Corday Foundation.

  What right did they have to take Cee Cee out of her natural habitat and rear her as if she were human? What right did they have to teach her their ways? Why? For whose good? Certainly not for Cee Cee’s. She didn’t know whether she was human or gorilla. She wore ribbons in her fur, ate her meals from glass bowls, watched Murphy Brown tapes, had even fallen in love with him and acted the role of the spurned, jealous female.

  How could he ever face Cee Cee again?

  And how would he ever forgive Malone?

  Chapter 69

  The small cottage outside Ruhengeri had split linoleum and peeling paint. Two of the windowpanes were cracked. One hard, pounding rainstorm would probably break them to pieces. Even the cat had her tail tucked.

  What had she done?

  Ruth stood in the middle of the room thinking of the bright, cozy cottage she’d shared with Malone. She could be there now surrounded by the things she’d come to love—her piano, her window box filled with crimson flowers, the mountains.

  She still had the mountains, of course. They hadn’t gone off in a snit the way she had. But they were so distant now that she seemed to have no connection with them.

  Standing at her window, her hand protectively over her womb, she sighed. She knew she was being foolish and irrational. She knew she was being stubborn. But, dammit, she’d been lied to. She wanted nothing more to do with Brett Corday and the Corday Foundation. She bore the name. That was all. And her baby would bear it. But as far as Ruth was concerned, the father of her baby was dead.

  She glanced at her watch for the fifteenth time. She wondered what Cee Cee was doing. Was she missing Ruth? Was she badgering Brett because she had no one to sing with?

  Ruth hoped so. She hoped Cee Cee was giving him pure hell. The thought made her smile; then she became sober again. Time stretched endlessly before her. How was she going to fill it? She didn’t want to think about how she was going to conduct her own research without the necessary funding. She could get the blues if she thought about her future too much. She decided to concentrate on the baby.

  “Buck up, Ruth,” she told herself.

  Women around the world gave birth. She’d do what any sane, normal mother-to-be would do. She’d read up on baby care. She’d make sure she had all the things a new baby would require. She’d learn to knit. There had to be instruction books. Anybody who could read could learn to knit.

  Ruth grabbed her purse, climbed into her Jeep, and drove into Ruhengeri to purchase the necessary supplies. When she got back home, she spread everything around her and started reading. What in the heck was “purl”? And how did any person with only two hands ever manage to control all that thread and two enormous knitting needles and read the instructions, besides?

  She decided to start with something simple. Bootees. The instructions made no sense to her. She read them again.

  “I have a Ph.D. Surely I can figure this out.” Determined, she did something the book called “casting on,” then proceeded to knit.

  “Anybody home?”

  Matuka stood in her doorway, her hands full of cookies and her face full of laughter.

  “Matuka. Thank God!”

  “I knew you’d be happy to see me, but I never expected such a reception.” Matuka hurried inside and set the platter of cookies on the table. “Is it because I bring food that I get such a warm welcome?”

  Ruth hugged her. For some silly reason she felt like crying. To cover, she reached for a cookie.

  “Hmmm. Chocolate. My favorite.”

  “I thought so. Eat up. They’re all for you.”

  “I’ll be big as a house if I eat all these cookies.” Ruth reached for another.

  “You already are.” Matuka patted Ruth’s stomach, then sank into a chair. “That’s going to be a big boy. Both Eleanor’s babies were born big.” She squinted her eyes at Ruth. “Brett was the biggest.”

  Ruth suddenly lost her appetite.

  “I’d rather not discuss Brett, if you don’t mind.”

  They hadn’t told Matuka much about the baby except that Ruth had received the seed by some artificial method they used on cows. The seed wasn’t Malone’s.

  “I’m not discussing Brett. If I was, I’d be telling how he’s out all day looking for whoever killed Malone and Joseph, then up all night watching over the mountain gorillas. I’d be saying he looks like he’s lost weight and hardly ever takes time to eat a decent meal and how I’m worried sick about him. That’s what I’d be saying.”

  Brett. Not sleeping and not eating.

  “He’s not sick, is he?” Whatever else she felt for him, she didn’t want him to be sick.

  “He’s not sick. Just tired and stubborn. When I tell him how good you’re looking, he’ll perk right up.”

  Too late, Matuka realized her slip.

  “Matuka, how did you know where to find me?” Brett, of course. He would make a point of knowing where the mother of his baby was. Underneath Ruth’s anger was a sort of secret pleasure. “Did Brett tell you? Is he checking up on me?”

  Matuka had always loved the movies she got on her little black-and-white twelve-inch TV. If she had been a young woman, she might have gone off to America and been a star in one of the shows. Now was her chance to show her acting skills.

  “Can’t a poor old woman find some joy in helping others without being accused of spying?”

  “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.”

  “You don’t want me to come here?”

  Ruth felt like a cad. She placed her hand over Matuka’s.

  “Of course I do.”

  Matuka worked up a tear in her eye, though she was having a hard time disguising the twinkle.

  “If you don’t want me coming here, just say so. I’m not going where I’m not welcome.”

  “You’re always welcome, Matuka.” The old woman stared silently, looking utterly forlorn and rejected. Ruth cast about for ways to bring a smile to her face. Finally she hit on one. She reached into her knitting bag, pulled out her handiwork, and set it on the table beside the cookies.

  “I tried to teach myself how to knit, but I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. Maybe you can show me what I did wrong.”

  Matuka picked up Ruth’s first attempt at bootees, then put them back on the table, laughing.

  “What’s that supposed to be?”

  “Would you believe bootees?”

  “Looks like a winter condom for a very small cock. I’d advise you to stick with gorilla research.”

  It felt so good to laugh. Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Ruth picked up her pitiful bootees.

  “I know I can learn if you’ll just show me.”

  “I don’t know a buffalo’s ass about knitting. But if you want me to teach you some African lullabies, I will.”

  “I’d love that,” Ruth said, really meaning it.

  “I wanted to be a famous singer,” Matuka added, studying Ruth through squinted eyes. “But, then, I don’t guess a woman always gets everything she wants, does she?”

  “No,” Ruth said, thinking of all the things she wanted and couldn’t have. “A woman never does.”

  o0o

  Night came suddenly to Africa, as if God had dropped a blackout curtain over the continent. Ruth was in the last place in the world she wanted to be, alone in a run-down cottage with an uncertain future stretched out before her.

  “I don’t guess a woman ever gets everything she wants,” Matuka had said.

  Ru
th certainly hadn’t planned to raise her baby without a father. The prospect was scary.

  Had her mother been scared too? Had she sat in the dark by herself and felt the same heart-wrenching loneliness? The same uncertainty?

  Funny. In all those years, Ruth had never known whether her mother was scared.

  Once, when she was three years old, a tornado had touched down just outside Oxford. With winds howling like wolves outside her bedroom window and limbs being ripped from trees, Ruth had been too scared to move. She’d huddled in the middle of the bed with the covers over her head.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling,” her mother had said. Then she’d stayed in Ruth’s room the rest of the night, making up silly games until Ruth was so sleepy, she couldn’t hold her eyes open. And when morning came, her mother was still in the bed beside her, her arms wrapped protectively around Ruth.

  Ruth left her chair and rummaged in the battered corner desk for pen and paper. Then she turned on the lamp and began to write.

  “Dear Mother ...”

  How many years had it been since she’d addressed Margaret Anne as Mother?

  “You are special,” her mother had told her when Ruth was crying because all the other little girls in the second grade had daddies. “It doesn’t take any courage to grow up strong and independent in a home with two loving parents, but it takes somebody special to turn out right when they don’t have a daddy. And you’re turning out right, Ruth. Always remember that.”

  She had turned out right in all the ways that mattered. Surely she couldn’t have achieved that feat without some help from her mother.

  “I’m going to have a baby,” Ruth wrote, “and somehow it doesn’t seem right to bring a child into a world that already has too much hatred without trying to set things right between us.

  “I don’t hate you anymore, Mother. Maybe I never did. Maybe I just needed somebody to blame for what Max did to me. I’ll never understand your role in it, never understand what circumstances might have driven you to sanction his act ... but, then, I’ve never walked in your shoes.

  “Lately I’ve discovered that we are more alike than I ever cared to admit. Though our methods were different, both of us tried to redefine ourselves. For me, running away was an attempt to deny my past. I don’t know why you re-created yourself, but someday I’d like to find out.