by Webb, Peggy
Finally she climbed into bed and snapped off the light. Her house was plunged into darkness. There was nothing left to see. Still, he stayed. Seeing was not his purpose, though he fed on those glimpses of her, even if they were from a distance. His purpose in coming night after night was to ensure her safety.
As he sat in the dark keeping watch, he made a mental note to tell Matuka to make some thick curtains for her bedroom, curtains that no one could see through.
Chapter 72
Eleanor stood on her porch looking at the morning mists. They hung over the peaks of the volcanoes, just as she’d remembered. A breeze caught the moss hanging from the trees and set it to swaying, and high on the slopes of Karisimbi she heard the drumlike chest-beating of the gorillas. In the months she’d been away, the Virungas had remained unchanged.
Coming home had been the right decision.
She went back inside her house and got her cameras. Work was what she needed. Lots of it. It might help her forget that Joseph was dead. Forget what Malone had done. Forget that Brett had donated sperm for Ruth’s baby and that now she was living in a cottage in Ruhengeri.
Tomorrow she’d go down the mountain to see her daughter-in-law. Not to meddle. Not to try to fix things. She was through trying to fix things for everybody else.
An emptiness the size of a cannon ball caught her in the middle of the chest. There was no “everybody” else.
She rammed her hat onto her head, hard, as if she were trying to push the unwelcome thoughts out of her brain. Dew wet her shoes when she stepped off the porch. She’d start small. No photographs of animals today. Only flowers. The ones that grew close to the compound.
Using the lens as her eyes, she focused on the flame flower. Such a brave and beautiful red. Eleanor squatted to get a better angle.
“Eleanor ...” Ruth stood behind her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Eleanor thought how selfish she’d been, staying holed up in Alabama licking her wounds while Ruth went through her first pregnancy alone and Brett struggled with the problems of the Corday Foundation and the awful knowledge of what Malone had done.
But she was home now, and she guessed that’s all that mattered.
“Darling ...” Eleanor laid her camera aside and hugged her daughter-in-law. “I’m so glad to see you. Come. Let’s go inside.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your work, but Matuka told me you had come home, and I wanted to see you.”
“Work? Ha! I’m just killing time. I’m not good enough yet to work, not focused enough.”
Inside they sat together on the sofa, Ruth’s right hand tightly squeezing Eleanor’s left.
“You know about the baby?”
“Brett told me.” Eleanor stopped the flow of advice that bubbled up inside her. Who was she to advise? “Whatever your decision is about Brett, I hope you will let me be a part of the baby’s life.”
“You’re his grandmother. I’ll never deny you that privilege, nor that joy.”
“I didn’t think you would. You look a little pale. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“Yes. Not sleeping as well as I should, but under the circumstances I guess that’s understandable.” She patted her big belly, smiling.
“It might help if you moved back into the cottage on the compound. That way you could relax knowing I’d be close by when your time comes. But I won’t pretend to tell you what to do.”
“Good.” Ruth laughed.
“Was I that bad?”
“Getting my mother over here without my knowledge was pretty awful.”
“I’m sorry about that. I always did have a knack for either totally ignoring my children or overwhelming them with the wrong kind of attention.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Maybe I should be. Maybe if I had paid more attention to Malone, none of this would ever have happened.” Eleanor felt herself wobble inside like an old woman. She hung on to her daughter-in-law’s hand.
“In time everything is going to be all right,” Ruth said, hoping it was true. “All this will be behind us.”
“It’s not myself I worry about, it’s Brett. And the foundation. The truth is killing him.”
Ruth tried not to think of Brett alone on the mountaintop brooding.
“He’s going public with the truth,” Eleanor said.
“Going public?”
“He’s called a news conference here at noon tomorrow. He thinks it’s better that the public hear the truth from him rather than get it in bits and pieces when the trial starts.” The authorities were bringing to trial the cowards who’d killed her family. Eleanor picked up a pretzel from the dish on the coffee table and began to nibble. She was going to get fat if she didn’t stop this nervous habit of eating.
“Let’s don’t talk about any of this anymore. Let’s just talk about good things.”
“Like the baby?”
“Yes.” Eleanor smiled. “Like the baby.”
They didn’t speak of their troubles again, but Malone’s betrayal was never far from their minds.
Chapter 73
Reporters from all the major television networks were there, as well as from newspapers all over the country. Dr. Brett Corday was not only world renowned, he was somewhat reclusive. A news conference with him was an opportunity not to be missed.
He stood at the window and watched them come up the mountain in a steady stream.
“Like vultures,” he said.
“They don’t know you’re going to talk about the dead.”
Eleanor was dressed in a dark-blue suit instead of her usual comfortable khakis, and she wasn’t feeling charitable to anybody. Least of all her youngest son, who had caused all this trouble.
“You don’t have to face them, Mother.”
“The Cordays will present a united front,” she said.
Brett thought of Ruth, who didn’t even want to see him, let alone present a united front with him.
“Yes,” he said. “We need a united front if we’re going to convince them that the foundation will continue to carry on the work it started.”
They could hear Matuka humming in the kitchen. She didn’t care about united fronts; all she cared about was the hoard of people coming up the mountain who were bound to be thirsty and hungry.
As Brett watched out the window, a woman made her way through the crowd. She walked tall and proud, never looking right nor left, ignoring the questions shouted at her, the cameras clicking in her face, the hands reaching toward her.
“Ruth!”
He bolted through the door. When she saw him, she stood perfectly still, her loose blue dress blowing around her ripe body, a carved Madonna in the midst of madness. He moved toward her slowly, as if rushing might cause her to leap away with the grace of a startled gazelle.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He felt her tremble when he slid one arm around her shoulder. Holding the other outstretched to warn off reporters, he guided her inside.
She moved quickly away from him.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about why I’m here.” Sitting beside Eleanor on the sofa, she gazed around the familiar room. The tug of this place was strong in her, and she wished she hadn’t had to come. “If you’re going to defend the Corday name, I want to be there.”
“It will be rough,” he said. “You don’t have to subject yourself to this.”
“It’s my name too ... and the name of my baby.”
She had to turn away from the light that glowed in his piercing black eye.
“You’re sure you can handle it?”
“I can handle anything.”
Brave words. She hoped she could live up to them. But, then, Brett was in the room, and she’d always taken courage from him. Suddenly she was very angry that in keeping secrets from her, he’d denied her access to her greatest source of strength.
“It’s time,” Eleanor said.
“Yes. It’s time.”
The three of
them went outside to face the reporters, Brett standing tall and proud, flanked by the Corday women.
Chapter 74
The letter lay open on the kitchen table. Ruth nursed a cup of tea between her palms and sat staring at it. She didn’t have to read it to know what it said. The words were emblazoned in her mind.
“I’m glad you made the first overture of peace, because I’d never have had the courage to do it myself. You’re like your father, Ruth, full of courage. I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive. If he’s alive, he wouldn’t know either one of us. The angel dust took care of that. The doctors said he would never come back from the horrible trip it took him on, and so I packed my bags and left. I had to find some way to support you after you were born, and the members in his band swore they would take care of him—no matter what happened.
“Your father is Blue Janeau, Ruth. One of the jazz greats, they call him. He played the sweetest trumpet this side of heaven. I guess that’s where you got all your talent. Your looks, too. Blue was a mulatto, a handsome man, a kind man. And strong, too, like you. Still, after he was gone, I knew I had to start fresh, without anything to tie me to the past. So I picked the name Bellafontaine to put on your birth certificate. But, God, how I loved that man! I hope you tell your baby about his granddaddy. Maybe someday I’ll even get up enough courage to tell folks here in Oxford.
“I hope you can find it in your heart to let me see the baby ... but please don’t teach him to call me Grandma. I prefer Maggie. That’s what Blue used to call me. It will be nice to hear somebody call me that again.”
Thinking about Blue Janeau almost overwhelmed Ruth. Suddenly, after all these years, to have a father! She went to her bedroom and searched until she found the tapes. The music was in her memory, as clear as if she were still thirteen. She used to shut herself in her room and let the haunting sound of the trumpet take her away from the house in Oxford, Mississippi, and all the things it reminded her of. All those years she’d longed for a father, he’d been right there with her.
Her hands shook as she put her father’s tape on. When the sweet strains of blues filled her little cottage, she was thirteen once again—and filled with longing. But her longing was far more complex now. She didn’t merely want a home filled with love and a father for her baby; she wanted wholeness.
The music washed over her, and she didn’t know she was crying until it ceased and she tasted the tears in her mouth. Wiping them with the back of her hand, she returned to her bedroom and rummaged in the nightstand.
The necklace was at the bottom of the drawer underneath a hodgepodge of stamps and notepads and pencils, tossed there carelessly as if it had no value at all. The tainted rubies. Red as the blood that had run down the mountain—Malone’s, Joseph’s, the gorillas’. What a terrible price to pay for a necklace.
She would sell the rubies and use the money for the Corday Foundation. It wouldn’t bring back the dead, but it would help the survivors.
“It’s time,” she said. Time to stop running.
Chapter 75
The courtroom was packed, the judicial system moved a lot more quickly in Africa than in the States.
“Vultures,” Eleanor said. “Here to pick the bones of the dead.”
“Don’t look at anybody, don’t speak,” Brett said. “Just hold on to me.”
As they made their way through the crowd, reporters jumped into their path, shouting questions. Since the press conference the Corday name had been blazoned across the front page of newspapers all over the world. Brett had already said everything he intended to say—at least until the trial was over. Let the fires of innuendo burn. He had no intention of adding fuel.
“No comment,” he said.
“I’m glad I told Ruth not to come,” Eleanor said.
“I’m glad she listened to you.”
As they moved toward the front of the courtroom, flashbulbs went off in their faces. Luke Fisher slid into the seat beside Eleanor.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said.
“I’m not here because I had to come; I’m here because I wanted to come.”
Luke didn’t reach for her hand. She would have hated it if he had. The reporters had enough to write about the Cordays without giving them a glimpse of their personal lives.
“I don’t know what to say, Luke.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Eleanor.”
Actually, she did know what to say, but the courtroom was not the proper place to say it. She’d invite him to the compound and say what she needed to in the quietness of evening, when no one else could hear.
I’m glad I have you, Luke, she would say. Without warning, desire was reborn in her. She flushed with her thoughts. She, almost a grandmother. And she knew that when Luke Fisher came, she’d take his hand and invite him to be part of her life. Every single aspect.
The judge took the bench, and the trial began. But it was more than the trial of Shambu and the pygmies; it was a trial of the Cordays and their entire life’s work. Bit by bit the sordid story of Malone’s duplicity unfolded.
Throughout the testimonies Brett and Eleanor held their heads high. By midafternoon she felt as if she’d been flayed alive. Every bone and joint in her body ached, and her skin was on fire from all the stares she’d endured.
“Don’t fold,” Luke whispered.
“I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.”
Suddenly there was a commotion at the back of the courtroom. Onlookers craned their necks, flashbulbs exploded, and reporters rushed the door yelling questions.
“Would you care to make a statement?”
“Tell us about the killing of the gorillas.”
“Were you involved in illegal activities with your husband?”
Ruth was trapped against the door like an animal.
“Please ... ,” she said, shielding her belly with her hands. “Let me through.”
“Ruth!” Brett tried to push toward her, but the crowd blocked his way. Over the tops of their heads he could see her still pressed back against the door. But she was not cowering. Far from it. Her chin was up and her color high. Those who didn’t know her might not understand the signs, but he did. Ruth Corday would not be intimidated.
Reporters continued to shout questions at her. “No comment,” she said until they shouted at her, “What will you tell your child about his father?”
Brett could barely contain his rage. If he had been close enough, he’d have throttled the reporter. He struggled to reach her, but the crowd was too thick. There was no way through.
“What will I tell my child about his father?” A hush fell over the courtroom. Ruth’s eyes sought Brett. “I’ll tell my child that he can bear his father’s name with pride.”
Other questions were shouted at her. The judge pounded with his gavel and called for order. Ruth started toward Brett, and miraculously the crowd parted to let her through.
He eased her out into a deserted hallway.
“You shouldn’t have come.” His gaze swept over her, hungry for every small detail. She had been gorgeous when she’d first come to the Virungas, but now she was astonishing. Her condition enhanced her beauty rather than detracted from it. There was a glow about her that sparkled in her eyes and gave her skin a golden sheen. He’d never wanted her more.
“This is where I belong.” Composed and beautiful, she reached for him.
At last he was touching her, hands joined, fingers linked. After all the lonely weeks.
“Ruth, does this mean what I want it to mean?”
“It means I’ve forgiven you... . No, more than that. I’m glad you’re the father of my child. I’m glad he will have your genes.”
“Ruth ...” He was so full of joy that words almost failed him. “I love you.”
“And I love you. I never stopped loving you, Brett, even while I was in that horrible cottage in Ruhengeri.”
“I’d kiss you if I thought there were no reporters lurking behind the doors.”<
br />
“I wouldn’t want to stop with a kiss ... and I don’t relish the thought of having my picture—and my life story —plastered all over the newspapers.”
The look they exchanged was so bright with passion that it was blinding. Ruth caught her breath, and Brett squeezed her hands.
“As soon as we can leave here,” he told her, “I’m going to move you back to the compound.” Ruth laughed. “What’s so funny?”
“I’ve already moved.”
“Into the cottage on the main compound?” He hoped not. He hoped for more.
“No. Into your compound.”
He loved the way she smiled at him, a combination of sexiness and sass. Exchanging light banter with her felt so good that for a little while he was content to stand in the hallway and let justice take its own course.
“That was rather brazen of you, wasn’t it?”
“That’s the kind of woman I am. Brazen and bossy.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call you bossy.”
“Matuka and Bantain did.”
“Matuka and Bantain?”
“I commandeered them to help me move.”
He caressed her knuckles with his thumbs. He wanted more, ever so much more. But for now holding her hand would do.
“Ruth, there’s so much I want to say to you, so much I want to do for you, but this is neither the time nor the place.”
She didn’t try to fight the tears that filled her eyes. One of the best things about love was the freedom to express emotions, whatever they happened to be.
Through the open doorway he could hear the stirring of the crowd, the droning of the lawyer’s voices. He had to go back inside. The fate of the Cordays depended on him.
“It’s time to go back inside, Ruth. Are you sure you can handle it?”
“I can handle it. I can handle anything as long as I have you.”
