by Helen Brain
“Emilie grew up to be as wise as her mother. But people in the town were jealous of Laleuca and Emilie’s abilities, and reported them as witches to the church authorities.”
“Witches!” Alexia exclaims.
“Witch trials were common in those days because the authorities didn’t want anyone except the church to have power. And so Laleuca and Emilie were accused of witchcraft and burnt at the stake.”
“Alive? Burnt alive?” Alexia stops picking and stares at Aunty Figgy.
“Yes. Before she and Emilie were arrested, Laleuca had taken off her necklace with the sacred amulets and given it to her son, Jan, telling him to hide it away. The poor child grew up deeply scarred by the sight of his mother and sister screaming at the stake. He kept the necklace hidden from everyone. He was a middle-aged man when he heard about this country’s new colony. It was the chance to make a fresh start, away from his homeland, which had scarred him so badly. He packed up his possessions, took his wife and children, and set sail for the Cape of Good Hope.
“Now, Jan van Eeden had three daughters, but one of them, Clementine, bore a striking resemblance to his mother, with the same auburn hair and birthmark on her hand. One day, on the long journey across the sea, she was looking through his trunk when she found the necklace. She slipped it around her neck.
“Also on board the ship was the newly appointed governor of the Cape. He had fallen ill with a fever, and was on his death bed. Clementine was travelling with a selection of unctions and tinctures. She slipped into his cabin one day and fed him a healing tincture, drop by drop, and that night the fever broke. A few days later, he called for the red-haired girl who had nursed him back to health. Jan den Eeden was terrified when they were summoned to the governor’s cabin. He fully expected the witchcraft accusations to begin again, but the governor was grateful for her help. He granted Jan some land as a reward.”
“Is that the land we’re on now?” I ask.
She nods. “Jan den Eeden and his sons built this house, and it’s been in your family for nearly four hundred years. And this lemon tree is nearly that old. But there, I think we have enough lemons. Come to the kitchen and I’ll teach you how to make cough mixture – winter is starting and those poor girls from the colony will soon be catching winter colds.”
CHAPTER 12
We spend the rest of the day squeezing lemons and boiling the juice with honey and buchu leaves. By mid-afternoon, it’s bottled and packed away in the medicine cupboard that stands in the passage outside the kitchen. Aunty Figgy makes a pot of tea, and I take a cup through to the sitting room.
Letti and Fez are there, paging through an old photo album.
“I wish we could have an old-fashioned wedding,” Letti sighs, looking at a photograph of one my grandparents. “How lovely is this – Daisy and Edward den Eeden, 1985.”
I peer over her shoulder and smile. A white dog with black spots is lying at the bride’s feet. “Hey, that dog looks just like Isi.”
Isi is dozing in a patch of sun, and she thumps her tail when she hears her name.
“She can’t be that old,” Fez says, perching on the arm of the sofa. “That’s fifty years ago, and dogs don’t live that long. It must be one of her ancestors too.”
“But she really is identical,” I say. “Look at those three big spots on her back, and the one tiny one, and she’s got the same yellow patches on her face.” Surely it’s impossible for two dogs to look exactly the same?
“Forget the dog,” Letti says, turning the page to a photo of the bride standing at Greenhaven’s front door. “Isn’t her dress beautiful? And here they are in a church, flowers everywhere. I’d give anything to go back in time and have a ceremony like that.”
“No reason you can’t have your wedding here,” Fez says.
“But there’s no minister, no dress, no flowers … nothing.” Letti turns the page wistfully. “We’ll just go to the council offices like everyone else and be entered on a register.”
But the idea has taken hold. “I bet we can find a dress here somewhere,” I say. “And who needs a priest? Aunty Figgy,” I call as she passes the door, “you’re a kind of minister, aren’t you? Can you marry people?”
Aunty Figgy pops her head into the room. “Sort of, yes. I can say a prayer and ask for a blessing.”
“There you are then,” I say. “Perfect. You can have your old-fashioned wedding right here at Greenhaven.”
“Tomorrow!” Letti squeals, dropping the albums. “Let’s do it tomorrow!”
Aunty Figgy props her broom against the wall. “There’s a wedding dress in the loft. It’s packed away in a trunk somewhere, I think. Shall we go and find it?” Her eyes go all shiny. “I never thought Greenhaven would see another wedding. Of course you would have been far too young to get married in the old world, but things are different now.”
We clatter up the staircase in the kitchen and through the low door into the loft. It smells strongly of thatch, and the walls are lined with shelves containing dried fruit, nuts and biltong.
“Where’s the dress?” Letti says, her face falling. “There’s nothing here.”
“Patience,” Aunty Figgy laughs.
She opens a second door half hidden in the back wall and gestures us through. This room, with its low, slanted ceiling and dim light, extends the whole length of the building. It’s filled with old furniture, travelling trunks, suitcases and boxes.
Aunty Figgy searches for a while then points to a blue metal box with the initials DDE painted on top. “This is the one. Ebba’s grandmother Daisy’s trunk. Help me pull it out.”
Letti hops around in excitement while Aunty Figgy clicks open the fastenings and lifts the heavy lid.
“Here you are, Letti. This should fit.” She pulls out a white silk dress with a deep frill around the neck, puffy sleeves and a gathered skirt. Folded underneath is a veil and a pair of golden shoes. “It was the height of fashion in 1985,” she says.
“It’s gorgeous,” Letti gasps, pulling it over her tunic. “How does it look?”
“Just needs a little bit of taking in at the waist.” Aunty Figgy opens the door of an old wardrobe so Letti can see herself in the mirror. “I’ll shorten it a bit and it’ll be perfect. I’m sure you’ll find some men’s suits in that wardrobe in the corner. There must be one that will fit Shorty. Fez, go and ask him to come and try some on.”
I turn away from the others. Alexia is pinning the veil into Letti’s hair and I try to push away the memory of Cassie and Pamza in my bedroom trying on clothes. Cassie had tried to take the necklace from me, and Isi growled at her.
I look out of the window and see the same ficus tree that Hal and Oliver climbed. It seems so long ago, but it’s only a few months. I swallow hard, trying not to think about Cassie’s last moments. How she begged me to save her.
And now the whole family are dead. The only one left is Lucas, and he’s so broken I sometimes think he’ll never recover. He hasn’t said one word since he arrived at Greenhaven, and I haven’t seen him for weeks.
But right now, Letti and Alexia are laughing together, and Jasmine is picking out a suit for Leonid, and Aunty Figgy is excited that it will be a Goddess-blessed wedding. I push the sadness aside and start searching through the trunks and suitcases for something to wear. I pick out a vintage yellow polka-dot dress and matching yellow high heels, and a black tuxedo and shiny black shoes for Micah. Scratching at the bottom of a trunk, I find a yellow tie that matches my dress.
We’re going to look like a pair of kinetika stars, even if it’s just for a day.
THE NEXT DAY is a Sunday – the only day the colony girls don’t come to work. The only day the farm isn’t overrun with nosy guards, running the place like a military camp. A perfect day for a wedding.
I wake up early and go outside to pick tendrils of ivy from the wall around the kitchen garden. Alexia finds me there and helps me wind them around the chains of the swing, weaving orange nasturtiums among them. It looks b
eautiful.
While Alexia helps Aunty Figgy bake a pecan wedding cake, I wander down to the river to look for flowers for a bouquet. I don’t want the nasturtiums that are growing everywhere, even though they’re pretty. I want something that symbolises Letti, something that reflects her loving, trusting heart.
The forest is quiet. The morning sun casts lacy shadows through the trees, lighting up the mauve sorrel flowers that peep between the ferns. Isi runs ahead, disappearing between the trees to hunt squirrels and then running back to me, tail wagging, her mouth open like she’s smiling. I rub behind her ear and she looks up at me and barks.
“Go on, girl,” I tell her, and she’s off again, running deep into a thicket.
I know how she feels. The forest brings me alive too – the smell of earth, the soft greens and browns that are restful to the eye, the sense that creation exists all around me, that trees and shrubs and animals and insects are growing and flourishing. Most of all, I love the feeling of someone holy and untameable holding us in Her hands like plants she’s grown and loves.
“Thank you, Theia,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
Lucas is right to hide away here, I think, as I gather an armful of white lilies from the river bank. The forest can heal you from the inside out.
IT’S EARLY AFTERNOON when Letti comes out of the front door on Fez’s arm, the white flowers and dress gleaming against her dark skin. She’s always been pretty, but today she’s utterly beautiful. She’s shining. Fez’s face is solemn as he walks his twin down the stairs, making sure she doesn’t trip over the hem of her gown. Fez has also blossomed since he left the bunker, I realise – his once-skinny frame now fills the black suit he’s wearing.
Shorty stands next to the swing, his round face beaming as he watches Letti walk slowly across the grass. As she approaches, his hand goes up to his heart as though it is bouncing with joy.
It’s hard to believe that we ever thought he was a spy. His heart is as pure as Letti’s – they’re a perfect match.
I look around at the nine of us clustered under the tree. Jasmine and Leonid are hand in hand, looking like they belong together. Aunty Figgy and Alexia are whispering together, and Alexia is wiping her eyes. I lean closer to Micah and take his hand. I may be the last den Eeden, but I have a family and this is it.
Micah puts his arm around my shoulder as Letti hands her bouquet to Jasmine. “I love you,” he whispers in my ear. For a moment I imagine it’s me under that tree in the white dress that my grandmother wore on her wedding day. That it’s Micah gazing at me with adoring eyes, looking as tall and handsome as a kinetika star in his old world suit and tie and his hair slicked back.
“Letti, do you take this man, Shorty, to be your husband?” Aunty Figgy asks. “Will you love him and be faithful to him all the days of your life?”
“I do.” Her eyes are sparkly with tears.
Aunty Figgy turns to Shorty. “Do you, Shorty, take this woman, Letti, to be your wife? Will you love her and be faithful to her all the days of your life?”
A tear trickles down Letti’s cheek and Shorty leans forward and gently wipes it away with his thumb.
“I do,” he says. “Letti, I will look after you until the day I die.” And then he cries too.
“We’re such a pair of sillies,” Letti laughs, wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of her dress.
Fez hands Aunty Figgy the ring I found for them in my jewellery box.
“Goddess, bless this ring. Keep their love pure and their hearts full of joy, and bless them with children to populate your beautiful world,” Aunty Figgy prays, and there is so much love and happiness and hope that it feels like the Goddess herself is here, standing among us.
Shorty slips the ring onto Letti’s finger.
“I wrote you a poem,” he says, and starts to recite in a deep plummy voice that sounds nothing like his own:
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Letti Sinxo,
I’m saying I do.
I’ll always be true.
I’ll look after you
When you have the flu.
I’ll even die for my Letti-Lou.
We’ll always be two,
’Cos I love you.”
By the end his voice has gone all squeaky and he has to take out his handkerchief and blow his nose.
Micah snorts and I dig him in the ribs. “Stop it,” I hiss.
It’s a terrible poem, but it comes straight from Shorty’s heart, and Letti flings her arms around him.
“You may kiss the bride,” Aunty Figgy says, but she’s too late.
AFTERWARDS, MICAH AND I are in the garden, eating wedding cake while we lounge on the swing.
“It was a lovely day,” I say dreamily. “So romantic. It’s been so long since Greenhaven had a wedding. Till death do us part – I loved that bit.”
“One day it’ll be us,” he says.
“Why don’t we get married soon?” I ask nuzzling up to him. “We’re old enough. We’re both citizens. And we love each other so much.”
He lifts my chin with one finger. “Nothing would make me happier, Ebba den Eeden, but we have a war to fight. We have to focus on that for now. The moment we win the battle, I promise we’ll get married.”
I try not to let him see my disappointment.
Why does he always put the resistance first? Or is it Samantha-Lee standing between us?
CHAPTER 13
Two days later, the general calls a council meeting.
I enter the council chamber with trepidation. This isn’t going to go well. Not if he’s heard about my deal with the Syndicate.
“On the agenda today …” the general begins, and rattles off a list of things to discuss, including how to solve a conflict between two citizens about which of them will lease the Devil’s Peak grazing land that belonged to Lucas’s family.
I’m lost in thought, thinking about the Poladion family and their compound on Devil’s Peak, wondering what happened to their staff and who is now living in their grand home. Maybe the general and his family have moved into it.
I haven’t seen Lucas since the day he arrived, nearly a month ago. I hope he’s found shelter. The rains will start soon, along with the wild winter storms I’ve heard about.
Maybe he’s is in one of the ruined houses in the woods – the houses that were family homes thirty years ago, with children and swimming pools and gardens. Now they’ve disappeared under the forest my great-aunt planted as people left for the higher ground of the mainland. The bush is so thick you wouldn’t know there was anything underneath the creepers that carpet the forest floor.
Sometimes in the early morning I still see Aunty Figgy disappearing into the forest with a basket of food. I suppose she’d tell me if Lucas wasn’t well … He was so thin when I saw him last, frail, like he could snap in two at any moment.
I’m worrying about Lucas when I hear the general say the word “colony”, and I sit up.
“The fifty young women from the colony are now ensconced at Greenhaven Farm. Miss den Eeden, could you please report on how they’re settling in with their work?”
I wonder briefly why he doesn’t just ask Major Zungu for feedback, seeing as the guards report to him. But I smile politely and say, “It’s still early days, but so far so good. They’re clearing the grapevines from some of the old vineyards so we can plant out the winter vegetables – cauliflower, broccoli, sweet potatoes, etcetera. We’ve already planted some, and the first crop will be ready for market in approximately five weeks’ time.”
He looks at me coldly with those fierce metallic eyes. “Now for our next issue …”
I twist my feet together and look down, tracing the patterns on the marble table.
“Due to Miss den Eeden appointing the Syndicate as sole purveyors of Greenhaven produce, we find ourselves in a difficult position. The army was relying on the income to cover the additional expenses of administering the new staff on Greenhaven Farm. The only solution as I see it is
to increase the tax on Greenhaven.”
Higher tax? But we’re already paying forty per cent of everything we earn. I open my mouth to protest, but he’s still speaking.
“A further one hundred youths from the colony will be elevated to work under Major Zungu’s supervision.”
I scratch my head, trying to figure out why he is elevating a hundred more colonists when he knows that’s what I want. How am I going to feed another hundred people at Greenhaven? Is he trying to bankrupt me?
“They will be set to work on transportation from Longkloof Harbour to Bellville Dock,” he says.
Mr Frye’s plump fingers are tapping the marble tabletop and he’s shaking his head in disbelief. Mr Adams is frantically doing calculations in his notebook.
“Furthermore,” the general says, “we will elevate two hundred and fifty young men to join the army.”
Mr Adams holds up his hand. “Excuse me, General,” he says. “We don’t need a hundred new transporters. That is …” He pauses while he calculates. “Er … eight teams of twelve rowers? Where will we find boats? What will they be transporting?”
The general leans back and his jaw is set hard. “All long- boats in Boat Bay will be expropriated by the army. From today, only the army may transport goods from Table Island to the mainland.”
“What about the people from Boat Bay?” I say. “What about their jobs?”
He’s like a snake, eyes glittering as he looks at me sideways. “You ask me to elevate your friends from the colony, Miss den Eeden, but when I do, you complain. I just can’t please you, can I?”
I have a flashback to how he and the High Priest examined each of us that day in the colony when I was chosen for the sacrifice. The same cold appraising look, the same disdain.
“That is settled then,” he says. “This meeting is adjourned.”
“You’ve really done it this time, Ebba,” Mr Frye snaps as he pushes past me and strides off to his carriage.
