A Stirring from Salem

by Sheri Anderson

  Doesn’t look so friggin’ dangerous to me, she thought as she glanced around the area. Getting her bearings, she realized she could easily take a short cut across grassy paths to her salvation. That way, no one on the well-trodden path would see her covered in goo.

  She carefully made her way through the foliage past the next private suite, all the while keeping out a keen eye for creatures.

  Then she smelled something. An odor she knew well. Turning to look in the direction of the aroma, she spotted someone smoking a joint on the deck of the Xings’ suite.

  Never fearful, Scarlett made her way toward the pungent smell. The sound of her footsteps was masked by the sounds of small animals scurrying nearby.

  “Do not kill a calf again, or we will have to sever our ties!”

  Scarlett stopped dead in her tracks.

  “It’s never happened before and it will never happen again, I promise you.”

  Scarlett recognized the Afrikaans accent and the voice. Cornelius.

  “The small horn is less than two pounds,” Jiao-jie scolded. “You realize how much money you threw away by slaughtering that animal?”

  “With an average horn weighing eight to ten—” he started.

  “Close to a million dollars on the black market!” Jiao-jie snapped.

  Scarlett dropped her glass in shock.

  Cornelius turned to see her. While she was less than five feet away from the deck, no one else could see her. Before he could react, she put her hands to her lips, warning him to be quiet.

  Something told him he should do it.

  “We leave tomorrow,” Jiao-jie said as she ended her diatribe. “Forty-thousand U.S. cash if you can deliver by takeoff.”

  Scarlett was not only drunk and covered in mud, but she was also dumbstruck.

  “We have a car waiting now, so go,” Jiao-jie said as she dismissed Cornelius with a wave of her hand.

  He jumped down from the deck and moved toward the supermodel as they both heard Jiao-jie and Wen leave with their escort.

  It seemed like an eternity before either of them spoke. Scarlett went first.

  “Nice per-formance last night,” she slurred. “Rhino poach-ing a bad, bad thing.”

  “You all seemed to buy my little speech,” he countered as he noticed how wobbly she was. “And now you’ve heard how profitable it can be,” he said, indicating the deck. “The Xings have made millions. And rhino? So what if they disappear?”

  Scarlett’s mind was muddled. She was terrified of the danger she’d stumbled into and desperate to find a way out.

  “Then you’d be out of a job…” she smiled lazily.

  Cornelius wasn’t sure what to make of her.

  “You’re lucky Wen didn’t see you, you know,” Cornelius stated.

  “And you’re lucky you did,” she smiled lazily.

  “I could make you disappear faster than a hit off that joint,” he reminded her.

  “You wouldn’t,” she responded. She was terrified of his threat, but she knew she couldn’t show any fear if she was going to get out of this. “Not when I can make you even more money.”

  “I’m listening…” he said.

  “Rhin-o horn,” she answered. “Who needs a middleman? Every supermodel in the world still wants it. I can get them to buy from us direct.”

  “Us.”

  “Us,” she said confidently. “I’m the one with the connections.”

  Cornelius was impressed. This girl was not only hot, but she had nerve.

  “You’re smarter than you look, Ms. O’Hara,” he chuckled. “Especially right now.” He pointed at her mud-streaked face.

  “Not the time to be funny, Mr.—”

  “Bekker.”

  “Mr. Bekker.” Scarlett was sobering up fast. “Do we have a deal?”

  Cornelius studied her for a long moment.

  “You’re the perfect package, aren’t you?”

  “Some say. Deal?” she repeated firmly.

  “Deal.”

  Scarlett put out her hand and Cornelius grabbed it firmly. Then he yanked her close and hungrily kissed the one clean and exposed side of her long neck.

  “I’ll watch you, now go!” he ordered. “I’ll contact you,” he said before releasing her.

  Scarlett nodded quickly and then headed in the direction of the spa. From the look on his face, it was clear she needed a spa now more than ever.

  Stretching out between gnarled jackalberry and Acacia thorn trees, the spa at Londolani was created to encapsulate all the African experience has to offer. With the majestic sky as its ceiling and built around a courtyard with traditional African touches, the spa was as popular with some visitors as the magnificence of the bush.

  John had opted to stay at the game farm after breakfast while Marlena traveled with Patch and Kayla to their volunteer project in Rooiboklaagte.

  His rehabilitation had been complete for less than a year, and John was determined to stay in the best shape of his life. Not only for himself, but also for Marlena and the rest of his family. He owed them that.

  John spent the morning in the state-of-the-art gym, adhering to the strict routine he’d followed since he’d passed his ISA endurance tests less than a year earlier. Then he took a vigorous swim in the 25-meter pool while he waited for a therapeutic massage by one of the finest internationally qualified therapists in the world.

  John had just completed his twentieth lap when he noticed Scarlett entering through the Indian teakwood doors.

  At least he thought the woman was Scarlett. She had that flowing red hair, but she was covered in mud.

  Scarlett gasped when she saw John. She had expected the spa to be empty.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” John said as he picked up his towel from the chaise lounge nearby. “Or did you run into some ferocious creature?”

  “I did.” She nodded as she thought of Cornelius and his threat.

  “What was it?”

  Scarlett had a choice to make. She could spill everything to John or keep her full, pouty lips shut. She opted for the latter.

  “I—don’t know,” she stammered. “It all happened so fast.”

  She wouldn’t make eye contact with him. And if John had learned one thing in his training in the International Security Alliance, it was to recognize the signs of a liar.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up here,” John said masterfully. Protecting a woman in need was woven into his DNA, and this was no exception.

  The spa had a number of outdoor showers close by, so John strode to one and turned on the water. Scarlett stood under the cleansing flow as John removed the gooseneck showerhead and directed it over her body. The water washed away the grime from her hair, her face, and her shorts while the tank top clung to her breasts. John couldn’t help but notice.

  Scarlett looked up at John, and his blue eyes were inviting. Though John did not initiate or even invite it, she kissed him. Thoroughly.

  Neither of them saw that Charley had just entered the spa.

  Charley was horrified when she saw them. She ducked out of sight, nearly knocking over Tuma, who was behind her, before she saw John pull away.

  Was he kissing her? she asked herself, trying to shake the image out of her head. Is he as bad a womanizer as Richie was? she wondered as she tried to catch her breath. She leaned against the back of the teak doorjamb.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Tuma asked. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “I’m just a little faint, Tuma,” she said, trying to cover her shock.

  “Let’s get you something to eat, then.” He smiled warmly.

  She nodded weakly as he led her toward the dining room.

  Her mind was whirling. Is that happy family in the album really a lie?

  Abby nestled in Jackson’s arms as
they lay between the luxurious sheets in his massive bed. The morning light of London filtered through the bedroom window.

  Abby had a contented smile on her face. Jackson just stared at the ceiling.

  His mind had been whirling since Chance had given him the news at Mahiki. Unless there was a miracle, he’d lose his sanctuary within a month.

  The alarm went off. Abby shifted her weight as her eyes slowly opened. Her fingers ran across Jackson’s inviting lips.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  He looked at her and half smiled. She was truly beautiful when she woke up, one of those girls who didn’t need makeup. He’d had plenty of the others over the years and had been shocked plenty of times, come the light of day.

  “Thanks for last night,” he said.

  “My honor,” she replied.

  Jackson was starting to appreciate her more than ever. Abby was a wonderful lover. She’d become one unexpectedly through her work. Her gossip site was always rife with indiscretions, divorces, and turmoil. So in true journalistic fashion, she had investigated everything she could about sex and relationships. Everything from studying the art of the geisha to reading The New Joy of Sex had turned Abby into a master. Now Jackson was reaping those benefits.

  “’Morning, lover,” Jackson said.

  She sensed something in his tone, but she didn’t want to ask. In fact she was afraid to, considering her growing insecurities about Scarlett.

  “Coffee or cappuccino?”

  “Coffee,” he answered. “With—”

  “Two sugars, I know,” Abby said, smiling. “And fresh orange juice.”

  Jackson smiled. She seemed to know his every like and dislike, and she doted on him without smothering him. He knew this had to be hard for her, but she still seemed determined to make it work. Why? Maybe she truly loved him.

  Abby slid out of bed and pulled Jackson’s silk pajama top over her naked body. He appreciated the fact that she had so little pretense. As she headed out, she flipped her long, blonde waves to keep them from getting caught under the collar. It was a sensuous move, and she looked back as she exited.

  But Jackson hadn’t seen her. His mind was already elsewhere.

  ***

  Abby was pouring Jackson’s coffee into a fine porcelain mug as he walked into the kitchen. He was wearing the matching pajama bottoms, and she smiled.

  “You didn’t have to get dressed for me,” she said playfully as she took two cubes of raw sugar from the canister on the counter and plopped them into Jackson’s mug. “I like naked.”

  “Me, too,” he responded, trying to match her mood.

  “And, while I love my soon-to-be sister-in-law, I have to admit I love having this place to ourselves more right now. Sex in any room without having to worry is quite liberating.”

  “As if you need liberating,” Jackson answered, chuckling.

  “At last.”

  “What?”

  “I thought I saw a smile.”

  “Oh,” he sighed deeply.

  “Don’t go serious on me this morning, Sugar,” she begged.

  “’Fraid I have to. Abby, we have to talk.”

  “We talk all the time,” she answered, trying to lighten the moment.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m warning you…” she said with a lilt in her voice.

  The last thing Jackson wanted was this discussion, and that showed on his face.

  “I don’t know how else to say this—”

  “Then don’t—”

  “But I have to have the ring back.”

  Abby’s stomach caved in as if she’d been punched.

  “I am so sorry…” he said as he reached out to her.

  But at that moment, everything else in the world stopped for her. The deep, rapid thumping of her heart drowned out the rest of the words coming out of Jackson’s mouth. If she could have listened, she’d have heard him explain the real reason he needed the ring back, and that he truly loved her and knew what having that ring meant to her. Like his mother’s sapphire, which Prince William gave to Kate Middleton, Jackson’s mother’s ring was more special than any newly bought diamond.

  But she didn’t hear him. Instead, she lashed out.

  “My dad was right, dammit,” Abby said as she started to boil. “You are a no-good playboy who can’t get a job because of his family’s reputation.”

  Jackson was stung.

  “On top of that, you’re a liar!”

  “What—?”

  Abby ripped the ring off her left hand and threw it at him. Jackson caught it in midair.

  “I knew you were still in love with her!”

  She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Jackson stunned. He stared at the ring. It felt as though it was burning through his hand.

  “What? Who am I still in love with?” Then it dawned on him, and he ran after her.

  Abby was madly pulling her slim dress over her head as Jackson entered the bedroom.

  “We need to talk,” Jackson insisted.

  “We did talk. Now go away!” she spewed as she fastened the zipper. “I knew it was over when you didn’t say ‘I love you’ back! I am such a fool!” She grabbed her cashmere sweater from the back of the lounge chair.

  “Abby—” Jackson said as he moved toward her.

  “Stay back, and you just keep your lying little paws off me!”

  “I never lied! Do you think I’m in love with Scarlett O’Hara?”

  “Yes, or is there someone else?” Abby demanded to know.

  “No. And no!” Jackson said, defending himself. “I don’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it,” Abby snapped as she grabbed her coat from the back of his Eames chair. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I’ve never been such a fool!”

  Before Jackson could stop her, she was gone.

  The Tom-Ali medical van pulled away from the clinic with five eager passengers. Patch drove with Marlena next to him. Kayla stayed in the back with little Joe and Beauty, who had come along as their interpreter.

  The drive to the tiny village of Rooiboklaagte took about forty-five minutes. They passed through territory that reminded Marlena of the trips she used to take with her family when she was growing up in Colorado. The Drakensberg range was on one side with the lowlands nestled against its mountains. Low scrub brush dotted the area, as well as a smattering of trees.

  Leading into the village, the area was dotted with small concrete houses with well-raked yards and gardens filled with vegetables. Churches were scattered through the village. Chickens and children and goats scattered everywhere.

  “What’s the population now?” Marlena asked as she glanced at the rural community.

  “About two thousand, I’d guess,” Patch answered. “At least half of them little kids.”

  The African population was growing disproportionately, and the rate of life-threatening disease was climbing with it. An estimated thirty percent of the people or more were HIV positive.

  “Are they all here?” Marlena asked when she saw dozens and dozens of colorfully dressed Africans anxiously awaiting their arrival.

  “They obviously got the word out that we were coming,” Patch said as he pulled the van into the tiny village.

  “And look at those shining faces,” Marlena said, emotion overtaking her.

  “We’re the last hope for some of them,” Kayla reminded her. “It’s why they come out to see us so eagerly.”

  Neither woman noticed Patch’s reaction. The secret he held about Tom-Ali’s imminent financial collapse was weighing on him. He knew that if the clinic folded, there would be little hope for many of these people.

  “We see reports on the news all the time at home, but until you’re actually here, you don’t really feel it,” Marlena
said, taking a deep sigh. “The energy is just incredible.”

  “Speaking of energy, I think Joe’s ready to explode,” Kayla said. After an hour in the backseat, Joe was antsier than ever.

  “Stopping now, Sweetness,” Patch said as he parked next to the building that served as the artisan studio. The exterior walls were painted with murals and were a rotating canvas for the villagers. “Everybody out!”

  The patients’ eager anticipation energized the group emerging from the van as much as the most potent drugs they’d brought with them. Joe jumped out and headed straight for the children who were playing everywhere. He was immediately lost in the sea of colored garments, many of which had been crafted nearby.

  “Be careful!” Kayla called to him as he scampered off in the direction of a group of boys playing happily with used Popsicle sticks and threadbare soccer balls.

  “Don’t worry, Sweetness. I’ll watch him,” Patch assured her.

  Patch kept one eye on Joe as he released the latch that opened the side canopy of the van. In the intense sun of South African summer, the shade was welcome.

  Two of the women from the Mapusha Weavers Synergy Co-op emerged from the main building. Gertrude was the eldest of the cooperative and their master weaver, and Angy, one of the youngest weavers, was known for her use of vivid colors. The two women brought their visitors tall pitchers of iced tea. Their smiles matched those of the children.

  “Welcome,” said Gertrude with a thick African accent.

  “Welcome,” echoed Angy. They both prided themselves on having learned a few words of English.

  “How is your husband?” Kayla said, as they began to catch up. Beauty translated as Kayla asked questions and Marlena drank it all in. She learned that Gertrude’s elderly husband still tended gardens and that their thirteen grandchildren were all in school. Angy was hoping to move closer to the compound, but she still walked an hour each day to create amazing multicolored tapestries and rugs that were wildly popular with the tourists.

  What Angy earned there helped support her blind father and unemployed brother as well as the other members of her family. Jobs were scarce everywhere in the world, but nowhere more scarce than in Africa. The women who’d created this project were supporting not only themselves but also their community.