The Covenant Part 57

She half suspected that Sir Victor and her uncle were conspiring in some way to get her to meet this or that young man; they were always conspiring about bills in Parliament or reforms in the church, but this did not mean that she had to accede to their rough-and-ready stratagems. She would deliver the papers, go on an elephant hunt, and return to England to marry whom she pleased. In performing these duties she would see as much of South Africa as possible, and have a rattling good time doing so.

At the end of the voyage out she could have married any one of three quite ordinary men who had courted her, and she felt confident that on the voyage home she could do better, so she was in no hurry to accept whomever it was that her uncle had selected for her, but when she saw on the dock awaiting her a young man of obvious charm and vitality, she was interested.

'Halloo!' she cried in a very unladylike shout. 'Are you Mr. Rhodes' emissary?'

'I am. Saltwood's the name.'

'Meet me over there, Saltwood,' and without a.s.sistance from the pursers she found the gangway and was one of the first off the s.h.i.+p.

Frank, watching her come skipping down the sloping stairs, saw at once what a remarkable young woman she was. 'She seemed all of a piece,' he wrote to his mother. 'From her b.u.t.toned shoes to the sway of her skirt, from the broad cloth belt about her waist to the perfection of her blouse, she was a harmony, but what I liked most was the way she coiled her hair. No man could have deciphered just how she did it, all auburn and glowing in the sunlight.'

Still, he might have resisted her allure had it not been for the added seductiveness of the Mount Nelson Hotel. This fine edifice stood at the edge of the gardens laid out by Jan van Riebeeck two hundred and forty years before. It was the glory of Cape Town, a s.p.a.cious inn with lovely grounds, ornate hallways, excellent kitchens and muted servants who seemed to be either Malay or Coloured. A chilled Trianon wine from the Van Doorn vineyards, a small helping of a spicy bobotie, followed by roast duiker and an orange souffle at the Mount Nelson might addle any young man's good judgment, but when a lively young woman like Maud Turner sat sharing it and throwing her witty barbs, it became a Lucullan feast. He telegraphed Mr. Rhodes: business complications necessitate three more days.

During these three days he was captivated by the levels of interest and understanding she displayed, and he found that she was honestly 'all of a piece,' as he had written, a beautifully organized person whose individuality matched her intelligence. In curious ways she resembled Mr. Rhodes, for absolutely everything interested her: 'How will the blacks ever learn if there aren't enough schools for them?' She developed a special affinity for the Cape Afrikaners and sought them out. 'How could you, Frank, have lived here so long and known so few of them? They're far more interesting than your English friends . . . What, for heaven's sake, have you been doing all this time?'

'Working with Mr. Rhodes.'

'What I mean, Saltwood. The English in South Africa. Another decade, you'll have been here a century, and what have you achieved? You've driven the Boers to set up their own republics. And the ones left behind here in the Cape are talking about an Afrikaner Bond, or something. What have you English got to show?'

Frank laughed. 'My dear Maud, almost everything you've seen has been the result of English effort. The port you entered. The railroad you took to Stellenbosch. The pa.s.ses over the mountains. The schools, the hospitals, the free press. All English-inspired.'

'It may be as you say,' she conceded, inwardly proud of the accomplishments he kept rattling off. 'But the Afrikaners I met at the coffeehouse don't seem to recognize any of it.'

'Nor did they ever recognize what Hilary was trying to do.'

'Your granduncle, was it? The missionary with the . . .'

'Black woman?'

'I didn't mean to say it that way, Frank.'

'I understand. But don't be surprised if you live to believe that what Hilary tried to do was right. That he saw the salvation of this land.'

'Do you think of this as your land? The way the Boers say they do?'

'I was born here. I've made it my home, even if your Afrikaner friends won't acknowledge my joint owners.h.i.+p. Just because they were here first doesn't mean that G.o.d gave them the land in some kind of deal. That's what the Boers up north preach, but mark my words, the English progress they despise will catch up with them. Perhaps very soon.'

'You're getting too serious, Frank Saltwood. Tell me about elephant hunting. Is it dangerous?'

She really did want to go on an elephant hunt, and if that proved impractical, a lion would do. When he informed her that both animals had quit these parts generations ago, she said simply, 'Then let's go after them. I have a small allowance, but I think it might suffice.'

When he disappointed her by saying that he could not remove himself from Kimberley, she said, 'Good, I've always wanted to see how they dig for diamonds. Silly stoneswouldn't want one myself.'

He pointed out that it would be quite improper for her to journey to Kimberley either with him or by herself, but she snapped, 'Nonsense! I carry with me letters to the most respectable families on the diamond fields.' And she organized the delivery of her two trunks to the railway and the purchase of her sleeping compartment to Kimberley. Frank was free to tag along, if he so wished.

The journey north was as pleasing as any he would ever know, a revelation of what a young woman could be. She was neither flirtatious nor coy; whenever an interesting topic arose, her expressive face revealed pretty much what she was thinking; and she sought out people for animated discussion. In the dining car, on the first evening, she invited an older couple to join them. With charming frankness she explained that she was not married to Frank, then went on to say that he was an important part of the diamond industry. From them she elicited the fact that they had a nephew working the gold fields and that he believed there was need, in the new town of Johannesburg, for a tailor. Normally they could not have afforded first-cla.s.s accommodations on the train, but he had sent so much money that they had decided to splurge.

'Are you Jewish?' Maud asked abruptly.

'Yes. From Germany, our fathers, years ago.'

'Would you ever consider returning to Germany?'

'No. That happens to other people, not us.'

'Do you think Germany will try to take South Africa from us?'

'Germany will try to take everything,' they said.

On the second day she invited an Australian couple to dine with them, and again she explained that she was not married to Frank, whereupon the wife asked, 'Isn't it a mite risky? I mean, traveling with a young man?'

'Not if he's a nice young man, like Frank.' But as she patted his hand she added, 'Of course, he's not so young, really. How old are you, Frank?'

'Past thirty,' he said.

'Time to be taking the plunge,' the man said, at which Frank blushed uncontrollably.

'He'll do the right thing at the right time,' Maud said. 'With you?' the Australian woman asked.

'Goodness, we hardly know each other.' And by the time the train reached Kimberley, all the pa.s.sengers knew that this fine-looking young woman was traveling with a young man she scarcely knew.

Mr. Rhodes took one look at the couple and realized that young Salt-wood had better be dispatched at once, or he was going to fall into irreversible error, so once the introductions were made, he said, 'Saltwood, your conveyances are waiting. You'd better be off . . . this afternoon.'

'I shall leave day after tomorrow,' Frank said with some force, and that was the beginning of the estrangement, for Mr. Rhodes realized with dismay that one of his young gentlemen had got himself seriously mixed up with a woman.

In the time he had stolen for himself, Frank demonstrated attractively his deep feelings for Miss Turner. He deposited her trunks at the local hotel, then escorted her about the town, showing her the mighty hole in the earth where he had worked, and the donkey engines which kept the water out. He took her into the countryside and to the local church, and as the second day ended he asked, 'Are you promised to anyone?' When she said, 'I am not,' he asked, 'Would you keep yourself free till I return from Zimbabwe?'

'And where's that?' she parried. When he told her, she wanted to accompany him on the safari, but this suggestion he rejected forcibly. 'I understand,' she teased. 'Mr. Rhodes wouldn't like it.'

'Conditions are far too rough, Maud.'

'I understand. Mr. Rhodes lays down very strict conditions for his employees. No women.' She expected him to say something, and when he didn't, she said boldly, 'But if I did wait, wouldn't Mr. Rhodes discharge you?'

'Yes. So when I married you, I'd have to find other employment.'

'Could you do so?'

'I'm a young man. I can work. I know diamonds and gold.'

Very quietly she said, 'I shall cancel my steams.h.i.+p.'

'What will you do?'

'I am going on an elephant shoot.'

'With whom?' he asked in amazement.

'With three gentlemen at the hotel.'

'My G.o.d, Maud!'

'I said I would wait, Frank. I didn't say I was going to sit on my hands.'

'But . . . but, three men from the hotel!'

'My uncle sent letters to two of them.' And then she kissed him, not a peck on the cheek, but the full pa.s.sionate kiss of a liberated young woman who had found the kind of man she was willing to wait for.

From Pretoria, Frank took the new train leading down to Lourenco Marques on Delagoa Bay, but after a full day's journey he disembarked at the small station of Waterval-Boven, where a wagon awaited him. It was a fifteen-mile drive south, with a black man who gave his name as Micah Nxumalo. The first part came from the Bible, he explained in broken English, the second part from his grandfather, who had come here from Zululand in the time of troubles.

'Did Mr. van Doorn own the land then?'

'No. It was our land.'

'But how did Mr. van Doorn acquire it?' The word was too big for Micah and he asked what it meant. 'Get. How did he get the land?'

A puzzled look came over the black man's face and he said, 'At first it was ours, then after a while it was his.'

When they reached the town of Venloo, Frank expected to be dropped at a lodging place before visiting Vrymeer, but Micah informed him that he was to room at the lake. 'With whom?' Saltwood asked. 'The De Groots or the Van Doorns?'

'n.o.body stays with the De Groots,' Micah explained. 'They have only a very small place.' And when the horses climbed to the top of the rise that separated Venloo from the lake, Frank understood, for to the north stood a mean collection of wattle-and-daub structures in the center of unkempt fields, while to the east unfolded a substantial farm with an interesting mixture of barns for animals, kraals for holding areas, a rambling whitewashed farmhouse with a corrugated iron roof, and at some distance a handsome collection of rondavels for the Nxumalos and the other blacks who worked the land.

The farm was obviously prosperous and looked inviting, but what captured Saltwood's eye was the inconsequential little stream that debouched from the hills, ran among the farm buildings and broadened out to a beautiful lake on which ducks abounded and flamingos. What Saltwood could not see, approaching by this road, were the two rounded mountains that gave the site distinction; as they came slowly into view, Micah pointed them out and said, 'Sannie's t.i.ts.'

'Who's Sannie?'

'Girl that used to live here. My father's time. She loved a young man. He died. She died.'

The little northern dwellings were occupied by General de Groot, the big farm by the Van Doorns, and it was to the latter that Micah led the horses. 'h.e.l.lo, there!' a rough voice called from the barn. 'You that Mr. Rhodes' man?' The English words came uneasily and with heavy accent.

'Yes. Frank Saltwood.'

'We don't hold much with that Mr. Rhodes. He's a bad one. But you're welcome.'

The farmer held out a big hand and said, 'Jakob van Doorn. Mama!'

From the house emerged not an older woman but three of the prettiest little girls Frank had ever seen. With a bang they burst onto the edge of the stoepand then behaved quite differently. The oldest girl, about fifteen, stopped shyly when she saw the strange man and stood by a pillar, her blond pigtails reflecting the light. The two younger ones, who seemed to be about the same age, seven or eight, were not abashed by the stranger; they came rus.h.i.+ng right down into the yard to embrace him, their pigtails flying.

'The twins!' Jakob said proudly. 'Anna and Sannah, but which is which you'll never know.'

The girls did not try to be cute or tease about their names. They simply took Frank by the hand and led him toward the stoep, where through the front door appeared Mevrou van Doorn, in her late thirties, holding an infant on her hip. 'This is my wife, Sara, and the ruler of our roost, little Detlev.'

With delighted tugging, the twins carried their baby brother about the stoep. 'Come in,' Mevrou van Doorn said. 'We wondered about your telegram.'

'Yes, I came to see the general. I understand he went to Zimbabwe once.'

'He was there. But only as a little boy.'

'Will he remember?'

'The general remembers everything,' Mevrou van Doorn replied. 'My father was there, too,' Van Doorn said. 'He led a party north of the Limpopo. Tsetse fly drove them back.'

'Will I run into the tsetse up there?'

'You will.' The Van Doorns took him into their house and showed him where he would sleep. As the twins helped him unpack, their mother made coffee and rusks, and then Jakob opened a bottle of witblits (white lightning), a fiery homemade brandy. 'We drink to your coming. Do you speak Dutch?'

'Alas, not much. I was brought up in the Grahamstown area, you know, where there were few Boers.' And before they could respond, he added, 'Our family bought De Kraal, you know.'

'You did!' Mevrou van Doorn cried. Vaguely the family had known that trustworthy English settlers had purchased the farm, but their name had been lost.

'Are you the family that collected the money from London for my father's slaves?' Van Doorn asked.

'Yes. I've heard that story.' Frank shook his head in disgust. 'What a bad thing the London government did to you people on the slave deal.'

'What do you mean, deal? deal? Van Doorn asked. Van Doorn asked.

'The cheap way the slaves were paid for. Or not paid for.'

'That was a bad time,' Van Doorn said, but then he added brightly, 'You'll want to see the general right away, I suppose?' When Frank nodded, he cried, 'Come along, children,' and led a procession around the end of the lake.

Saltwood was totally unprepared for the primitive conditions in which this great general, a hero of the Boer republics, lived. But when De Groot came forward to extend a rough welcome, any thought of meanness or privation vanished. The man was a giant, but hunched over like some mountain denizen in a German fairy story. When he gripped Saltwood by the shoulder, his fingers were like steel.

Then he laughed heartily and said, 'I want you to meet my wife,' and from the rude hut came a handsome woman in her sixties, erect, white-haired, blue-eyed. As a girl she must have been beautiful, and even now her dignity was striking. 'This is Mevrou de Groot,' the general said, and as he spoke he took her hand, and they stood facing their visitor.

But then they saw the three Van Doorn girls, and Sybilla de Groot bent down to embrace the twins while the general bowed gallantly to Johanna. At this point Jakob said, 'This is Frank Saltwood. It was his grandfather who got us the payment for our slaves. He took our warrants, sent them to London, and got us every penny to which we were ent.i.tled. Not all that we should have had, but all that was allowed us.'

With a great slap of his hand on Frank's leg, De Groot said, 'I remember the day at Thaba Nchu. A smous came up from Graaff-Reinet with two packets. One for Van Doorn, one for my father. But my father had been killed by Mzilikazi. So the packet was given to me, and I can remember tearing it open and seeing the new bills, English bills, and I didn't like them. And do you know what I did with that money, young man?'

Frank said, 'I can't guess,' and the old general said, 'I saved it. Year after year I saved it, and in 1881, when we fought the English at Majuba, I spent it all to outfit my own commando. English money fighting English soldiers. I liked that.'

'Was the fighting hardat Majuba?'

'Fighting is always hard, especially against you English. Your officers are stupid but your men are heroic.'

'Were you in command of the Boer forces?' Before the old man could respond, Frank added, 'I mean, they speak of you as one of the heroes of Majuba.'

With a big forefinger De Groot poked at his guest. 'No one is ever in command of Boers. Each man is his own general.'

'But everyone speaks of you as the general.'

'Yes. I raised the commando. And at night I asked if this or that approach might not be best. But if I ever gave an order, someone would have asked, "And who in h.e.l.l are you?" And that,' he said, punctuating his remarks with his finger, 'would be a very . . .' He fumbled for a word and asked Van Doorn for help, using Dutch.

'Relevant,' Van Doorn suggested.

'Yes, that would be a relevant question. "Who in h.e.l.l are you to give orders?"'

'How did you fight the battle?'

'Our Bible tells us that one Boer can defeat one thousand Canaanites. So we did it, that's how.'