Under the Desert Sky (6 page)

“It's the brooder house. The eggs are about to hatch and the incubator lanterns should be on,” she said as Christian and Will caught up with her.

She flung open the door, and when she did, the light of the lamp spilled into the building.

“Oh, no,” she cried in anguish. “The eggs. They're gone.”

The top to the incubator was standing open and not a single egg was still inside.

“Do you think an animal could have gotten into the shed?” Christian asked as he put Will down.

“It could've been. With Trinidad and Cornello away, I shouldn't have gone to the meeting.”

“Mama, what's this?” Will brought a lifeless chick to her.

A lump formed in Phoebe's throat as she looked behind the incubator and found a pile of shattered eggshells, the dead embryos still inside. Tears began to swell in her eyes. “I don't think this was an animal.”

Without even thinking, Christian put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. She didn't resist.

“Why don't you leave me the lantern and you and Will go on to the house? I'll take care of this. He doesn't need to see this in the morning.”

“You don't have to do that.” Phoebe stepped back.

“I want to. Besides, I have to earn my cookies some way. Isn't that right, Will?”

“Mama, I forgot.” Will took Phoebe's hand. “Come on.” He started pulling her toward the door.

“Go on. I'll unhitch your horse before I come in,” Christian said. “Put a light by the door and I'll find you.”

•  •  •

Phoebe was glad for the distraction as she went about plating the cookies and finding glasses for the milk. She thought about sitting at the dining room table, but quickly dismissed it. She and Will always ate at the little farm table in the kitchen, and she wouldn't change just to make an impression on a man.

•  •  •

The lantern was lighting the way up to a porch as Christian approached the house. The door to the kitchen was open and he could see Phoebe putting cookies on a plate. When she turned around, Will took one and began eating it, a simple thing that any child would do. Christian thought Will could be about four or five years old, close to the age Christian must've been when he was put in an orphanage.

When Phoebe came back to the table with the glasses, she saw that a cookie was missing. She said something Christian couldn't hear, but she kissed the boy on the top of his head and put another cookie on the plate. The simple act was so natural, and yet it made Christian melancholy. Never in his life had he ever had anybody who loved him unconditionally.

Mrs. Van Koopmans cared for him—he never doubted that—but her feelings were based on her vicarious pride in his achievements. When he wasn't yet in his teens, he was invited into her salon, where she held her own with the leading political men of South Africa. Her friendship with Rhodes got Christian his education and his position. But never once could he remember the old and gentle lady placing a kiss on him. This snapshot of Phoebe and her son suddenly made him sad.

•  •  •

“I see him. I see Wet.”

“Honey, his name is Mr. De Wet.” Phoebe moved to the door.

“Wet works,” Christian said as he stepped into the little kitchen. “Are there any cookies left? I saw one find its way into someone's mouth when his mother wasn't looking.”

Will reached for a cookie and put the whole thing in his mouth, a mischievous grin crossing his face.

Christian snatched a cookie and did the same thing, causing Will to giggle uncontrollably.

Phoebe shook her head as Will climbed onto a chair. “Have a seat.”

•  •  •

Christian and Will continued to play little games with the cookies and milk, and even though Phoebe was anxious to discuss what had happened in the brooder house, she didn't broach the subject.

She knew who was behind the vandalism. When Mr. Prinsen said he'd invited W. F. Sloan to the meeting and he'd declined, it made perfect sense. She hated to think what else she'd find in the morning.

“All right, little man, it's time for you to clean your teeth and get ready for bed.” Phoebe stood.

“No, I want to play with Wet.”

“You've had enough playing for one night. Tomorrow when I need you, you'll be so sleepy, you won't be able to do anything.”

“Will you sleep here?” Will asked Christian.

“No, I have to go back to Mr. Prinsen's house.”

“Why?”

“That's it, Will,” Phoebe said. “When you're ready for bed, you can say good-night. Run and get your pajamas on.”

The boy jumped down and disappeared through a door off the kitchen.

“Thank you for being so understanding. He's a very energetic little boy.”

“I can see that, but he seems to have a good sense of humor.”

Phoebe smiled. “He gets that from his father. Edwin was always joking with him.”

“Edwin is your husband?”

“Was.” Phoebe swallowed. “He died last year.”

Just then Will came into the kitchen and ran to Christian, putting his arms around his neck. “Are you going to be my daddy?”

Christian glanced toward Phoebe as she closed her eyes and bowed her head in an obvious effort to hold back tears.

“Nobody can ever take the place of your daddy, but can I be your friend while I'm here?”

Will nodded. “I like you. Do you like Wet, Mama?”

“Yes, I do, but now you have to go to sleep.”

“Can Wet put me in my bed like Daddy used to do?”

“I think that's a good idea. Where do you sleep?” Christian asked.

“Mama sleeps in there, but I'm a big boy. I sleep upstairs all by myself.”

“Then let's find your room.”

•  •  •

When Christian came down the stairs, the kitchen was empty, but the back door was standing open.

He stepped out and found Phoebe in a porch swing. “Do you mind if I join you?” Phoebe moved to the end of the swing, and Christian sat beside her. “Will's all tucked in. It's not every kid who sleeps with an ostrich chick. Where'd he get that?”

“Gwen and her girls made it for him.” Phoebe's voice began to quiver. “What kind of madman would deliberately kill little chicks? They would've been hatched in another week. Were any of the eggs left unbroken?”

“No. If I were guessing, I'd say they were hit with a hammer. You know how hard an ostrich egg is. Do you have any idea who did this?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Your father-in-law?”

Phoebe jerked around, causing the swing to swerve. “What made you say that?” Phoebe challenged.

“It was just a comment Yhomas made. He said you had the beginnings of a prosperous troop of birds, but every time you come close to getting ahead, your father-in-law, as the saying goes, puts a fly in the ointment.”

“He does do that, but it's his son who's the most unbearable.”

“Then why do you stay here?”

“I've asked myself that same question many times. If the moon is just right, it'll cast a shadow on a tree up on that little knoll. That's where Edwin is buried. If I leave, Will will have no connection with his father, and as much as I dislike my in-laws, I wouldn't take that away from him.”

“You should think about yourself.” Christian reached for her hand. He began to massage her palm, feeling the rough texture of calluses.

Phoebe withdrew her hand quickly. “I think you should go, Mr. De Wet. Mr. Prinsen will be expecting you.”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.”

“There's no need to apologize; you didn't do anything.” After a moment she began to speak again. “After Edwin died, I had a procession of prospective suitors, and I didn't like it. I don't have time for it, and I like my life just the way it is.”

“I understand.”

“If I'm going to be your friend, do I call you Mr. De Wet, or Wet, or do you have another name you'd like to be called?”

Christian paused. He'd like to tell her his story—how he'd been known only as Jacktar for the first ten years of his life, how he seldom allowed anyone to get close to him. He sensed in her the same defenses, the same walls that were meant to keep out the pain of the past. He knew there had to be more to her story. A young woman had to have a reason why these exasperating birds meant so much to her. Why she'd work like a farmhand just to hold on to this land. Yes, there had to be a reason.

“My
given
name is Christian, and I'd be honored to have you call me by that name.”

“All right, Christian it is. And I'm pleased to have you as my friend.”

“Good. Now that we've established our parameters, it brings two friends back to the problem at hand. Is there anyone here to help you?”

“Yes, I have two men who work for me.”

“But they aren't here now.”

“No.”

“Then, as your friend, I'm going to stay here tonight.”

“You can't. You can't do that,” Phoebe said in panic.

“I think I should. You say you have an idea as to who might've done this, but what if you're wrong? What if the person who came here knows your men are gone, and that person also knows you're defenseless?”

“I have a gun, and I know how to use it,” Phoebe said defiantly.

Christian laughed. “I'm sure you do, but I'm still not going to leave you. You don't know what you'll find in the morning. What if there's more damage other than the eggs? What if your grown birds have been killed? How will you explain that to Will?”

“Oh, dear, I hadn't dared think of that.”

“All right, then it's agreed, I'm staying. Do your men have a bunkhouse?” Christian rose from the swing.

“They do, but it's not kept up very well. They are both old men, and I think neatness is not something they are very concerned about. If you're going to do this, you'll stay in the house. I have five bedrooms.”

“All right. Which room is mine?”

A
fter showing Christian to his room, Phoebe put on her nightgown and climbed into bed. It was unsettling to listen to Christian's footsteps in the room above her. She heard the springs of the bed when the footsteps stopped. His boots came off with two distinct thuds. Holding her breath, she waited. She'd invited a man—a stranger—into her house, and now he was in the room adjacent to her sleeping son's.

He'd suggested that someone might want to prey upon a defenseless woman, but what if he'd said that just to get her to let her guard down? What if he came down in the night and tried to assault her? She thought about setting a chair under the doorknob, but then what would happen if Will had one of his nightmares and came down to her room?

There was only one thing to do. As quietly as she could, she made her way to the dresser and withdrew Edwin's Colt .44 from the top drawer. She'd told Christian she knew how to use a gun, and technically that was true. Less than a month ago she'd shot a rattlesnake coiled on the bank of the irrigation ditch.

With trembling fingers, she withdrew a shell from the ammunition box. After the snake incident she'd unloaded the gun, but to be on the safe side, she pulled the hammer back, to check the cylinder. Seeing no bullet, she fully expected to hear the relatively quiet snap of the hammer falling on an empty chamber.

To her complete shock, a muzzle flash lit up the room, accompanied by a loud report of a gunshot.

Phoebe screamed. What had she done?

•  •  •

Christian had just stripped down to his drawers when he heard the shot. Without bothering to pull on his pants, he bolted out of the room. Bursting through Phoebe's door, the acrid smell of cordite burned his nostrils. In the darkness he couldn't see.

“Phoebe, where are you?”

She didn't answer.

He moved, hoping to find some way to light the room. He heard a loud bump that sounded as if something had been dropped. Christian's heart began to beat rapidly. Who was in this room? Where was Phoebe?

“Phoebe?”

This time he heard an intake of breath and he knew she was alive. The kerosene lamp had been turned down so that only a small arc of yellow-red outlined the mantel.

“Are you hurt?” As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out where she was standing. Moving toward her, he took her in his arms, her sobs now uncontrollable.

“What happened?”

“I . . . I'm not sure.” Her voice quavered, the words coming between sobs.

“You're safe now.” Christian continued to hold her. “Did someone break into the house?”

“No, I did it myself.”

“You fired a gun? Why?”

“I wanted to protect myself in case you came to my room.”

Christian chuckled quietly, stroking her hair as she laid her head on his chest. “You got your gun to keep me out, but your gun brought me to you.”