The covenant - James A. Michener [243]
As he lay dying in treachery he moaned, 'Merciful God, forgive me. Forgive me.' As he fell back, blood gushing from his lips, he mumbled, 'Adriaan, Seena. Rebecca, me. The circle . . .'
News of the death of Lodevicus had not yet reached De Kraal when Hilary Saltwood entered the valley with Saul. Tjaart, returning from the cattle drive, eyed the missionary suspiciously, seeing him only as the Englishman who had stolen the slave girl Emma. Clasping the sjambok at his side, he flicked the long hide over the grass and growled, 'Off these lands, Saltwood.'
Hilary, perched on the riding seat of a small cart, felt Saul trembling next to him. 'Put that down, Tjaart. This is no time for argument.'
'Back to your Hottentots, Englishman, and take that damned Kaffir with you.'
Saltwood's eyes followed the line of the menacing whip, then crept up to Tjaart's face. The Boer recognized a look of anguished appeal, and his next words were less intemperate: 'What is it you want?'
'It's your father, Tjaart.'
Wilhelmina and Tjaart's wife, who had been listening inside the house, stepped outside and stood glaring at the intruder; at the sight of the women Saltwood held back his words.
'What about my father?'
'He rode with the rebels.'
'Damnit, man, I know that. And I join them tomorrow.' Lord, why me? Hilary asked himself as if in prayer. Why does it always have to be me who faces this family. 'Tjaart, your father is dead.'
The younger Van Doorn ground out his words: 'What you say, Englishman?' Till now they had been conversing in the language of the Boers, but in his agitation Tjaart used the missionary's language.
The color drained from Wilhelmina's face. Putting her arm about her daughter-in-law's shoulders, she drew her close to her bosom, and in that instant she thought of the long years since the day she rode north from a godless past to offer herself to Lodevicus the Hammer. They had been good years and violent. Twice her lips formed his name, and when she looked up at the stricken, bean-thin missionary she knew that he was telling the truth. Her wild old man was dead.
'The Kaffirs killed him,' Saltwood repeated. Quietly he explained that his Xhosa, Saul, had been visiting across the Great Fish and had learned of the mission to Guzaka and of the dual tragedy that ensued. When he assured them that Saul would be able to lead them to the body, Wilhelmina said softly, 'Dominee, you must be tired. Come in.'
That afternoon they started the grim journey; Wilhelmina was insistent that the Hammer should be buried where he fell. 'He was a man of God but not of churches,' she said, and she refused Saltwood's offer of burial at the mission. At noon next day, while the Xhosa were lamenting the death of the general, Guzaka, the white men and women piled rocks above the grave of Lodevicus, whereupon the missionary offered a prayer in Dutch, after which he recited the somber passages of the Ninetieth Psalm:
'The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away ... So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.'
On their return, the mourners reached the point at which Saltwood and Saul must head east for Golan, and it seemed to the missionary that his life and Tjaart's were as divergent as the directions they would now follow; he had been as close to a Van Doorn during these past days as he would ever be, and this moved him to say fervently, 'Tjaart, don't ride with the rebels. Don't seek tragedy.'
'You?' Tjaart asked. 'You worry about my soul?'
'Concerning the slave girl, Emma, who has caused so much bitterness. I want to buy her.'
'A dominee? Buying a De Kraal slave?'
'Her and her parents.'