The covenant - James A. Michener [515]
When the party returned to Trianon, with the tidy buildings appearing more secure than ever, there were celebrations, to which Detleef was not invited, but on the third of January, 1919, he bicycled out to the vineyards, prepared to make his formal proposal: I'll speak to Coenraad first, and then Clara's mother, and when I have their permission, I'll go to Clara herself. But as he pedaled his way down the long lane, he saw at the end of the little houses on the left a young woman who looked much like Clara kissing rather ardently a young man in military uniform. In great confusion he rode on, staring ahead, but from the corner of his eye he saw the woman break away when she noticed him, then move quickly back for another kiss.
'It's you!' Coenraad cried happily from the stoep. 'Come in, Detleef. It's a real celebration. Timothy Saltwood's home, covered with medals.'
'Is he in uniform?'
'Of course.'
When Clara and young Saltwood came into the hallway, Detleef felt weak, for the officer was a handsome fellow, lean, bemedaled, eager. 'This is Timothy Saltwood, of De Kraal,' Clara said. 'He tells me your family used to own his farm.'
'Long ago,' Detleef mumbled, and as soon as he could manage it, he whispered to Clara, 'Can I speak with you?'
'Of course! What?' She must have guessed what he was about to ask, but she gave him no help, standing firm in the middle of the room.
'I mean, can we talk . . . alone?'
'Of course,' she said brightly, leading him into her father's office. 'Clara,' he said. 'I gave you the Bible ... I mean . . .'
'What is it?' she asked. 'I want to marry you.'
She placed her fingers on his lips: 'Don't, Detleef.'
'To ask you to marry me,' he muttered. 'Detleef, I'm so sorry. I'm going to marry Timothy.'
He gasped. 'But he's an Englishman!'
'He's a very brave young man.' When Detleef tried to speak, she placed her hand over his mouth and said firmly, 'If you do care for me, come out now and behave like a gentleman.'
'I am not a gentleman,' he said harshly, pushing her hand down. 'I'm not some fancy Englishman.' He looked at her in anger, and said accusingly, 'You knew this all the time. You let me make a fool of myself He fumbled for words and said a most stupid thing: 'You let me give you that Bible.'
'I think,' she said with asperity, 'that you had better take your damned Bible back,' and she hurried from the room.
He was aghast that a young woman he loved should use such a word in such a connection, and when she flounced back into the office, thrusting the Bible into his hands, he dumbly accepted it, then watched as she recovered it, opened it, and ripped out the page on which he had written his dedication. 'Give it to someone else,' she said sternly, and with that she left him.
For some minutes he stood there, holding the maimed book. He did not know what to do. He heard voices in the house, people talking gaily as if nothing embarrassing had happened, and then he made up his mind. Stalking from the room, looking at no one, he went out the front door for the last time in his life, and marched to his bicycle. Holding the Bible first in his right hand, then in his left, he pedaled down the long driveway, then jammed the book under his belt and went back to Stellenbosch.
Two days later Coenraad van Doorn came to see him, and said quietly, 'Detleef, things like this happen to everyone. My wife and I want you to attend the wedding. Clara wants it, for she considers you her good friend.'
With a hatred that burned his throat, Detleef said, 'All you English-lovers will be driven from power.'
Coenraad was a man who had worked hard to