Authors: Felicia Rogers
Melanie gave thanks to God for his safety, his health, and his life.
Away from the protective shadows, she followed a course toward her husband. Reasoning was blocked by the desire to be near him even for just a brief moment.
“Where are you going?” asked a young soldier.
Melanie faced her questioner and placed her back to Korzan. She wouldn't have her husband see her now, for he would come to her rescue and endanger himself.
Her head bent, she answered, “I'm sorry, sir. I was walking and grew lost in thought.”
The respect she afforded the young man inflated his ego. “Very well. Don't let it happen again.”
She nodded and shuffled back to the children. Her heart soared. He was close. Closer than he'd been in a long time. She would wait patiently for their reunion.
****
Korzan landed on his feet and studied the grounds. A group of children milled around the yard, causing his mind to wonder. How were the children and Melanie faring? He hoped for once in her life she'd listened to him and not tried to intervene.
As he looked closer at the sorrowful children, there was a familiar shape. A woman held her head high, her spine erect, and walked in his direction. His breath caught. “It can't be,” he murmured.
“Get a move on, pig,” came the soldier's harsh voice as he jostled Korzan from behind.
He turned away, but not quickly enough, for he saw Melanie's beautiful face smile at their children.
Immediately he assumed a statue-like visage, devoid of emotion. He would go to her, but not yet. To do so now would only place them both in danger.
Lending his ear to the noises, he gave a slight prayer of thanks. Melanie and the children, although captive, were for the moment alive.
Shuffled along, Korzan and his fellow workers were forced into a huge tent, set up to feed the guards. A man half his size placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved him into a waiting seat. Not prone to violence, Korzan complied.
A ladle filled with steaming hot food was thrust in front of him. His mouth watered, and his stomach growled from the smells. This was the first hot meal he'd had in months. Why was he receiving it now?
Pushing the food around on the warped tin plate, he pretended to eat. All the while he watched and waited. No food would pass his lips until he was sure it wasn't poisoned. Men to his left and right scooped their food using hands, spoons, forks, and anything else available. After ten minutes, when everyone looked fine, Korzan attempted his first bite.
With the fork in his mouth, he sucked the food off the utensil. He closed his eyes and savored every hint of flavor. When he opened his eyes, a new group entered the building.
They came in single file, their legs making a shuffling noise as they moved their chained bodies. Catching a brief glimpse of the leader, he lowered his gaze. Emotion and recognition flooded him.
He heard the cry rent the air. Korzan's hand gripped the rotting wood of the table, his fingers making indentations as he struggled to remain neutral while his wife suffered.
Hurtful curses in the Zulu language were hurled at Melanie. Korzan lifted his head a fraction to glimpse his sensitive wife. Her stance of defiance surprised him. But he wasn't the only one. The soldier who had caused her rebellion was also stunned. His hand rose, swooshed through the air, and connected with Melanie's face like a loud clap of thunder.
Korzan trembled with unrestrained anger, fury building to a murderous rage.
“Know her, do you?” whispered the elderly man beside him.
Gritting his teeth, Korzan gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Better if you ignore his touch to the lady. Temporarily, of course.”
Korzan tasted blood as he bit a hole in the soft fleshy part of his mouth. If Melanie cried, he would be unable to control his temper. A prayer for strength rumbled through his head and fell silently from his lips.
With head held high, her face showed the handprint. Melanie ushered the children forward. Several of his adopted daughters swiped away silent tears. Good for them. Don't let your captor see your pain, your hurt. Deny them their sadistic pleasure.
Korzan ached to hold Melanie. He felt inexplicably drawn to her. She sat with the children, their elbows on the table, their hands knitted in a prayerful position, their heads bowed. Guilt and shame assailed him. He'd thanked God less and less. He'd taken on an attitude of why was this happening to me, reasoning that he didn't deserve his current situation. Hadn't he been a good man, hadn't he spent all his free time working for the Lord? Everything had been given up in service. And now here he was a slave.
After they prayed, Melanie and the kids ate in silence. Korzan waited to be noticed, and he didn't have to wait long. Her eyelids fluttered upward; their gaze caught. He pleaded for understanding. Melanie offered all she could give. She nodded, causing a liquid trail to run along her ebony face.
At that moment, Korzan made a promise. They would get out of here, some way, somehow.
The best room in the place was a misnomer. Covering the entire top floor, it had a large full-size bed, a private bath, and an interesting view of the city.
In Hannah's estimation, the advantages were not all good things. For instance, the top floor was hot. To survive the heat they kept the windows open, which allowed offensive odors from draining raw sewage to waft inside.
The bed was lumpy and springs protruded in various spots. The private bath was little more than a closet with a tub, sink, and commode.
However her feelings could be tainted by the fact that they had yet to reason a way to reach the monastery. With Rory's questionable health, the lack of the jeep, supplies, or money, reaching their destination seemed highly improbable.
During their stay in their new room, Hannah took advantage of the bath. The owner of the establishment, Chin Xi, had given her a long flowery skirt and a yellow blouse. She eyed the clothes warily as she disrobed.
The current clothing peeled away from her sweaty body. For several minutes she stretched. Releasing a pent-up sigh, she rotated the silver handles and waited. A gurgling announced future water. Toes tapping in a rhythmic motion, her eyes widened when a glob of brown gunk shot out. She took a step back, a squeal leaving her lips.
A knuckle rapped against the door. “You all right in there?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Can I help you?”
Hannah gazed downward. Stark naked, she wasn't letting Rory in. “I don't think so.”
Footsteps were heard moving away. “Well, just let me know.”
She studied the contents coming from the faucet. The brown thick soup turned to a brown liquid. Steam floated off the water. “Come on, come on, just be clear for a few minutes so I can catch you.”
Tonya had warned her about impatience. It was forever getting her in trouble. Pacing the small room, Hannah thought back to Melanie. Her friend was in much worse shape. She was probably in one of those well-lit wooden rooms without even the chance of bathing. The longer she occupied her mind with these thoughts, the more the brown-tinged water didn't seem to matter.
Plug in place, Hannah grabbed the sides and lowered her body. A whoosh of air and the faucet water changed from brown to a crystal clear liquid. Sighing with relief, she laid back. White cracked porcelain was highlighted by the clear water. She didn't care. This was like heaven on earth.
Time lost all meaning. She lay there until the water temperature cooled and goose bumps dotted her flesh. A shiver ran along her spine, and she opened her eyes. The dirt and grime she'd worn for the last week floated around her. Her hands shooed the filth away, but it was no use. She drained the water from the tub and then ran more, pleased that it still appeared clear.
The heat sucked away her energy. The water cooled, and she grabbed a rag and washed. Clean, she climbed from the tub, dried, and dressed.
Using her fingers, she combed through her hair. The long brown strands hung down her back, dripping water on the floor. Taking a towel with her, she walked into the other room.
“Feel better, love?” asked Rory, one eyebrow cocked, his legs propped on a rickety table.
A grin spread wide across her face. “Infinitely.”
She tilted her head to the side to dry her hair. A gasp escaped as Rory took the towel from her. He led her to the bed and sat her on the corner. With the towel, he massaged her scalp. She gulped, her pulse increasing.
Methodically, he rubbed. Her head tingled. Then suddenly the towel was gone, and he was brushing. A group of hair at a time was picked up and brushed until no tangles remained. Each time he gathered more to comb, his knuckles grazed her neck. Hannah bit her lip until she tasted blood. She would have liked nothing more than to be in his arms. To have him kiss her the way he had eight years ago. The way he had a few days ago.
Just when she thought she could stand the sweet torture no more, it was over. Cold air graced her neck as she realized she was alone. The click of the door told her he'd gone.
****
Hannah sat on a chair, her legs curled underneath her. The long flowing skirt, which looked like something from the seventies, was bunched in a wad. Rory sat across from her. His attire wasn't that much different. Tan bell-bottom pants and a light blue shirt with a large, open collar graced his muscular body. Smooth, tanned, well-defined skin could be seen through the open
V
. They both looked like something from
Saturday Night Fever
.
Munching on a carrot stick, Hannah laid down a pair of fives. They'd played every card game they could think of and some she'd sworn Rory had made up. Boredom was their biggest enemy. No TV, no phone, no Internet, no books, just each other.
“Explain this to me again. Why are we waiting here?”
“Because I've sent word to Father Thomas. He'll be here any moment.”
“I don't think he's coming.”
Rory arched a brow. “Well, of course, you don't.”
“Don't mock me.” She leaned on the table, her head rested in her hands. “Look, we've been here for almost a week. If he was coming, wouldn't he have been here by now.”
“Maybe. But they don't have the same system here as you have in America. News travels slower.”
“Humph.”
“Besides, why are you rushing things? Don't you enjoy my company?”
Hannah squirmed.
I
f
he
only knew
. “Do you have an ace?”
He placed the card on the table. Reaching forward to grab it, Rory caught her hand in his.
“Such long, nimble fingers. Are you a fast typist, Sparkles?”
“Yes,” she said, swallowing hard.
He rubbed back and forth. A shiver raced along her spine. He lifted his head and gazed at her; a smile lifted the corner of his lips. She went to pull her hand away, but he held tighter.
One swift tug and he had her on her feet. Before she realized his intent, she was in his arms and they were dancing. On one side of the room, pressed against the wall, was a double bed. On the other wall sat a couch with large gaping holes in the material. In the middle of the two objects was a decent open space where Rory twirled her around in ungraceful circles. His prosthetic gave their movements a jilted awkwardness. She found she didn't mind. The heat radiating from his body passed through hers and caused the most exciting feelings.
Rory hummed a slow, romantic tune. The humming stopped, and he pulled her closer. Leaning forward, his lips grazed her eyelids. Hot breath hit as he rubbed his whiskers against her neck. Heat flushed her cheeks as his chin rested on the top of her head and his arms wrapped around her until they were separated by nothing. With her cheek resting against his smooth skin, she could feel the thump of his heart.
“You were saying?” he asked.
“Hmm.” Hannah was completely out of it. His touch was driving her mad. If she turned her head just a fraction then her lips wouldâ
“Ah, that's nice to hear. I like my women content.”
Rigidity filled her body as she stepped away from his hold. His brows knit together, his arms still held out as if holding her, as she backed away and raced toward the door. Vaguely she remembered him yelling for her not to leave, but she didn't listen.
Hannah slid down the banister, stopping to descend the spiral staircase to the bottom floor. When she approached the front desk, Chin Xi was nowhere to be seen. Not that she needed him. No, she was leaving. She couldn't wait a moment longer.
The door to the hotel pushed open easily enough. The bright sunshine blinded her. Using her hand as a shield, she proceeded in a brisk walk. She had no idea where she was going. Right now that wasn't important. What was important was putting as much distance between Rory and herself as possible.
How many women had Rory wooed? He had been engaged to Monica, but he claimed he never loved her. He'd said
she
was his only love. What rubbish!
How could she have been so blind? He was an attractive man. He was sure to be well sought out in his social circles. The fact he hadn't married yet was merely because he hadn't allowed himself to do so.
Arms crossed over her chest and her head hanging low, Hannah walked. There was no place to sit and just stare. No water running to bring peace. No place to go for solace.
Then she saw it. A steeple. At one time the building had been white, but weather had changed it to a dull gray. It was no bigger than her apartment, just a tiny square in the midst of chaos. Yet it was exactly what she sought.
Increasing her speed, Hannah approached. The door ajar, Hannah placed her hand in the opening and pushed it opened. A loud creak rent the air, and she looked around to see if she had been noticed. Not seeing anyone, she slid inside.
It was dark. The only light filtered in from high windows that sat somewhere near the ceiling. The rays were filled with floating particles of dust. Once her eyes adjusted, she looked around.
The building was indeed small. Two rows of short pews rested on each wall. She stood in the aisle between them. In front of her was the altar, a crudely made wooden bench that sat in front of a small pulpit.
Hannah made her way forward, her gaze trained on the large image of Christ, hanging on the wall. Unlike some churches who depicted Christ on the cross, this was just Christ robed with His hand held forward, as if beckoning the weary. And she was weary. Her heart was heavy.
From the time she'd left home, nothing had gone right. The highlight of the entire trip had been finding Rory. But now she couldn't understand why that had happened. What was the point? If it was just so she could think of future romance stories to write, then she could have done without it. The pain of seeing him again, of being with him again, was unbearable. Especially if it wasn't going to last. There was no way she could leave him. No way could she survive if he left her like last time. She would hunt him down and make him explain if he tried to slip away.
The sound of the door opening startled her. Instead of heading to the altar to kneel, Hannah went to the front pew and sat. She slid all the way to the end and bowed her head as if in prayer. Right as she settled, the sound of heavily booted feet stomped up the aisle.
“Rector! Rector! Where are you?”
From the back of the church came a tiny bowed man. A sigh escaped his lips as he whispered, “Yes?”
“I need more workers.”
Shadows danced on the wall as he shook his head.
“What do you mean no? We had an arrangement. Your mission is to help the townspeople find work, and I'm providing that work.”
“Yes, this is true. You are helping them find work. But you aren't paying them.”
A loud slam reverberated off the walls of the tiny church as the intruder slammed his fist on the pew behind her. Slipping farther into the shadows, Hannah held her breath.
“Who said I wasn't paying them?” demanded the man.
“Listen, I know who you work for. I didn't in the beginning, but I do now. I'll not be a slave for Tapiwa. He is an evil man.”
The words were no sooner out of the rector's mouth than he was lifted from the ground. Hannah expected him to kick and try to dislodge himself in some way, but instead he only stared at his captor.
With power he said, “You will not intimidate me anymore.”
The man grunted and allowed the rector to drop. “What do you want? Money?”
“Of course not. What I want is for you to return all those men to their homes and stop taking them.”
The man guffawed. “I can't do that. Do you know how long it would take to find the diamonds without them? No, we have a schedule to keep. And if you won't tell me men who have no families, then I guess I will just have to pick them myself. And we all know who I pick, don't we Rector?”
The evil glint sent chills racing along Hannah's spine. She bit her lip to keep the trembling at bay. There was nowhere to hide. Huddled against the pew, she saw the shoulders of the rector slump. The look of defeat that crossed his visage caused anger to inflame her heart.
“Come with me,” said the rector, leading the man away.
Hannah was too stunned to move. Deep breathing calmed her enough so she could slide from the pew and head to the back of the church. Caution prevented her from running. Reaching the back, she edged around the door and slid outside. A gasp escaped her lips as she noticed several men dressed like guards.
Halfway out, they looked at her and raised their voices in alarm. It was too late now. She had to run.