They rose at dawn and shot game for the pot: partridge, guinea fowl, reedbuck and oribi. Little Jamie had his own pony, and father and son rode along the veld carefully avoiding the six-foot holes dug by the ant bear, deep enough to engulf a horse and rider, and the smaller holes dug by the mere-cat.
There was danger on the veld. On one trip Jamie and his son were camped at a riverbed where they were almost killed by a band of migrating springbok. The first sign of trouble was a faint cloud of dust on the horizon. Hares and jackals and mere-cats raced past and large snakes came out of the brush looking for rocks under which to hide. Jamie looked at the horizon again. The dust cloud was coming closer.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Our tent—”
“Leave it!”
The two of them quickly mounted and headed for the top of a high hill. They heard the drumming of hooves and then they could see the front rank of the springbok, racing in a line at least three miles long. There were more than half a million of them, sweeping away everything in their path. Trees were torn down and shrubs were pulverized, and in the wake of the relentless tide were the bodies of hundreds of small animals. Hares, snakes, jackals and guinea fowl were crushed beneath the deadly hooves. The air was filled with dust and thunder, and when it was finally over, Jamie estimated that it had lasted more than three hours.
On Jamie’s sixth birthday, his father said, “I’m going to take you to Cape Town next week and show you what a real city looks like.”
“Can Mother go with us?” Jamie asked. “She doesn’t like shooting, but she likes cities.”
His father ruffled the boy’s hair and said, “She’s busy here, Son. Just the two of us men, eh?”
The child was disturbed by the fact that his mother and father seemed so distant with each other, but then he did not understand it.
They made the journey in Jamie’s private railway car. By the year 1891, railways were becoming the preeminent means of travel in South Africa, for trains were inexpensive, convenient and fast. The private railway car Jamie ordered built for himself was seventy-one feet long and had four paneled staterooms that could accommodate twelve persons, a salon that could be used as an office, a dining compartment, a barroom and a fully equipped kitchen. The staterooms had brass beds, Pintsch gas lamps and wide picture windows.
“Where are all the passengers?” the young boy asked.
Jamie laughed. “We’re all the passengers. It’s your train, Son.”
Young Jamie spent most of the trip staring out the window, marveling at the endless expanse of land speeding past.
“This is God’s land,” his father told him. “He filled it with precious minerals for us. They’re all in the ground, waiting to be discovered. What’s been found so far is only the beginning, Jamie.”
When they arrived at Cape Town, young Jamie was awed by the crowds and the huge buildings. Jamie took his son down to the McGregor Shipping Line, and pointed out half a dozen ships loading and unloading in the harbor. “You see those? They belong to us.”
When they returned to Klipdrift, young Jamie was bursting with the news of all he had seen. “Papa owns the whole city!” the boy exclaimed. “You’d love it, Mama. You’ll see it next time.”
Margaret hugged her son to her. “Yes, darling.”
Jamie spent many nights away from home, and Margaret
knew he was at Madam Agnes’s. She had heard he had bought a house for one of the women so that he could visit her privately. She had no way of knowing whether it was true. Margaret only knew that whoever she was, she wanted to kill her.
To retain her sanity, Margaret forced herself to take an interest in the town. She raised funds to build a new church and started a mission to help the families of prospectors who were in dire need. She demanded that Jamie use one of his railroad cars to transport prospectors free of charge back to Cape Town when they had run out of money and hope.
“You’re asking me to throw away good money, woman,” he growled. “Let ‘em walk back the same way they came.”
“They’re in no condition to walk,” Margaret argued. “And if they stay, the town will have to bear the cost of clothing and feeding them.”
“All right,” Jamie finally grumbled. “But it’s a damn fool idea.”
“Thank you, Jamie.”
He watched Margaret march out of his office, and, in spite of himself, he could not help feeling a certain pride in her.
She’d make a fine wife for someone
, Jamie thought.
The name of the woman Jamie set up in a private house was Maggie, the pretty prostitute who had sat next to Margaret at the baby shower. It was ironic, Jamie thought, that she should bear his wife’s name. They were nothing alike. This Maggie was a twenty-one-year-old blonde with a pert face and a lush body—a tigress in bed. Jamie had paid Madam Agnes well for letting him take the girl, and he gave Maggie a generous allowance. Jamie was very discreet when he visited the small house. It was almost always at night, and he was certain he was unobserved. In fact, he was observed by many people, but not one of them cared to comment about it. It was Jamie McGregor’s town, and he had the right to do anything he pleased.
On this particular evening, Jamie was finding no joy. He had gone to the house anticipating pleasure, but Maggie was in a
foul mood. She lay sprawled across the large bed, her rose-colored dressing gown not quite concealing her ripe breasts or the silky, golden triangle between her thighs. “I’m sick of stayin’ locked up in this damned house,” she said. “It’s like I’m a slave or somethin’! At least at Madam Agnes’s there was somethin’ goin’ on all the time. Why don’t you ever take me with you when you travel?”
“I’ve explained that, Maggie. I can’t—”
She leaped out of bed and stood defiantly before him, her dressing gown wide open. “Horseshit! You take your
son
everywhere. Ain’t I as good as your son?”
“No,” Jamie said. His voice was dangerously quiet. “You’re not.” He walked over to the bar and poured himself a brandy. It was his fourth—much more than he usually drank.
“I don’t mean a damned thing to you,” Maggie screamed. “I’m just a piece of arse.” She threw her head back and laughed derisively. “Big, moral Scotchman!”
“Scot—not Scotchman.”
“For Christ’s sake, will you stop criticizin’ me? Everythin’ I do ain’t good enough. Who the hell do you think you are, my bloody father?”
Jamie had had enough. “You can go back to Madam Agnes’s tomorrow. I’ll tell her you’re coming.” He picked up his hat and headed for the door.
“You can’t get rid of me like this, you bastard!” She followed him, wild with anger.
Jamie stopped at the door. “I just did.” And he disappeared into the night.
To his surprise, he found he was walking unsteadily. His mind seemed fuzzy. Perhaps he had had more than four brandies. He was not sure. He thought about Maggie’s naked body in bed that evening, and how she had flaunted it, teasing him, then withdrawing. She had played with him, stroking him and running her soft tongue over his body until he was hard and eager for her. And then she had begun the fight, leaving him inflamed and unsatisfied.
When Jamie reached home, he entered the front hall, and as
he started toward his room, he passed the closed door of Margaret’s bedroom. There was a light from under the door. She was still awake. Jamie suddenly began to picture Margaret in bed, wearing a thin nightgown. Or perhaps nothing. He remembered how her rich, full body had writhed beneath him under the trees by the Orange River. With the liquor guiding him, he opened Margaret’s bedroom door and entered.
She was in bed reading by the light of a kerosene lamp. She looked up in surprise. “Jamie…is something wrong?”
“’Cause I decide to pay my wife a l’il visit?” His words were slurred.
She was wearing a sheer nightgown, and Jamie could see her ripe breasts straining against the fabric.
God, she has a lovely body!
He began to take off his clothes.
Margaret leaped out of bed, her eyes very wide. “What are you doing?”
Jamie kicked the door shut behind him and walked over to her. In a moment, he had thrown her onto the bed and he was next to her, naked. “God, I want you, Maggie.”
In his drunken confusion, he was not sure which Maggie he wanted. How she fought him! Yes, this was his little wildcat. He laughed as he finally managed to subdue her flailing arms and legs, and she was suddenly open to him and pulling him close and saying, “Oh, my darling, my darling Jamie. I need you so much,” and he thought,
I shouldn’t have been so mean to you. In the morning I’m gonna tell you you don’t have to go back to Madam Agnes’s…
When Margaret awoke the next morning, she was alone in bed. She could still feel Jamie’s strong male body inside hers and she heard him saying,
God, I want you, Maggie
, and she was filled with a wild, complete joy. She had been right all along. He did love her. It had been worth the wait, worth the years of pain and loneliness and humiliation.
Margaret spent the rest of the day in a state of rapture. She bathed and washed her hair and changed her mind a dozen times about which dress would please Jamie most. She sent the cook away so that she herself could prepare Jamie’s favorite
dishes. She set the dining-room table again and again before she was satisfied with the candles and flowers. She wanted this to be a perfect evening.
Jamie did not come home for dinner. Nor did he come home all night. Margaret sat in the library waiting for him until three o’clock in the morning, and then she went to her bed, alone.
When Jamie returned home the following evening, he nodded politely to Margaret and walked on to his son’s room. Margaret stood staring after him in stunned bewilderment, and then slowly turned to look at herself in the mirror. The mirror told her that she had never looked as beautiful, but when she looked closer she could not recognize the eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger.
“Well, I have some wonderful news for you, Mrs. McGregor,” Dr. Teeger beamed. “You’re going to have a baby.”
Margaret felt the shock of his words and did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Wonderful news?
To bring another child into a loveless marriage was impossible. Margaret could no longer bear the humiliation. She would have to find a way out, and even as she was thinking it, she felt a sudden wave of nausea that left her drenched in perspiration.
Dr. Teeger was saying, “Morning sickness?”
“A bit.”
He handed her some pills. “Take these. They’ll help. You’re in excellent condition, Mrs. McGregor. Not a thing to worry about. You run along home and tell the good news to your husband.”
“Yes,” she said dully. “I’ll do that.”
They were at the dinner table when she said, “I saw the doctor today. I’m going to have a baby.”
Without a word, Jamie threw down his napkin, arose from his chair and stormed out of the room. That was the moment when
Margaret learned she could hate Jamie McGregor as deeply as she could love him.
It was a difficult pregnancy, and Margaret spent much of the time in bed, weak and tired. She lay there hour after hour, fantasizing, visualizing Jamie at her feet, begging for forgiveness, making wild love to her again. But they were only fantasies. The reality was that she was trapped. She had nowhere to go, and even if she could leave, he would never allow her to take her son with her.
Jamie was seven now, a healthy, handsome boy with a quick mind and a sense of humor. He had drawn closer to his mother, as though somehow sensing the unhappiness in her. He made little gifts for her in school and brought them home, and Margaret would smile and thank him and try to lift herself out of her depression. When young Jamie asked why his father stayed away nights and never took her out, Margaret would reply, “Your father is a very important man, Jamie, doing important things, and he’s very busy.”
What’s between his father and me is my problem
, Margaret thought,
and I’ll not have Jamie hating his father because of it
.
Margaret’s pregnancy became more and more apparent. When she went out on the street, acquaintances would stop her and say, “It won’t be long now, will it, Mrs. McGregor? I’ll bet it’s going to be a fine boy like little Jamie. Your husband must be a happy man.”
Behind her back, they said, “Poor thing. She’s lookin’ peaked—she must have found out about the whore he’s taken as his mistress…”
Margaret tried to prepare young Jamie for the new arrival. “You’re going to have a new brother or sister, darling. Then you’ll have someone to play with all the time. Won’t that be nice?”
Jamie hugged her and said, “It will be more company for you, Mother.”
And Margaret fought to keep back the tears.
The labor pains began at four o’clock in the morning. Mrs. Talley sent for Hannah, and the baby was delivered at noon. It was a healthy baby girl, with her mother’s mouth and her father’s chin, and black hair curling around her little red face. Margaret named her Kate.
It’s a good, strong name
, Margaret thought.
And she’s going to need her strength. We all are. I’ve got to take the children away from here. I don’t know how yet, but I must find a way
.
David Blackwell burst into Jamie McGregor’s office without knocking, and Jamie looked up in surprise. “What the hell—?”
“They’re rioting at the Namib!”
Jamie stood up.
“What?
What happened?”
“One of the black boys was caught trying to steal a diamond. He cut a hole under his armpit and hid the stone inside it. As a lesson, Hans Zimmerman flogged him in front of the other workers. The boy died. He was twelve years old.”
Jamie’s face filled with rage. “Sweet Jesus! I ordered a stop to flogging at all the mines.”
“I warned Zimmerman.”
“Get rid of the bastard.”
“We can’t find him.”
“Why not?”
“The blacks have him. The situation’s out of control.”
Jamie grabbed his hat. “Stay here and take care of things until I get back.”
“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go up there, Mr. McGregor. The native that Zimmerman killed was from the Barolong tribe. They don’t forgive, and they don’t forget. I could—”
But Jamie was gone.
When Jamie McGregor was ten miles away from the diamond field, he could see the smoke. All the huts at the Namib had been set to the torch.
The damned fools!
Jamie thought.
They’re burning their own houses
. As his carriage drew closer, he heard the sounds of gunshots and screams. Amid the mass confusion, uniformed constables were shooting at blacks and coloreds who
were desperately trying to flee. The whites were outnumbered ten to one, but they had the weapons.
When the chief constable, Bernard Sothey, saw Jamie McGregor, he hurried up to him and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. McGregor. We’ll get every last one of the bastards.”
“The hell you will,” Jamie cried. “Order your men to stop shooting.”
“
What?
If we—”
“Do as I say!” Jamie watched, sick with rage, as a black woman fell under a hail of bullets. “Call your men off.”
“As you say, sir.” The chief constable gave orders to an aide, and three minutes later all shooting had stopped.
There were bodies on the ground everywhere. “If you want my advice,” Sothey said, “I’d—”
“I don’t want your advice. Bring me their leader.”
Two policemen brought a young black up to where Jamie was standing. He was handcuffed and covered with blood, but there was no fear in him. He stood tall and straight, his eyes blazing, and Jamie remembered Banda’s word for Bantu pride:
isiko
.
“I’m Jamie McGregor.”
The man spat.
“What happened here was not my doing. I want to make it up to your men.”
“Tell that to their widows.”
Jamie turned to Sothey. “Where’s Hans Zimmerman?”
“We’re still looking for him, sir.”
Jamie saw the gleam in the black man’s eyes, and he knew that Hans Zimmerman was not going to be found.
He said to the man, “I’m closing the diamond field down for three days. I want you to talk to your people. Make a list of your complaints, and I’ll look at it. I promise you I’ll be fair. I’ll change everything here that’s not right.”
The man studied him, a look of skepticism on his face.
“There will be a new foreman in charge here, and decent working conditions. But I’ll expect your men back at work in three days.”
The chief constable said, incredulously, “You mean you’re gonna let him go? He killed some of my men.”
“There will be a full investigation, and—”
There was the sound of a horse galloping toward them, and Jamie turned. It was David Blackwell, and the unexpected sight of him sounded an alarm in Jamie’s mind.
David leaped off his horse. “Mr. McGregor, your son has disappeared.”
The world suddenly grew cold.
Half the population of Klipdrift turned out to join in the search. They covered the countryside, looking through gulleys, ravines and klops. There was no trace of the boy.
Jamie was like a man possessed.
He’s wandered away somewhere, that’s all. He’ll be back
.
He went into Margaret’s bedroom. She was lying in bed, nursing the baby.
“Is there any news?” she demanded.
“Not yet, but I’ll find him.” He looked at his baby daughter for an instant, then turned and walked out without another word.
Mrs. Talley came into the room, twisting her hands in her apron. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. McGregor. Jamie is a big boy. He knows how to take care of himself.”
Margaret’s eyes were blinded by tears.
No one would harm little Jamie, would they? Of course not
.
Mrs. Talley reached down and took Kate from Margaret’s arms.
“Try to sleep.”
She took the baby into the nursery and laid her down in her crib. Kate was looking up at her, smiling.
“You’d better get some sleep too, little one. You’ve got a busy life ahead of you.”
Mrs. Talley walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
At midnight, the bedroom window silently slid open and a man climbed into the room. He walked over to the crib, threw a
blanket over the infant’s head and scooped her up in his arms.
Banda was gone as quickly as he had come.
It was Mrs. Talley who discovered that Kate was missing. Her first thought was that Mrs. McGregor had come in the night and taken her. She walked into Margaret’s bedroom and asked, “Where’s the baby?”
And from the look on Margaret’s face, she knew instantly what had happened.
As another day went by with no trace of his son, Jamie was on the verge of collapsing. He approached David Blackwell. “You don’t think anything bad has happened to him?” His voice was barely under control.
David tried to sound convincing. “I’m sure not, Mr. McGregor.”
But he
was
sure. He had warned Jamie McGregor that the Bantus neither forgave nor forgot, and it was a Bantu who had been cruelly murdered. David was certain of one thing: If the Bantus had taken little Jamie, he had died a horrible death, for they would exact their vengeance in kind.
Jamie returned home at dawn, drained. He had led a search party of townspeople, diggers and constables, and they had spent the night looking without success in every conceivable place for the young boy.
David was waiting when Jamie walked into the study. David rose to his feet. “Mr. McGregor, your daughter has been kidnapped.”
Jamie stared at him in silence, his face pale. Then he turned and walked into his bedroom.
Jamie had not been to bed for forty-eight hours, and he fell into bed, utterly exhausted, and slept. He was under the shade of a large baobab tree and in the distance across the trackless veld a lion was moving toward him. Young Jamie was shaking him.
Wake up, Papa, a lion is coming
. The animal was moving toward them faster now. His son was shaking him harder.
Wake up!
Jamie opened his eyes. Banda was standing over him. Jamie started to speak, but Banda put a hand over Jamie’s mouth.
“Quiet!” He allowed Jamie to sit up.
“Where’s my son?” Jamie demanded.
“He’s dead.”
The room began to spin.
“I’m sorry. I was too late to stop them. Your people spilled Bantu blood. My people demanded vengeance.”
Jamie buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my God! What did they do to him?”
There was a bottomless sorrow in Banda’s voice. “They left him out in the desert. I—I found his body and buried him.”
“Oh, no! Oh, please, no!”
“I tried to save him, Jamie.”
Jamie slowly nodded, accepting it. Then dully, “What about my daughter?”
“I took her away before they could get her. She’s back in her bedroom, asleep. She’ll be all right if you do what you promised.”
Jamie looked up, and his face was a mask of hatred. “I’ll keep my promise. But I want the men who killed my son. They’re going to pay.”
Banda said quietly, “Then you will have to kill my whole tribe, Jamie.”
Banda was gone.
It was only a nightmare, but she kept her eyes tightly closed, because she knew if she opened them the nightmare would become real and her children would be dead. So she played a game. She would keep her eyes squeezed shut until she felt little Jamie’s hand on hers saying, “It’s all right, Mother. We’re here. We’re safe.”
She had been in bed for three days, refusing to talk to anyone or see anyone. Dr. Teeger came and went, and Margaret was not even aware of it. In the middle of the night Margaret was lying in bed with her eyes shut when she heard a loud crash from her
son’s room. She opened her eyes and listened. There was another sound. Little Jamie was back!
Margaret hurriedly got out of bed and ran down the corridor toward the closed door of her son’s room. Through the door, she could hear strange animal sounds. Her heart pounding wildly, she pushed the door open.
Her husband lay on the floor, his face and body contorted. One eye was closed and the other stared up at her grotesquely. He was trying to speak, and the words came out as slobbering animal sounds.
Margaret whispered, “Oh, Jamie—Jamie!”
Dr. Teeger said, “I’m afraid the news is bad, Mrs. McGregor. Your husband has had a severe stroke. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll live—but if he does, he’ll be a vegetable. I’ll make arrangements to get him into a private sanitarium where he can get the proper care.”
“No.”
He looked at Margaret in surprise. “No…what?”
“No hospital. I want him here with me.”
The doctor considered for a moment. “All right. You’ll need a nurse. I’ll arrange—”
“I don’t want a nurse. I’ll take care of Jamie myself.”
Dr. Teeger shook his head. “That won’t be possible, Mrs. McGregor. You don’t know what’s involved. Your husband is no longer a functioning human being. He’s completely paralyzed and will be for as long as he lives.”
Margaret said, “I’ll take care of him.”
Now Jamie finally, truly, belonged to her.