Diamond Mine Page 3

  In a flurry of tears, she’d fled. Reflecting, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever really loved her. Monica was beautiful, flirty, fun, and non-assuming. Clubbing was her scene, and for a time he’d enjoyed hanging out with her and her friends at the pub. But after the things he’d witnessed while serving his country, the frivolity of Monica and her friends had become more than he could handle.

  Returning home from his tour, every step was followed by flash cameras and questions. Rory began to avoid society. Monica had accused him of being a stick in the mud and no longer exciting. By her own admission she had met someone else with similar goals. To top it off, the bloke was French!

  Attempting to focus on the task at hand, Rory sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a shirt over his head. Glancing downward, he cringed. Would he ever get used to the sight?

  Pulling the stump sock tight, he checked to make sure all the wrinkles were out. Prosthetic snapped in place, he stood. Deep breath in, deep breath out, focus.

  Father Thomas must have a new chore for him, like the tree wasn’t enough to occupy his time. Maybe today they would ask him to move an entire building.

  ****

  “Ah, you finally arrive,” said Father Thomas. A grin lifted the corner of his eyes.

  Head bent, Rory replied, “Sorry.”

  Father Thomas waved away the apology. “No need to be sorry. We believe we have solved the issue of the tree.”

  “You have?” Secretly he hoped the priests would allow him to trim the bloody thing. If only—

  “Rory, stop staring at the branches as if you wish to remove them with your glare. The solution we present has nothing to do with trimming the tree.”

  Rory sighed.

  “Now we have established what we will not do, let’s discuss our idea.”

  Rory cocked a brow and Father Thomas explained, “We believe if you dig a big enough hole around the roots, then dig another large hole on the opposite side of the monastery, we should be able to move the tree to its new home with minimal damage.”

  Rory gasped and allowed his jaw to drop.

  Father Thomas fidgeted. “Of course, we do not expect you to move the tree alone.”

  “Oh, really. Thanks,” he said with sarcasm.

  “I sense you’ve changed your mind as to your purpose for being here.”

  “No. My purpose hasn’t changed.”

  “Then you still feel you must pay penance for your mistakes? You believe this can only occur through hard work, yes?”

  There was a question in the father’s words. The man knew how Rory felt about this. Why did he continue to ask the same questions over and over?

  Rory held up his hand to ask for silence. “Father, you know my feelings on this. I have done terrible, horrible things. Things I can never be forgiven of.”

  “But—”

  “Father, please. I have to do this.”

  “Very well. We will retrieve the tools needed.”

  “Why do I get the sense you’re humoring me just to get me to do hard labor?”

  “By your own admission.” Father Thomas shrugged his shoulders, his eyes twinkled.

  “Yes, I know, but asking me to do this,” he pointed toward the tree, “is impossible.”

  “No, my son. As I have told you before, with God all things are possible.”

  Chapter Five

  Hannah opened the package, careful not to rip its contents. Upending the envelope, papers spilled on the coffee table. One such paper was distinct. Colored ink and rectangular, it appeared to be a plane ticket.

  Rifling through the littered mess, she found a letter. Unfolding the white crisp paper, Hannah recognized the long flowing scrawl. It was from Korzan, Melanie’s husband.

  Dear Hannah,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Melanie and I have settled into our new home in a South African village. It saddens me to say, but Sudan was becoming so violent toward our kind, the leadership decided it would be best to move us. So here we are.

  I have written to you because of Melanie’s great melancholy. She will not admit it, but she misses home. So much has transpired during our brief stay in Africa, of which we have neglected to speak about. At this moment, she really needs a friend.

  I have taken some of my personal funds and bought you a plane ticket. Included in this packet is the information on where we are located.

  I sincerely hope you are able to visit. I know Melanie would be happy to see you.

  Your brother in Christ,

  Korzan

  Hannah searched the rest of the envelope and found the detailed instructions. She glanced at them, but was interrupted by a shrill ring. Without looking at the caller ID, she picked up the phone. “It hasn’t been fifteen minutes yet.”

  “Okay, it hasn’t. I’ll agree with you,” said Tonya with an exasperated voice. “But what was in the package? Is it from Melanie?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean sort of? What’s going on? And you better tell me right now, or I’m hopping in the car and driving over there to find out for myself.”

  “Korzan sent me a plane ticket to South Africa.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I know. He said Melanie was homesick, and it would help her if I could come for a visit.”

  “Well, you can’t go.”

  “Why not?” Hannah fell against the soft couch cushions. The fabric molded to her body. Lifting her head, she focused on a small black dot upon the ceiling. Tonya’s argument was sure to be good.

  “For starters, it’s too far away. And, and, what about your writing?”

  “I’ll take it with me. All I need is my laptop.”

  “But, but—”

  “And aren’t you the one who told me to take a break. Don’t you realize what this is? This is an answer to prayer.”

  “Well, maybe.”

  Hannah pictured Tonya sitting in the rocking chair beside the phone, biting her nails and worrying her lip.

  Smiling, Hannah said, “This is it, Tonya. I can feel it. The answer to all my problems is right here in front of me.”

  ****

  Hannah entertained herself on the long flight to South Africa with her latest story.

  The plane hit the air, and a catchphrase for Rory came to mind. Banter between Kahlea and Rory increased as the plane flew higher and higher. With the announcement that they were coming in for a landing, Hannah closed the computer and leaned back. She smiled. She’d finished the manuscript and sent in the edited copy. At the bottom of her email she’d made sure to inform the agent she was on vacation. That should be enough to keep him off her back until she could visit with Melanie and return to the states.

  The plane landed at Kruger Mpumalanga International Airport, and Hannah departed the metal can. It was the end of January, and it had to be at least ninety degrees. At home, snow peppered the air and graced the ground.

  Mentally she ran through the clothes she’d brought. When she reached Melanie’s home, she would need to do a more thorough inventory. No doubt they would need to go shopping.

  Hannah fidgeted with her purse strap. The luggage carousel was surrounded by new arrivals. Passengers pushed forward. Entering the fray, a familiar scent assaulted her senses. She turned her head, looking for the source, but was thrust forward.

  Noting her luggage, Hannah pushed inward. “Excuse me. Pardon me.” Luggage retrieved, Hannah breathed a sigh of relief.

  Shouldering her carry-on and purse, she grabbed the suitcase handle and pulled until it clicked in place.

  Her heels tapped the sidewalk. Reaching the curb, she squinted. Yellow, dingy cabs idled. Drivers lounged against their vehicles.

  A couple of cars away, a man with short black hair pushed a handicapped individual toward an ancient jeep. His gait was marked by a distinct limp.

  While researching a novel, she’d spent time with people who wore prosthetics. The man she studied now showed all the signs of one who had lost a leg. Pity swelled i
n her breast.

  Her foot hit the curb and a tall native male stepped forward. A cigarette dangled casually from his lips. He dropped it and crushed it with the heel of his scarred boot.

  “Need a lift?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  The driver helped stow her bags, opened her door, and closed it behind her. Once they were both settled, he asked, “Where to?”

  She hoped Korzan and Melanie were still at the same location as listed in his letter. Pulling out the wrinkled paper, she read the directions and said, “Grace Children’s Home, please.”

  Chapter Six

  Three years earlier…

  Sudan, Africa

  “Melanie, you must hurry. We don’t want to be late.” After all this time, the missionary board had approved their request. He didn’t want anything to mess it up.

  Korzan Sekibo watched as his wife ambled forward. The smile that rested on Melanie’s face was infectious, and he reciprocated. The largeness of her pregnant form brought personal pride. Not thinking, he stood still and watched. Even at this size, his wife moved with a certain amount of fluidity. Like a ballerina, she twirled toward him. Light filtered through the thick-paned windows and landed on her, highlighting her brilliance.

  “Well? Shouldn’t we go?” Melanie questioned, her grin widening.

  “Hmm?”

  Lightly she tapped his arm. “Snap out of it, lover boy. You’re right. We don’t want to be late. They might change their minds.”

  Snuggling close to her, he picked up a strand of her dark hair. With a soft tug, he pulled her forward into an embrace. Nuzzling her neck, he said, “Maybe we could be a few minutes late.”

  Giggling, she pushed him away. Her finger waved through the air while her head shook. Two steps and she stood in front of the door, ready to walk outside.

  Sudan, Africa, was his childhood home. Having returned after a stint in America, he and Melanie made Sudan their marital home for several months. They lived near the city of Khartum, nestled around the White Nile and Blue Nile Rivers. One of the hottest cities in the world, and still close to five million people chose to call it home. The dry, hot, desert-like landscape was a miracle to him. How the population survived and flourished here was a testimony to their persistence as a people.

  When he informed his parents of the desire to return to Sudan and spread the gospel, they had initially expressed concern. When he’d explained how he planned to spread the word, their fears were confirmed. They’d thought him incapable of accomplishing his goals but now all that was about to change. Now the mission board was giving him the opportunity to prove that what he’d suggested years ago was possible.

  Arm in arm, they walked to the office complex. The town was crowded with visitors for market day. People stood in front of the booths, pushing their wares. Women hawked their fine brightly colored cloth. Men shouted about their fresh food. Children ran aimlessly about the streets.

  Korzan placed Melanie far from the wayward children. Most of the young ones were homeless. They would run the streets and pickpocket what they could to survive. He hoped to change that by providing homes for these children, to take them under his wing, nurture them, show them a different and better way to live. With the mission board’s approval, the house that he and Melanie had found would be theirs, and the work could truly begin.

  Today there was a skip to his step. A smile spread across his face as the sun beat against his skin.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Melanie gushed and squeezed his hand.

  “Yes, indeed,” he replied.

  “What do you think they will say? Do you think it will be immediate? Will they give us the money and allow us to purchase the home? Have you decided on a name?” asked Melanie.

  “Whoa… slow down. First of all, we don’t know if they’ve decided to say yes.”

  “Well, of course, they have. Why wouldn’t they? Your proposal was sound. Reach the children and you change the world.”

  He patted her hand. “I know you’re on board. But I’m just not so sure about them.”

  “We won’t worry about it. I’m sure everything will work out.”

  Melanie’s good vibes carried them through. The meeting was a raving success. The board thought his plan indeed held merit. They handed him a check that very day.

  ****

  Weeks passed. The house secured and furnished, Korzan’s search for his wards began. It wasn’t hard. A couple days a week he went to the market, and anytime a child attempted to take his wallet, he would grab them by the scruff of the neck and give them two choices — the magistrate or a home. Invariably the waifs chose a home.

  Within a few weeks, the house was filled with loud, screaming children. Teenagers were hired to assist in helping with the feeding and educating of the youngsters.

  The loud rancorous noise echoed through the halls. Korzan stood beside Melanie, his arm wrapped around her expanding waistline. “What do you think?”

  “I think I look like a cow.”

  Korzan stifled a laugh and received a soft punch in the arm. He rotated her into an embrace and placed a brief kiss upon her forehead. “You are more beautiful than the rarest flower.”

  Fluttering her lashes, she crinkled her nose.

  “That was not the reaction I expected,” said Korzan, pretending to have hurt feelings.

  “Do you smell that?” Freed from his embrace, Melanie’s eyes widened. “Smoke!”

  Korzan yelled, “Get out! Everyone get out!”

  Once outside, the pandemonium continued. The children secure, Melanie and Korzan watched their dream burn to the ground. Men with rifles slung over their backs sat close by and laughed.

  “Don’t,” she pleaded, grabbing him as he headed toward the group.

  “Melanie, I must say something.”

  “No, you mustn’t. Besides, it is too late. The house is gone. All we can do is start over.”

  Staring at her intently and speaking in a hoarse whisper, Korzan said, “What if I don’t want to start over? What if I want to stand up to these bullies?”

  Melanie placed his hand over the squirming child growing within her. “This is why you mustn’t.”

  Korzan gave in. Nothing was worth his wife and child’s life.

  The mission board stepped in and moved them to a small village in South Africa. Afraid for the welfare of the children under their care, Sudan was deemed as an unsuitable field. Time passed and a new home was found. The number of children continued to grow. Now even adults came to them for knowledge. People in this new area yearned to learn more about the ways of the Lord. But as the desire for these things grew, so did the anger of some of the townspeople.

  The house was quiet as Korzan leaned back in a chair and studied his Bible. The words blurred, and he removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. The slam of the front door reverberated throughout the entire house. “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “Korzan!” The scream rent the air.

  Running into the living room, he found Melanie lying on the floor. Her normally olive skin paled. Blood covered the front of her paisley dress.

  “What happened?”

  “The baby! I need to go to the hospit…”

  The words trailed off as her head lolled to the side. Lifting her, he loaded her into the auto and drove to the hospital. Hours crept by as he sat in the waiting room, wringing his hands. Why was there not more for a father to do in these situations?

  The closing of a door caused him to jerk his head upward. A man in a white coat stepped forward and called his name. And he knew. He just knew.

  “Where is she?” he gulped.

  “Mrs. Sekibo is resting comfortably.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “Of course.”

  Following the doctor down the long, narrow white hallway, Korzan couldn’t help but think about his life. He’d moved Melanie to Africa to spread the word of God. Initially they’d chosen the Sudan as their missionary fiel
d because of his desire to witness to his extended family. After the fire, however, the mission board had moved them to South Africa. They’d been given no choice but to comply, or risk losing their funding altogether.

  Prayer followed. Questions arose. Did they want to continue on their current path?

  After consideration they’d both agreed that this change in venue didn’t bother them in the slightest. God was leading so no matter where they ended up it would be the place they were meant to be.

  Yet now South Africa had turned on them. The African people didn’t want them. They’d lost a home and now a child because of the cruelty. Standing tall and straightening his shoulders, Korzan made a decision. After Melanie was well, they would stand up to these people. He would stand up for what was right. He allowed things to go on because he’d been afraid. But not now. He was done. He would run no more.

  Chapter Seven

  Present Day…

  If it wasn’t enough to make Rory move a twenty-foot tree, Father Thomas also wanted him to drive to the airport. Brother Matthew’s flight arrived today, and Rory was the only one available to pick him up.

  Rory parked the jeep and joined the flow of individuals. Outside the gate, he waited patiently, holding a welcome sign. Boards announced flight schedules and rattled as their times changed. A voice announced the arrival of Father Matthew’s flight, and he directed his attention forward.

  Rory frowned as Father Matthew rolled toward him.

  “Good evening,” he said, in a strong sure voice.

  “Good evening,” repeated Rory.

  “Have you waited long?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Now we must retrieve my luggage. They were supposed to stow it on the plane and bring it off when I left, but there was a mix up, and it was placed on the luggage truck. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Rory shrugged as he grasped the wheelchair handles and pushed Brother Matthew toward the luggage carousel.