Promise the Night (11 page)

Beryl thought. Finally she said, “If I ever fly, it won’t be with wax wings.”

The Captain laughed, but Beryl could see the worry in his eyes.

After a few miles, the Captain tried again. “Beryl, I know you aren’t happy, but a governess will be good for you.”

Beryl had been waiting for this. “But Daddy, I don’t need one,” she cried. “You would never think I did if it weren’t for that blasted wo—”

The Captain reached over and slapped her leg. Hard. She clamped her teeth together to keep from crying out.

His forbidding face relaxed slightly. “At least Arap Maina is teaching you some discipline. A shame he can’t teach you manners,” he said.

“He’s ever so strict; he’d never let me talk that way.” Too late she saw his trap.

Her father’s narrow lips stretched in a quick grin. “Beryl, Arap Maina taught you how to behave among the Nandi. But now you must learn to behave among the British. We are your people.”

Beryl straightened up on her pony, eyes fixed on the tangled trees on either side of the narrow track ahead. For a thousand years Kibii’s people had carved a narrow path, just wide enough for a bull to pass, but the determined wagons of the British settlers had made it wider and permanent.

“You’ll see. I’ll bring back someone nice,” the Captain went on. “Someone young, who can teach you to be a proper lady, since you refuse to learn from Emma.”

“Daddy, tell me one thing, just one thing, that a governess,” she hissed the end of the word like a mamba might, “could teach me about surviving here.”

The Captain harrumphed. “She’ll teach you to get along with the other girls. Every time you meet my friends’ daughters, you turn up your nose as if they smell bad.”

“Daddy, they do! All perfume and soap.”

“They smell like young ladies.”

“None of them have visited since Emma came,” Beryl said thoughtfully. “Maybe the girls don’t like Emma either.”

“Never mind that.” The Captain’s neck reddened. “We’re talking about you. Would it be such a sacrifice to wear a dress once in a while?”

“You can’t want me to dress like those girls. I wouldn’t last five minutes in the bush.”

Her father let out an amused grunt and resettled himself in the saddle. “Beryl, when will you understand that I don’t intend for you to ‘survive’ in the bush? Next month, I’m buying a second steam engine. I’ll have another hundred acres cleared by summer. I’m going to be a rich man. So you, my dear, have to learn to act like a girl with expectations.”

“I expect the worst!” Beryl said in a mournful voice.

“I know you do.” He laughed. “And that’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so busy with the farm, you’d have had a more British upbring-ing. This was supposed to be Emma’s job. No white girl should be raised by the Nandi.”

“I thought you admired the Nandi.”

“The way I respect a fine horse. They’re magnificent specimens.” He patted the Baron’s withers. “But the best stallions are always a little wild and not to be trusted. Especially with your education.” His speech had gotten louder, startling the wild monkeys hanging
in the trees along the road. The brightly colored kingfisher and bee-eater birds flew up in squawking anger, blotting out the sun.

“Kibii’s my friend!” Beryl protested. “And Arap Maina is the finest teacher in Africa!”

“They’re not civilized,” he corrected. “No matter how much we like them, Beryl, we must never forget that we are the superior race. This is our continent now.”

The monkeys shrieked and began swinging away from the track. A tremor went through Beryl’s body, like a horse’s hide shivering to dislodge a fly. Her father was wrong about Arap Maina and Kibii. All the British settlers put together were of no use to her. Only the Nandi understood her.

Arriving at the wooden platform with its corrugated iron roof, they dismounted without stiffness, even though they had been riding for several hours. The last time she had been here was six months ago when Camiscan arrived. And Emma.

The Captain handed Beryl his reins. “Where is the blasted train?” he demanded, glancing at his pocket watch. “How are we going to build the Empire if the train is always late?”

Beryl shrugged; she had never known the train to arrive on time. On a good day, the noisy engine might travel ten miles an hour, assuming an animal had not wandered onto the track.

“After you get the mail, head straight home,” the Captain ordered. “No dawdling. And don’t worry Emma while I’m gone.”

Sourly, Beryl agreed. “If you say so.”

The Captain grabbed her chin and gripped it tight between his callused thumb and forefinger. “Young lady, I do say so. If you don’t learn some manners soon, I’ll tan your hide with my belt.” He took
a deep breath, released her chin, and sighed. “Beryl, what has Emma ever done to you?”

“That woman is not my mother.” Beryl’s face burned as though he had branded her with his fingers, but she refused to cry.

He let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No one said she was, but your mother is gone. She ran away to England with that major with the wooden teeth. She hated Africa more than she loved us. Don’t you see that?”

Beryl didn’t answer.

“Please do your best to get along with Emma,” he said. “She’s working like the devil to make a home for us.”

“Where’s her husband, anyway?”

He squinted as he stared down the tracks. “For all intents and purposes, Orchardson abandoned Emma and Arthur.” Almost pleading, he said, “Don’t you see? Emma and I are both alone.”

“You aren’t alone. You have me!” Beryl muttered.

“Beryl, Emma is here to stay. Try to be nice.” He cleared his throat. With relief, they both identified the unmistakable metallic clacking of the train approaching the station. A long, slow hiss and it groaned to a halt.

“Look, Beryl, there’s Lord Delamere. I want to talk to him about the mill. Be a good girl and run along now.”

Lord D., as everyone called him, had sponsored Captain Clutterbuck when he first arrived in British East Africa. The Captain gave Beryl an absent-minded kiss as he turned to greet his patron. Beryl was left alone on the platform, holding the reins to both horses.

Beryl collected the post, mainly letters for Emma and horse-breeding catalogs for her father. She pulled Wee McGregor’s head around toward home and led the Baron behind her. As soon as she was out of sight of the train station, she dismounted Wee McGregor and leapt onto the Baron’s back.

Once back at Green Hills, she unsaddled the horses and was careful to leave the stables by the back way to avoid Emma. Arthur’s voice startled her.

“Hi, Beryl!” he said cheerfully. He’d been lying in wait for her.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Beryl said. “I’ve been trained—you don’t know what I might do.”

“I bet Dad doesn’t know you rode the Baron. He’d be mad. But I won’t tell. Do you want to play?”

She stared at the raw slashes on his face. “Do those hurt?” she asked.

“Like the dickens!” he bragged cheerfully. “I was nearly killed!”

Beryl cringed.”Look, Little A—” She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I’m really sorry. What happened yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have told you to play with Simi.”

Arthur was silent for a few moments. Then he beamed up at Beryl. “But then you saved me.” He stuck out his hand. “We’re even.”

“That’s decent of you.” Beryl shook his hand and turned to leave. “I have to go to the village.”

He grabbed her arm.”Take me with you, please. Please!” Arthur was not allowed to visit the village, but that never stopped him from begging to go with her.

“Little A, you know I can’t.” With luck, she would be in time for one of Arap Maina’s lessons.

“Just this once?” he pleaded. “I’ll bring the mail up to the house for you.” Arthur looked up at her with a puppy’s longing eyes.

“Maybe next time. But you have to practice your jumping while I am gone.”

“I will, I will.” Arthur sprang up and down enthusiastically as Beryl watched with a critical eye.

“Not like that! Your toes must stretch downward. You must believe you can fly.” Beryl began to leap straight up, gaining more height with each leap. Arthur’s delighted laughter helped her spring even higher.

“Beryl, I think you did it that time. You jumped over your head.” He was still jumping, and his words puffed out to coincide with his landings.

Beryl was pleased, too, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “Maybe I did, but only because I practice all the time. See that you do, too. I’m going now.”

Leaving Arthur bouncing in place as if his life depended on it, she loped toward the village. She had to find Arap Maina.

The Nandi village had grown in the past year. Now there were several dozen huts arranged in two circles, one inside the other to protect the cattle. Beryl waved at the women with their colorful red shukas and their beaded necklaces that extended in collars as wide as their shoulders. She gave a huge smile to Kibii’s other mother, Naipende, who was her favorite.

“Hello, Naipende. Working as hard as ever?”

“Greetings, Beru. Who else will prepare the meals, or build the house, or care for the children?”

“Not the boys!” Beryl laughed. “They hunt to get away from women’s work.”

“And you have always preferred to be with them. The women still remember your thatching.” Naipende burst out laughing. “The boys are at the other side of the meadow.”

Beryl thanked her and set off at a run. The boys stood in a circle around Arap Maina. His thick hair was captured in narrow plaits that hung down to the small of his back. Today his bracelets were gold, green, and red, tied high and tight on his forearm. His toga was knotted at his shoulder; his chest was bare to show off his iron cable necklace. Beryl’s father said that whenever the government tried to build a telegraph line, giraffes knocked down the poles and the Africans stole the wire for jewelry. As far as Beryl was concerned, the lack of telegraph service to Green Hills was a small price to pay for Arap Maina’s splendid necklace.

Arap Maina spoke quietly, with authority. How could her father think of him as an animal?

He asked his students to identify the dung on the ground.

“Gazelle?” suggested Kibii, with a doubtful voice.

“No.”

“Water buffalo.” It was Mehru, a boy who was always trying to impress Arap Maina.

Arap Maina shook his head. “That is no buffalo dropping. Look more closely.”

Obediently, the boys hopped into a tighter circle.

“The shape is wrong. Feel the wetness; smell it. All of you should know lion spoor. The cattle are in danger.” To the Nandi, there was no greater threat. The boys were training to be murani, the guardians of the tribe’s wealth, its cattle.

“Tomorrow the murani will hunt this lion,” Arap Maina said.

Beryl caught her breath as an excited murmur rose from the boys. Every warrior longed to prove himself against the greatest enemy. Legends were born during lion hunts.

“We should sharpen our spears,” said Mehru.

“We should pray to Enka that we take down the lion in one blow!” said another.

“Ha! This is warriors’ work,” laughed Arap Maina. But the smile in his eyes told Beryl that he was proud of their courage. “Your work is to find a healthy bull for the ceremony. He must not have any blemishes.”

Beryl seized her moment. “Arap Maina, I would like to go on the hunt.” Her words fell into a shocked silence. Arap Maina had often taken the young people hunting for small game, but a lion hunt was serious business.

Behind his father, Kibii bent over laughing. Beryl scowled at him, already afraid she was making a fool of herself.

“Beru, only the murani hunt lion.” Arap Maina’s lips twitched.

“I know, but I can take care of myself.” Beryl dug her toes into the soft ground.

“What can a white girl do on a hunt?” It was Mehru who taunted her. Arap Maina silenced him with a glance.

“I have not taught you to defend yourself against a lion,” Arap Maina said sternly. “I never thought you would be foolish enough to hunt one.”

“I am ready,” she insisted.

He shook his head.

“Arap Maina, my father wants me to go on a hunt,” Beryl said deliberately, as though he was hard of hearing. She gulped and went on, “He insists.”

“I will ask him myself,” Arap Maina replied, glancing at the boys.

“He’s in Nairobi,” Beryl answered. “Do you doubt what I say?”

After a long moment, Arap Maina shrugged. “You may go only if you promise to obey my orders. I swore an oath to your father that I would keep you safe.”

“I promise.” She glanced around the boys and quickly dropped her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the shocked disbelief on Kibii’s face and the sullen anger on Mehru’s.

LOCATION: Abingdon, England

DATE: 12:00 GMT, 4 September, 1936

I exit the hangar. There’s the low roar of a heavy plane above us, a bomber. It looks like a fat marabou stork gliding in for a landing. Bombers are ugly planes; they handle as though they’re flying through treacle.