of the veranda, too tired to do anything else, until Moses appeared. He brought a bowl of corn gruel compliments of his babu, and motioned for me to eat while he sat next to me.
I forced down a few spoonfuls. “I’m happy to see you, Moses.”
He gave me a smile, his broad, perfect smile. He sketched a few words onto the ground with his stick.
“You want to stay with me? But I have no cattle for you to tend, Moses.”
He made a putting away gesture with his hand.
“You might think it doesn’t matter, but you will miss the cows very much.”
He put a finger to his chest, then to mine, hovering just over my heart.
“You are in my heart also, Moses.”
My throat was too tight to swallow, so I handed him the bowl. He finished off the gruel happily.
Together we watched the giraffe come and drink at the far edge of Lake Wanyama. It was a small herd, just a few cows with their calves and a few adolescent males trailing behind. They were graceful and silent, bobbing their heads down at a ridiculous angle to get to the water. A crowned crane waded nearby, breaking the water into small ripples that flowed over to our edge, connecting us. And suddenly, the feeling Moses had conjured grew so strong and so deep I felt I could just float away on it. I was in love, really in love for the first time in a very long time, maybe the first time ever. And it was with this place, this Africa, as real to me as any man. The grey-green water of the Tana River was his blood and his pulse was the steady beat of the native drums. The red dust of his flesh smelled of sage from the blue stems of the leleshwa and sweetness from the jasmine and under it all the sharp copper tang of blood. In the heart of the Rift lay his heart, and his bones were the very rocks. Africa was lover, teacher and mentor, and I could not leave him.
I brushed the tears from my cheeks as I rose and put out my hand to Moses. “We’re going to Nairobi.”
He raised his hands palm up, questioning.
“Because I’ve been holding hands with ghosts for too long.”
I motioned for him to get into the truck Ryder had left and we headed for the duka. Mr. Patel was sewing on his veranda, running up long lengths of sari silk.
“I am making curtains,” he said, waving excitedly. “For Fairlight. To replace those which burned up. Only the best for Memsahib Delilah.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I couldn’t pay for them. I couldn’t even be sure Edgar would want them for what was left of Fairlight. But I smiled anyway. “Mr. Patel, I need to go to Nairobi. Have you seen Ryder? I want to take the truck, only I don’t want to leave him without it if he needs it.”
He waved a hand. “The sahib has already left on my motorcycle. He will have no need of the truck. If I see him, I will tell him you have taken it to the city.”
I didn’t stop to ask where Ryder had gone. I waved and floored it, heading as fast as I could to Nairobi. Unfortunately, I had a puncture and Moses proved as useless with machines as he was gifted with cattle. It took me more than an hour to wrestle the wheel off and patch it, and by the time we reached the city, the afternoon was sitting in long shadows.
I had given it some thought on the drive and it seemed to me my best chance was to head straight to the top. I hadn’t bothered to wash or change my clothes and by the time I walked into Government House, I looked like something three days past death. My clothes were stiff with mud and sweat and my face was covered in streaks of soot. Mr. Fraser jumped to his feet as I strode into his office, Moses following close behind.
“Miss Drummond! What on earth—”
“I have a crime to report. Gates tried to burn down my farm.”
Fraser looked pained. “Do you have evidence to this effect?”
“No, but who else would it have been? I have a witness that he threatened me when I discharged him.” I jerked my head to Moses.
The lieutenant governor narrowed his eyes. “Is this the same boy that you reported Mr. Gates as having struck