The Maverick's Bride Page 12

  “Now I want you to listen to me,” he said. He took her hand and set it on his arm. “Soapy’s right. We’ll do better at the bank after some food and a change of clothes.”

  A glance down at her tattered skirt told Emma the truth. “But I cannot be long.”

  He walked her toward the row of waiting trolleys. “Emma, a few minutes more or less won’t make a difference. Bond was right on one account. No one alone and unprotected can survive for long in the bush. Hold the hope that the Germans or the Maasai found your sister. But if not…”

  Emma closed her eyes as he let the words go unspoken. She didn’t want to hear it. Any of it.

  “Keep praying for your sister,” he continued. “I have faith we’ll find her.”

  “Faith?” she sputtered, coming to a stop. “What good is faith when God sets one stumbling block after another in my path? He called me to become a nurse. He sent me to Miss Nightingale’s school at St. Thomas’s Hospital. He told me to go to Africa. I’ve done everything He asked, and now just when I need Him most, He has gone silent.”

  “Emma, you’re taking this too personally.” He started walking again. “Sure, God made the world, but He doesn’t pay it much heed now.”

  “Are you saying God doesn’t care about Cissy? Do you doubt He called me to become a nurse?”

  “He’s God. Why would He pay attention to us?”

  “Why wouldn’t He? God created us. Before the dawn of time, He had laid out a plan for each of us. Jesus died on the cross for us. Everything God has done is for the purpose of uniting us to Himself.”

  A trolley wallah caught their attention. After seating them and getting directions, the man pulled his vehicle into the street. They passed a fisherman making his way to the shore, a heavy net draped over one shoulder. A shoe seller opened wooden shutters at the front of his shop, while his wife used a bundle of sea grass to sweep white sand from the doorway. Only a few days before, Emma had traveled this road with Cissy and her father. So short a time, yet everything was different.

  She was different.

  Adam was studying a row of palm trees in the distance. “You make it sound like God knows and cares about each separate person.”

  “Of course He does. Which is why I cannot believe so many confusing and dreadful things are happening. Cissy lost. My father dead. And you…you…”

  Mortified, Emma realized she had started to cry. She tugged out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “We didn’t see anyone,” she muttered, “not a single human during that whole day’s journey back to Tsavo.”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t out there. The Maasai know how to hide. They take note of everything that happens on their land. Besides, if what you say is true, God planned out this whole thing for a purpose. A good purpose. If He cares the way you say, then God is watching you right now. And me. And your sister.”

  “You believe it’s possible Cissy may still be alive?”

  “Anything’s possible, Emma.”

  Adam held Emma’s hand as the trolley took them along the narrow cobblestone streets of Mombasa. Shadowed alleys merged one after another between whitewashed houses crowded together. Men sold coffee from gleaming brass pots as women hurried by in black veils. Their kohl-lined eyes glanced at the strangers, then flicked away. A salty smell of fish and the sea and old baskets and leather lingered in the air.

  But most of all there was Emma.

  A loose tendril of golden hair brushed against Adam’s neck. The warmth of her hand filled his heart with something inexplicably good.

  Before long the cobblestone gave way to a track of white sand. The trolley took a path through a gate and down a long road between coconut palms planted in straight rows.

  “Is this your land?” Emma asked.

  “Seastar is my plantation. I planted the trees about eight years ago, and we’ve just harvested our first crop. In a few years I’ll export copra, the oil that comes from the white meat inside the coconut. It’s made into soap and candles. I’ll sell the dried leaves for thatch and the fiber around the nuts for ropes.”

  “When I think of a plantation, I imagine a brick house with tall white columns. Fields of cotton. And slaves.”

  “Not many brick mansions on the coast of Africa,” Adam remarked as they rounded the edge of the grove. A rambling, thatch-roofed bungalow stood at the end of the trail. Its verandah with blue-painted posts and blue doors circled the whitewashed building. Wide windows faced the grove on one side. On the other an endless stretch of turquoise water was broken only by a line of white surf across a distant reef.

  “Beautiful,” Emma exclaimed. “After the voyage from England, I thought I never wanted to see the ocean again. But this is lovely.”

  As Adam dismounted and lifted her down, it was all he could do to keep from drawing her into an embrace, kissing her sweet lips and telling her that the most beautiful sight he’d seen in years was the woman in his arms.

  But she stepped away to gaze out at the Indian ocean. “You are blessed indeed, Mr. King.”

  “I bought the land right after I got to Africa,” he said after paying the trolley wallah. “Built the house a few years later. I stay here when I come to pick up shipments.”

  “Shipments?” Emma turned to him. “What shipments are those?”

  “Farm machinery, mostly.” He stepped onto the verandah. “Medicine sometimes. The day we met, I was expecting a crate of tools, but the purser had no record of it. While we’re here, I’ll see if it’s come in on another ship. I’m planning to put in a railhead right over there.”

  “A what…? Oh, a railhead. Of course.”

  Adam glanced at Emma and saw that her cheeks had drained of color. He took a step toward her. “Are you all right?”

  “Sorry, yes. I was just thinking. Thinking of something I was told a few days ago.”

  He frowned, wondering what she had been told that could cause such a response. When she said nothing further, he went on. “I plan to ship coconuts into town. A factory is in the works. I’ve lined up some investors.”

  “You have quite the head for business.” Emma lifted her skirt and stepped onto the verandah.

  “I have plans.” He studied the crashing breakers in the distance. “This country is where I’ll make my dreams come true. All of them.”

  “What of your family in America? They must be proud indeed. Do they visit you?”

  “No,” he said. “They don’t.”

  Taking off his hat, he tossed it onto a gazelle horn hat rack mounted by the door. He crossed the verandah to a wicker chair.

  She took the chair beside his. “Surely they’ll come from Texas to see you.”

  “My father wasn’t happy with me for leaving home. He was buried three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Very sorry.”

  “Too late for that now.”

  “Is it? I think not. You’ll reconcile with him one day, just as my father and I will finally understand each other.”

  He studied the earnest expression on her face. Emma believed she would be with her father again. In heaven. She thought God took a personal interest in her—so much that He had called her into nursing and sent her to Africa. That was the kind of faith he had seen in his mother’s life. Simple trust. Unquestioning conviction.

  “Why did you leave Texas?” Emma asked. “Could you not find work?”

  “The frontier is gone. Texas is crowded. I heard about opportunities in Africa, and right away I knew this was where I was supposed to start my empire.”

  “Your empire?”

  “Ranching, farming, the railway.” Adam leaned back in his chair, feeling easier now that the conversation had turned from religion. “This land is raw and untamed. Lawless. Free. Out here, a man can do what he wants.”

  “Has your family lived long in Texas?”

  “My great-grandfather came over from Germany. The family name is Koenig. It’s the German word for king.”

  “German?”<
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  “I’ve got Irish blood in me, too. Even some Cherokee.”

  He started to tell her about the grandmother whose Cherokee blood had given him a head of black hair, but as he began, Soapy came running around the corner of the house.

  “Boss!” His gray eyes were wide as his boots pounded along the wooden floor. “Boss, a feller from the warehouse caught up to me when I was on my way here with the horses. He said your shipments are in!”

  Soapy stopped before Adam, his white hat in hand. “All five crates got here this morning. Everything made it safely past customs…nothing opened. They’re all sealed up tight and stored at the warehouse. Shall I round up some fellers to go get ’em?”

  Adam glanced over at Emma. “Why don’t you head on inside?” he told her. “Your trunks should get here anytime. The lady who works for me will take you to your room. Just tell Miriam when you want to eat and she’ll fix you something.”

  Standing, Adam started across the verandah. “I’d better go with you, Soapy. In case there’s any trouble.”

  Chapter Nine

  Emma started down the verandah after the two men. If they were going after the crates, she should follow. The scene she had witnessed from the ship’s railing filled her thoughts when she heard Soapy’s announcement. Had Adam been so angry with the purser over a missing shipment of tools?

  Not likely. Only something very valuable could have caused such a heated response. Nicholas claimed that Adam was importing guns. No wonder the American had been edgy that day. With English customs officials roaming the dock, he would have been worried about discovery.

  Accompanying Adam into town might be her only opportunity to learn the truth about him. He and Soapy would talk about the crates and perhaps even open them. Then she would know the sort of man he really was.

  “Memsahib?” A voice called to her from inside the house. “Bwana King say breakfast for you. Come inside.”

  Emma’s spine prickled as a black-veiled figure glided out onto the verandah and began to circle her like a vulture. “Who are you?”

  “Miriam.” The woman edged around Emma, blocking her path of escape. “You stay. I cook fish now.”

  “Thank you, Miriam, but I must go into Mombasa.” Emma tried to step around her. “To the bank.”

  “No, you stay here. Bwana King say.”

  Emma spotted Adam and Soapy riding away and she sighed. Clearly the man was determined that she remain at the house. Why hadn’t she insisted on going? Hunger must be clouding her thinking.

  She turned her attention to the woman whose black robe and veil concealed everything but a pair of bright brown eyes sparkling through a rectangular opening. Bare feet poked out from beneath the hem of the heavy garment.

  “Are you a slave?” Emma asked.

  The eyes blinked twice. “Slave?”

  “Does Mr. King pay you a salary? Wages?”

  “I live here, memsahib. Seastar my home.”

  “But are you paid for your work?”

  Emma thought she heard a slight sniffle from beneath the folds of fabric. “My home here. My children here. My husband die.”

  Emma took a step toward the woman. “Do you have money?”

  “No money!” The voice took on a higher pitch. “No money. I stay here with Bwana King.”

  Startled at the reaction, Emma drew back in confusion. If Miriam lived and worked at Seastar without pay, then what could she be but a slave? Yet why had she spoken of this place so fondly, calling it her home?

  “Miriam.” Emma reached out to the robed woman. “I did not mean to upset you. Please show me to my room.”

  “Come.” An arm stacked with bangles grabbed Emma’s wrist.

  Miriam marched Emma through the open door and into a spacious room. “Sitting room,” she announced. “Parlor here, kitchen outside, bathroom there. Here you stay.”

  Emma stepped into the large room and came to a halt—her surprise complete. A canopy of wispy white netting draped over a bed. A sunbeam from the curtained window sliced across the bed’s white linens and onto the wooden floor. Seashells of every shape and color marched across the window sills.

  “I bring food soon,” Miriam said, her voice soft for the first time. “Now you rest.” She spoke the words with finality before gliding out of the room and shutting the blue door behind her.

  For several minutes Emma stared out the window at the turquoise sea with its line of white breakers. She was not in charge of her life at this moment. God had seen to it that she could depend on no human, not even herself. Her faith must rest only in Him. God knew what lay ahead. He could protect Cissy. In silent submission, Emma placed her life in His hands.

  She stepped to the wash stand, tipped the porcelain pitcher and let water flow over her tired fingers. When she tilted her face to the mirror, she caught her breath in shock at the reflected image. Her hair hung in tangled waves, stuck here and there with bits of grass and leaves, making her look like a half-blown dandelion pod. Once the proper shade of creamy ivory, her skin now gave off a ruddy glow that highlighted the olive green of her eyes.

  She took a moment to assess the remainder of her appearance and found it just as bad. The sleeves of her blouse were ringed in dirt and her skirt was torn and dusty about the hem.

  Scrubbing away the grime and grit, Emma had never enjoyed a wash so much. She lathered and rinsed her hair until it gleamed. Miriam returned several times to toss out the soapy water and refill the pitcher.

  As she cleansed her body, Emma prayed for clarity of mind. God rewarded her reverence by calming her heart and filling her with a sense of serene confidence. It didn’t matter where Adam had gone or what he was doing, she understood as she toweled her damp hair. She would dress in a lovely gown, place her most beautiful hat on her head and find some way to travel into town.

  Indeed, it would be better if Adam weren’t there to bungle her presentation at the bank by hesitating about the marriage. She would declare it to be so, present the affidavit that Sendeyo had signed and complete the necessary paperwork. Then she would find an outfitter and order the supplies needed for the long journey.

  She paused a moment while puffing soft talcum powder on her skin. In truth, she had no idea how much food to order, nor did she know how many men she would need or how they would travel. But any good outfitter could be relied on to provide that information.

  The trunks arrived—both hers and Cissy’s. Emma tried to ignore memories that assailed her at the sight of their familiar baggage. With Miriam’s assistance, she managed to dress in an emerald-green silk skirt and its matching jacket. She fastened the black toggles down her chest, then tugged a comb through her hair. Such impossible waves! Groaning in exasperation, she pinned up the offending tresses as well as she could. She slipped on her boots and buttoned them as quickly as her fingers would allow.

  Rummaging through hatboxes, she found a green, ostrich-plumed flimsy and set it on her head. Glancing back into the room as she made her way to the door, she saw Adam’s hat lying on the bed. She was half tempted to toss aside the ridiculous green bonnet in favor of it. The hat was a part of the man—and despite everything she wanted him close to her.

  Tugging on her gloves, she stepped through the door to find a tall figure silhouetted in the light of a hallway window.

  “Well, well. What have we here?” Adam looked her up and down, his blue eyes taking in every detail from her green hat to her pointed emerald boots. Then his focus rose back to her face, and she saw the longing in his eyes.

  Lest her own expression mirrored his, she spoke quickly. “I thought you had gone after the crates.”

  “Gone and back again.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Didn’t want to stay away too long.”

  “I see.” She shivered in spite of the heat. “If you please, then, I’ll need a carriage to take me into town.”

  “Listen, Emma…” Adam reached out to touch her arm. “I need to tell you something.”

>   “Bwana King!” Miriam’s shrill cry echoed down the long corridor. “Chakula tayari, sasa hivi! Food ready now!”

  Adam didn’t move, and Emma couldn’t. His presence seemed distilled to his very essence at this moment—his cotton shirt molded against his broad shoulders and his eyes as blue as the ocean. Her tension drained away and all she wanted was to feel his arms around her.

  “Bwana King?” Miriam’s voice ebbed as she wandered into another part of the house in search of them.

  Adam took Emma’s hand and pulled her close. “You smell like sunshine,” he whispered. “I try to tell myself otherwise, but there’s nothing I’ve wanted more than you. Emma, I—”

  He bit off the word and straightened, now looking past her. “Coming, Miriam,” he called. And then he was striding across the hall faster than Emma had ever seen him move before disappearing into the sitting room.

  Clenching her fists, she struggled to regain the composure that had fled the moment Adam looked at her. She refused to let such a man play with her heart. Starting down the hall, she vowed to resist him. This was a dangerous man, she reminded herself for the thousandth time.

  She would not succumb to Adam King every time he touched her. She would not let him touch her at all! Never again would she long for his embrace or imagine her fingers threading through his thick hair.

  Furious with herself, she set her jaw and stepped into the dining room. He stood at the far end of the long table perusing a letter. Long and lean, he wore his strength with an easy grace. Emma halted for a moment, shoring herself up against emotions that crashed like waves within her.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she spoke up. “I should like to take a carriage to the bank. A horse will do, if you have no other form of transportation.”

  “I have a carriage.” Adam pulled out a chair for her. “Take a seat. The bank closes at midday and opens again in the late afternoon. A tropical tradition. You’ll like Miriam’s fish. Fresh—caught offshore not far from the house.”

  Emma took the offered chair just as Soapy stepped into the room and took the seat across from her. Adam recited a perfunctory blessing. When Emma looked up, Soapy was grinning.