“So the whole story about how hard things were for Clara, that was just rubbish?”
“Your mother was terribly unhappy, Beryl. Green Hills was in shambles then. It took every drop of energy Clutt could give it. I think that’s why she latched on to Kirkpatrick. Perhaps she saw him as her only way out.”
“But she had responsibilities,” I spat. “She should have been thinking of us, too.” Me, I meant—for Dickie had been fine, he’d been chosen. “What was this Harry like anyway?”
“Handsome, as I remember, and very attentive to her. She was a beautiful woman, you know.”
“Was she?” My father had managed to hide or throw out every likeness, every last reminder—particularly once Emma came along. He had rooted Clara out of our lives so well she might never have been there at all, and I saw why. She’d gone off with another man, hurting and embarrassing him, very much as I had done with Jock; but for us there were no children to think of. “Why couldn’t he have told me the truth?”
“Your father did what he thought was best. Sometimes it’s difficult to know what that is.”
I swallowed back rising tears, hating the fact that my mother could make me cry—that she still could, after all these years. But my feelings wouldn’t be tamped down. They flooded over me, so far past my control that I had to wonder if I’d only imagined surviving Clara’s leaving when I was a girl. What if the strength and invincibility I’d felt then—feats of daring, leopard hunts, and rides over the savannah on Pegasus, my ears roaring with speed and sharp freedom—were only the thinnest layer of straw over a gaping hole? Either way, I felt bottomless now. “Am I really supposed to be nice and to show her around? As if nothing whatever has happened?”
“Oh, Beryl, I don’t know what to tell you. She has her faults like the rest of us, I suppose.” He came over and clamped my shoulders with work-reddened hands. “You’ll do what’s right for you.”
—
If D felt certain that I’d make my way towards clarity, I had my doubts. Clara’s telegram continued to sting, wrenching me back through time. It was so strange to be learning only now why she had left the colony, the crux of the story buried for decades. And though it didn’t surprise me that my father had hidden the truth and his feelings and forged ahead with life on the farm, I couldn’t stop wishing he had told me. She’d left me, too, after all. Her going had changed everything, and now she was returning? It didn’t make sense. Why would she think she could find her feet in Kenya, a place she couldn’t get away from quickly enough? And how had she summoned the nerve to ask for my help? How was any of this my responsibility?
Angry and baffled, I was more than tempted to tell Clara to find her own way around—but she wasn’t the only one I had to consider. She hadn’t mentioned Dickie in her cable, though her casual reference to “the boys” meant she and the captain had had children together. Now those boys were fatherless and about to be dragged into an utterly foreign world. What would they think about that?
As I struggled with Clara’s plea, Denys suddenly came to mind. He had mentioned the baroness’s land and empty house less than a week ago. He’d meant it for me, for a friendly visit, but I couldn’t help but be struck by the opportunity, and by the perfect sense of timing. Though I still hadn’t entirely sorted out that I wanted to help Clara, her need and this solution seemed mysteriously matched up and sorted out already, as if the whole situation had been on its way for years and years. As if we were all being drawn together by unseen hands. It nearly felt inevitable.
I told Boy and D that I would be away for a few days, and went to saddle Pegasus, feeling better than I had in some while. I still didn’t have the slightest idea of what it would mean to have Clara back in the colony and in my life, but I was on my way to see Denys again, and perhaps tell him a story. It was a warm afternoon, I was on a strong and beautiful horse, and I had a plan.