The Golden Angel Page 5

  “You’re very strong,” Charterhouse said, “to do that so easily.”

  “Getting you on is going to be hard.” She studied his injured right leg and said, “Look, you hold on to the saddle horn. I know you can’t put any weight on your right leg, so I’ll hold you here as best I can. You’ve got to get your left foot up in that stirrup.”

  “Right.” Charterhouse gritted his teeth, and then he put his weight on his good leg and gave a lunge. Erin shoved with all of her strength, and he went halfway over the saddle. She caught him and held him on, then shoved the injured leg over.

  Charterhouse gritted his teeth together and uttered no sound. “Well, I’m on,” he said finally in a short breath. “Are you going to get on behind me?”

  “I think I’ll just walk for a while. Princess isn’t strong enough to carry our whole weight all the way back.”

  “Oh, I say—you can’t do that!”

  Erin looked up at him and smiled. He couldn’t tell if her eyes were sea green or blue, but he was surprised to see excitement sparkling in them. He didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  “You just hang on, Mr. Charterhouse. I’ll get you out of this.”

  “I suppose first names might be appropriate, seeing as how you’ve saved my life. Why don’t you call me Stephen.”

  “Okay, Stephen, and you can call me Erin.”

  She took the reins and said, “You hold on to the horn. If you feel faint, just call out. We’ll stop and rest. We’ll stop anyway every fifteen minutes to get some water into you. You seem to be almost totally dehydrated.”

  The trip was hard on Charterhouse. Although Erin stopped three or four times an hour to give him a drink and eventually began giving him a few bites of food, he was very weak. From time to time he would actually pass out for a few seconds, yet he still held firmly on to the horn. Once he slumped forward, and she ran back to pull him up. “Here, this won’t do.” She swung on behind him and spoke to the mare. Charterhouse was aware that she was holding him in the saddle, and he did then pass out fully. When he came to, the horse was still moving along with a steady, even cadence, and he shook his head. “I’m quite a bother.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I thought I’d had it out there by myself,” Charterhouse whispered. “Yesterday—or was it today? Anyway, a group of vultures started circling up in the sky. I think they were there until you found me.”

  “It must have been frightening.”

  Charterhouse was aware of her closeness as she held him tightly, one arm around him, the other holding on to the line. He could not guess her age, but she seemed very young. “You say we’re headed for a mission station?”

  “My father and mother are missionaries—Barney and Katie Winslow.”

  “What were you doing so far away from your home?”

  “I often go on long rides like this. It’s one thing I am good at.”

  Charterhouse, for the first time, laughed briefly. “It’s a good thing for me. I’ve never believed in miracles, but I think I do now.”

  “You think God sent me to find you?”

  “You looked like a golden angel to me when I opened my eyes. I’ve been an irreligious dog all my life, but I’ll never forget to thank God for this day.”

  Erin felt the warmth of the man, who was so different from anyone she had ever known. He had an English accent, and there was an air of gentility about him, even in his present debilitated condition. “You’ll be all right now,” she said.

  “I’m worried about the plane.”

  Erin laughed. “No one will steal it out there.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that. I was worried about getting it flying again.”

  “The first thing is to get you in better shape. Then we’ll worry about the plane.”

  ****

  Erin pulled the weary mare up and slipped out of the saddle. Charterhouse was swaying. “We’re here,” she said. She saw that he was practically unconscious and said loudly, “Hang on, Stephen. Just a minute more.” Then she lifted her voice and called out, “Dad—Dad, come and help me!”

  Barney Winslow came out at once, took in the situation in one glance, and came hurrying over.

  “This is Stephen Charterhouse, Dad. His plane wrecked. I found him out in the grasslands.”

  Barney asked, “Are you hurt bad?”

  Stephen had awakened again as he realized they had reached Erin’s home, and he managed to answer, “Just my . . . leg.”

  Barney heard the weakness in the man’s voice. He reached up and with his prizefighter strength simply pulled the man out of the saddle. He carried him like a baby, and Charterhouse remembered little afterward. There was a flurry of activity, and soon he found himself stripped of his clothes and put between clean sheets. He looked up and saw his host, a sunburned man with black hair and light blue eyes. “If it hadn’t been for the young woman, I would have died.”

  Barney said, “God is good, isn’t He?”

  “Yes,” Charterhouse said. “I haven’t acknowledged it before, I’m afraid—but I know now that He is.”

  Barney turned and went out to where his wife and daughter were waiting. “He’s all right, just worn out. I’m pretty sure his leg’s not broken, but he’s not going to be using it much for a time.”

  “Should we send for David?” She spoke of Dr. David Burns, the doctor for their mission as well as half a dozen other mission stations.

  “It’s probably not a bad idea,” Barney replied. “But my guess is that if we keep cold compresses on it, he’ll be all right.” He turned back to Erin and said, “You say his plane is wrecked?”

  “It didn’t look to be in bad condition, although I didn’t examine it carefully.”

  “How long was he out there?” Katie asked.

  “Two or three days. He wasn’t sure.”

  “It’s a wonder he’s alive,” Barney said. He reached over and put his arm around Erin and said, “You did fine, daughter. Just fine!”

  Erin smiled. “He was nearly unconscious when I found him, and he said when he opened his eyes and saw me, I was like a golden angel.”

  “I bet he did. In his shape, if you had been as ugly as a warthog, you would have looked like an angel.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Katie said. “But in truth, he was right. God clearly sent you to rescue him.”

  Erin thought for a moment. She was exhausted, but still her mind was filled with Charterhouse and the adventure. “I almost missed him,” she murmured. “I was turning Princess around when I saw something glimmer. It looked like water, but I knew it couldn’t be. It was the silver of his plane. If I hadn’t seen it, I would have come home, and he would have died.” She shook her head and said, “I think the Lord must indeed have been in it, and I’m glad.”

  “You go to bed now,” Barney said. “You’ve worn yourself out.”

  “All right, Dad. Good night.”

  Erin went to her room, slipped off her clothes, and washed her face in the basin. She put on her gown and climbed into bed. Her last thought before drifting off to sleep was how strange it was, the way she and Stephen Charterhouse had met.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Awakening

  Stephen Charterhouse awoke with a start out of a profound sleep. He jerked so violently that a stabbing pain caught his right leg and drew a sharp groan from him.

  “Stephen, are you awake?”

  The sound of a voice served to pull Charterhouse out of the last vestiges of sleep, and he opened his eyes to see Erin Winslow bending over him. Her golden hair was tied back with a green ribbon, and she was holding a tray as she looked down at him.

  “Are you hurting?”

  Charterhouse passed his hand in front of his face and tried to pull himself together. “Just got a bit of a start waking up,” he admitted. He rubbed his eyes and then ran his hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost noon. I would have let you sleep,” Erin said, “but Mom says you need
to eat something.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Here, let me get out of bed.”

  “Not on your life,” Erin said firmly. “Just pull yourself up and put your back against the head of the bed there.” She waited until Charterhouse had done so, then put the tray down on his lap. “You need to eat small portions at first, so I thought some porridge and a scrambled egg might be good with tea.”

  Charterhouse picked up the fork immediately and scooped up a portion of the golden yellow egg, chewed it for a moment, then swallowed it. “That’s what I needed,” he said with satisfaction.

  “Do you like milk or sugar on your porridge?”

  “Both, if you don’t mind.”

  Charterhouse found himself ravenous and polished off the meal quickly. “I could eat twice as much or even more, but I suppose I’d better take it slowly.”

  “Drink your tea, and in an hour I’ll give you something else.” Erin pulled the chair up and sat down and watched as he drained the mug. “Don’t drink so fast,” she ordered him, laughing. “You’ll founder. Here, let me pour you some more.” As she poured the tea, she studied his face carefully. She had come in earlier to see if he was awake, and he had been lying on his side with his hand under his cheek. He looked very young then, much younger than he had the previous day. She had stood there watching him for a long time wondering what twist of fate had brought such a man into her world. Now she said, “We sent for Dr. Burns. He’ll have a look at you.”

  “I think I’m all right. Leg’s not broken.” Charterhouse flexed his knee and winced. “Sore as the devil, though.”

  “We need to get some cool compresses on that leg. You lie there, and I’ll go get some.”

  Charterhouse nodded and watched as the young woman picked the tray up and carried it out. He was, in fact, very weak, and the emotional stress of his brush with death had done something to him. Now that the danger was over, he found himself quite frightened at how close he had come to dying. He lay still until Erin came back with a basin of water and some towels over her shoulder. Putting the basin down, she moved the sheet back from his leg and looked at it. “It’s all swollen,” she said. “But I’m glad it’s not broken.” Dipping a small towel into the water, she draped it over his leg and said, “I wish we had some ice, but there’s nothing like that out here.”

  “I would imagine not. That feels wonderful,” Charterhouse said with a sigh of relief. “Do you have time to sit down and talk with me awhile?”

  “Of course.” Erin smiled. She came to the chair built by her father, sat down, and studied his face. “You look much better than you did yesterday.”

  “I don’t imagine I could have looked much worse.” Charterhouse shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe how it all turned out. When the engine quit I looked around trying to find a smack of civilization. Smoke from the village fires, a road, anything like that—but all I could see was a herd of impala.”

  “My father sent word by a runner to Nairobi. They won’t be sending out search parties for you. It’s a good thing you thought to tell him to send word. None of us would have thought of it.”

  “I say, that’s very nice of you.” Charterhouse smiled at her, and his patrician features were evident in the smooth planes of his jaw and the deep-set light blue eyes. He looked unmistakably English, and if he had not been, his accent would have given away his origin. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

  “How could you be that?”

  “Well, crashing in here without any warning. It’s not quite the thing, you know.”

  “It is out here. You haven’t been in Africa long, have you?”

  “No. Actually, only a couple of months.”

  “I’ve never lived anywhere but here, but I’ve heard visitors talk, and they all say that it’s different. They all comment,” Erin said, “on how we lean on each other.”

  “Lean on each other? In what way?”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Erin’s face, and her lips stirred with a pleasant thought. Her mouth curved in an attractive line, and Charterhouse noted the summer darkness of her skin. Her long hair fell below her shoulders, as golden and silky as anything he had ever seen. He had heard all of his life of golden hair, but never had he seen it like this.

  “Out here people have to learn to serve one another,” Erin explained. “They live on credit balances.”

  “Credit balances?”

  “Yes, little favors that they give, and some they may have to have returned.”

  “I suppose that’s because the country’s so sparsely settled.”

  “That’s right,” Erin nodded. “Love thy neighbor is a rule for survival out here. If you meet someone in trouble, you stop. Another time he may have to stop for you.”

  “Well, I say, that’s rather nice,” Charterhouse nodded. “It’s not like that in England.”

  “I don’t think it’s like that anyplace where there are a great many people—only out here where the land is open and we have to depend on each other.”

  The two sat there talking, and the sun put long fingers of light through the windows, touching the faded maroon carpet on the floor. Charterhouse grew sleepy, and Erin left the room for a minute, this time bringing back a bowl of rich, nourishing soup. She watched while he ate it, and he gave the bowl back, saying, “That was good. You’re a fine cook.”

  “That’s my mother, mostly. I’ll leave now, and you can go to sleep.”

  Charterhouse carefully inched his body down the bed. He laid his head on the pillow with a sigh of relief and said, “I’m worried about the plane.”

  “No one will take it out there. If a group of Masai come upon it, they might take a souvenir.”

  “I’d hate to lose it. It’s become a part of me, but I suppose there’s no hope. I lost track of how far I traveled, but I know it was a long way.”

  “It really means a great deal to you?”

  “Well, it does rather.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Charterhouse stared at her with astonishment. He was very sleepy, and fatigue washed through him, pulling him toward sleep with a steady hand. “Do? There’s nothing to do about that plane.”

  Erin’s chin lifted, and she watched as the man’s eyes closed in sleep. “Oh, I think something could be done,” she said and, turning, left the room with determination in every line of her body.

  ****

  Charterhouse sat at the table across from his host, Barney Winslow, and sipped scalding hot tea from the white mug that had become his. He had passed three days in the Winslow household and his leg had grown much stronger. Dr. Burns had appeared on the first day of his confinement and pronounced the leg bruised but no ligaments torn and no bones broken. “You’ll be limping for a while, and I think you should stay off of it,” the doctor said with a Scotch burr. “You’re lucky, from what I hear, to be alive.”

  Now as Charterhouse studied Barney, he could see a faint resemblance to the young woman who had saved his life, but not in the color of the hair or of the eyes—more in the planes of the face. The daughter had the same strength and determination as the father.

  “Do you think Erin will be back soon?” he asked.

  “I expect so.”

  Erin had disappeared on the second day of Charterhouse’s confinement. Katie Winslow had simply explained that she had business, and that she would be gone for two days or perhaps three. Charterhouse had been curious but had not felt it proper to question her further.

  The two men had moved out to the verandah, and now the sun was going down quickly. Once Winslow left to go speak to a woman who had brought a child inside the gate. Charterhouse watched as the missionary put his hand on the child and appeared to pray for her. When Winslow returned, Charterhouse asked, “Sick child?”

  “Nothing serious.”

  “Do they often bring their children to be prayed for?”

  “Not as often as I’d like,” Barney smiled. “Sometimes when they do, I can get them to see
Dr. Burns. I’ve been here many years, but they’re still a little bit suspicious of a medical doctor. Many of them still hold to the old ways.”

  The two men sat there enjoying the fresh air, and the time passed quickly. It was dusk now, and Barney suddenly said, “You haven’t noticed anything?”

  “Noticed anything? Like what, Mr. Winslow?”

  “Like that.”

  Charterhouse had to twist his neck and look almost directly behind him. He squinted in the growing darkness and said, “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s something that will please you.”

  When Winslow rose, Charterhouse got to his feet. He held tightly to the cane that Barney had provided for him and stood there. He could hear the faint sound of oxen bawling, and then suddenly he leaned forward, staring into the haze, and whispered, “My sainted aunt . . . !” He reached out and clutched one of the posts that held the roof to the verandah and shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing!”

  “You shouldn’t have told Erin that nothing could be done about your airplane. She takes things like that as a direct challenge.”

  Barney smiled at the expression on the face of the Englishman, then he turned, and both of them stared at the team of oxen led by a Masai. Behind the man, on some sort of carriage with wheels, rested an airplane, its wings wobbling as the crude wagon moved forward. A group of men walked alongside. Beside them on her mare, Erin leaned over and spoke to the driver, then she shot forward as the horse obeyed her command. She pulled up and slid off the mare in one smooth movement. Dropping the reins, she walked forward, and Charterhouse could see that her eyes were laughing with pleasure and excitement. “There’s your airplane, Stephen.”

  Charterhouse was aghast. He let go of the post and limped forward, putting his hand out. When the young woman came up and took it, he shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t so much really,” Erin said, very much aware of the pressure of his hand on hers. The look on his face gave her pleasure, and she let her hand remain in his.