The Golden Angel Read online

  “Let me see what you’ve done.” Charterhouse hobbled out into the yard, and Barney went with them. When the oxen pulled up short, the Masai grinned and said something in Swahili. Erin answered and then turned to Charterhouse. “Making the wagon was the hardest thing, and then lugging the plane across the countryside, of course.”

  “How did you do it?” Barney asked.

  “I had Mr. Williams make the cart. He had some old wheels and axles, and he fit it all together. I told him about the plane, then I got Nbuta here to go with me, along with some of his men. It was rather easy getting the plane on the cart. You remember the tail was up in the air?”

  “I remember,” Charterhouse said. He moved forward and, almost in reverence, put his hand on the side of the plane. He turned to her and said, “What did you do then?”

  “Why, we just backed the wagon underneath it. Nbuta put a rope around the tail and pulled it down. We had plenty of help, so it wasn’t too big a job to lift it up and lash it down.”

  “Well, I think it’s a bloomin’ miracle, and I can’t ever thank you enough, Miss Winslow.”

  “It’s Erin, remember? And you’re very welcome.”

  Charterhouse began to examine the plane in greater detail. “I wasn’t able to examine the damage when I went down, but it doesn’t look too bad.”

  “The propeller’s all bent out of shape, and it looks like that wing suffered some damage,” Winslow observed.

  “Yes, but it’s here, and I can get parts in Nairobi. Oh, I say!” He turned and said, “I’m forgetting that I’m a guest here.”

  Winslow nodded. “We’re used to guests, Mr. Charterhouse. You’ll stay with us until your airplane is repaired.”

  Charterhouse nodded, and gratitude washed across his face. “Thank you so much, Mr. Winslow.” He turned to Erin and said, “I’ll bet when you woke up a few mornings ago you didn’t know you’d have so much trouble on your hands.”

  Erin dropped her eyes, for she was proud of what she had done, and she knew that this man was grateful. “It’s no trouble,” she said. “But you’ll have to let me help you. You won’t be at your best for a while.”

  “And watch out or she’ll take over your job, Charterhouse,” Winslow laughed. He turned and walked away, and Charterhouse stepped closer to Erin. He put out his hand again, and when she took it, he squeezed it firmly. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am. I was worried sick about the plane.”

  “I know you were. I could see it.”

  “I must make this right with you. Maybe,” he said, “when I get it running, you’d like to go up.”

  Erin took a short breath. “Oh, I’d love it,” she said. “We’ll start in the morning. Any parts you have to have we can probably order, but it’ll take a while.”

  “That will be all right with me.” Charterhouse felt the firm, warm flesh of the young woman’s hand and pressed it even harder. “It’s a lucky thing for me that I went down where I did.”

  “I don’t think it was luck,” Erin said quickly. “I think it was God.”

  Charterhouse studied her, then released her hand. Nodding, he said, “You may be right. In any case I’m here, and you’ll have to put up with me until I get airborne.”

  ****

  “Hand me that wrench, Erin—no, not that one. The smaller one.”

  “This one?”

  “Yes, that’ll do it.” Charterhouse was underneath the engine of the airplane with Erin at his side. The two had been working for three days, and the sun beat down upon the plane with considerable intensity.

  Suddenly Charterhouse exclaimed, “Ow!” and dropped the wrench. He sat down and began slapping at his ankle when Erin reached out and pulled at his arm. “Get up! Those are army ants.”

  Quickly getting to his feet, Charterhouse held up an ant between his fingers and exclaimed, “That’s the awfulest-looking ant I ever saw! I always thought ants were nice. Even the Bible speaks of them, doesn’t it? ‘Go to the ant, thou sluggard’—something like that?”

  “I don’t think this is the kind of ant you want to praise. These things don’t just sting, they bite plugs out of you when they’re on the march. Two years ago a horse was trapped in a stable when the ants went through. The poor animal was killed, and by the time the owner got there he was half-eaten.”

  “Not a nice thought! Are there more of them?”

  Erin looked around carefully and stomped on the hard ground. “I think they’re just strays, but even individual ants have a nasty bite.”

  “Let’s take a break,” Charterhouse said and took Erin’s arm. They walked away from the plane, which was out behind the house, and onto the back porch. Erin said, “I’ll get something to drink. You sit down and rest your leg.”

  “Almost well now,” Charterhouse said. Nevertheless, he took her advice and sat down on an Adirondack-style chair that Barney had made out of teakwood. When she came back with two tall glasses, she said, “Not cool, but wet.”

  The two sat there drinking the tepid tea, and she listened as he spoke of his experiences during the war and since then.

  “I never did see any combat in the Great War. I was a good airplane mechanic, so I completed my tour of duty on the ground making the planes ready for the fliers. My brother was a flier, though. Saw plenty of action. He shot down six enemy planes, but they got him at last.”

  It was one of the few times Stephen had mentioned his family. He was obviously proud of them, and now Erin asked impulsively, “Do you have a large family, Stephen?”

  “There’s only me and my sister now. My father’s a barrister. We live in Dover. You’ve never been to England, have you?”

  “No, I’ve read about it, though. It must be lovely, from the pictures I’ve seen.”

  “It’s a pretty country all right in the summer and the spring. Nasty in the winter—cold, drizzly, and wet.”

  “I’d love to see it. I’d love to travel.”

  Stephen turned to her and studied her with a fond expression. “I hope you’ll come and visit.”

  Erin was taken aback. He spoke as if England were only a few miles away. She had learned from their conversations that he had traveled greatly since the war. He had visited Australia and America and had even made one foray into the Far East, touching on the soil of China and Russia. “I doubt if I’ll ever be in your neighborhood,” she smiled.

  “You never can tell. Life’s sort of funny.”

  “What brought you to Africa?” she wanted to know.

  “I have an uncle—my father’s brother—who owns a cotton plantation between here and Mombasa. He came for a visit when he was a young man and just never left! Married a native woman and settled down here. He’s been wanting me to come visit for years, so I finally came to meet him and spend a little time exploring this part of the world. I rather like it myself. . . .” He paused and gave her a winning smile. “Especially since you’re here.”

  Erin felt herself blushing at his comment and the way his eyes explored hers. He clearly wanted to know her better. Suddenly she was aware of how closely she had been drawn to him during the few days he had been a visitor in her home. He was twenty-six, but still young enough so they could enjoy each other’s company. She had taken him for a short horseback ride the day before around the mission station and had visited the Masai village. He had taken it all in eagerly. He was one of the most alive human beings she had ever met, Erin decided. He had told her enough about his life to know that he would always be moving on to a new challenge. Flying was the love of his life; he talked about flying as some men talk about heaven.

  Working on the plane together had drawn them even closer together. They had sat out every night on the verandah speaking in quiet tones, and she felt she knew him very well indeed.

  Suddenly Stephen looked over and said, “What about you? You let me talk all the time. You never say much about yourself.”

  “There’s nothing much to say.”

  “Well, that’s not right. You’ve led an a
dventurous life here. I don’t know any other woman who can ride like you do—or who could go out into the African veldt, load an airplane onto a wagon, and drag it back to a beat-up aviator.”

  Erin laughed at that. When she turned to face him, her eyes were dancing with fun. “I didn’t build the wagon all by myself. I couldn’t have done it without Nbuta and his friends.”

  “But you got them together. You can shoot, and you even killed a leopard once, your father told me.”

  “That’s true enough. I didn’t like it, though.”

  “You don’t like to shoot leopards?”

  “He was an old leopard and would have died anyway, but he was preying on our calves, so somebody had to stop him.”

  “What are you going to do? You can’t shoot leopards all your life. It’s rather lonely out here, isn’t it?”

  “I never thought of it until—” Erin almost let the words slip out until you came but managed to bite them off. “I don’t know. I’m really not fitted for anything but killing leopards,” she smiled.

  “Do you want to work?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Stephen. I’ll have to, I suppose.”

  “No handsome young man waiting for you somewhere in Nairobi or Mombasa?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “I’m surprised.” Stephen put his chin on his hand and studied her. “You’re such a beautiful young woman—but then I suppose the pickings are pretty slim around here.”

  Erin was pleased with his compliment. “Pretty slim,” she nodded. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m rather stupid.”

  “Oh, come, that’s false modesty!”

  “No, it’s not. I never did well in school.”

  “But you’re a genius with bringing airplanes off the plain, and you’re quick at mechanical things.”

  “Maybe I could be a mechanic.”

  He laughed at that and said, “You’ll find your niche, and I don’t think it will be long.”

  “How long will it take to fix the plane?”

  “As soon as we get the parts from Nairobi.”

  “There’s a celebration at Nbuta’s village tomorrow. Would you like to go? It might be interesting.”

  “Yes, I would. They’re very fascinating people.”

  “All right. We’ll go. I’ll saddle up Fred for you. He’s steady enough.”

  ****

  Nbuta nodded at the two. There was excitement in the air, and the dance was about to start. “It is good to have you here,” the warrior said, nodding to Charterhouse.

  “Jolly decent of you to have me, Nbuta.”

  “The lion killer did not come.”

  “No, he’s off on mission work,” Erin said.

  “Lion killer?” Stephen asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, my father killed a lion a long time ago.”

  Charterhouse lifted his eyebrows. “Is that unusual?”

  “This one was. He killed it with his bare hands.”

  Charterhouse stared at the girl, afraid that she was teasing him. “Is that true?” he demanded.

  “Oh yes. He was clawed up, but it was a young lion, and he got around and strangled it somehow or other. I think God must have done it.”

  “He is a brave man,” Nbuta said. “He has the courage of a Masai. He understands lions.” Nbuta looked rather fierce, standing tall and straight with his spear close to his body. “A lion will fight for what he has and for what he needs. He is never cowardly. You can always trust a lion to be what he is and nothing more, nothing less.”

  “That’s rather a good thing to be said of any of us, Nbuta,” Charterhouse said, interested in the tall ebony warrior.

  “Oh, look, the dance is going to begin! Come along, Stephen.”

  Erin, of course, had seen the Masai dance on many occasions, but for Stephen it was all new. He took hold of Erin’s arm and leaned forward to whisper, “Are we going to join them in this dance?”

  Aware of the touch of his hand, she smiled. “I don’t think so. Wait and see.”

  The moon was high in the sky, and its bright beams glinted off the smoothly shaved heads of the girls. The young men wore their hair in long plaits into which were woven colored feathers. Most of the men wore rattles of metal on their legs. They also wore black-and-white tails of the colobus monkey, and as they began to dance, Charterhouse saw that they were able to make them shake like snakes.

  The voices of the dancers rose and blended with the veldt. The music had no tune but was one voice upon another, each of the same timbre.

  Finally the young men and women made a circle and placed their arms around each other’s shoulders. The moonlight, silver and glinting on the skin of the dancers, outlined them and made the shadows long. Soon a tall man came to stand in the center of the ring. He began to sing and then to sway. As the singing grew louder, the dancers stomped the ground with a rhythmic beat. The song grew faster, and suddenly the leader sprang up into the air. He had no sooner hit the ground than he sprang up again, holding his heels together, his head jerking back and forth on his neck.

  “My word, I never saw anyone jump that high!” Charterhouse whispered.

  “Some of them can jump higher than their heads,” Erin said. “I used to do that when I was a girl, but I wouldn’t care to try it now. I think you have to be Masai.”

  The dance went on for a long time, and when the leader became exhausted, another came and took his place. On and on it went, the dancers seemingly tireless. Finally the one who stayed in the circle the longest and leaped the highest was chosen, and a crown of woven branches was placed on his head.

  “We’d better go. It’s late, and this could last until morning,” Erin said.

  “I think you’re right.”

  The two slipped away, mounted their horses, and rode out of the village. The sound faded behind them as Erin led the way. They spoke from time to time of the dance, and Erin kept her eyes alert for jackals, which were far more dangerous than lions.

  When they reached the mission, Erin got down and opened the gate for them, then closed it again behind them. They took the horses to the open-sided barn, where they unsaddled them, brushed them down, fed and watered them, and left them in their stalls.

  As they walked back to the house, Erin suddenly stopped and looked up at the clear night sky. “Look at all those stars. Just think how long they’ve been there. It makes me feel very young.”

  Charterhouse paused beside her. “You are very young,” he said quietly. The music and the dance had stirred him, and he had been rather quiet on the way home. He said, “I’ve been thinking about the Masai celebration. They’re an amazing people.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Erin turned to him, near enough to be touched, and Stephen was suddenly aware of her nearness. He reached forward and pulled her to him, and when he put his arms around her, she came to him with an innocence that touched him. He bent his head and put his lips on hers, and for a moment he sensed the wild sweetness that was in this young woman. He stepped back and said quickly, “I suppose that was gratitude.” But then a moment of honesty came over him, and he had to admit, “But it turned out to be more than that. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It was . . . it was just a kiss.”

  She said good-night, then turned and went quickly into the house and to her room. As soon as she was alone, she discovered that she was trembling. She had never been kissed like that before—so tenderly—and not by a grown man. Somehow she knew she had come to a door that she must either enter or keep closed. She was a girl of deep emotions, and yet when Stephen had kissed her, it awakened feelings she barely knew existed until now. As she stood there in the darkness of her room, she knew she would never forget that kiss!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Among the Clouds

  Stephen Charterhouse stood in the shade beside the silver plane, which glimmered in the bright morning sun, then turned to rest his eyes on the mountains that lay to the east. It was a clear day,
and he could make out the glitter of ice on the high rim of the Manegai Crater. By turning to his right, he could see the peak of Lagnga Mountain, which now delighted him with its delicate shade of purple. He was aware of the smell of fresh-cut mahogo, and from far away he heard the rhythmic song of some Masai workers. Turning again, he looked toward the corrals, where a colt’s shiny coat gleamed like light on water as he frolicked, kicking up dust and lifting his head as he nickered into the air. Beyond the colt two stallions, sleek and steel muscled, stood almost immobile—only their tails alive and switching at the black flies that disturbed them.

  “Your leg’s almost completely well, isn’t it, Stephen?”

  Charterhouse turned to smile at Erin. “Yes, it is. You’re a good nurse.” She was wearing a close-fitting light blue shirt and exuded a sense of confidence as she smiled at him. For the past few days he had become more and more aware of the womanliness of this girl, and he enjoyed seeing her smile. Now as he admired her, an excitement stirred him, and he felt, somehow, that he was on the edge of a discovery. When he thought of the other women he had known, it struck him how rare she was: not only young and beautiful, but so very innocent. Being cut off from civilization—especially from the social world in which young men and women gravitate toward one another—had isolated her and made her into a woman who retained a great deal of youthful innocence. He knew she had courage, and many of her simple actions seemed almost primitive. He had also discovered she had a temper that could swing to extremes. She had a tremendous capacity for emotion, which fascinated Charterhouse.

  Suddenly, without meaning to, he said, “Erin, I’ve become very fond of you, but—” He hesitated and noted that the slight breeze stirred her golden hair in a way that was most attractive. “But I think you might be a temptation to me. Perhaps we ought to keep some distance between us.”

  Erin grew solemn and studied him carefully before speaking. It was a way she had, at times, of considering her words slowly, as if she were meditating on them, her eyes careful and watchful. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Stephen.”