Vinkie was in the kitchen with her mother when Sanna came in from outside with an armful of wood and said there was a wagon coming down the path.
‘Who is it, ma?’
‘I don’t know,’ Drieka said, tucking her hair under her kapje and going to the door. ‘Sanna, go call the grootbaas.’
The wagon rolled up, and a tall youth in a dark jacket stepped out to help down a man with a cane. They looked at the house and the land, then focussed their attention on the woman and child standing at the door.
‘We’re told this might be the Kloot house.’
Drieka studied the man who had spoken. His stance, the bowed legs, the way he narrowed his eyes, all seemed faintly familiar. Their exhausted expressions and the tired horses indicated that they had had a long trip.
‘Krisjan Kloot,’ he said, answering her thoughts. ‘And Pieter, my grandson.’
Drieka’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘I see the name’s known,’ the old man continued. ‘I’m Harman’s brother, Krisjan. We’re at the right place then, I take it.’
‘You’re at Willem’s house. I’m Drieka, his wife.’
‘You’re not …?’
‘Lisbeth died long ago. This is Vinkie, our daughter. There are children from the first wife—two sons, David and Roeloff. One’s with his father, the other’s away looking for some of our sheep. We’ve been robbed. But come in, you must be tired. Where have you come from? Roodezand? Stellenbosch?’
‘The Cape.’
‘All the way from the Cape? That’s a long journey,’ she said incredulously, her eyes on Pieter who seemed most attentive to Krisjan Kloot, helping him up the steps. She’d heard him right, he had said grandson. How was it possible? She’d thought he was the old man’s servant. ‘How long did it take?’
‘We stopped for a few days where we found water and grazing for the horses along the way. We also stayed a week with a family in Roodezand, another week in the Cederberg. In all, about two months.’
‘Two months! That’s a long time to be on the road, and in such unbearably hot weather. You must be tired.’ Drieka’s mind raced with the implications of the visit. If it had taken them two months to travel to the Hantam, they weren’t coming for just a few days. ‘I’m told it’s hard to cross the Cederberg by wagon.’
‘Very hard. And dangerous for such a small party.’ Krisjan Kloot stopped on the top step to catch his breath. ‘But Pieter is handy with a gun, and can turn his hand to many things. He and Karel did all the heavy work loading and unloading and dondering the oxen up steep hills, and repairing wheels when they broke.’
Drieka looked at the wagon. She hadn’t seen anyone else.
‘Karel?’ she asked.
‘Karel’s been with me for ten years. His wife died two years ago. He jumped off when he saw some Koi-na near the dam. He went to make their acquaintance. Karel’s Koi-na himself. He’ll make his place with them while we’re here.’
‘Come in, please,’ Drieka said. ‘It’s hot out here.’
Inside the house, Vinkie went to sit in her small chair alongside the hearth from where she had a clear view of the visitors. Pieter was the same build and height as Roeloff, but his skin was dark, his hair a strange combination of wire and silk—not clumpy like a Koi-na’s, but not straight like theirs either. She wished Roeloff was there to see him.
‘Where’s Harman?’ Krisjan Kloot asked.
Drieka realised with a start that he didn’t know his brother had died. She was searching for the right words to tell him when a shadow fell in the doorway and presaged the entry of Willem Kloot and David.
Vinkie, watching her father, saw the colour change in his face.
‘Oom?’
‘Yes,’ Krisjan said, getting up. ‘You were twenty when I last saw you. My, how the time’s flown!’
‘This is indeed a surprise, after all these years! What brings you to the Hantam? Are you passing through?’
Krisjan Kloot laughed.
‘Through to where, son? You people live at the end of the world. I thought I’d come and visit.’ With two fingers he smoothed out his moustache which curled up at both ends like the horns on a buffalo. He had tremendous presence. ‘Your father and I haven’t seen each other since Emily died and I remarried. It’s time the family settled things.’
The smile left Willem Kloot’s face. He cleared his throat.
‘I have bad news, Oom. I didn’t know where to find you, and to be truthful—well, it doesn’t matter now. Pa died some years ago.’
Krisjan Kloot leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they looked glassy and tired.
‘Some years ago?’
Willem looked sheepish.
‘Six years ago, I think. Out here, we’re not always—well, the years just run into one another. One loses track.’
‘I said to Pieter something was wrong. Maybe I even knew, deep inside. What caused his death?’
‘His lungs.’
Krisjan nodded.
‘He always had trouble with his chest. Winter was bad for him. I’d have thought the dry air of the Karoo would be an expectorant, keep them clear.’
