She put the infant in his arms and watched for a moment. She had not thought her father so soft-hearted; what with Harman a baster and not even family.

‘Tell him I want to see him.’

‘Not now.’

‘Why not?’

‘He hasn’t even come to see his own son. I want him to come when he’s ready.’

‘I want to talk to him about the sheep he’s lost.’

‘It will have to wait.’

‘Zokho’s not coming back?’

‘I told you.’

‘What about Harman?’ he looked at the child in his arms. ‘Will he grow up without a mother? When’s his father coming to see him? He looks just like Roeloff. There’s nothing of Zokho in him.’

‘There is. His mouth and his eyes. The eyes are slanted like hers.’

‘His hair and colouring’s a Kloot. He’ll be strong, this boy. The way he cries, he wakes up the devil.’

‘You’re sure you can manage, Pa? I’ll come in soon to take him.’ Straightening her apron, she tucked the loose strands of hair into the side of her kapje, and went out. Her father didn’t have all his strength back, but there was nothing wrong with his mouth except for a slight slur. He could talk, and he had many questions. She had had to tell him about the raid when Roeloff and Twa came back separately with forty of the sixty sheep. They’d never found the party going east; only the band Twa had gone after and the ones Koerikei had said would be found at the end of the red mountains. She’d also had to tell her father about Zokho, why Harman was in the house with them and why she was looking after him. But she had no answers for why Roeloff hadn’t come to see his son. She knew from Twa that he asked after Harman, but that was all.

It was the beginning of summer, and she caught a whiff of the scent of flowers growing down by the stream. It was late for sowing, but it was a beginning of sorts to see him out there. She’d only caught glimpses of him during the past week.

She walked down to the kraal and stood with her foot on the wooden post of the gate as she studied him, planting seeds a few hundred feet away on the other side. He had grown thinner, his gait telling of his grief. Presently, sensing someone behind him, he turned.

She waved.

He waved back, then continued with his work.

She was disappointed and walked slowly to the henhouse to choose a chicken for supper. Then she became angry. She walked to where Roeloff knelt, tamping down seeds in the field.

‘Roeloff Kloot.’

He turned.

‘You have been back two weeks and you haven’t come once to see your son, or ask about him. Is it that you don’t care now that his mother’s gone?’

He was surprised at the confrontation.

‘I hear he’s doing well in your care.’

‘He needs his father, and his father needs him. His father must snap out of whatever it is that’s holding him back from living his life again. What’s perished is perished.’

‘His father doesn’t need reminding of his responsibilities.’ He returned to tamping and stamping, harder than before. ‘And watch you don’t hasten your own fate, Neeltje Roos,’ he said darkly.

‘My fate doesn’t scare me.’

‘No?’

There was silence. Suddenly she realised what he meant.

‘Prepare yourself. Before winter I will come to you.’

The colour rose in her face.

‘You will have to go to Roodezand for supplies,’ she said hurriedly, in an effort to cover her shock. They needed supplies, but it wasn’t what she’d come to talk to him about. ‘We’re down to the last salt and rice. I also need needles and thread and cloth. If I cut up any more of my clothes for Harman, I’ll not have a dress left to stand in.’

He smiled a thin smile, the humour not reaching his eyes.

‘That’s perhaps not so bad. It is said that a woman with too many layers of calico suffers the same fate as one who lives with his head in the sand. And we mustn’t forget that Harman’s a baster.’

Neeltje raised her chin in defiance.

‘He’s one if you make him so.’

‘No, Neeltje, his heart be half bosjesman, that be who he is. You have to be sure of your feelings. How you will feel when he looks at you with his mother’s eyes.’

‘He be your son, he be mine.’

Roeloff got up. His eyes looked deeply into hers and she felt dizzy under his gaze.

‘I’ll go to Roodezand in two weeks. When I return, I’ll come and see you.’

‘There won’t be any memories and spectres claiming your soul?’

‘No living thing will claim me. You have feeling for me, Neeltje? You have taken Harman. Will you take me?’

Neeltje wanted to cry with happiness. Only that morning she had tossed in her bed wondering when he was going to get over grieving for Zokho; now he was coming for opsit in a few weeks’ time. What more did she want?

‘I have feeling for you, yes.’

‘A little?’

‘More than a little. Look!—that dust cloud near the caves. It’s a wagon. Someone’s coming. It must be Stoffel.’

Roeloff squinted his eyes.

‘It’s not the trader, it’s a woman.’

‘The widow Reijnhardt. Oh my. She came.’

‘What’s wrong? Your father doesn’t like her?’

‘He’s amused by her spirit, but she’s not to his taste, you’ll see.’ She saw Twa talking to some of the Sonqua who were from the same band who had stolen the sheep, and who had later come asking for work. She called to him. ‘Go to the house, Twa, and wait for me there.’