He let go of her arm.
‘I don’t know, but he’ll have to answer for that. It’s possible he’s gone after the thieves. Twa’s never stolen from me. I’ll check the spoor.’
They entered the kitchen. The house was cold and smelly. The fire had gone out, and no one had cooked or cleaned, or attended to anything. Roeloff lit the lamp on the table and they went behind the partition.
‘Pa!’
Wynand closed his eyes in relief.
‘We’re back, and we have good news. But, first, are you all right? It looks like you are. Oom Otto says you’ll get better. He cannot come now because of his leg, but he’ll come soon to see you. He gave us medicine to build up your strength.’
She noticed her blankets on the bed. There was much effort on her father’s part to speak.
‘Are you all right?’
He blinked.
The baby started to cry.
‘You’re wondering about this baby? That Zokho, I’ll wring her neck when I find her. Where is she? Did she feed you?’
He shook his head to say that she hadn’t.
‘Who changed your blankets?’
He looked to the window.
‘Twa?’
Her father nodded.
‘He gave you something to eat?’
The effort to communicate was too much, and Wynand Roos closed his eyes.
‘The doctor says you’re to rest and not to worry about anything,’ Roeloff said. ‘Twa and I will manage. Oom Otto says he’s seen this before. You have to believe that you’ll be your old self again soon.’ He turned to Neeltje. ‘I’ll start the fire, the baby’s hungry. My, my, listen to him!’
‘Check the cow in the barn, Roff. For milk for him.’ She didn’t want to voice her fear in front of her father that the milk cow too might have been taken.
Roeloff was glad of the time alone, to grasp fully everything that had happened. A son. Zokho. The sheep. If Zokho was gone, he’d caused it. She’d warned him, begged him to take her away. Her fears had been right: he had cheated on her with his thoughts. But that hadn’t been so when they’d talked. Now, she had drawn the line between them, and her actions were beyond his experience. A mother leaving her own child. Nothing could justify that, but it was possible that she had been captured. He had to know.
He found the cow, heavy with milk, standing uncomfortably in the stall. She hadn’t been milked, and mooed gratefully at his approach. He was glad that the barn had been overlooked by the raiders and that at least they had milk. Drawing the bucket underneath the huge udder, he set to work. A thick froth quickly filled the container. When the stream thinned to a trickle, he patted the cow affectionately and led her out of the barn to the back of the house where there was grass.
He took the milk into the kitchen. Neeltje already had warm water in a basin and was washing the baby, who was crying at the top of his lungs. He watched while she dried and wrapped him in soft flannel cloths, fashioning something to wrap around his little bottom from an old towel she’d torn in half.
‘Tomorrow I’ll think of how to dress him so that he doesn’t kick everything off. Did you get milk?’
‘Yes.’
‘What will we put it in?’
The thought occurred to him for the first time: they had milk, but nothing to put it in to feed the baby.
‘Do you have any medicine bottles?’
‘We bought druppels last year from Stoffel. I’ll have a look.’
‘Do it quickly. Look at him, his face is red with his efforts, he’s hungry. I’ll fit something over the bottle.’
‘What?’
‘Something that can stretch over the mouth of the bottle, with a hole in it.’
‘You have something like that?’
‘I’ll make it out of a piece of soft hide. In the meantime, let’s see what you have.’
Neeltje disappeared behind the partition and came back with several small bottles. He selected one and examined the cork.
‘I’ll make a small hole in this. Just make sure it’s on properly, otherwise the milk will seep out onto his face.’
‘It’s too hard, it will hurt his mouth.’
‘I can’t do anymore tonight. Tomorrow he’ll have a proper bottle. Neeltje?’
‘Yes?’
‘I would be grateful if you could keep him here for the night, if it’s not too much trouble. I must look for Zokho.’
