Elsie was not a demonstrative woman. She stood at the foot of the bed and studied her daughter. Soela had changed; her dress had a button missing, and her hair, usually neatly brushed and left loose for special occasions, was a dirty yellow plait tied with an old ribbon. She took the thick braid in her hand, feeling the plaiting with her fingers.
‘I’m sorry I sent you back.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘It is. You didn’t want to go. It was your future I considered, yours and Bessie’s, but there is no future. You’ll die early if you stay with him. You have to leave for your own sake.’
Soela looked hopeful for the first time.
‘What are you saying, Ma?’
‘This is your last night with him. You won’t go back to Kloot’s Nek. Tomorrow he goes home by himself.’
‘I don’t have to go back? Ever?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, Ma,’ Soela hugged her.
‘You and Bessie will be all right here. We’re all here to help. There’s just one thing.’ She put her hands on Soela’s shoulders and looked in her eyes. ‘Lourens is going to speak to your father about Diena. I don’t want you upsetting things.’
‘Ma …’
‘Your sister will take a husband. Diena has not yet been married. You’ve already had a chance.’
‘Ma, I can’t believe you’re saying this to me. I’ve always known about Lourens and Diena. I’m happy for them, they’re well suited.’
‘Good. I just wanted you to know. Diena has always let you have things she’s wanted for herself. But not this time, Soela. Lourens is going to be hers. Now, about tonight. There’s no avoiding it; they are staying over. The men will drink themselves to a standstill and fall into bed. You’re all right for the time being. In the morning, your father will talk to him.’
‘What if Pa doesn’t agree?’
‘Your Pa will do as I say. Go to bed early and avoid him.’
The night ended as Elsie predicted, with the men drinking until they had passed out on the stoep. She had no idea of when anyone went to bed, but some time after midnight Elsie surfaced uneasily from her sleep. There was no moon, the air was thick and engulfing, and she lay for a few minutes in the stillness, wondering what had woken her up. Then she heard it, a scuffling. She turned to her husband, but Jan wasn’t there. Was it him arguing with someone on the stoep? She got up and tiptoed to the door. All was quiet. She returned to bed, and tossed restlessly until finally she drifted off.
At dawn she was jerked out of her sleep by screams coming from the next room.
‘… and I’ll tell! …’ she heard Soela’s voice.
She jumped out of bed and ran into the passage. Willem Kloot, gun in hand, was already at the closed bedroom door and so were her husband and Diena.
‘Open up!’ Jan Joubert ordered.
‘You think I didn’t see you? How you encouraged him? And refused me?’ There was the sound of a slap, the thump of something heavy slamming into the wall.
Then Soela’s voice, loud and shrill.
‘Horse killer! You couldn’t stand it that he was better than you!’
There was a moment’s silence, then a crash of glass. Jan and Willem looked at each other, then put their shoulders to the thick wood of the door. The door gave suddenly, and the men fell over Soela, who was lying on the floor directly behind it, into the room.
‘Stay out of this!’ David snarled at his father and Joubert.
Willem looked at Soela, unconscious at his feet. David had the end of her plait in his hand.
‘Go back,’ Willem said.
David jerked the plait, and Soela’s head knocked against his boot, blood seeping from her mouth.
‘Step back! And let go of her hair!’
David picked up the mirror he’d slammed on Soela’s head.
Willem raised his gun. ‘David!’ The sound of his voice crackled like gunfire over their heads.
‘Don’t do it, man!’ Joubert pulled on his arm.
David had the broken glass poised over his head. He came forward to strike his father.
Willem shot him point blank in the heart.
The shot threw David against the wall, and he landed with a thud, his feet coming to rest in his own blood at Soela’s head. There was silence, then screaming and crying as the women became hysterical. Willem Kloot stood over the body with the smoking gun, slack in his hand, shocked at what he’d done.
‘I shot him. I shot my son.’
‘It’s not your fault, man. You had no choice,’ Jan Joubert consoled him.
The gun dropped from Willem’s hand. He turned and left the house.
