‘Her eyes are not the eyes of her mother and father.’
Diena looked at him, hard. The ease with which she’d spoken earlier was replaced by a hint of concern.
‘You’re scaring me, Roff,’ she laughed nervously. ‘Of course they’re not the eyes of her mother and father. They could be like her grandfather’s, Oom Willem, or her great-grandfather, Oupa Harman. There are blue eyes on your side of the family.’
‘I didn’t mean their colour.’
‘What did you mean?’
Roeloff looked at her.
‘You know what I mean. You know whose child she is.’
Diena’s lashes flickered. She didn’t say anything.
‘I am told there’s a Slams in Roodezand. He doesn’t treat broken bones or snakebites, but has another speciality. He might know how to cure Bessie’s sadness.’ He paused a suitable time. ‘It might also help if Bessie played with other children, Harman and Beatrix. It will be good for them to grow up knowing each other.’
The evenness in her breathing returned.
‘They must know each other, yes.’
‘She must come often to Kloot’s Nek.’
‘She will.’
‘I could send for her every five or six days.’
Diena paused with the mug at her lips.
‘I’m sure it’ll be all right.’
‘I don’t mean to disrupt the two families. That’s not what I want.’
Diena looked at him. He looked back at her. There was nothing more he had to say. She understood; he would leave things as they were. Diena would be the go-between for him to see his child.
Joubert and his wife arrived as they finished their coffee. Roeloff accompanied the farmer to the kraal where all the Kloot sheep had been collected.
‘I count three hundred and sixty without the merino,’ Roeloff said after a considerable time. ‘We’re short by about a hundred.’
‘Your father had about thirty merino. The rest is mine.’
Roeloff turned to Hennerik.
‘Hennerik?’
‘Grootbaas had fifty merino. He didn’t cut holes in their ears as he was the only one with them in these parts.’
Roeloff turned back to the farmer.
‘I find it strange that my father would not have marked them, he must have been very ill. But, there you’ve heard Hennerik; he didn’t. I believe the merino are all ours. You would have marked them if you had any.’
Joubert kicked his boot against a post, more to give himself time to think than to rid it of dirt.
‘You’re taking the word of a Hottentot over mine?’
‘Yes.’
Joubert narrowed his eyes.
‘Take his word then, if you wish. You won’t put your hand to them. Take your thirty and leave.’
‘Take them, Kupido, and the other sheep,’ Roeloff said. ‘Hennerik, you and Twa get the horses.’ He turned back to Joubert. ‘It’s always better to see the enemy in its original clothing. The merinos are a small price to pay.’
Chapter Seventeen
Neeltje stood at the door of the voorkamer and watched him at the table, silhouetted against the circle of light. He’d been there all afternoon, bent over some papers, oblivious to the hours slipping away. She studied him from the back; his hair tied in a thong, his head tilted forward. Already the burden of charge sat in his shoulders. She didn’t know the nature of his concerns, but it had locked him away in this room.
Three days at Kloot’s Nek and she already knew the lay of the land. The new master wasn’t loved by all. Drieka acted one way in his presence, differently behind his back. Roeloff was responsible for her brother’s dispossession. She wasn’t going to forget it.
Neeltje came quietly into the room.
‘It’s time to come to bed, Roff. Tomorrow it will all look different again.’
He turned.
‘Sit with me for a while, Neeltje.’
She came in and sat next to him on the bench.
