Orphaned Hearts (Heart of Africa)
By Marion Ueckermann
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PROLOGUE
On the banks of the mighty Zambezi that grief-filled morning, Simon Hartley buried not only his wife—he buried his faith, as well.
As Simon’s workers lowered the wooden box into the earth, ululating rose into the surrounding air from the gathered crowd, louder and louder, like the roar of the great waters of Mosi-oa-Tunya—the Smoke that Thunders.
The tiny form cocooned in a soft pink blanket squirmed in his arms, quickly making her distress known. Either the wailing mourners had woken the sleeping babe, or hunger, for she knew nothing of what went on around her, couldn’t feel the pain of loss for the mother who’d given her own life in exchange for that of her unborn child.
Simon eased the covering open and gazed inside. “Shh,” he whispered as he rocked his daughter in his arms, stilling her cries. An ache filled his heart. His daughter. She was so beautiful, so perfect.
Jaw clenched, Simon fixed his eyes on the gaping earth at his feet as the simple coffin sank deeper into the earth. He hugged the fragile bundle closer to his chest. Could the act ease the pain that clawed like a wounded animal trapped inside him? How was it possible to experience opposite emotions at the same time? Joy. Sorrow. Like oil and water, they didn’t mix. But here they were, thrown together by the unexpected turn of events that changed what was to be the happiest day of his life, to the saddest. And yet...
He pulled his gaze away and focused on the waters ahead. In the distance, mist from the falls turned the sky a lighter shade of blue. This was fitting. Chloe had loved this spot. She’d sit here in the shade beneath the giant sycamore fig for hours reading, pausing between pages to listen to the faint roar of the Victoria Falls. Often she’d set her book aside and gaze down the river, marveling at the haze that rose from where the falls plunged to the ravine below. “Heaven on earth,” she’d said.
Placing the pacifier back in the baby’s mouth, Simon bowed his head and kissed her cheek. Images of the day his wife found out she was pregnant filled his mind. Chloe had been beside herself. They’d waited six long years.
“Let’s give her a local name,” she’d suggested when they discovered the nursery would be painted pink. “I love the Zambian name Nataizya.”
“I love it, too.” Afraid of what the name could mean, he ventured to ask.
“It means ‘I am thankful.’” Chloe’s smile reached across her face. “We should give her a second name. What about Grace? God has shown us His favor with this child. Nataizya Grace Hartley. Sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a good second name, darling, but—”
Simon pinched his eyes at the memory of the moment they’d chosen their daughter’s name. And the kiss from Chloe that followed, silencing his uncertainty. Never again would he know a love like hers. She’d followed him into the heart of Africa so he could pursue his passion—all because she loved him—and it had been the death of her.
“What about naming her after you? Chloe is such a beautiful name.”
She’d wrinkled her nose and laughed. “So is Simon.”
“Ah, but we’re not expecting a boy.”
“If we were, would you have named your son after you?”
“Maybe…”
“Well then, maybe we can talk about her second name once she’s born.”
Burying his face in the blanket, Simon breathed deep of the familiar scent. Even though the smell of baby fabric softener had filled their home for weeks as Chloe prepared for their new arrival, the fragrance of his beloved still clung to this one blanket she’d held close in the days before going into labor. She’d bring it to her cheek, running her fingers over its softness as she nestled in Simon’s arms. “I can’t wait to meet our little Nataizya.”
Raising his eyes, Simon gazed across the waters again, lost in the memories.
He would never wash this blanket. Never.
As the workers’ cries subsided, trumpeting sounded from behind. Simon turned to see the young elephants lined up along the fence of their encampment, trunks raised in the air, heralding their own grief, crying for their matriarch. Orphaned again. Chloe had a way with them—how could she ever be replaced? In their world, or in his?
The baby’s eyelids flickered. A frown formed across her forehead as she squinted at the wintery African sun. The pacifier wiggled with each sucking movement. He’d have to feed her. Soon as the grave was filled.
“Hey, little Nataizya Chloe Hartley.”
I honored your wish, my darling, as best I could. We were never given a chance to discuss that second name. So I made a choice. The name Chloe will never be forgotten in the Hartley household.
If it wasn’t for the express desire of his wife, Chloe would have been his daughter’s first name. Verdant and blooming—a beautiful meaning to a beautiful name. Everything their baby was. A tiny bud, waiting to blossom.
Verdant. Blooming. Everything his wife had been. Everything she no longer was.
Simon swallowed hard as he shook his head, the enormity of it all syphoning his very breath. There is no life in death. For years he’d believed there was, but with Chloe’s death, his beliefs changed. Simon could no longer place his faith in a God of mercy and love. How could he when that same God would allow a young mother to die as she kissed her newborn with her last breath? The same newborn she’d waited years to conceive, never doubting that her prayers would be answered.
How could this be love?
How could this be grace?
CHAPTER 1
I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.
John 14:18
Spotting movement through the branches, Simon froze. Paipi, his trusted worker and head Keeper, stumbled into him.
“Sorry, Mr. Simon.”
Simon turned and placed a finger on his lips.
Paipi glanced up into the tree and whispered, “Nataizya?”
A giggle drifted through the dark green leaves of the giant sycamore fig. Simon nodded. A smile flashed across his face, then faded as he looked up at the treehouse.
“Chloe Hartley, come down from there.”
A mop of dark brown curls popped into the center of the windowless opening. Picture perfect.
Simon wagged his finger, determined to retain the scowl pasted on his face. Not easy. She was so cute and adorable. But she could fall and get hurt, even from those lowest branches. “You know you’re not allowed in your treehouse alone.”
The opening became an empty canvas again as Chloe disappeared from sight, a giggle following her descent. Only her fingers remained on the opening’s edge. Slowly, the brown curls returned followed by eyes as bright and green as the sycamore’s leaves. She held the half-visible pose like some ‘Kilroy was here’ graffiti as she peeked through the window of her fifth birthday present. Simon had finished the treehouse with a coat of green to blend with the surroundings. Almost six months ago. He’d planned to watch sunsets over the Zambezi from there with Chloe, but had only done so a handful of times.
Why had he thought it a good idea to build this house for Chloe? If anything happens to her…
He started up the short wooden planks nailed to the entwined trunk that formed the base of the enormous tree when Chloe’s head popped up. She raised herself further to look down at Simon. “But Daddy, it’s so beautiful up here. I can see the smoke on the water. I can see the ephelants on the other side of the river…the big wild ones.”
Simon paused, fixing his gaze on her. “Elephants, Chloe. Not ephelants.”
She stifled another giggle with her hand. “El-e-phants.” Her face scrunched with concentration then smoothed into a satisfied smile. “Are they the mommies and daddies of our babies?”
“No, Chloe, they aren’t. Our elephants are orphans.”
“Like me?”
“You’re not an orphan, sweetheart. You have me.”
“But I don’t have a mommy, so that makes me half an orphan, doesn’t it?” Chloe rested her chin on her hands and gave a toothy smile, wrinkling her nose for added cuteness.
Still holding the ladder, Simon turned to Paipi and shrugged. A smile cracked his stolid face. “What am I to do with her? She’s far too bright for her age.”
Like a quarter moon on a starless night, a grin broke across Paipi’s dark face. He chuckled, his eyes creasing with the wisdom of his years. “Mwanuke mutate, kaakutingi bamukulu kaayooya.”
“You and your African proverbs...”
“A child is a delicate tree, Mr. Simon. If it does not lean on an older person it does not survive.” Paipi gestured toward Chloe. “You should join her. She needs you.” He turned to go. “I’ll be at the nursery. It’s almost feeding time again.”
“No, wait. The orphans are becoming more demanding. You need my help.” Simon raised his gaze. “Chloe, you need to come down now.”
The brown curls dropped out of sight but failed to make an appearance at the doorway.
“Nataizya, listen to your father,” Paipi’s aging voice cautioned.
As if sensing now wasn’t the time to continue her game of peek-a-boo, Chloe clambered down the wooden planks, her curls bouncing with each step.
Simon jumped to the ground. He wrapped an arm around Chloe’s tiny waist as she neared, gazing past the tree to the grave. Behind the tombstone, the sun shimmered on the Zambezi, casting a golden hue across the waters.
As he lifted Chloe onto his shoulders, his heart sank. Once again he’d chosen to miss spending a sunset with the women he loved.
***
“Abigail Chadwick!”
Abigail swung around to face her father. Her heart hammered at the sight of his knuckles turning white as he leaned on the enormous mahogany desk. She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes to meet his. She’d been a fool to think this could go well, but she would not be intimidated. Not this time. Her entire life she’d bowed to everyone’s whims and wishes. Everyone’s—except hers. This was her last chance for a little freedom, before…
She pushed the thought away. I’ll concern myself with marrying Alex this time next year.
“My mind is made up, Father. I am going. All the arrangements have been made.”
Henry Chadwick straightened. Abigail tipped her head back to retain eye contact. Crossing his arms, he cocked a bushy eyebrow, now more gray than black, before his eyes narrowed and his brows moved closer.
She breathed in deep, catching a glimpse of the tiny movements of his jaw as she broke eye contact for a moment. She didn’t care. He could try all the scare tactics he wanted. Nothing would stop her. God had told her to go. Not verbally, of course, but nothing gave her more peace than this decision. She chose to obey her heavenly Father.
Abigail stared back as he cleared his throat. Long. Deliberate.
“What of Alexander? You’re going to leave him here, alone, while you traipse off to Africa for a…year?”
“You shouldn’t worry about Alex, Father. He’ll do fine without me.” Abigail crossed her arms, too, moving her hip to the left as she shifted her feet. Two could play the same game. “Besides, I bet my life that he’ll be anything but alone.”
Henry seated himself again in the oversized leather chair. Picking up his Mont Blanc, he continued signing the papers he’d been busy with before Abigail entered his study to break the news. She hated interrupting him while he was working, but she’d put it off for as long as possible. He was always busy, and she could delay no longer. Within two days, she’d be on a plane to Livingstone.
“Does Alexander know about all this?” His hand swirled in the air, the pen following its movement like a miniature wand as if he could will everything away, change things to suit himself. Or society.
“He knows.”
His eyes widened. “And he’s letting you go?”
Abigail did nothing to conceal the weighted breath she released. She could tell him that she and Alex had discussed her decision at length, but it wasn’t any of his business. “It’s not like I’m going to Zambia to have some torrid affair.” Unlike you. “I hardly think there’d be opportunity working with children at an orphanage. Not that I’d be interested.”
Placing her palms on the desk, she stared at the man on the opposite side. Sometimes he felt more like a stranger—their only thing in common, the house they shared. “You should be proud of me, Father, not angry. What I’m doing is honorable.” She fought the lump in her throat. “Mother would have approved, given her blessing.”
Her father’s face remained chiseled. Abigail blinked hard at the moisture in her eyes.
“It’s not proper.” Henry’s voice rose. “You shouldn’t be running off to Africa. Especially not on your own.”
Straightening, Abigail folded her arms again. “Why not, exactly? At twenty-seven I think I’m old enough to travel unchaperoned. I want to spend time in the land of my birth, see and experience it at least once in my life before I’m bound by the duties of society as Alexander’s wife.”
“Viscount Alexander Tilney’s wife, Abigail.”
“A title by courtesy alone, Father.”
“Nonetheless a title, Abigail. And, as heir apparent, The Marquess of Ailesbury once Alexander’s grandfather dies. We all know that clock’s ticking.”
“Father, the doctors have given him a few years.”
“Tick-tock...”
Unbelievable. “Do I have your blessing to go? It’s only a year. I’ll be back before you or Alexander even have time to miss me.”
He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “I should never have indulged your wish to become a kindergarten teacher. It’s not the career for a Lady.”
Abigail’s mouth dropped open. Had he really said that? “Not the— Princess Diana was a kindergarten teacher.”
“That was before she became a princess.”
“Yes, when she was just the daughter of an earl, like me.”
Henry mumbled, returning to his paperwork.
Abigail watched forlorn. She wouldn’t get a favorable answer. But, permission or not, blessing or not, she was going to Africa.
Taking a step back, she turned to go. She had nothing more to say, except… “Alex will relish this year of freedom before the fetters of marriage bind him, I can promise you that.” Perhaps a year sowing his wild oats will make him a faithful husband.
She could hope.
***
Why did he find excuses not to spend time up here? This was good.
Propped against the wall, Simon stretched out his toes. A few more inches and he could touch the opposite wall. He should’ve built this bigger. Soon she’d outgrow it.
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside, finding its way into the small enclosure. Wisps of Chloe’s hair took flight as wayward tendrils reached for the roof. Some carved a path across Simon’s face, tickling his nose. He eased the discomfort with a quick rub then smoothed her curls back into place.
Chloe stirred in his arms. Releasing a long yawn, her eyelids flickered open. She gazed at Simon, a love-sick smile on her face. With a gasp, she widened her eyes and shot upright. “The sun’s setting.”
Simon smiled.
Chloe shuffled to the window and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Isn’t that beautiful, Daddy?”
“It is. Will you remind me of that next time I forget?”
She turned to Simon, her eyes wrinkling as her mouth widened. She had her mother’s smile. “’Course I will.”
Chloe returned her attention to the sunset. Simon closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. If only I’d listened to Paipi, I could’ve prevented her tears yesterday. Seeing Chloe in her room last night, tears trickling down her freckled cheeks as she stared out the window at the setting sun had torn him apart. But it was her heartfelt prayer that slammed home.
“Dear God, Daddy has so much to do. Please give him time to enjoy your sunsets—they’re so pretty. Let him know how much you love him. In Jesus’ name. Amen.” She’d opened her eyes then quickly shut them again. “And please make him say he’ll come to church with Papai, Munjita and me.”
He had to make time to relish the setting sun with his daughter. If her mother was here, they would’ve enjoyed them together as a family. Every night. He had to start remembering that even though they were two, they were still a family.
And if Chloe were still alive, they would’ve been in church every Sunday.
It wasn’t Papai and Munjita’s responsibility to teach Chloe about God. And she did need to know about Him. If he denied their daughter that, Chloe would never forgive him. I’m just not—
Simon opened his eyes as Chloe crept onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Lost in thought, he hadn’t heard her shuffle back to him. She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for watching the sunset with me.”
He pressed his lips to her head. “I promise I’ll watch them more often with you.” He could do that at least.