Claire's Prayer (4 page)

Seth heard Claire turn slightly and snuffle quietly in her sleep. His gaze had been fixed on the road – he hadn’t allowed himself to think through things like this before, as far as he could remember. It had left him feeling exorcised, almost renewed. He looked at the Zimbabwean autumn sun, beginning to descend towards the skyline again. Seth ejected the cassette, which had stopped over an hour ago, and made to turn it over.

The noise woke up Claire. At some point in the journey, she realised, Seth had draped a travel rug over her. There was now a decided chill in the air. Claire looked up and a soft gasp escaped her as she took in the beauty of her first African sunset. The sun, a huge orange ball, hung low in the twilit sky, tinting the heavens with shades of orange, yellow and purple. Lying low in her seat, the trees seemed to Claire to be silhouetted against the skyline. The scene was postcard perfect. Zimbabwe was magnificent.

Claire jumped as Seth’s voice came to her, deep and low. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve lived here all my life and still the beauty gets to me.” Seth grinned down at her. “Feel better after your sleep?”

Pushing herself upright, Claire smiled back sleepily and answered, “Yes.” She peered wide-eyed back at the sky. “It’s absolutely lovely – this land has a raw, rugged beauty like I’ve never seen before. No wonder so many foreigners come here and never return home.”

“You’re right there,” Seth replied. “I’ve done my fair share of travelling, and I’ve never seen anywhere I’d rather come back to.” A contented pause filled the car. Seth broke it first. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Taking in their surroundings, Claire saw that they were parking outside a roadside restaurant. Unfastening his seatbelt, Seth slid from the car. “We’ll stop here for dinner and then carry on to Bulawayo. That okay by you?” Nodding eagerly, suddenly dying for a cup of tea, Claire grabbed her handbag and left the car.

Over dinner, Seth proved to be very knowledgeable about it his country. His love of his birthplace was evident in the pride with which he spoke of it. He spoke of a country with both bustling cities and large, open bushlands, with plentiful wildlife and beauty unique to Zimbabwe. He talked, too, of a land recently ravaged by war, of people who drew strength from each other and who had learned to roll with the blows dealt to them. Many families had buried loved ones. Seth believed that time, though, was healing old wounds and that pain and suffering had bound Zimbabwe’s different races together. Now, its countrymen lived in relative harmony; a fragile peace had descended as they all worked together for the good of their motherland. Now a new dawn was rising over Zimbabwe, Seth believed, and people were reaping the fruits of their long years of labour.

The time passed quickly as Claire discovered more about Seth. She found his openness and willingness to talk about his land very endearing. Impunzi, he told her, had been in his family for about sixty years. His grandparents had come to Africa from America as a young couple, and fallen in love with what was then Southern Rhodesia. His grandfather, Sebastian, and grandma, Sarah, had both grown up in an orphanage in Brooklyn, New York. It was speculated that during the influx of Jewish, Irish and German immigrants they had somehow been abandoned. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into a life-long love. On leaving the orphanage aged eighteen, Sebastian had worked two factory jobs and saved their sea fare. When Sarah turned eighteen, they were married by a magistrate and left America for the shores of Africa. Seth had loved to listen to stories about their departure from New York. He pictured the two of them standing and watching the Statue of Liberty until they could no longer see it; their arrival in Cape Town; how they had worked their way up towards Southern Rhodesia. When they eventually arrived there, three years later, they had known that this was where they would make their home, and put down their roots.

Impunzi had then remained a cattle ranch until Seth took over, three years ago. During the war years, farmers and ranchers had had to make a difficult decision: ought they to sell their land and move away from the conflict, or try to see the war through even at the cost of stolen livestock, volatile work forces and, at times, threats to their own lives? Seth spoke with pride of his parents’ decision to stay, and his own pragmatism: he described how, after the damage done to his herds, workforce and family he had transformed Impunzi from a cattle ranch to a big game viewing and fishing resort. He still even had a good enough dairy herd, he told Claire, to make the ranch practically self sufficient. Eighteen months ago, Seth said, he had branched out on his newest venture, that of fencing off a section of virgin bushland and building ten residential lodges, set in with the natural bush. The project had taken off in a big way, as people always needed places to go where they could escape the rat race and get back to nature.

Within the hour, Claire was sold on Zimbabwe – and on Seth Henderson. A man who could love his homeland with such deep devotion and commitment must, she decided, be a good, solid type of person. Then, as they left the restaurant, Claire noticed that many a female eye followed Seth as he made his way to the door. It suddenly dawned on her what a magnificent-looking man he was. Her eyes clung to his proud head, dark hair curling onto his collar; they moved down, taking in broad, solid shoulders and strong arms. His shirt, stretched taut across his wide back, could not conceal the muscularity of his torso.

A soft blush stained Claire’s cheeks.
What are you thinking?
, she scolded herself. There were countless reasons that becoming infatuated with Seth was a disastrous idea: she had come to Impunzi to commune with nature, and with God, and to recover as best she could from the loss of her parents. Now she found herself acting like a teenager after one car journey? Claire caught a glimpse of her reflection in the restaurant window, and rolled her eyes at herself. Just for a second she allowed herself to ponder why Rory had never elicited such a strong reaction from her. She would put this down to her deep emotional vulnerability. It was only natural, she supposed, that she would be drawn to a strong, protective presence. Taking her eyes forcefully off Seth, Claire vowed to herself that she would not lose control of her scruples. Her morals were all she had left to guide her. Unaware of her intense regard, Seth wondered at Claire’s flushed countenance as he held open the car door for her.

Claire settled against the cool upholstery and wished the travelling was over. She felt bone weary. A new cassette whirred into life, and the mellow voice of Elton John filled the quickly-warming interior of the BMW. Claire relaxed, and caught the words of the song instructing her to ‘reach out for the healing hands’. The significance of the lyrics left her feeling safe and secure. Claire knew that God had healing hands and that, in time, her hurt and pain would fade, leaving only the golden memories. It was watching Seth’s powerfully tender hands on the steering wheel, however, that Claire drifted back to sleep.

Under an hour later, Seth pulled up in front of the Bulawayo Sun Hotel, where rooms had been booked for the night. Claire, in a state of near exhaustion, barely registered the acts of signing in and being shown to her room. She took a quick, hot bath and crawled beneath the covers.

Claire awoke to the sounds of traffic and people. Answering a knock on the door, she almost drooled as she saw the tea tray. A brief note in bold writing accompanied her tea, informing her that Seth would meet her at eight o’clock, in the dining room, and that they would leave for Impunzi directly after breakfast. Washing quickly and changing into the new figure-hugging Guess jeans and shoulder-baring top of which she’d thought so little before arriving in Zimbabwe, Claire grabbed her bag and reached the reception desk just as a sleepy-looking Seth walked out of the lift.

“Morning, Claire. Did you sleep well?”

Smiling openly at him, Claire assured Seth that she had, indeed, “Slept like a log.”

At breakfast, Seth watched in amazement as Claire cleared her plate and then enjoyed toast and marmalade. “Where do you put it all, Claire?” he asked laughingly, eying her petite waist.

Pretending offence, Claire glared at him and said, sweetly, “I ate no more than you did, Seth Henderson.”

Opening his eyes wide, Seth lifted his hands in an action of surrender, looking comically from his large frame to her slender one.

Pulling a face at him, Claire finished her toast and asked if they still had far to go. Impunzi, she was told, was sixty kilometres from Hwange, and its boundaries bordered the National Park. Claire felt a stirring of excitement at the thought of seeing the wildlife of the National Park in its natural habitat. Soon they were on the outskirts of Bulawayo, making a start on their five-hour journey. Claire decided she liked the laid-back, unhurried way of life Zimbabwe seemed to offer.

Sliding behind the wheel of the BMW, Seth stifled a yawn. He, unlike Claire, had not slept well. Perhaps because of his intense periods of reflection the day before, Seth’s memories would not leave him alone. In dreams he had tossed and turned, reliving not only his parents’ deaths and the darkest years of the war, but earlier recollections – worse recollections. He wasn’t ready to face those, yet.

Sensing Seth’s troubled mood, Claire took her turn as narrator and spoke of her childhood. She spoke with love of Dublin, her birthplace, describing a city from which so many writers and poets had drawn inspiration – with its narrow medieval streets and castles juxtaposed against the beauty of Georgian architecture. She also spoke of the modern Dublin in which she’d grown up, with its fashionable shops, the vibrant nightlife of its welcoming pubs, famous for their creamy pints of Guinness, and no shortage of ‘craic’ – which, Claire explained, was Irish slang for ‘good times’. She also spoke fondly of family holidays in the west of Ireland, famous for its unique coastlines and rugged, beautiful countryside, and of the rare occasions its beaches had remained sunny for their visits.

Claire spoke tenderly of her parents, Aunt Ellen and Kacey, painting a picture in Seth’s mind of a happy life, and a love-filled home: a Christian home, and a faith Claire spoke about both naturally and joyfully. Seth listened with a skepticism tinged with fascination. He had heard his share of Bible fanatics, but Claire spoke about God as if he were a personal friend of hers. He found that words like ‘prayer’ came easily from her lips.
Each to their own
, he thought.

As the sun rose high in the azure sky, Seth slowed down the car and pulled up under the most enormous tree Claire had ever seen.

“What a strange tree, Seth! What’s it called?” Claire asked in curiosity. Opening the car’s rear door, Seth extracted a picnic basket, rug and thermos before answering her.

“This grand old upside-down tree is called a baobab – there are quite a lot of them around here.”

Leaving her to spread out the rug and unpack the cold lunch he’d had the hotel prepare that morning, Seth wandered off. He returned shortly with a green, oval, hairy-looking seedpod, about the size of an avocado. Grinning at Claire, he suddenly cracked the fruit with a rock, giving her a fright. The broken shell revealed white particles, compacted together and separated by what looked like orange netting. Popping a section into his mouth, Seth offered the fruit to her. Aware that Seth was watching her closely, Claire took a small segment and put the tip of her tongue to it. Finding first impressions inoffensive, she popped the – fruit, was it? – into her mouth.

For a few too many seconds Seth was speechless. Unwillingly, he had been fascinated by her mouth, exploring and probing this foreign body, and savouring its taste. “Don’t chew it, just suck it,” Seth finally instructed, croakily. “There’s a pip inside, which you have to spit out.” So saying, he catapulted a pip from his own mouth.

Claire was still preoccupied by the new sensation she was experiencing. It was so rare, she thought abstractedly, ever to taste something you could barely have imagined before. The fruit was tart, but not too sour… Then it was gone. Claire removed the pip from her mouth thoughtfully. She decided, upon reflection, that she would prefer some cold chicken and salad.

“So what did you think of the taste of natural cream of tartar?” Seth asked, helping her to open the lunch containers.

“So that’s why it tasted familiar!” Claire sighed, laughing at herself. “For a minute there, I thought I was tasting some old herbal cure-all or something. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

Suppressing a grin, Seth passed her a paper plate. “Starving again, are you? It’s a pity we couldn’t have been doing something more interesting than driving to work up your appetite!”

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but quickly looked away again, flushed.

Seth blushed, too. “More of a nature hike, I mean,” he added quickly.

Seeing Seth’s embarrassment, Claire recovered herself and, smiling quickly at him, tucked in. Half an hour later, enjoying a second mug of tea, Claire was asking again about Impunzi.

“So, how many other guests will be staying?” she enquired.

“We don’t have any guests at the moment,” Seth responded quickly. “We close for maintenance during the coldest months.”

Claire frowned in confusion. “But… how come I’m on my way to Impunzi if it’s closed for maintenance?” She watched him shift position on the bench and realized Seth was reluctant to answer her.

Meeting her frank gaze, he replied, “Quite honestly, we wouldn’t normally have any guests on the ranch at this time of the year. There’s only a skeleton of staff. But, well… Don and Helen called and explained, and so here you are. Your Aunt… Ellen, is it?” Claire nodded, and he continued, “… has paid for a lodge for the next two months. So, it being a relatively long-term booking for only one person, Naomi and I made an exception.”

Looking away from him, Claire said, softly, “Well, thanks for making the exception. Don’t worry; I’ll be no trouble. I have deadlines to meet and books to complete.”

“No problem,” Seth stated with a smile, as they finished their lunch. Short minutes later, he began to repack the basket. “So, you write, do you? What’s your style?”