‘Hannah, this is Douglas. He’s our new minister.’ Hannah looked at the man in surprise. He was unlike any minister she had ever seen and, as he came over to shake her hand, she saw his face compose itself with over-the-top charm.
‘I am so happy to make your acquaintance,’ he said, a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. ‘Please tell me you have come to help turn everybody’s junk into a decent fête. People in Joburg would never dream of buying second-hand rubbish, so I’ve never done this before. I’m beyond desperate.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Hannah, laughing at his pathetic, pleading expression. ‘I’ve hardly been in a church, let alone run a church fête.’
‘Perfect!’ Douglas crowed. ‘We can use your mercenary, worldly principles to make heaps of cash out of this dreck.’
Kathryn was poking through the piles, opening bags and hauling out old clothes and curtains which she was holding up to the light and discarding into two piles. ‘Oh shut up, Douglas,’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘How about getting to work rather than flirting with Hannah.’ Douglas winked gamely at Hannah, who laughed and shook her head at the inconsistency of this man and his role.
Then she got stuck into the piles of dusty books, and by the time she had sorted them into categorised wooden crates, it was dark outside and she was filthy. Kathryn had managed to unearth two clothes rails on wheels and she had filled them with dresses and coats, arranging them in a colour order which looked so attractive, Hannah wanted to browse through the dresses herself.
Douglas tried to sort the bric-a-brac but, with no appreciation for what he was doing, Kathryn eventually sent him off to buy them supper. He returned, bumbling in through the door with a carry bag in each hand, a bottle of wine under his arm. ‘I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a selection,’ he said cheerfully. He unpacked the food onto a free trestle table and, by the time the women had washed their hands, a feast was awaiting them. They tucked into pizza, salad, and an enormous box of hot chips, which was accompanied, rather incongruously, by a very good red wine and slabs of chocolate.
‘I thought ministers weren’t allowed to drink,’ Hannah said to Douglas, who was now stretched out on his side on the hall floor, reclining on his elbow and looking more like a feasting Roman than a priest.
‘That’s the Methodists,’ he said with a grin. ‘I chose the Anglican church precisely for the reason that we drink wine every Sunday. Red wine is biblical, after all.’
‘You give rocks what people think of you, even if you weren’t allowed,’ said Kathryn, sitting cross-legged on the floor, guarding the box of chips on her lap.
Douglas smiled across at her. ‘True. My wife couldn’t handle the scrutiny, though.’
Hannah’s brows shot up in surprise. ‘Your wife?’
Douglas kept his gaze on Kathryn. ‘My wife, Kristy, hated the fishbowl life which comes with church work. She felt constantly watched and judged. She left me three years ago for an accountant who works office hours.’
Hannah glanced between Kathryn and Douglas, wondering at Kathryn’s silence and a certain spark in the air. Douglas sighed dramatically, breaking the tension, and launched into an impression of Donkey from Shrek, singing at the top of his voice that he was all alone.
Kathryn shook her head and Hannah burst out laughing.
June 1901, Goshen Camp, Orange River Colony
Dearest Wolf,
A different kind of man came into the camp yesterday. Reverend Charlie from a new church in Bethlehem. It is called the Methodist Episcopal Church. I don’t know what that is – all we ever knew was the Dutch church where Pa would go to nagmaal. Unlike any black-robed dominie I’ve seen, this man wears a brown suit with a stiff, clean shirt underneath. He holds himself upright, proud and comfortable in his skin. I had forgotten what that looks like. He spoke to us of freedom and not living under the hand of any other man. He spoke with a kindness we don’t hear in the camp. He looked at me directly, met my eyes when he spoke – and I knew that he saw me. Really saw me. A year of looking past one another and finally, someone who sees me, Rachel Badenhorst. He said he’d come back. Said he had connections in America who would send money for us. I want so badly to believe him.
CHAPTER TEN
Hannah walked across to the church early, and found Douglas coordinating a group of men as they pitched canvas gazebos and set up trestle tables under the spreading plane trees in the church garden. She lugged the crates of books from the hall to her stand. Luminous price stickers and a homemade sign were the final touches. Douglas sauntered over, relaxed in his black-and-red Killers T-shirt, a lightning bolt emblazoned on the back. Hannah wondered what his parishioners would make of it.
‘You’re amazing,’ he said, his arm casually pulling her into his side. ‘New in town and already jumping in, boots and all.’ Hannah allowed him the familiarity, certain his interest lay with someone else, and enjoying his charm, for what it was worth.
She smiled up at him and gestured to the church grounds now buzzing with people setting up stalls. ‘Looks like you pulled it off.’
He threw his head back and howled in an outrageous accent from the American South, ‘It’s a miracle from the Lord, hallelujah!’
Hannah, laughing, punched him on the arm. ‘You are the most irreverent person I know, and also happen to be the only priest I know. How’s that possible?’
Douglas quickly moved out of range, rubbing his arm and grinning at her. ‘I need to go set up my music equipment – my fans await.’
‘I hope he matches his music to the audience,’ said Kathryn, coming up behind Hannah. Her wildly curly dark hair had been caught up in a bun at the base of her neck, leaving black tendrils loose about her face. She was holding the hands of two small children, both as striking as their mother, with dark, curly hair and big brown eyes, but framed by faces much fairer than Kathryn’s smooth brown complexion. ‘This is Matthew and Emma-Jane,’ she said, pulling them in front of her and stroking the tops of their heads. ‘Say hello to Hannah, guys.’ The children greeted Hannah shyly and slid round their mother’s legs till they were hiding behind her. Kathryn turned and crouched down in front of them. ‘Granny and Gramps are at the jumble stall inside the hall, and I’ll be making pancakes right over there. Go and explore, but don’t take a single step out the gate, you hear?’ The twins nodded, but were off like two hares springing away from their mother’s catching hands.
‘They are beautiful, Kathryn,’ said Hannah, watching them dart between the tables and guy ropes.
‘Yes, they are,’ smiled Kathryn, ‘and they keep me on my toes.’
‘Is their father around?’ Hannah kept her gaze on the two children in an effort to keep her tone light.
‘We’re still married, but he’s been gone five years now. Disappeared just before the twins were born. We only found him last year.’ Her face held shadows of pain as Hannah met her eyes.
‘Why did he leave?’
‘He’s schizophrenic… living on the streets in Durban. A friend saw him begging at an intersection, but he won’t come home. We’ve all tried. He nearly broke his parents.’ Kathryn shook her head and swatted her hands around, brushing away the past like a stinging insect. ‘I’d better get cracking with my pannekoek – I’ll send some over. Cinnamon sugar?’
Hannah nodded, with a smile for her new friend. ‘And a bit of lemon, please.’
By mid-morning, the church grounds were full. Douglas’s surprisingly talented busking drifted over the busy stalls. Help for Hannah had arrived in the form of a small, neat man who introduced himself as Moses Motala. Quietly spoken and highly efficient, he was soon managing the stall pretty much single-handedly. Listening to his interactions with customers and friends, Hannah eventually figured out he was the mayor of Leliehoek, and liked him all the more for his humility and friendly nature.