Mists of the Serengeti(43)

“That’s great! You hear that? You’re going to get fitted for glasses.” I made hand gestures for Scholastica. It’s strange how much we can communicate with expressions and body language when words are not an option. And stranger still, is how much more authentic the conversation can feel.

“Oh, wait!” I rummaged through my bag and pulled out Mo’s spare frames. “Let’s see if these help. They won’t be perfect, but . . .” I placed them over her ears and stepped back. “How’s that?”

Scholastica blinked a few times and looked around the room. Then her mouth opened in pure awe. She stared at Goma and me for a few seconds, before whirling around to the bookcase.

“B!” She pointed it out on one of the book spines. “A!”

She went down the entire row, stopping to greet every A and B like they were her new best friends.

“I haven’t seen a girl so happy since we bought Lily that tortoise,” said Goma. She had a wistful look in her eyes until she noticed the little droppings Aristurtle was leaving by her feet. “That’s it! You’re getting a box. I’m not taking any more shit from you, you hear?” She picked him up and said something to Scholastica in Swahili.

I followed them outside and watched Scholastica race off with Aristurtle tucked under her arm. She pushed Mo’s glasses higher to keep them from sliding down her nose.

“Where is she going?”

“To find Bahati. Maybe he can clear up one of the crates we have in the barn. It’ll make a fine home for Aristurtle.” She retrieved the laundry basket and started hanging the clothes out to dry.

“Here. Let me do that,” I said, taking the clothes from her. “You go on inside. It won’t take me long.”

I alternated between the basket and the clothesline, hanging up the smaller items before moving to the bigger ones. It was a perfect, sunny day. The clouds had cleared, leaving a blue satin sky. There were a few more days before we left for Wanza, and I was getting used to the daily routine on the farm.

As I moved between the lines of fluttering laundry, I caught a glimpse of Jack. He was standing shirtless between the berry-laden rows of coffee, his body glistening in the afternoon sun. I looked away but couldn’t help stealing glances at his strong, golden body. I might have been able to ignore my attraction to him, even though it flared up constantly, if it wasn’t compounded by my affection for him. It was a deadly combination—one that made me dream about being crushed in his embrace, even as I focused on the mundane task of hanging clothes up to dry.

I was almost done when the wind picked up. I struggled with the last bed sheet, trying to keep it steady so I could secure it, but it flapped wildly around me. I dropped a clothes peg and bent to retrieve it, pinning the sheet down with one hand on the line. That’s when Jack’s strong, long fingers closed over mine. My knees lurched at the unexpected impact of his warm grip. I fumbled as I picked up the peg, my heart hammering in my chest. Our eyes held across the damp sheet as I straightened.

For a long, breathless second, we found ourselves in a laundry-scented bubble of suspension. Jack’s gaze fell to my lips as the wind whipped my hair across my face. The touch of his hand was sudden—electric—but it lingered, gently brushing the strands away. I felt myself swaying wildly, like the clothes on the line. The only thing holding me steady was Jack’s other hand, anchoring mine.

The clothesline bucked between us as another gust picked up. The bedsheet slid off at the other end. We picked it up and stretched it across the line, like a curtain between us. Jack held it down while I clamped a peg over it.

“Any more?” he asked.

“No. All done.”

Thank God, my knees declared. This guy makes it hard for us to do our job right. We don’t like him.

“Thank you,” I said to Jack, gathering the empty basket. “I’m going to . . .” head back inside, but I was tongue-tied, so I pointed to the house, and started walking toward it.

If there’s ever an occasion to carry off the nonchalant, graceful, catwalk stride, it’s when you’re walking away from someone, and you know they’re still watching. Ironically, that’s also about the only time when you become painfully conscious of every single step you’re taking. And so I kept my back straight and put one foot in front of the other until I made it to the door.

When I got inside, I caught Goma ducking from the kitchen window with a sly smile on her face.

It wasn’t long before she asked me to call Jack in for supper.

I found him in the barn with Scholastica, tending the calf that had been attacked.

“Mfalme! Mfalme!” said Scholastica, pointing to Jack when she saw me. She was still wearing Mo’s glasses and even though I was the one that had given them to her, my heart contracted a little, missing Mo’s eyes looking back at me through them.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “Mfalme?”

“It means king,” Bahati answered from the corner. He was sanding the box he’d made for Aristurtle. “She’s made Jack a crown out of twigs and hay.”

“Oh?” I noted her lopsided creation on Jack’s head.

“I just finished telling her the story I started the other day, when she fell asleep in the car,” he replied. “She seems to have cast me as the lead character.”

“Well, if it pleases Your Majesty, supper is ready. You’ve all been summoned by Goma.”