No Greater Love Read online

  Andrew saw Chioma’s dark eyes widen, and he knew she had heard every word. He struggled to pull away, but it was useless.

  “What’s the matter?” Marius asked, jerking Andrew into submission. “You want to get away, do you? Well, now, I think that could be arranged—under the right conditions.”

  Andrew felt himself grow cold, as the realization that Chioma’s warning only a few moments earlier just might come true—at least for her, as she had said. He could, no doubt, save himself by denouncing any affection for her, and he might be able to pull that off, especially since he was still a bit unclear as to the true motives behind his feelings. But an ugly and horrifying thought that such a denouncement would not be enough to stop the escalating violence began to snake its way up his spine and around his throat, choking him more surely than Marius’s arm.

  “Let her go,” he rasped, still struggling to breathe. “This isn’t her fault. She’s done nothing wrong. Let her go!”

  Marius laughed, and Hendrie and Johannes quickly joined in, even as Johannes visibly tightened his grip on Chioma, provoking a yelp of pain from the helpless young woman.

  “Sure, we’ll let her go,” Marius said, and then leaned in to Andrew’s ear and added, “just as soon as we’re through with her.”

  The rage exploded inside Andrew once again, and he fought with a strength he didn’t know he had. But it wasn’t enough—especially when he heard Chioma’s cries and struggles rising above his own.

  He stopped fighting and focused on Chioma, who now fought to stay on her feet between Hendrie and Johannes, each of whom firmly held one of her hands in his, pulling her arms straight out, as her body jerked from one side to the other while they yanked her back and forth.

  “We can’t decide which one of us gets her first,” Hendrie laughed, “so we’ll rip her right down the middle—like the Bible story about the two mothers who wanted the same baby. Just keep fighting, Andrew old boy, and we’ll show you how hard we can really pull!”

  Chioma appeared ready to faint at this pronouncement, and though Hendrie’s words only served to reinforce Andrew’s desire to get free and fight them all, he knew he could never win—not and save Chioma at the same time.

  He felt the fight drain out of him then, and he relaxed, as he silently begged Chioma to understand that he was trying to save her. Help will come soon, he wanted to say. Surely someone has heard us by now and will be here any minute to rescue us! And though he wanted to believe that was true, he couldn’t be sure.

  There was always the possibility that everyone at the house might sleep right through the commotion.

  Oh, God, help us, Andrew prayed silently. I know I don’t deserve Your help, but Chioma doesn’t deserve to be treated this way, either. Please, God, I’m asking it in the name of Your Son, who died for me—and for Chioma. Help us, Lord! Save us! Please, God!

  “So,” Marius said, his words jerking Andrew back to the desperate situation around him, “you’ve finally decided to quit fighting. Wise choice, Vorster.” His grasp on Andrew loosened slightly, as he directed his words to Hendrie and Johannes. “Forget pulling her in half. Just do what you want with her … but save some for me, will you?”

  Marius laughed as Chioma stiffened, then opened her mouth to scream. Horrified, Andrew watched as Hendrie clamped his hand over her mouth and, together with Johannes, pushed her to the ground.

  It was more than Andrew could bear. With a roar, he burst free of Marius’s hold and threw himself at the du Preez brothers, knocking Johannes aside with one quick blow and then grabbing Hendrie and pushing him off Chioma. He wrapped his hands around Hendrie’s throat as together they rolled across the dirt.

  “Run, Chioma!” he cried. “Get out of here!” But before he could utter another word or check to see if Chioma had responded, he was attacked from behind and nearly smothered in what felt like an army of bodies. He prayed that both Marius and Johannes had jumped him, leaving Chioma free to escape.

  The last thing he remembered before the jagged pain that crashed down upon the top of his head was Marius’s voice, yelling, “Get the girl, you idiot! Don’t let her get away!”

  Chapter 6

  CHIOMA’S FATHER HAD ALWAYS TOLD HER THAT SHE ran like the wind, but now it felt as if she were running against it. Torn between the need to escape and the pull to stay with Andrew, she pushed forward, telling herself she would get help at the big house and Andrew would be all right. But even then she sensed that wasn’t true. When had it ever been that way for anyone she cared for? All were gone now, dead and buried, and she had little doubt that Andrew was about to join them.

  The crashing footsteps behind her were drawing nearer, closing the gap, and her heart felt as if it would explode from her chest. “Mr. Vorster!” she screamed, coming into view of the farmhouse and praying her voice would be heard before her pursuer caught up with her. “Mr. Vorster, help, baas! Help!”

  Just steps from the yard, she finally saw a light come on, and then another. As she reached the gate, the front door opened and Mr. Vorster stood framed in the doorway, shotgun in hand. The thought crossed her mind that the man could end her life in a split second, but she dismissed the possibility as quickly as it had come.

  “Mr. Vorster,” she gasped, “baas, please! Help Andrew! He’s at the creek, and I’m afraid they’re going to kill him if—”

  Before she could say another word, the man was racing down the porch steps and the walkway, straight toward her, shotgun clutched in his right hand. Terrified, Chioma stepped back as the gate slammed open and he sped by in the direction of the creek. Chioma’s employer hadn’t even glanced at her as he charged by, so intent was he on his mission.

  He’s going to be all right, she told herself. Andrew’s going to be all right! The baas will save him!

  Gulping air and glancing around in search of her pursuer, she relaxed only slightly when she realized no one else was in sight. Mr. Vorster’s appearance must have scared him off. Shaking, she turned in the direction of her one-room home, knowing Mandisa and Mbhali would have heard the commotion by now and realized she was gone.

  The thought that the three attackers would likely be heading back toward their vehicle, which was parked in front of the farmhouse, spurred Chioma to action. Racing to her room, she thrust the door open and found her two roommates huddled together in the semidarkness, Mandisa crying and Mbhali cursing Chioma for being gone.

  “Where have you been?” Mbahli demanded as soon as Chioma stepped inside and slammed the door behind her. “And what were you doing that caused so much trouble?”

  Chioma was still struggling to catch her breath, but she shook her head and answered as best she could between gulps of air. “I was just … down at the creek … cooling off when …” She paused and swallowed. “When Andrew showed up and—”

  “I knew it!” Mbhali’s anger was evident as she interrupted Chioma midsentence. “You were with him! I knew it!” She peeled herself from Mandisa’s grasp and stood up, stepping closer to Chioma. “What happened? What’s going on out there, Chioma? And how is it going to affect us?”

  Chioma breathed as deeply as she was able, trying to form her explanation, but the words wouldn’t come. How could she explain what she didn’t know? How could she tell Mbhali that Andrew Vorster could be dead, and trouble like they had never seen before could be about to break loose on her and anyone who happened to be associated with her? For ultimately, whatever the outcome of the confrontation at the creek, it would be blamed on her; of that she had no doubt.

  Mbhali grabbed Chioma’s arms and held them tight, her fingers pressing into her flesh. “Tell me!” she demanded. “Are we in danger, Chioma? Do we need to get out of here?”

  Chioma opened her mouth. What was she to say? Mbhali was right. They needed to get away—all three of them—as quickly as possible.

  She nodded. “Yes. We’re in danger—all of us. We’d better go … as fast as we can.”

  Mandisa sobbed and Mbhali shot her
a stern look, then turned back to Chioma. “You’ll explain this to me later,” she said, her voice hard and threatening. “But now, we go. I know where Themba might be hiding, and he’ll help us.”

  “But I don’t want to go,” Mandisa cried. “Not now, not in the middle of the night. What will we do? What will happen to us out there?”

  “I don’t know,” Mbhali said. “But I don’t even want to think about what could happen if we stay here.” She bent down and yanked Mandisa from the bed. “Now!” she commanded. “We go now. Get your shoes, and take only what you can carry.”

  Chioma was too stunned to move. How had it come to this? Less than an hour ago she was dangling her feet in the cool water, and now they were running away to join up with Mbhali’s cousin, a known freedom fighter who lived where he could and whose life was always in danger.

  Oh, Andrew, are you all right? Are you alive? Forgive me for leaving you!

  “Don’t move, son. You’ll be all right. Help is on the way.”

  Pieter Vorster’s voice seemed to reach Andrew from another time and place, far away, garbled and indistinct. And yet he recognized it, and it comforted him somehow to know his father was near.

  He thought he should speak to him, but he didn’t have the strength. His eyes felt so heavy, the blackness so thick …

  “Andrew, listen to me, boy.” His father was speaking again. “Who did this to you? It was those du Preez boys, wasn’t it? I saw the truck in front of the house. I always knew they were no good. Tell me, Andrew. Was it them?”

  How was he to answer? How could he explain? It hurt to breathe, let alone talk. It would be so much easier to drift away, to let it all go …

  Then he remembered Chioma, and he groaned. Oh, God, where is she? Did she get away? Oh, God, hide her! Help her! If they find her, they’ll kill her, and it’ll be my fault!

  “Chioma …”

  Had he spoken her name, or imagined it? Had any of this really happened, or was it just some awful nightmare?

  He felt a hand on his face—his father’s, no doubt.

  “Andrew, what is it? What are you trying to tell me?”

  So he had spoken. His father had heard him, even if he hadn’t understood. Andrew had to try again, had to convince his father to help Chioma. He opened his mouth, but before he could breathe a word, his father stopped him.

  “Don’t talk, son. Save your strength. Your mother has called for help. They’ll be here soon. Rest, my son. You’re going to be all right. You can tell me about it later. I know who did this. I didn’t get here in time to see their faces, but I heard them running away, and now they’ve taken off in their truck. They will not get away with this, son. I promise you that.”

  “But … Chioma …” It had drained him, but at least he had spoken her name loud enough for his father to hear. How would he get enough energy to tell him the rest, to beg him to protect Chioma, to help her?

  “Chioma?” His father’s voice had taken on a wary edge, and he removed his hand from Andrew’s face. “What about her? Did she … ? Was she responsible for this somehow? Because if she is, I—”

  “No!” Oh, the effort and pain to shake his head and utter that word! But he had to make him understand. He couldn’t let his father believe that any of this was Chioma’s fault.

  “Not … Chioma,” he gasped, fighting to maintain consciousness. He couldn’t let himself slip away, not yet—not until he had explained things.

  “Stop, son. Enough. Save your strength. You can tell me later. It doesn’t matter. Right now you need to rest.”

  But it did matter. Andrew knew that more surely than he knew anything. It mattered that his father understood. It mattered that Chioma was protected and safe. He wasn’t even sure why he felt that way, but he knew her well-being was paramount. So where was she? Had she gotten away? Where would she go? How would she take care of herself?

  “I’m here, baas.”

  The voice seemed to come from miles away, drifting, soothing … How could it be? Chioma had run away. She couldn’t be here. He had sent her away. It couldn’t be her voice. Surely he was imagining it!

  But he wasn’t. Chioma was speaking to Andrew’s father, begging to be allowed to talk to Andrew. His father was telling her to go away, to leave them alone and he would deal with her later.

  “Chioma!” Andrew spoke as forcefully as he was able, and his father and Chioma stopped talking. He felt Chioma drop at his side and take his hand in hers.

  “Andrew.”

  Her voice seemed to flow over him like warm honey, and he smiled. So much he wanted to say to her …

  “Get away from him!” His father’s voice now, ordering Chioma away.

  Andrew gripped her hand more firmly. “Stay,” he breathed.

  “I ran like you said,” she whispered, her lips near his ear now. “But I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t!”

  Andrew smiled. Though he knew Chioma had put herself in danger by coming back, his heart rejoiced that she was beside him at that moment.

  I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life.

  The voice was back, speaking words that seemed to echo hope and love, even as he felt himself slipping further away from the world he knew.

  “Father?”

  “I am here, son,” Mr. Vorster said, his voice coming from somewhere behind Chioma.

  Then Andrew heard the answer he was waiting for. Yes, son. I am your Father.

  Andrew’s heart broke. Had God always been so close, just a heartbeat away? Why hadn’t Andrew called out to Him before? Why had he waited until now?

  “Forgive me,” Andrew whispered.

  It is finished, said the voice.

  “Andrew?” Chioma was calling him, even as he felt himself leaving her, going home to his Father …

  “Hold on, son!” His earthly father now, calling him back … but Andrew knew it was too late. He could never return.

  But what about Chioma? He had to tell her, had to let her know where he was going, that he was going to be all right, that she, too, could come one day …

  “Jesus.”

  He spoke the word with his final breath, as the everlasting arms gathered him into an eternal embrace.

  “Andrew?” Chioma’s heart raced. Why wasn’t he responding? She had felt his hand go limp, as if his life had left his body …

  She dropped her head. She had seen it too many times before, and there was no mistaking it now. Andrew was dead—like her mother and father, like Masozi. Dead. And this time it was her fault.

  She felt someone grabbing her from behind, pulling her up and shoving her away. It was Andrew’s father, trying to get close to his son. But it would do him no good. Chioma knew far too well that once someone you loved was gone, there was no bringing him back, no hope of seeing him ever again. Anything you once shared was now over, a memory to torment you for as long as you remained on this earth.

  Chioma had no idea how long she stood there, pain swirling around and through her, but soon she heard it—that haunting, keening wail that could come only from a woman whose loved one has died. Anana Vorster had joined her husband and was mourning her son. It was time for Chioma to leave.

  Blinking her eyes to clear her vision, she saw that a small crowd of servants had joined her baas and his wife around Andrew’s lifeless body, and while they had the luxury to stay and mourn, Chioma didn’t. And so, while the others cried, she slipped away into the darkness. If she hurried, she could catch up with Mbhali and Mandisa before they got to Themba.

  Steeling her heart, she took a deep breath and left Andrew to his white family—and to his white God, who had so obviously failed him.

  Chapter 7

  FINDING HER FRIENDS HAD NOT BEEN NEARLY AS difficult as Chioma had anticipated. To be more specific, it was they who found her. In a completely uncharacteristic gesture, Mandisa had courageously stood up to Mbhali and insisted they mo
ve slowly, even stopping occasionally to allow Chioma time to catch up. Though Mbhali had protested, she had grudgingly conceded, with the condition that if Chioma hadn’t joined them within the hour, they would leave her behind and hurry on as quickly as possible.

  The hour was nearly past when Chioma stumbled into a clearing and heard her name whispered from a stand of thorn trees to her right. The hair on the back of her neck raised up, as she stood exposed in the moonlight and told herself it had to be Mandisa or Mbhali who called to her.

  Tense and motionless, she waited, until at last her friends crept into sight. Exhaling and allowing herself to relax, she fell gratefully into Mandisa’s arms, wanting nothing more than to sob out her story on the girl’s shoulder but knowing there was no time for such an act. Besides, she didn’t dare express her sorrow over the death of a white man in Mbhali’s hearing. Chioma would have to hold her grief inside. But she was experienced at such emotional restraint and would will herself to be so yet again.

  “Where have you been?” Mandisa asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper, as she pushed back and held Chioma at arm’s length so she could gaze into her face. “I was worried about you.”

  The moonlight illuminated enough of Mandisa’s concerned expression that Chioma knew her own showed as well, so she doubled her efforts to hide her pain.

  “I stopped to be sure the … white killers drove away in the direction of their home and not after us,” she offered, hoping her friends would leave it at that. She wasn’t sure how strong she could be if they began inquiring about Andrew’s fate.

  “Killers?” Mbhali stood beside Mandisa now, peering into Chioma’s face. “Killers of Masozi … or the young baas?”

  Chioma felt her jaw muscles clench, and she swallowed the burning lump in her throat before answering, doing her best to keep her voice strong and steady. “Both,” she admitted, being careful not to utter Andrew’s name. “The young baas is also dead.”