CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Friday, 14th January

In accordance with tradition, Tia and Harrie cleaned the bodies of the two fallen San and buried them that same evening. Suzanne, worn out by everything that had happened, sat silently with Adriaan, while Théodore prepared a meal for them all.

‘Théodore’s mother—’ she started to explain, then stopped. It was all too complicated and too shocking. She realised she wanted to keep all that she had learnt close to her heart until she had absorbed it properly herself. She found a safer topic of conversation. ‘Gilles Barenton was brought up by his uncle, who was a vintner in La Rochelle, and he passed on that skill to Théodore. Given the interest Commander Van der Stel has in cultivating vines, Adriaan, you will find his success interesting. Théodore’s vineyard rivals what the Company has achieved in the Colony. Would you like to see it?’

Adriaan nodded. ‘If Monsieur Barenton would be kind enough to show me, I would.’

Théodore lit a lantern and they walked out into the soft night. Everywhere smelt fresh and clean. Suzanne said little, but listened as the two men fell into an easy discussion about irrigation and crop yield. The details did not interest her, and both her mind and her body were exhausted. But she thought the wine Théodore was producing was as good as anything that might grace a table in La Rochelle and hoped that, by piquing Adriaan’s interest, she might help Pierre and Isabeau Jaubert and their fellow refugees.

‘What do you call your farm?’ Adriaan asked as they returned to the main house.

Théodore hesitated. ‘It has never needed a name. We made wine for our own table, nothing more. But perhaps it should.’ He looked at Suzanne. ‘What about La Justice. Do you approve?’

She smiled. ‘I cannot think of a more fitting name.’

‘Very well.’ Théodore nodded. ‘Are you coming in?’

‘If you might give me a moment with Suzanne,’ Adriaan said.

Suzanne looked at him. All evening, she had felt him darting anxious looks at her. And his relief at finding her alive and unharmed was clearly tempered by some other consideration. Then, suddenly, she knew what he was going to say.

‘Sister, I do not know how to tell you this, when you have been through so much,’ he began, ‘but Florence—’

Suzanne put her hand on his arm. ‘It is all right. I saw her in my dreams, standing side by side with Louise and Minou. She is at peace now.’

They remained with Théodore for a few days. Suzanne was still not back to full strength and Tia’s arm needed time to heal.

Suzanne and Théodore talked most of the time, as he went about the chores on the farm. She read Louise’s Olifantshoek diary detailing their arrival in the Cape and their lives on the farm. For his part, Théodore asked many questions about La Rochelle and Amsterdam, about her experiences in the Colony.

By and by, Suzanne felt strong enough to leave. Early one morning, holding a bouquet of wild flowers, she walked to the small planted copse of oak saplings behind the farmhouse. Théodore had offered to accompany her, but she wanted to make this last pilgrimage alone. It would be her final act of remembrance for Louise, and for Gilles, on African soil.

With the peaks of the Olifantshoek mountains behind it, Suzanne found the glade easily enough. In the centre was a small sign made out of yellow-wood beneath a spreading aloe tree. The inscription on the board was plain: carved, she knew, by Gilles, showing simply the dates of Louise’s birth and death. Beneath that, three words in block capitals:

CAPTAIN AND COMMANDER

Lower still, inscribed by a different hand, Gilles’ name and dates had been added a decade later: Just one word underneath in the same block capitals: BELOVED.

Suzanne lingered a while, thinking of the love Louise and Gilles had found and fought for, the love that had held them fast for all of their lives. And she thought of their son living his solitary life in the valley where they had made their home. All in all, despite the hardships and the tragedies, it was a good life.

She bent down and laid her flowers on the grave. She would never again stand here, but that didn’t mean her quest had failed. Far from it. She was ready to let Louise go. She had discovered what she needed to know and had laid her ghost to rest. Her own demons, too. Now, after all the words that had been written and spoken and imagined, there was only one word left to say.

‘Goodbye,’ she whispered.

Wednesday, 19th January

On Wednesday, the nineteenth of January, Suzanne, Adriaan, Harrie and Tia took their leave of Olifantshoek. Théodore had provided a horse for Harrie and Tia to ride as far as Stellenbosch, saying that he would collect the animal from there when next he ventured west. The travellers should be back in the Colony before the Sabbath.

‘Are you certain you will not come with us?’ Suzanne asked.

Théodore shook his head. ‘I am content here. I am not made for the city.’ He turned to Adriaan. ‘But you will always be a welcome visitor, mijnheer.’ He nodded to Tia and Harrie. ‘As will you.’

‘And you in the Colony, Monsieur Barenton, should we ever persuade you to venture so far,’ Adriaan replied. ‘My wife would be pleased to make your acquaintance. Perhaps I might seek your further advice on the land here for the refugees to farm?’

Suzanne rested her hand on Théodore’s arm. ‘And you are quite sure that you do not want me to leave this with you?’ She had spent the past days copying out Louise’s Olifantshoek writings, and had offered to leave Louise’s diary from the Old Moon with him. It seemed to her that they all belonged together.

‘You are kind, but no. Louise did not intend for it to remain here, given she sent it back to Amsterdam with her ship.’ Théodore held up the Tarot card between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This is enough for me.’

‘La Justice,’ Suzanne said and smiled, taking in the surroundings with a final look. ‘The first wine farm in Olifantshoek.’