Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Part Two- Chapter 3

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Rising of the Moons
Chapter 3

       Conrad looked down the dusty dirt road that led away from the family wine estate. Between the sun catching him below the rim of his wide hat, he could just make out the blood red colour of Matthew's new sports car beneath the billowing dust as it approached the white washed walls of the entrance gate. The oak trees that lined the old road seemed to wave their greetings as they drove past, keenly aware the young duo were speeding. Despite the sudden mood change to remember to reprimand Christopher for allowing Matthew to drive too fast on the back roads, he felt the swelling pride as his son returned home to their farm.

Christopher had inherited his own mother's beauty, classic French features from the Lombardi region with flawless alabaster skin.

Instinctually he looked over to the large oak tree perched on a low hill past the out buildings that overlooked the famous wine valley.

He had buried her tired smile under her favorite tree on the land she had inherited as single daughter to one of the oldest families in the area. Conrad's father had planted it before leaving for his tour of duty in North Africa. Rommel's retreating Panzer's had blasted their way out of certain defeat that Montgomery had laid. The resulting barrage had left his father lost in the hail of searing metal and fire from hell. His body never found, a single stone was erected beside the small tree he had planted, with his name and date of birth.

When rolling skies brought the strong winds that came howling from the south west and the evenings darkness had come, the stinging droplets found her alone under the old oak tree with the simple inscribed stone, her soft blue eyes filled with salty tears that melted in the coming rain. The years could not stitch close what bled from the soul.

A whispered love never returned is mourned forever. She never wrote the name of his death on the cold stone, for her, it remained a time known only to God.

Now she lay with him in spirit beneath the planted dreams of their tomorrows and the ribbons of brilliant sunshine that broke through the grey clouds bringing the living rains to the wine region.

The farm had come down a long line of French Huguenots that had come from Europe and settled throughout the southern valleys. Serious about keeping their new faith away from the hot branding irons and tall fires of the Inquisition, they came to plant their beloved vines as they had done for centuries.

What the dark red ground gave them for their endless back breaking work, their glistening wines sparkled under the hot African sun on the way to new markets that now lined up to enjoy some of the best wines in the world.

Conrad looked back over to the house, he could hear the tables being cleared and set up for their friends' coming for the afternoon braai - outdoor cooking over an open fire.

To the side of the old family house with its typical white and blue French architectural detail silhouetted against the greens of the surrounding trees and wide blue sky, stood the white washed stables his mother had so loved, a love which he had inherited with great passion. The paddocks allowed a few of his favorite horses to graze near the house on Sunday afternoons while he enjoyed the wide tables covered with sumptuous food prepared for their guests.

He sighed at the thought of his chequeing account that had all but disappeared over the years carrying the farm and the house that he stayed in during the week. It had been their home before his mother had died. All three of the children had been born while they lived in Rhondebosch, the wine farm visited on weekends to ride the horses and visit their grandmother whose blue eyes had slowly dimmed over the years.

The wine farm, although it paid its own way with its harvest of wines, improvements to the old house and ever growing stables and expensive horses had diminished a once proud inheritance.

Being headmaster at Bishops gave him the connections to the best stables in Constantia, the beautiful mountain slopes south of the Mother City where the first Dutch farms were hacked out of Africa's wildness. Now owned by the blue blooded estates of the English elite. His mother had enrolled him in an Anglican private school, knowing the English liked to have only their own in their ranks. For them, Franschhoek was a million miles away and a place of interesting architectural settings and great wines estates that one visited when out of town guests came to see the fabled meadows.

Blasting dust suddenly rained on him as Matthew tore into the driveway. His mind wondering over the images in his mind's eye had made the approaching convertible able to catch him by surprise.

"Do you mind!?" he scolded the dust raining around him, his hat brushing away in vain what was now making his eyes tear up.

"Damn!" he swore again, this time walking away to the house. If he spoke now, the last visit he had with his son before they embarked on their trip would begin with the a gentle reprimand he had reminded himself to share when they were still down the road. Now words would betray the fury he felt at their returning home with the antics of young schoolboys.

Christopher remained sitting in the car as his father walked away. The fun filled drive here had ended in shamed silence. He looked back at the house and decided it was best to stay here for a while until mother and sisters could retrieve him and walk him back into the house with the usual laughter and merriment that announced his return. His father's scolding perhaps forgotten by then.

Matthew's reserve was less than Christopher's. Today he felt the sunshine on his face and the strength in his blood as flickering images of erect nipples and the sweet smell of love filled his nostrils. The remembered aroma enough to bring a sudden hardness to him that he had to turn away from the car and walk to a tree and its shadows. There he sat while he forced his mind to think of dreams less arousing. His heart returned to its regular pace, the trembling in his veins finding their own place of quiet.

A sudden shriek from the house, blue jeans, white shirts and bouncing hair dashed out the door, the extra padded feet of a favorite collie joined the mix bringing quick chaos to the remaining dust still lingering in the air.

"What are you doing here? Why haven't you come to the house?" his younger sisters spoke together.

"Did you bring anything for us?" came the wishful chorus.

A mother's smile emerged from the house, her hand covering her eyes as she looked for the source of the girl's merriment. A prim pattern dress and short hair greeted the sun as she walked towards the noise that had erupted on their arrival. Conrad's knitted brow and heavy footsteps down the long wooden passage way to the rear of the house had announced their arrival. Chores were laid down to welcome her first born.

Marie Pienaar's maiden family hailed from the Stellenbosch area, a family dynasty as old as her husbands' but who had never lost the religious fever that had arrived with the original settlers.

The De Groot family, were known for their bible thumping certainty that governed the family business and personal lives. Sons learnt the power of hard toil under the blistering sky, holding the leather reins that tore at young calloused hands as virgin soil was turned behind teams of oxen driven with the crack of exploding whips. Their champion bulls filled the wood panelled study with blue ribbons and bronzed trophies that stretched back generations.

Marie had enrolled at the University of Stellenbosch to take on a career in Farm Business Management. Her own youthful beauty had allowed her friends on campus to convince her to enter the Stellenbosch Wine Festival Beauty Pageant, a decision that had brought quick condemnation from the rest of her patriarchal clan. Beauty was a gift and curse from God, and not to be boldly traipsed before a gym hall full of whistling boys and lusty old men for the sake of personal vanity.

The crown that was won that night never fitted comfortably as the family's dark words she carried on the bright stage echoed endlessly in her heart. Instead of glowing in the moment of a young girl's dream, her heart was reminded to pray for cross borne forgiveness at her weakness.

The devil had seduced her and made her lustful for praise and glory.

It would be the last time she wore her beauty with pride.

Later on that same year, a chance meeting with a handsome teacher and weekend wine maker at a social function, changed her life forever.

While a whole sheep was turned and basted over glowing coals at a family function to mark the end of harvest on the family estate, wine poured from solid oak kegs served plentiful to one and all, shy smiles met under the shade of gnarled oaks that hid the probing sun from blushing dreams.

As night fell, the affects of more than enough wine and laughter had lowered both their reserves to a place where the true wishes of dreams cast aside the rigid indoctrination of their youth. A late walk to the edge of the farm and the cooling waters of the estate dam; a sudden dare had them both swimming while the darkness hid their nakedness from their family's shame.

Laughter and bashful smiles rose up to meet the new night's sky. Searching hands touched beneath the cool rippled waters, unsure as fingertips found shivering breasts and hidden passions.

The sandy beach and tall reeds received their newfound love while probing kisses and whispered promises of care swept passed her last reserves.

A new son was conceived that fateful night while the twinkling eyes that lived in the shadows giggled as the destinies of two lives changed forever.

Dreams stolen from the night's darkness was paid for in the light of the new day.

At the end of the year, it was not a graduating gown and gold leaf certificate that she brought home to proud smiles at the farm. A simple white veil and hand held yellow and violet flowers from the house garden all she had as the two families gathered at the private chapel on the De Groot estate grounds to bless the tainted union.

Named for the Messiah, Christopher came into the world a forever reminder of her original sin, one which she never forgot to mention to Conrad during the course of their long marriage.

Ruth and Sarah followed after a few years, her dutiful bed never denying her husband his rights but never again did she invite the warm kisses and whispered poems that had promised so many new dreams as their first love lay christened under the African night.

Marie stood back as her daughters danced around Christopher who had by now stepped out of the car, his smile infectious as he learnt forward to kiss the cheek of his mother.

"I thought you said you were going to arrive earlier." she said after the welcoming kiss disappeared beneath her scowl.

"Matthew arrived late, there was not much I could do but wait." came the replay.

"I don't have a car yet, remember?" he jabbed gently back.

"Come," she said, ignoring his teasing. "Let's get back to the house. The other guests will be here shortly, and I want to have a little time with you before you go."

"You are always late." a last comment signalling yet another disappointment in her life.

Christopher had long found his mother's reluctant approval could be found with long lists of A's attached to his report cards, her returning signature was always coupled with tight scribbled comments on how his school marks could be improved.

Marie reached down and took her son's hand, and slowly led them all back to the great house over looking at them all.

So many dreams had died here.

Hers was only the latest that had arrived here still born.

As the sun turned in the sky, pushing the afternoon shadows ever longer, the first evening stars appeared in the sky. Conrad had by then forgotten the shower of dust that had rained on him. The warm glow of a fine Claret had returned the warmer earlier emotions that had been the cause of this invitation to the closest of his friends and son who had completed his matriculation with high distinction.

Conrad watched the easy laughter and when needed, serious contemplation as his son talked to friends gathered for his farewell. His heart grew in pride at what life had produced from a love barren marriage. Christopher had grown to be a strong man, full of the youthful determination that comes with inexperience and endless hope for the future.

Later in the evening, Conrad turned to Matthew who had filled the empty chair beside him, "Have you all finished your packing yet," he asked absentmindedly continuing the last conversation he had with him at the school.

Matthew looked at him through the cooling night air, and with a new sense of himself replied, "Yes I have thank you."

"How was lunch?" he asked with an open smile

The air stilled as the hidden truth of the previous chance meeting lay between them. Conrad glanced momentarily to the side where Marie and the girls were talking together. He thought Matthew's open question had not reached their ears, provoking the feminine love to fill in the missing details of an overheard conversation.

Conrad looked hard at the young smile that greeted his silence.

"It was fine, thank you. As a matter of fact I took the opportunity to go over the details of the upcoming semester, particularly where Miss Watkins' classes might be affected by the upcoming budget cuts." his stern formal tone returned as he assumed the headmasters role.

"I thought so." Matthew said his smile widening. 'You must have had lots to talk about."

"She is quiet beautiful." he said at last.

Matthew watched as night sweat appeared on the forehead of his former headmaster, last night's scented lessons making him overtly bold. "Don't worry, I won't say anything," he said with a wink, enjoying being part of a silent conspiracy.

Conrad threw him a hard look and with a sudden ferocity that stopped Matthew's cold, said gruffly, "There's nothing to say anything about."

Matthew stared after the departing Conrad who had suddenly remembered a detail requiring his attention down that stables.

Marie stared over at the retreating Conrad who was disappearing away from the house lights and glowing night fires. The slight wind had carried Matthew's words and Conrad's clear retort up and over the idle chatter of the evening.

Her eyes filled with hard tears as the missing words formed in her mind. After all the years of long prayer and self-torment, her first love branded with her terrible sin was to be punished yet again.

For it was written.