In the vast sweep of the countryside, it was easy to find isolated places where they could make love, and each time for Margaret was as exciting as the first time.
The old guilt about her father haunted her. Salomon van der Merwe was an elder of the Dutch Reformed Church, and Margaret knew if he ever found out what she was doing, there would be no forgiveness. Even in the rough frontier community where they lived, where men took their pleasures where they found them, there would be no understanding. There were only two kinds of women in the world - nice girls and whores - and a nice girl did not let a man touch her unless she was married to him. So she would be labeled a whore. It's so unfair, she thought. The giving and taking of love is too beautiful to be evil. But her growing concern finally made Margaret bring up the subject of marriage.
They were driving along the Vaal River when Margaret spoke. "Ian, you know how much I - " She did not know how to go on. "That is, you and I - " In desperation she blurted out, "How do you feel about marriage?"
Jamie laughed. "I'm all for it, Margaret. I'm all for it."
She joined him in his laughter. It was the happiest moment of her life.
On Sunday morning, Salomon van der Merwe invited Jamie to accompany him and Margaret to church. The Nederduits Hervormde Kerk was a large, impressive building done in bastard Gothic, with the pulpit at one end and a huge organ at the other. When they walked in the door, Van der Merwe was greeted with great respect.
"I helped build this church," he told Jamie proudly. "I'm a deacon here."
The service was brimstone and hellfire, and Van der Merwe sat there, rapt, nodding eagerly, accepting the minister's every word.
He's God's man on Sunday, Jamie thought, and the rest of the week he belongs to the devil.
Van der Merwe had placed himself between the two young people, but Margaret was conscious of Jamie's nearness all through the service. It's a good thing - she smiled nervously to herself - that the minister doesn't know what I'm thinking about.
That evening, Jamie went to visit the Sundowner Saloon. Smit was behind the bar serving drinks. His face brightened when he saw Jamie.
"Good evenin', Mr. Travis. What will you have, sir? The usual?"
"Not tonight, Smit. I want to talk to you. In the back room."
"Certainly, sir." Smit scented money to be made. He turned to his assistant. "Mind the bar."
The back room of the Sundowner was no more than a closet, but it afforded privacy. It contained a round table with four chairs, and in the center of the table was a lantern. Smit lit it.
"Sit down," Jamie said.
Smit took a chair. "Yes, sir. How can I help you?"
"It's you I've come to help, Smit."
Smit beamed. "Really, sir?"
"Yes." Jamie took out a long, thin cigar and lighted it. "I've decided to let you live."
An uncertain look flickered over Smit's face. "I - I don't understand, Mr. Travis."
"Not Travis. The name is McGregor. Jamie McGregor. Remember? A year ago you set me up to be killed. At the barn. For Van der Merwe."
Smit was frowning now, suddenly wary. "I don't know what - "
"Shut up and listen to me." Jamie's voice was like a whiplash.
Jamie could see the wheels turning in Smit's mind. He was trying to reconcile the face of the white-haired man in front of him with the eager youth of a year before.
"I'm still alive, and I'm rich - rich enough to hire men to burn this place down and you with it. Are you with me so far, Smit?"
Smit started to protest his ignorance, but he looked into Jamie McGregor's eyes and saw the danger there. Smit said cautiously, "Yes, sir..."
"Van der Merwe pays you to send prospectors to him so he can cheat them out of what they find. That's an interesting little partnership. How much does he pay you?"
There was a silence. Smit was caught between two powerful forces. He did not know which way to jump.
"How much?"
"Two percent," he said reluctantly.
"I'll give you five. From now on when a likely prospect comes in, you'll send him to me. I'll finance him. The difference is that he'll get his fair share and you'll get yours. Did you really think Van der Merwe was paying you two percent of what he made? You're a fool."
Smit nodded. "Right, Mr. Trav - Mr. McGregor. I understand."
Jamie rose to his feet. "Not completely." He leaned over the table. "You're thinking of going to Van der Merwe and telling him about our little conversation. That way, you can collect from both of us. There's only one problem with that, Smit." His voice dropped to a whisper. "If you do, you're a dead man."
Chapter 7
Jamie was getting dressed when he heard a tentative knock at the door. He listened, and it was repeated. He walked over to the door and opened it. Margaret stood there.
"Come in, Maggie," Jamie said. "Is something wrong?" It was the first time she had come to his hotel room. She stepped inside, but now that she was face to face with him, she found it difficult to speak. She had lain awake all night, wondering how to tell him the news. She was afraid he might never want to see her again.
She looked into his eyes. "Ian, I'm going to have your baby."
His face was so still that Margaret was terrified that she had lost him. And suddenly his expression changed to such joy that all her doubts were instantly wiped out. He grabbed her arms and said, "That's wonderful, Maggie! Wonderful! Have you told your father?"
Margaret pulled back in alarm. "Oh, no! He - " She walked over to the Victorian green-plush sofa and sat down. "You don't know Father. He - he would never understand."