Love through time 1800's

Chapter 1


Blair's ancestral roots stretched back to the romantic epoch of 1820, a time when her intrepid grandparents the Collins, embarked on a journey from the Scottish Highlands to the sun-kissed lands of South Africa. Newly united in matrimony, they sought refuge from the grasp of British dominion, casting their dreams on a fertile canvas halfway across the world. Their aspirations found purchase on a quaint parcel of land near Rustenburg, a haven just beyond the shadows of the Hex River, where the earth proved generous enough to cradle an orchard of golden citruses, with the majestic Magaliesburg mountains as a back drop for their new found home.


The Collins daughter Sara was born a few seasons later, a testament to the resilience of lineage in the face of adversity. Yet, the camaraderie they sought within their newfound home was not easily woven. Neither fully British nor readily embraced by the Boers, they straddled a delicate line, holding their ground as nonconformists in the cultural mosaic. Language and history built a barrier with the Boers, while allegiance remained fractured with the British due to generations of Scottish-British discord.


Among the tapestry of settlers, a shared sentiment brewed--a distaste for British authority that manifested in a kinship with the Boers. Amidst this backdrop, The Collins exercised discernment in their pursuit of matrimony for their daughter. In the intricate dance of lineage and tradition, they chose a fellow Scotsman, Jamie Maxwell as the suitor, preferring the solace of familiarity over a riskier divergence.


Fast-forward to 1864, and the stage was set against the backdrop of the majestic Magaliesburg mountains. The Hex River orchards, nestled in Rustenburg, painted an idyllic panorama.
Nurtured by the lifeblood of the Olifantsnek Dam, the soil was a cradle for the vibrant citrus groves that adorned the land. Under the scorching embrace of the African sun, toiling from dawn's early light to dusk's descent became their creed. The implements at their disposal were rudimentary, the labour arduous, and the progress gradual.


In the sprawling canvas of the burgeoning orange orchard, a symphony of growth unfolded. The labour, once shouldered by Blair's parents alone, now required the assistance of hands from nearby farms. A workforce was summoned, and with sun-dappled backs bent in unison, they laboured to gather the bountiful harvest. The culmination of this toil saw wagons laden with the golden yield, oxen harnessed to bear the weight of promise, as they embarked on a gruelling odyssey toward Johannesburg. The journey stretched into days, sometimes weeks, during which Blair's father embarked on his sojourn to trade the fruits of their labour for sustenance and coin.


Amidst this symphony of labour, Sara carried life within her, the heat of summer accentuating the delicate balance between perseverance and fragility. The orange harvest awaited, its promise of sustenance compelling them to brave the sweltering heat. It was amidst these challenges that destiny took its course, for the arduous exertions, coupled with the oppressive heat, acted as midwife to Blair's entry into the world. Jamie would be the proud father of his daughter Blair.


In the embrace of the cradle-like Magaliesburg mountains, Blair's upbringing unfolded like a tale of both innocence and duty. Amid the backdrop of chores and responsibilities, she navigated a world where the weight of expectations mingled with the lightness of youth. Her mother, a custodian of both tradition and aspiration, meticulously imparted essential skills, threading the needle between reading and writing, all while nurturing the crafts deemed requisite for a young girl's future roles as wife and mother.


Yet, Blair's spirit was an untamed force, yearning for horizons that stretched beyond the confines of their home. With a heart as unburdened as the river's current, she ventured downstream, chasing whispers of adventure. However, this unbridled curiosity was not without its admonishments. The world beyond their homestead was a realm of lurking dangers--both the beasts that prowled in the shadows and the shadowy figures of fellow humans. A warning echoed with each step: straying too far could unravel safety's thread, leaving them powerless to intervene.


Blair had matured into a slender figure at the tender age of ten, her ash-blond hair cascading like a sunlit waterfall around her, and her emerald green eyes held a certain curiosity, veiled by the shadows of long, fluttering lashes. In the embrace of the bushveld, her interactions with fellow children had been rare, casting her into the role of a shy observer in the theatre of youth. The process of opening up to her peers was akin to the slow unfurling of a bud, as trust blossomed and playful camaraderie took root.


It was during one of these rare ventures beyond their homestead that the tapestry of Blair's social world expanded. A neighbouring farm served as the stage for a communal gathering, a celebration that ushered in the latest additions to the closely-knit community. This new family, the Potgieter's, introduced themselves as staunch traditionalists, guardians of heritage that ran deep within their veins. Their homestead lay within the perimeter of familiarity, yet the tangle of wildlife nestled within the mountains rendered it a venture too perilous to undertake on foot.


Among the Potgieter's' brood of sons, a figure named Frederick stood closest to Blair in terms of age, although a gap of four years stretched between them, Frederick was fourteen years old. The boys, Frederick and his elder brother Johan, bore the mantle of responsibility, an early initiation into the rigors of farm life, where hours stretched long and demands ran deep. Amidst the backdrop of toil, a bond emerged between the two families, woven through a shared ethos of assistance. In times of need, hands extended across fences, forming a network of support that tightened the bonds of their kinship. As the rhythm of life intertwined their fates, the Potgieter's' presence in Blair's world grew, their shared experiences a testament to the strength of neighbourly camaraderie.


When Blair first looked into the eyes of Frederick Potgieter, there was a feeling of recognition, like she knew him from somewhere but could not place him. There was a certain familiarity to him, her intuition being strong almost stretched to reach out to him, the pull towards him was that strong. Blair could not identify what these feelings actually presented, perhaps it was a warning against this boy, she could not be sure. Blair decided that her imagination was running rampant with her and she would wait to see how things would unfold with time before she made up her mind.


Frederick emerged with blue eyes that held a certain spark, a glint of mischief dancing within their depths, mirrored by the crooked curve of a consistently naughty smile. His auburn hair was like a crown of copper flames, a fitting accompaniment to a persona that radiated a sense of adventure and devilry. Blair found herself ensnared within the orbit of his aura, even if his attention rarely graced her with more than an indifferent sweep. It was an absence of focus that often pushed her toward the company of his elder brother, an unspoken guardian in times when her presence seemed to merit neglect.


Their dynamic, however, bore the shadows of complexity, painted in hues of push and pull over the next three years. Frederick's interactions with Blair carried a distinct tenor--a symphony of bumps and shoves, laced with moments of outright insolence. This tango of banter and antagonism etched itself into the tapestry of their shared existence, spanning seasons and stretching into years. His demeanour toward her had a tendency to waver, swaying from indifference to a darker shade of cruelty. One incident etched itself vividly into Blair's memory--an episode where the river became a backdrop for Frederick's antics.


Blair, ten years of age, had ventured to the river's edge, the border that divided their domains. In the quietude of her exploration, Frederick lurked in the shadows, his gaze fixed upon her like a silent spectre. Then, in a moment both swift and unforeseen, he sprung his trap. Approaching her unseen, he pushed her into the frigid embrace of the river's waters. The icy chill stole her breath, and her struggle to regain the riverbank felt like a battle against the elements themselves. Winter's frost clung to her skin, an unwelcome embrace that set her trembling like a fragile reed in the grasp of a gusting wind. Yet, through her shivers and vulnerability, his response was not one of sympathy, but of laughter--a symphony of amusement at her expense.


Their dynamic, bore the shadows of complexity, painted in hues of push and pull. Frederick's interactions with Blair carried a distinct tenor--a symphony of bumps and shoves, laced with moments of outright insolence.


"Why don't you pay attention to something other than mischief, Frederick?" Blair said, her anger clear in her voice.


This tango of banter and antagonism etched itself into the tapestry of their shared existence, spanning seasons and stretching into years. His demeanour toward her had a tendency to waver, swaying from indifference to a darker shade of cruelty.


"You're nothing but a bother," Frederick muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.


In the aftermath of this incident, Frederick lingered in Blair's thoughts as an embodiment of insufferably. His actions and demeanour were an enigma, a puzzle she struggled to piece together. From the glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes to the sting of his pranks, he painted a picture that left an indelible mark on her perception of him--an impression of a boy both confounding and exasperating. Yet somehow, through Fredericks cold exterior, there was something in Frederick that Blair recognised, something that pulled at her.


Blair harboured an unyielding determination, a fire kindled by the very existence of this boy who had become her rival in more ways than one. Their competition extended beyond the academic realm--she already held a supremacy in reading and writing, but the boundaries of physical prowess eluded her grasp. However, she recognized a chink in his armour, a potential conquest that would mark his vulnerability. Armed with this conviction, she embarked on a resolute journey.


In her quest for supremacy, Blair discerned that her route to victory lay along the trajectory of proficiency in a skill that transcended the boundaries of brawn. As she pondered her options, she settled on an endeavour that held a certain allure--the art of marksmanship. Her resolve was unshaken, a resolute belief that mastering this craft could be her equalizer. Approaching her father, she articulated her reasoning, weaving her plea with the thread of Boer tradition--the lineage of capable women who wielded not only domestic skills but also the skill of the rifle.


Her father, wise and cautious, acknowledged her aspiration, yet hesitated. The weight of rifles was not suited to tender frames, he cautioned, concerned about the potential strain on her formative muscles. But Blair's tenacity was unwavering; her mind was set on mastering this realm of expertise. In response, her father decided to explore a more accommodating avenue--an acquisition that would pave the way for her education in firearm proficiency. He sought out a .22 rifle, a choice marked by the gentler recoil that it offered, a choice that would prevent her from being toppled by the force of the 306 rifles, which, though powerful, was also unyielding in its recoil.


In due course, her father returned with the prized possession--a .22 rifle that bore not only the promise of skill but also a certain aesthetic appeal. Its wooden butt was a canvas of intricate engravings, a melding of artistry and functionality. The sight of it filled Blair with an unexpected excitement, a resonance with the engraved embellishments that adorned the rifle. It was a symbol, a token that encapsulated her determination to conquer the uncharted territory of marksmanship, and with every glance at its etched patterns, she found herself fortified by the legacy of the women before her, their tenacity now intertwined with her own.


At the tender age of eleven, a transformative chapter unfolded for Blair as she was initiated into the art of shooting. The firearm, nestled within her grasp, became more than a mere tool; it embodied a sense of empowerment that resonated deep within her core. The tactile sensation of strength, fused with the precision it demanded, stirred a newfound passion within her. In her hands, the sights became an extension of her perception, and she mastered the art of calibration, adjusting them to account for distance. With her father as a patient guide, she navigated the complex ritual of taking aim, her finger caressing the trigger with an exhale, a rhythm that mirrored the cadence of her breath.


As the days unfolded, her prowess evolved into a marvel that surprised even her father. The rifle seemed to be an extension of her will, as if it recognized her as its rightful custodian. Her accuracy was unparalleled; she approached each target with an unwavering determination that resulted in a grouping so tight, it was as if the bullets found solace in her intent. As her skill grew, so did her father's pride. He couldn't help but muse to himself that she might very well outmatch the boys in the district, a notion that swelled his heart with a mixture of paternal pride and awe.


At this juncture, her father recognized the need to elevate her training. The realm of marksmanship was not confined to stationary targets; real life demanded adaptability. He orchestrated a series of lessons that would see Blair moving amidst the bushes embrace, weaving through the trees as a silent shadow. Between the arboreal sentinels, targets emerged like phantoms, waiting to be engaged. With precision, her father coached her in the art of stealth, teaching her to navigate soundlessly, to approach with caution, and to wield the rifle with finesse even while in motion. It was as if the bush became her ally, the rustling leaves whispering secrets of approach and evasion.


Blair's aptitude for this new facet of marksmanship was undeniable--a natural born hunter, a figure moulded by the bush's ancient wisdom. Once her father deemed her ready, he introduced her to the world of live hunting, a realm where targets were not static but dynamic, where survival and skill intermingled. Rabbits became her practice companions, their darting movements a test of her precision and reflexes. Occasionally, she was granted the chance to challenge larger game, the thrill of the chase sparking an undeniable exhilaration within her.


Yet, amid her proficiency, a shadow of concern cast itself upon her father's heart. Watching her embrace the thrill of the hunt, he couldn't help but worry that in his endeavour to arm her for protection, he had inadvertently awakened something more primal--an instinct, perhaps, that beckoned her to become more than a mere practitioner of the firearm. The firearm had truly become an extension of her body when shooting.


Chapter 2


Word of Blair's burgeoning marksmanship spread, making its way to the ears of Frederick and his brother, carried by their father's recollection. The notion that a young girl, Blair, was mastering the craft of shooting was met with incredulity from the two boys. The very idea that this petite figure could wield a firearm with any measure of skill seemed implausible, even laughable. Their scepticism, however, was swiftly addressed by their own father, who affirmed that Blair's prowess was real, confirmed by the fact that she was effectively clearing the orange orchards of their pesky wild hare inhabitants.


"Blair is a crack shot", their father said with admiration. "She has a keen eye and a steady hand. She can hit a target from a hundred paces away". "Blair?" Frederick's brother snorted, "You mean that little girl who always reads books and writes letters? She can shoot?". "Yes, she can", their father said firmly. "And she does it well. She's been helping her father with the hare problem. They've been eating our oranges and ruining our crops. But not anymore. Blair has been taking them out one by one". Frederick, though outwardly silent, carried a certain internal unrest as he absorbed this information. His demeanour suggested a mixture of disinterest and ambivalence towards the topic at hand, particularly when Blair's name was mentioned. His father's words seemed to wash over him, perhaps stirring sentiments that were difficult to pinpoint and articulate. In the presence of these conversations, his reactions held an intriguing complexity--one that his mother could not help but notice.


She watched her son closely, noticing how his face changed whenever Blair entered the conversation. She saw how he frowned slightly, how he shifted in his seat, how he avoided eye contact. She wondered what was going on in his mind, what feelings he was hiding behind his stoic facade.


She knew that Frederick and Blair had a history of rivalry, dating back to their first encounter in the bushveld. She knew that they competed in everything practical, from reading to writing to farming. She knew that Frederick had always held an edge over Blair in physical activities, from hunting to riding to shooting. She knew that Frederick had always been confident and proud of his abilities, never doubting his superiority over Blair.


But she also knew that something had changed recently. She knew that Frederick had started to act differently around Blair, especially after she had taken up shooting. She knew that Frederick had become more distant and aloof towards her, sometimes even rude and mean. She knew that Frederick had also become more protective and possessive of her, often intervening when other boys tried to talk to her or tease her. She wondered what this meant, what this implied about Frederick's feelings for Blair. She wondered if he was aware of his own emotions, if he understood what they signified. She wondered if he was afraid of admitting them, if he was ashamed of them.


She decided to try to talk to him about it, hoping to help him sort out his confusion. "Frederick", she said one day as they were sitting by the fire after dinner. "Can I ask you something?"
He looked at her warily, "What is it?".
She smiled gently. "It's about Blair".
He tensed up immediately, "What about her?", Frederick asked with irritation.
She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, "I just want to know how you feel about her".
He jerked his hand away and glared at her, "I don't feel anything about her", he snapped. She sighed, "Frederick, don't lie to me. I'm your mother. I can tell when something is bothering you".
He shook his head stubbornly, "Nothing is bothering me".
She leaned closer and looked into his eyes, "Frederick, please. Talk to me. I'm here to listen and help you".
He looked away and muttered something under his breath. She leaned closer and asked him to repeat himself.
He sighed and said louder. "I said I don't really care".
She frowned, "You don't really care? Is that true?". He nodded, "Yes".
She tilted her head and studied him, "Then why do you act so differently around her? Why do you avoid her or be mean to her? Why do you get jealous when other boys talk to her?" He shrugged. "I don't know".
She smiled softly. "Frederick, I think you do know. I think you care more than you realize". He shook his head again, "No, I don't".
She reached out and touched his cheek gently. "Frederick, it's okay to care. It's okay to have feelings for someone".
He flinched and pulled away from her touch. "No, it's not", he said, his voice cracking. "Not for her. Not for Blair".
She looked at him with concern and compassion. "Why not, Frederick? What's wrong with Blair?"
He clenched his fists and lowered his eyes. "Everything", he said. "Everything is wrong with Blair".
She waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent.


His mother, sensing the unspoken complexity in her son's reaction, decided not to push further. She recognized the walls he had erected around this topic, and though her curiosity was piqued, she understood that prying deeper might do more harm than good. Still, she couldn't help but formulate a plan--guided by her maternal instincts and driven by an eagerness to comprehend the roots of his apparent nonchalance toward Blair.


With her thoughts adrift in contemplation, Frederick's mother pondered how to bring her plan to fruition. Assembling a gathering required more than mere intention; it demanded consensus and coordination. As the architect of this unfolding tableau, she mused on the intricate choreography that lay ahead, the dance of scheduling and agreement that would align the participants. Timing, she reminded herself, held the key--the strategic moment that would bring together the threads of her plan and weave them into reality.


As mid-autumn cast its gentle spell, Fredericks's mother recognized the perfect juncture, a moment she had been biding her time for. Patiently waiting over the past few months, she had observed the seasons change, just as she had witnessed the evolution of Blair. The eleven-year-old girl, now well into her eleventh year, showed hints of the transformation that comes with burgeoning womanhood. Her ascent toward maturity was becoming undeniable, a fact that was not lost on Frederick's mother.


With the timing aligned, Frederick's mother embarked on a subtle and tactful move. Armed with a basket of delectable baked goods, she made her way to Blair's parents' abode. Here, she spun a proposition, artfully weaving it into a tapestry of practicality. The season of harvest had given way to the impending winter, which, in turn, signalled the onset of hunting season -- a prospect that held particular allure for Frederick and his brother. Their farm's demands during the growing season had kept them from honing their marksmanship skills, leaving them eager for a chance to practice.


Her suggestion blossomed into a broader invitation, a call to gather in the spirit of camaraderie and relaxation. The notion of a shooting practice evolved into a social event, a moment of respite and connection amid the rigors of farm life. The idea of inviting a few neighbouring families into the fold lent an air of festivity to the gathering, an opportunity for a collective exhale after the laborious toil of the harvest. Socializing had become a rare luxury amidst their demanding routines.


Blair's mother, enamored by the notion, welcomed the proposal with open arms. As a woman who had found herself frequently immersed in the solitude of farm life, the prospect of female companionship was like a balm to her soul. The allure of sharing stories, discussing the latest fashions, and catching up on the news from the larger towns beckoned to her like a distant melody. Johannesburg, with its booming growth due to the discovery of gold, promised tales of a burgeoning metropolis that stirred her curiosity.


With this elegant manoeuvre, Frederick's mother had set in motion a plan that held the promise of drawing these two young souls closer, their paths destined to intersect in the heart of a shared endeavour.


"Mrs. Maxwell", she said as she knocked on Blair's door one sunny morning. "I have brought you some treats".
Blair's mother opened the door and greeted her warmly.
"Mrs. Potgieter", she said with delight. "How kind of you! Please come in."
She invited her inside and offered her some tea.
"What do you have there?" she asked curiously as she eyed the basket.
Frederick's mother smiled and opened it.
"Some scones and jam", she said proudly. "I made them myself".
Blair's mother gasped.
"They look delicious! Thank you so much!"
She took one and tasted it.
"Mmm", she said appreciatively. "They are wonderful! You are such a good baker".
Frederick's mother thanked her and took one as well.
"I'm glad you like them", she said modestly. "I enjoy baking".
They chatted for a while about their farms and families.
"By the way", Frederick's mother said casually. "I have a proposition for you".
Blair's mother looked at her with interest.
"Oh? What is it?"
Frederick's mother took a sip of her tea and cleared her throat.
"Well, you know how the hunting season is coming up soon?"
Blair's mother nodded.
"Yes, I do".
Frederick's mother continued.
"And you know how my boys love to hunt, especially Frederick?"
Blair's mother nodded again.
"Yes, I do".
Frederick's mother smiled.
"Well, I was thinking, why don't we have a little shooting practice before the season starts? Just for fun, you know. A friendly competition among the neighbours".
Blair's mother raised her eyebrows.
"A shooting practice? That sounds interesting".
Frederick's mother nodded.
"Yes, it does. It would be a good way to sharpen our skills and have some fun at the same time. And we could invite some other families as well, make it a social occasion. What do you think?"
Blair's mother smiled.
"I think it sounds like a great idea. I'm sure my husband would love to join. And Blair too".
Frederick's mother beamed.
"Blair too? That's wonderful! I've heard she's quite a good shot".
Blair's mother nodded proudly.
"She is. She has a natural talent for it. She can hit a target from a hundred paces away".
Frederick's mother feigned surprise.
"Really? That's impressive. I'm sure Frederick would be happy to see her in action. He admires her skills, you know".
Blair's mother chuckled.
"Does he? I thought he was always teasing her and making fun of her".
Frederick's mother waved her hand dismissively.
"Oh, that's just his way of showing his affection. He likes her, really. He just doesn't know how to express it".
Blair's mother smiled knowingly.
"I see. Well, maybe this shooting practice will help them get along better".
Frederick's mother nodded eagerly.
"Maybe it will. Maybe it will indeed".
She glanced at the clock and stood up.
"Well, I should get going. I have to prepare for the practice. I'll send you an invitation soon with the details. Thank you for your hospitality".
Blair's mother stood up as well and hugged her.
"Thank you for your kindness. And for your lovely treats. I look forward to the shooting practice".
They said their goodbyes and parted ways.
Frederick's mother walked back to her farm with a smile on her face.
She had done it.
She had set the stage for a moment that could change everything.
A moment that could bring Frederick and Blair closer than ever before.


Two weeks later, all was in readiness. The neighbouring families arrived, accompanied by a diverse assembly of children spanning various ages. In tow, they brought a cornucopia of baked goods, preserves, and delectable cheeses--a medley that never failed to tantalize Blair's senses. The forthcoming hunting season was anticipated with eagerness, as it promised to replenish their meat stocks and yield a bounty of dried meats for the looming winter. A sense of anticipation hung in the air, and this jovial spirit was complemented by the musical accompaniment--a symphony of guitars and concertinas that would transform the gathering into a veritable festival.


Frederick's mother entrusted her boys with the task of preparing the shooting targets and ensuring the area was clear of livestock to avoid any unintended mishaps during the shooting practice. Amid the preparations, she meticulously arranged tables, draping them with pristine white tablecloths and adorning them with a carefully curated selection of veld flowers in hues of yellow, purple, and white. The absence of roses was noted, but the veld flowers exuded a rustic charm that was no less captivating. The offerings placed on the tables transformed the scene into a visual feast, a tableau befitting royalty. The culmination of her efforts brought her a sense of accomplishment, a relief that all had fallen into place seamlessly.


As the guests arrived, Frederick's mother was immersed in a whirlwind of welcomes and arrangements. Amidst the hustle, she nearly overlooked her own intentions--to keep an eye on Frederick. Yet, in the midst of the formalities, she found solace in the knowledge that an opportunity awaited her. She strategically positioned her chair near the shooting area, ensuring she would have a vantage point once the preliminaries were concluded. In this orchestration of conviviality and anticipation, she looked forward to glimpsing the undercurrents that had stirred Frederick's emotions, hoping that the unfolding shooting contest might illuminate the enigma that had thus far eluded her understanding.


The prospective participants were summoned to assemble, each eager soul heeding the call with a mixture of anticipation and resolve. Among them, Blair's excitement was palpable, an electric current of enthusiasm coursing through her veins. As she stood amidst the crowd, her heart danced with the prospect of showcasing her proficiency. The reason for her dedication hadn't faded--it was more than a mere hobby; it was her way of proving herself, of besting Frederick at his own game.


With unwavering confidence, Blair walked forward, her steps carrying an air of assuredness. She approached the forefront, positioning herself within arm's reach of Frederick's mother, close to where her rifle was at the bench at the shooting range area. A choice that held the potential to reveal so much. Despite her poised exterior, there remained a layer of restraint--a reminder that even in this pursuit, societal norms and expectations imposed their subtle constraints. And yet, she was determined not to be confined by these limits.


Meanwhile, Frederick ambled leisurely past his mother, a dandelion in hand--an emblem of simplicity and transience. In a breathless moment, his mother held onto hope that he might extend this delicate offering to Blair, a gesture that could unravel the intricacies of their relationship. The flower, however, merely grazed Blair's head, a gentle tap accompanied by a whispered "Bee".
In response, Blair's voice carried a stiffness, a curt reply of "Rick".
This unexpected moniker left Frederick's mother puzzled. "Rick?" she pondered, bemused by this unconventional choice of address. Why had Blair chosen to refer to Frederick by a name that no one else employed? The rationale eluded her.


As they stood side by side, a tableau of contrasts emerged. Blair's posture was taut, her chin held resolutely high, while Frederick remained steadfast, arms folded across his chest. The dialogue between them unfolded in hushed undertones, veering toward speculation about the other participants and their potential as marksmen. Each whispered exchange carried an undercurrent of curiosity and observation, illuminating the dynamics at play in this shared space.


Curiosity ignited a fire within Frederick's mother, her intrigue compelling her to subtly reposition her chair, inching it closer in a bid to catch snippets of the conversation unfolding between the two young protagonists. She must have presented a rather curious spectacle to the other ladies, her apparent eavesdropping not escaping their notice. Yet, such minor matters faded into insignificance when compared to the puzzle that was unfolding before her.

Chapter 3


Frederick's words wove a tapestry of Dutch intertwined with traces of English, a revelation that left his mother stunned. When had her son acquired this newfound fluency in English? The thought flitted across her mind, surprising her with its unexpectedness. On the other side of the conversation, Blair navigated the Dutch language with a degree of proficiency, though the cadence of her family's Scottish heritage tinted her speech. Despite their linguistic disparities, an uncanny understanding emerged between the two. An unspoken connection thrived, the threads of their conversation weaving seamlessly even as they appeared to be at odds.


For two individuals who had seldom exchanged a word, their interaction was an eloquent revelation. They effortlessly completed each other's sentences, bridging the gaps when one faltered, forming a synergy that was astonishing to witness. This exchange was uncharted territory for Blair and Frederick, a realm where words flowed with an unexpected ease, binding them together in a manner that transcended the boundaries of their perceived dislike.


Frederick's mother found herself smiling, a silent witness to a connection that defied conventional understanding. While their exterior interactions remained marked by tension, beneath the surface lay an intricate web of understanding that defied easy explanation. In her heart, she felt a sense of warmth, a recognition that beyond their differences, these two young souls were forging a connection on a plane that was beyond the reach of mere words.


With a newfound determination, Frederick's mother decided that as the day progressed, she would delve into Blair's thoughts and feelings. After all, if they had their own names for each other, then surely there were layers of insight waiting to be unravelled beneath the surface.


Meanwhile, Frederick's mother resolved that when the time came to converse with Blair, she would employ the name "Rick" for Frederick. This subtle choice of address would prevent Blair from suspecting that Frederick's mother had been privy to the name she had coined for him. With this stratagem in mind, she awaited her chance, though time stretched out like an endless horizon, the anticipation almost palpable.


All the participants in the shooting event were instructed to bring their chosen firearms closer, assembling the instruments that would soon shape their marksmanship efforts. A comprehensive rundown of safety measures followed, a prelude to the forthcoming challenge. The paramount directive was clear: participants could load only a solitary round at a time. This meticulous regulation aimed to avert any catastrophic accidents, a testament to the gravity of the activity they were about to engage in.


Further directives followed, each an intricate choreography of safety. The rifles were to be wielded with utmost caution--participants were firmly instructed never to turn around with a rifle in hand, thus averting the peril of inadvertently aiming the weapon at others. Instead, the barrel was to be directed downward, the butt securely cradled beneath the arm, and hands conscientiously avoiding the trigger. This symphony of safety precautions harmonized to prevent mishaps and promote a secure environment.


Amidst this meticulous framework, one participant, whose command of English was superior to the rest, took it upon themselves to elaborate on these rules to both Blair and her father. This personalized briefing ensured that every nuance was understood and that the safety protocols were unequivocally communicated.


"Mr. Maxwell", he said politely as he approached Blair's father. "May I have a word with you?"
Blair's father nodded and followed him. "What is it?" he asked curiously.
The participant smiled and gestured to his rifle.
"I just wanted to explain some of the rules for the shooting practice", he said kindly. "I know you are not very familiar with Dutch, so I thought I would translate them for you".
Blair's father thanked him and listened attentively.
The participant went over each rule carefully, making sure Blair's father understood them clearly.
He also pointed out some of the features of his rifle, such as how to load it, how to aim it, and how to fire it.
He demonstrated each step with his own rifle, then handed it to Blair's father and asked him to repeat them.
Blair's father did so successfully, showing that he had grasped the instructions well.
The participant nodded approvingly.
"Very good", he said warmly. "You are a quick learner".
Blair's father smiled and handed back his rifle.
"Thank you", he said gratefully. "You are very helpful".
The participant shrugged modestly.
"It's my pleasure", he said sincerely. "I'm glad I could help".
He looked at Blair, who was standing nearby with her own rifle in her hand.
"And what about you?" he asked her gently. "Do you need any help?"
Blair shook her head confidently.
"No", she said firmly. "I know what to do".
The participant raised his eyebrows.
"Really?" he said sceptically. "Are you sure?"
Blair nodded eagerly.
"Yes", she said proudly. "I can shoot very well".
The participant smiled and leaned closer.
"Can you now?" he said teasingly. "And how did you learn that?"
Blair smiled back and pointed at her father.
"From him", she said loyally. "He taught me everything".
The participant looked at her father with admiration.
"Did he?" he said impressed. "That's remarkable".
He looked at Blair again with curiosity.
"And what kind of rifle do you have?" he asked her interestedly.
Blair held up her rifle proudly.
"It's a Martini-Henry", she said knowledgeably. "It's very powerful".
The participant nodded appreciatively.
"It is indeed", he said respectfully. "It's a fine weapon".
He examined it closely and noticed something unusual.
"But what is this?" he asked curiously as he pointed at a small engraving on the stock.
Blair looked at it and smiled fondly.
"That's my name", she said happily. "Blair MacGregor".
The participant smiled too and touched it gently.
"That's lovely", he said sincerely. "It makes it very special".
He handed it back to her and looked at her with admiration.
"You are a very special girl, Blair", he said earnestly. "And I'm sure you will do very well today".
Blair thanked him and beamed with joy.


The participant wished them both good luck and left them to join the others.
The decision was made to elevate the shooting practice into a contest--a structured process of elimination. This strategic shift emerged from the recognition that a collective approach to hunting would be more prudent. By forming a cohesive hunting party, safety in numbers could be ensured across the vast open veld. The spoils of the hunt would be distributed evenly among all the families present, a measure that guaranteed provisions for the months to come.


The prospect thrilled Blair to no end. The notion of participating in a hunting party resonated deeply with her adventurous spirit, prompting her to practically bounce with exhilaration. The initiation of the contest commenced with the youngest children, a thoughtful strategy to streamline the proceedings. The assumption was that these fledgling participants would likely be the first to be eliminated, allowing the event to swiftly progress to the more intense stages of shooting.


"Alright, everyone", the participant who had spoken to Blair and her father announced loudly. "It's time to begin. We will start with the youngest ones first. They will each have one shot at the target. Whoever misses will be out. Whoever hits will move on to the next round. Are you ready?"
A chorus of cheers and shouts answered him. He smiled and pointed at a young boy who was holding a small pistol. "You", he said. "You go first".
The boy nodded nervously and walked up to the shooting line.
He aimed his pistol at the target, which was a tin can hanging from a tree branch.
He pulled the trigger and missed.
He sighed and walked back to his parents, who comforted him.
The participant clapped his hands and called out another name.
The contest continued, with each child taking their turn.
Some hit, some missed.
Some were happy, some were sad.
Some were confident, some were scared.
But all were cheered and encouraged by their families and friends.
Blair watched them intently, studying their techniques and their mistakes.
She waited patiently for her turn, knowing she would be one of the last ones to go.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around.
It was Frederick.
He looked at her with a smirk on his face.
"Hey, Bee", he said mockingly. "Are you ready to lose?"
Blair glared at him and clenched her rifle.
"No, Rick", she said defiantly. "Are you?"
Frederick snorted and shook his head.
"No", he said confidently. "I'm ready to win".
Blair rolled her eyes and shook her head too.
"No", she said firmly. "You're ready to lose".
Frederick smiled wickedly and leaned closer.
"Is that so?" he said challengingly. "How about we make a bet?"
Blair raised her eyebrows and leaned closer too.
"A bet?" she said curiously. "What kind of bet?"
Frederick whispered in her ear.
"If I win, you have to kiss me".
Blair gasped and pulled away from him.
She looked at him with shock and disgust.
"Kiss you?" she exclaimed. "Never!"
Frederick shrugged and smiled smugly.
"Fine", he said casually. "Then I guess you're afraid".
Blair frowned and clenched her teeth.
"I'm not afraid", she said angrily. "I'm disgusted".
Frederick chuckled and tilted his head.
"Really?" he said mockingly. "Then prove it".
Blair hesitated for a moment, then gritted her teeth again.
"Fine", she said bravely. "I'll prove it".
She looked at him with determination.
"But if I win, you have to kiss me".
Frederick's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
He looked at her with disbelief and horror.
"Kiss you?" he echoed. "Never!"
Blair smirked and shrugged.
"Fine", she said casually. "Then I guess you're afraid".
Frederick glared at her and clenched his jaw.
"I'm not afraid", he said furiously. "I'm disgusted".
Blair laughed and nodded her head.
"Really?" she said mockingly. "Then prove it".
Frederick hesitated for a moment, then gritted his jaw again.
"Fine", he said bravely. "I'll prove it".
He looked at her with defiance.
"But if we tie, we have to kiss each other, on the mouth".
Blair's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open too.
She looked at him with disbelief and horror as well.
"Kiss each other?" she repeated. "Never!"
Frederick nodded and smiled wickedly again, thinking that this was sure to put Blair off the competition.
"Yes", he said firmly. "That's the deal".
He held out his hand for her to shake.


A shot straying from the target would mark instant elimination--an understandable caution, as a wounded animal in the expansive veld could attract predators, leading to a protracted tracking ordeal. Such a situation would be untenable, squandering precious time and potentially spoiling other carcasses in the process. Only a bullseye would suffice--a singular precision to carry one forward. Those who achieved this feat would advance to the next round, contending within the higher age groups.


Amidst this focused activity, Blair's attention flitted to and fro, her gaze searching for Frederick. A determination sparkled in her eyes as she endeavoured to outshine him. The desire to demonstrate her prowess, to affirm her position as his competitor, emanated from her with unwavering intensity. Her resolve was palpable--a testament to her spirited ambition.


Blair assumed her position behind the benches, her focus set. A single round was handed to her by her father, designated for loading into the .22. Stepping back, he stationed himself behind her, arms crossed over his chest. Beneath his beard, a smile of conviction played across his features, his certainty in Blair's capability unwavering. With the command issued to take aim and fire, anticipation electrified the air.


With a poised precision, Blair raised her rifle, ensuring the butt nestled snugly against her shoulder to absorb the potential recoil. Methodically, she aligned the sights for the precise distance she was to shoot. One shot was all she had, and she approached it with deliberate intent. Inhaling deeply, she steadied herself, allowing her breath to flow out in a controlled exhale. In synchrony with this rhythm, she gently squeezed the trigger.


A chorus of further shots resounded as the remaining participants also unleashed their weapons. The symphony of firearms was followed by an interlude of reassurance, ensuring the strict observance of firearm safety. A figure dashed to the targets, scrutinizing the results. A raised hand before a target indicated advancement to the next round. In this moment, a singular bullseye stood out from the rest, a testament to precision and skill. Blair's target bore this coveted mark, the only one to do so.


A surge of jubilation coursed through her veins as Blair's victory was sealed. She leapt toward her father, exuberance propelling her movements. His arms enveloped her in a tight embrace, a gesture of pride and celebration. The moment encapsulated their shared triumph, a testament to her prowess and her father's steadfast belief in her capabilities.


"Blair!" he exclaimed as he hugged her. "You did it!"
Blair giggled and hugged him back.
"I did it!" she repeated happily.
He kissed her forehead and held her at arm's length.
"You are amazing", he said proudly. "You are my star".
Blair beamed and looked at him with gratitude.
"Thank you", she said sincerely. "You are my hero".
He smiled and ruffled her hair.
"You are welcome", he said warmly. "You are my joy".
They looked at each other with love and admiration. They heard a loud applause and cheers from the crowd. They turned around and saw everyone clapping and smiling at them. They waved and thanked them for their support. They saw Frederick's mother among them. She was smiling too and clapping enthusiastically. She caught Blair's eye and winked at her.
She mouthed "Well done" and gave her a thumbs up.
Blair smiled back and nodded at her.
Mrs. Potgieter felt a surge of respect and appreciation for her. She wondered what Blair thought of Frederick. She wondered what Frederick thought of Blair, beneath his fade.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around again.
It was Frederick. He looked at her with a smirk on his face, it was not a mocking smirk.
It was an admiring smirk.
He held out his hand for her to shake.
"Hey, Bee", he said respectfully. "That was impressive".
Blair looked at his hand and hesitated for a moment.
Then she took it and shook it firmly, only nodding her head at Fredrick.

Chapter 4


Blair stood standing at her spot in front of the benches, while she was waiting for the next round to line up. Her father stood behind her, he bent down and assured her that she was going to get through this round as well, she was good enough. He knew to encourage her to excel at shooting was going to be frowned upon but he could also rest easy knowing that she would be able to protect the homestead if she ever needed to. Blair was looking at the participants, trying to gauge when Frederick would be shooting, she was sure he would shoot in the next round, she just had to last as many rounds as she could till, he was eliminated. When they called on the participants to ready their firearms for the next round, Blair narrowed her eyes, focusing her attention on the task at hand, she could not afford to slip up if she was going to best Frederick. The weapons were loaded and they took aim, Blair took her time making sure that her breathing was settled and, on the exhale, she pulled the trigger. Shots rang out intermittently as everyone fired on their targets. One of the other fathers commented to Blair's father she had very even breathing when firing the rifle, it meant that she was steadier allowing for less movement at that point.


The familiar figure from the previous round sprinted down to the targets once again. His arm rose in a triumphant trio, and once more, Blair's journey through the competition continued. Exultation consumed her, prompting a joyful dance punctuated by uplifted arms. Fellow children joined in, the rhythmic beating of drums forming a jubilant cadence around Blair. In this spirited display, a realization dawned upon them: Blair's initial success was no mere fluke. The truth was crystallizing--the young girl possessed an exceptional aptitude for shooting.


Frederick and his brother, observant onlookers, took note of the growing commotion enveloping Blair. As one of their peers approached her, seemingly poised to offer congratulatory embrace, Frederick seized his brother's hand, orchestrating a decisive manoeuvre. Frederick was well aware of the impending challenge against Blair in the next round. It appeared to his mother that Frederick had strategically positioned his brother to block access to Blair, using this calculated move to limit her interactions with other children.


John, placed by Blair's side, positioned himself alongside her father, effectively creating a barrier that proved insurmountable for the other children. Among them, the boy who had intended to embrace Blair furrowed his brows, his expression a mixture of displeasure and confusion. His intended gesture had been thwarted by the intrusion of Frederick and John. In response, Frederick's countenance seemed to mirror the boy's disapproval, yet his attention promptly shifted away, focusing intently on the upcoming shooting contest.


"Hey", the boy said angrily as he tried to push past John. "Get out of my way".
John shook his head and stood firm.
"No", he said firmly. "This is my spot".
The boy frowned and glared at him. "Your spot?" he said incredulously. "Who says?"
John pointed at his brother. "He does", he said loyally.
The boy looked at Frederick with annoyance.
"Who are you?" he asked rudely.
Frederick looked back at him with disdain.
"I'm his brother", he said coldly.
The boy snorted and rolled his eyes.
"So?" he said dismissively.
Frederick shrugged and smirked, "So you can't get near her", he said smugly.
The boy looked at Blair with frustration, "Why not?" he asked desperately.
Frederick leaned closer and whispered in his ear.
"Because she's mine", he said possessively.
The boy gasped and pulled away from him. He looked at him with shock and disgust.
"Yours?" he repeated incredulously. "Never!"
Frederick nodded and smiled wickedly. "Yes", he said confidently. "Always".


Frederick was not all sure why he had just said this to this boy. He felt very confused, why did this stupid girl make him say stupid things. Hi sighed to himself thinking that he should be better at avoiding Blair. From across the range another girl was waving at him, Frederick rolled his eyes and let out a groan. He could never remember her name, not that it was a strange name but he was just not interested in knowing her name. This girl he thought to himself would be worse than Blair, she chatted incessantly about nothing all of time, in a high-pitched voice that hurt his ears. At least Blair he thought could talk about some intelligent topics, at least she wasn't brain dead. Frederick turned and looked away pretending that he never saw the gesture of the other girl waving, hoping that this would send a message that he was not interest in talking to her either.


Amidst the unfolding shooting rounds, the womenfolk gathered in camaraderie, their admiration directed towards Blairs mother for fostering her daughter's exceptional marksmanship. To them, it was a genuine leap forward--a testament to the evolving norms and recognition of a girl's potential in a shooting competition. However, their husbands harboured differing beliefs, sceptical of a girl's prowess with firearms. In response, Blairs mother elucidated her daughter's resolute determination and refusal to accept limitations, factors that had propelled her to this remarkable proficiency. She affirmed that Blair's proficiency would prove invaluable in safeguarding their homestead if ever confronted with danger. The swell of accolades showered upon Blairs mother, a reflection of pride and validation, resonated deeply.


This cascade of praise had a ripple effect among the other women, inspiring them to engage more actively in mastering the art of shooting for self-defence. Recognizing the tangible benefits, they reached a collective agreement that their daughters should also acquire this essential skill. Thus, within the tapestry of evolving attitudes and aspirations, a new narrative was woven -- one of empowerment, skill, and the breaking of traditional molds.


The command for the next round was issued, beckoning participants to assume their positions at the benches. Blair cast a sidelong glance towards Frederick, who stood there seemingly unruffled, cool as a cucumber. His collected demeanour sent a shiver of unease down Blair's spine. Was his confidence truly that unshakable? Gathering herself, Blair took measured breaths, recognizing that this was her moment, a chance to assert her superiority. She resolved to seize this opportunity, to display her prowess and relish in the victory that lay ahead.


As the call to aim and fire resounded, Blair's concentration sharpened. She ensured her grip on the firearm was steady yet not overly tight, allowing her breathing to settle into a rhythmic cadence. The resounding shot marked her participation, a burst of empowerment that preceded the collective clamour of firing rounds. Swiftly following, the safety measures were reasserted, and the targets examined. Blair's triumph was apparent--she had advanced to the next round, while Frederick had not. With a wide-eyed gaze fixed upon Frederick, a victorious grin stretched across Blair's face, a triumphant gesture of sticking out her tongue an unspoken taunt that conveyed her satisfaction. She savoured this triumph, committed to never letting it fade.


Frederick stepped back, disengaging from the competition, standing alongside John. Their exchange remained hushed, a whispered inquiry "why did you miss?", followed by silence. Arms crossed resolutely over his chest, Frederick's gaze remained trained on the changing targets. The spectacle of Blair's victory continued, as she defied expectations, advancing through an additional three rounds, even surpassing her father's performance. Delight brimming within her, she emerged as the centre of attention among the children, her achievement captivating their focus.


"Wow", one of the girls said admiringly as she approached Blair. "You are amazing".
Blair smiled and thanked her.
"Thank you", she said modestly.
Another girl joined them and nodded in agreement.
"Yes", she said enthusiastically. "You are so good".
Blair smiled and thanked her too.
"Thank you", she said politely.
A boy came over and clapped his hands.
"That was awesome", he said impressed. "You are so cool".
Blair smiled and thanked him as well.
"Thank you", he said graciously.
More children gathered around Blair and showered her with compliments and praises.


He father was her best friend and her biggest supporter. He was her hero and her inspiration. He was her father and her everything. Blair looked at Frederick's mother and saw her smiling at her too. She gave her a thumbs up and a nod. She mouthed "Well done" and clapped her hands. Blair smiled back and nodded at her too. She felt a surge of respect and appreciation for her. She was kind and supportive to her. She was curious and interested in her. She was friendly and sincere to her.


Blair looked at Frederick and saw him looking at her as well. He gave her a smirk and a shrug. He mouthed "Not bad" and raised his eyebrows. Blair smirked back and shrugged too. She mouthed "Not bad yourself" and raised her eyebrows too. She felt a surge of something else for him. She was not sure what it was. She was not sure what it meant. She was not sure what to do with it.


Yet, not all were amused. Older participants, their pride wounded by the success of a fourteen-year-old, observed with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Amidst the chorus of congratulations, Frederick's presence receded to the fringes of the gathering. He no longer showed concern for Blair like earlier, when an elder boy tried to hug her, she had retreated with the other children to the sphere of age-appropriate activities. The dynamics of victory and rivalry continued to weave their intricate threads, leaving an indelible mark on the tapestry of this eventful day.


Following the conclusion of the shooting practice, the summons for lunch resonated, drawing everyone together to partake in a shared moment of gratitude. Once the ritual of thanks had been observed, the ravenous children eagerly assembled their plates with culinary treats seldom encountered at home. Meanwhile, the adults settled into hushed discussions, their topics spanning the breadth of weather, farming techniques, and unfortunate incidents of livestock theft. Amidst this backdrop, the women's chatter echoed with liveliness, occasionally punctuated by peals of laughter that enlivened the scene.


The younger generation embraced the freedom of the afternoon, immersing themselves in spirited games that show cased their youthful exuberance. Yet, as the sun cast elongated shadows and the hours waned, a subdued undertone began to shape the gathering. Some of the neighbours commenced the process of packing their belongings, preparing to depart. Only a handful of children lingered, these being slightly older than Blair. In this context, Blair found her place beside her mother, a realm of mature conversations where stillness and composure were expected from children.


Amidst this juncture, a beckoning call emerged from Mrs. Potgieter. Blair's name was uttered, a request that held the weight of obligation. She was summoned to aid in the transportation of items back to the house, a gesture not only anticipated but also deemed a courteous contribution to alleviate the hostess's duties. With graceful acquiescence, Blair heeded the call, acknowledging the age-old code of cooperation that knit the social fabric of the community.


"Blair", Mrs. Potgieter called out from her porch. "Can you come here for a moment?".
Blair looked up from her seat next to her mother and saw Mrs. Potgieter waving at her. She excused herself and got up. She walked over to Mrs. Potgieter and greeted her politely. "Yes, Mrs. Potgieter", she said respectfully.
Mrs. Potgieter smiled warmly and patted her shoulder. "Blair", she said kindly. "You are such a sweet girl". She looked at her with admiration. "And such a talented one too", she added sincerely.
Blair blushed and thanked her. "Thank you", she said modestly.
Mrs. Potgieter nodded and gestured to a pile of dishes and utensils on a table nearby. "I need your help with something", she said gently. She pointed at a large basket next to the pile. "Can you please put these dishes and utensils in this basket?" she asked politely. She pointed at another table on the other side of the porch. "And then carry it over there?" she asked further. Blair nodded and agreed.
"Of course", she said willingly. Mrs. Potgieter thanked her and handed her a cloth. "Here", she said helpfully. "You can use this to wipe them if they are wet or dirty". Blair thanked her and took the cloth.
She started to put the dishes and utensils in the basket carefully. She wiped them with the cloth if they were wet or dirty. She arranged them neatly in the basket so they would not break or clatter. She worked diligently and efficiently.
Mrs. Potgieter watched her with approval and satisfaction. "You are such a good helper", she said appreciatively.
Blair smiled and continued working. She finished filling up the basket quickly. She lifted it up carefully and balanced it on her hip. She walked over to the other table and set it down gently. She looked at Mrs. Potgieter and waited for further instructions.
Mrs. Potgieter clapped her hands and praised her. "Well done", she said proudly. She walked over to her and gave her a hug. "Thank you so much", she said gratefully. Blair hugged her back and smiled. "You're welcome", she said happily.


Frederick's mother, her demeanour light-hearted and jesting, gathered the scattered dishes, orchestrating the transition of items destined for the kitchen. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she extended a mockingly congratulatory note to Blair, praising her remarkable skill in the shooting contest and emphasizing the triumph she had achieved for the fairer sex in the event. Blair's countenance lit up with the warmth of those words, a newfound ease emerging as her conversational barriers began to dissolve. It was as if Frederick's mother had crafted this atmosphere with a purpose, to cultivate openness and dialogue.

Chapter 5


Once in the kitchen where there was privacy and no one could hear Mrs. Potgieter's line of questioning, Mrs. Potgieter looked at Blair with curiosity. "Can I ask you something?" she said softly. Blair nodded and listened. "Of course", she said politely. Mrs. Potgieter leaned closer and lowered her voice. "What do you think of Frederick?" she asked curiously. Blair blinked and looked at her with surprise. She felt a surge of something in her chest. She was not sure what it was. She was not sure what to say. She was not sure what to think.


As the exchange unfolded, Frederick's mother artfully guided the interaction. With a wry sense of humour, she playfully mused on Frederick's less impressive performance, suggesting that he might require more practice. This gentle prod effectively coaxed Blair into a more talkative state, setting the stage for deeper conversation. A teasing suggestion followed: what if Blair were to be the one to teach "Rick" how to shoot? The suggestion was met with genuine laughter, as Blair quickly dismissed the notion with a resolute declaration that Frederick's pride would surely prevent him from accepting such an offer.


Frederick's mother was momentarily taken aback by Blair's astute prediction of Frederick's response, sensing a deeper familiarity between them than she had anticipated. Swiftly recovering her composure, she deftly steered the conversation onwards. As they migrated to the kitchen, the lively banter and camaraderie persisted, bridging the generational gap and encapsulating the essence of community that had defined the day's festivities.


Within the confines of the kitchen, an air of privacy and confidentiality enveloped Mrs. Potgieter's intent. With no prying ears within earshot, and buoyed by Blair's openness and easy trust, the moment felt ripe to delve a bit deeper into Blair's psyche. Her musings whispered a sense of urgency, a sense of "now or never".


Seizing the opportunity, Mrs. Potgieter embarked on a path that traversed the more enigmatic facets of Blair's perspective. "Blair", she began, her tone kindly and engaging, "I must admit, your nickname for Frederick is rather endearing. I might just adopt that moniker myself". Blair's response was instantaneous - a bright giggle that danced in the air, unburdened by reservation. Her face was a canvas of unabashed delight, hinting that Mrs. Potgieter was navigating the right channels of conversation.


Bridging into the heart of her curiosity, Mrs. Potgieter inquired, "When did you start calling him Rick?" Blair's response seemed to unfurl in a casual manner, as if an old memory summoned from the depths of her being. "Oh", Blair replied with an air of recollection, "that's how I remember him. He was always Rick before".


Mrs. Potgieter's response was a symphony of disbelief. Her jaw appeared to hang ajar, suspended in a moment of incredulity. The pieces of a perplexing puzzle began to align. The phrase "always Rick" echoed like a riddle that defied the constraints of time. The question loomed larger than ever: how could Blair remember him from a time before, a time when even Mrs. Potgieter's recollections faltered? The mystery deepened, a conundrum that defied explanation.


In the midst of this enigma, Blair's conversation flowed forth, oblivious to the sea of astonishment that had enveloped Mrs. Potgieter. Unbeknownst to Blair, the revelation had unearthed an unprecedented complexity, a thread of connection that transcended the boundaries of ordinary understanding.


"I remembered him from before," Blair said, her voice steady yet tinged with a sense of wonder, as if she herself were unravelling the mysteries of her own thoughts.


Amidst the passage of time, Frederick had stepped into the house, his intentions revolving around practical matters of relocating tables outside. Yet, the conversation he unexpectedly intercepted between Blair and his mother yanked him into a different realm altogether. Her words, "Always Rick," gripped his attention like a vice. His pulse quickened; he wanted to glean more, to fathom what Blair meant by her peculiar recollections.


In that fleeting moment, Frederick found himself immobilized, as if caught in the gravitational pull of a revelation too potent to resist. Mrs. Potgieter's inquiry "When last did you see him that you know him from before?" hung in the air like a tantalizing secret, inviting a narrative beyond the mundane. With bated breath, he listened, keen to unravel the strands of Blair's memories, to seize upon whatever truths they might bear.


The fabric of the conversation wove its tapestry, each thread a shimmering filament of a life remembered but unseen. Blair answered with an ease that defied the extraordinary nature of her revelations. "France," she recounted, as if tracing the contours of a dream, "there was a war but I died." The words tumbled forth, free of trepidation, as if unveiling chapters of a story etched within her very essence. To her, the narrative flowed naturally, each vignette a piece of a mosaic painted across the canvas of existence.


Yet, the impact of her words bore weight beyond measure. As she carried on, recounting experiences in distant lands and times, the room itself seemed to hold its breath. Mrs. Potgieter teetered on the precipice of disbelief, her hands suspended mid-air, as if the fabric of reality itself had been stretched thin.


Frederick, too, clung to Blair's every word. He listened, drawn into the tale of far-flung memories that were oddly familiar. As Blair spoke of France and her own demise, his mind stirred like a potently mixed potion, conjuring images previously shrouded in the mists of the subconscious. There she was, a vision of a young girl with flowing blond hair, garbed in white, sprinting through a meadow bedecked with white and red poppies.


"I saw it too," Frederick muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if his own revelation was too fragile to be spoken aloud. Yet, the scene darkened suddenly, like a page torn from the tapestry of history. He watched, an observer of his own memories, as the girl faltered, her fall a fragment of time that reverberated through the chambers of his mind. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft and filled with concern. He saw the red stain of blood staining her white shift, and his heart clenched in dread as he knelt beside her, it felt as if his soul had been wrenched from him. "It's going to be alright," he whispered, peering into her bright green eyes as they closed, forever extinguished. Emotion swelled, the poignant ache of loss enveloping him in a realm that seemed so surreal


As the spell broke, he found himself awash in a sea of emotion, tears tracing the contours of his face. The maelstrom of past and present had collided within him, stirring the depths of his soul in ways he had never anticipated.


Blair continued, her voice a fragile thread in the room, "Another time, he was wearing armour and riding a horse, I tried to warn him but was too late and then he died."


Sitting down, Mrs. Potgieter's bewilderment mirrored the whirlwind of thoughts swirling within her. Blair had sensed her confusion and fallen silent, perhaps wary that her words had inadvertently stirred unrest. Outside the house, Frederick retreated with cautious steps, his mind grappling with the enormity of what he had just heard. The weight of emotion had left an indelible mark upon him, an experience both profound and perplexing.


Within the kitchen, Mrs. Potgieter's mind was a tempest of uncertainty. Blair's narrative had rocked her sense of reality, leaving her grappling for solid ground. Was this child's account merely a reflection of an eccentric imagination, or did it carry a kernel of truth? A fragment of memory surfaced, a tale from long ago about how children, in the dawn of life before the onslaught of puberty, could recall distant times and places, whispering stories they seemingly had no way of knowing.


"Could it be true?" she muttered, her words tinged with both wonder and doubt.


It was said, in the whispers of old wives, that children's perceptions held an uncanny insight before the march of maturity smothered their senses. As hormones surged and swirled, the intuitive flame dimmed, a forgotten gift lost in the shuffle of growing up. And yet, now faced with Blair's account, Mrs. Potgieter grappled with the possibility that her tales might not have been merely flights of fancy.


The question nagged at her: Were Blair's recollections genuine, shards of memory resurfacing from a forgotten past? The child's candour, her very demeanour, seemed incongruous with the notion of weaving elaborate falsehoods. The trust she had engendered through her honesty and simplicity remained steadfast.


Blair's concern for Mrs. Potgieter led her to offer a glass of water. Unaware of the profound impact her words had on Mrs. Potgieter, Blair could not have anticipated the earth-shaking revelation she had shared.


"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Potgieter said, her voice trembling slightly as she accepted the glass. She could feel her pulse racing, her heart still reverberating with the weight of Blair's memories.


Recognizing her own disconcerting effect on Blair, Mrs. Potgieter explained that she was feeling a touch lightheaded and welcomed the glass of water. Blair fetched the water, which Mrs. Potgieter eagerly consumed, only now realizing how parched her throat had become in the aftermath of her shock. While she attempted to regain her composure, her efforts to preserve her former joviality fell somewhat short.


Guiding Blair outside, Mrs. Potgieter aimed to restore a semblance of normalcy, though the weight of her thoughts lingered. Noting that Blair's parents might be wondering about her absence, she gently ushered Blair out, suggesting she rejoin her family. "You should get back to your parents, dear," Mrs. Potgieter advised, her voice gentle but distant. She was lost in her own thoughts, her mind grappling with the enormity of the situation. As they emerged from the house, the setting sun cast elongated shadows, signalling the approach of evening. Blair's parents exchanged farewells before boarding the loaded wagon, ready to journey home. The clatter of hooves and the creaking of the wagon wheels formed a backdrop to their departure.


Mrs. Potgieter lingered, her gaze fixed down the road. The wagon had vanished from sight, yet a profound sense of disorientation coursed through her. It felt as if the very ground was shifting beneath her, prompting her to stand firm, anchoring herself against a metaphorical gust. Faced with Blair's enigmatic account, she resolved that the only path forward was to speak to Frederick. The task, however, seemed daunting and uncertain. Frederick was known for his reticence, much like his father, a man of few words, which only added to the complexity of her pursuit for answers.


"Frederick," she muttered to herself, her mind racing with the weight of what she needed to discuss with her son.


As Mrs. Potgieter stood rooted to the spot, an unsettling thought crawled into her consciousness. Amid Blair's tales of past lives, one sombre pattern emerged: death. In each recounted existence, someone had met their end. This revelation sent a wave of terror coursing through her veins. She felt the chill of fear grip her heart as she contemplated the implications. In this current life, whose fate was on the line--Blair's or Frederick's? The prospect loomed over her like a storm cloud, casting shadows of dread across her thoughts.


Her mind spiralled into a frantic whirlwind, exploring every conceivable scenario that might avert her son's untimely demise. Desperation seized her, igniting her determination to protect Frederick at any cost. But how? The complexity of the situation weighed on her, a maze of possibilities stretching before her.


She questioned whether attempting to verify Blair's stories would be wise. Could it perhaps be safer to keep them apart, to shield them from forging a profound connection? A profound dilemma gripped her--how to orchestrate this separation without sullying Blair's innocence. The very idea that a sweet and eleven-year-old child could be capable of any malicious intent seemed unfathomable to Mrs. Potgieter. Her mind was a tempest of emotions and plans, a tapestry woven with uncertainty and determination.


Every course of action seemed fraught with peril. Speaking to Frederick about Blair's stories might inadvertently lead him down the path of curiosity, cementing a bond between them. "Frederick," Mrs. Potgieter muttered, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and potential consequences.


Conversely, should she strive to keep them distant, questions would surely arise about her motivations, potentially leading to estrangement from their amiable neighbours. The idea of abruptly cutting ties felt like a reckless move that could incite suspicions and misinterpretation.


"What would they think?" she whispered to herself, her voice tinged with uncertainty.


Overwhelmed by her emotions, Mrs. Potgieter found herself ensnared in a web of fear, uncertainty, and determination. She grappled with the weight of her maternal instincts against the enigma of Blair's revelations. "I must protect him," she vowed, the resolve in her voice a testament to her determination.


Faced with this daunting challenge, she resolved to act, to do whatever was necessary to preserve her son's safety. With a heavy heart, she set forth on a path that tested her convictions and thrust her into a world where reality blurred with the inexplicable. As Mrs. Potgieter walked towards her house, a weighty burden settled upon her heart, tugging her spirits down into a mire of contemplation. She entered her lounge and sank onto the couch, her body heavy with a weariness that seemed to emanate from her very core. Her gaze remained fixed downward, her thoughts a tumultuous sea of conflicting emotions.


When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes landed on the wall adorned with the family portraits, spanning generations. Each photograph portrayed couples, their countenances illuminated by joy, an array of shared moments captured in frozen frames. Yet, this tableau of happiness only seemed to deepen her sense of sorrow.


"Could I change the course of fate?" she wondered aloud, her voice tinged with desperation.


A disconcerting question crept into her mind, casting a shadow over her thoughts--what if one day, among those images, a portrait of Frederick and his wife never materialized, erased by the cruel hand of fate? The notion of a potential wife for her son ignited a spark of hope within her. A flicker of optimism illuminated her thoughts--perhaps by guiding his life toward matrimony, she could divert the course of his destiny, steer him away from the spectre of untimely demise that loomed over their lives. "A wife, a future," she muttered, her voice carrying a mixture of determination and longing.


In this newfound contemplation, she found a glimmer of solace, a potential strategy to break the cycle of unsettling past lives that had gripped Blair's consciousness. The journey ahead was uncertain, but her maternal love and unwavering resolve guided her steps. Her mind wandered, tracing the contours of her surroundings, considering the prospects that the burgeoning town of Rustenburg might hold.


"Perhaps there, among the bustling streets and lively markets," Mrs. Potgieter mused aloud, her voice carrying a tinge of hope. Could there be a suitable young woman among their acquaintances, or perhaps a potential match waiting to be discovered? She allowed herself to entertain the possibility that by introducing Frederick to a loving partner, she might alter the course of events, safeguarding his future. "Love, companionship," she whispered, her words carrying a yearning for a better destiny. Amidst her thoughts, one relief remained--Frederick's blissful ignorance of Blair's revelation. "Thank goodness he knows nothing," she muttered, a fleeting sense of gratitude washing over her. In a world teeming with uncertainty, she clung to this small comfort, understanding that for now, he remained unaffected by the enigmatic past that had unravelled in the presence of an eleven-year-old girl. "He deserves his innocence," she murmured, her voice soft with determination.


As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the landscape, Mrs. Potgieter found herself enveloped in a newfound sense of purpose. The journey ahead was daunting, but the strength of a mother's love fuelled her resolve. With the evening breeze carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers, she rose from the couch, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.


As he lay in contemplation, the tendrils of recognition unfurled within him, a sensation he had brushed off as mere imagination. The urge to safeguard her had always surged within him, masked as a fraternal impulse. Even when he had playfully pushed her into the river, the mirth had rung hollow, obscured by a genuine desire to quell that innate need to shield her. "I've always wanted to protect her," he confessed softly, a revelation that reverberated through the silence. During the shooting practice, he had intentionally allowed his marksmanship to falter, avoiding a direct contest with her. Her mischievous gesture -- tongue out in defiance -- had unveiled her unwavering determination, a testament to her tenacity. "Her determination is unlike anything I've seen," Frederick muttered, a mixture of respect and amazement in his voice. Admitting the truth to himself, he acknowledged her formidable skill, an attribute borne of her unwavering focus that might have surpassed his own.


"She's not just a child," he realized, his voice soft with understanding, as if he had uncovered a hidden truth. The tumult within him spiralled further as he grappled with the enigmatic connection he sensed. Did he view her as a fragment of his future? The guilt surged unabated, as he reminded himself that she was, after all, just a child. The sensation of being drawn to her had often plagued him, the inexplicable allure confounding his thoughts. "This isn't right," Frederick muttered, torn between his own emotions and the societal norms that shaped his understanding.


Now, confronted with the notion of past lives and shared memories, his mind whirled with the implications. She claimed he had always been 'Rick,' an assertion that echoed across time. The recollection of a distant image -- an encounter in a meadow -- hovered like a fragile mirage, where a girl's fleeting presence had left an indelible mark. Striking parallels between that vision and Blair's youthful countenance gnawed at his thoughts, unveiling eerie similarities.


"Is it possible that this connection defies time itself?" Frederick pondered, the weight of his thoughts palpable in the hushed air. Yet, he sought refuge in scepticism, doubting the authenticity of these emerging memories. A swift, stinging slap to his own cheek jolted him back to reality, a desperate attempt to shatter the illusion that had begun to weave its tendrils around him. "No, this can't be real," Frederick muttered, his voice a whisper of disbelief. These whispers of past lives remained just that -- whispers, echoes of a reality he couldn't fully embrace. "It's all too fantastical to be true," he muttered to himself, his thoughts a tangle of uncertainty.


As sleep finally claimed him, a melancholic ache lingered, a testament to the emotions that had been stirred. The spectre of loss, both profound and inexplicable, cast a shadow upon his dreamscape.
The darkness clung to the room as Frederick stirred from his sleep, his body quivering with a mixture of emotion and uncertainty. He strained to decipher the time, the inky shadows outside offering no clues. His mind was still grappling with the remnants of a dream, an enigmatic blend of his imagination and Blair's revelations.


Within the confines of slumber, a familiar scene unfolded before him--a meadow painted with a palette of white and red poppies, a vivid backdrop to a tale of escape and desperation. Was this an echo of history or the product of his mind's whimsy? In the dream, he and Blair stood on the cusp of the border, a boundary that symbolized both freedom and trepidation. "This can't be real," Frederick murmured, a sense of unease settling over him like a shroud.


He was a fugitive, a deserter from the French army, and his unlikely companion was Blair. The weight of the dream's narrative bore down on him, the historical context mingling with the emotions it invoked.


The backdrop was the war of the League of Cambrai, a chapter of history etched within the dream's fabric. The years were 1512 to 1514, during the reign of Louis XII of France. A turbulent era, where the cries of conflict echoed relentlessly across the land. France was mired in the Italian Wars, a saga spanning half a century. Peace was a distant memory, a commodity scarce in supply.


As he navigated the dream's landscape, Frederick sensed the weight of history pressing upon him. In this portrayal, Rick and Blair traversed their world incognito, shrouded in a cloak of secrecy. The meadow was a threshold, a place where decisions carried weight beyond their comprehension. "It's like I'm living in another time," Frederick muttered, his mind grappling with the dream's surrealism.


Rick ventured ahead, crossing the expanse to secure Blair's safety before she embarked on her own journey. The tension in the dream was palpable, the meadow a stage for a drama that transcended time itself. Yet the meadow held secrets, as shadows concealed soldiers awaiting their chance to intervene. Blair's sprint across the meadow ignited their actions, a single shot ripping through the air, shattering the tranquillity of the scene. The echo of that gunshot was a harbinger of tragedy, as Blair's arms flew up as she went crashing to the ground, Rick ran to her, kneeling beside her, he saw her white dress stained with blood. He stared into her emerald green eyes, as the slowly closed for the last time, he just managed to catch a faint "love you" from her lips, as she let out her last breath.


"No, I can't let this happen," Frederick muttered, a surge of desperation welling within him. The soldiers surged forward, their motivations mere footnotes in history. Amidst the turmoil, Rick knelt beside Blair's lifeless form, heartache overwhelming him in a cascade of sorrow, wrenching his soul from him. "I can't save her," Frederick screamed with anguished pain, his eyes misty with unshed tears. The soldiers seized him, dragging him off, he was just a shell, soulless, life meant nothing without Blair. Later they shot in front of a firing squad


The dream's vividness engulfed Frederick's senses, a swirl of emotion and disorientation. As he grappled with its authenticity, doubt clouded his perception. The era of the League of Cambrai was shrouded in uncertainty, an enigma woven into the tapestry of the past. "Is this a memory or a mere fantasy?" Frederick pondered, the lines between reality and dreams blurring.


There would be many more dreams of the past of him and Blair, different times and different places, that would taunt his dreams and rouse him from his slumber.


He acknowledged his shortcomings--a lack of historical acumen, feeble reading skills--as he sought to decipher the dream's significance. Though uncertainty loomed large, one conviction emerged clear: he needed to bridge the gap between ignorance and understanding, to unlock the door that reading would open. "I need answers, I need to understand," Frederick murmured, his determination growing with each passing moment. Even if there was a history book available in the bushveld, he would not be able to read it, he had no way to confirm the authenticity of the dream.


Chapter 6


The morning after was cast in an air of palpable distance, Frederick's usual exuberance masked by an unusual quietude. He sat at the breakfast table, his gaze distant and his demeanour drained. The clinking of utensils accompanied the clearing of the table, a seemingly mundane chore that marked the transition into the day ahead. "You alright, son?" his father asked, concern etched into his furrowed brow. "Yeah, just lost in thought," Frederick replied, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. With the table cleared, he embarked on his chores, his steps carrying a weight that belied his young years. Each task felt like a journey through mud, the physical actions overshadowed by the tumultuous thoughts swirling within him.


Meanwhile, in the heart of the household, Mrs. Potgieter was engrossed in a task of her own. Seated at the kitchen table, she meticulously compiled lists of families in their vicinity, her calculations veering towards daughters and their potential ages. Observing the outer trappings, she sought to decipher the ages that lay beneath the facade. "A bit old-fashioned, isn't it?" her neighbour Mrs. Fourie had quipped, catching a glimpse of her list. "Oh, just something to keep me occupied," she replied with a smile that barely reached her eyes. "I am returning your dishes was borrowed yesterday to take home dome of the left-over food. I did not want to wait till I next saw you again, for fear of forgetting", Mrs. Fourie explained. The curiosity of Mrs. Fourie was getting the better of her, she was a real nosy busy body and liked to be the first to know all the goings on in the country side.


Mrs. Potgieter was wondering what exactly she should tell Mrs. Fourie, tell her the tale of the past live and they all would think she was crazy, on the other hand they may all think something was wrong with Frederick seeing as she looking to play match maker. "I have some old dresses Mrs. Fourie, from my younger years, I was trying to match the dresses with girls to see which the dresses would fit to give them to the girl", Mrs. Potgieter lied. This did mean she now would have to make a dress to give to one of the girls, for one can be sure that Mrs. Fourie was going to tell everyone.


Her intent was clear--to pinpoint a suitable match for Frederick, someone who would be close in age and disposition. As the lists grew, she pondered the qualities that Frederick might be drawn to in a potential partner. Yet, a more pressing concern loomed--to find someone who bore no resemblance to Blair. "Not like Blair," she muttered under her breath, her pen tapping against the paper as she scanned through names. She knew that appearances carried power, and so she set out to eliminate anyone who shared even a hint of similarity with the girl who had stirred up her fears.


Amidst this contemplation, Frederick's thoughts ventured down a different path. The notion of conversing with Blair occupied his mind. Could he broach the complexities that swirled within him with an eleven-year-old going on twelve? Would she grasp the essence of his inquiries, questions that hovered at the fringes of understanding? It was not a reflection on her intellect but a recognition of the intricacies at hand.


With a plan in mind, Frederick directed his steps towards the riverbank. A quiet rendezvous with Blair seemed the fitting setting to address his queries. The gentle flow of the river mirrored the currents of their thoughts, carrying with it a conversation that held the potential to bridge the gap between their shared experiences. He hoped that Blair would offer insight, shedding light on the labyrinthine enigma that had taken root.


As he waited by the water's edge, he contemplated the questions that tugged at his mind. The uncertainty loomed large--would Blair comprehend his inquiries? Would she repeat the same narrative that had left him pondering in the wake of her words to his mother? The anticipation was palpable, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze seemed to echo his thoughts.


In the quietude of that moment, the intricate dance of destiny began to unfold, as two young souls, burdened by the weight of their own histories, stood at the precipice of a shared revelation. "Where on earth had Blair gotten to", Frederick thought, she came to the river like clockwork. Blair never came to the river that day, nor the day after that. The days had now turned into weeks.


The passing weeks had etched a void in Frederick's days, marked by Blair's conspicuous absence. The hunting excursion, a customary event, had concluded, parcels of the spoils allocated to each participant. Amid this, Frederick ensured his presence at Blairs homestead, a simple gesture to deliver their share of the hunt. Yet, Blair remained elusive, her presence a spectral absence that seemed to cast an unspoken question upon his thoughts.


Undeterred, he journeyed to her abode, seeking to bridge the gap between their conversations. However, Blair's whereabouts remained a riddle, an enigma he was yet to decipher. The Maxwells and his family had drifted apart, the connections becoming frayed in recent months. A conscious decision, Frederick refrained from probing into the reasons behind this growing chasm. He was cautious, guarding his intentions closely, refraining from revealing the depth of his interest.


In particular, he shielded his intentions from his mother's watchful gaze. Her endeavours to orchestrate social gatherings and engagements were well-intentioned yet, often propelled by an insatiable curiosity. Frederick was wary of her persistent inquisitions to the whereabouts of the daughters of the other people in the community where they visited. Frederick loathed the idea of having to court half the girls his mother was enquiring about but he remained polite, yet reserved.


Amid these contemplations, the idea of courting had yet to claim space in Frederick's thoughts. His focus remained steadfast on the girl whose absence had begun to affect him more than he could have anticipated. The currents of attraction and emotions swirled within, prompting him to tread cautiously, to navigate the intricacies of his feelings without succumbing to hasty decisions.


He mused on the contrast between his own introspection and his brother John's pursuit of romantic interests. Frederick wondered why John's romantic endeavours were not at the forefront of his mother's attention, leaving Frederick to navigate the labyrinth of his own emotions in solitude.


The passage of months had transformed the landscape, as late summer approached. Around the time of Blair's birthday--although he couldn't pinpoint its exact date, he knew it was before the forthcoming orange harvest--an inkling of an impending social event took shape in his thoughts. The orange harvest came and went, and yet, no celebratory gathering materialised.


On a day spent in town with his mother, their purpose was set on purchasing fabric for clothing. Amid the bustle of the marketplace, he spotted another Scottish family whom he recognized as acquaintances of the Maxwells. Summoning his resolve, he approached them, leaving his mother to negotiate over the fabric's price and quality. In his best attempt at English, albeit interlaced with a thick Scottish accent, he greeted the family with politeness.


When he broached them, the parents' countenances lightened at the thought of this young, handsome lad showing an interest in their daughter. However, as he inquired about Blair's whereabouts, a shadow passed over the mother's expression. Disappointment was palpable, etching lines upon her face, and she paused, weighing her words. Finally, she confided in Frederick, revealing that after the shooting contest, Blair's parents had grown apprehensive of her burgeoning wildness. In response, they had decided to send her to live with her aunt in Johannesburg, aiming to provide her with a proper education.


Frederick's brow furrowed as he processed this information. He mentioned how Blair hadn't returned home in December, questioning whether the school wasn't closed then. The woman clarified that the Maxwells had spent Christmas and New Year in Johannesburg, explaining their silence during that period. Despite the clarification, Frederick couldn't shake off the realization that the span of time between them and the Maxwells had stretched far beyond the holidays. With each revelation, the puzzle pieces aligned, unveiling a portrait of his mother's ulterior motives.


Grateful for the girl's candid response, he thanked her and made his way back to the fabric shop, his thoughts swirling with new insights and perspectives.


Frederick berated himself, a sense of frustration gnawing at him. If only he possessed the skill to write, then he could write a letter and send it to Blair. Yet, even if he could send the letter, would she bother to write back and illuminate the details of what she had shared with his mother? His determination was resolute--learning to read and write became an urgent aspiration. He was resolutely determined to dispatch a letter to Blair, come what may. Alongside this, he decided to put a halt to his mother's orchestrated meetings with various girls from the community. His interest in courtship was minimal, with farm duties demanding his time and attention.


A plan crystallised in Frederick's mind--he would approach the local church's minister and request instruction in reading and writing. The minister welcomed this proposition, eager to impart knowledge to the young lad. Nights saw Frederick hunched over his work, diligently honing his skills in reading and writing. The passage of another year brought with it progress, but a veil of uncertainty clouded his intentions regarding the letter. He grappled with apprehensions, lacking a definite address to send it to. The Maxwell family's possible unwillingness to share such details only deepened the dilemma.


As Frederick acclimated to his newfound pursuits, the world of letters opened up before him, freeing his thoughts to flow onto paper. The minister proved an effective tutor, imparting not only literary skills but also the nuances of rhyme and the language of English. It struck Frederick as curious, his lessons in English expanding his access to literature encompassing history and geography--subjects that were more plentiful in English than Dutch. Glimpses of a future where he might one day read about the intricacies of the French War of the League of Cambrai kindled his imagination.


The relentless march of time painted a different scene. Two years had elapsed since Blair's departure, and a sense of peculiarity lingered in the air. It struck Frederick as odd that Blair had not returned to her own family's embrace, not even for a visit.


A sunlit Saturday afternoon bathed the scene, as Frederick found himself nestled in the minister's vestry engrossed in the books the reverend had recommended. Amid the quiet hum of concentration, a distinct Scottish lilt, akin to Mrs. Maxwell's, echoed through the air as she conversed with the minister. Frederick's ears pricked up at this serendipitous encounter, prompting him to slow his reading pace. He heard her request to send a letter to Blair as they would not be able to get into town on Monday morning to send the letter. Frederick held onto a faint hope that the minister would leave the letter from Mrs. Maxwell on his desk, revealing the elusive address he sought--Blair's address. With a keen sense of anticipation, he prepared his notebook and pen, ready to swiftly transcribe the vital information once within reach. The mail wagon, after all, was slated for departure on Monday.


As the conversation unfurled, Frederick's attention remained riveted, his eagerness palpable. The crucial moment arrived as the minister, in the course of their interaction, placed the letter down on the desk. In an instant, Frederick's eyes widened, capturing the words that stood out amidst the lines: "Miss B. Maxwell." With deft speed, he meticulously jotted down the precious address at the back of his notebook--a prized treasure that could bridge the distance between them.


Freed from the immediate task, Frederick was seized by an urgent new mission. He had a letter to pen, thoughts and feelings ready to be woven into words that would traverse the expanse to Blair. The anticipation of the upcoming Monday morning carriage, set to scale the heights of Olifantsnek pass, added an air of clandestine excitement to his endeavours. As the daylight waned, he had a secret to protect--one that bore the potential to bridge the gap between their worlds.


Opting for prudence, Frederick wisely chose not to include his home address on the letter. He held reservations about entrusting it to the regular mail, fearing that his mother might intercept it. Uncertain whether his mother would respect the privacy of his correspondence with Blair, he resolved to employ the church as the return address. He planned to elucidate his rationale to the minister, ensuring the clergyman was cognizant of his intentions.


With this strategy in mind, Frederick's thoughts turned to the content of the letter. He grappled with how to commence this letter; the task seemed daunting. He decided to begin with a concise note, reasoning that if Blair proved unresponsive, he would sustain no significant loss. Composing the letter proved to be a formidable challenge, primarily due to his choice of language. He had opted for English, suspecting that Blair's grasp of Dutch might have waned over time. Although her Dutch had once been proficient enough for childhood conversations, he couldn't be sure of her current fluency.


Amidst these contemplations, a gentle smile crept across Frederick's countenance. A sense of accomplishment welled within him, filling him with pride. He held a firm conviction that Blair would indeed respond to his letter. The thought of her reaction, discovering his newfound proficiency in reading and writing, particularly in the intricate realm of English, elicited a gratifying warmth.


My Dearest Blair,


I trust this letter finds you in good health. Frederick commenced his epistle with care, recognizing the challenges of articulating his intentions. Expressing himself in English posed unforeseen difficulties; the words had to first be conjured in Dutch and then carefully translated. As his quill moved across the paper, Frederick felt a growing tension, fearing he might inadvertently convey sentiments contrary to his true purpose.


Gradually, he managed to draft the remainder of the letter in simple English, opting for clarity over complexity. He inquired about her experiences at school and her life in Johannesburg, focusing solely on these aspects. The letter, concise and succinct, refrained from divulging any details of Rustenburg or their rural existence. Although brief, it represented Frederick's earnest attempt to establish contact, leaving the decision to respond entirely in Blair's hands.


Monday morning couldn't arrive soon enough. At the age of eighteen, now deemed a man, Frederick was buzzing with excitement about dispatching the letter. Despite his newly acquired status, he found himself giddy, as if a boy again, enthralled by the notion of sending off his letter.


Sundays brought a halt to the family's toil. It was a day of rest, a respite from the daily grind. Following prayers and shared readings of the Bible, or a visit to the church, leisure reigned. On this particular Sunday, John had ventured off to pursue the affections of a young woman who had captured his fancy. Meanwhile, Frederick strolled down to the riverside, a spot frequently visited by Blair. Beneath the sheltering branches of a tree, he reclined on the riverbank, idly observing the avian ballet as birds flitted from bough to bough. As the river's murmurs filled the air, his thoughts turned to farming.


Contemplating a more efficient water supply for their fields, Frederick considered the challenge. The dry months were a persistent concern. Recalling a book gifted by the minister, one that chronicled Holland's history, he recalled the prominence of water wheels and windmills in that land. The notion sparked a plan in his mind - a water wheel and a channel leading to the fields. The channel, cleverly situated atop the land's natural slope, could distribute water evenly across the fields, irrigating them in an innovative manner. Frederick would have to sketch this concept to show his father to convey the idea.


As Frederick lay by the riverside, his musings inevitably gravitated towards Blair. He found himself pondering how she had transformed over the years. Had she embraced the manners and graces of a proper lady, or did the untamed spirit still course through her veins? As he contemplated his own path, he recognized his deep affinity for the farm life and the boundless expanses it offered. Yet, he also grappled with the reality that he must secure a means to provide for his future wife, a life separate from the dependency on his father's lands.


He was compelled to explore alternatives, prompted in part by the minister's suggestion of pursuing further education in the ministry. The fledgling country had a perennial need for such spiritual leaders, and Frederick could envision himself taking on that mantle. However, it came with a condition - he would need to journey to Europe for study, as Southern Africa had no institutions of higher learning in the faith. The notion intrigued him, even if it meant diverting his attention from farming to scholarly pursuits. He calculated that evening hours could be devoted to his agricultural endeavours.


The realization struck him with sudden clarity - the pursuit of higher education could elevate his prospects, aligning him more favourably with Blair. Her newfound education deserved a suitor of similar standing. A spark ignited within Frederick; the pieces of his aspirations were falling into place. Yet, as he traced his train of thought, he was jolted by a revelation. When had he, in the midst of his contemplations, decided to unite his future with Blair's? The idea of marriage, previously foreign to his mind, had stealthily taken root. With a sly grin, Frederick came to terms with this newfound certainty, recognizing it as a destiny he could finally acknowledged.


Early on Monday morning, Frederick was already up well before daybreak, his purpose was to catch the wagon that carried the mail as it traversed the pass. As the sun's first rays painted the sky, he spotted the wagon ascending the hill. Anticipation gripped him, a mix of excitement and nervousness, like a vice around his chest. For so long, he had fixated on the potential outcome of this letter, yet in the midst of his preparations, the reality struck him: the future he yearned for hung in the balance, teetering on Blair's response. The weight of the possibilities, the fear of rejection, made his breath catch. But he knew he had to send the letter. It was the only way he would know.


With the letter now entrusted to the mail bag, Frederick retraced his steps down the mountain, heading back towards the farm. His heart raced with an exuberance fuelled by the myriad of prospects that now seemed tangible. At breakfast, his mother couldn't help but notice a transformation in her son. He wore a bright smile that seemed to illuminate his features, his usual animated demeanour accentuated. His eyes danced with an uncharacteristic intensity, and he was eager to embrace the day's tasks.


It was a stark departure from the brooding and introverted figure he had become, choosing to spend his time with the minister, honing his reading and writing skills. His mother was perplexed, unable to deduce the source of this newfound happiness. She pondered the change, speculating that perhaps he had fallen in love. Yet, she couldn't pinpoint the object of his affections. Unlike his brother John, who eagerly courted the local girls, Frederick had remained detached from romantic pursuits, opting to bury himself in books during social visits, seeking solace in reading over idle chatter.


Blair had received Fredericks letter, when she received the letter, she noted an unfamiliar handwriting. The return address on the envelope was care of Reverend Postma, on opening the letter she immediately looked to the bottom of the page to see who had signed it, it read "Love Frederick". Blair sat down, he was the last person she ever expected to receive a letter from. With mixed feelings she read the letter, on the one hand she felt her heart lurch and butterflies take over her solar plexus, on the other the felt very confused, he had not been very nice to her. She was not sure how she would respond and decided that she would mull it over a bit before responding. A few weeks had passed since receiving the letter and thoughts of her response started to consumer her. Blair decided she would answer the questions in the letter as it seemed safe, noting that there was not mention about anything in Rustenburg, she decided she would not ask about that either. She would wait and see if he wrote back after receiving her letter. Blairs emotions created a whirlwind within her, she wanted to say more but she was not sure what it was she wanted to say.


Weeks had passed since Frederick had dispatched the letter, a span of time that seemed to stretch endlessly. On a typical Saturday, Frederick found himself in the vestry once more, engaged in his regular activities with the minister. Frederick's progress was notable, bringing satisfaction to the minister who recognized the young man's keen intellect. It wasn't unusual for the minister to commend Frederick, even hinting that his path was certain to the pulpit one day.


This particular morning held a shift in routine, as the minister halted Frederick's impending engagement with a book. "I have something more intriguing for you to peruse today", the minister remarked, extending a letter to Frederick. The letter held toward him, a tangible piece of correspondence from Blair. Frederick's eyes fixated on it, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Had she finally responded? But the passage of time gnawed at him, breeding doubts that her response might not be favourable. His heart raced, torn between the desire to know and the fear of disappointment.


With a gentle nudge, the minister slid the letter closer to Frederick, a symbolic gesture inviting him to open it. It was a moment of curious amusement for the minister, witnessing the young man's trepidation before a mere letter. Even more intriguing was the revelation that Frederick had nurtured affections for this writer, who was naught but a girl when they first met, was written all over Frederick's face. In that fleeting moment, the minister glimpsed into Frederick's soul, recognizing that every endeavour--every lesson in reading, every mastery of writing--had been guided by his connection to this girl, Blair.


When the minister left the vestry, leaving Frederick alone with his letter, Frederick gingerly picked up the letter, holding it carefully as though it was fragile, he lifted the letter and sniffed it, hoping to get the scent of the writer. It smelled like paper should. Frederick inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, fearing the worst he opened the letter. His eyes fell on beautiful neat hand writing, moving his eyes to the top of page, he read .... Dear Rick, his heart stopped, this was the name she used for the stories she told in the past. He read further.... I trust that this letter finds you well, this seemed rather formal he thought. The letter went on to describe school and what she had been learning, what Johannesburg was like, there were some words that he was not too sure of, he would have to find out what they meant. The letter seemed to be a straight forward response and matter of fact, not unlike his own letter. Blair had ended off the letter with Love Blair, this gave Frederick the idea that his first letter was rather impersonal, so in his next letter he would need to be more relaxed, conversational and share more.


The epistolary connection between Frederick and Blair blossomed over the course of the following year, as the gaps between their letters shortened and their exchanges grew richer in detail. Their letter delved deeper into their lives -- Blair and Frederick, shared their daily routines, what they were learning and their dreams in these letters. Through the letters they grew to know each other, Frederick more than once apologised for the times he had been nasty to her when they were children. He tried to explain as best he could his conflicting emotions of wanting to protect her but could not explain why this was.


Frederick, now a strapping young man, was known for his predictability, his routines almost clockwork. On market days, when he ventured into town for farm supplies or to trade produce, Blair knew she could catch a glimpse of him. As the weeks unfurled, their correspondence became a cherished rhythm, until an unexpected pause disrupted the cadence - two weeks had passed since Frederick had received a letter.


In the midst of procuring seeds for the impending planting season, Frederick felt an unusual absence -- a missing note from Blair, he had asked minister Postma about a letter, when he received a negative response, he went to the post office to enquire about a letter to be sent to the church. He stood before the co-operative, his hands laden with the promise of future harvests, questioning the silence that had momentarily enveloped their communication. Unbeknownst to him, Blair had journeyed from Johannesburg under the veil of dawn. She had chosen to keep her return a secret, fully aware that her family's expectations diverged from her heart's desires.


The sun was already casting its warm embrace when Frederick concluded his business at the co-op. Dusting off his attire, he glanced around, unsuspecting of the surprise awaiting him. Then, like a mirage, he saw her -- a figure perched upon his wagon. His voice rang out, questioning the presence of this unknown lady, but as he drew closer, recognition overcame him. It was Blair, embodied in the flesh, her presence defying the geographical chasm that had separated them. Without hesitation, he bounded onto the wagon, his elation propelling him to scoop her up into his arms, a jubilant hug serving as an exuberant welcome. Lowering her gently to the wagon's floor, their lips met in a tender kiss -- a display of affection that defied conventional norms, a testament to their shared understanding. In that moment, Frederick cared little for societal conventions; instead, he seized the opportunity to make an undeniable statement to all who beheld them--that Blair was his, as he was hers.


Frederick, drove Blair back to the farm. The drive back to the farm Frederick and Blair found themselves talking about everything the possibly could conceive to talk about. They shared much laughter on the trip back to the farm. On arrival at Blair's farm, her parents had come out to see who had arrived, while Blair greeted her parents, Frederick unloaded her luggage. Blair told them that she found Frederick in town and begged him to bring her home, the Maxwells thanked Frederick for his kindness, it was clear that the Maxwell's were not happy with Blair arriving home and leaving school. Blair ran to Frederick's wagon to grab her umbrella and bag and Frederick whispered hurriedly to Blair "The river tomorrow", Blair nodded, while Frederick and got on his wagon to go home.

Chapter 7


When Frederick reached the river bank, he saw Blair. Blair Maxwell's delicate fingers caressed the surface of the Hex River, the cool water gliding through her fingertips like silk. The ripples that formed in its wake danced and shimmered under the gentle sunlight, reflecting the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air. Her emerald-green eyes, alive with curiosity, gazed into the distance, searching for answers that seemed to evade her grasp. The soft breeze, carrying the subtle scent of wildflowers from the riverbank, brushed against her face, adding a touch of serenity to the moment.


Blair felt herself taking in a sharp in take of breath as she watched Frederick through guarded lashes, it was almost as if his presence gripped something in her. Frederick, his strong frame casting a protective shadow over the water, turned his auburn-haired head towards Blair. His piercing blue eyes, filled with a blend of curiosity and scepticism, met hers, as if engaged in an unspoken dialogue. The sunlight, cascading down upon him, played upon the contours of his face, highlighting the subtle lines and the depth of his contemplation. Unlike Blair he was looking directly at her, his gazed moved over her body and rested on the soft rounds of her breasts, he wondered what her skin would feel like if he touched her, he became entranced by his own thoughts that he did not hear Blair when she started speaking.


"Frederick, Frederick", Blair said louder each time. Frederick tore himself away from his delectable thoughts he was having. Blair asked softly "Did you want to speak to me", she asked Frederick. The sound of Blairs voice, almost sent Frederick into another reverie, her voice like soft music caressing his senses. Frederick visibly shook himself, he was confounded by these thoughts he was having. He started, "Blair, I overheard the conversation between you and my mother a few years ago, uhm the one of the different past lives...". Frederick's voice trailed off. Frederick sat down beside Blair with his back to river but his shoulder next hers, he wanted to see the expressions on her face when she spoke about these past lives. He was not too sure he could share the dreams with her that had taunted him all through the night.


"Frederick, sometimes I feel like we're connected in a way that goes beyond this lifetime," she mused, her voice carrying a mixture of wonder and apprehension. Her words floated delicately in the air, mingling with the melodic harmonies of birdsong and the rustling of leaves. The Hex River, with its gentle flow and melodic whispers, seemed to hold its breath, awaiting Frederick's response.


"Blair, we're just two people from Rustenburg, that like each other" he replied, his voice tinged with caution yet laced with a hint of longing. The words hung in the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of blooming cosmos that wafted from the nearby veld. Frederick's gaze, momentarily drawn to the distant Magaliesburg mountains, seemed to search for answers amidst their ancient peaks.


Blair followed Frederick's gaze, her eyes tracing the majestic contours of the mountains that rose before them. The towering cliffs, weathered by the passage of time, stood as sentinels of history and the vastness of the world beyond. The mountains, with their jagged edges and moss-covered crevices, seemed to bear witness to the enigmatic bond that linked their souls through the ages.


Blair was till looking at the mountain when she spoke again, "I know it sounds strange, Frederick. But there are moments when I feel like I've known you forever, like our souls have danced through time together," Blair confessed, her voice trembling with vulnerability. Her words, carried by the gentle breeze, blended with the symphony of nature that surrounded them. The distant call of a bird and the rustle of leaves formed a harmonious backdrop, as if the very elements of the earth conspired to lend an ethereal quality to their conversation.


Frederick's gaze softened, he was now looking at Blairs soft lips as she looked at the mountain "Blair, I cannot deny the inexplicable pull I feel towards you," he admitted, his voice filled with a newfound conviction. "There is a depth to our connection that defies explanation, as if the threads of fate have woven our lives together." Frederick felt almost a painful desire surge in him as he studied Blairs face, he stared "those past lives that you spoke of those years ago to my mother, those past lives have tormented me in my dreams. It is as if I can feel those same emotions that I have in my dreams, I wake crying from those dreams. It is almost as if we belong together". Blair looked at Frederick, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, "I have those same dreams Frederick, one of us always dies", Blair said softly. Frederick seeing the pain in vulnerability in Blairs face, watching her lips as she spoke, he was wondering at the same time how her soft lips would feel if he kissed her.


Blair's sighed at his admission, her senses heightened by the intensity of their exchange. The scent of earth and moss mingled with the fragrance of wildflowers, enveloping them in a cocoon of nature's embrace. The Hex River continued its gentle flow, each ripple carrying the weight of their unspoken feelings of the past and the present. Frederick, sat upright next to Blair, he was trying to supress the feelings that aroused from deep within him. He reached with his right hand across Blairs face, he pulled her towards him, he softly kissed her with his lips parted and lightly flicked his tongue over her lips, beckoning her to part her lips and receive his kiss. Frederick's body shuddered at the touch of their lips, as he searched out the warmth of her mouth, a soft almost inaudible moan escaped Blair. It felt like electricity of familiarity had started to course through their veins, drawing them closer in their embrace.


Somewhere in the distance they heard, Fredericks brother Johan calling his name. They pulled apart, looking at each with confusion of what just happened. "Tomorrow", Frederick breathed, he got up and left in the direction of their farm, leaving Blair at the river. Blair was not sure what to make of this or why she had felt the way she felt when he kissed her. Although aware that there was an intangible connection to the past, she was not aware that they would have this effect on each other.


The Dance of Emotions continued as Blair and Frederick navigated the intricate steps of their evolving relationship as there were many more secret tomorrows. With each passing day, their interactions became a delicate interplay of subtle gestures, stolen glances, and unspoken words. Carefully hiding their feelings and guarding their actions in front of other their family and friends. They especially had to be careful around Mrs. Potgieter who was still hell bent on introducing other young girls to Frederick.


Blair, with her infectious laughter and unwavering determination, sought to unravel the layers of Frederick's guarded heart. She was drawn to the enigma that he presented--a complex puzzle waiting to be solved. Her every action carried an air of tenderness, a gentle touch that sought to bridge the gap between them. Frederick had always been a person of few words, he never truly discussed what he was feeling or thinking, he would only hint at it through limited conversation. It was almost as if he was afraid that someone would see into his soul.


Frederick, on the other hand, found himself caught between conflicting emotions. The walls he had built around himself were slowly crumbling under Blair's persistent presence. He longed for connection, for a friendship that went beyond the surface. But his religious upbringing whispered caution in his ear, reminding him of the potential pain that lay in vulnerability, the pain of belief in things that were not biblical. Frederick was still having trouble with the nightmares of past lives that taunted him, they would often cause Frederick to withdraw and shutdown.


In particular, he shielded his intentions from his mother's watchful gaze. Her endeavours to orchestrate social gatherings and engagements were well-intentioned yet often propelled by an insatiable curiosity. Frederick was wary of her persistent inquisitions about the daughters of other people in the community they visited. "So, Frederick, have you met any lovely young ladies lately?" she asked with a glint in her eye.


"Well, yes, Mom, I've met a few," he replied with a slight smile, choosing his words carefully. Frederick loathed the idea of having to court half the girls his mother was inquiring about, but he remained polite, yet reserved. Frederick took to taking books with when he was required to accompany his mother on these visits where she would again try to present some poor girl to him, in whom he had no interest.


The currents of attraction and emotions swirled within, prompting him to tread cautiously, to navigate the intricacies of his feelings without succumbing to hasty decisions. Blair consumed his thoughts, the feel of her skin under his finger tips, the feel of her breath on his skin, the look in her eyes when he touched her, when he kissed her. The way her eyes would flutter open or the way her parted lips would invite his mouth to explore the warm sweetness of her mouth. He would spend his time while his mother visited reading a book or pretending to read the book, Frederick would spend hours imagining, all the ways he could touch Blair, all the places he could kiss her soft delicate skin. On more than one occasion Fredericks imaginings left him awkwardly aroused, on these occasions his books served a secondary purpose.


'If only', Frederick wished, he and Blair could see each other more often, spend longer time together, the fleeting kisses and caresses were far and few between under his mothers' watchful eyes. She had begun to suspect that his sneaking off was to see Blair, she had ensured that there would never be enough time for much to happen between the two children. Mrs. Potgieter had found more and more time-consuming tasks for Frederick to do over and above his normal chores. She would even get him to carry out chores to help the neighbours. She knew weekends were a safe bet, with Frederick receiving instruction from Minister Postma, Mrs. Potgieter was even more encouraging at home with Fredericks learning progress, borrowing books and requesting that he read them to her even if she had no interest in the topic. She was very adept at creating distance between Frederick and Blair.


He mused on the contrast between his own introspection and his brother John's pursuit of romantic interests. Frederick wondered why John's romantic endeavours were not at the forefront of his mother's attention, leaving Frederick to navigate the labyrinth of his own emotions in solitude.


Letters became their lifeline--a means to bridge the gaps and bridge their understanding. They would leave letters for each other down at the river, they could not afford to attract the attention of Mrs. Potgieter, she would never permit them to be together. They found solace in conversations through their letters that meandered through the realms of dreams, fears, and aspirations. With each word exchanged, the distance between them seemed to shrink, replaced by an intimacy that defied definition.


Frederick and Blair did have opportunity to see each other at church, the ever-present Mrs. Potgieter ensured that she would separate their seating arrangements in church. It so happened to one Sunday, Mrs. Potgieter was involved with the morning tea after church, she loved this as her moment to shine in the community. Frederick back away slowly, Mrs. Potgieter had not noticed that he was no longer present as she served tea, he waved to Blair indicating a direction to the other side of the church. Blair slowly walked as if looking at the flowers in the gardens of the church, until she was out of eyesight.


When she got to the other side of the building, Frederick grabbed her hand a pulled her over to a thick hedge behind the church, concealing them in the lush green leaves of the hedge. Blair had tried to speak but Frederick was in haste, he covered her mouth with his, Blair couldn't help but wonder when had Frederick grown ekstra arms, his hands seemed to be everywhere. She started protesting that the church grounds were not the time or place but Frederick was not relenting his hold on her. He kept kissing and caressing her becoming more intimate with each touch, he undid a button on her blouse, slipping his hand inside until he found her naked breast. Blair gasped as Frederick started to tease her nipple and gently massage her breast, she dug her finger tips into his back as response, he pressed her against the wall, pushing his body into hers, she was breathless.


Looking over his shoulder she saw through the leaves that the other members of the congregation were starting to leave. Her eyes widened as she saw her parents were looking for her, she pushed Frederick aside and showed him that they were being looked for. Frederick groaned, his voice still raspy from desire, he said "you go first", Blair inched along between the wall and the hedge, so she came out of the hedge close to the fence, she pretended to look at some flowers that were not there, when she heard her father say "Ah, there you are, come on we are about to leave". Glancing back to the hedge, she saw Fredrick come out and walked confidently back to where his mother had been serving tea. Mrs. Potgieter was irate, she started accusing Frederick of being with Blair when she saw Blair with her parents on the wagon, assuming Blair had been with her parents all along. That left Mrs. Potgieter huffing as she now had nothing to say, Frederick smiled at her sweetly and suggested that perhaps the sun had given her a headache.


On the drive back to the farm, Frederick was very quiet, he was trying to decide if Blair had resisted him or was, she being careful, given the location, it was Blair being careful. He mused about the clothes that the women wore, so constricting, dressed from neck to toe, from shoulder to wrist, the clothes must be very hot in the African heat. The layers of the skirts must have made it very hot as well, the fabric was normally heavy, he supposed this was for longer wear but why did the dresses always have to be dark, he had seldom seen dresses in lighter colours. Blair would look pretty in pink or even a green that matched her eyes, he thought that maybe he should see if could get a lighter fabric in pink or green and ask someone to make it for her or maybe her mother could make the dress for her. Maybe make the dress with less layers and shorter sleeves, so it would not be so hot. He almost laughed aloud at this thought, he had heard the expression of men undressing a woman with his eyes - here he was thinking of how he could dress Blair.

Chapter 8


Frederick left a note for Blair, the note told Blair that he needed to talk to her about something important, they had to make a decision soon. Blair in turn left Frederick a note saying that she thought it would be best to meet on a Saturday after his lessons with Minister Postma, as sometimes he stayed there till late in the afternoon and only getting home after dark. Frederick left Blair another note telling her that he would go for his lessons but he was going to leave much earlier, he would go by horseback and not the wagon as it would be faster getting back. He will meet her at the river around two p.m., if he is not there, she must please wait - this was important.


Finally Saturday broke, Blair did all her chores in good time to ensure she would be done by two o'clock. She lazily strolled down to the river, stopping to look at some wild veld flowers here and there. She was in no haste as she was in good time, when she reached the river, Frederick had not arrived yet, Blair spent time inspecting the moss and the small fishes that swam in the river. Eventually Frederick arrived, she heard the horse before she saw him, he tied the horse off on his farms side of the river, then negotiated the stones to cross the river. Blair had risen to meet him, Frederick embraced Blair with a lose hug, more a comfortable hug, the type a married couple would give each other in a moment of affection.


Frederick sank to his knees pulling Blair down with him, they lay down in the long veld grass, looking up at the trees and the skies. Frederick pulled Blair closer, so she lay with her head on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around her shoulder. Frederick began slowly searching for the right words, "Bee.... I was thinking that maybe it is time, to tell our parents?". Blair asked Frederick nervously "What about your mother?". "I will deal with my mother, I don't want to sneak around like this, I want to be able to sit next to you in church if I want to", Frederick said with more determination. He continued "What about your parents? You know they want you to marry someone with a Scottish lineage", sounding almost afraid on uttering these words. He was not sure and Blair had never said anything but he knew from their family's past history that they would prefer it if Blair married someone with Scottish ties. Blairs voice came soft and low "I know but they won't force me to marry someone I don't want to, anyway it is not like there are many Scotsmen". Frederick moved so that he lay on his side facing Blair looking directly into her eyes, he asked her his voice sounding anxious, "Are we going to tell them?". "Yes", said Blair. Both knew that there were going to consequences, it was all going to depend on how their parents accepted the news.


Frederick, almost jumped to his feet, stretching out his hand to Blair, he said "Come on then, lets get this done with". Frederick held Blairs hand until they reached the road and came into view of Blairs parents' house. "Are you ready for this, Blair?" Frederick's voice held a mixture of excitement and apprehension as they approached the farm. He stole a glance at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The afternoon sunlight played upon her features, casting a warm glow that seemed to accentuate the radiance of her presence.


Blair's fingers traced the edge of her skirt, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "I am, Frederick," she replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of determination. Yet, beneath the resolve, a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes. The prospect of facing her family, of weathering their inevitable questions and concerns, weighed on her.


"We'll face this together," he said, his voice a steady reassurance. Blair met his gaze, a smile of gratitude curving her lips. Their bond, forged through letters and nurtured by time, had grown resilient enough to weather whatever challenges lay ahead.


Mr. Maxwell's face was red with anger, his voice sharp as he reproached her, "Blair, lass, ye cannae simply drop news like this on us!" His Scottish brogue added an extra layer of intensity to his words. It was a stern reprimand that left her momentarily speechless on hearing the news that she and Frederick had decided that their future paths would be tied together. As the torrent of emotions gradually subsided, Mrs. Maxwell's face softened, her motherly instincts taking over. "Blair, dear, we're glad ye're come to tell us yerselves and we not find out from others," she said, reaching out to embrace her daughter. Blair's heart swelled with relief, finding solace in her mother's reassuring hug.
After stern warnings to both Blair and Frederick that there would be no visiting and seeing each other without supervision in the future, they had to promise to keep things decent and respectful, Blair was still far too young for marriage and the things that went with it. The Maxwells were hoping that this, relationship would burn out soon enough, if they fought Blair on it, it may lead to Blair becoming rebellious. Promises given, Mr. Maxwell decided he may as well make use of his intended son-in-law and get him to do some work around the farm for him, he pointed a few things out to Frederick. Mr. Maxwell had the idea that if he made Frederick work, he would disappear.


Frederick, left the Maxwells, he walked to the river, to retrieve his horse, he had to face his mother alone.


Back at the farm, as Frederick unsaddled the horse and guided the horse to the stable, the weight of the impending conversation with his mother bore down on him. Fredrick's approach didn't go unnoticed, and Frederick's tense posture didn't escape his brother Johans observant eyes. "Hey, Freddy, you look like you've seen a ghost," Johan said, his voice tinged with concern. Frederick's hands cupped his mouth and nose, a telltale sign that he was grappling with something significant. Johan's worry deepened. As Frederick struggled to put his thoughts into words, Johan leaned in, his expression growing more serious. "What's going on, brother?" Johan's voice was soft, a reflection of the bond they shared. Frederick knew he could confide in Johan, explain the intricacies of the situation without fear of judgment.


"I need to talk to Ma," Frederick began, his voice carrying a mixture of resignation and determination. He described the sudden return of Blair and the complexities of their connection, emphasizing that no one had done anything wrong. He could always count on Johan to listen without jumping to conclusions. Johan's understanding gaze met Frederick's, a silent affirmation of his support. As Frederick explained the situation, Johan's lips curved into a smile. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his brother, who had managed to find a girl that transcended their mother's meddling. The thought of Frederick standing up for his feelings, of defying their mother's intentions, filled Johan with a sense of admiration.


"You've got my support, Freddy," Johan said firmly, clapping Frederick on the shoulder. Together, they faced the uncertainty of the conversation that lay ahead, knowing that their bond was unbreakable.


"What do you think, Johan?" Frederick's voice held a note of uncertainty, his brow furrowed as he turned to his older brother. They were seated in the quiet of their shared room, the weight of their mother's impending reaction hanging over them like a storm cloud.


Johan leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. "Well, it's not exactly a shock, is it?" he replied, a wry smile playing at his lips. He glanced at Frederick, memories of their childhood flashing through his mind. "You've always been looking out for Blair", his voice held a touch of nostalgia, a fondness for the bond they had shared since youth.


The Potgieter family gathered around the dinner table that evening, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. Frederick's subdued demeanour was starkly different from his usual self. His mother's sharp observation didn't go unnoticed, her question slicing through the air like a knife. "What's with the glumness now?" she inquired, her tone a mix of curiosity and irritation. Frederick's eyes met hers briefly, his attempt to gauge her mood evident in his expression.


The brothers moved with efficient grace, clearing the table as the weight of the impending conversation loomed over them. The tension was almost palpable, and John could feel the heaviness of the moment. The burden of their secret was becoming almost too much to bear. As was the custom, they first had to do bible reading and prayer before leaving the table.


Seeing Frederick struggling to muster the courage to tell his mother about Blair, feeling the moment had come, Johan cleared his throat and locked eyes with their mother. "Frederick has news to tell," he announced, his voice steady. Mrs. Potgieter's reaction was instantaneous - her eyes widened in shock, her cup suspended midair. Frederick took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he added, "Today, I asked Blairs parents' permission to formally date her." The room seemed to freeze for a moment, the impact of his words reverberating in the silence.


And then, the storm broke. Mrs. Potgieter's gasp was followed by her fainting, a dramatic reaction that neither of the boys had expected. Johan swiftly moved to her side, his hands supporting her as she slumped in her chair. Frederick's eyes were wide with a mixture of concern and bewilderment. The situation had escalated far beyond what they had anticipated.


Working together, the brothers gently lifted their unconscious mother and carried her to her bedroom. The ordeal was surreal - the woman who had always been a pillar of strength lay limp in their arms. The vulnerability of the moment was stark, and Frederick couldn't shake the mixture of emotions churning within him.


With their mother settled in bed, Frederick volunteered to stay by her side, a silent commitment to face the impending conversation once she regained consciousness. Johan offered a reassuring pat on his shoulder before slipping out of the room, his mind racing with thoughts of what the future held.


As their father tended to the chickens outside, Johan lingered in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He shot a glance at Frederick, a mixture of sympathy and curiosity in his gaze. "Are you okay, Freddy?" Johan asked softly, his voice laced with concern. He knew that this situation was taking a toll on his younger brother, and he wanted to offer his support in any way he could.


Frederick's shoulders slumped, his expression a blend of weariness and determination. "I will be," he replied, his voice carrying a weight that matched the heaviness of the situation. The brothers shared a moment of silent understanding, their unspoken bond stronger than ever as they faced the uncertain path that lay ahead.


Mrs. Potgieter came to from her fainting spell, "No, Frederick, please, not her," Mrs. Potgieter's voice trembled with a mix of desperation and fear. Her eyes pleaded with him, as if willing him to reconsider. "Why her? There will only be death." Her words hung heavily in the air, her distress palpable.


Frederick sat at her bedside, his expression a mixture of determination and empathy. He took a deep breath before responding, his voice gentle yet resolute. "I know you're worried, Mother," he began, his eyes locking onto hers. "But I've known about our past lives since the day of the shooting contest." The memory of that fateful day played vividly in his mind - the shared realization between him and Blair that their connection extended far beyond their current existence.


He recounted the moment in the kitchen, when Blair had shared the story of their past lives with Mrs. Potgieter. "One of us always meets an untimely end," he repeated the words Blair had spoken. The weight of their shared history settled over him like a heavy shroud, and he knew that this was a decision he had to make, regardless of the risks.


"I love her, Mother," he confessed, his voice steady and unwavering. "A life without Blair is no life at all. Even if there are challenges ahead, I want to be with her. I want to face whatever comes together." His words were laced with determination, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings.


Meanwhile, Johan had been listening silently, his emotions swirling as he absorbed the revelation of past lives. He watched the exchange between his mother and brother, a mixture of curiosity and scepticism playing across his features. As the conversation unfolded, he couldn't help but feel that their beliefs were straying into irrational territory. Deciding to distance himself from their intense discussion, he quietly walked away from the passage, his mind grappling with the unusual turn of events.


In the midst of their conversation, Mrs. Potgieter found herself torn. She knew Frederick well enough to understand that his determination was unshakable. His words echoed in her mind, a reminder of his resolute nature. She felt the weight of his decision pressing upon her, an unwavering force that couldn't be easily dismissed.


Yet, she couldn't help but silently hope for a different outcome. She sent up a silent prayer, pleading for circumstances to intervene, to keep Frederick and Blair apart. Her heart ached with the knowledge that their path was filled with challenges and potential danger.


As the conversation continued, Frederick and his mother grappled with their conflicting emotions and beliefs, each holding steadfast to their own convictions. Little did Mrs. Potgieter know that her prayers would soon be answered, that fate would be setting into motion a series of events that would shape their futures in unexpected ways.


Frederick left his mother's room, he went to sit on the front stoop, for a much-needed breath of fresh air, he needed to settle his nerves, after seeing his mother's reaction. He knew that she would struggle with accepting his decision. Johan pulled up a chair next to Frederick, his head was swirling with many questions about the past lives, "Hey, Freddy, how do you know this past life thing is for real?". Frederick, looked at him and said, do you remember when I was little, I was always having those nightmares, that would keep ma up till well in the night? Well, those nightmares it turns out was my past lives", Frederick said in a tone of knowing that Johan had to accept. Johan recalled that Frederick used to wake up screaming that someone had killed him in some far-off country that they did not recognise.


Johan's concern turning towards their mother, "And ma, is she going to accept your decision?". After a short silence Johan said almost gravely, "You know that she is going to try to find ways to stop you?". Frederick let out a pent-up sigh, "I know but at least, I will not have to go along with those stupid match making visits of hers anymore". Johan chuckling asked "Why did you not put a stop to it long ago Freddy, did you at least get some cake and cookies on those visits?". Frederick groaned, "Ugh, some of those girls are terrible bakers, they should not be allowed in a kitchen". The two boys shared a moment of brotherly camaraderie, jesting at the bad baking some girls did to impress boys.

Chapter 9


In the meantime, the impending arrival of February weighed heavily on their minds - Blair's sixteenth birthday celebration was approaching. Mrs. Potgieter knew that Frederick would be an integral part of the festivities, a fact that both comforted and troubled her. The guest list had shifted over the years, a reflection of their changing relationships and Mrs. Potgieter's attempts to keep the Maxwells at bay. As the days passed, the tension in their household grew, a palpable undercurrent that foretold the challenges yet to come.
In the midst of these preparations, Frederick had been secretly working on a gift not just for Blair, but for the Maxwells as well. He was determined to win their favour. Although Frederick and Blair had been communicating primarily through written notes since her return, their connection remained strong.


Frederick's initial idea of a water mill for irrigation had been met with resistance from his father. His father deemed it a time-consuming venture, and this rejection inspired Frederick's ingenious plan. He decided to craft a wooden water mill to bestow as a birthday gift. The mill would serve not only as a thoughtful present but also as a solution to water the orchards. He dedicated every available moment to constructing this gift in secret, choosing a strategic upstream location for its installation.


As the day of Blair's birthday dawned, Frederick's excitement was palpable. He was practically bursting at the seams to unveil the culmination of his hard work and dedication to Blair.


Frederick exercised patience, waiting for the endless stream of well-wishers to complete their congratulations and present their gifts. The passing of time seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Finally, the ritual was concluded. With determination, he approached Mr. Maxwell, courteous in his request to have both Mr. Maxwell and Blair accompany him to unveil her birthday gift--something he explained was intended for the farm's benefit as well. The Maxwells, accompanied by a handful of intrigued guests, followed Frederick as he led them behind the house, towards the river.


Frederick had taken care to conceal his creation, draping a tarp over the water wheel and covering the wooden channels he had meticulously crafted. As he revealed the surprise and eloquently explained its functioning, Mr. Maxwell's awe was evident. He warmly shook Frederick's hand, expressing his gratitude repeatedly, a genuine sense of appreciation shining in his eyes. Blair, scarcely containing her excitement, observed her father's reaction with a joyful bounce. She had to restrain herself from embracing Frederick on the spot, her heart brimming with gratitude for the thoughtful gesture he had orchestrated. The other attendees joined in examining the water wheel, their admiration clear. They praised Frederick's ingenuity and kindness for bestowing such a generous gift.


"Frederick, you've truly outdone yourself," Mr. Maxwell's words carried a mix of admiration and surprise as he surveyed the intricately crafted wooden water mill. The morning sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the assembled group. The air was filled with an expectant hush, all eyes fixed on the concealed creation before them.


"I had my reservations when you first mentioned the water mill," Mr. Maxwell continued, his tone filled with genuine appreciation. "But this... this is beyond my expectations." He extended his hand, shaking Frederick's with a firm grip that conveyed his heartfelt gratitude. The weight of generations of farming knowledge seemed to pass between them in that simple gesture.


Blair's eyes shone with a mixture of delight and pride as she observed her father's reaction. Her heart swelled with emotion, knowing that Frederick had poured his heart and soul into this gift, not just for her, but for her family as well. Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and hold his hand, to convey her gratitude in a more intimate way.


"It's ingenious," one of the guests chimed in, admiration clear in their voice. Others nodded in agreement, their voices a soft murmur of approval.


As Frederick explained the inner workings of the water mill, his excitement was palpable. His hands gestured with enthusiasm, his words flowing effortlessly as he described how the water's force would be harnessed to irrigate the orchards and fields. The passion he felt for this creation resonated in his voice, and those listening were captivated by his dedication.


"And now, without further ado," Frederick's voice took on a playful lilt as he dramatically pulled the tarp away from the water wheel, revealing the intricate craftsmanship beneath. The wooden channels gleamed in the sunlight, a testament to his skill and determination. Blair's heart raced as the tarp fell away, revealing the beautiful creation. She marvelled at the delicate carvings, the smooth curves, and the precision with which each component had been assembled. Her gaze shifted between the water wheel and Frederick's face, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of wonder and affection.


"Oh, Frederick," she whispered under her breath, her fingers itching to touch the wood, to feel the energy that emanated from his creation.


The group gathered around the water wheel, examining it from all angles. Conversations buzzed with excitement, praise, and curiosity. Frederick's cheeks reddened slightly as he received the compliments graciously, his modesty only endearing him further to those present.


"You've truly given us a gift that will keep on giving," Mr. Maxwell's words were heartfelt, his gaze lingering on the water wheel. "This will revolutionize our irrigation methods and increase our yield. It's a testament to your dedication to our farm and our family."


Blair watched the exchange between Frederick and her father with a sense of contentment. She was struck by the alignment between her two worlds, the way Frederick's actions spoke of his commitment not just to her, but to her family's legacy as well.


As the morning continued, the celebration unfolded with a renewed sense of joy. Blair's birthday had become a day of unity, of shared appreciation for the ties that bound them all together. The water wheel, a symbol of Frederick's devotion and ingenuity, stood as a physical manifestation of the deep connection between Blair and her past, present, and future.


"Frederick, have you ever heard the song 'Over the Sea to Skye'?" Blair asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes as the strains of a Scottish tune filled the air. The celebration was in full swing, traditional dances and songs echoing through the vibrant South African landscape.


Frederick's brow furrowed as he tried to catch the lyrics amidst the cheerful melodies. He shook his head, admitting, "I'm not familiar with that one." He leaned in, his curiosity piqued, as Blair explained the song's origins and the emotions it conveyed, how Bonny Prince Charley evaded and escaped the British. As she spoke, he could sense the underlying tension between the British and the Scots, a divide etched into the very fabric of the song. "It's quite a powerful tale," Frederick mused, his gaze distant as he absorbed the significance of the song. He looked back at Blair, a newfound understanding of her heritage settling in his mind.


The celebration continued to unfold, with attempts at Dutch songs interwoven with the Scottish melodies to ensure all guests felt included. Blair moved gracefully through the festivities, her vibrant spirit in harmony with the bushveld's beauty. The atmosphere was alive with laughter, music, and the joy of celebration. In the midst of it all, Blair couldn't help but feel that her heart's deepest desires had been fulfilled.


As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, Mr. Maxwell's discerning eyes didn't miss the unspoken connections that had woven their way through the day. He had observed the exchanged glances, the shared laughter, and the moments of tenderness between Blair and Frederick. Standing alongside Frederick, Mr. Maxwell's arm casually draped over the younger man's shoulder, he beckoned Blair over with a knowing smile. With a hearty pat on Frederick's back, he playfully encouraged, "Go on then, give the birthday girl a hug."


Frederick hesitated for a brief moment, uncertain whether Mr. Maxwell was teasing or genuinely giving his approval. But the gentle push from Blair's father was all he needed. Stepping forward, he embraced Blair, his arms wrapping around her with a sense of familiarity that only time and shared history could bring. His lips brushed against her ear in a soft whisper, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within her heart.


"Happy birthday, Bee," he murmured, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the moment. As they pulled away from the embrace, a contented sigh escaped Frederick's lips. He couldn't help himself - he placed a tender kiss on her forehead, a gesture that spoke volumes of his feelings.


In that instant, as Mr. Maxwell observed the delicate intimacy of the exchange, he knew with unwavering certainty that the bond between Blair and Frederick was unbreakable. No matter the challenges that lay ahead, their connection had weathered the tests of time and circumstances. And as the celebration continued around them, Mr. Maxwell's heart swelled with the knowledge that these two souls had found a love that transcended convention and embraced the depth of their shared journey. He also became acutely aware that there would be no finding a Scottish husband for Blair.


As the summer turned to winter Minister Postma, started to discuss further studies with Frederick, Frederick had long since surpassed many an expectation of his progress. Minister Postma told Frederick that he had taken it upon himself to discuss Fredericks studies with the church synod. They were most impressed with Fredericks innate understanding of the written word and how to interpret it. The had also read some of the essays that Minister Postma had asked Frederick to write, they were truly astounded at his ability to lay out the written word in such clear concise language.


The church synod had decided that on Fredericks behalf to write the mother in church in Holland to see if they could accommodate Frederick. Frederick beamed with pride, he had worked really hard and had spent many nights writing by candle light to complete his assignments. His mother had also encouraged him by making him read books to her, although he hazarded a guess, that it was more to occupy him to keep him away from Blair. Minister Postma, went on to explain that it may take some time before they hear back from the mother church, as they had to consider all merits and deliberate among themselves. Basically, it meant that it all had to come down to a vote.


Frederick decided that he was not going to tell any one this news as there was a good chance that he would not get the bursary, he will wait till Minister Postma let him know what the out come was of the deliberations. Frederick considered that he should have more in depth discussions with Blair about his interest in theology, she was bright she could manage conversations on this level. The idea of having more in-depth conversations with Blair, he hoped would become a shared destiny for them, a future that they would be able to build on.


Blair in the time being was also holding a secret that she was afraid to share with Frederick because of his religious beliefs. Blair had discovered a book in a locked wooden box, hidden under the floor boards. She discovered this when she stepped on the lose board and it lifted. She removed the box and with much fidgeting managed to open the box, the book inside was a "Book of Shadows". Her mother had found her staring at the book in the box, she sat down next to Blair and opened the book. The book was written in Gaelic, Blairs mother explained that this book had been in the family for the past seven generations, it was only handed down to girls in the family. It was a long heritage, "That is why Blair, you have learned all your life to read Gaelic, it is so you can read this book and write your own book of shadows" her mother explained. Her mother went over to the book shelf and removed another large book, she removed the dust jacket to reveal her book of shadows. Blair sat there in awe. "Blair, you know how you can see into the past and how sometimes you just know things or the times when you predict things?", Blair nodded, "Well these books of shadows teach us how to use all these things that you can do more effectively", Blair was in awe. "You are of age now to learn the finer skills", her mother said gently. Blair could not help wonder how Frederick would understand this with his religious dogma of theology. As much as she loved him, she believed the word had a different understanding and interpretation of what was being preached and taught.


Blair knew that she would have to wait some time before she could tell Frederick about this, it would be a very long time she thought, with all that she would have to learn from this book. This was going to add to her studies work load but she could handle it. So it happened the first secret that Blair and Frederick kept from each other, not to deceive but to spare the others feelings. The "Book of Shadows" was not about witchcraft as much as it was to increase raised consciousness and self-awareness and this is what her intuition had been telling her that the bible is all about.


Fredericks, intended conversations with Blair was going to have a new layer added to it, because Blair would give her point of view what she thought the written word truly meant. This would create a basis of understanding that Frederick would only find out much later how much Blair had influenced his ideas of theology and how much more compassion it would lend to the word he preached.

Chapter 10


The year 1880 dawned, news of the assertion of British dominion over the Transvaal was the talk on everyone's lips. Frederick's expression grew sombre as he read about the discovery of diamonds and gold - resources that were driving these power dynamics. "It's about more than just governance now," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. British annexation of Transvaal was purely to cash in on the riches of the country on the backs of the people who forged the country - the Boers.


The declaration of Transvaal's independence on December 13th, 1880, was met with chaos, particularly in towns where British garrisons were stationed. Gunshots echoed in the distance, a haunting reminder of the turmoil that was unfolding.


"Frederick, what are we going to do?" Blair's eyes held a mixture of fear and determination. Frederick's jaw tightened as he considered the situation. The urgency of the moment weighed heavily on him. He found himself swept up in the wave of conscription, compelled to join the Boer forces. Every able-bodied man and teenage boy, who could handle a firearm was called to join the commando. It wasn't a choice, but a duty he couldn't evade, it was a duty none of them could refuse or they would be seen as traitors by their fellow. Summoned to a meeting with his commander, Frederick found himself amidst the rapid flow of decisions. The desire for vengeance was palpable, a thirst for retribution against perceived enemies. "Blair, I need to protect you and your family," Frederick told her, his voice low and urgent.


With a sense of purpose, he approached his commander, proposing a plan to shield the Maxwells from suspicion. The idea of employing them as spies emerged, the Maxwells' Scottish heritage serving as a plausible cover for their allegiance. "It's the only way to keep you safe," Frederick assured Blair.


Under the cover of darkness, Frederick made his way to the Maxwells' farm. The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air as he explained his plan to Mr. Maxwell. "We need to work together to ensure the safety of our families," Frederick stressed, his eyes locked with Mr. Maxwell's.


Blair listened in silence, the weight of the moment settling upon her shoulders. As Frederick described the path they would take, her mind conjured memories of that same trail - a well-trodden path that had been etched into her consciousness since childhood, now taking on a new and significant purpose.


"Remember, keep your firearms ready, just in case," Frederick's voice was steady but laced with an underlying tension. He knew the importance of being prepared for any unforeseen circumstances.
Blair watched Frederick as he spoke, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. She nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of the rifle in her lap. The air was charged with a mix of determination and anxiety, each member of the Maxwell family acutely aware of the risks that lay ahead.


A couple of days later, the Maxwell family embarked on their journey to town. The atmosphere in the wagon was thick with nervous energy. Mr. Maxwell's grip on the reins was firm, his knuckles white as he navigated the path. Mrs. Maxwell's eyes were focused on the horizon, her emotions dancing on the edge of her expression. Blair's heart pounded as the wheels of the wagon turned, each bump and jostle a reminder of the uncertainty that awaited them. She clutched the rifle beside her, her fingers slightly trembling. The crate containing more firearms was a constant reminder of the reality of their situation - that danger could materialize at any moment. The rustling leaves and the calls of the birds set their nerves on edge. Every sound seemed magnified, every shadow a potential threat. They were like prey, hyper-aware of their surroundings, watching for signs of danger.


As the town came into view, Mr. Maxwell's voice broke the silence, a reminder of their role. "We must appear welcoming," he said, his words carrying an air of caution. The Maxwells needed to blend in, to create an illusion of cooperation with the occupying forces. Blair listened to her father's words, her brows furrowing in concentration. She knew the importance of their mission, of extracting information without raising suspicion. Her role as an observer and a potential source of distraction weighed heavily on her.


"Blair, you'll be our eyes and ears," Mr. Maxwell said, his gaze locked on her. "But remember, don't arouse suspicion. Blend in, but gather as much information as you can." Blair nodded, her determination evident in the set of her jaw. She understood the delicate balance she needed to strike - to appear innocent while collecting vital information. She shared a quick, knowing glance with her father, a silent affirmation of their shared goal.


As they entered the town, Mrs. Maxwell's grip on the wagon tightened. The streets were alive with soldiers and townsfolk going about their business. The Maxwells moved with purpose, their actions calculated to avoid drawing attention. The post office was their first stop, bustling with activity. Mr. Maxwell feigned casualness as he interacted with the postmaster, sending a letter to Blair's aunt. Blair's gaze swept over the soldiers, her eyes lingering just long enough to appear interested but not suspicious. She overheard snippets of conversations, catching hints of military plans and strategies. The heavy artillery like canons were being brought to the fort, Blair almost gasped in alarm, this canon would hurt many Boers or kill them, leaving their families to fend for themselves. Instead, Blair pretended that she was in awe of their artillery.
Their senses were heightened, every interaction and word analysed for potential information. As they observed soldiers unloading crates from a wagon, Blair's heart raced. The size and shape of the crates spoke volumes - rifles and ammunition, a confirmation of their suspicions.


As the Maxwells entered the co-op, the hushed tones of the few patrons present reverberated in the air. Mr. Maxwell glanced around, taking in the subdued atmosphere. It was clear that something had changed in the town. He approached the counter, feigning interest in bags of livestock feed that his animals didn't really need. "Curfew after sunset," muttered a man nearby to his companion, loud enough for Mr. Maxwell to overhear. His heart sank as he realized the implications. The British were tightening their grip, restricting movement under the cover of darkness. Nodding in response to the men's conversation, Mr. Maxwell continued his pretence of shopping. He exchanged a knowing look with his wife, and they both understood the gravity of the situation. The co-op, usually bustling with activity, now felt like a ghost town.


Their next stop was the local barber, where Mr. Maxwell decided to get a beard trim. The barber, whose business had suffered due to the current climate, welcomed him warmly. "Good day, Mr. Maxwell. Haven't seen you in a while," the barber said as he prepared his tools. "Indeed, it's been busy on the farm," Mr. Maxwell replied, using small talk to establish rapport. As the barber worked, he began sharing insights. The barber spoke of the British soldiers, their heavy armament, and the imposing barricades they had erected. The fact that the military had set up their supply's office next to Minister Postma's church was a sore point among the townsfolk, especially the minister himself, who saw it as a sacrilege. The British military fort was positioned near the Magaliesburg mountain range on the route to Pretoria.


The information flowed freely, and Mr. Maxwell listened intently. This visit was proving to be more valuable than they had expected. After the beard trim was complete, Mr. Maxwell paid the barber, giving him a nod of appreciation. It was clear that the barber had been eager for conversation.


While the Maxwells navigated these treacherous waters in town, Blair, sitting outside the barber shop, had unwittingly become the centre of attention for the British soldiers. They couldn't help but notice the young lady with her Scottish charm. Blair, playing her part in their mission, greeted the soldiers with a friendly smile and a nod. She understood that she needed to appear harmless and engaging. Their leering smiles and attempts to impress her were met with her best Scottish-accented English greetings. "Good day, lads," she said, her voice carrying a hint of the Highlands. "Fine weather we're having, isn't it?" She batted her eyelashes playfully, making them feel noticed and appreciated. It was a delicate dance, and Blair was the perfect spy, playing her role in gathering information while maintaining her innocence.


Amidst the soldiers' chatter, Mr. Maxwell's intuition had hit the mark. Their bravado was undeniable, as if they revelled in the idea of showcasing their preparedness for battle. They spoke openly about their strategies, their voices carrying a hint of arrogance. It was a display of power, a way to assert dominance. "Aye, we've got the barricades reinforced," one soldier boasted, puffing out his chest as he spoke. "We're building those stone block towers, ready to rain down fire on the Boers." Blair listened attentively, her face a mask of polite interest. Her heart pounded in her chest as she absorbed the information. These details were vital, a puzzle piece in the larger scheme of protecting their homeland. The stone block houses, resembling miniature fortresses, intrigued her. Their construction was pending, dependent on supplies from Johannesburg. This revelation held weight - it was a weak point that could be exploited, a way to hinder the British forces.


One soldier, however, stood out from the rest. His demeanour reeked of arrogance, his yellowed teeth contrasting starkly against his unkempt beard. Blair's stomach churned as he spoke, his words dripping with audacity. The notion that he considered pursuing her after the conflict was nauseating. She had to suppress the urge to cringe at the thought. His predatory gaze made her skin crawl, and she mentally vowed to avoid him at all costs. The mere idea of having to deal with someone like him sent shivers down her spine. Blair's emotions swirled within her, a mix of anger and disgust. She recognised the potential danger he posed, not just to her, but to her family as well. Her thoughts took a dark turn as she wished for his misfortune, an internal plea that he would meet a fitting end in the battle before her hand was forced to make him meet his end. The realisation of her own morbid thoughts startled her, but she couldn't help the surge of frustration and desperation that coursed through her. This man brought a surge of feelings of pure malevolence in Blair, she started feeling nauseous, struggling to keep down the contents of her stomach.


"Shall we visit Minister Postma?" Mr. Maxwell suggested to his wife as they left the barber shop. They needed to gather more information, and the minister might provide them with crucial insights.
Approaching the minister's church, they saw that the British soldiers were keeping a close eye on the building. It was evident that Minister Postma was viewed as a supporter of the Boers, making him a target for surveillance. As they entered the church vestry, Minister Postma greeted them warmly, his handshake hiding a secret. In that brief contact, he managed to pass a folded letter into Mr. Maxwell's hand. It was a message meant for the Boers, a message of support and information. The trust placed in the Maxwells was evident in this clandestine exchange. Thinking quickly, Mr. Maxwell reached around his wife's waist with his right hand, slipping the letter discreetly beneath the waistband of her skirt. It was a covert move, ensuring they wouldn't be caught with the incriminating document.


Inside the vestry, they engaged in discussions about biblical verses, offered prayers, and shared a cup of tea. It was a deliberate effort to divert any suspicion from their real mission. The minutes ticked away, each one bringing them closer to their encounter with the soldiers.


As they exited the church, their hearts pounded. They knew that the soldiers were watching, and their visit to Minister Postma might have attracted unwanted attention. And indeed, it had. A soldier intercepted them, his gaze suspicious. He was convinced that something had passed between Mr. Maxwell and the minister during their earlier encounter.


Mrs. Maxwell's anxiety was evident, her hushed words conveying a sense of urgency to her husband. Time was slipping away, and their departure needed to be hastened. Blair shared her mother's concerns, the tension mounting with each passing moment, both Blair and her mother felt the foreboding running in their veins. Blair not fully trained in how to use her third sight yet, said that there was an evil lurking that would follow them. They had to get back to the farm, to safety. "I'll need to visit the military building for a pass to leave the town," Mr. Maxwell explained, his tone weighed with a touch of frustration. The bureaucracy of the situation was proving to be a roadblock they couldn't afford.


As they entered the military building, Blair's unease grew. The barrage of questions felt invasive, a probing into their intentions. The unsettling soldier from earlier seemed to linger in the background, his presence casting a shadow over the proceedings. Blair's instincts were on high alert, a feeling of impending danger gnawing at her. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pass was issued. Their departure was imminent, and Blair's heart raced as they crossed the town's boundary. The urgency was palpable, a tension that hung in the air. She knew that every moment counted, that their actions in the coming hours could make the difference between safety and danger.

Chapter 11


The Hex River Road stretched ahead, the path winding through the countryside as the Maxwells pressed onward. Blair's senses were on high alert, every rustle in the bushes capturing her attention. Her vigilant eyes caught a movement to the right, a flicker of motion among the foliage. Leaning towards her father, her words were a hushed whisper, a secret shared between them. "Dad, I saw something over there," she murmured, her voice tinged with concern.


Mr. Maxwell's grip on the reins tightened as he acknowledged Blair's observation. His gaze followed her pointed finger, his mind racing to decipher the potential threat. The air was thick with uncertainty - were these figures friend or foe? Blair's theory that discarded red coats could be used to masquerade as Boers was a valid one, a clever deception in times of conflict.


"Let's sing," Blair suggested, her voice steady as she proposed a plan. The notion of appearing nonchalant, unsuspecting of any tailing presence, made sense. Music could be a mask for their tension, a way to divert attention. She shifted her position in the wagon, her posture casual, yet her fingers found the familiar grip of her rifle. Subtly, she aimed the weapon toward the hidden figures in the bushes, her senses attuned to the danger that lurked.


The strains of a Scottish folk song filled the air, Blair's voice pure and steady. "Over the Sea to Skye," she requested, her eyes meeting Frederick's. This was a tune she had sung during her birthday celebration, a song with layers of history. As the melody flowed, Blair's thoughts drifted back to that event, the atmosphere alive with joy and camaraderie. But now, the song carried a different weight - a coded message, a hint of danger.


As the song's history unfolded, Frederick listened intently. The escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie, a tale of defying British forces, resonated deeply. Frederick's connection to Blair had provided him insight into the sentiments of the Scots, a people not exactly aligned with British rule. This shared understanding had led to his decision to involve the Maxwells in their covert efforts.


Meanwhile, concealed in the underbrush, Frederick and his companions observed the Maxwells' actions. Frederick's heart quickened as the familiar strains of the song reached his ears. He recognized the coded message, the significance of the repetition. Closing his eyes briefly, he envisioned Blair's face, her voice echoing in his mind. An unsettling feeling washed over him - the song signalled something amiss, a warning. It was a melody of escape, a message meant for him.


With a swift gesture, Frederick signalled his comrades to halt. The song held a deeper meaning, a message woven within its notes. He shared his suspicions, his intuition that they were being shadowed. They needed to take an alternate route, a decision made with purposeful urgency. Frederick explained the significance of the song to his fellow Boers, ensuring they comprehended its hidden message. With resolve in their steps, they veered left, their path guided by the unspoken connection between Frederick and Blair.


Blair's mind raced as they drove towards the farm. She had already formulated a plan for the evening, a plan born from her intuition. When they arrived, they would waste no time. Retrieving a rifle and ammunition from the box, she acted on her gut feeling. Her determination was unwavering, her sense of foreboding urging her forward. "Unload the wagon tomorrow," she said to her parents, her voice steady despite the underlying urgency. "We need to head to the Potgieter's. It's not safe here."


Blair's intuition rarely led her astray, and now it was a gut feeling that compelled her actions. She hoped beyond hope that somehow, Frederick would sense her urgency, that their unspoken connection would guide him. Leaving a note at the river was out of the question - time was their greatest enemy, and she was determined to stay one step ahead.


Twilight descended, casting long shadows over the landscape. The Maxwells' homestead came into view, a beacon of safety after the tense journey. Blair's heart raced as she dashed from the wagon, her movements urgent. The pursuer was on their heels, and time was of the essence. Mr. Maxwell skilfully guided the wagon into the barn, the horses' hooves barely coming to a stop before Blair sprang into action.


Her fingers moved with practiced speed, unfastening bridles and gear in a blur of motion. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. Yet, despite her efforts, her haste betrayed her, a testament to the urgency of the situation. As she worked to free the second horse, a distant whinny shattered the silence. The sound sliced through the air, a warning that danger was still close behind. Anxious glances were exchanged among the Maxwells, the tension mounting as the unknown entity loomed in the shadows, its presence a lurking threat.


Meanwhile, Frederick and his companions had made their way back to his farm, their movements cautious and deliberate. The air was charged with tension as they dismounted, their steps guided by an instinctive wariness. The fading light of twilight painted the landscape in shades of grey, revealing no immediate threats yet heightening the sense of uncertainty that hung in the air. It was a delicate dance, a balance between caution and the need to move quickly.


As Frederick and his fellow Boers approached the river, the soft gurgle of water was a soothing backdrop to their whispered exchanges. Each rustling leaf, each shifting shadow, held the potential for danger. And then, a sharp sound shattered the stillness - a horse's whinny, carrying through the night like an ominous echo.


Back at the Maxwell farm, a palpable sense of urgency settled over the homestead. With the horses safely corralled, Mr. Maxwell retraced his steps toward the barn, his heart pounding in his chest. The fading light cast long shadows, disguising faces and intentions. The approaching rider was little more than a silhouette against the darkening landscape. Quick thinking guided Mr. Maxwell's actions; with an urgent gesture, he was passed a rifle. Positioned defensively, his senses on high alert, he prepared for whatever was to come.


Blair's response was swift and coordinated. She understood the gravity of the situation, the potential threat that loomed. Another rifle was placed in her hands, her grip firm and determined. She stood at the ready, a stalwart defender of her family and home. With her mother by her side, they moved with purpose, the cover of darkness a shroud of protection.


The night enfolded them as they emerged from the barn's rear, the darkness their ally in this delicate manoeuvre. Blair led the way, her footsteps sure even on the uneven terrain. For Mrs. Maxwell, the journey was more challenging, her steps cautious and deliberate. Age had dulled her agility, and the darkened path posed its own challenges. Blair's hand held hers with tenderness, guiding her mother with unwavering patience.


Mrs. Maxwell's whispered frustrations punctuated the silence, her voice carrying a mixture of determination and exasperation. Blair's reassuring presence was a source of comfort, her guidance unwavering. The uneven path was no match for Blair's resolve as she led her mother through the obstacles, each step a testament to their unbreakable bond.


Hidden in the shadows nearby, Frederick's emotions were a tempest within. The desire to hold Blair in his arms, to seek solace in her presence, tugged at his heart. But the gravity of their circumstances demanded restraint. Their safety depended on remaining concealed, on navigating this dangerous dance with precision.


As Blair and her mother reached the Potgieter homestead, the terrain shifted, the ground beneath their feet becoming more manageable. The rocky patches gave way to a smoother path, and the journey became less treacherous. The darkness was their ally now, a guide through the night.


Meanwhile, Frederick and his comrades approached the Maxwell house with cautious steps. The absence of light obscured details, rendering the surroundings a realm of shadows and uncertainty. Their task was to locate the rider, to ascertain Mr. Maxwell's whereabouts. But the darkness was an impediment, and they struggled to discern anything beyond vague outlines. The Maxwell residence stood as a silhouette against the night, its windows dark and inscrutable.


And then, voices shattered the stillness, carried by the breeze and filled with English scorn. "You thought you could escape me so easily? Where's your charming daughter now?" The words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the soldier who had dogged their steps throughout the day in town. His English sneer dripped with malice, his presence a menacing spectre.


Fear took root in Mr. Maxwell's heart, his spine tingling with unease. This was the same loathsome soldier who had tracked them, who had sought to uncover their intentions. His aim was clear - to find Blair, to unravel their plans. Disguised as a Boer, he aimed to blend in, to remain undetected among the very people he sought to manipulate and harm.


Mr. Maxwell's voice sliced through the night air, a potent mixture of anger and frustration that reverberated with an intensity that matched the gravity of the situation. "Scoundrels in the British army, I suppose that's the least one can expect from the British. My daughter is far from meek, you know. She has her rifle aimed at you as we speak." The words were laced with both warning and a father's unyielding protectiveness. The soldier on horseback advanced, his posture oozing with arrogance, a cruel smirk dancing on his lips.


The soldier's response was a display of brazen audacity, a sinister calculus of power. "Now, Mr. Maxwell, consider this: I'll return to Rustenburg and report that I've exposed some Boer spies. I'll have you and your wife lined up before a firing squad. And as for your daughter, there'll be nothing to stop me from having my way with her." The words hung in the air like a malevolent cloud, an ominous threat that sent a shiver down the spine.


Amidst the dense foliage, hidden from view, Frederick absorbed the exchange with a mixture of anger and resolve. This was a battle of wits, of survival, and of defending what was right. He swiftly translated the tense conversation to his comrades, his hand gestures conveying urgency and strategy. A plan was forming, a plan that demanded his proximity to the confrontation.


Stealth was his ally as he ventured closer, each step measured, each movement calculated. He slipped through the shadows, a phantom in the night, his heart pounding in synchrony with his steps. The anger that surged within him was a driving force, a reminder of the stakes at hand. He couldn't let this man's vile intentions become reality.


As the soldier's horse grew increasingly restless, its unease translated into an advantage for Frederick. The snorting and hoof-stomping were like drumbeats that guided his movements, providing a cover of sound. With every snort, he advanced, exploiting the cloak of noise that the horse unwittingly provided. The soldier's demand cut through the night, a commanding order that brooked no opposition. "Send your daughter out here now, and I will ensure your survival." The words were laden with a veneer of authority, a facade that barely concealed the underlying menace.


But defiance was etched into Mr. Maxwell's voice as he retorted, his resolve unyielding. "My daughter is not a bargaining chip for my life. I'd rather see you dead than let you lay a hand on her." The words rang out with a clarity that matched the moonlit night, a declaration of a father's unbreakable bond with his child.


The soldier's response bore a hint of amusement, a chilling confidence that came from wielding power. "Do you truly believe you can kill a soldier of the British Crown? I'll have what I came for." The arrogance dripped from every word, an assertion of dominance that only fuelled the fire within Frederick's heart. His grip on his rifle tightened, his resolve hardening.


With deliberate caution, Frederick chose his path, edging around the outskirts of the scene, navigating the shadows with finesse. The long grass at the edge of the orange orchard became his ally, each step a testament to his skill and determination. His objective was clear: approach the barn, where Mr. Maxwell had sought refuge. It was here that they would face this threat head-on.


Inside the barn, Mr. Maxwell held his posture low, every muscle tensed, every sense attuned to the unfolding danger. He had taken cover, hope flickering in his heart that Blair's intuition had been right. He had faith that Frederick was near, that he was waiting for the right moment to intervene. The air was thick with tension, a charged silence that was almost palpable, as if the very atmosphere held its breath, waiting for the storm to break.


With deliberate steps, the soldier dismounted from his horse, his movements measured and purposeful. He advanced toward the barn, a shadowy figure in the moonlight, his silhouette etched against the night. For Mr. Maxwell, time seemed to slow, his heart a steady rhythm of apprehension and determination. He lowered his posture, presenting a smaller target, his thoughts a swirling mix of caution and hope.


The decision loomed before him, a precipice that demanded a choice. Should he take the shot and end the threat, or should he wait, trusting in the plan that was unfolding around him? The weight of that decision was heavy on his shoulders, a decision that could tip the balance between life and death, between justice and darkness.


The soldier's hand tightened around the grip of his pistol as he advanced toward the barn, the metallic gleam of the weapon catching stray beams of moonlight. Inside the barn, the air was thick with tension as Mr. Maxwell held his posture low, his muscles coiled with anticipation. Unbeknownst to the soldier, Frederick had managed to stealthily reach the side of the barn, his heart racing in sync with the gravity of the moment. With a deep breath, he emitted a bird call, the sound a mimicry of the nocturnal creatures that often echoed through the wilderness during their hunting expeditions. The call hung in the air like a lifeline, a signal of hope and unity.


Audibly relieved, Mr. Maxwell exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The tension that had gripped his shoulders began to ease, for he recognized that Frederick was near, that they were not alone in this perilous confrontation. Unaware of the outnumbering force that had converged against him, the soldier raised his pistol arm, his arrogance on full display. With a venomous sneer, he began to taunt Mr. Maxwell, his words a calculated attempt to draw a response from his prey. His intention was as clear as it was chilling--to locate Mr. Maxwell through his voice and then eliminate him without hesitation. This soldier personified the very breed that one would fervently hope to keep at arm's length from any semblance of military power.


Blair and her mother had just reached the sanctuary of the Potgieter's house, the coolness of the porch floor a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within them. In a heartbeat, the world around them shattered as the abrupt sound of two gunshots pierced the air, echoing with a visceral intensity. Their bodies tensed, every muscle poised for action. Reacting swiftly, the Potgieter family emerged from their front door, their expressions a mosaic of concern and confusion as they took in the sight of Blair and Mrs. Maxwell on their porch. It was a scene that spoke of urgency, of unspoken danger. The sound of gunfire was a chilling reminder that their world had been irrevocably altered.


Mrs. Maxwell had slumped onto the hard porch floor, her face etched with a mixture of fear and shock. The source of the gunshots remained uncertain, a haunting question that lingered in the air. Blair's heart raced within her chest, every beat a symphony of anxiety as she hoped and prayed fervently that Frederick had been trailing them, that he had seen the soldier shadowing their steps and had taken decisive action. She sank to her knees, her arms wrapping around her mother in a protective embrace, an unspoken vow to shield her from harm. Their world had become a tumultuous sea of uncertainty, and they clung to each other for stability. They had no way of knowing who had fired those shots and who the bullet found its mark.


Mrs. Potgieter emerged from within the house, her presence a comforting balm amidst the chaos. She approached Blair and Mrs. Maxwell, her touch gentle as she guided them to their feet and ushered them inside. The wooden door swung shut behind them, shutting out the darkness and the danger that loomed beyond. Within the safety of the Potgieter home, the women found themselves enveloped in an atmosphere of shared strength, of unity in the face of adversity. There, surrounded by familiar faces, they recounted the events that had unfolded--the pursuit in town, the soldier's arrival at dusk, and the subsequent gunfire.


The audacity of the soldier's actions, his disregard for decency and humanity, left Mrs. Potgieter in a state of incredulous shock. Their voices melded into a chorus of shared disbelief, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. They joined hands, forming a circle of connection, and bowed their heads in a collective prayer. Their words were a plea for safety, for justice, for the return of those they held dear. In that moment of shared vulnerability, they sought solace, drawing strength from each other's presence.


Back at the farm, the soldier's arrogance found its outlet in a gunshot that shattered the night's silence. The sound reverberated through the air, an explosion of sound that seemed to hold the world in suspended animation. His intention was clear--to rattle Mr. Maxwell, to force him to reveal his position through the resounding echo of the shot. But in that same instant, Frederick's resolve crystallized, his finger closing around the trigger of his rifle. The shot that followed was swift and definitive, a piercing retort to the soldier's arrogance. The soldier's body crumpled to the ground, his intentions and his arrogance silenced forever.


Mr. Maxwell's nerves were taut as he absorbed the weight of what had just transpired. A British soldier lay lifeless on his property, a life extinguished by the hand of their protector Frederick. It was a dilemma that demanded reckoning, a moral quandary that would need addressing.


Frederick's voice cut through the tension, his words a blend of assurance and responsibility. "We'll take care of the body. You, Mrs. Maxwell, and Blair need to stay in a place of safety." The gravity of the situation called for swift decisions, for action taken without hesitation. The soldier's horse, once a vehicle of threat, was now an instrument of necessity. With that horse, they decided it was best for the Maxwells to stay overnight at the Potgieter residence. The uncertainty of whether more soldiers might appear, whether more danger might follow, necessitated leaving their own home vacant.


Mr. Maxwell chose the path of the wagon, aiming to create the illusion that the soldier had departed, that the danger had retreated. Meanwhile, Frederick and his comrades retraced their steps, their horses carrying them to the Potgieter homestead--a haven of safety amidst the storm of uncertainty.


Within the walls of the Potgieter home, a letter from Minister Postma awaited Frederick, a letter that carried vital information about the British activities. The Maxwells shared their own findings from town with Frederick, a mosaic of intelligence that painted a larger picture. Together, they concluded that the interception of supplies, arms, and ammunition destined for the town was a necessity, a strategic move in the intricate game they found themselves entangled in.


As the hands of the clock neared the stroke of midnight, the weight of the hour hung heavy in the air. Frederick and his comrades, shrouded in the cover of darkness, exchanged final farewells with the Potgieter family. The warmth of Mrs. Potgieter's hospitality lingered, a testament to the unwavering spirit of Boer kinship. She insisted that they partake in a meal before their departure, a gesture that spoke volumes of the kindness and camaraderie that underpinned their existence.


Just before the moment of departure arrived, Frederick turned his attention to Blair. His gaze, fraught with a blend of gratitude and concern, locked onto her eyes. In that fleeting exchange, he conveyed a depth of emotion that words could not fully encapsulate. He recognized the peril he had brought upon her and her family by involving them in the treacherous game of espionage. It was a realization that weighed heavily on his conscience, a responsibility he shouldered with a sense of remorse. Blair, too, felt the weight of his concern, the unspoken understanding of the danger they all faced. Their connection, forged in the crucible of adversity, was a bond that transcended words.


With a parting nod, Frederick's gaze shifted to encompass the Maxwell family. His eyes lingered on Mr. Maxwell, a silent acknowledgment of their shared resolve in the face of danger. And then, with a final look, he turned to Blair once more. It was a look that held within it the complexity of their emotions--the gratitude for her involvement, the concern for her safety, and a silent hope that she might find sanctuary far from the convoluted entanglement of a senseless conflict.


And so, the trio of Boers retraced their steps, their footsteps etched into the landscape by the moon's soft glow. They returned to the Maxwell farm, the air around them heavy with a palpable solemnity. Retrieving the lifeless form of the soldier, they laid it atop his horse, a grim task executed with a determined purpose. With the weight of their actions heavy on their shoulders, they embarked on a journey through the bush, the darkness embracing their movements like a shroud of secrecy.


The path they tread was a mirror of the one they had taken before, a winding trail that led them towards Rustenburg. With each step, their thoughts were a whirlwind of strategy and caution. The lifeless form they bore was not only a burden of flesh and bone but a symbol of the choices they had made, the actions they had undertaken in the name of survival.


As they arrived at the outskirts of the town, a sense of urgency propelled them forward. With meticulous precision, they left the body in a place that was strategic in its obscurity. Their goal was twofold--to distance the act from their own allegiance and to create an illusion that local inhabitants were responsible, driven by motives of theft rather than ideology. It was a calculated move, a chess piece placed on the board of a complex and dangerous game.


In the stillness of the night, as the moon cast its gentle light upon the scene, the lifeless form bore witness to the machinations of mankind. The wind whispered secrets to the night, carrying with it the weight of the soldier's fate and the intricacies of the choices that had led to this point. And amid it all, Frederick and his comrades stood, silent sentinels of a world in turmoil, driven by a purpose that transcended the boundaries of their own lives.

Chapter 12


As the sun cast its golden rays upon the landscape, a mere two days after the transmission of their critical intelligence, the Boer commandos sprang into action. With unwavering determination etched upon their faces, they embarked on a formidable task--the excavation of trenches that would encircle the imposing fort positioned just beyond Rustenburg. This stronghold stood resolute at the base of the majestic Magaliesburg mountain range, a testament to the tenacity of those within. The purpose behind this laborious endeavour was clear: to shackle the efforts of the soldiers entrenched within the fort, soldiers who staunchly resisted the idea of capitulation. It was the 27th of December, 1880, a date that would etch itself into the annals of history as the inception of the siege on Rustenburg--a pivotal moment that marked the intensification of the conflict. From their entrenched positions, the Boers unleashed a relentless barrage of fire, their volleys of leaden defiance countered by the resolute British forces ensconced behind their fortified barricades.


With a meticulous precision born of desperation, the Boers succeeded in severing the fort's lifelines--the supply lines that had been the artery through which sustenance, weaponry, and ammunition flowed. It was a calculated move that brought the inflow of reinforcements to a grinding halt. The very tools that had been instrumental in fuelling the fort's resistance were now rendered impotent. As the sun set and the moon ascended, a cloak of uncertainty draped itself over the ensuing 93 days of the siege. Amidst this tumultuous landscape, two figures stood apart, their destinies unbeknownst to each other. Blair and Frederick, their hearts beating in different rhythms, played their roles in the unfolding drama, their paths veiled in the shroud of conflict.


The relentless siege, a symphony of conflict and endurance, finally reached its climactic crescendo on the 30th of March, 1881. The fort, once an emblem of unwavering resolve, yielded to the persistent forces that surrounded it. The storm of battle subsided, and a semblance of normalcy returned to the environs of Rustenburg. Yet, the Maxwells, who had been swept into the current of this tumultuous tide, found themselves ensnared in a web of social complexity. Branded as traitors by the English-speaking community--a damning indictment of their perceived role--their very identity had been tainted. Meanwhile, within the Dutch community, their involvement in the clandestine gathering of information rendered them enigmatic figures, scrutinized beneath the lens of scepticism. Strikingly, it was within the Dutch community that a more fervent hostility brewed, fuelled by misunderstanding and mistrust. Navigating the once-familiar streets had transformed into a Herculean task, a journey fraught with the weight of ignorance that encased them like an oppressive fog.


As they readied themselves to leave the church, Minister Postma beckoned Frederick for an additional moment, a further titbit of news to impart. The minister held in his hands a letter of confirmation from the mother church in Holland, affirming the approval of Frederick's application to study theology, bolstered by a comprehensive bursary. Frederick's visage lit up with an effusion of joy, his features aglow with unabashed delight. The anticipation of sharing this monumental development with Blair filled him with eager anticipation. Graciously accepting the letter from Minister Postma, Frederick acknowledged the necessity of conferring with his parents regarding this pivotal turn. The pursuit of theological studies bore significance for the family farm, necessitating the deliberate contemplation of hiring additional assistance. With unwavering conviction, Frederick voiced his assurance that his parents would rally behind his aspirations for overseas education. Yet, amidst his elation, he had unwittingly neglected the essential step of incorporating Blair into his plans.


"Frederick, I'm so proud of you", Minister Postma said warmly, clasping Frederick's hand in a firm handshake. "You have a bright future ahead of you, my son. You have been blessed with a rare opportunity to study God's word in the land of our ancestors".


"Thank you, sir", Frederick replied gratefully, clutching the letter to his chest. "I owe it all to your guidance and support. You have been like a father to me".


A few days had passed since Frederick had received the letter from the mother Church, outwardly Frederick appeared to be the same person he always was. He decided that he needed to speak to Minister Postma before sharing the news of his bursary with his family. He needed absolution of killing the British soldier, his guilt over the incident was eating him alive, he had never killed a man before but he knew it was to protect the Maxwells. The incident had caused a coldness in Fredericks emotional psyche, it was subtle but it had changed something in him, it gave him a hard edge that had not been there before. Minister Postma, assured Frederick, that God would forgive all and that in the name of war, he had only done his duty, that this incident would enable Frederick to serve God better in his ministry.


Minister Postma smiled kindly, feeling a surge of paternal affection for the young man he had mentored for years. He knew how much Frederick had longed for this chance, how hard he had worked to prepare himself for the rigorous academic challenges that awaited him in Holland. He also knew how much Frederick loved Blair, the daughter of his closest friends and fellow church members. He wondered how Frederick would break the news to her, how she would react to his impending departure.


"Have you told Blair yet?" he asked gently, sensing Frederick's hesitation.


Frederick shook his head sheepishly, lowering his eyes. "Not yet, sir. I wanted to talk to my parents first. And then...well, I wanted to surprise her".


Minister Postma nodded understandingly, but inwardly he frowned. He knew Blair well enough to know that she was not fond of surprises, especially ones that involved major life changes. He hoped that Frederick would handle the situation delicately, that he would not hurt her feelings or jeopardize their relationship.


"I'm sure she'll be happy for you", he said reassuringly, patting Frederick's shoulder. "But you should tell her soon, Frederick. Don't keep her in the dark for too long."


"Yes, sir", Frederick agreed eagerly, nodding his head. "I'll tell her today. I'll tell her everything".


He smiled confidently, imagining Blair's reaction when he told her about his bursary and his plans to study theology in Holland. He expected her to share his excitement and joy, to congratulate him and encourage him. He did not anticipate any resistance or reluctance from her part. After all, they were in love and they had promised to wait for each other until they were ready to marry. What difference did it make if he went away for a few years? It would only make their reunion sweeter and their bond stronger or perhaps they could get married and she could go with him to Holland.


He thanked Minister Postma again and hurried out of the church, eager to find Blair and tell her the good news.


The remainder of the day saw Frederick and his family deeply engrossed in discussions surrounding the momentous acceptance. The prospect of seizing this opportunity was indeed alluring, particularly as Minister Postma had been effusive in praising Frederick's evident promise. The proposition of embracing the bestowed bursary for theological studies in Holland held more than mere educational promise--it bore the weight of a societal emblem. The family recognized that this commitment would not only augment their social stature within the community but also satiate Frederick's ambition and innate pride. As the deliberations persisted, the Potgieter family observed with satisfaction that their efforts at persuasion were swiftly gaining traction. A gratified sentiment coursed through Mrs. Potgieter, not solely for securing Frederick's assent, but also for the quiet knowledge that this course of action would serve to create distance between Frederick and Blair.


"Frederick, we're so happy for you", Mr. Potgieter said proudly, embracing his son in a hearty hug. "You've made us all proud".


"Thank you, father", Frederick said sincerely, returning his father's embrace. "I couldn't have done it without your support".


Mr. Potgieter smiled broadly, feeling a swell of pride and admiration for his son. He knew how much Frederick had sacrificed to pursue his studies, how much he had contributed to the family farm. He also knew how much Frederick cared for Blair, the girl who had captured his son's heart since childhood. He respected Frederick's choice and wished him nothing but happiness. But he also hoped that Frederick would not forget his roots, his family, and his responsibilities. He hoped that Frederick would not lose himself in the foreign land, that he would not forsake his heritage and his faith.


"Frederick, you know we love you and we want the best for you", he said earnestly, looking into his son's eyes. "But you also know that this is a big decision, a big change. You're leaving behind everything you know, everything you love. Are you sure you're ready for this?"


Frederick nodded firmly, meeting his father's gaze. "I'm sure, father. I'm ready. This is what I want, what I need. This is God's will for me".


Mr. Potgieter nodded slowly, accepting his son's answer. He trusted Frederick's judgment and faith. He believed that God had a plan for his son, a purpose for his life. He prayed that God would protect him and guide him, that he would bless him and keep him.


"Then we'll support you, son", he said warmly, squeezing his son's shoulder. "We'll miss you terribly, but we'll always be here for you. You'll always have a home here".


"Thank you, father", Frederick said gratefully, feeling a surge of emotion. "I love you".


"I love you too, son", Mr. Potgieter said softly, pulling his son into another hug.


Mrs. Potgieter watched the father-son exchange with a mixture of joy and sorrow. She was overjoyed for Frederick's achievement and opportunity, but she was also saddened by the prospect of losing him for an indefinite period of time. She loved her son dearly and she wanted him to follow his dreams, but she also wanted him to stay close to her and to his family. She knew how hard it would be to let him go, to say goodbye to him. She also knew how hard it would be for Blair, the girl who had been like a daughter to her for years. She felt sorry for Blair, but she also felt relieved that Frederick would be away from her influence. She did not approve of Blair's rebellious spirit and progressive ideas, her disregard for tradition and authority. She did not think Blair was a suitable match for Frederick, who was destined for greatness and glory. She hoped that Frederick would realize this too, that he would find someone more compatible and worthy of him in Holland.


"Frederick, we're so proud of you", she said sweetly, joining the hug and kissing her son's cheek. "You've worked so hard for this".


"Thank you, mother", Frederick said politely, kissing her back. "You've been so kind and generous to me".


Mrs. Potgieter smiled warmly, feeling a pang of guilt for her ulterior motives. She knew she was being selfish and manipulative, but she also felt justified in her actions. She believed she was doing what was best for her son, what was best for everyone.


"Frederick, you know we love you and we want the best for you", she said softly, looking into his son's eyes. "But you also know that this is a big decision, a big change. You're leaving behind everything you know, everything you love. Have you thought about Blair? Have you talked to her?"


Frederick hesitated, avoiding his mother's gaze. He knew she was right, he knew he had to talk to Blair. But he also knew it would not be easy, it would not be pleasant. He knew Blair would not be happy with his decision, she would not understand his reasons. He knew she would feel hurt and betrayed by his sudden departure, she would feel abandoned and forgotten by him.


"Not yet, mother", he admitted reluctantly, lowering his eyes. "But I will talk to her soon. I'll talk to her today".


Mrs. Potgieter nodded approvingly, but inwardly she smirked. She knew it was too late for Blair to change Frederick's mind, too late for her to stop him from leaving. She knew Frederick had already made up his mind and nothing could stop him now.


"That's good, son", she said encouragingly, patting his son's arm. "But don't delay too long, Frederick. Don't keep her waiting too long."


"Yes, mother", Frederick agreed obediently, nodding his head. "I'll tell her today. I'll tell her everything".


He forced a smile on his face, pretending to be confident and optimistic about the conversation with Blair. But deep down he felt nervous and anxious about the confrontation with Blair. He dreaded the possibility of hurting her feelings or losing her love.


Following the family discourse, Frederick set out across the veld to Blair's dwelling. The afternoon sun cast its gentle glow, leaving ample time before dusk descended. With enthusiasm, Frederick relayed the news of his theological bursary to the Maxwells, who were genuinely delighted and promptly extended their congratulations.


"Frederick, that's wonderful news!" Mrs. Maxwell exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "You must be so proud of yourself".


"I am, Mrs. Maxwell, I am", Frederick replied, his eyes shining with excitement. "It's been my dream to study theology and serve God in His ministry".


Mr. Maxwell nodded approvingly, patting Frederick on the shoulder. "You have a bright future ahead of you, son. I'm sure you'll do great things for God and His people".


"Thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I appreciate your kind words and support", Frederick said gratefully.


Blair, a captive audience to Frederick's animated account, concealed her own complex emotions behind a supportive fade. Observing her parents' expressions of happiness, she resisted the urge to cast a shadow over the cheerful atmosphere. Yet, an undercurrent of hurt gnawed at Blair, for Frederick's enthusiasm appeared to have erased her presence from his thoughts. Concealing her own tumult, Blair's engagement with the conversation waned, replaced by a brewing resentment. The promise they once shared, the deep connection they cherished, all seemed discarded with little heed. Tension simmered beneath Blair's composed exterior, her narrowed gaze fixated on Frederick. Despite the turmoil, she remained composed and politely excused herself, summoning a saccharine smile as she offered refreshments. Her voice, however, held an icy detachment, providing an outlet for her mounting frustration.


"Would anyone like some coffee or tea?" she asked in a clipped tone.
"That would be lovely, dear", Mrs. Maxwell said warmly.
"Yes, please", Mr. Maxwell agreed.
"I'll have some coffee, thank you", Frederick said, finally noticing Blair's strained expression.


Blair nodded curtly and rose from her seat, heading towards the kitchen. She avoided Frederick's eyes as she passed by him.
"Blair", he called after her softly.
She ignored him and continued walking.
"Blair", he repeated louder.
She pretended not to hear him and closed the kitchen door behind her.
Only then did it seem that the realization struck Frederick, that Blair was also present in the room.


Blair retreated to the kitchen, her departure prompted a futile attempt by Frederick to call her back. Yet, Blair's steps remained unswayed, leading her to the kitchen. Inside, she battled with clenched and unclenched fists, Frederick's exasperating nature a constant thorn in her side. From their earliest days, Frederick had exhibited this trait--when he set his sights on something, it seemed to align effortlessly. Engaging in the preparation of coffee and tea took longer than usual for Blair. Amidst the clinking of cups and the brewing of drinks, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Three or four years--Frederick's impending absence--loomed ahead. What path should she tread in this span? The prospect of idle waiting gnawed at her, prompting contemplation. Perhaps returning to her aunt's and continuing her education was the answer. Despite the challenge of making up for lost time, Blair was resolute. Teaching--she mused upon the prospect. The concept resonated naturally, given her familial lineage of educators.


Blair returned to the lounge and carefully placed the tray on the table. The atmosphere in the room had taken a sombre turn, leaving Blair wondering what had transpired to alter the mood so drastically. "Blair", her father's voice broke the silence, "Frederick mentioned the possibility of marrying you before he departs for Holland". The unexpected proposal left Blair utterly taken aback. This was not the direction their conversations had been headed--now he wanted to marry her before his departure, leaving her with responsibilities and uncertainties during his absence. The prospect of marriage, in addition to societal expectations, held a weight that seemed daunting. Married women were traditionally tasked with household duties, and in this case, she might even be required to move in with the Potgieter's, adhering to custom.


Blair's facial expression spoke volumes, betraying her shock and dismay. She glanced at Frederick, who looked equally surprised and uneasy. Had he really suggested such a thing? She wondered what had prompted him to do so. Was it a spur of the moment decision, or had he been harbouring this idea for a while? She felt a surge of resentment towards him, for putting her in such a difficult position without consulting her first.


Her father cleared his throat, sensing her discomfort. "We told him that at 16 you are a bit young and we would like it if you went back to school", he said gently.


It was almost as if Blair's whole body sighed with relief at his words. She did not want to go live with the Potgieter's after marrying Frederick. She did not want to give up on her education and her dreams. She did not want to tie herself down to someone who seemed to have forgotten their shared promise. She nodded gratefully at her father, hoping he would understand her silent gratitude.


Mr. Maxwell smiled reassuringly at his daughter, knowing how much she valued her independence and intelligence. He was proud of her achievements and ambitions, and he did not want to see them wasted on a hasty marriage. He also knew that Frederick was a good young man, who cared for Blair deeply. He hoped that they would find a way to reconcile their differences and make their relationship work.


Frederick shifted awkwardly in his seat, feeling a pang of guilt and regret. He had not meant to upset Blair or her parents with his suggestion. He had only wanted to secure their future together, before he left for his studies. He knew that it would be hard to maintain their bond across the distance and time, and he feared that they might drift apart or lose interest in each other. He loved Blair more than anything, and he wanted to show her his commitment and devotion.


He looked at Blair apologetically, trying to catch her eye. He wanted to explain himself, to make her understand his motives and feelings. He wanted to assure her that he still respected her wishes and respected her as an individual. He wanted to ask for her forgiveness and acceptance.


"Blair", he said softly. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze briefly. "Can we talk?" he asked earnestly. She hesitated, unsure of what to say or do. "Please", he pleaded. She sighed inwardly, knowing that she could not avoid him forever. "Alright", she agreed reluctantly. He smiled faintly, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Thank you", he said sincerely.


He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, asking for their permission. "May I speak to Blair privately tomorrow?" he requested politely. The Maxwells exchanged a glance, weighing their options. "You may", Mr. Maxwell consented cautiously. "But we want you two in our sight at all times", Mrs. Maxwell added firmly. "We don't want any hormones getting the better of you", Mr. Maxwell warned sternly. "Of course not", Frederick assured them quickly. "We understand", Blair said quietly.
The Maxwells nodded approvingly, trusting their daughter's judgment and discretion.


Blair did not kick up a fuss about their lack of trust as she normally would have done. She left it at that, her intuition telling her that this was the best course of action at this point. She hoped that tomorrow's conversation would clear the air between them and restore their harmony.


Frederick arrived around midday, sharing with Blair the details of his recent meeting with the minister. The minister had informed him that his acceptance of the bursary had already been conveyed, confirming his decision to pursue theology studies after the siege. Frederick learned that he must depart without delay to reach the Cape in time for the upcoming ship to Holland, scheduled to depart in just two days. The urgency of his departure was dictated by the need to make up for the missed initial months of the academic year, leaving him with little time for other matters in the early stages of his studies. During their conversation, Frederick assured Blair that he would diligently correspond with her. He still retained her aunt's address, planning to direct his letters there, anticipating that she too would soon embark on a journey of catching up on her education.


"Blair, I'm so grateful for your support and understanding", Frederick said earnestly, taking her hands in his. "You have no idea how much this opportunity means to me. I've always dreamed of studying theology and becoming a minister. It's a calling that I cannot ignore".


Blair smiled weakly, trying to mask her mixed feelings. She was happy for Frederick, truly she was. She knew how passionate he was about his faith and his vocation. She also knew how hard he had worked to earn the bursary, overcoming many obstacles and hardships along the way. She admired his courage and determination, his intelligence and integrity. She loved him with all her heart. She also felt a pang of sadness and fear. She wondered how their relationship would survive the long separation and the unknown challenges ahead. She wondered if Frederick would change in Holland, if he would meet new people and forget about her. She wondered if he still loved her as much as he did before.


She wanted to tell him all these things, but she couldn't find the words. She didn't want to sound selfish or needy. She didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm or make him feel guilty. She wanted to be supportive and encouraging, as he had always been for her.


So she nodded and squeezed his hands back, hoping he could sense her sincerity.


"I'm proud of you, Frederick", she said softly. "You deserve this chance more than anyone. I know you will do great things in Holland".


Frederick smiled warmly, leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips.


"Thank you, Blair", he whispered. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you more than anything".


He kissed her again, more deeply this time, as if trying to convey all his emotions in one gesture. Blair closed her eyes and kissed him back, feeling a surge of love and longing. She wished they could stay like this forever.


Despite the seemingly ordinary nature of their talk, an underlying strangeness pervaded the air--an intangible rift that Blair struggled to pinpoint. An unspoken ache tugged at her heart, driving her close to tears. Something essential felt absent, as if a vital thread of connection had been frayed. The bond they once shared appeared stretched thin, and Frederick's demeanour seemed to have shifted, a switch of sorts had been flicked. She had already detected a change in him since the siege, he seemed harder, more cut off but he was not talking to her about what he felt. She had assumed he would do so once he had worked it out in his own mind. Curiously, he did not broach the topic of their future once he returned. Blair's intuition screamed that his imminent journey to Holland would cast shadows upon their relationship, yet she was resolved not to hinder his path. She understood that if their connection was meant to endure, it would, regardless of the distance and uncertainties ahead.


She broke away from his embrace reluctantly, feeling a sudden chill. "Frederick", she said hesitantly, looking into his eyes. "Can we talk about something?", he frowned slightly, sensing her seriousness.
"Of course", he said cautiously. "What is it?", she took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "It's about us", she said slowly. "About our future". He tensed up visibly, avoiding her gaze, "What about it?" he asked curtly. She felt a stab of hurt at his tone. "Well", she continued bravely. "I was wondering what your plans are for when you come back from Holland". He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know", he said vaguely. "I haven't thought that far ahead". She bit her lip, feeling a wave of frustration. "How can you not think about it?" she asked incredulously. "Don't you care about what happens to us?" He sighed impatiently. "Of course I care", he said defensively. "But I can't make any promises right now". She felt a lump in her throat. "Why not?" she asked plaintively. He looked away from her again. "Because things change, Blair", he said evasively. "People change. Circumstances change. I don't know what the future holds for me, or for you. I don't know if we'll still want the same things, or feel the same way".


She felt a surge of anger. "Are you saying you don't love me anymore?" she asked sharply. He shook his head quickly. "No, no, that's not what I'm saying", he said hastily. "I do love you, Blair. I always will". She stared at him sceptically. "Then why are you acting like this?" she asked accusingly. "Why are you pushing me away?" He ran his hand through his hair, looking conflicted. "I'm not pushing you away", he said weakly. "I'm just being realistic". She snorted derisively. "Realistic?" she repeated mockingly. "Or cowardly?" He glared at her angrily. "Cowardly?" he echoed indignantly. "How dare you call me that?" She crossed her arms defiantly. "How dare I?" she retorted sarcastically. "How dare you treat me like this? How dare you act like our relationship doesn't matter? How dare you leave me hanging like this?" He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of resentment. "I'm not leaving you hanging", he said bitterly. "I'm giving you freedom". She scoffed incredulously. "Freedom?" she repeated disdainfully. "Or an excuse?" He raised his voice, losing his temper. "An excuse for what?" he shouted furiously. She matched his volume, unleashing her pent-up emotions. "An excuse to forget about me!" she screamed back. "An excuse to move on with your life without me! An excuse to find someone else!" He gasped in shock, feeling a pang of guilt. "That's not true!" he protested vehemently. She shook her head sadly, feeling a tear roll down her cheek.


"It is true", she said softly. "You know it is". He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He looked at her with a mix of regret and remorse, wishing he could take back everything he had said. But it was too late. She turned around and walked away from him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Chapter 13

On the preceding Tuesday, Frederick, accompanied by his mother, devoted their entire day to town errands, meticulously selecting and organizing his wardrobe for his impending sojourn in Holland. It was evident that he could not venture across the seas adorned in farmer's attire; the chilly European winter warranted warm jackets and appropriate academic attire befitting a theology student. The excursion to town extended considerably as acquaintances and well-wishers paused them for congratulations and parting words. As the day unfolded, an increasing sense of disquiet settled upon Blair, a pervasive feeling of unease that seemed to seep into her very being. She resolved to speak with Frederick upon their return from town, choosing the late afternoon for their conversation.


Amid the bustling preparation and ceaseless handshakes, Frederick's fatigue grew more palpable. As he struggled through the rigors of fitting clothes and footwear, an unsettling realization dawned upon him. He replayed his recent conversation with Blair, recognizing that his enthusiasm for his dreams and aspirations had inadvertently overshadowed her presence. Amid the whirlwind of excitement, he had neglected to acknowledge her own feelings and concerns.


Frederick arrived home at around three that afternoon, the sun hanging high in the sky. The warmth of the day enveloped him as he quickly unloaded the purchases from their wagon. Carrying the bags into the house, he felt a sense of satisfaction as he closed the front door behind him. The weight of the purchases reminded him of the tasks he had accomplished, and he relished in the feeling of productivity.


After a moment's pause to catch his breath, Frederick's eagerness got the better of him. He dashed out of the house, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. Taking off down the path that led to the river, he could feel a mix of anticipation and excitement bubbling within him. The path, surrounded by tall grasses and vibrant wildflowers, beckoned him forward.


Meanwhile, Blair had also left her house a bit earlier than Frederick. She strolled leisurely through the veld, the gentle breeze tousling her hair. The scent of the wildflowers filled her nostrils, their colours a vivid contrast against the earthy backdrop. She couldn't help but stop here and there, captivated by the beauty of a little veld flower that had managed to bloom late in the season. In the bushveld, nature had its own rhythm, and things seemed to flourish longer under the warm African sun.


As Frederick crashed through the river, his feet splashing against the cool water, Blair arrived at the riverbank. She watched him with amusement, her laughter carrying through the air. Frederick's stumble and subsequent fall had left him drenched, a comical sight that elicited a genuine guffaw from Blair. Her laughter danced in the breeze, mingling with the sounds of nature around them.


Clambering up the bank of the river, Frederick's breath came in heavy gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. At first, annoyance flickered across his face, his brows furrowing in frustration. But as he caught his breath and his gaze met Blair's, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He couldn't help but join in her laughter, realizing that it was his own haste that had caused his drenched state. In that moment, the tension that had momentarily clouded his expression melted away, replaced by a lightness and playfulness that mirrored Blair's mirth. Drenched from head to toe, Frederick removed his shirt, revealing a hair masculine chest with toned muscles beneath, Blair felt a quiver inside her a she watched him. Frederick noticed Blair's appreciative gaze, he allowed his eyes to trail the length of her where she was standing, his thoughts were clouded from earlier days when he would imagine all the ways he would touch her, all the places he could kiss her soft skin. It felt like a frozen moment in time, where the lingering looks seemed to increase a flow of electricity between them.


Frederick keeping his gaze fixed on Blair walked towards her, she watched as Fredericks muscles flexed with his movements, a warmth started spreading through her emanating more pronounced from her groin and firing her solar plexus into a knot. Frederick could feel the stirrings of his manhood begin to thicken and harden, as he reached Blair, his body still wet from the fall in the river, he circled his arms around her waist and back, pulling Blair into him. The air was filled with the heady scent of her hair, a delicate blend of jasmine and vanilla that enveloped him like a fragrant cocoon. With every gentle stroke of his fingers along her neck, it felt as if a symphony of sensations played upon her skin, tiny butterflies dancing in a choreography of pleasure, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. The soft caress of his touch ignited a fire within her, a longing that spread through her veins like liquid desire. Holding Blair in his tight embrace Frederick let out a soft throaty sigh, feeling the length of Blair against his body.


Blair's breath quickened, a soft gasp escaping her lips as Frederick's embrace tightened around her, a firm yet tender hold that anchored her to the moment. Her heart raced in her chest, a wild rhythm of anticipation and surrender. With a trembling hand, she reached up, her fingertips delving into his thick auburn locks, savouring their silky texture as they slipped through her grasp. The strands slid like liquid silk between her fingers, an intoxicating sensation that sent shivers down her spine.


Her other hand clung to him, fingers digging into the flesh of his back, drawing him closer as if she could never get enough. Slowly, she tilted her face towards his, her lips parting in invitation, their mouths met in a soft, tantalizing kiss. Frederick's tongue traced the contours of her lips with an almost electric touch, teasing and exploring, igniting a gentle fire within her that spread throughout her body, setting her skin ablaze with longing and need.


Blair couldn't stifle the soft moan that escaped her throat, a sound born of craving and desire. In that timeless moment, the world ceased to exist, and all that remained was the exquisite dance of their bodies and the intensity of their connection. Frederick emitted a low, primal sound in response, his own hunger mirroring hers, intensifying their kiss. His tongue sought out the warmth of her mouth, a dance of passion and surrender, all while maintaining the gentleness that defined their connection.


Blair's hand ventured to his chest, her fingers feeling the velvety touch of his chest hair, exploring the terrain of his chest, where she could feel his muscles rippling beneath the surface of his skin. Her fingertips traced the contours of his muscles, feeling the play of sinew and strength beneath her touch. The sensation was undeniably appealing and masculine, a tactile feast that fuelled her desire even more, her nails grazing lightly across his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.


Slowly, Frederick began to kneel, his movements deliberate and filled with purpose. Blair's body followed his lead, descending with him, their desires in perfect alignment. His hand cupped her breast, his touch tender and reverent, caressing the soft mound with a delicate touch that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. As his fingers danced upon her skin, her mind was consumed by a symphony of sensation, each stroke a sweet melody that stirred the depths of her desire.


Frederick's other hand slid behind her head, cradling her gently as he lowered Blair to the ground. The soft earth embraced her back, a cushion of support in this moment of surrender. His fingers, now beneath her skirts, parted her legs with his own, a tender gesture that spoke of his longing. The dance of his fingertips continued, their delicate movements a symphony of pleasure as they traced patterns of anticipation upon her thigh, the fabric of her undergarments amplifying every sensation as he moved her clothes away to reveal more of her bare flesh beneath the skirts.


The intensity of their kiss deepened, their mouths locked in a passionate exploration, tongues entwined in a dance of desire. Blair, reaching out with a trembling hand, drew him closer, her body arching towards him, conveying her unspoken desires. She could feel the heat of his skin against her body and under her hands, the throb of his pulse matching the rhythm of her own racing heart.


Moving his hand from her breast, Frederick pulled her blouse from her skirt, his fingertips grazing her bare skin in a trail of fire. The cool air caressed her exposed flesh, heightening her senses and awakening every nerve ending. Then, his hand returned to her breast, skilfully navigating the fabric of her undergarments until he found her once more, his touch igniting a spark that set her aflame. He teased her nipple, his fingers dancing upon the sensitive bud, coaxing it to hardness, eliciting louder groans from Blair. Her body writhed in response, aching for more of his exquisite touch.


Frederick's self-control began to wane as the air crackled with anticipation. The veld seemed to cocoon around them, the long grass enticing and coaxing their shared desire. With a hunger in his eyes, he straddled her, his movements filled with a primal urgency that mirrored the fire raging within. As his hands reached for her, the fabric of her skirt yielded to his touch, lifted with a gentle urgency that revealed her bare legs and the curve of her undergarments.


Blair, consumed by a sense of urgency, reached for him, her fingers trembling with need. Her hands found his belt buckle, fumbling with it before finally loosening the restraint that held him back. With nimble fingers, she worked on his trouser buttons, one by one, her touch eager and impatient. The fabric slid down his legs, pooling at his knees, freeing him to embrace the raw passion that engulfed them.


Frederick repositioned himself, his movements deliberate as he widened Blair's legs, creating a space for their union. The air crackled with electricity as his lips descended to her neck, pressing against her heated skin. Soft, whispered declarations of love escaped his lips, mingling with the rhythm of their breaths and the symphony of their desire.


His free hand, now liberated from the confines of clothing, resumed its passionate exploration with an intensified fervour. Fingers trailed along the curves of her body, mapping every inch with a hunger that mirrored his own. His lips rain fire down on her skin as they left a blazing trail down to her breasts, gently nipping and sucking at her nipples. Their breathing became erratic, each gasp and rasp a testament to the growing intensity of their desire, the air filled with the heady scent of their shared passion.


In this moment, time stood still. The world melted away, leaving only the two of them entwined in a dance of longing and surrender. They were unable to restrain themselves any longer, giving in to the powerful sensation that consumed them. Their bodies merged, a symphony of touch and sensation, as they became one in an embrace, lost in the intoxicating bliss of their connection. Every nerve ending ignited, every sense heightened, as they soared together in a crescendo of pleasure, their souls entangled in a moment of profound intimacy.


Their skin, heated and sensitized by desire, brushed against each other, creating a delicious friction that ignited their nerve endings. Every touch, every caress, sent electric pulses of pleasure rippling through their bodies, as if a current of desire flowed between them. The texture of their skin, smooth and supple, merged in a symphony of sensation, creating a tactile feast that left them craving for more.


As Frederick penetrated Blair, a wave of exquisite sensation washed over them both. They gasped in unison, their breaths mingling as they surrendered to the joining of their bodies. The intimate embrace of their union filled them with a deep sense of connection and completion. They moved together, a dance of passion and surrender, finding a rhythm that mirrored the beating of their hearts. Frederick at first gently thrust within Blair, afraid to hurt her, she was a delicate flower beneath his body. Blair arched her body into his beckoning for more, slowly Frederick increased the rhythm of his thrust, thrusting deeper into Blair. The thrusting movements creating heightened sensations, Frederick could feel his manhood swelling with each thrust, his breath came in gasps of pleasure.


Blair's inner muscles clenched around him, pulsating in rhythmic contractions that gripped him with a potent intensity. The tightness and warmth enveloping Frederick sent shivers of pleasure coursing through his veins, each thrust a symphony of ecstasy. The deepening connection between them intensified the physical sensations, as if every movement reverberated through their bodies, amplifying the pleasure they shared.


Their lips sought each other in a fervent kiss, tongues entwined in a passionate dance that mirrored the union of their bodies. The taste of each other, mingling with the heady scent of their desire, heightened their sensory experience, creating an intoxicating blend of flavours that further fuelled their passion.


As their bodies moved in unison, a symphony of sounds filled the air. The rhythmic cadence of their breaths quickened, mingling with soft moans and gasps of pleasure. The sound of their bodies meeting, echoed through the veld, a primal percussion that underscored their shared ecstasy.


Time seemed to lose its grip as they soared higher, floating on the precipice of bliss. Sensations merged and intensified, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, as they surrendered to the overwhelming wave of passion. Their bodies melded together, a fusion of desire and vulnerability, as they reached the climax of their physical connection.


As Frederick and Blair reached the zenith of their pleasure, a brilliant light seemed to engulf their beings, searing their minds with a transcendent intensity. It was as if the universe itself had converged upon them, illuminating their souls in a dazzling display of ethereal radiance.


In this heightened state, a flood of sensations merged with the luminous light, amplifying their experience to a realm beyond the physical. Each touch, each movement, reverberated through their bodies with an otherworldly vibrancy. The rhythmic pulses of their bodies became a symphony of ecstasy, resonating with the harmonies of the universe.


Within the luminous embrace, their shared past lives danced before their eyes in a kaleidoscope of vivid images. They were both participants and witnesses to the intricate tapestry of their intertwined destinies. Fragments of memories and emotions surged through their consciousness, weaving together a narrative of love and a connection that spanned across time.


They glimpsed moments of tenderness and longing, shared laughter and tears, whispered promises and stolen glances. The mosaic of their past lives unravelled, revealing the threads that had bound them together throughout eternity. Each fleeting vision served as a testament to the profound bond they had nurtured across lifetimes, culminating in this intense present moment.


As the climax surged through them, their bodies and souls merged in an explosion of pure bliss. The brilliant light intensified, enveloping them in its ethereal embrace. In this heightened state of union, they were both creators and witnesses to their shared destiny, the culmination of a cosmic love story that defied the boundaries of time and space.


Their cries of ecstasy mingled with celestial echoes, reverberating through the vast expanse of the universe. In that fleeting moment of divine connection, they transcended the limitations of their mortal forms, their souls merging and intertwining in a symphony of spiritual oneness.


As the brilliant light gradually dimmed, they found themselves bathed in a serene afterglow. Their bodies lay intertwined, their breathing slowly returning to a steady rhythm. They gazed into each other's eyes, the depths of their love and understanding reflected in the lingering radiance.


In the aftermath of their shared climax, they held each other, knowing that they had witnessed something extraordinary. They had experienced a transcendent union that surpassed the boundaries of the physical, a connection that affirmed the vastness of their love and the eternity of their bond.


In that sacred moment, Frederick and Blair rested, basking in the profound beauty of their shared destiny, grateful for the glimpse into the cosmic tapestry that had woven their souls together.


In the fading light, darkness descended upon them, casting a veil of melancholy over their hearts. The impending departure weighed heavily upon their souls, knowing that soon they would be separated by time and distance. They stood at the edge of the orange grove, their hands clasped tightly together, fingers intertwined in a silent plea to defy the inevitable.


Frederick's gaze, filled with a mixture of longing and determination, met Blair's eyes. No words were spoken, for in that moment, their souls communicated in a language beyond the limitations of speech. It was a silent promise, a vow that their connection would endure, unyielding to the challenges that awaited them.


The weight of their impending separation pressed upon them, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that they would have to let go for a while. But their love was resilient, a flame that burned brightly even in the face of adversity. It radiated from their intertwined fingers, their touch a testament to the depth of their bond.


As they stood on the precipice of parting, the air seemed charged with a bittersweet tension. Emotions swirled within them, a tempest of longing and hope, fear and determination. Frederick's voice, tinged with a hint of sadness, broke the silence.


"Blair," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of their shared emotions, "we will be apart for some time, but remember that distance cannot diminish what we have. Our souls are entwined, and no matter the miles that separate us, our love will endure."


Blair's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice trembling as she responded, "Frederick, I will hold your words close to my heart. Though we may be physically apart, the love we share will guide me through the days ahead. I will eagerly await the moment when we can be reunited once more."


Their voices, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability, echoed in the stillness of the evening. The orange grove, once a sanctuary of shared moments, seemed to hold its breath, as if acknowledging the depth of their connection.


With a touch of gentle laughter amidst their shared sadness, they began to rearrange their dishevelled clothing. Their fingers brushed away the stray blades of grass that clung to their skin, a tender gesture that mirrored the care they held for each other's well-being.


Hand in hand, they walked towards the edge of the grove, their steps slow and deliberate. The orange trees whispered softly in the evening breeze, their leaves rustling as if offering words of encouragement. Each footfall carried a heavy weight, a poignant reminder of their impending separation.


At the threshold of their parting, they turned to face each other, their gazes locked in a silent exchange. In that unspoken moment, their love spoke volumes, assuring them that no matter the distance or time, their souls would remain forever entwined.


With a final embrace, they reluctantly let go, each step taking them further from the other. As they walked their separate paths, their hearts carried the warmth of their shared moments, the promise of a future reunion, and the unwavering belief that love knows no boundaries.

Chapter 14

Before the break of dawn on a Wednesday morning, Frederick embarked on his departure. The hours were too scant to exchange a farewell with Blair before he set out on his journey. The road to the Cape unfurled ahead, an uncertain timeline spanning between three to six weeks. His itinerary encompassed a train journey from Johannesburg to Kimberly, followed by an ox-drawn wagon ride to Wellington, a further train ride from Worcester to Cape Town, where he would finally board a ship bound for his destination.


Commencing his letters from the moment he boarded the train, Frederick's words chronicled the passing landscape, painting a vivid picture of the towns he traversed. Yet, the wagon journey proved to be a test to his literary endeavours, the rugged ride disrupting his ability to pen coherent thoughts. Upon reaching Worcester, he dispatched the letter he had managed to compose during the arduous wagon ride. Just before embarking on the ship, another letter was sent, with the knowledge that the next correspondence would only reach Blair from Holland, twenty-five to thirty days later.


During the initial phase of separation, Frederick and Blair maintained a weekly exchange, sharing insights into their respective lives and educational pursuits. While Blair found solace in the company of her aunt in Johannesburg, her academic fervour allowed her to make up for the year she had missed and propel herself towards a career in teaching. Within weeks after Frederick left for Holland, the Maxwells had hurriedly hushed Blair off to stay with her aunt in Johannesburg. Frederick's letters delved into the intricate realm of theology he was exploring, unveiling the customs and culture of Holland, along with his interactions with various people. The tenor of his letters took a turn, with increasing mentions of individuals known as "de Keizer," with whom he seemed to be forming bonds after his first year in Holland.


However, as time progressed, the flow of Frederick's letters began to falter, becoming intermittent, as if composed when he happened to remember. Eventually, the tide shifted entirely, and the letters Blair received were her own--returned with a stark "return to sender."


The blow was heavy, yet Blair mustered her strength to navigate the days that followed. Immersing herself in her studies, she excelled in her teaching courses, moving ever closer to realizing her goal. Four years elapsed since Frederick's departure, and during visits to her family, Blair's attempts to connect with the Potgieter's were met with a chilling detachment, leaving her baffled by the change in their demeanour.


Upon completing her teaching studies, Blair secured a teaching position in Krugersdorp, a small school that offered live-in accommodations for its staff. But before settling into her new role, she returned home for a well-deserved holiday. It had been four long years since Frederick's departure, and she was convinced that he would soon be returning.


With a heart brimming with joy, she embarked on an early morning journey across the field, determined to cross the river to the Potgieter's residence. Her eagerness to hear news of Frederick's imminent return made her feel as though she were walking on air. The prospect of reuniting with her soul mate, her twin flame, the man with whom she had shared countless past lives and envisioned her future, filled her with a sense of boundless happiness. As she approached the Potgieter's home, her steps were accompanied by a cheerful tune, sung with anticipation and hope.


Blair was entirely unprepared for the stern countenance of Mrs. Potgieter, who fixed her with a penetrating glare through the screen door. Startled by the unexpected reception, Blair did her best to maintain her composure, her gut churning with unease. For a fleeting moment, she feared that something dreadful had happened to Frederick; it seemed the only reason for such a look. Or was it?


Johan, witnessing the interaction, brushed past Mrs. Potgieter and invited Blair to take a seat on the porch steps. He explained that he needed to share something of great importance with her. Mrs. Potgieter retreated into the house, leaving Blair on the porch, her mind racing with fears and uncertainties surrounding Frederick's well-being.


Upon his return, Johan held a small square piece of paper in his hand and joined Blair on the step. He began, "I understand that what I'm about to tell you will be incredibly difficult, but it's time someone revealed the truth." He handed the paper to Blair, who turned it over to find a photograph of Frederick and his new wife. A wave of nausea surged within her, causing her to lean over the side of the steps and retch. Hastily, Johan fetched her a glass of water to help soothe her distress.


As Blair took the glass, her voice trembled as she asked the question that weighed heavily on her heart: "When?" Johan's response was sombre: "Two years ago." The realization hit her like a sledgehammer. It aligned with the time when Frederick's letters ceased, leaving her in a state of emotional limbo. Johan faltered, his discomfort evident in his silence, struggling with the role of bearer of such distressing news.


Desperate for answers, Blair sought to understand the why behind Frederick's actions. Johan shifted uncomfortably on the step, grappling with the task of revealing unpleasant truths. Blair, her voice strained but resolute, assured him, "You owe me the truth, Johan." She was shattered, her world turned upside down.


Observing Blair, Johan noticed a lifelessness in her eyes, an emptiness that seemed to replace her spirit. A solitary tear trickled down her face as she stared ahead, unblinking. Johan stumbled over his words, attempting to explain further, "The De Keizer's are a wealthy family in Holland. Frederick married into their lineage for their affluence and ancestral ties. They hold vast inherited estates."


Johan's lips tightened as he struggled to find words of comfort for Blair's pain. In a daze, Blair rose to her feet, adjusted her skirt, and without looking at Johan, spoke with a mixture of anguish and determination, "Tell him, he'll never know. He'll never know what he left behind, never know what's mine." With those words, she walked away, her connection with the Potgieter's forever severed.


Blair shared the news about Frederick with her parents, and they all sat in a heavy silence for an extended period. Mrs. Maxwell finally broke the quietude, asking Blair, "You never told him?" Blair responded with a solemn "No," explaining that she had not wanted to disrupt his studies, but now, he would never know - he had become a stranger to her.


Blair remained seated on the stoop, as still as a statue, her hands folded in her lap, silent tears streaming down her face. Time seemed frozen for her as she sat there, long into the night. Another four years slipped by, during which Blair excelled in her teaching career and received promising job offers. The Maxwells had also made significant changes in their lives, selling their farm, and relocating to a smaller property nearer to Krugersdorp, where Blair now resided. This move was motivated by the desire to protect Blair's secret. In Rustenburg, secrets had a way of unravelling, and suspicions were arising, especially concerning the child they had claimed was a visiting niece.


The situation had grown precarious, with Minister Postma making astute remarks about the child's resemblance. Although the Maxwells laughed off these comments, they knew it would not be long before prying eyes would come knocking, demanding details, and seeking a glimpse to fuel their gossip. Relations in the area had remained strained since the siege, with some even attempting to burn down the Maxwell's orchard.


Considering their age and the demanding nature of farming, the Maxwells decided it was time for a change. They had received attractive offers for their farm in the past, which they had previously declined. However, they recently received an offer three times the farm's value - an offer they could not refuse.


On the day the Maxwells departed from their cherished family home nestled against the grandeur of the Magaliesburg mountains, the serene river, and the surrounding beauty, their hearts were laden with sorrow. Their parents rested on the farm, making it agonizing to leave behind what felt like a piece of their very souls. As they reached the T-junction with their laden wagon, the Potgieter's wagon passed by enroute to their own farm. Mrs. Potgieter, as they approached, offered a wavering smile and a stiff wave. However, upon nearing the Maxwells, her expression transformed - her jaw dropped, she nearly lost her balance as she rose abruptly from her seat. While their wagon moved past the Maxwells, Mrs. Potgieter stared, recognition flooding her features. Attempting to articulate her thoughts, her words were tangled in stammers, and she pointed in disbelief. Johan, who was driving the wagon, had suspected the truth from Blair's words, but he respected her privacy. He firmly grasped his mother's hand, commanding her to sit down, she complied, clearly in shock. Johan's inner thoughts were resolute: "Frederick will remain ignorant; he doesn't deserve to know, not after how he treated Blair."


Once Mrs. Potgieter regained her composure, she pressed Johan about when he had learned of this revelation. Johan admitted he had only just found out as they drove past the Maxwells. Mrs. Potgieter promptly insisted that they write to Frederick and inform him, emphasizing his obligation to fulfil. She dismissed his new wife as unlikely to bear children, citing previous miscarriages. Johan, however, responded with conviction: "No, it's Blair's wish that he remains unaware. He made his choice for wealth over love. He betrayed Blair - that's the truth you should recognize."


Mrs. Potgieter asserted her right to know the whereabouts of the child - her grandchild. Johan's tone was unwavering: "After the way you treated Blair, being all too pleased that Frederick married into affluence, you now want to claim a grandchild? Leave this matter be, and not a word should escape your lips. Frederick doesn't deserve to know, and if you dare tell him, I'll deny it." With that, Johan firmly closed the discussion, refusing to broach the topic again and preventing anyone else from doing so.


The Maxwells ensured they left behind no trace of their whereabouts - no forwarding address, no inkling of where Blair had begun her new life. Blair had adopted her aunt's married surname, 'Fraser,' to create the illusion of a previous marriage. She carefully evaded discussions about young Sadie's father, fostering the impression that he was no longer among the living. This approach shielded her from the judgmental whispers and prying curiosity that often accompanied the circumstances of having a child outside of wedlock. The sprawling expanse of Johannesburg offered a refuge, where fewer inquisitive eyes peered into her past, providing her with a fresh start.


Meanwhile, the Maxwells received counsel from their extended family, the 'Harding's,' located in Kimberley. The sale proceeds from their farm found their way into the gold mine investments - a shrewd investment that soon yielded substantial returns. This savvy move alleviated them from the toil of farm labour, transforming their fortunes. Notably, Blair's adeptness in financial matters was instrumental in guiding this profitable investment.


Amidst the bloom of mid-spring the following year, a solitary figure ventured up the Potgieter's driveway. Taken by surprise, the Potgieter's momentarily halted their tasks to observe the unexpected visitor. Johan's children dashed forward to meet the stranger, and as he dropped his bags, he knelt to envelop them in a warm embrace. The children, brimming with excitement, hurriedly ran back to the house, their jubilant cries of "Frederick, Frederick" filling the air. Johan's expression, however, grew resolute and slightly hardened. Could it truly be that the elusive Frederick had chosen to reappear in their lives? Yet, as he glanced around, he realized that Frederick was alone, without a wife by his side. This absence struck Johan as odd, prompting him to make his way towards the house to greet the brother he had not seen in nearly nine long years.


Guided into the homely abode, the scent of brewing coffee permeating the air, they all gathered around the table to hear the account of Frederick's return. Frederick narrated the story of his wife's demise during childbirth, a tragedy that left no heir and consequently severed his ties with the De Keizer family. He spoke of his decision to return to South Africa. At the mention of his wife's passing, Johan could not help but snort in disbelief, sensing something amiss. Mrs. Potgieter, on the brink of offering her condolences and a glimmer of hope, was silenced by a stern look from Johan.


Oblivious to the unspoken undercurrents, Frederick took his bags to his former room, only to discover that it now served as the children's quarters. Johan informed him that he would have to spend the night in the barn, given the limited space in the house. Frederick could not ignore Johan's disdainful demeanour, an indication that his brother's welcome was not wholehearted. As Frederick headed towards the back door with his bags in tow, Johan could not restrain his curiosity, inquiring about the duration of Frederick's stay and expressing his scepticism about farm work being suitable for a man of Frederick's education and former affluence. Frederick responded that he would seek alternative employment after he had reacquainted himself with the lay of the land. With that, he departed for the barn, leaving behind a sense of unresolved tension in his wake. Frederick was acutely aware that the bond that he and Johan has once shared, no longer exited, it had been replaced by and outward animosity that was pulpable.


In the weeks that followed, Johan maintained an aloof distance from Frederick, having secretly instructed his wife to keep a watchful eye on both his mother and Frederick. He was adamant that his mother must not reveal the truth about the child to Frederick. His wife, skilled in the art of hovering, constantly accompanied the pair whenever they went for walks. The situation grew increasingly frustrating for Mrs. Potgieter, leading to outbursts of anger. Johan found himself frequently having to sit his mother down and emotionally manipulate her into silence by reminding her of her treatment of Blair.


Unaware of Frederick's return, Blair had severed all connections with individuals from the Rustenburg district. With Krugersdorp experiencing rapid growth, it became an arduous task to find anyone who even remotely remembered someone like Blair. Her change of surname further obscured her identity. As Mrs. Fraser, she was a highly regarded teacher in demand. Blair had also been teaching Sadie about the Book of Shadows and guided her how to use her gifts. Blair had also become known for her prediction skills, these were the skills that ultimately led her parents to invest the money from the sale of the farm in the gold mines.


One mid-spring morning, young Sadie was in the garden with Blair, Sadie suddenly touched her mother's arm, "there is a man, mommy he will be looking for you". Blair never ignored or silenced Sadie in moments of revelation like these, instead she encouraged it, so that Sadie could develop her skills. "Can you see what he looks like Sadie?" Blair gently encouraged her, "no" said Sadie, "he has a lot of heartache mommy".


Meanwhile, Frederick, now back at the river where he had first met Blair, wrestled with the urge to inquire about her. The frosty reception from his family discouraged him from probing into Blair's whereabouts. Despite the undeniable flood of old emotions that resurfaced at the river's edge, he managed to dismiss them, preoccupied with his ambitions for stature and influence.


Both Johan and Mrs. Potgieter observed Frederick's transformation into someone unrecognizable. He exhibited a preoccupation with wealth that overshadowed his regard for people, treating others with an air of condescension. Mrs. Potgieter, reflecting on her son's metamorphosis, wondered when he had turned into this self-serving, arrogant stranger before her.


Realizing the extent of Frederick's change, Mrs. Potgieter eventually admitted to Johan that she agreed with him. She resolved not to divulge the truth to Frederick about the child. She feared that he would exploit this knowledge to make Blair's life miserable and potentially attempt to separate mother and child--a fate she adamantly believed should be avoided at all costs.
Early in 1891 Frederick obtained a position in the Netherlands Dutch Reformed church in Lewisham, falling under the Krugersdorp district. He was considered and eligible bachelor, so he had the pickings of the crop and was he looking, he was always enquiring after people who were seemingly wealthy, their ties and social circles, in the name of fund raising. This gave him the plausibility that he had cared for the community and upliftment of the community. Blair continued to teach, she was happy with her life, with Sadie and her parents. She said that she had enough and that was all that mattered, teaching young minds was very fulfilling as she could watch these children grow and develop.


Frederick had heard rumours of a Mrs. Fraser, who family it seemed wealth status, Mrs Fraser was a widow, this appealed greatly to Frederick. He asked an old friend that he knew from Rustenburg to make enquiries, like what church she attended, so he could arrange and chance meeting with her but it seemed she was very private and elusive, there was not much information forthcoming about her.

Chapter 15


As the year 1891 drew to a close, news spread across the Transvaal that President Kruger would be unveiling the new Paardekraal monument. Extensive planning for the event was already in progress. The anticipation was palpable, with many still remembering the memorable gatherings of 1881 and 1886. The festival, spanning several days, would attract people from distant places who would journey in their wagons to partake in the festivities, including speeches, bible readings, and prayers. The schedule included target practice, horse races, games, fireworks, artillery drills, and much more. These festivals offered a thrilling and eagerly awaited occasion for all.


From around December 14th, 1891, wagons began rolling in and setting up camp and pitching tents, filling the air with a sense of excitement. The aromas from the fires in the camp filled the air, as the women baked breads, stews, and other dishes for their families to eat. On the 16th of December, the official unveiling of the monument took place, marked by the presence of Transvaal's President. Mr. Maxwell gave Blair directions how to navigate the camp through the maze of wagons to find fellow Scots who had maintained a longstanding connection with the Maxwells since their time in Kimberly before their move to Rustenburg.


On the 16th December 1891, Blair adorned herself in a traditional emerald green and white Boer dress, that complimented her eyes, for the occasion. Wandering amidst the numerous wagons with Sadie in tow, so many smiling faces peered back at her under her bonnet, as se walked through the camp, some of the inhabitants of Krugersdorp who knew her as Mrs. Fraser greeted her warmly, some of the children she taught, would throng around her to giver her hugs and cheerfully vie to get a chance to tell her all about their day. Blair offered hugs to many of children who ran to her to greet her and Sadie would eagerly strike up conversation about the festivities and what all the kids could do. She soon came across a wooden table where a man was engaged in washing his face in a bowl of water, at first Blair walked past but she felt a tug deep within her, she retraced a few steps back, Sadie walking smack bang into her. The man looked up, a grin illuminated his features. Blair returned the smile, holding his gaze for a moment that seemed to speak of life times, before moving on. Sadie was staring open mouthed at the man, as if recognition washed over her.


While watching him in that brief moment, all the feelings of the connection they shared surged through her, the memories of happier times flashed through her mind. Abruptly all the wonderful feelings of love, joy and happiness, were replaced with feelings of betrayal, anger, hurt and pain, the memory of how he had traded their love for wealth surged forward. As they walked past Frederick, Sadie was tugging at Blairs arm saying "mommy, that is the man is looking for you, the one I told you about". Sadie tried to pull Blair to halt but Blair grabbed her hand and walked on not saying another word. The expression on her face showed a deep pain that she felt in her soul.


Blair successfully located the Maxwells' friends amidst the bustling crowd. However, on her way back, she took a more circuitous route, distancing herself significantly from the spot where she had glimpsed Frederick. She could not fathom why she had paused; she should never have stopped in the first place. Why had she smiled at him? Why had she watched him for that fleeting moment? Did he even recognize her as she stood before him? Why did he grin at her if he did not recognize her? Blair's thoughts spun in circles. She resolved to stay within proximity of her parents, ensuring she did not venture too far from where the townsfolk had gathered. There was no way Frederick would think to search for her during the crowd, further away to the right of monument on the side of the hill. She also wanted to shield Sadie from Frederick, from his lies and betrayal.


Meanwhile, Frederick had finished his impromptu facial cleansing, fully expecting to find Blair still standing in front of him. Yet, when he scanned the area, she had vanished without a trace. He had not even witnessed her departure or discerned the direction she had come from and the path she had taken. Who was that child with Blair, had she married someone else, he could not wrap his thought around Blair having a child with another man, that was not how Blair was, she was true and she was loyal. In his thoughts he had not even contemplated that he had betrayed Blair and she would have every right to marry someone else, he had after all married someone else and forgotten about her. The child though plagued is mind, he could help but feel that he had seen this child somewhere before.


Mrs. Potgieter, seated in a chair behind Frederick, observed this poignant interaction, Mrs. Potgieter clung to a fragile glimmer of hope, yearning for the rediscovery of the affectionate, considerate son she once knew. A wishful anticipation of his former self returning gripped her heart. In that moment, a realization washed over her - Blair had been entirely unaware of Frederick's return and had likely halted in her tracks due to the shock of seeing him again. Frederick was also unaware of who the child was that had followed Blair and had stared open mouth at Frederick. The hurried departure that followed was a reaction steeped in recognition and perhaps even a sense of vulnerability. Mrs. Potgieter was also feelings pangs of regret for her treatment of Blair, for never having the opportunity of knowing her grandchild, maybe if Frederick knew he had a child he would not be so obsessed with wealth.


Mrs. Potgieter also yearned to be able to know her granddaughter and embrace her, to be able to do the things with the child like grandmothers do. She longed that the beautiful auburn-haired girl, knew her cousins and could visit and play with them. Mrs. Potgieter made up her mind, she was going to tell Frederick, Johan and Marie were off enjoying the festivities, they were not around to prevent her from telling Frederick.


"Frederick", she said carefully, "I would like to tell you something, it is very important and I think it is time you found out, well, what you left behind when you went to Holland". Frederick turned to look at his mother, he had a look of puzzlement on his face, he had left nothing behind, he decided to humour his mother "What could I possibly have left behind?". "It's not a possession Frederick, it's.... something we have kept from you, something you should know about", Mrs. Potgieter's voice was croaking as she choked away tears. Frederick knelt in front of his mother, he now saw the unspilled tears in her eyes, what on earth he thought could have made his mother so sad about something he had left behind. "Ma, what is it, what pains you so?", Frederick asked gently, taking her hands in his. This was the kind compassionate son she knew, the son she had longed to see again. Mrs. Potgieter broke down in tears, crying uncontrollably, "I - I - I was so mean to her, I treated her very badly, so I never knew about ..."., Mrs. Potgieter was crying so much that she was no longer able to speak. Frederick fetched her a glass of water, hoping that it would calm her down. Who was ma mean to, who did she treat so badly, that is making her cry like this?


Just then Johan and Marie arrived back at the wagon, seeing their mother crying, they assumed Frederick has said or done something. Johan started berating Frederick, telling him that he was selfish and mean, "What did you do, what did you say Freddy", Johan asked snarling at Frederick. Frederick immediately put his hands in the air, "nothing, nothing, I swear, she wanted to tell me something and then started crying. All I got that she was really nasty to someone and treated someone really badly", Frederick said in exasperation, "why would you think I did something to ma?". Johan's face turned ashen, he immediately sat on his haunches in front of his mother, "did you tell him ma? DID YOU TELL HIM?", Johan asked through gritted teeth, his voice strained trying not to shout. Mrs. Potgieter's eyes went wide, she started sobbing hard again "No, no, no" she said through the sobs, shaking her head.


Frederick was confounded, he had no idea who they were talking about, he had even less of an idea what he was not being told. Frederick's anger flared in a bad way, he pushed Johan over and pounced on him, grabbing Johan by the front of his shirt he screamed "What is going on, tell me? Tell me who is ma talking about and what was ma trying to tell me?!!". Johans face started turning red, Fredericks hold had pulled Johan's shirt tight around his throat. Marie started hitting Frederick to make him let go of Johan, screaming at Frederick "Blair, it is Blair". Frederick remained frozen with his grip still on Johan, then his arms slumped to his sides, he whispered "Blair". He got off Johan and stood up, coughing Johan got to his feet and rubbing his throat and repeated coldly "it is Blair". Mrs. Potgieter sat in stark silence, almost as if she was in a trance, the boys had not fought like this since they were still very young. Mrs. Potgieter sitting in her trance like state, slowly turned her head to Frederick and said flatly "you left her with child". Almost as if Frederick's whole world came crashing down on him in that moment, he fell to his knees, inaudibly uttering the words "she has a child", "No", Johan bit out with bitterness and disdain "YOU and Blair have a child, a girl". "What you did to Blair, betraying her, you did not deserve to know. Wealth and riches are all you care about", Johan said the hostility clear in his voice.


Frederick slumped to his knees, the realisation dawning on him, the child with Blair, that he felt he had seen somewhere before, this was his child? This little girl with auburn hair that reflected his own hair colour, the same blue eyes that had stared at him - this was his child. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside Frederick, removing the coldness and hardness that had gripped his heart all those years ago, when he had killed the British soldier. For the first time since that night, it felt as if he could feel the universe in his soul, if he realised with such intensity of emotion, that he had not been living the past nine years. He knew that he had been a shell, at the same time he as if viewing his life from afar, he saw the pain and agony he had caused Blair by being selfish and consumed by greed.


Meanwhile, amidst the festival's vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds, the friend from the Rustenburg district who was seeking out Mrs. Fraser for Frederick, attempted to convey to Frederick the astonishing truth that the teacher known as Mrs. Fraser was, in fact, Blair. Johan grabbed Bertie by the arm, "Why was Frederick looking for Mrs. Fraser - Blair?". Bertie answered, surprised by the strong grip Johan had on his arm said, "For the church, for donations to the church". "Ah", said John, "obviously Mrs. Fraser has money, right down your alley. All this time you have been back, you not once showed any interest in Blair but Mrs. Fraser now she has money and you are interested", Johan said mockingly. "You disgust me Frederick, I am ashamed that you are my brother", Johan said forcefully.


Frederick was still on his knees, he had no coherent thought in his head. Watching his wife in Holland die in child labour, had left him bereft of a child, a gaping void in his soul, now he is finding out that he has a child. Not moving, Frederick asked "How long have you known". Mrs. Potgieter told Frederick, they only saw the child the day the Maxwells moved but it was unmistakable, the child was a spitting image of Frederick. Slowly Frederick got to his feet, tears were now streaming down his face, why had she not told him in any of the letters that she had written. Blair had never said a word, why did she want to rob him of the knowledge that he had a child? Frederick was in utter disbelief.


With a new found purpose, desperation flooded him, the urgency to find Blair and his child created a tunnel vision in his mind, he would not rest until they were found. Frederick was so overwrought that he did not think to ask Bertie, where he could Mrs. Fraser / Blair, he struck off in the direction he was facing, with a fervent determination, he roamed through the festivities, describing her and inquiring if anyone had sighted her presence, he was in a daze and not thinking straight. Yet, the festival-goers were engrossed in the event's merriment, their attention too preoccupied to notice a blonde-haired woman adorned in a green dress.

Chapter 16


Frederick's quest to find Blair led him on a reckless journey, heedless of his surroundings. Driven by an unrelenting pursuit of her, he ran into a hazardous area where shooting practice was underway. In a cruel twist of fate, as he remained fixated on finding Blair, a tragic accident transpired. A bullet found its mark with an unforgiving precision, and Frederick's lifeless form collapsed to the ground, his existence extinguished in an instant. Sadie, standing next to Blair murmured, "he is dead".


The instant of Frederick's demise, an ominous shudder surged through Blair's heart, its rhythm disrupted. A sensation of suffocation gripped her, as though her very breath had been sucked out of her lungs, and an agonizing sensation of her soul being torn asunder enveloped her being. An image, stark and haunting, etched itself into her mind's eye - Frederick, lifeless and prone, his head cradled in a macabre pool of blood. In that fateful moment, the cumulative anguish of their intertwined past lives converged within her, igniting a violent explosion of emotion, of loss.


In the grip of overwhelming torment, Blair's voice rent the air with a haunting cry of denial, a primal proclamation of anguish that echoed in the stillness. The sheer weight of her pain proved too much to bear, causing her to crumple, her body yielding to the abyss of unconsciousness. As her consciousness rekindled, a profound emptiness pervaded her being - she described it as a numbing void, an echo of her soul's ache.


News of the tragic shooting incident rippled through the fabric of the Maxwell household, the name 'Frederick' uttered repeatedly in disbelief. The shocking reality seemed unfathomable. Joined by Blair and young Sadie, the Maxwells attended the funeral that was held in Krugersdorp, a sombre occasion that unfolded against the backdrop of Blair's vacant demeanour. Throughout the proceedings, her actions felt mechanical, devoid of the life that once animated her.


The following seven years witnessed Blair's gradual descent, like a switch had been flipped, her vitality was ebbing away. She seemed to wither before the eyes of those who cared for her, her existence consumed by a profound melancholy. Then, as if surrendering to a final slumber, she closed her eyes one day and never reopened them. It was a broken heart that claimed Blair's life, an ailment as real and insidious as any physical affliction. Such was the nature of their bond, an inexplicable connection that defied the boundaries of life and death. Once reunited, their souls were irrevocably entwined, a union that life itself could not sever.

**********************

The air hung heavy with the promise of a scorching summer day as Blair stepped out of the Johan Voster Square Police station, a place that had become far too familiar. The sunlight painted the concrete buildings with a warm, golden hue, disguising the shadows of the past that clung to the walls like ghosts. Blair's footsteps echoed on the pavement as she made her way towards her car, the rhythmic sound a reminder of the routine that had become her life.


With a faint smile playing on her lips, Blair slid into her state vehicle, the worn leather seats welcoming her like an old friend. As she navigated the bustling streets of Johannesburg, the city unfolded around her in a vibrant tapestry of colours and cultures. The cacophony of voices and car horns created a symphony that was uniquely South African, a blend of urban energy and the undeniable pulse of life.


Hillbrow Police Station emerged ahead, a stark contrast to the orderly fade of the station she had left behind. Here, the energy was palpable, an undercurrent of both hope and desperation that seemed to seep from the very cracks in the pavement. Blair stepped out of her car and took a moment to observe her surroundings. The scent of street food wafted through the air, mingling with the exhaust fumes and the distant aroma of blooming jacaranda trees.