Forever Friends

By Drienie Hattingh

When Johannesburg attorney Annete Lamphier inherits Boschkloof Vineyards, she doesn’t know what to expect. Her late grandmother had put everything into the family vineyard, even at the cost of her one true love; and though the three-century-old vineyard is in shambles, Annette wants to honor her grandmother’s wish to keep it in the family. Soon after Annette moves to her new home in Franschhoek, South Africa, she discovers letters penned in the 17th century by the three best friends of her ancestor, Antoinette Louise Lamphier. Compelled to fulfill the wishes revealed in the letters, Annette decides to fiend the present-day relations of the Forever Friends. The past and the present collide in the most unexpected of ways when Annette travels to America, desperately seeking guidance from Gene Fairfield, who owns a respected Napa Valley vineyard. She hopes what she learns will help her save her inheritance. Then she meets the arrogant, yet devastatingly handsome, Jacques Fairfield. Will history repeat itself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drienie Hattingh
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310562167

Book preview

Prologue

La Rochelle, France

December 24, 1687

Chrestine, Madelaine, Antoinette, and Guenievre stood holding hands, toes wiggling in the wet sand. Small, icy-cold waves broke in front of the friends and washed over their feet, making them giggle and shudder.

A salty, cool breeze blew in from the ocean, wafting their long hair out behind them—Chrestine’s curly brown, Madelaine’s golden blonde, Antoinette’s straight black, and Guenievre’s auburn.

The friends pushed their linked hands up in the air, as they had done every Christmas Eve for the last ten years, and shouted, Des amies pour toujours—Forever Friends!

They lowered their arms and witnessed the fiery sunset—the deep orange glow reflected in the wet expanse surrounding them. They felt as though they were suspended between heaven and earth.

They turned around and slowly walked across the beach. Their minds were full of memories of the carefree times spent here—all the magical winter evenings lying on their backs on the sand still warm from the sun, looking up at the stars, sharing their hopes and dreams for the future.

Wherever life took them, they promised they would be friends forever.

Somewhere in the South of France

December 31, 1687

The carriage rocked dangerously from side to side as the Lamphier family sped through the moonless night. A single lantern hung inside the compartment, its flame turned down low. It swung on its hook, causing the passengers’ shadows to dance in a ghostly fashion on the walls. Suddenly, above the thundering hooves of their horses, Antoinette heard a shout, "Arête! In the name of the King, stop!"

Do not stop! Antoinette’s father, François, shouted from inside to the driver. He turned to Antoinette, where she sat across from him next to her mother and brother and said, "It’s the King’s guard! Vite! Down! Maintenant!"

Sixteen-year-old Antoinette immediately lay down on the bench, as her father instructed. Her mother, Rachel, did the same and pulled young François down next to her, wrapping her arms protectively around her five-year-old son.

Antoinette looked on in horror as her father knelt down on the carriage floor and loaded his flintlock rifle. They were under attack, and yet he did not falter even once. His fingers were steady as he completed this task.

Antoinette stifled a scream when she saw a soldier on horseback through the window. His red cape, with the King’s crest on it, blew in the wind. Her eyes widened when the horseman drew his sword.

Petrified, she looked on as her father aimed his rifle at the man and pulled the half-cocked trigger. Antoinette flinched as the shot rang out and smoke filled the air. Little Francois’ scream echoed through the carriage. The soldier looked into the carriage, a surprised expression on his face. Antoinette’s eyes widened in horror as the soldier grabbed his bloodied chest, slumped over his horse, and disappeared out of view. François loaded his weapon again.

Movements to her left made Antoinette turn her head and scream as another soldier thrust his sword forward while passing the carriage. From the front of the coach, she heard cries from the driver and the carriage swerved sharply to the right.

Papa! she called, there’s a soldier at the front.

François quickly moved over to the other side of the hackney and took aim.

Antoinette put her head down, pressing her face into the leather seat, afraid to even breathe as she held on with all her might. She could hear young François crying and her mother whispering to him, There now, my brave boy, soon it will be over…

Shots exploded all around Antoinette, from the front of the carriage and from her father’s rifle. Suddenly, everything was quiet except for the muted sobs from her brother. The coach slowed and came to a complete stop. Antoinette wanted to stand up, but her father whispered, "Silencieuse! Do not move!"

Slowly, he stood and looked out one window and then the other.

Her father whispered, The soldiers are gone now.

Antoinette knew he did not want to say, The soldiers are dead now.

Opening the door, he carefully disembarked and returned after a while. Rachel, he said. We can continue our journey now. Let me help you up, my dear. He gently took her by the arms and pulled her up into a sitting position. She wiped the tears from her face as he covered her with blankets and kissed her on the cheek.

Young François threw his arms around his father, crying out, Papa, Papa, I want to go home now. I do not want to go on a great adventure anymore.

In the subtle glow of the lantern, Antoinette watched the tender scene and swallowed back tears.

François hugged his son and then smoothed back the little boy’s black hair. It is going to be fine, my son. The journey is difficult, I know, but we have to be brave. Remember, nothing worthwhile is easy to come by. We are going to cross the ocean and live in Africa.

But I do not want to go anymore, Papa.

My dear boy, we can go home, but then you will never see Africa and elephants and baboons. Is that what you want?

Antoinette saw a smile form on her brother’s lips. No, I want to see them, Papa.

François tucked the blankets around his son’s small form. Are you going to be brave?

Yes, Papa, I will be brave. Nothing worth is easy, he said in his childlike manner.

François smiled and ruffled his son’s hair. Such a big boy.

Antoinette stooped over and looked out the window into the dark night. The coldness crept through her bones, and she started shivering.

"I need your help, ma petite, he said tenderly to Antoinette. You have to be brave now, as well."

François stepped out of the carriage again. Dense vegetation crowded in on the narrow dirt road. It was eerily quiet now, not like the earlier mayhem when the King’s guard caught up with them. Antoinette followed her father around the coach and collided with him as he came to an abrupt stop.

At the front of the carriage she saw the driver slumped in his seat. Her father climbed up and checked his pulse. She stood frozen as her father pushed the body gently off the coach. She had never seen a dead man before.

The moon rose as her father pulled his servant’s body into the underbrush. He knelt beside him and brushed his hands over the open non-seeing eyes, closing them respectfully. Thank you my faithful friend, rest in peace, he said in a trembling voice.

François stood and turned to his daughter. Go and fetch your blankets, my child. You will have to steer. He rushed back to where the dead soldiers lay in the road and dragged them into the bushes, as well. He picked up their rifles and slung them over his shoulder. Their horses nervously trampled the ground. After removing cartridges from the saddle bags, he slapped the beasts on their rumps. They whinnied and rushed into the sinister, dark night.

Antoinette still stood rooted to the spot.

You have to be strong, my child, we do not have time to spare. The ship will not wait. I will ride beside you and be the lookout.

She braced herself and climbed into the carriage. She gave her trembling mother a brave smile and quickly gathered the blankets.

What are you doing, Antoinette? Come, you must be cold. Sit down and cover yourself; we must be on our way. Where is your father?

Antoinette looked into her mother’s eyes, trying to convey her frightened thoughts. She did not want to upset her brother. Maman, I’m going to sit up front with Papa.

Rachel nodded slowly. Antoinette saw understanding creep into her mother’s eyes as she seemed to realize what had happened.

Papa said it’s not far now, Maman, Antoinette said in a comforting voice. She bent over and kissed her mother. Little François was nodding off against his mother’s shoulder.

"Be careful, ma petite," Rachel whispered, her face wet with tears.

Antoinette hurried to the front and climbed up to where her father loaded the flintlock rifles. She settled on the bench and arranged her blankets around her before taking up the reins, remembering the last time she steered the carriage. She and her mother had gone to town and had tea with Chrestine and Madame Du Toit. It was such a happy day.

Here, Antoinette, her father said and pointed to a rifle between them. Use it when necessary.

Another flintlock lay on his lap and yet another was placed in the casing behind them. Antoinette’s eyes lingered on the weapon next to her. Even though she was an accomplished markswoman, she shivered knowing under what circumstances she’d be forced to use the weapon. She had never aimed a rifle at a human being. Again, she straightened her back and lifted her chin. I can do this.

With strong, determined hands she flicked the reins, encouraging the horses to trot.

François turned in his seat; his rifle at the ready. As Antoinette urged the animals into a gallop, she strained her eyes, inspecting shrubs and trees for any sign of movement or an ambush.

Without speaking, father and daughter rushed through the silent night, away from the enemy and toward a secluded little beach. They could not go to the closest harbor at La Rochelle because the big docks were swarmed with the King’s guard. Monsieur De Villiers, their good friend, had arranged for a boat to pick them up at a designated shore, far from the cities. The smaller boat would take them to a ship, waiting out at sea, bound for the Southern point of Africa. Although some excitement stirred within her, Antoinette wondered how it would be to start over in the unknown with only a few possessions and no friends or extended family.

We will be safe, she reminded herself. And we will be together and be free to practice our own religion.

Her mind whirled in turmoil. Just a week ago, she and her three best friends, Guenievre, Madelaine, and Chrestine were carefree and happy girls, looking forward to spending Noël with their parents at Château Sur La Mer in La Rochelle. Their only concern on that gorgeous winter’s evening had been to enjoy their last retreat at the château before they would be seen as adults. Their future seemed clear and defined. In the New Year, they were supposed to be tutored in social graces such as the art of conversation, dance, advanced needlework, a musical instrument, and a foreign language of their own choice. And Antoinette and Guenievre, being talented artists, would have been instructed on the finer points of painting. Then, after their mothers deemed them ready to be presented into French society, they would have been courted by well-matched suitors and eventually married.

On that last day together at Château Sur La Mer, the friends were sad because, as adults, with children and households to take care of, they would only see each other occasionally.

That was how our lives were supposed to be, Antoinette thought. Dear God, if only we had known how our lives were about to change and how different our futures were to be. She shivered when a sudden cross wind shifted her blankets. She held the reins in one hand and rearranged the covers around her legs with the other. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of her friends. They had gone to school together in Bordeaux where their parents met and became friends. Just like her own father, two of her friends’ fathers owned vineyards in Bordeaux. Guenievre’s owned the Vignes Beauchamp and Madelaine’s father owned the Vignes De Villiers. Chrestine’s father owned a silversmith shop, Silver Dieu Donne, also in Bordeaux.

We used to see each other all the time, she thought. Dinners at each other’s houses, and at church and school. Antoinette swallowed hard. All of that is now something of the past. What are they doing right now, she wondered. Did Chrestine and Guenievre and their families reach their destinations or are they still rushing through the night, as we are now? She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds in prayer. Cher Dieu. Please keep them safe.

Antoinette thought of Madelaine, who stayed behind in La Rochelle with her family, at the château. How sad she must have been celebrating Noël alone with her parents—we were supposed to all be together… She didn’t even try to stop the tears spilling onto her cold face. Madelaine, poor, kind-hearted Madelaine, she thought. We will never see one another again. What would have happened to us if Madelaine’s papa had not warned us about King Louis’s plans? Being Catholic, Monsieur De Villiers could have been branded for treason. She shook her head in silent terror. How could the King instruct his guards to destroy Protestant churches and schools? Mon Dieu! She urged the horses on with passion. Did he really instruct Protestant children to be removed from their parents to be raised by monks and nuns in the Catholic faith?

Everything seemed surreal to her. How could we be leaving France to go to Africa? Surely I am dreaming. But no, she reasoned with herself, Papa says the Dutch government has promised land to us in the Cape of Good Hope, in a valley called Oliphantshoek. Papa says this name meant Elephant’s Corner because herds of elephant roam the valley.

For a few seconds, her sadness and fear were replaced by a soaring feeling of adventure. The wind seemed cool and refreshing on her face. Africa. I’m going to live in a wild, untamed continent where elephants, lions, and giraffes roam the land. A place inhabited by strange animals and strange people. Hottentots. I have never seen people from other lands. What will they look like? What language will they speak?

Antoinette! Her father’s anxious voice interrupted her thoughts. I think we are being followed again. Quickly! Pull off the road behind those bushes.

Antoinette heaved the reins in at once. The carriage had barely stopped when François jumped off. The moon had risen and she watched in terror as her father knelt behind a bush close to the road, his flintlock rifle aimed and ready. She focused on her allotted task and climbed off the carriage and ran to where the horses trampled nervously.

Come Star, come Prince—come on my lovelies… she whispered reassuringly as she tugged them into the bush, as far as she could. She was glad to see the branches and leaves close in around the horses and carriage.

Antoinette walked to the window and whispered, Mother, extinguish the lanterns. Now, Antoinette knew they would not be seen unless someone specifically came to look for them. She returned to the front to calm the horses. The sound of thundering hooves grew louder. She caressed her horses’ faces, wet with sweat. There, there, shhhh… you are good boys…

Through the branches, Antoinette saw two riders in plain clothes coming into view. They were being chased by four soldiers. She wanted to close her eyes, fearing what she might see next, but they stayed open—transfixed on the scene. The soldiers quickly closed the space between them and the fleeing men, and as they did, they drew their swords. She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream as their weapons penetrated the two men. Their strangled shrieks echoed through the night as the men fell to the ground. Poor souls, she thought in horror.

The men’s horses reared up into the air and galloped off.

Antoinette could hardly breathe as she looked at the terrifying scene in front of her. Two soldiers dismounted; their bloodied swords still drawn. They were only a couple of yards from where her father knelt behind a bush.

If they look up in Papa’s direction, they will surely see him, she thought, her heart racing.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, Please dear God, keep Papa safe… please. She was also petrified her brother might make noise from inside the carriage.

They are dead, one of the soldiers said. Let us return. With that, the soldiers mounted their horses again, and sped off in the direction they came.

Heaving a rasping sigh of relief, Antoinette ran around to the carriage and opened the door.

Maman… François… she whispered.

We are fine, Antoinette, her mother said in a trembling voice. François is sleeping, thanks be to God. He slept right through it all. He must be exhausted. Your father, where is he?

Antoinette’s heart raced on hearing a rustling sound, but then relaxed when she saw her father.

François stepped into the carriage. Are you all right, my dear? he asked with concern clear in his voice.

We are… thank you, François, her mother said, sounding exhausted. How long until…?

This journey will soon be over, my dear, he assured her and kissed her cheek. He turned to Antoinette. I’ll wait up there to make sure no one else is coming. Get the horses back onto the road, quickly! He reached out and touched her cheek. You did well, my child.

He ran back to the road and Antoinette saw him drag the bodies into the bushes. For the second time that night, her father bowed his head over a body, probably saying a prayer again. Poor souls, she thought; they must have been heading for the same boat we are.

Antoinette turned the horses around, and when she reached the dirt road, François climbed on and they continued their journey. Although trembling, she tightened her grip on the reins, refusing to break down and sob over all she had witnessed. They traveled in the still of the night for some time before she broke the silence.

Papa, how could all of this happen? I do not understand.

François interrupted his surveillance of the road behind them and looked to his daughter. Antoinette was concerned over how exhausted he looked.

I do not have all the answers, my child, he said in a tired voice. People do things under false pretenses, sometimes even in the name of God. Often people in power, like the King, make decisions for selfish reasons that prove to be devastating to his subjects. François covered his daughter’s cold hand with his own. God does not sleep though, my child. He is watching over us.

François faced the road in front of them and whispered, We live and we die—not always knowing why things happen the way they do. But, we have to keep our eyes on the future and hope and pray God will grant us peace and prosperity in a new land.

He continued, I always suspected, as many others did, this day might come. Ever since the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, a hundred years ago, the Huguenots’ future has been uncertain in France. Even though King Henry issued the Edict of Nantes, granting us equality, we were scared history might repeat itself. Now, these fears have come true. King Louis has revoked this proclamation.

Antoinette heard immense sadness in his voice.

Even in the light of the full moon, it was difficult to determine where the road ended and the bush began. Antoinette mostly relied on the steeds’ senses to keep to the road. They traveled in silence for some distance with only the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the creaking of the carriage as it rocked from side to side. With her eyes on the road, she thought for the first time of all her parents endured—all they left behind—their precious home and so much more.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother on Sunday afternoons, sitting at her cherished harpsichord, which she inherited from great-grand-mama, playing Johann Sebastian Bach’s compositions. Antoinette loved the sharp sound of the metal strings that added clarity to the melodies. And Christmases at Château Sur La Mer. Antoinette thought with a sad smile. Mama playing a harpsichord and Papa his violin. The delicate sounds echoed through her mind as she recalled how she and her friends danced the slow, ceremonious and graceful steps of the minuet, dressed in their pretty ball gowns. However, Antoinette’s all-time favorite dance was the waltz… and especially waltzing to Johann Strauss’s Vienna Woods and the beautiful Blue Danue. Where she now sped through this unreal, terrifying night, she could hear the sounds of this composition echoing through her mind.

But all of that is gone now…

Visions of Vignes Lamphier surrounded by rolling hills drifted through her mind. Our beloved home… deserted now… void of life…

The moon was almost fully visible above the pine trees.

When next I see a full moon, I will be in Africa—if God so wishes…

Her thoughts returned to Vignes Lamphier, to her own bedroom—oh, how she loved it. From her window, she had a grand view of the vineyards and the mountains beyond. And her mother had decorated her room so beautifully. Antoinette adored the four poster bed with the lace curtains she inherited from her grandmother.

I will never enter my bedroom again, she thought. Never…

Then, she remembered the two new dresses in her closet, which her mother commissioned a seamstress in Bordeaux to make especially for her coming-out parties. One was made of shiny organza in the palest of blues which peeked through a lace skirt. The other dress, her favorite, was made of a sea-green silk. The color contrasted beautifully with her black hair. The skirt was gathered at regular intervals at the hem, revealing a stiffly starched lace under-skirt.

I will never wear them.

Her hand went to her neck where she felt a silver chain holding the unique peacock locket made by Monsieur Du Toit, Chrestine’s Papa. It had been his gift to the four friends on their sixteenth birthdays. Their birth dates were within two weeks of each other. Her hand closed around the locket. At least I have this… Chrestine, Madelaine, and Guenievre are wearing their lockets, just like I am. This knowledge gave her immense comfort.

François placed his hand on his daughter’s. Are you all right my dear? he asked. You look sad… I’m sorry you have to go through all of this… I…

"I am just thinking of home and all we… all you left behind. It must have been awful for you and Maman to leave Vignes Lamphier… to close… the front door… for the last time… Oh, Papa. It must have broken your heart. She swallowed hard before continuing. All the priceless furniture passed down in your families. Great-grand-mama’s harpsichord, your violin, the dining table, the four poster beds, all your precious things… and… oh Papa… the vineyard."

François turned around. "Of course it was difficult my child. But, Mama and I feel blessed. We could have lost you. You and little François are everything to us. God is good, ma petite. He provided a safe place for us to go to."

Suddenly, Antoinette noticed something in the distance. Papa! she called out. I think I see a light ahead.

A faint light moved from side to side and up and down, and then it went dark. A couple of seconds passed and then it became visible again.

That’s the sign, Antoinette. Thanks be to God. The sign of the cross. We made it.

Gratitude filled her whole being as she encouraged the horses to go faster. Her hands, which held the reins so steadfastly up to now, started to shake uncontrollably. With the end in sight, she felt her senses react to everything her body and mind had endured the last week. She swallowed back tears as her father’s hand closed over hers again.

You did well, my child. We are here.

Soon, she saw the white fluorescent waves washing onto the beach and the black silhouette of two rowing boats. She reined in the horses and came to a standstill close to the water. She climbed down and then had to grab on to the carriage because her legs felt weak.

Come, we must make haste, a man close to Antoinette said, making her jump. Mademoiselle, quickly, I will help you, he said to her in a hushed voice. We have to hide the carriage in the bushes.

Then, she saw the forms of three other men. One helped her father carry the trunks holding their few possessions to one of the boats. Another led Rachel to the water, carried her through the shallow water to a boat, and then went back for François Jr. The third man helped Antoinette lead the horses and carriage into a clump of trees and underbrush. She freed them and let her hands rest on them for a moment, stroking their hot, sweaty necks.

Star, Prince, I will never forget you. she whispered and then she slapped them on their rumps. Home, my lovelies, home…

The horses whinnied as if answering her and then galloped off into the night. She knew it was probably not possible, but prayed they would find their way back to where the servants would tend to them.

Antoinette, come, come… Her father’s whispers beckoned her to hurry. She was about to walk into the shallow waves when another man loomed in front of her. He swept her up and carried her through the knee deep icy cold water.

Thank you, sir, she said as the man deposited her into the boat and climbed in after her. Even before she sat down, the men started to row. A strong breeze blew in from the ocean and whipped the soft rolling waves into bigger ones. The men struggled to get the boat through the swells and the cold sea splashed over her. Her brother pressed closer to her and she wrapped her arms protectively around his small shaking body. Shush little one, we will be safe soon. Her heart ached for her innocent little brother and all he might still have to endure.

By the light of the full moon, Antoinette got a final glimpse of the pine forest bordering the sand. To her, it was heartbreakingly beautiful. This then is my last vision of my beloved France. Cher Dieu, cela ne doit pas être. Dear God, this cannot be. she whispered in anguish as the freezing wind blew her cloak’s hood off and whipped her black hair around until it clung to her tearstained face.

The distant sound of gunshots caught her attention. Four men on horses rode into view on the shore. They were coming straight for the water, firing their rifles. She could see sparks as they fired and urged their horses into the white-capped waves. Fear gripped her heart and her arms again tightened around her brother. He whimpered and buried his head against his sister’s chest. We will be fine, François. They cannot reach us now, she whispered in his ear.

Antoinette wasn’t so sure about her own statement and looked frantically over her shoulder, scanning the turbulent waters for the sailing ship. She sighed with relief when she saw the towering dark form looming close to their little boat.

We are safe. Antoinette closed her eyes and slumped forward over her brother. For now, we are safe. And then, excitement again bubbled through her fear and anxiety. Soon we will set sail for South Africa.

Chapter 1

Two Graves

Franschhoek, South Africa

February, Present Day

Annette stood under the flowering Jacaranda tree next to the freshly dug grave. The soil’s pungent scent mingled with the salty sea breeze blowing in from beyond the valley, through the Tassen Mountains. The fragrance stirred bittersweet memories within her—times she spent with her father and grandmother, working in Boschkloof’s extensive grape vines and gardens.

Her fixed eyes reverted from the hole in the ground, with the yellowwood coffin suspended above it, to the scene beyond. Boschkloof lay silent and serene in the late afternoon sun. The vineyard seemed to close in around the old homestead, as if to comfort it, as though it was aware of the tragedy that had struck its inhabitants, not once, but twice in such a short time.

It can’t be. It’s just a bad dream, Annette thought. Her mother, Miemie, whose shoulders shook with grief, stood next to her.

Annette’s gaze returned to the grave. She closed her eyes tightly. Perhaps all of this will go away—when I open my eyes I’ll know it was a nightmare. I’ll be in bed at home, and Dad will call out, as he always did when passing my door, Good morning Annette. Want some coffee? Those were his first words to her every morning—even on the day he was murdered.

Four terrible days had followed since her parents’ car-jacking in Johannesburg. Her father died the next morning. Honoring her husband’s wish, Miemie Lamphier arranged for his body to be flown to Cape Town to be buried in the family cemetery at Boschkloof in Franschhoek.

Annette returned to the present when she felt her mother’s cold hand close around hers. She opened her eyes and her hope that she would soon awaken from the nightmare was quelled. Nothing has changed, Dad was murdered and I’m at his funeral.

Mother and daughter stepped forward and each placed a white rose on the beautifully-crafted yellowwood coffin—a duplicate of the one in which Annette’s grandmother had been buried only two weeks before.

"Saggies en teer is die roepstem van Jesus… A strangled sob escaped Annette as the voices reached her, singing one of her father’s favorite hymns. Softly and tenderly Jesus calls to us…" Her knees almost buckled as her father’s coffin was lowered into the rocky, sandy earth. Frans Lamphier now joined his ancestors in the cemetery at the bottom of the hill, called Elephant’s View.

Oh Daddy. We still had so much we wanted to do together, so many memories to create. I can’t believe the past is now all I will ever have. Hate replaced the immense hurt she felt and pushed up inside her—for the carjackers—killing for a car. Stupid fools, bastards. Why kill? Why not just take the damn car.

The slight breeze awakened Annette from her dark thoughts and blew her long black hair up around her tear stained face. Her nails dug deeper into her skin. The pain felt good; she wanted to hurt.

Come, sweetie, her mother said next to her. We have to get back home. People will be arriving for dinner soon. God knows, I am not looking forward to it, but some have traveled far for the funeral, it is the least we can do…I suppose.

Annette hesitated. She wanted to stay a little longer. She wanted to say farewell to her father without the people and anger and hate that consumed her. She tried to clear her mind of negative feelings and remember the good times with him.

Gerhard Struwig, the Lamphier’s family lawyer, walked up to the two women. He hugged them and said, I’m so sorry, Annette, Miemie—Frans was a wonderful man and he will be sorely missed. He turned to Miemie, I’ll bring Annette home. I need to talk to her before she leaves tomorrow. Seeming to understand her hesitation to leave her father’s grave, he said, Annette, take your time. I’ll wait by my car.

Thank you, Gerhard, she said.

The vineyard’s crew, Kerneels, his wife Eva and their sons, stood at a respectful distance, waiting for Annette to leave so they could fill the grave. She appreciated both Gerhard’s and Kerneels’s kindness.

With Jonas, the housekeeper, and Leon, the vineyard manager at her side, Miemie walked to the Land Rover where Leon helped her in and closed the door.

Annette looked on as the vehicle disappeared in a dust cloud. She stood between her grandmother’s grave, with its wilting flowers, and her father’s burial site, where a mountain of fresh flowers waited. Annette knelt down in the dirt facing the open hole.

With her eyes on the coffin, she willfully cleared her mind of all the ugliness and pictured her father, mother, and herself, through the years. Their countless trips to the Kruger National Park—hours spent around late night camp fires, listening to the mad laughter of hyenas and the far-off roar of a lion. Times they sat at water holes as herds of elephant and giraffe made their way to the water. She recalled Ouma, her father, and she in the vineyard, sampling grapes to determine if they were ready to be harvested. And when they were at her parents’ vacation cottage in Hermanus, walking on one of the many beachfront trails, and standing barefoot in the sand, harvesting clams. Also, clear in her mind were hours spent sitting with her grandmother and father on the rocks overlooking Walker Bay, seeing whales as they breached in the distance.

Daddy, thank you for everything, you’ll always be part of me, love you forever…

She stood and dropped another rose down into his grave and watched as it landed on the coffin. Then, she put a rose on her grandmother’s headstone. The fresh rose contrasted sharply with the wilted flowers.

She turned around and saw Kerneels and his wife, Eva, coming toward her. Then, with heads bowed, they stood in front of her.

I’m sorry about the masta, Kerneels said in a quivering voice.

Yes, Mies Annette, Eva said. Your Pappie was a good man.

He appreciated you too, thank you.

The rest of Boschkloof’s workers, and their sons, joined Kerneels and Eva. Soon their voices filled the air as they sang traditional funeral songs while the men in the group shoveled dirt into the gaping hole.

Annette reached Gerhard where he stood waiting next to his car. She felt empty. I’m the only one left in my father’s family—the last Lamphier. She could still not comprehend fate’s cruelty in taking these two people who had meant the world to her, so close together.

Gerhard held the passenger door open. Once he settled in the seat next to her, he didn’t attempt to start the car. I need to discuss the future of Boschkloof with you, Annette… your future. Sorry I have to do this now. I was going to call you the week after your grandmother’s funeral and arrange a meeting to discuss your future, but then this happened. Gerhard patted Annette’s hand sympathetically. And now, you are here and I have to talk to you before you leave. It cannot wait.

Yes, I have to get back. Annette said as if in a daze. I’m working on a long and difficult case and more are waiting. It’s a very busy time for me. She hesitated and then continued in a halting voice, I was offered a partnership at Du Preez and Momberg the same day Dad was murdered. I never had a chance to tell him…

I’m sorry, Annette, but it’s wonderful about the partnership—congratulations. Your father would have been so proud. Gerhard looked at her thoughtfully, pressing his lips together, as if contemplating what to say next. You have decisions to make, my dear. You are now the only Lamphier left and the sole owner of Boschkloof. You would have been, even if this awful thing hadn’t happened to Frans. You would have inherited the vineyard regardless.

At first, Annette didn’t understand. Then, his words sank in and she looked past him at Boschkloof. The scene was now enveloped in an orange glow from the setting sun. Of course I am… That was the agreement between Ouma and Daddy.

Annette? Are you going to sell the vineyard? Your grandmother had several offers. Of course, she never wanted to part with it. Every time someone made her an offer, she saw it as an insult… his voice trailed off. You know how she was. Your father was going to discuss the situation with you. He never wanted Boschkloof, not any more than your mother, but he knew Nette would leave it to you, if you wanted it. He and your mother planned to keep on living in Johannesburg. He told me at your grandmother’s funeral that he could ask Leon to run the vineyard until you decide what to do. Did your father talk to you about this before—

Annette interrupted him. No, I guess he never got the chance to do that, and now he never will, she said in a shaky voice. I have been so busy—

Gerhard handed her a hanky and she dried her eyes before continuing. He told me he would like to talk to me about the future after I was done with this case—

I’m sorry, Annette… Gerhard said again. "I know this is a terrible time to discuss this, but I have to know. It’s your choice. And it’s understandable if you choose to sell, you cannot give your successful career up, especially not now that you were offered a partnership. No one can expect—"

Annette listened half-heartedly to Gerhard’s words. Her eyes were fixed on the scene at her father’s grave. Men were still shoveling dirt into it while the rest of the workers continued to pay tribute by singing another of her father’s favorite hymns, Blessed Assurance. The mournful song floated through the early evening…

"This is my story; this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long…

Even though her whole being ached with sorrow, she knew what her decision would be.

There isn’t a choice, Gerhard. I’ll never sell Boschkloof.

***

That night, after the funeral, in her darkened room in the old homestead at Boschkloof, Annette stared at the ceiling thinking about the dirt covering her father’s coffin. She fell asleep without realizing it and began dreaming.

She is in the back of her father’s Mercedes. There are no other cars on the road. Her father is at the wheel. Her mother sits next to him. Bob Dylan’s voice fills the car, singing her father’s favorite song. He sings