In Mzamo’s village, the people had stayed up late, making their guests feel welcome even though they had arrived uninvited. The children had all been a joy, rushing about with excited faces and a thrum of activity until the adults got them to settle down. There were enough villagers who had a workable knowledge and control of the English language to communicate with her, and Tamsin had been exceedingly grateful.

She had more knowledge of conversational phrases in Afrikaans, as much of her communication had been with those who spoke that language, but in Mzamo’s village, the Zulu spoke their own language.

Still, where there was a will and open hearts, communication thrived. The women lent her clothes and two sisters had taken her to their home when it was time to turn in, but it had been over an hour before they fell asleep to soft laughter and their makeshift conversation.

The next morning, as they were leaving the village it seemed that all the children had slept well and were out in force. They all wiggled forward to the front of the group to touch her hand or get a hug and even though she had only been there for less than twenty-four hours, she felt as if she was leaving a part of herself behind in the village.

“Hey,” Magheli nudged her shoulder, “having second thoughts about heading off into the wild with a reprobate like me?”

She looked up at him with a crooked smile. “Sounds like you’ve been listening to Mzamo.”

He shook his head. “His daughter. She has quite the vocabulary when she’s mad.”

That was telling. “And you’ve had a few occasions to make her mad, huh?”

His smile wavered a bit, but his eyes flashed with humor. “I feel like we’re old friends. You know me so well.”

“No,” she shook her head, “but I think you’re the kind of guy who can really get under someone’s skin.”

“Are we talking about your friend Donal?”

“No.” She climbed into the jeep and waved at the shifting mass of children as they retreated from the vehicle. “We are not talking about him.”

“Hmm.”

He started the engine and waved at Mzamo. The older man waved at both of them and then retreated into his home.

Leaning toward Tamsin, Magheli lowered his voice to something like a whisper. “Well, then you better figure out something to talk about, it’s going to be quite a drive.”

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. “And they say women like to talk too much.”

Magheli looked at her and then turned back to look out through the windshield. “I know why Mzamo likes you so much.”

She leaned her arm on the open window frame in the side door and turned her head to look at him. “Why? What’s that?”

His smile had a tight twist at the corner of his mouth. “You remind me of his daughter. Heaven help Donal when you find him.”

“Why would you say that?”

Reaching over to the center console, Magheli pushed a button on the stereo and waited for the first few notes of the song to start before he answered her question.

“Because, I think he’s in real trouble, Miss Ellery. You’re going to turn him inside out.”

She laughed and felt a good amount of tension bleed from her shoulders. “You know what, Magheli? I think you and I might get along after all.”

Tamsin saw him wince.

“Why do I feel like that might be a curse instead of praise?”

“Ha!” Her laughter was full and free. “Now, I know we’re going to get along. So, tell me, how did you meet Zenzile?”

He groaned and shook his head. “Can we just sit in silence?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but no. You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Not about my trouble. I wanted to hear about yours.”

It sounded like the beginnings of a decent argument. “Fine,” she sighed. “We’ll start with yours first.”