Three months after our first trip to the Drimolen site, Riaan and I were sharing sleeping quarters because one of the visiting experts needed somewhere to sleep. I’d offered up my tent, much to Riaan’s surprise, but it didn’t feel like too much of a sacrifice. I felt safe with him and we’d steadily been getting closer. He’d been so patient with me and I wanted to thank him by showing him that I trusted him.

When we slipped into our sleeping bags that night, each of us cocooned in our own individual one, I told myself to relax. I still had all my clothes on, plus there was a barrier of fabric between us. I had no reason at all to feel scared. Riaan flicked the switch on the camping light secured above us and the darkness rushed in to fill the void. We lay motionless for a few moments and then Riaan reached out to me, feeling for my hand. He squeezed it once and then turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

“It’s been a good day,” he said, sighing happily.

“Yes, it has.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” And I was. I loved watching him on the site, where he was in his element. It fascinated me the way he came alive there among all those dead things.

Riaan cleared his throat, and as I turned my head toward him, he bent down and kissed me. It was nice at first and I liked the sensation of his goatee tickling my face, but then he leaned in farther and it was the pressure of his shoulder against my chest that made my breath catch in my throat. I tensed up, my eyes wide with fright, and Riaan froze before pulling away.

“Delilah? Are you okay?”

I wasn’t, but that wasn’t his fault. It was because of what had happened all those years before.

•   •   •

Saying goodbye to my family when I left for the convent in January of 1955 had been easy. I wish it hadn’t, as that would’ve shown some degree of feeling but all I’d felt was relief. Saying goodbye to Riaan the night before had been much harder and my eyes were still puffy and tender from the tears I’d cried throughout the night. I told myself that I was all cried out and that’s why I didn’t have any tears left in me.

We were all standing on the veranda. Father Thomas had already said his goodbyes, shaking my father’s hand and patting my mother’s shoulder, while giving a wide berth to Ruth, who’d stepped forward to hug him. He was sitting in his Plymouth Fury to give us some privacy.