Free A Sahib's Daughter by Nina Harkness Page B

behind.”
    Mortified, Samira ran out of the room without a word and looked at herself anxiously in the mirror. Yes, she was huge. There was no question about that. She changed into one of her old dresses and returned to the verandah.
    “Why did you change?” asked Ramona. “There’s no need to be so sensitive.”
    Yes, she was too sensitive. Whatever she did was wrong. But she didn’t know how to be better, no matter how hard she tried. Samira felt the knot inside her tighten. Her mood and self- confidence shaken, she didn’t feel like going out any longer. But she didn’t want to incur Ramona’s wrath, so she climbed into the car, massive and ungainly.

    Charles’ promotion to Burra Sahib necessitated the Clarke family’s moving from the Chota to the Burra Bungalow, previously occupied by Greg and Lorna Moorhead. So what would normally have been an occasion for celebration was bittersweet for the families who had spent so many happy years together. Despite their huge pay rise and elevated status, Charles and Ramona mourned the loss of good friends and neighbors.
    The Moorheads were not the only ones leaving. British Tea Companies were hiring local managers who were proving to be as capable, if not more so, than their British predecessors. They spoke the language and instinctively understood the culture of the labor force. They were also far cheaper to maintain. There were no expensive flights to and from the United Kingdom and greatly reduced re-location and medical costs.
    The person who was most apprehensive about the Clarkes’ move was Ramchand. He knew that Jetha the bearer, Kala the driver, Mohammed, the Muslim cook and, of course, Didi, were all moving with the family to the Burra Bungalow. He would never find another Memsahib like Ramona. She had cooperated with him in every way, allowing him all the fertilizer and seeds he needed. She had understood that it was not his fault when the entire rose garden was attacked by red spiders. And although she had ranted and raged when they lost a section of lawn when he inadvertently mistook weed killer for fertilizer, she accepted his inability to read the English writing on the packaging. He would have done anything for her. He was going to greatly miss her and the babas. Nothing would have made him happier than moving to the Burra Bungalow and working with Mohan, the head gardener there. It was hurtful that they had not even considered taking him along. Each day, he went to work hoping to be called by the Memsahib and be told that he was going with them.
    His house, where he lived with his wife Usha, was in a cluster of weather-beaten, thatched huts made of bamboo and clay. It was always cool and dark inside their home because of the bamboo thicket in the back yard that shielded it from the sun. Fronds of an old banana tree obscured the house from the laneway that led to the water pump. He went home to Usha every evening and gloomily told her that he had not heard anything that day. But she didn’t need to be told. She could gauge his mood by the way he dragged his feet and bowed his head. The day of the move was rapidly approaching, and he moped about the garden, wondering what the new assistant manager would be like.
    Finally, one afternoon when he was supposed to be at work, Usha heard Ramchand’s footsteps racing up the path. She ran to meet him and saw him joyfully waving a piece of paper. The Memsahib had finally called for him. He was going to the Burra Bungalow with the Memsahib! And not as under-gardener, they wanted him to be their head gardener! His black eyes shone, and Usha caught her breath with happiness for him. The reason they had not said anything to him before, he told her, was because they knew that Mohan was thinking of leaving, and they wanted to be sure first. He was the happiest man in the world.
    She didn’t tell him that she had bled all day. He hadn’t even known that she had missed her last two periods. She had waited to tell him