Page 38 of Love in the Wild

“Papa!” the girl shouted. A door opened from the small home they were now in front of. A tall man in cargo shorts and a faded polo shirt approached them. He was a handsome man in his late forties with kind brown eyes.

The child giggled and pointed at the man. “Bwanbale!”

“Are you Mr. Bwanbale?” Eden asked.

“Mister?” The man chuckled. “I am Bwanbale Apio.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was your first or last name.” Eden’s face heated with embarrassment.

“Do not apologize.” Bwanbale looked her over, and Eden knew her appearance must be a dreadful sight. Her clothes were torn and covered with dried blood.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but a mutual friend said you could help me.” Eden felt a sudden urge to cry. God, she was so not a crier, but the memory of watching everyone die around her was catching up with her again. It had been easy to bury those memories while she was with Thorne, but now that she was in civilization again, it all came screaming back to her.

“A mutual friend?” Bwanbale asked.

The girl still held Eden’s hand as she watched this exchange, and she squeezed Eden’s hand in silent support.

“Yes. Thorne.” She said his name quietly, and Bwanbale’s eyes widened.

“Please, come inside.” He gestured to the house he’d just exited. “Dembe, come.” The girl grinned at Eden, let go of her hand, and rushed on ahead of them.

Eden followed Bwanbale inside his home. A woman who appeared to be a little older than Eden was in a small kitchen area cooking over a pot. It smelled good, and Eden covered the rumble from her stomach with an embarrassed smile. Bwanbale smiled at her.

“Afiya, we have a guest. This is ...” He waited for her answer.

“Eden Matthews.”

“Welcome, Eden. This is my wife, Afiya, and this one is Dembe, our daughter.” He nodded at the child, who Eden had guessed was six or seven.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said to Afiya. Dembe was almost bouncing with the excitement and energy that all children seemed to be blessed with at that age.

“Please sit. We will eat soon.” Bwanbale pointed to a pair of chairs on a red-and-white patterned rug with a small coffee table between them.

Eden chose the closest chair, and Bwanbale sat across from her. Dembe climbed onto her father’s lap, and he held the girl with a gentleness that made Eden’s heart swell. She could see why Thorne liked this man.

“I see from your appearance that you have been through much. Please, tell me what happened.” Bwanbale set his daughter down and spoke to her softly in Swahili. She nodded and went to join her mother in the kitchen. Then Bwanbale leaned forward. He seemed to hold a universe of patience within him that gave her some of her own serenity back, and the courage to relive what she wished she could bury away forever. She could see why Thorne had such trust and affection for this man.

She told him everything. When she was done, he asked, “These men who killed the guides and tourists, what did they look like?”

“Some were men with English accents—from England, I mean, not America. The others were Ugandan, I believe.” She did her best to describe them in detail. So much of what had happened was still locked in her memory and only emerged as wild flashes.

“And Thorne killed them all?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s all still a blur.” Eden’s head was aching now as the panic and fear of those moments came back with the retelling of her story.

“We must get you to Kampala tomorrow. I can take you. The police must be informed. I can also take you to the embassy there.”

Eden sagged in relief. “Thank you.” She’d been tense ever since Thorne had left her, and now she felt she could finally relax.

Afiya came over with two plates in her hands. She gave the first to Eden and the second to Bwanbale. Then she and Dembe gathered their own plates. Dembe sat down on a cushion on the floor, and Afiya collected a third chair from the kitchen to join them.

“I mademuchoma, which is roasted chicken, andmatoke, a green plantain,” Afiya explained.

“Thank you, Afiya.” Eden was never so glad in her life to see meat and cooked food. She had enjoyed eating the celery, nuts, and mangoes Thorne had provided, but she’d had too much of that in the last few days.

Bwanbale explained Eden’s situation to his wife, and Afiya put a protective arm around Dembe as she gaped at her husband.

“The jungle is dangerous,” Afiya said solemnly. “And not usually because of the animals.”

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