Almost as though suddenly possessed, Cindy marched her way out of the gate carrying the shovel in her hand. That day, only the mother and father were at home. They called on her, asked where she was off to and even tried running after her. She was far away now. They returned home and called Ben. He promised them that he was on his way.
He had taken over his brother’s company since his death. He was currently in meetings finalising his ownership of the company. It was his dream to inherit the company, but their father had given it to Nkule. Since, he was the preferred. However, now that Nkule had died, Ben had no competition anymore. He could take the company just as easily.
The meeting was very important to him, but so was Cindy. He heard that she had left the house with a shovel—he dreaded even guessing what she was up to with a shovel in her hand. His worry over Cindy succeeded his desire for the company. He would probably set up another meeting next time to finish signing the papers. Ben excused himself. He ran off.
When he heard she went off with a shovel, his best guess was that she had gone to the cemetery. That was where he found her. She continuously hit her shovel on the tombstone written, In loving memory of Nkule Barnet Abrams. She was sure that she was digging. She wanted to pull him out so that she could be with him again. She wept through the process. He showed up behind her, “Cindy!”
She heard Ben’s voice. On a scale of ten, his voice weighed six times as close to that of Nkule’s. When she heard his voice, she felt her anger weigh down. She was happy, she tossed away the shovel when he covered her in his arms and she continued to sob. She let him carry her to the car.
They drove a short distance and they were home. They found the mother and the father waiting eagerly for them. Ben opened her door and she stepped out of the car. He reached for her hand but, “Don’t touch me,” she pulled off and went straight into the house. They asked him what happened and he filled them in.
The elders met again to discuss things further. “Remember it is a custom when a man dies and leaves his wife behind. And they have no child, his unmarried brother should marry his widow.”
They nodded among themselves admitting that the rule was not new to their ears. They found common ground. They agreed that, “Since, Ben seems to show so much care for her he should marry her.”
It was a couple of weeks’ time that Cindy was stripped off her black fabrics. She was a Mrs Ben Abrams now. No-one cared about what she had to say, they convinced themselves that they were doing the right thing.