The Monster's Daughter by Michelle Pretorius

especially when she looked out the window at the burned-out ruin of the small farmhouse in the distance, convinced that she could see someone there, especially at twilight. Andrew said it was her imagination, that ghosts didn’t exist. There was only the Holy Ghost, and he would never harm her.
    Every night they lit a candle so Andrew could read out loud from the Bible. He had taught Tessa how to read a long time ago and she could recite every word. She didn’t know how she did it, but things seemed to stick in her memory like small insects to a spider’s web. When she closed her eyes, she could even remember the color of the blanket Sarah had wrapped her in as she carried Tessa to the British camp. Sarah’s heart had beat frantically against Tessa’s ear as the soldiers interrogated her before they sent for Andrew. Sarah now recalled it as a happy day, but Tessa only remembered the fear.
    Tessa also had an easy time learning languages. Sarah spoke Sotho to her, and Andrew spoke English, and the workers on the farm spoke that Dutch language they sometimes called Afrikaans. She understood all three. Tessa didn’t know what the people in town spoke, though. Andrew had never taken her or Sarah along when he went to buy supplies or sell sheep. He said it’d be better for them to stay on the farm. But Tessa was curious. She wondered if there were children like her in town, or anywhere for that matter.
    The river was still flooded, so Tessa ventured down the dirt path that hugged the mountain and into the underbrush, trying to decide what she was going to do with her afternoon of freedom. She had never ventured up the mountain by herself. Andrew sometimes tookher out with him on the farm if she was good. He once showed her how to make coffee in a tin can in the veld with dam water so you didn’t get sick, and another time, he’d pointed out which berries were good to eat. Recently, when it was almost time to go home, he showed her an old lookout in the mountain, all grown over with branches, the red walls crumbling in places. Andrew said it was used in the war and that the British stuck their guns through the tiny windows to fire on the Boers. Tessa had heard him speak proudly of glory days and battles before, but his voice grew soft that day as he talked. “You’re old enough to know the truth,” he said.
    Andrew explained to her that the British invaded because they wanted the country’s gold. He also told her about the Boers shooting their own people if they thought they were traitors, how pride made them refuse to give up, how many women and children died in camps from disease and starvation, and how black people like Sarah suffered, treated badly by both the British and the Boers. He had dropped his head in shame as he talked about what people were capable of doing to each other. “Remember, Theresa, we all have bad and good in us. Don’t only surround yourself with people who think like you. Listen to everybody before you decide what is right.”
    Tessa ventured farther up the mountain, wondering if she could find the lookout again. Small moths and other insects flew up as her steps disturbed their hiding places. There was a faint smell of smoke, which grew stronger as the workers’ wives started cooking evening meals. Tessa’s own stomach rumbled in response. She climbed on top of an enormous tree trunk that blocked the path, taking note of the scorched parts at the base where it had snapped. Lightning was common in the mountains, the spring storms particularly bad. Her foot caught as she jumped down the other side, propelling her face-first into the mud. Tessa opened her mouth to cry, tears already blurring her vision. Her Sunday dress was ruined. Sarah would be so mad.
    â€œHey you,
sharrap
.” The urgent whisper came from close by.
    Tessa blinked hard to clear her vision, the high-pitched distress call halted mid-vowel. On the other side of the