Finale on Love in The Heart
Timothy made sure he and Grace arrived at the courthouse well ahead of everyone else. Two plans had hit his mind the day Lina called Grace to invite them to the upcoming court hearing. The first: remembering how the magistrate spoke in a low, inaudible tone the last time, Timothy had decided he would do something about it.
He escorted Grace to the front bench, sat her on one end, and “booked” the rest of the bench by placing Grace’s bag, his shoulder bag, a diary, and other paraphernalia on the spaces between where Grace sat and at the other end of the bench where he placed himself.
“What are you up to?” Grace asked, puzzled. Her only preparation had been to dress decently and to be there, for her now good friend, Lina. She had no clue what to make of Tim’s weird actions.
“Marking our territory,” Timothy explained, smiling as he remembered how lions and other wild male types did. He wondered how he would go about fighting for this territory he had now marked out if another contender showed up.
Grace did a mock swirl of her right hand — Tim’s gesture of asking for more information. He understood. He threw an imaginary rock at her and scrunched up his mouth, contorting his face to form a growl, then smiled and explained, “Booking the entire front bench.”
Thankfully, no territorial disputes ensued. Jeremiah entered the courtroom shortly after with Lina and another tall man with a familiar face that Tim remembered from their previous appearance in court. He saw Tim, came to where he and Grace guarded the front bench, and greeted them warmly. Lina and Grace greeted each other with an embrace.
With the bench occupied Tim excused himself and stepped outside to await G.’s arrival, his second objective. He was keen to see her walk down the uneven path from the car park and descend gracefully down those steep set of stairs that had given her grief the last time, before her hip replacement.
G., her husband Dan, and their lawyer, came in one car. G. exuded regality, her presence accentuated by her traditional African head scarf adorned with vibrant colours and intricate patterns, the same one she had worn during Terry’s wedding. Even in the car, her posture radiated strength and confidence, Tim noted.
Dan, now embodying the essence of a responsible husband and real man, purposely stepped out of the driver’s seat, circled to the passenger side, and offered his hand to assist his wife exit the car. Together, the trio descended the stairs with ease and engaged in easy conversation. G. had fully recovered from her hip replacement surgery.
Tim observed the couple with a sense of satisfaction, having contributed to Dan’s rehabilitation. And also with a little sense of guilt, knowing that although he treated his wife well, the show he was witnessing now was a cut above his performance.
After exchanging pleasantries, Tim escorted the couple to the front row, relieved that he had secured seats in the crowded courthouse. Their lawyer led them all through the courtroom, his white wig evoking the aura of a spirited elder. The lawyer settled into his designated spot at the legal representatives’ bench.
The hum of conversation in the courthouse kept them from meaningful conversation. Dan sat at the edge of the bench, nearest to the wide aisle. Next to him, in order, sat G, Grace, Timothy, Lina, Jeremiah, and the tall, familiar man whose name Tim could not remember.
In lieu of talk, Timothy went over the facts of the case in his mind, which was quite straightforward, in his view. G.’s father had passed away interstate. Chege, G.’s elder brother, along with Jeremiah, had carried on with the management of the estate, informally, neglecting the legal procedures for succession.
Given G., Beth, and Lina were all married and thus distanced from their parental family, the potential consequences didn’t cross anyone’s mind. Then the unexpected happened; Chege died, unraveling a tangled web of complications. It turned out that Chege had a mistress, who somehow managed to obtain letters of administration for the estate of G’s brother and, by extension, the entire estate of the late Johana Macharia. G, as the now eldest surviving offspring of the late Johana Macharia, filed a suit against her de facto sister in law….
After being announced, a petite lady magistrate entered the courtroom through a side door, accompanied by a retinue of court officials. Instantly, the entire court rose in respect. With poise and authority in her demeanour, she made a slight bow (to whom? Timothy wondered), eliciting reciprocal bows from the wig-adorned lawyers at their bench, a colonial tradition whose relevance Timothy had never grasped. After this exchange of formalities, everyone took their seats. Despite her petite stature, the lady magistrate, sitting upright in her chair, commanded an authoritative presence over her court.
“In the matter of Johana Macharia’s Estate!” The clerk’s voice rang through the hushed courtroom as he handed a file to the magistrate.
G’s family lawyer rose from his seat, adjusting his wig as he scanned the room. The wood-paneled walls and lofty ceiling of the colonial-era courtroom lent an aura of gravity to the courtroom, as if the very architecture whispered, “This is serious business.” Meanwhile, sunlight filtering from the east through the grand windows valiantly attempted to brighten the dullness of the aged wooden furniture and the stern expressions of the assembled seekers of justice.
“This case came before me on the 30th of March earlier this year,” the lady magistrate stated, her tone low but authoritative and precise. “On that occasion, I suspended any previously assigned or asserted claims regarding the deceased’s estate and scheduled today for a comprehensive hearing of all claims by all bonafide parties —unless the claimants have reached a mutual agreement on the distribution of the estate.”
A hand shot up, redirecting the attention from the magistrate. It belonged to a woman, in her early 40s, by Tim’s judgment, clad in a sleek, tailored dress, the fabric hugging her curves. She had arrived late to the court and had rudely wedged herself onto the bench beside Dan where he sat at the front. Now, she rose and rapidly advanced toward the magistrate, her left side burdened by a sizable handbag slung over her shoulder.
“Madam!” the magistrate warned sharply. A male police officer stepped forward, attempting to intervene, but the elegantly dressed woman flung his hand away with disdain.
G.’s family lawyer gestured for the woman to take her seat, a fleeting expression of irritation crossing his features. Addressing the court, he declared, “The family is ready for the hearing, your honour.”
G. leaned towards Tim, reaching across Grace who sat between them, her hands gently resting on Grace’s lap for stability. “That’s the mistress,” G. informed Tim.
“We have not agreed!” The woman’s voice echoed across the courtroom as she stood before the magistrate’s bench, her arms raised in defiant protest.
“Order in court,” commanded the magistrate, her voice firm as she brought down her gavel on the wooden podium.
Another policeman walked over to the woman, the two, one on each side, ready to take orders.
“But we have not agreed!” She screamed again.
“Counsel!” the magistrate called out, her gaze stern as it settled on the family lawyer.
“Madam, the lady disrupting the court proceedings is the defendant. She is representing herself.”
“Madam!” The magistrate’s tone was firm yet empathetic, her eyes scanning the file before her. “Ms Chege, am I correct?” The woman nodded in confirmation.
“Court proceedings demand decorum,” the magistrate continued, her voice unwavering.
“They are stealing my late husband’s inheritance!” Ms Chege shouted, her voice raw with emotion.
The magistrate waited till after the woman let out a deep breath and pulled herself together. “Ms Chege, I assure you that you will express your concerns when your turn comes. We are here to address them, including your claim regarding your late husband’s inheritance.”
“They are stealing…” Ms. Chege started but the magistrate cut her short.
“That’s enough, Ms Chege,” The magistrate shouted back. “Listen to me very carefully now, and don’t interrupt me. In court you can speak — but during specific times and under certain conditions. You may speak when it is your time to speak, when addressed by the court, during examination, and when making submissions. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded, clearly cowed by the presence of the two police officers next to her and the unflinching delivery by the lady magistrate.
“And in all cases, you have to wait for the court to allow you to speak,” concluded the small woman with the authority of the law.
The lady nodded again.
“You will now sit down and wait for the plaintiffs to present their case before the court, and then you will have your day objecting or cross-examining them.”
As the policemen escorted the lady back to the seat she had previously occupied, there was another source of commotion behind Timothy. He turned and saw another raised hand by an older woman. When no one seemed to recognise her, she screamed, “I am Chege’s real wife!”
“Counsel,” the magistrate asked, “whose hand is that?”
“One of my clients, your honour,” the family lawyer responded.
“Then could you please control your client?” the magistrate ordered.
“Yes, your honour,” the lawyer acknowledged, walking over to the woman.
“It’s true. She is Chege’s real wife,” G. whispered, ostensibly to Timothy, again leaning over across Grace to convey the information. Uncomfortable, Grace leaned back to allow G. to come closer to Timothy.
The distraction obstructed Timothy long enough for him to miss the drama that ensued. The “real wife”, ignoring her lawyer, marched majestically to the magistrate’s bench, the way she had seen her competitor do, and dumped a pile of documents onto the large Meru oak table.
“What does this mean, madam?” Asked the magistrate.
“Proof of marriage!” Mrs Chege answered. “The other woman is an imposter!”
The first woman rose again. Several women police officers now intervened, physically restraining each woman separately.
“I apologize profusely, your honour,” the family lawyer pleaded, making a deep bow after returning to the position from where he could address the court.
“You had better figure out how to manage your disorderly clients, Counsel,” the magistrate replied. Then turning to the first of the two Ms Chege II, the magistrate ordered, “Step forward, lady.” And the police officers escorted her to the bench.
The lawyer stood up.
“Yes, Counsel?”
“I request that you ignore all those documents that were improperly presented to you….” he started, then noting the magistrate’s stern glare, stopped short.
“Counsel, are you interrupting me as I speak to the first defendant?” the magistrate interjected firmly.
The lawyer apologised and sat down.
G. leaned over to Timothy once more, supporting herself on Grace’s lap, and started speaking loud enough for others to overhear. Grace, ever gracious, again leaned backward to allow her to get her head closer to Timothy’s ear.
“That woman has been bribing her way in this case for years,” G. protested, her voice high.
“I heard you, lady,” the magistrate retorted sharply, “and I warn you that you are not only mistaken, but completely out of order!”
The magistrate stared majestically across the courtroom to make sure she was in control, then turned her glare to the family lawyer, “Counsel, is she also one of your clients?”
“Yes, your honour,” the family lawyer affirmed.
“My final warning: You had better manage the conduct of your clients,” the magistrate instructed firmly.
“Yes, your honour,” the lawyer assured, giving G. a stern look.
When eventually the lawyer was able to make his submissions, Timothy was amazed at how unfazed he was, despite the tough start. In Timothy’s view, the lawyer did a commendable job explaining the complexity of the case, particularly regarding the involvement of the late husband’s “come-we stay-accessory,” as he called her, sending the whole courtroom into uncontrolled laughter.
“Counsel!” The lady magistrate warned sharply, “I will not accommodate insults in my court.”
“I apologise, your honour,” the family lawyer smirked, satisfied for sending his point across, and shortly wound up his submissions.
As the magistrate began to announce the date for the defense, the disruptive Ms. Chege II abruptly rose from her seat. With unbridled fury, she charged forward, hurling her hefty handbag at the magistrate before any police officer could intervene.
Police officers stepped in, held her in their grips, and waited for orders.
“Listen, madam, you will be locked in and charged with contempt of court. But I have another piece of advice for you, Madam… Ms. Chege II,” the magistrate said sternly. “For the next hearing, I strongly suggest you get yourself legal counsel.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer, Madam,” Ms. Chege II replied. “All the properties I was getting rent from are now out of my hands!”
“Nonsense!” G. exclaimed loudly. “You have already sold most of my brother’s land….”
“Order, lady!” the magistrate shouted, her gavel coming down hard on her table. “Counsel,” she addressed the defense lawyer, “if this misconduct happens in my court again, I will hold more people in contempt — or throw out your entire case!”
***
They gathered for lunch in Beth’s cozy home. This time Tim noted how humbly the place was adorned, with low-budget furniture and bright coloured paints, yet exuding an inviting ambiance. Light green tablecloths adorned the sofas, their intricately crafted white lace embroidery adding a touch of elegance to the simply furnished room.
The food consisted of scrumptious chapati and stew, and aromatic Kenyan Pishori rice that filled the air with enticing aromas.
“Weh, wee…G.” Lina attacked her sister as soon as G. walked in. “For a moment in that court, I reckoned we were all going to jail!”
G. stared at her younger sister with an eye that communicated her displeasure without saying a word.
Just then, there was a loud kick at Beth’s metallic gate. That’s when Timothy became aware that he was the only man in the house. Apparently, Dan, Jeremiah, and the tall, familiar man had not joined them over for lunch at Beth’s house.
Stepping outside to investigate, Timothy was greeted by yet another forceful kick against the gate. The sound reverberated through the sturdy iron construction, amplifying it, while the echoing rebound resembled a harsh bell tolling in the distance. As he unlatched the gate’s walk-through door, it swung open violently, striking him in the face with unexpected strength. He reeled from the force of the blow and staggered backward and fell badly. Struggling to regain his footing, Tim vaguely saw the presence of the women: G., Grace, and Lina, who had rushed to his aid.
The woman responsible for the aggression walked in through the small opening, and stood defiantly, hands on hips, hurling insults. “You’ll never take what’s rightfully mine!”
Beth stepped forward, her demeanour firm as she addressed the unwelcome guest. “Please leave. This is my home.”
“I couldn’t care less,” MS Chege II screamed. “I’m not afraid of you!”
Timothy regained his focus, mustering his strength as he stood up unsteadily, his hand massaging the lump that had formed above his right eye.
“I’m okay,” he assured the women, moving towards Beth and the aggressor, determined to intervene.
“Step out, Madam,” he asserted calmly, “Your case will be best heard in court.”
“And who are you?” the woman challenged.
“A peacemaker,” Timothy replied. “A friend of this family.”
“And how come I have never seen you?” she questioned further.
“We can discuss that another day,” he deflected. “But for now, please leave.” As he spoke, he reached out to gently guide her towards the exit.
“You dare touch me!” she screamed, swinging the sizable handbag she had hurled at the magistrate. She struck Timothy squarely in the face, sending him to his knees once more. Despite the pain, he managed to cushion his fall with his hands, avoiding a head-on collision with the ground, and swiftly rose to his feet. As he staggered upright, he noticed G. advancing towards Ms. Chege II. Timothy tried to position himself between the two women. Their encounter had escalated into a fierce grapple, with an exchange of violence, and back-and-forth blows.
With swift action, Timothy positioned himself between them, using his body to create a barrier. Despite their attempts to reach past him, he succeeded in separating the women completely, ushering the violent woman out of the gate and securing it shut. Her bag lay abandoned on the ground.
As G. reached out to pick up the bag, Timothy extended his hand for it, intending to throw it over the gate, but G. shook her head adamantly.
“Throw it to her, then,” Tim suggested.
G. refused, her composure unwavering. “It will be our evidence in court,” she stated, revealing the bloodstains the bag had collected from Timothy’s face. Despite the altercation, G. was completely composed, a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded just moments before.
“My bag!” The woman screamed.
“Go to xxx,” G. screamed back at her. “How did you and your bag even get out of custody?”
Lina and Beth rushed to G., dragging their elder sister into the house, while Grace escorted Tim inside. Before they could settle down, another loud knock echoed at the gate. G. dashed towards the door, but Beth blocked her, positioning herself firmly against the closed door. Timothy cautiously stepped out, not quite sure how he would handle the woman. But overhearing men’s voices, he unlatched the walk-through door, mindful of his safety. Soon, Dan, Jeremiah, and a tall, familiar figure stumbled in, all intoxicated.
Tim stood frozen, grappling with the unbelievable reality of Dan’s relapse into the clutches of drunkenness. It took him a full minute to gather his thoughts before he could muster the strength to follow the trio into the house, where he found an all-out war.
“What!” G. screamed, her voice piercing the air in the small sitting room. “Dan! Dan! Is this you? Oh, God! How have we found ourselves back here?” She tore off her headdress, revealing her graying hair, suddenly looking aged and weary.
“Stop the drama, woman,” Dan slurred. “Can’t a man enjoy a reunion with his relatives—your relatives even?”
G. lunged at her husband, but Jeremiah intercepted, his towering frame providing a barrier. Despite his height advantage, she seized his head, twisted it, and sank her teeth into his ear, eliciting a pained yell. Beth rushed to intervene, but G. forcefully pushed her aside, sending her sprawling, then spat the blood she had drawn from Jeremiah’s ear onto his face.
“You, Jeremiah! How dare you drag Dan back…”
“Why?” Jeremiah cut her off rudely, one hand clutching the ear she had bit, the other wiping off the blood she had spit on his face. “Is Dan a child?”
“How dare you?” G. shouted back, her desperation evident in her short, sharp gasps.
Grace soothed G., guiding her to sit down and enveloping her in a comforting embrace until she regained her composure.
“Beth, please show Dan somewhere to lie down,” Grace instructed. Dan obediently followed Beth to an inner room. With a wink from Grace, Lina led Jeremiah out of the house. The tall man, Mwangi, followed them.
When Beth and Lina returned to the sitting room, Grace took charge.
“We have a situation to manage,” she began. “And a very wounded heart to heal — yours, G.”
G. looked up, nodding like a small girl, her head still nestled against Grace’s chest.
“When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’” Grace was quoting from the New Testament, Tim knew. But he was surprised by her calm demeanour.
“Jeremiah and Mwangi are the evil spirits,” Lina offered, playfully mimicking horns on the temporal points of her head to emphasize her point.
“No, they are not,” Grace interjected. “They are also lost, enslaved by sin, needing salvation.”
“Which is available by God’s grace,” Tim added softly.
“But Dan just keeps sinking back into the same pit,” G. lamented, trying to make sense of the terrifying adversity that had befallen her… “He had overcome alcoholism, only to fall back in with the same crowd who introduced him to it in the first place.”
Tim hadn’t realized that it was through Jeremiah, G.’s brother, that Dan had initially started drinking. Through the court case, he had also become aware of the questionable morality of G.’s late elder brother, Chege. It was a complexity he hadn’t anticipated within the family of the woman he had admired… How would his life have panned out had he married into this family…? Or perhaps, for G…. He cut himself short, remembering Grace’s words to him not long ago…. It wouldn’t have panned out any differently… The Lord had led his steps… “I am glad the Lord ordered my steps to you,” he had told her. He had meant it. He meant it more now.
Dan entered the sitting room at that moment. G. would have erupted, but Grace extended her hand, and he came to her, head bowed like a naughty boy, and sat beside her. Tim felt a surge of pride for his wife.
“While you were away, Dan,” Grace explained, “we agreed that we must guard against your backsliding back to where you were just months ago,” Tim explained.
“But he is already back in the mud!” G. exclaimed.
“No, he is not,” Grace corrected gently. “He stumbled today. Let’s ask him whether he…”
“Tell him God helps those who help themselves!” G. interrupted.
“That’s not accurate,” Tim corrected her. “It’s not in the Bible.”
“God helps those who reach the end of themselves,” Grace clarified.
“I need God’s help,” Dan admitted. “I can’t help myself!”
“That’s fantastic!” Grace affirmed him. “When we confess our sins, the Lord is faithful and just, and His blood cleanses us from all sin.”
G. helplessly scratched at her hair, casting sideways glances at her husband as she sat beside Grace, tears streaming down her face. Meanwhile, Beth and Lina had occupied themselves in the kitchen.
They stayed till late in the evening after Grace had obtained assurances from Dan that he wouldn’t relapse. They had called the couple’s pastor and obtained an assurance that he’d stand with Dan and G. as they fought off the influence that was dragging Dan back into the mud….
Tim had observed his wife skillfully manage the messy situation, and he couldn’t help but reflect on the immense support she had become to these individuals he had inadvertently involved her with. He felt a mix of guilt for subjecting her to the crisis and gratitude for having her by his side.
As they parted with the family Grace whispered to G. “We will be praying with you. And I will call you every day. And come over whenever you need me.”
They got to the sharp ascent of the Rift Valley in utter darkness. Timothy nostalgically remembered the last time they’d climbed this hill, earlier in the day then; how the setting sun had shot out beautiful rays that danced back at their eyes through the car’s side mirrors.
“You managed the situation superbly, Grace,” he said to his wife.
“Thank you for letting me,” she replied.
“Me? How so?”
“They are…were…your friends,” she tried to explain.
“From the past,” he said, remembering how he had explained G.’s family to Grace.
As Timothy spoke, clarity lit up in his mind. He saw clearly how the Lord had orchestrated their life’s journey, despite or through his warped fascination with a childhood connection. The Lord had bided time for many years and grown Tim and Grace so that, together, they would be available to G.’s family in this time of their great need.
He reached out to pick up his phone from the centre stack.
“May I help?” Grace intervened, in line with their no phone manenos while driving.
“Yeah,” Tim said. “I am thinking of a hymn.”
Grace snatched up the phone and launched Spotify, “Which hymn?” She asked, her finger hovering over the Search interface.
“He makes all things beautiful…” he started and she finished “…in His time.”
What a ride! We’ve witnessed characters stumble, evolve, repeat mistakes, and evolve again. We’ve learned that relationships endure trials, and the series had tried to showcase life authentically. Life isn’t tidy; it’s a fluctuating journey, but our connections and relationships help lighten the lows and enhance the highs, no matter how imperfect they may seem.
Share your thoughts on the finale, or the series as a whole. I would love to hear your thoughts.
If you didn’t catch the last installment, here you go: Grace Wrestles With The Dry Rose Saga – PART 1
Grace Wrestles With The Dry Rose Saga – PART 2
Disclaimer: All characters, locations, and events depicted in this blog post are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is purely coincidental. This work is created for entertainment purposes only and does not intend to portray real individuals, organizations, or occurrences
Haron Wachira 