Heart of the Cross

by Emily Madden

  ‘It’s Good Friday,’ she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. ‘Catholics always fast on Good Friday.’ Then she turned to Tom. ‘I thought we could head to St Columbkille’s for midnight mass tonight.’

  ‘Mass?’ Doug let out a mighty guffaw, as if it was a foreign concept. ‘The only mass we’ll be heading to is that being held at Saint Piccadilly.’

  ‘You’re going to the pub? On Good Friday?’

  Tom merely sent her a look that said she was foolish to think otherwise.

  And it seemed that he was right. Rosie foolishly had thought that the pub would be closed today, but it seemed that the Blue Laws didn’t apply to Kings Cross. So, while her husband was drinking the night away, Rosie took their son to St Columbkille’s in Woolloomooloo. Jimmy was fast asleep five minutes into the service, his tiny body resting against her chest, his weary head heavy on her shoulder.

  ‘Hello, darl,’ Rosie heard Floss’s distinctive voice as she slid into the pew next to her wearing a deep-plum dress with black chiffon piping along the neckline and cuffs. Floss had teamed it with a dusty-pink silk scarf with tiny black diamonds that she had tied in a pretty bow on the side. It was a beautiful accessory and it did well to hide her Adam’s apple. On her hands she wore kid leather gloves the same shade as the scarf. Her handbag was also pink, albeit a shade or two darker than the scarf and gloves.

  ‘Hello,’ she whispered back and swept an admiring gaze over her outfit. By Floss standards, it was tame, but in comparison to Rosie’s navy dress and tweed coat, it was sensational. She could see a few of the parishioners casting curious glances in their direction, no doubt wondering if Floss was a woman or a man. Rosie knew that it was illegal for a man to be dressed as a woman, but the Cross being the Cross, the vice squad tended to overlook certain things—as long as you were willing to compensate. The Cross tolerated what the rest of Australia would not. But then again, they were in a church, and not all seemed to share that sentiment. To her credit, Floss either didn’t care or ignored the leering glares and the boorish behind-the-hand whispers from those around them.

  ‘I take it Tom’s at the pub?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rosie pursed her lips, hoping Floss wouldn’t say anything else on the matter. It was a sore point. Why couldn’t Kings Cross close down for the weekend? It was one of the holiest events on the Christian calendar, after all. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t the Cross’s fault, nor was it the Piccadilly’s. It was her fault for not being strong enough to tell Tom how she really felt about his behaviour.

  ‘You’re planning to leave the boy with the Hawkins woman and go to church in the middle of the night?’ he’d asked incredulously.

  ‘No. I’m taking Jimmy with me.’ She had hoped that would be enough to suggest they would go together, but it seemed not.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He’d shrugged.

  And that had been the end of it.

  ‘How’s your ankle?’ Floss’s question interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Much better, thanks … How’d you know about my ankle?’ Rosie hadn’t seen Floss since the morning of her fall. She figured that she must’ve seen Mrs Hawkins. After fleeing Maggie’s Diner, she’d arrived at Mrs Hawkins’s only to discover that Jack had called her to let her know what had happened. She felt foolish for not realising herself that Mrs Hawkins had a phone. Then again, she lived next door, and Rosie had never had the need to call. If she needed something, she went around.

  ‘No, it wasn’t Mrs Hawkins, and before you ask, it wasn’t Mary either, although I did see her this afternoon and she elaborated on it, too.’

  ‘Who was it, then, and what do you mean by Mary elaborated?’

  ‘Well, I was at Aurelian’s the other day, and it was there, as he was holding a freshly baked long baguette, and you know how much I adore a long baguette, especially one that’s Aurelian’s.’ Floss wiggled her perfectly manicured brows suggestively and Rosie sighed.

  ‘So it was the Frenchman, then.’

  ‘Aha, he told me the whole story. How your shopping bags broke and all your goodies went flying in every direction.’ Floss flung out her long arms to demonstrate, much to the displeasure of those sitting around them.

  ‘It wasn’t so much every direction, more like on the ground and onto the road.’

  ‘And then how the sexy American came galloping across the road to rescue you.’

  ‘He didn’t gallop, Floss, he’s not a horse,’ Rosie corrected. ‘And he didn’t rescue me. I’d already fallen. He simply helped to get me off the ground.’

  ‘Ah, but then he took you to his castle, I mean diner, and tended to your foot.’

  ‘Because he was a medic in the war and his diner was across the road, directly from where I fell,’ Rosie stated.

  ‘Ah yes, he was in the army.’

  ‘Jack was in the air force, not army.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Floss nodded. ‘He was a pilot; how could I forget? They wore those gorgeous leather bomber jackets.’ Trust Floss to turn the conversation to fashion.

  ‘He was there, he helped, it was appreciated. End of story.’

  ‘And you think he’s sexy.’ Floss smirked and Rosie gasped.

  ‘I do not!’ she said indignantly. ‘Watch your mouth, Floss! We’re in the house of God.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do. You were quick to correct me on his military background, and yet you didn’t correct me on his sexy status, which can only mean one thing.’

  Rosie opened her mouth to refute the claim when Floss said, ‘And before you lie, I’ll have you remember we’re in the house of God.’

  Rosie stared at Floss, her mouth agape. ‘I’m a married woman,’ she whispered with more than a hint of melancholy in her voice.

  Floss sighed heavily and squeezed her hand.

  ‘You didn’t say what Mary elaborated on.’

  ‘She told me how he delivered the groceries when you left them behind. I mean where was your head at, darl? The man went and replaced everything and you forget them?’

  ‘I was rushing to get back to Jimmy,’ she said by way of defence.

  The service concluded and Rosie groaned as she stood, her arms sore and stiff from the weight of holding her sleeping child. Jimmy stirred but quickly resumed his deep slumber. ‘I swear, he gets bigger every day.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ Floss held out her arms. ‘It’ll give you a break.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully as she transferred Jimmy into Floss’s arms.

  ‘I might as well make use of my supposed manliness,’ Floss deadpanned and Rosie chuckled as she rubbed her aching muscles.

  The night was cold and clear. Shrugging off her coat, Rosie covered Jimmy as they made their way north on McElhone Street towards Nesbitt Street, then onto Harnett and Brougham. ‘I’ll carry him up,’ Rosie said as they approached Butler Stairs.

  ‘Have you lost your marbles?’ Floss squeaked. ‘Your ankle won’t make it up those steps; there’s over a hundred of them.’

  ‘Floss is right.’ There was a voice from behind and they both yelped with fright. But even before Rosie turned, she knew whom the voice belonged to. ‘Your ankle won’t be able to handle those stairs with or without weight.’ Jack stepped out into the silvery light of the moon peeking through the branches of the plane trees. Even in relative darkness, the curves of his handsome face were as clear as day.

  ‘Hello, Captain Reid,’ Floss drawled. ‘What brings you out in the witching hour?’

  ‘I was just about to ask you both the same thing. Two young women roaming the streets of the Cross unchaperoned. These are dangerous times.’

  Floss giggled and Rosie felt a smile tug at her lips. Captain Jack Reid certainly was likeable. He was a smooth talker—that was for sure. ‘We were at midnight mass, at St Columbkille’s,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Father Michaels always gives a superb service.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were Irish Catholic,’ Rosie said with surprise, wondering how it was she didn’t notice
Jack was part of the congregation.

  ‘My father’s family came from Galway, my mother is Welsh, but my gran always took my brother and me to church back home.’

  ‘In Kansas?’ she asked, recalling he had mentioned the city, or was it a state? The only thing she knew about Kansas was from The Wizard of Oz. Hurricanes, small dogs and a girl with a penchant for killing witches.

  ‘No, I’m from Bend, Oregon. It’s a logging town.’

  ‘Some say the Cross is a logging town,’ Floss said. ‘Or at the very least, full of wood.’

  Jack chuckled. ‘How about I escort you two lovely ladies home?’

  Before Rosie could open her mouth to let Jack know that once they reached the top of the stairs, they were practically home, Floss responded, ‘Now, we wouldn’t say no to that generous offer, would we, darl?’

  In the still of the night, Rosie felt two pairs of eyes on her, both expecting the same answer from her, and defeated, she relented.

  ‘No,’ she exhaled. ‘Thank you for the offer, Captain Reid.’

  Floss turned and started climbing the steps. Jack closed the gap between them and gestured towards the stairs. ‘Shall we?’ His voice was smooth and melodic, his breath warm against her chilled skin.

  Silently she nodded, and turned to take the first footfall. As she did, the feel of Jack’s hand on the small of her back caused her to shiver.

  ‘Cold?’

  ‘No,’ she said, but even as she did, her teeth betrayed her by chattering. Within moments, Jack was removing his jacket and placing it around her shoulders. The scent of him—woody, musky, masculine—engulfed her, making her feel punch-drunk. She reached out, found the railing, yet still careened ever so slightly. She thought perhaps he didn’t notice, but when his hand moved to the small of her back, releasing all sorts of havoc in her mind, in her stomach, all over her body, she knew she was wrong.

  ‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his voice threaded with concern.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She forced the untruth from her lips, willing her focus forward, for she feared that should she let it stray and allow her gaze to be snared by his, her resolve would crumble.

  But halfway up the stairs, her ankle buckled, and when she cried out, Jack didn’t hesitate, he didn’t ask, he simply scooped her up. Automatically, she wrapped her arms around his neck, to the safety of his embrace.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered, and for an infinitesimal second, she wished that was true. She wanted to lean into him, feel the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart, she wanted to stay in his arms, in the moment forever, but she knew it was all fleeting.

  He carried her with ease, as if she weighed nothing, and yet, as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, she reluctantly asked him to put her down.

  ‘I must be hurting your back,’ she reasoned. The amber light from the sodium-vapour street lamp illuminated his face as he grinned, his eyebrow cocked as if he was slightly miffed she was questioning his strength. She was not. She had felt the hardness of his chest, the muscles in his biceps; she was only questioning her own mental resolve.

  Still, Jack didn’t argue. He nimbly placed her down, and her body missed his instantly.

  He offered his arm and he sensed her uncertainty. ‘It’s either this or I pick you up again. Which would you prefer?’

  It wasn’t a matter of preference, it was a matter that she shouldn’t want him the way she did. Without answering, she slipped one hand in the crook of his arm and with the other she pulled his jacket over her shoulder. ‘I haven’t thanked you for the groceries and the box you had delivered that morning.’

  ‘You were hurt, I helped you.’

  ‘Still … it was more than you needed to do.’

  ‘Did it help?’

  ‘Pardon?’ she asked, unsure where this was heading.

  ‘The groceries and the medication.’

  ‘Yes. I am ashamed of the way I left your diner the other day, I’m sorry about that, but I have to admit, the medication has been a godsend. Who knew humble headache tablets could work so miraculously on a sprained ankle.’

  ‘They weren’t headache tablets, Rosie.’

  ‘Well, what on earth were they?’ she asked, baffled. ‘It certainly looked like the aspirin I normally take.’ But now she thought about it, the little white pills were an odd shape.

  ‘They had aspirin in them …’ He was pussyfooting around the matter, she could tell. ‘But they also had … something a little extra.’

  Rosie stopped short. ‘Drugs!’ Her shrill voice echoed across the deserted night. ‘You unwittingly made me take drugs?’ She had never taken anything stronger than aspirin. Even in childbirth, she had remained medication free. ‘What on earth would make you think that would be acceptable?’

  ‘Because I knew the level of pain you were in.’ He turned to face her, his voice calm and steady in contrast with her distressed and agitated state. ‘I knew in order for you to be able to function, you needed something strong.’ He didn’t sound apologetic at all; he sounded annoyed that she was questioning him.

  ‘That wasn’t your decision to make,’ she gritted.

  ‘Tell me something, Rosie. Who looked after your son for you during the day?’

  Rosie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Mrs Hawkins and Mary minded him a few hours a day.’

  ‘And then you had him the rest of the time.’ It was a statement, but she responded all the same.

  ‘Of course!’ she huffed, trying to guess what point he was making.

  ‘And when your husband came home, did he relieve you?’

  ‘No, Tom works hard all day, the last thing he …’ She was about to say wants, but stopped in time. ‘The last thing he needs is for me to ask him to look after Jimmy.’

  ‘And you were able to do that? Your pain level wasn’t an issue?’

  ‘Well, once I had taken a tablet I—’ Then it dawned on her. He knew she had a child to care for. He had only been looking out for her, and she was in turn being ungrateful. Her face flamed with shame and she only hoped that it was not visible in the dark velvet night. ‘I’m sorry. I know you were trying to help, it’s just …’

  What? What was she trying to say?

  I’m not used to being looked after.

  I’m sad that my husband is so indifferent to our son.

  I’ve only just met you, and yet, you have shown more compassion, more concern, more regard for me than Tom ever has.

  ‘I’ve always been independent,’ she told him, ‘but in saying that, all your help this week has been appreciated … even the cloak-and-dagger drug dispensation.’

  ‘I only gave you what a doctor would’ve prescribed had you gone to see one.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, wondering how he had access to such medication.

  ‘You’re wondering where I got them from, aren’t you?’

  ‘What? No, I mean …’

  Jack chuckled. ‘I was in medical school before the war, so I decided to be a combat medic. Anyway, it just so happened that one of the Aussies I met in Darwin works at St Vincent’s. I saved his life, so from time to time, I call in a solid.’

  ‘You never went back to medical school? After the war, I mean.’

  ‘I never went back home. I stayed here and opened Maggie’s.’

  When they reached the front of her house, the light she had left on was still glowing. Tom was probably home by now. There was a tightening in the pit of her stomach as she realised her arm was still looped in Jack’s, and almost immediately she extracted it and moved to relieve Floss from holding Jimmy.

  ‘Would anyone care to come in for a nightcap?’ Floss asked and Jack shrugged.

  ‘Sure, I’ve nowhere else to be.’

  Rosie shook her head. She had no idea if Tom was home, but if he wasn’t, she didn’t want to risk walking out of Floss’s house with Jack and having her husband see. ‘I’d better get this little one in his bed.’ As if on cue, Jimmy gave a little whimper. She bid them both a goodnig
ht, turned towards her front door, then stopped. ‘Jack, I almost forgot, your coat.’

  He strode towards her and lifted the coat, his warm breath caressing her neck. ‘Goodnight, Rosie,’ he whispered before walking away.

  Sighing heavily, she lugged Jimmy inside, putting him to bed before crawling into her own.

  She was fast asleep by the time Tom stumbled into bed reeking of beer. Within seconds he was clawing at her nightgown, his mechanical movements lacking affection. It had become a routine, and it seemed as if he was unwilling to touch her if he was not full of drink. Most nights, she had barely tolerated the crudeness of it all, but tonight it was sheer torture. She squeezed her eyes tight, tears rolling down the side of her face onto her pillow, down her neck and pooling in the dip between her clavicle. She fisted a hand and shoved it in her mouth, swallowing her sobs as her teeth penetrated the flesh above her knuckles.

  Earlier that night, Father Michaels had preached about Jesus, who died on a cross. The cross was in the heart of God for all eternity, and in the Bible it is said that the Lord Jesus was the lamb slain for the foundation of the world. Before the world was created, before time began, it was determined that the Lord Jesus would die on a cross for the sins of the whole world. When the Lord Jesus came to this earth, he carried a cross in his heart as well.

  And at that very moment, as her husband savaged her and all she wanted to do was curl up tight in a ball and die, for the very first time in her life Rosie fully understood just how much of a sacrifice it had been for Jesus to die for the sins of all mankind. Because she was sacrificing her potential happiness by staying in a marriage that it seemed could only be saved by divine intervention.

  She needed to be patient. Except with each day that went by, the more Rosie felt helpless. She didn’t want to raise Jimmy the way she had been—without a father, without knowing where he had come from, where he belonged. And yet, how could she raise her son in a house that was not a home, with a man who wasn’t the father he should be, in a marriage that was a sham?