A Greater World: A woman's journey

by Clare Flynn

  'That's what it's for, Miss Morton.' He smiled, but his eyes remained unchanged. They stayed fixed on her, lit by concern, but wary.

  Then he turned his head to look out towards the island. She was glad to see him again. Her hurt and embarrassment about misconstruing his intentions towards her seemed insignificant when weighed against the fact that he was here now, handkerchief at the ready.

  'I didn't expect to see you again. I didn't think to see anyone here. I thought I would be undisturbed.'

  'I suppose that's a way of telling me what I should be doing now.' He pushed himself off the wall and started to move away. He was so prickly, so quick to take offence.

  She tried to smile. 'No. Please. I didn't mean that. Don't go. And I still have your handkerchief.'

  He looked at her for a moment then said 'Would you like to walk for a while? I find me troubles usually feel better when I walk them off. I sometimes walk for miles. It's good medicine.'

  'Yes. That was what I was trying to do. To walk through my problems - but this time it doesn't seem to be working. The problem is just too big.'

  'Then you could try sharing it.'

  She thought of Betty. Surely he'd be wanting to spend time with the stewardess before the Historic sailed again. 'I'm sure you've better things to do than that?'

  For a moment she thought he looked hurt, then told herself it was her overactive imagination again, misconstruing things.

  'I haven't and I'd like to walk with you. Unless you don't want me to?'

  'Thank you. You're very kind. Let's walk.'

  And so they walked beside the wattle trees and she told him about the death of her father. He listened with concentration and she felt again as she had when they sat on the boat deck, that there was a special bond between them. She allowed herself to forget the stewardess and accept his presence gratefully as a sympathetic ear. There was something about the way he listened that made her feel as though she was the only person in the world when she spoke to him. But then some men had that ability. A kind of charm. It didn't mean anything.

  Then she told him she couldn't bear to think of life now with neither parent. She skated over her estrangement from her sister, but spilled out how desolate her father's death made her. The telling came easy, and he listened intently but without comment or question, walking slowly in step beside her. She said nothing of Charles Dawson and the event that had precipitated her departure, nor of the arrangement William Morton had made with Jack Kidd and how she had to extricate herself from it as well as find the means to repay him for the funeral.

  They rounded the curve of a cove and reached some sandstone rocks at the end of the garden where the path ended. There were stairs and a bench built into the rock and without indicating their intent to do so, they sat down, side by side.

  'I'm sorry to burden you with my troubles. You must think me awful. Telling you all this when I barely know you.' Again, was she imagining a look of hurt in his eyes?

  'You're not burdening me and I don't think you're awful. And right now it looks like I'm one of the few people you know in Australia and you're the only person I've spoken to since we docked this morning. So we might as well be friends. What do you think? You could start by calling me Michael.' He smiled and this time the smile lit up his eyes as well, even if it failed to dispel their underlying sadness.

  'Then call me Elizabeth. I'd be honoured and happy to be your friend, Michael.' She held out her hand. His grip was firm. His skin felt warm and she smiled at him, then looked away embarrassed, as she felt the intensity of his gaze.

  Breathing slowly, she turned back to him, hoping that he would by now have dropped his eyes. But he hadn't. Again she looked away, uncomfortable, embarrassed. This must be what it felt like to be one of the fictitious women who fell under the spell of Rudy Valentino in the pictures. She could feel a blush rising up through her skin.

  Instinctively she placed her hand on top of his where it rested between them on the stone seat. Just as quickly, she realised what she had done and withdrew it. He took her hand back, enveloping it in both his own. He turned her hand over and cradling it in his, he bent his head and kissed her open palm.

  She drew her hand away, afraid of the feelings that were sweeping through her and confused that in the midst of her grief for her father, she felt excited. The raw intimacy of what he had done shocked her, but thrilled her.

  'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I couldn't help myself. I didn't mean to offend you' he said.

  'It's all right. You've been very kind. I've said too much. You may be the only person I know here but I still hardly know you and I've been presumptuous in telling you so much. I've always been too open. Mother used to tell me that. I've told you half my life story. You instead have been more circumspect. You must think me very forward.'

  'That I don't. It's my fault. I've not been honest with you. But I'm afraid if I tell you the truth about meself, you won't want to know me. After what I've done I don't expect anyone to think well of me.'

  'I already know. I saw you.'

  He twisted round in the seat and stared at her.

  'What are you talking about? You saw what?'

  'I wasn't spying on you. I promise. I just came upon you and I saw. I'm sorry. Look this is very embarrassing. I feel such a fool. That's why I was avoiding you. On the ship. The last few days.' The words tumbled out of her and he frowned, puzzled.

  She said 'I didn't mean to say that. Oh what the heck? Why does it matter what you think of me? I've wasted enough of your time. I'd better go now.'

  She jumped to her feet but he stretched out his hand and pulled her back down onto the seat beside him.

  'What are you talking about? Mebbe I'm being very thick, but I just don't understand what yer saying.'

  'You and that stewardess. I saw you.'

  'Betty?'

  She looked down at her lap where her hands were worrying away nervously at the fabric of his linen handkerchief.

  He laughed and she turned towards him angrily. 'Yes laugh at me. I know you must think me a stupid fool. Did you tell her I invited you to come with me to a concert? Did you both have a good giggle at that?'

  He frowned. 'Elizabeth, I don't know what you think you saw, but I can promise you there's nothing between me and Betty or any of the stewardesses on that ship – or any woman at all for that matter.'

  'But you had her in your arms?' Her voice trailed away.

  'Aye I gave her a bit of a hug. I were comforting her. Trying to cheer her up. Have you ever talked to Betty? Do you have any idea what her life is like? What she's bin through? Poor soul.'

  'No.' Elizabeth's voice was barely a whisper. Her heart was banging against her ribs.

  'She lost her husband in the war. He were killed in Mesopotamia. Buried out in Baghdad so she doesn't have a grave to visit. She's got five children under ten. The two eldest girls are being brought up by the nuns. Her two lads have been farmed out to her brother in Nottingham to bring up with his kids and her youngest is being cared for by her mother back in Liverpool. Poor Betty has to work on the ships to support the them all. She's a plucky woman.'

  'I didn't know she was a widow. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring.'

  'She'd not have her job if the shipping line knew she were a married woman. Widow or not. It's a tough old life for the likes of her and things would have been different if her husband had made it through the war. What price his sacrifice, eh? She'd told me as she knew I'd been at the Front. She needed a shoulder to cry on every now and then. You can't begrudge 'er that, Elizabeth. And there were absolutely nowt more between us. She's a full ten year older than me for starters.'

  Elizabeth smiled. 'But she's a good looking woman.'

  'I'll not deny that. But she's not a patch on you.'

  She smiled up at him, feeling the happiness through her pain. She put her hand into his and as it folded around hers she felt safe, protected, better able to face the problems her father had presented her with. No lo
nger alone.

  And then she looked up into his eyes, frowning.

  'So if it wasn't Betty, what did you mean when you said you hadn't been honest with me? You said if I knew, I wouldn't think well of you?'

  He dropped his hold on her hand and his body stiffened. 'I did something that I'll never forgive meself for as long as I live and if you were to know you'd think differently of me and I couldn't bear that.'

  'If you've made a mistake, you've clearly already suffered as a consequence. But you don't have to go on suffering for the rest of your life. No one should have to do that.'

  'I should. I've destroyed me family and wrecked their future.' He stared at the ground beneath his feet and kicked at a pile of leaves, the gentleness of the mood between them replaced by awkwardness. The rapidity in which they had moved from strangers to confessors and, in his kissing of her palm, almost to lovers, embarrassed them now. As if by design, the sun had begun to sink in the sky, bringing a slight chill to remind them that this was indeed autumn.

  She realised he didn't want to tell her more, but reluctant to let it go unresolved, she tried a different tack. 'Was it to do with the War?'

  'No. It weren't the War.'

  She could tell he wasn't going to take her further into his confidence and she felt hurt. They fell into silence. Elizabeth was the first to rise from the seat. She gathered her coat around her shoulders and turned to bid him farewell, taking refuge in formality.

  'Thank you again for your kindness, Michael. You've helped me. I feel better able to face the funeral tomorrow.'

  He took the proffered hand in a formal handshake, avoiding eye contact. 'I hope it won't be too painful for you tomorrow. I'll be thinking of you.'

  'Thank you.'

  They stood there awkwardly until she turned and started to walk away, heading back towards the waterfront pathway. She walked quickly, the tears brimming again. Then she heard him running after her and before she knew what was happening, he pulled her towards him and gathered her in to his chest, where he held her, against him. She buried her head in the roughness of his jacket. At last he spoke. 'I have to see you again.'

  She nodded. 'Yes.'

  'Tomorrow?'

  'I have the funeral tomorrow morning.'

  'I'll come with you. You shouldn't go through that alone.'

  Elizabeth thought of the conversation she must have with Jack Kidd. She didn't want Michael witnessing that and hearing of her father's debts. Besides she had to explain to Kidd that her father's plan for their wedding would never be realised. She could not do that with Michael at her side.

  'No. I want to be alone when I say my goodbyes to Father.'

  'Then we can meet afterwards? I want to tell you everything. When you've heard what I have to say, you may decide you don't want to see me again, but I'll have to take that risk.'

  He eased her away from his chest and looked down into her eyes. It was almost unbearable to see the pain in his eyes and at that moment it felt for her that there was nowhere else but here and now, with him and her mouth moved up to his. His lips felt soft and warm as they met hers and she closed her eyes. Just as the kiss became more urgent, he broke off, brushing his lips over her brow before holding her away from him at the end of his outstretched arms. He continued to hold her eyes with his.

  'I killed me brother.'

  Elizabeth gasped. 'My God! Why? What happened?'

  'We were shooting rabbits and I were reckless. I didn't take enough care of him. I let meself get distracted and I shot Danny by mistake. I were trusted with his care and I abused that trust and now he's dead. He were only fourteen.'

  Elizabeth reached for his hands and grasped them tightly.

  'It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. You didn't mean to kill him.'

  'If I live to be a hundred, not a day'll pass when I won't think of Danny and what I did to him. What I've done to me parents. It's destroyed me mother. I don't deserve to be happy meself. I came here to escape the look in me mam's eyes. That makes me a coward as well as a killer. I thought running away would at least give me some peace, but now you'll think ill of me too. I thought I knew what I were giving up when I left England and I didn't care. But now that I've met you... we've just met but I feel, I feel...'

  'I feel it too'. She took his hand in hers and placed it against her cheek.

  'You mean you still want to know me after what I've done?'

  'Yes'. As she spoke, she leaned into his chest and raised her head to seek his mouth again. He kissed her slowly and tenderly and she let herself be consumed by his kiss. She drank in the smell of him, the taste of him and let out a little involuntary moan, which made him kiss her harder and she felt his body press itself into hers. Her arms gripped him tightly, squeezing, hanging onto him as though she were drowning and he her only hope of salvation. Here she was in the middle of a public place, kissing a man as she had never been kissed before, returning his kiss and wanting it to go on for ever. She wanted to cry out 'I love you' but a wave of rational responsibility washed over her. First she must sort matters out with her father and Jack Kidd, then she would be free to be with Michael.

  'I have to go now' she said as she eased herself away.

  'Tomorrow afternoon. Twelve o'clock.'

  Then she left, and he stood watching her move quickly through the trees, her shape lit up in the last rays of the afternoon sun.

  Chapter Six – A Funeral

  The church was empty when Elizabeth took her place alongside Mrs Little and her husband, in the front pew behind the coffin. She had not been allowed to look at her father's body: the lid was already nailed shut and the undertaker told her it would be too distressing for her to see him after five days in the water. The mysterious Mr Kidd had identified him by his clothing and fob-watch, his features having been unrecognisable.

  She buried her head in her hands and leaned forward, trying to make herself pray. But prayer eluded her. In just a few weeks, her life had transformed - she made a mental inventory of what had happened. Against this grim sequence of events she had now met a man with whom she was falling in love, despite the brevity of their acquaintance. Embarking on a relationship with Michael might bring more problems, more pain and sadness, as he was clearly a troubled man. She shivered in the chill of the church, then the organ broke her reveries with its sombre dirge as she remembered she was here to bury her father. It was hard not to hope that this was a strange and terrible dream and she would soon wake up.

  Her hold on religious faith had always been shaky, with what little belief she held stretched by the war and Stephen's death, and now by everything that had befallen her and her family. Yet she wanted to believe in an eternal life for her parents, even if that was more of an abstract concept than a vision of them hand in hand in front of an all-redeeming creator. Her father had been unhappy since her mother's death. He had stumbled along, searching for a meaning to life without her, but unable to find one. Elizabeth wondered what it would be like to love someone as much as that? So much that their loss took all meaning from living.

  She thought of Winterbourne's sad eyes and knew exactly how his loss and grief felt. He carried a burden he feared to share with others. Just as she did. Her stomach made a little leap. How he could want her once he found out what Dawson had done to her? Michael's words twisted in her like a knife: 'When you've heard what I have to tell you, you may decide you don't want to see me again'. Killing his brother was an accident. She could not hold him to account for that. But if he were to find out what had happened to her, would he want to see her again? Just as her sister had assumed fault on her part, so might he? An unmarried, older sister leading her brother-in-law astray?

  She gave a little involuntary cry and Peggy Little patted her on the shoulder .

  'There, there, my lamb, he's at peace now. He's with your Ma - he often talked of her you know.'

  Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. The organ reached a crescendo, the melancholy notes reverberating around the al
most empty church. She turned and saw the clergyman approaching, followed by a short man, in his late fifties, who took up a place in a pew across the aisle. Mr Kidd, she presumed.

  The service was short, with a brief impersonal eulogy by the clergyman, who had evidently never met William Morton. They made their way in a bleak procession into the adjoining graveyard, Mr Kidd a few paces behind the rest of the party. As the coffin was lowered, she placed on top the picture of her mother that had been among her father's few possessions and a flower she had plucked in the churchyard. Then she stood in the warm sunlight looking into the newly-dug cavity, before throwing in her handful of earth. She heard the quiet thuds as the Littles and Kidd did likewise and the priest droned his words of final ceremony.

  When it was over Mrs Little led her away from the graveside. The man she presumed to be Kidd turned to her and spoke in a voice that sounded as though it had been dried hoarse by the Australian sun. His face was like tanned leather and covered in fine wrinkles, testament to an outdoor life. He held his hat in his hands, exposing a head covered with cropped, steel-grey hair. His legs were slightly bowed, as though he spent more time in the saddle than on his feet. He looked uncomfortable in his ill-fitting dark suit. Elizabeth wondered if it had been borrowed for the occasion. He didn't look like a wealthy man. Her father must have got it wrong.

  'Miss Morton? Sorry about your father.'

  'Thank you. You must be Mr Kidd?'

  She held out her hand to him as Mrs Little interjected. 'I'm sorry Elizabeth, love; I should have done the introductions. This is your late father's friend, Mr Jack Kidd. Now you'll be coming back to the house, Mr Kidd, won't you, for a nice cup of tea and some light refreshments? It's all prepared - our Molly's been getting it ready while we're here.'

  They walked the few streets back to the boarding house in silence, Elizabeth rehearsing in her head what to say to Kidd. She had never had to do anything like this before: find a way to tell a stranger that she could not accept his marriage proposal.