Tiger Men

by Judy Nunn

  Jefferson also stood. ‘I want to thank you,’ he said, taking her hand in both of his. ‘I want to thank you, Doris, for all you have done for me.’

  ‘There is no need for thanks,’ she replied with a squeeze of her hand. She could have left it at that. But she didn’t.

  Doris would never know what drove her to act as she then did. She was not a creature of impulse and rarely displayed emotion, but for some strange reason she felt a sudden and intense desire to communicate. She reached up her hand and touched his face, her fingers resting against his cheek with infinite tenderness.

  ‘My dearest friend,’ she said, ‘for that is what you are, Jefferson. That is what you have become to me. It is I who must thank you. I will miss you sorely when you leave, but I will be all the richer for having known you.’ She gave him the gift of her smile. ‘I will value our friendship forever,’ she said, and she embraced him.

  As she put her arms around him she felt him physically flinch and for a moment she thought he was about to pull away. Then he returned the embrace, but he did so awkwardly, clumsily, and she knew he was embarrassed by the physical contact. They parted quickly, Doris appalled that he had found her action so confronting and possibly even repellent. She felt shockingly self-conscious, and the startled look she met in his eyes made her doubly so, but she was not about to apologise.

  ‘I won’t bite,’ she said caustically, ‘there’s no need to be frightened.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all.’

  ‘I meant what I said, Jefferson.’ She gathered her dignity about her. ‘I value your friendship.’

  ‘As I do yours, Doris, as I do yours.’ He looked wretched and guilty. ‘Your friendship is so very precious to me,’ he assured her desperately, ‘please, please believe me. ’

  ‘Very well, I will believe you. I am going inside now.’

  Over the ensuing weeks they did not speak of the incident, but Jefferson’s manner underwent a radical change as he sought fervently to make amends. He was forever doing little things to please her. He would present her with a freshly picked bouquet of flowers, or a jar of her favourite boiled sweets purchased from the confectioners. He is like a forlorn puppy, Doris thought, eager to be forgiven for chewing a favourite slipper or digging a hole in the garden.

  ‘I’m not angry, you know,’ she was finally driven to comment. ‘You don’t need to keep currying favour.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re not angry, Doris. I would do anything, anything in the world, rather than anger or offend you in any way.’

  Anything in the world? she wondered. Would you stay with me, Jefferson? Would you never return to America, but stay here with me in Van Diemen’s Land forever?

  ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘let’s start this Sunday by digging a brand new flower bed just for roses. I have received some fine cuttings from Mrs MacDougall.’

  Doris had finally recognised the truth. It had come as a complete revelation. She was in love with Jefferson Powell and had been for a long time, possibly even from the moment they’d first met. The symptoms had always been there, she realised, but she had failed, perhaps deliberately, to acknowledge them as anything other than friendship. She acknowledged them now, and in doing so she found the force of her love frightening. She had not known she was capable of such emotional depths: the sheer joy she felt simply being in his presence; the dismay that engulfed her at the prospect of his leaving. If she were never to see him again her life would be meaningless. If only I could find a way to make him stay, she thought, cursing herself for having been the very instrument of his departure. If she hadn’t interfered, he would have remained loyally slaving away for a pittance.

  She found the way that very Sunday, as they worked on the new flower bed. It all happened in an instant, in one quick moment of recognition.

  There had been a light rainfall during the night and the ground was slippery. The rose bed they had dug was beside the front steps and, while Jefferson added mulch to the soil, Doris fetched the cuttings she’d left on the verandah. She was wearing galoshes: as she came back down the steps, her foot hit the slippery ground and skidded out from under her. She would have fallen backwards and cracked her head against the verandah, had Jefferson not sprung to her rescue.

  With one arm, he grabbed her around the back, holding her against him; and to save himself from falling with her, he grasped the verandah upright. For one brief moment, they remained in a precarious embrace while Jefferson fought to retain his balance and, when he had done so, he helped her regain hers. Their bodies were locked together, his arm tightly about her, their mouths close, their breath mingling . . . and then the moment was over. He released her and turned quickly away. But not before she’d seen that same startled look in his eyes, not before she’d recognised its meaning. Once again, he’d found their physical contact confronting – and once again he was flustered – but not because she was repellent to him. She had been wrong. His embarrassment sprang from another quarter altogether.

  ‘Thank you for saving me,’ she said lightly as he knelt and continued his mulching. ‘The act of a true gallant. I’m most impressed.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, my pleasure,’ he said, his tone equally casual, but he did not look up at her.

  Doris knew in that instant she’d found the way, and she did not question the temerity of her plan. Never in her life had she employed feminine guile – she hadn’t even known she’d possessed any. But then never in her life had she been in love. And in love, Doris McLagan was as bold as any woman.

  That night she crept brazenly through the house in her nightgown, past the very room where her father was sleeping, to the servants’ quarters out the back. Silently, she slipped into the small bedroom that was Jefferson’s domain, and just as silently she slipped into his bed.

  He was lying on his side, and she curled herself against his back, cupping her body to his, encircling him with her arm. She was naked beneath her nightgown and she could feel the warmth of his flesh through the thin nightshirt he wore.

  He stirred in his sleep, aware of her body, aroused even while he slept as if by some erotic dream. Then he turned to her and, in the dark of the room, although she could not see his eyes, Doris knew he had awakened. She heard the sharp intake of his breath. His disbelief was as palpable as his desire.

  ‘Hold me, Jefferson,’ she whispered, ‘please hold me.’

  Doris was a virgin, but she was not altogether ignorant. Her mother, a sensible woman, had informed her of the basics. The experience, she knew, would not be pleasurable. There would be pain, but she had resolved not to cry out and even, if possible, to make a pretence of some form of enjoyment.

  What Doris did not know, however, was that Jefferson too was a virgin, and that the long-awaited act of sexual congress, particularly with the woman about whom he had recently been fantasising, would render him completely out of control.

  The episode lasted only a minute or so as Jefferson thrust wildly, aware of nothing but the indescribable sensation of being inside a woman, and Doris gritted her teeth with grim forbearance.

  When it was over, he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head sunk in his hands, overcome with remorse.

  ‘I’m sorry, Doris,’ he said. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m so very, very sorry.’

  Doris adjusted her nightgown, rose from the bed and lit the oil lamp that sat on the tallboy in the corner.

  ‘You have nothing to apologise for, Jefferson,’ she said. ‘I seduced you. I behaved disgracefully.’ She brought the lamp to the bedside table. ‘I think I had best tend to the linen.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said as he stood and looked down at the blood-stained sheet. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing I’ve done.’

  She quickly stripped the bed. ‘You have not done a terrible thing at all. It is I who have done a terrible thing, and I hope you will not think too badly of me for it.’ Now comes the part that requires true coura
ge, Doris thought as she faced him squarely. She mustered all the dignity she had at her command, for there was an element deep within her that was ashamed of what she was doing.

  ‘I have recently come to realise, Jefferson, that I love you. I do not expect this fact to alter your plans in any way, but it is because I love you that I wanted you to be the first, and indeed perhaps the only, man I shall ever know. Forgive me, my dear friend, for taking such advantage.’

  Doris wasn’t sure which was more difficult, the honest admission of her love, or the lie that she had simply wished to surrender her virginity to him. The sole purpose of her mission was in fact to become pregnant. Jefferson’s code of honour, she knew, would never allow him to abandon a woman carrying his child. She only prayed that this quick, sordid coupling had proved successful.

  Neither the admission nor the lie appeared to have any effect however. He seemed barely able to hear her. So filled with remorse was he that all he could do was apologise.

  ‘What a shameful thing. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he kept saying.

  Doris could not have known that Jefferson had been riddled with guilt for weeks. He’d been utterly appalled to find himself having impure thoughts about the woman he so admired. His actions tonight were an extension of the unforgiveable. He had been guilty by thought and he was now guilty by deed.

  As it eventuated, their brief coupling did not result in a pregnancy, but such an outcome was unnecessary anyway, for Jefferson’s code of honour did not require conception. Defilement sufficed. By robbing her of her virginity he had compromised her irreparably and marriage was the only honourable solution.

  He made a formal request to Hamish McLagan for the hand of his daughter, but the Scot was initially reluctant.

  ‘You could do better, Doris, surely,’ Hamish said to his daughter in private. ‘The man has nothing to bring to the union.’ Hamish McLagan was decidedly peevish. If he was to lose the services of his daughter to a husband, an event he had not anticipated, it should surely be for the purposes of a business alliance. And dear God, what would happen to him in his old age should Jefferson Powell whisk her off to America? The man would be time-expired within only months. Hamish did not relish the prospect of losing his most valuable employee as it was: he most certainly did not intend losing his daughter into the bargain.

  ‘The man has a great deal to bring to the union, Father, besides which he would expect no dowry.’

  Hamish harrumphed. There was at least that, he supposed.

  Doris, as always, had the answer to everything. ‘Jefferson could take over the ferry service, which as you know has improved immeasurably since his employ. If you were to purchase the property down on the point, he could build a jetty and slipway and run the business from there, developing it into a far more successful enterprise than it currently is, and we could live in the old fisherman’s cottage. The benefits would be considerable, Father. You would be gaining a valuable business partner and I would be living nearby, available whenever you need me, and for as long as you need me.’

  By God, she’s right, Hamish thought. The union was most certainly to his advantage. In fact his daughter had made an ideal choice.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ he said expansively, ‘if you truly love the man as you say you do, I would not wish to stand in the path of your happiness.’

  ‘I do love him, Father. I love him with all my heart.’

  The marriage went ahead with no personal declaration of love on Jefferson’s part, but Doris had not expected one. She was only thankful that he had shouldered the responsibility of their marriage as nobly as he had. She had feared he might grow to hate her for entrapping him. Jefferson, however, continued to believe that if there had been any wrongdoing it had been his and his alone, and their friendship remained as strong as ever.

  Doris told herself that friendship was a fine basis for marriage. She prayed that love would grow in time and made a personal vow to God that she would be the best possible wife to Jefferson. She would devote herself to his happiness and work hard on his behalf and, above all, if God willed, she would bear him strong children.

  Doris’s prayers appeared to have been heard for she conceived not long after their marriage and, by the time Jefferson’s pardon was granted, she was three months pregnant.

  The couple was overjoyed. In a letter to his parents, Jefferson announced the news with great jubilation, adding: Doris has agreed wholeheartedly that the child is to be named after one of you – William George if it is a boy and Martha Jane if it is a girl. That way you will remain forever a part of her life as you are of mine.

  Jefferson wrote regularly to his parents, as they did him. The letters were eagerly awaited on both sides of the globe, but the exchange could be frustrating for the mail took months to arrive.

  ‘I doubt they even know we’re married yet,’ he said. ‘My last letter is no doubt somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic.’ He laughed and added, ‘They’ll probably get this news when William is taking his first steps.’ Jefferson firmly believed his firstborn would be a son and always referred to the baby as William, no doubt in the hope that he would be proved right. Doris went along with the exercise, although she really didn’t care whether the baby was a William or a Martha.

  The baby was a boy as it turned out. But he never took his first breath, let alone his first steps. Baby William was stillborn.

  ‘Strangled itself on the cord, it did,’ the midwife told Jefferson. ‘Perfectly healthy, tragic thing – happens quite a lot, you know.’

  Doris was inconsolable. She withdrew into herself, staring unseeingly at the stone walls of the bedroom, eating nothing, speaking to no-one. She excluded even her husband from her grief, and spoke just four words to Reverend MacDougall when, at Jefferson’s request, the priest visited the cottage.

  ‘It is God’s punishment,’ she said.

  Surprisingly enough, it was Hamish McLagan who broke through the barrier.

  Like Jefferson, Hamish was fearful for the state of Doris’s health. She had now languished for a whole week, taking barely any sustenance. Had his daughter determined to starve herself to death? Hamish McLagan took action the only way he knew how.

  ‘It’s time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself, girl,’ he said harshly. He’d asked to see his daughter alone, and Jefferson had ushered him into the bedroom.

  Doris remained staring at the sandstone wall and the nothingness it represented.

  ‘Your husband is grieving too, you know,’ he continued unrelentingly. ‘Where’s your compassion, woman? The man has lost a son for God’s sake. It’s your duty to give him another.’

  She turned her head, her eyes focusing upon her father. From childhood, his had been the voice of command, and from childhood, duty had been her sole purpose in life.

  ‘You understand me, don’t you, girl? You have a duty to your husband.’ Having gained her attention, Hamish softened his attack a little. ‘You are honour-bound to serve and obey him, Doris, and above all to bear him children: you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Father, I do.’ She hauled herself up in the bed, leaning back against the pillows, her face pale and drawn, dark circles beneath her eyes. ‘I understand my duty, and I thank you for reminding me of it. Would you ask Jefferson to come in now please? I wish to talk to him.’

  ‘Good girl. That’s my good girl.’ Hamish rushed to adjust the pillows in a clumsy effort to make her more comfortable. Then he fetched Jefferson, closing the door quietly behind him when the two were alone together. He was thrilled at the success of his mission. His little girl was back.

  Jefferson sat on the edge of the bed. After many a sleepless night, he looked weary himself, but now the breakthrough had been made, he felt an immense sense of relief.

  ‘Your father says you wish to speak to me?’ His voice was strained as he tried, unsuccessfully, to sound casual.

  ‘I do. Oh Jefferson, I beg forgiveness for the wrongs I have done you. God has rightly punished me
for my wickedness, but in doing so He has caused you the loss of a son. I can only presume He means this to be a further punishment laid at my door, for I feel such guilt at having destroyed your life so completely.’

  ‘The loss of our child is not your fault, Doris,’ he said gently, but firmly.

  She did not hear him. ‘You must go home, Jefferson. You must go home to where you belong.’

  ‘I am home.’ He was bewildered. ‘This is where I belong.’

  ‘No, no, you belong with your family, with your parents and your brothers and sisters.’ She shook her head, distressed. ‘My father spoke to me of duty, and he was quite right to do so, but he misunderstands where my duty lies. My duty lies in releasing you from your vows. Vows you should never have been forced to make.’

  ‘I made no vows I did not wish to make, Doris, I can assure you of that.’

  But Doris had no wish to be so easily forgiven. The gates had been opened and the words poured out. She had seduced him that night, she said, with the deliberate intention of getting pregnant and forcing him to remain with her, thereby depriving him of his homeland and his family.

  ‘I stole from you everything that was yours, Jefferson.’ She was starting to weep now. In her weakened state, the purging of her guilt was exhausting her. ‘I stole your country and your past and your very heritage.’

  ‘You did not steal my future, Doris.’ With his thumb, he wiped away the tears that coursed down her cheek. ‘You gave me the gift of a future more wondrous than I could have dreamed possible. I love this country with a passion, and I love my life here, but above all, my darling girl, I love you. I love you more than words can ever express.’ She had stopped crying and was staring at him with wide-eyed incredulity. He laughed for the sheer relief of having her back from the dark world that had claimed her. ‘Don’t you see, my dear, whether you engineered my future by devious means or otherwise, I can only be grateful that you did so.’