Golden Hope

by Johanna Nicholls

  ‘Lola Montez? She’s a legend, notorious the world over.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember now. Didn’t she do an exotic Spider dance based on the Tarantula that sent the diggers half crazy?’

  ‘They say the stage was littered with nuggets after every performance.’

  She followed him inside, drawn to the lure of the book. The interior was rough in the extreme. No furniture, nothing on which to rest the heavy book filled with newspaper cuttings and diary entries. The floor was made of pressed earth so Rom spread the sole blanket on the ground, gesturing for her to sit down.

  ‘Don’t want you to soil your clothes.’

  ‘Never mind my dress, this book is an absolute treasure.’

  They knelt over it, their heads close together as they turned the pages and read snippets of the material to each other. Each page was covered with photographs and portraits of Lola Montez and yellowed newspaper cuttings from every corner of the globe.

  Rom read out Lola’s hand-written letter of thanks to the unknown writer for his gift of a hat pin with a gold nugget the size of a walnut.

  ‘Hey, that would be worth a small fortune today!’

  Clytie pounced on the story of Lola’s notorious love affair with King Ludwig of Bavaria, who gave her the title Countess of Landsfeld. When his scandalised nobles tried to force him to abdicate, she fled the country.

  ‘Where on earth did you find this amazing book?’

  ‘It was tossed in the bush like rubbish – he found it.’

  Rom jerked his thumb at Shadow, who lay like a furry rug across the doorway, his head resting on his paws, his eyes following their every move.

  On impulse Clytie sprang up and kissed the crown of his head. ‘Clever dog, Shadow!’

  Rom pulled a wry face. ‘Hey, don’t I rate a reward too?’

  Clytie gave his cheek a hasty peck, and was soon engrossed in the book again.

  She pointed to the defaced portrait of King Ludwig with its eyes blacked out like a blind man. ‘The owner of this book was in love with Lola himself!’

  ‘What a little Romantic you are,’ Rom teased. ‘What about me? Do I stand a chance?’

  There was no mistaking the message in his eyes. She turned back to the book.

  ‘Here’s a diary entry describing the first time he saw Lola dance. And the day she horsewhipped the Ballarat Times editor Henry Seekamp down the main street as pay-back for his vitriolic attacks on her character.’

  ‘Quite a girl,’ Rom said huskily, but the words seemed intended for Clytie.

  The book ended with Lola’s death notice in America in 1861.

  ‘Do you think this young man ever declared his love for her?’

  ‘I doubt he even met her. Just adored her from afar.’

  Clytie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t bear it!’

  ‘Hey, don’t cry. I can’t handle a woman’s tears. This is all my fault.’

  Rom took her face between his hands and tilted her chin so that she looked into his eyes. Blurred through her tears, his handsome features were distorted as if she was seeing his face under water . . .

  His kiss was gentle, beguiling. So unlike his first kiss the night they met, when he had been sure she was an easy conquest and he could charm her into giving him everything he wanted. This was like the explorative kiss of a young boy, startled by some discovery he could not name. His lips explored her mouth, her cheeks, touching her tears with the tip of his tongue, then traced the line of her neck. He did not hurry her, gently drawing her into his world, his feelings, the warmth of his body.

  Where will the kisses end? No, I won’t let them end . . .

  Rom did not attempt to undress her, instead he gently drew her hand to her bodice and smiled as if there was no greater pleasure, no more natural thing in the world than for them to lie naked together. Clytie looked through the window frame that was devoid of glass at the moonlight stretched across the room like ribbons of light tracing his thighs, his chest. One sliver of silver highlighted his mouth, forming the words that caressed her.

  Clytie knew that she had entered a time, a place of sheer enchantment. His hands encouraged her body to come alive in ways she had never imagined – her limbs, the hair on her head, the little cushion of hair between her thighs.

  She had never before seen a man totally naked, though she accepted as natural every muscle of a man’s body clearly outlined beneath a leotard.

  She ran a finger in wonderment down Rom’s chest, tracing the line of his thighs, feeling shy, bold and strangely privileged all in the same moment.

  ‘How beautiful you are, Rom. Like a Greek statue.’

  ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘I’m real. This is real. Yet it’s much more than that. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it. It’s like a dream – outside of time. New, like it’s the first time for me. I won’t lie to you, sweetheart. This is far from being my first time. Forgive me, I wish it was.’

  She wanted to believe him. ‘That almost sounded as if you meant it.’

  ‘I’ll prove it to you – without words.’

  His hands moved over her body so that she caught the rhythm that made her spine arch. This drew the strange, joyous cry from deep inside her, until she bit her lips, shocked by the soft involuntary sounds that came from her. Light years away from the cries of Vlad and her mother . . .

  Ecstasy – is that what this is?

  They lay there panting, smiling at each other, each shocked by the discovery. Rom rolled away from her, studying her, his face in shadow, his voice serious.

  ‘Clytie, there’s more. I need to know. Will you let me take you with me? Here? Now?’

  She knew she should hesitate but she heard her voice say the words. ‘I will.’

  ‘You understand what I’m asking?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I trust you.’

  He covered her mouth with his hand. ‘That is a gift – and a burden. I’ll try to be worthy of it.’

  The price of pleasure was total as he led her, breaking through the barrier of her pain. He kept murmuring soft words in her hair, stroking her, exciting her, giving her a moment’s respite then taking her closer and closer to some unknown place she half feared to go – yet needed even more desperately to explore.

  She heard herself cry out at the moment she recognised the truth. This is the great gift. The Creator of All Things meant us all to share this. How can anything so pure and natural be called a sin?

  Reality came with first light. They both saw it at the same time – the trace of blood between her thighs.

  ‘I hurt you. Why didn’t you tell me?’ He suddenly looked shocked. ‘You mean, it was your first time? You should have told me. I’ve never been with a girl who’s never . . .’

  ‘Well, now you have,’ she said wryly, trying not to feel disappointed that he had accepted without question that female entertainers were ‘easy’.

  Rom folded her in his arms and lay beside her, wordless, his eyes guarded.

  At dawn they walked hand in hand through the bush, their silence broken only by random trills of birdsong.

  In front of the priest’s house, Rom ran his finger down her cheek. His kiss was the kiss she might expect from a loving brother.

  ‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,’ Clytie said softly in warning.

  When his answer came his eyes were serious. ‘I won’t let you down.’

  She watched him walk away, Shadow at his heels.

  If he doesn’t look back I’ll never see him again.

  At the last point before the bush concealed them, Rom paused to look back. He rolled his eyes and kissed the fingertips of his hand, exaggerating the French sign of ultimate pleasure.

  Then man and dog were lost from sight.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Who was it said the mirror never lies?’

  Clytie pressed her nose against the mirror hanging on the wall. She stared into the mysterious depths of her eyes, drawing back slowly until she was unable to restrain a smile c
rinkling at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘I’m now a woman, yet I look exactly the same as I did last night before . . .’

  She glanced at the door of the small room where Dolores lay sleeping. Even the sudden wave of anxiety about her mother’s possible reaction could not diminish her desire to see Rom again.

  ‘The Creator of All Things certainly knew what he was doing when he made human beings.’

  Her mother had brought her up with a natural acceptance of people of all races, and the fact that love was not necessarily limited to men and women – or to the procreation of children.

  That subject now had fresh significance. Only recently she had cornered her mother with a direct question. ‘Why didn’t you have children with Vlad?’

  Dolores had looked her straight in the eye. ‘There are ways to invite children – and ways not to invite them. No need for you to know the boring details right now. Ask me when the time comes.’

  Boring details? Clytie decided the right time had come to take a serious look at them.

  She wasted no time acting on the decision. As luck would have it today was Doc Hundey’s morning surgery at the Diggers’ Rest Hotel. She left a hasty note for her mother stating the half truth that she had gone to Midd’s General Store.

  In fact she had two things to resolve. Her new status as a woman made her old roustabout boy’s clothes obsolete – she had few items of girls’ clothing beyond her circus costumes.

  Entering the Charity Bazaar, she found a middle-aged woman seated behind the counter knitting khaki socks. The woman’s mousy hair was tied back in a bun, her face scrubbed clean as if to defy any suggestion of make-up, but her smile was warm when she introduced herself to Clytie as Mrs Binstead, the wife of the Methodist minister.

  ‘Welcome to Hoffnung, Miss Hart. You’re new here so I’ll explain how things work. All the churches’ women take turns to man this store. All the proceeds go towards parcels for our Volunteers in South Africa. Do you know the army doesn’t even supply our boys with soap?’

  She steered Clytie to the racks of women’s clothing.

  ‘We have a nice new batch of gowns donated by Noni James. Like as not they’d be a perfect fit for your size.’

  Clytie thanked her and took special note of Noni’s former dresses to make sure she avoided them. While searching through the racks of clothing, she was aware that all of them would be recognised by their previous owners. To be seen wearing them in Hoffnung would advertise the borderline poverty that her proud mother was determined to avoid. I’ll design new clothes from mother’s old ones – or buy a bolt of plain cotton and dye it different colours.

  Mindful of how important it was to establish a new reputation, Clytie thanked Mrs Binstead politely when leaving without a sale.

  ‘You and your mother are welcome at our services, dear,’ the minister’s wife said, ‘whether you are of our faith or not.’

  There was an unspoken question mark in the words. Unused to defining her relationship to God, Clytie was caught off guard.

  ‘Thank you, but Mother and I don’t belong to any particular faith. We simply pray to The Creator of All Things.’

  The woman smiled benignly over her knitting. ‘In that case no doubt you’ll be at home in any of our churches.’

  Hopeful that she could steer a course between the sectarian tensions that were known to split many townships, Clytie crossed the road to the side entrance of the Diggers’ Rest.

  The first patient to arrive at Doc’s surgery, she found him writing in a distinctive gold-tooled diary. He looked up and smiled, turned the key in the diary’s lock and replaced it in his medical bag.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Hart. I take it you and your mother are settling comfortably into your new home. Good, then how may I help you?’

  Clytie took a deep breath and released the words in a rush.

  ‘Mother said she would explain things to me when the time was right but she’s got a lot on her mind, so I thought I’d ask you. The thing is, last night – I became a woman.’

  ‘Your first menstruation? How old are you? Fifteen?’

  ‘Sixteen. No, I didn’t mean that. I meant a real woman.’

  Doc nodded and gave her his full attention. ‘I trust your first experience was a happy one – not painful as it is for many young girls.’

  ‘It was wonderful,’ she said quickly, unsure of the etiquette of the situation. Should she reveal Rom’s name?

  ‘May I ask if your young man took care of you?’

  Clytie suspected there was a hidden meaning in the question.

  Doc withdrew a small object from his medical bag that looked to her like a rag used to clean spectacles.

  How could this protect me? What does he mean by ‘withdrawing from me at an important moment’?

  She shook her head in confusion.

  ‘Forgive me for asking, Miss Hart, but do you have plans to marry?’

  ‘We didn’t talk about that. It all happened so quickly. One moment we were reading a book and then the next . . .’

  Doc’s eyes were smiling. ‘That’s usually the case with first love. You were wise to come to see me straight away. In case you have already fallen with child.’

  Clytie was shocked. ‘After just one night?’

  ‘Conception is like a lottery. It can take years or occur within the very first hour of intercourse.’

  Conception. Intercourse. What cold words for such a magical experience.

  Doc seemed to read her thoughts and said quickly, ‘Forgive me. I have no wish to deflate your first romantic experience. Children are a wonderful gift when the time is right.’

  He removed a pamphlet from his medical bag. Clytie was reminded of the childhood myth that doctors brought babies to mothers in bags like this.

  ‘We pride ourselves on being modern in this exciting new century,’ Doc said. ‘The fact remains it is professionally dangerous for physicians to give advice about contraception. This pamphlet by Dr Allbutt in Leeds has helped poor families the world over – but the author paid a bitter price. He was struck off the British Medical Register – but he continued to fight his cause.’

  Clytie felt intimidated by the title, The Wife’s Handbook.

  Doc smiled. ‘Don’t worry, it is easy to understand. I suggest you and your young man pay special attention to Chapter Seven – how to prevent conception.’

  His examination confirmed that Clytie was in excellent health. He waved aside her attempts to pay him. ‘Wait until I send you a bill.’

  She paused at the door. ‘There’s no need to mention any of this to my mother, is there? She has enough to worry about.’

  ‘I assure you what is said between doctor and patient is strictly confidential.’

  After leaving the surgery she felt several years older than she had on her arrival.

  I would never have made love to Rom if I hadn’t loved him. But the question is, does he love me?

  This thought was doubly sobering when she realised that he had not actually made any firm plans to see her again.

  The nagging grey edges of doubt were dispelled as if by a sudden burst of sunlight. A rider galloped towards her waving his hat, his eyes narrowed against the sun.

  Rom drew rein and looked down at her with all the confidence of possession.

  ‘Going my way, girl?’

  Without a word Clytie leapt up on the horse’s back to ride pillion, her skirts flashing above her ankles, her arms entwined around his waist. After years of performing bareback she had no need to hold on to him for support, but the intimacy of the gesture, the sense of belonging to him thrilled her.

  As they passed the General Store, two young women emerged. Noni James was dressed in a frilly apricot gown. Her flower-bedecked hat would have passed muster at a Royal garden party. She walked arm in arm with a mousy young girl who looked up at her adoringly, clearly privileged to be seen in her shadow.

  ‘Good morning, Miss James – and Millie.’ Rom casually doffed his ha
t to them.

  The girl Millie gave him a timid smile and was on the point of acknowledging him, but a sharp elbow in the ribs from Noni silenced her.

  Rom was in a teasing mood. ‘We’re off to Whipstick Pool for a picnic. It’s a beautiful day for a swim if you care to join us. I hear you’re a good swimmer, Millie. You could give me a race.’

  Millie blushed at the compliment, her plain face sweetened by her smile, but her intended response was cut short by Noni’s sharp aside.

  ‘Come! We don’t want to be seen talking to the likes of them!’

  Rom seemed unperturbed and rode on. Clytie glanced back to see Noni crossing the road. Her timid companion trailed behind her, saddled with Noni’s shopping basket.

  ‘Whatever did you do to offend her?’ Clytie asked with a giggle.

  ‘Damned if I know. I treat her the same as any other girl. Why worry? She’s Sonny Jantzen’s problem.’

  Clytie noted the knowing looks cast by passing men en route to their next shift at the mine. In contrast they exchanged a cheerful ‘G’day’ with Rom.

  ‘Those blokes may be living on borrowed time,’ Rom told her.

  ‘From miners’ lung diseases?’

  ‘That too. But blokes get laid off at the Golden Hope every month.’

  Clytie gave an involuntary shiver, but the moment passed.

  Today the sun was shining so strongly it bathed her skin with its warmth. She felt like a stranger happily inhabiting her own body.

  The thought of Dolores brought her sharply back to earth. ‘I must tell Mother where we’re headed.’

  Dolores emerged at the front door in a kimono robe, arms akimbo, her dark hair flowing around her shoulders.

  ‘Good morning, Rom. Where exactly are you taking my girl?’ she asked reasonably.

  ‘Just for a quick swim in the billabong,’ Rom assured her.

  ‘I’m not too happy about that. Clytie has had few chances to learn to swim – at St Kilda beach. I’m told it’s easier to stay afloat in salt water than a fresh water creek.’

  ‘True, Mrs Hart, but I’m a strong swimmer, I’ll see her right.’