Golden Hope

by Johanna Nicholls

  ‘Mama?!’

  ‘Your muscle tone is excellent, your breathing controlled. You don’t succumb to panic. Your years of physical and mental circus training are paying off, my girl.’

  Clytie followed his instructions to the letter, riding the contractions like waves that grew larger and stronger but drew her ever closer to the shoreline – where she would meet her baby.

  The actual moment of birth caused her to gasp in bewilderment at the extraordinary sensation. A large object pushed itself into the most intimate part of her body and forced its way forward. No time for fear or panic. She was consumed by a sense of awe, an astonishing sensuality that vividly brought back the first time Rom had made love to her and she had known what it was to climax. She gave a cry of joy. My God. Giving birth is another act of love.

  How strange to be experiencing this moment of intimacy in the presence of another person. Thank heavens it is Doc – not Sister Bracken.

  When he bent over her thighs to free the babe, odd details were imprinted on Clytie’s memory. His hair was wild but there was no sign of a bald spot . . . his hands were cool . . . his voice gentle as he encouraged the unborn babe. ‘Good lad. We’ll soon have you out in the world.’

  There was no sound of a baby’s cry. Clytie grew anxious.

  ‘What’s wrong? He’s not crying.’

  ‘Don’t worry. There was no need to smack him. He’s taken to breathing on his own. Not a whimper out of him.’

  Doc Hundey gave her a thumbs up sign of approval and placed in her arms the blood-speckled babe wrapped in linen.

  ‘Clever girl, Clytie. He’s a dead ringer for Rom. You’ve done him proud.’

  ‘He’s perfect!’

  ‘What else would he be? You and Rom created him.’

  Clytie murmured to the baby, ‘Thank you for coming, little one.’

  Doc was pleased. ‘The afterbirth has come away cleanly. An excellent sign.’

  He scrubbed his hands in the hot water Sister brought him. Disapproval was stamped on every line of her face. It was clear she did not appreciate being relegated to a backstop.

  ‘Have you and Rom chosen a name for him?’ Doc asked.

  She refused to admit in Sister’s presence that she had had no letters in weeks.

  ‘I don’t believe sons should be named after their father. They get stuck with names like Junior or Sonny all their lives.’ She hesitated. ‘Would it embarrass you if I named him Robert? People gossip so I’ll understand if you’d prefer I did not.’

  Doc’s face seemed to shed ten years. His smile was dazzling.

  ‘I’d be honoured – more than I can say.’

  He stayed with her as long as he could before checking on the Jantzen mother and babe then returning to the injured miners.

  It was a sharp reminder that Doc Hundey had no time for a private life. Clytie had a flash of insight. His role as a doctor is all he’s ever wanted.

  Sister Bracken cleaned and dressed the babe then returned him to instruct Clytie how to position her breast so that he could suckle to advantage.

  ‘Your milk won’t flow in for a day or two, but colostrum, a colourless liquid, will sustain him. Baby Hart seems to have grasped the idea.’

  ‘You can add the name Robert to his chart, thank you, Sister.’

  ‘Indeed? Well, at least that’s respectable, poor little mite.’

  Clytie was ready to bite back at her with the crude expletive used in the circus when a performer misjudged his timing. Too late, the nurse had swept from the room.

  That dragon never misses an opportunity.

  All resentment was washed away by a feeling of awe at the sight of the tiny boy confidently suckling at her breast. Here he was, on his first day of life, skinny, bald, with mottled, spindly limbs, yet he looked as if he had been born knowing just how to handle his world.

  ‘You are your father’s son, no mistake. This motherhood game is new to me. But you look as if you’ve been here before.’

  As if in response little Robert wrapped his fist around one of her fingers in a surprisingly firm grip – as if signing a contract.

  When he was filled to the brim and the clear liquid dribbled from his mouth, Clytie carefully inspected every corner and crevice of him, awed by the perfect formation of dimpled elbows, a tiny belly button, perfectly shaped feet and toes.

  ‘You’re born to be a high wire dancer like your grandfather, the Fearless Franco.’

  His scalp was as downy as a peach. His unblinking eyes watched her face as if calculating her inexperience as a mother.

  ‘You’re nobody’s fool, Robert Hart.’ She gave a little cry of joy, utterly charmed by the nape of his neck. Three tiny tufts of hair sprouted in the shape of a fleur-de-lys. Clytie bent and kissed it.

  Chapter 22

  Rom studied the scene from the doorway of the ward. Finch stood by his neatly made up bed, packing his kit bag with the last of the few articles that he owned. Sister Heather Macqueen hovered nearby, casting a motherly eye over his efforts.

  It was the first time Rom had seen Finch fitted out in uniform – the khaki a marked contrast with the head of snowy hair grown almost shoulder-length during his weeks of hospitalisation.

  Feeling himself under scrutiny, Finch met his gaze. The strong blue of his eyes reminded Rom of an Australian sky – not a cloud in sight.

  Finch’s head bent to catch the nurse’s words and Rom felt a sudden wave of irritation that their intimacy excluded him.

  I have to admit the bloke is handsome in a rugged, earthy kind of way. Easy to see why my little Kiwi has taken a shine to him. She’ll get over it. I need him more.

  ‘Talking about me behind my back again, are you?’ he asked with mock severity as he barged into their space to break up their conversation.

  Finch’s stammer was a clear sign of guilt. ‘I was just explaining to Sister that we’re headed for Bitternbird, to track down that unknown girl in my photograph.’

  Sister Macqueen’s smile was a tease. ‘She might be your bride, Finch.’

  Rom smiled tolerantly at the ruse. My photograph, mate. And my girl. But God willing you won’t cotton onto all that until we hit Hoffnung.

  He sensed something in the air between the three of them. Macqueen was careful not to play favourites among the patients, and a man without a memory got more than his share of attention. Yet Rom had also caught the nurse off-guard, looking at him in a certain way.

  ‘How about the three of us have a last drink together, before we head for the docks, eh Finch?’

  Rom laid his hand on the nurse’s shoulder in a sign of casual possession. ‘You’re off duty at three, aren’t you, Kiwi? What say we meet for afternoon tea in that cosy canteen sort of place those upper-crust English ladies set up for us lads in khaki to write letters home. I’ve never been there.’

  Finch looked a shade embarrassed. ‘Funny, I was just inviting Sister to meet me there. You’re welcome to join us of course, Rom.’

  Sister Macqueen cast a knowing glance between them. ‘Three o’clock. I’ll see you both there.’

  Finch and Rom watched her retreating figure until she was out of sight.

  ‘You’re a sly dog,’ Rom said casually. ‘You could be married with four kids.’

  Finch wasn’t a man to back down. ‘I intend to write to Sister from Australia and tell her whatever I find out. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  Rom’s friendly hoot of derision broke the tension. ‘Thanks a lot! Need I remind you that you wouldn’t be on that ship bound for Australia if I hadn’t pulled a few strings in high places. I reckon you owe me, mate.’

  Finch sounded genuinely contrite. ‘Forgive me. You’ve stuck by me like a brother.’

  ‘Let’s step outside for a few moments. I need to brief you about a few things in private.’

  Finch looked suddenly disconcerted. ‘But you’re travelling on board with me, aren’t you – once your transit papers have been stamped?’

  ‘You ca
n bet your sweet life, I am. But we’ll be packed in like sardines. You never know, one of us might get off-loaded onto a later ship. We need to know exactly where to link up in Melbourne. Come on, it’s stifling in here. I’m sweating like a pig. I need some air.’

  They walked in silence to the edge of the soldiers’ graveyard at the edge of the hospital grounds. Automatically they stood to attention as two stretcher-bearers and a nurse accompanied a linen-covered stretcher to one of the freshly dug graves.

  ‘Anyone we know?’ Rom asked casually.

  ‘Yeah, Billy, that friendly young Canadian who was generous with his smokes. I promised him I’d write to his mother if he didn’t make it. Ironical, isn’t it? I can write her a whole letter but I can’t even sign my true name.’

  Rom was restless. The sweat was soaking his shirt and he was anxious it wasn’t just due to the humidity.

  ‘Look, Finch, I’m sorry for the way I acted. I’m not myself. It’d be just my rotten luck to cop another dose of enteric fever only hours away from sailing time.’

  ‘Make sure you get yourself on board. You can count on me to take care of you.’ Finch sounded genuine. ‘I need you. Like a blind man needs a guide dog.’

  Rom clasped his shoulder, thankful he had something to steady him on his feet. ‘We’ll find a new life for you in Victoria, mate, trust me.’

  ‘Maybe. But one thing’s got me beat. Why are you as keen as I am to track down this girl? You must have family and friends of your own back home.’

  ‘I’m a rolling stone. I can put my life on hold. Let’s get your life sorted out first.’

  Rom was anxious time was running out. ‘When we hit Port Melbourne, if we get separated, I’ll meet you in the bar at Young and Jackson’s. That’s a posh hotel on the corner of Flinders and Swanston Streets, Melbourne. Got it? They call it the pub where the tills run hot.’

  ‘Right. But there’s something else, isn’t there? You aren’t levelling with me.’

  ‘Not a thing.’ Rom paused. ‘Except take a bit of advice from a bloke who’s kissed more girls than you’ve had hot dinners.’

  Finch looked wary. ‘All right. Out with it.’

  ‘When you meet that lovely girl in the photograph, even if you don’t remember her, tell her she’s a girl worth waiting for.’

  Finch looked nonplussed. ‘I just don’t get you, Rom. One minute I think you’re a tough nut no girl should trust. The next I reckon you’re a closet Romantic.’

  ‘Maybe I’m both!’ Rom just grinned and walked back inside the hospital.

  His last sight of Finch was of him standing alone by the young Canadian’s grave, his head bowed in prayer, the wind blowing his wild head of hair.

  Life’s a funny can of worms. Finch doesn’t know who the hell he is – but he knows he believes in a God. Me, I’m just the opposite.

  He strode off whistling The Girl I Left Behind Me.

  • • •

  The angel was peering down at him, floating in a cloud, all pure white except for a touch of freckles and the pale blue of her eyes.

  Rom struggled through the mist to force the words between his cracked lips.

  ‘Hey! You’re no angel. I know you. You’re my Kiwi.’

  ‘That’s right, Rom. Rest easy.’

  Rom. She called me Rom.

  A cold compress was pressed against his forehead. Alarmed by the sight of Finch’s empty bed, he tried to sit up. ‘Shit! He isn’t dead is he?’

  ‘No. Stay calm, Finch. The surgeon signed his release, remember? Your mate will be safely on board the ship by now. Ready to sail home to Australia, just like you wanted for him.’

  ‘Hell, Finch can’t sail without me. I’ve got to get out of here!’

  He struggled against the cool, surprisingly strong hands that held him down.

  ‘Not yet, lad. First we have to get your temperature down. Don’t worry. Their sailing date has been delayed by bad weather.’

  ‘You’ve got to get me on that ship, Sister. Finch’s like a newborn baby. He’ll be lost without me.’

  Rom felt a thermometer inserted into his mouth. He held her eyes, daring her not to leave him. He desperately fought the desire to sleep – afraid that ship would sail without him.

  ‘Heather . . . don’t leave me!’

  She gripped his hand. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up, Rom.’

  ‘No! Stay by me!’ He was battling to get the words out. ‘Promise! Cross your heart and hope to die.’

  ‘I promise.’

  She doesn’t understand. Finch doesn’t know the truth . . . I bolted . . . Clytie . . . I never answered her letter about the baby. Got to put things right. Last chance.

  ‘Sister! Listen to me! Dolores made me promise – never to say the words “I love you” until I really meant it . . .’

  The soft Kiwi accent was fading. ‘It’s never too late, Rom . . .’

  He gripped the pale hand to detain her – to help him hang on.

  He sensed that he was raving. Time was running out. The hands of the clock raced at high speed around the numbers on its face. Then the Roman numerals suddenly disappeared. The clock framed Clytie’s face . . . He tried to reach out to her. ‘I never had the guts to tell you. I loved you – from the very first moment. Marry me, before it’s too late . . .’

  An orderly appeared in the doorway, bent his head close to the white veil and whispered urgently, ‘Sister, another hospital train’s arrived. Doctor needs you in surgery to operate . . .’

  Rom felt the angel in the white veil squeeze his hand. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Rom,’ she said in a voice that trailed away into the darkness.

  No you won’t. I’m getting out of here. I’ll get on that ship come Hell or high water.

  Chapter 23

  In the days that followed Robert Hart’s birth, Clytie felt alternate waves of elation, gratitude and surprise. Despite Hoffnung’s entrenched attitude to illegitimacy – an act of shame to be forever recorded in the town’s memory – she had received unexpected gestures of warmth and congratulations. The most surprising gift of all was the arrival of a fine bunch of hothouse flowers. Clytie was touched by the wording of the card:

  ‘Clever girl! Perfect timing. Our two little lads will grow up attending school together. We’ve called our boy Maximilian George Peter (Noni’s choice). Please remember me kindly to Rom in South Africa. We can all take pride in our V.M.R. lads. Don’t worry, he’ll soon be home. Meanwhile, if I am able to assist you in any way, please remember you have in me a friend always at your service.’

  It was signed ‘Sonny Jantzen’.

  Perfect timing, he says. A babe born before his parents could marry, but Sonny skips over that fact as if it simply does not exist. A true gentleman.

  Sister Bracken ran a taut ship. On her instructions Clytie was not allowed any visitors, on the grounds that the birth had been a month premature. The gifts she received were a real consolation. She was stunned by the arrival of an elegant wicker bassinet with a card from Miss Adelaide Hundey, addressed to Master Robert Hart.

  ‘Welcome to the world, young man. You’ve chosen two fine parents.

  Always your friend, Adelaide Hundey.’

  Clytie whispered to little Robert. ‘To most people she’s just Doc’s eccentric sister. But we know better, don’t we?’

  Later that day a noisy altercation broke out. Clytie recognised Sister Bracken’s unmistakable voice laying down the law to some strident female who was refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer.

  ‘Are you defying my orders?’ Sister demanded.

  ‘Don’t think you can boss me around, Bracken. You think you’re God’s gift to nursing, but you’re no better than the rest of us. I remember you when you were a snivelling little schoolgirl. If you dare to block me, I’ll report you to Doc Hundey!’

  Much to Clytie’s delight Sister Bracken was forced to back-pedal. ‘Only on condition you don’t stay too long. Nursing mothers need their rest.’

  Clytie as
sumed the visitor was for Noni Jantzen, but she was unable to hide a broad grin when she saw the woman who burst through the doorway was the eccentric old organist, Holy Maude.

  ‘You look radiant, girlie.’

  Holy Maude presented her with a cardboard box containing a complete hand-knitted and crocheted baby layette.

  For once Clytie was speechless.

  ‘The women’s auxiliaries of all our churches made you something. Most are for the babe but there’s a bed-jacket for you. All the priests and clergymen have offered to baptise your babe whenever you say the word. You can thank Rom for that. He didn’t belong to any congregation but he’s become a bit of a local hero. His name was mentioned in some British officer’s dispatch for rescuing a wounded Tommy under fire.’

  Clytie was startled but unwilling to admit she had received no word from Rom in months. Had he even received her letter telling him she was pregnant?

  ‘He didn’t mention that,’ she said, and hoped her face did not reveal the lie.

  ‘Probably too busy fighting them Boers, girlie. Our volunteers are shuffled around from pillar to post. Their letters are being published in the newspapers telling us what the war’s really like. A very different kettle of fish from what them Federal politicians want us to think!’

  ‘Hero or not, thank God Rom’s safe.’ Holy Maude’s information from the Front might be second-hand and confused, but it was a sharp reminder of how death must be Rom’s constant shadow.

  To disguise her tears Clytie busied herself inspecting the baby clothes.

  ‘These are exquisite. And I thought people despised me.’

  ‘Think of it this way, girlie. There are no two ways about it. This town never forgets them what’s illegitimate. It’s like a nickname – you wear it all your life. But people round here admire your spirit. And when your Rom Delaney comes home no doubt he’ll do right by you.’

  Clytie squeezed her hand. ‘You are a very wise lady, Miss Maude.’

  ‘Huh! Neither wise nor a lady. It’s just I’ve lived long enough to live down the gossip about me. Everyone has a past. Some just manage to cover their tracks better than others. This town has more buried secrets than you can shake a stick at. One day I’ll let you in on them. They’ll make your hair curl.’