Rom saw the beads of sweat on her brow.
‘Doctor took care of the burial,’ she continued, ‘with help from Holy Maude. That old biddy never misses a funeral.’
Rom stared at her, trying to collect his thoughts to form the question he could not bring himself to ask Clytie: if she had seen their babe after he died. He forced himself to ask Sister Bracken.
‘I decided it best to shield Miss Hart. Dead babies look like wax dolls. A bad lasting memory for any mother. I did her a kindness.’
‘A kindness,’ he repeated hollowly.
Sister Bracken finally cracked. ‘What are you insinuating? That my judgement was in error? I will swear on the Bible I did everything humanly possible to save that infant. I was sorry for the girl. You deserted her. She was penniless, left alone to raise a babe with the stigma of illegitimacy. In one way it was a merciful release.’ She rose, clinging to the desk for support. ‘That’s all I can tell you. Please – leave me alone!’
Rom’s eyes bored into hers. He rose with great deliberation. Her expression clearly told him she knew he did not trust her. Was even a little afraid of him.
As he reached the door her courage returned to deliver a parting shot.
‘Some people think you’re a hero, Delaney. Not me. We had no right to fight the Boers. It took real courage to refuse to volunteer. Sonny Jantzen was the first child I ever delivered. He’ll make a far better father to his little boy than you would have done to your poor lad.’
‘I wouldn’t trust anyone who swears on a Bible! If your word is good enough for Doc – then so be it.’
He turned to look back at her. Sister Bracken was staring at him in utter horror, her hands blocking her mouth as if afraid she would scream. Rom half staggered down the track to the town, his mind reeling.
Ravaged by questions without answers, he walked around to the back door of the Diggers’ Rest where locals could buy a beer after closing time – a custom to which Sergeant Mangles turned a blind eye. Tonight Rom decided he would risk being seen.
He planted himself at the far end of the bar and used his charm on the sassy redheaded barmaid at the other end. ‘Just one beer, love. Then I’ll be on my way.’
Ginger glanced down the length of the bar but chose to ignore him. Turning off the light, she left him in darkness.
Jesus! One day you’re a hero. The next? How soon they forget.
Determined to free his mind from the whirlpool of thoughts drowning his judgement, Rom did what he did best. He moved stealthily around the sleeping township, commandeered the things Finch needed and dumped them in the miner’s right cabin.
Finch lay writhing with fear in his sleep, mumbling words in some foreign lingo Rom could not recognise.
You poor bastard. I’ve trapped you in an even bigger mess than I knew.
He gave Finch’s shoulder a gentle shake. Finch instantly leapt up and pinned Rom to the ground, his fist raised ready to pulverise him.
‘Steady on mate, it’s only me! The Boers are thousands of miles away.’
Finch was breathing fast. Rom recognised the signs of one of the terrible nightmares that also transported him back into the war.
‘Take it easy, mate. I just came to tell you I need you to hold the fort a bit longer. I need to be on my own to work out my next move. I’ve a big decision to make.’
‘You’re not planning to leave Clytie high and dry? You will come back?’
‘You can count on it. It’s time for you to dice the khaki. Ask my girl nicely and she’ll give you my clothes to wear. I’ve sung your praises to Sonny Jantzen. Go see him – he’ll help you find work.’
Finch looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t deserve your help. There’s something I should have told you, Rom. About Clytie –’
‘Save it for later. Just remember one thing. Clytie will always love me.’
Finch nodded and raised his thumb to underline his acceptance.
• • •
Doc’s house lay in darkness broken only by a kerosene lamp in the front room. Wearing his usual shaggy tweeds, Doc was seated at his desk, writing in his diary. Despite the warmth of the room, Rom noticed Doc shiver with cold as he looked up and stared at Rom, unsure if his tired eyes had deceived him.
‘It’s good to see you, Rom. Proof those rumours about you – Missing Presumed Dead – were dead wrong.’
‘I reckon part of me did die at Wilmansrust, Doc. What you see now is only half a man,’ he said with an attempted laugh.
Doc Hundey studied him briefly before removing a bottle of brandy from his medicine cabinet. He poured a glass with slightly trembling hands and offered it to Rom.
‘Thanks, Doc. You know me. I never say no to a grog,’ he said lightly as he placed the glass on the table. ‘You’re the one person I trust to level with me. There’s a heap of thoughts fighting for space in my head. I can’t seem to get a handle on them.’
‘Have you talked with Clytie yet? She’s been living for your return.’
‘I know. But I just can’t face her yet, Doc. I bolted, messed up her life. I don’t know how to put the pieces together again. I dunno – maybe it’s the war.’
‘Talk it through, lad, I’ll help you if I can.’
‘There are things I need to know – it’s too painful to make Clytie relive it. About the night my son died. When I tried to question Sister Bracken I hit a brick wall.’
Doc frowned. ‘She’s a good woman, but not famous for her tact.’
Rom’s eyes never left the doctor’s pale, haggard face. ‘Bracken told me our baby died the night the mine collapsed.’
‘I will always regret I was unable to be by Clytie’s side when she needed me. What exactly is troubling you, son?’
‘I think Bracken’s lying. I reckon she made a mistake she’s covering up. Too afraid to tell you the truth.’
There was no doubting Doc’s stunned expression was genuine.
‘He died due to her negligence? That’s a strong accusation, Rom. Tell me exactly word for word what Bracken said.’
Rom began to recount their conversation in detail until he was interrupted by a series of loud raps.
Doc unlocked the front door to reveal Paddy O’Grady standing there, his nightshirt hanging over his trousers, his face lined with anxiety.
‘Me Mum is in heavy labour. Bleeding a gusher. The babe’s come early.’
‘Right. I’ll grab my bag and saddle the horse –’
‘No need, Doc. My wagon’s outside.’
Paddy was already running back down the path.
Doc hurried to the adjacent room and spoke as he returned with his bag.
‘We’ll talk later, lad. I promise.’
But Rom’s chair was empty.
Doc climbed into the wagon and Paddy cracked the whip as they drove off.
Doc looked back at the house and the road behind him. Rom was nowhere in sight.
• • •
Hidden in the shrubs behind the priest’s house, Rom stared at the light burning in the window. He could not face Clytie about their baby’s death. She had already suffered too much.
Supposing I’m wrong about Bracken. What good would it do either way? It wouldn’t bring him back.
Yet he felt an overwhelming desire to comfort Clytie.
He allowed some time to elapse after he saw her extinguish the light in the kerosene lamp. His eyes followed the progress of a candle until it disappeared into the bedroom. The house lay in darkness.
Moving stealthily he entered the back door, ordered Shadow to be quiet. Pausing in the doorway of the bedroom, pity stirred with lust and guilt.
Clytie’s hair fanned across the pillow. Her breathing was deep and regular, in the first stages of sleep. Beside her on the table was a small bottle marked ‘Valerian’. He knew enough about herbal medicine to know this induced deep, natural sleep.
Her arms were folded across her breast like an angel’s. Her nightgown was old and worn but to Rom she had never looked more beau
tiful – or more trusting.
His heart turned over at the sight of the trace of tears on her eyelashes. I kept my promise, girl. But it’s not yet time to show myself.
Careful not to wake her, he lay down beside her and held her in his arms with her head on his shoulder. He was conscious of the irony.
This is the first time in my life I’ve lain with a woman without coupling with her. I must be getting old.
Yet he knew his flippant thought was camouflage. Mixed with sorrow over the loss of both his sons he felt a strange sense of contentment that he could stay awake and protect Clytie while she slept.
Rom left before sunrise. Clytie remained fast asleep. He slipped noiselessly into the bush where the raucous sound of kookaburras’ laughter heralded the day.
I know this bush like the back of my hand – yet I’ve never felt more lost in my whole life.
Chapter 31
That same night was a very different experience for the man trapped in the role of go-between.
There was no moon at all. No light to guide Finch. He charged through the dense darkness of the bush, driven by a restless urge to escape the miner’s right cabin that had been a lovers’ tryst for Clytie and Rom, mentally haunted by his imagined memories of their shared past.
The priest’s house suddenly broke through the darkness. Finch told himself he had not consciously come this way. But was that the truth?
There was only a single light visible, the soft light of a kerosene lamp shining in what he knew was Clytie’s bedroom. Finch felt his throat constrict with words that made no sense. He had a sudden sense of longing to knock on her door and tell her the truth. That he could no longer live the Big Lie as Rom’s go-between. That he accepted that she loved Rom. But that the time had come for him to leave Hoffnung – leave them both to sort out their lives. He was torn between seeing Clytie’s face or banishing himself to some remote place where he could never see her face again.
Feeling as furtive as a voyeur, he watched the light of her window as her shadow crossed the room. The silhouette of her hand touching her hair, the outline of her bosom caused his heartbeat to quicken.
Go home. You have no place here.
He had half turned in the direction of Rom’s cabin when he heard a man’s heavy footsteps crunching on the quartz road. Instinctively he drew back into the shadows of the bush. The man was Rom.
Finch berated himself for being trapped. Too late now to reveal his presence.
Trying to regulate his breathing, he watched as Rom halted in the exact spot where he himself had just stood. So close he could stretch out a hand and touch him. Rom was now also watching the shadow play on Clytie’s window.
The lamplight went out. A smaller, flickering light of a candle moved across the room. Then all was darkness. Only then did Rom move towards the rear door of the house. In response to Shadow’s throaty growl, Rom ordered him to be quiet.
Finch felt a wave of relief tainted by despondency, freed from the shadows but not from the images in his head. He stumbled down to the cabin by the creek.
Sleep was evasive. At last he succumbed to a troubled, surreal space. Conscious that he stood in the landscape of a dream . . . he stood frozen, an unwilling spectator, forced to watch the lovers’ passionate coupling. Rom was mounting Clytie with lusty energy. She fully matched his passion and cried out in ecstasy, ‘Take me!’
On waking sharply, Finch was disconcerted to discover his body in an acute state of arousal, ready to take a woman. Not just any woman. Clytie.
Ashamed of his unconscious mind’s betrayal of Rom, he felt an unwanted surge of an emotion he suspected was foreign to him – a deep pang of jealousy.
He faced the bitter truth. The balance of power had shifted irrevocably between the three of them. He realised he could pin down the exact moment. That extraordinary encounter with Clytie in the cabin when he found himself staring down the barrel of the rifle she had trained on him. His heart pounding, he had called a double bluff – pulling aside the blanket to reveal his naked body, his erection triggered as much by fear as lust, taunting her to take his life if she did not trust him.
Finch knew he could no longer lie to himself. I’ve hungered for Rom’s woman from the first moment I set eyes on her. Last night Rom finally broke down the barrier between them. He lay with Clytie. My role is over. I’m obsolete. Time to leave them to live happily ever after.
He wrote a note to Rom and placed it under a stone inside the cabin. It read:
‘Good on you, mate. At last you found the courage to go to Clytie. Time for me to move on. Thanks for the hospitality. Finch.’
Not knowing when he would have the chance to bathe and change his clothes again once he hit the road, he washed hurriedly in the creek then shaved carefully with the cut-throat razor. In the broken sliver of mirror the face of a stranger stared back at him with dead, expressionless eyes.
Finch stuffed his few belongings into his kit bag and dressed as best he could to avoid looking disreputable when thumbing down a lift. He fancied some driver asking where he was headed and imagined his answer: ‘Anywhere. It doesn’t really matter.’
Finch was convinced his new life was over before it had had a real chance to begin.
To avoid Clytie’s house he cut through the bush to Main Street, bought a loaf of cheap day-old bread from the Bakery, then stopped at the forge to ask the blacksmith to sharpen his Bowie knife. Black Jack obliged on the spot but waved aside Finch’s offer of payment.
‘No need. Good luck finding work, mate.’
Some instinct drew Finch to the sign on a little shopfront that read, ‘Watchmaker and Jeweller. Prop. Sol. Levi.’ Perhaps it was the glint of sunlight caching the immaculately clean window pane. A shaft of light fell across the face of a handsome old pendulum clock in the window. It reminded him that Clytie’s clock had been irretrievably smashed. Although she tried to deny it, he knew she had thrown it across the room in her white heat rage over Rom’s avoidance of her.
She finally ran out of time, patience. Who could blame her?
On impulse Finch entered the store where Solomon Levi was seated behind the counter, writing the price tag on an item of jewellery. He looked up over the top of his spectacles and half smiled. Finch saw that the old man’s eyes held a depth of sadness that he would probably take to his grave.
‘How may I help you, young man? Mr Finch, is it not?’
‘That’s what I’m called, Mr Levi. I just wanted to ask you a question. I couldn’t help noticing that fine old clock in the window. It doesn’t have a price attached. Is it for sale?’
‘It has been sitting there for many months. I repaired it for a Scottish miner. Poor Niven was one of the men lost in the Golden Hope mine disaster last year – before you came to Hoffnung.’
‘I wonder could I put a deposit on it? I’m leaving Hoffnung but you have my word I’ll send you money each month until it is paid off.’
‘You haven’t asked the price, Mr Finch. You must want it very much,’ Mr Levi said gently.
‘You’re right. I do. What is the price?’
‘It is not mine to sell. The clock rightfully belonged to the deceased estate of Donald Niven. But it seems he had no family to come forward and claim his belongings. So I gave his clock a new home.’ He hesitated then asked curiously, ‘It is perhaps a gift you are wanting to give, yes?’
‘It is. For Miss Clytie Hart. I’m a friend of her fiancé, Rom Delaney. I would like to leave her something to thank her for her hospitality.’
‘I understand. A most fitting gesture.’ Levi’s head rocked gently from side to side while he considered the matter. ‘Let us make a small deal.’
‘Deal?’
‘I shall give you the clock on one condition. These are difficult times. I do not wish for people to think I am wealthy enough to give my stock away for free – the Hebrew race has long been labelled with a false reputation for being wealthy. I am not a poor man – but far from that desirable condition. So p
lease, take the clock on condition you say nothing to anyone about how you came by it.’
‘I can’t do that. At least let me pay you for your repair work. I’m a hard worker. I won’t be strapped for cash for long.’
‘I feel sure you will not. But that is my condition – is it too difficult to accept from me? Let us say it is a little gesture of thanks to a fellow soldier in memory of a young Melbourne physician. Alexander was one of the first Australians to heed the Empire’s call to join the Medical Corps.’
He gestured to the framed photograph on the wall which showed a dark-eyed young man wearing the uniform of an Australian officer with an expression of serious pride.
‘Your son?’
Levi nodded. ‘Yes, Alex was awarded a medal after the siege of Ladysmith but his life ended there. I am attempting to persuade Councillor Twyman to allow me to place a small Star of David beside his name on the planned war memorial.’ He added with a shrug, ‘Councillor Twyman is not an easy man to convince. But we shall see what we shall see.’
Finch keenly felt the man’s dignified sense of loss but he could find no adequate words to cover the moment.
‘Sir, I don’t know how to . . .’
‘No matter, your eyes speak for you. I am sorry to upset you. You look pale. No doubt you have seen too much.’
He removed the clock from the window. ‘Do you wish me to have it delivered to Miss Hart? My grandson Harry delivers messages for me after school. Good training for a lad to earn his own pocket money.’
‘Indeed it is. I appreciate your kindness, Mr Levi. I know Miss Hart will greatly value the clock.’
Solomon Levi placed his finger across his lips. ‘Remember to keep shtum, yes?’
‘Your secret is safe with me, Sir.’
Levi’s glance was guarded. ‘May her fiancé Mr Delaney return home safely and soon. A bit of a wild lad, that one, but I suspect Miss Hart is the very girl to make a good husband of him.’
Finch stammered his thanks and backed from the shop.
He wanted to escape Hoffnung immediately, but something niggled at the edge of his conscience. Clytie doesn’t deserve to have another man bolt from her.
Golden Hope Page 34
