Finch gave a dismissive wave of the hand. He did not bother to say goodnight – or goodbye – as he headed back to his room at the Diggers’ Rest.
Chapter 50
The unfamiliar sound of a horse neighing close at hand woke Clytie in the pink-tinged ‘piccaninny dawn’, the prelude to the customary dawn chorus of kookaburras’ laughter. The horse sounded so close at hand she hastily threw on her robe and ran barefoot to the front door. Nothing in sight – so she turned tail and ran out the back door.
The sight of him took her breath away. A frisky, handsome colt, his hide the colour of red ochre with a golden mane and a silver blaze on his nose, he was pawing the ground, pulling against the rope tethered to the trunk of a Red Gum.
‘Hey, beauty, no need to be afraid of me. Who do you belong to?’ she called out softly.
Then he arched his neck and she saw he was nuzzling a Shetland pony. An envelope addressed to Miss Hart was tied to the tree. Clytie opened it with trembling hands. The handwriting was clear and strong:
Dear Clytie,
Thank you for accepting the enemy into your home – if not your heart. I asked too much of you. You’re Rom’s woman and always will be.
The colt is a thank-you gift from me to you. His name is Huguenot. You can train him to be your equestrienne partner if you fancy returning to your old circus life. The pony is a gift from Sonny to Max – for you to teach the lad to ride. His name is Bo, the closest Max can get to the word ‘pony’.
Max will be delivered into your care this morning. Noni is already in residence in their St Kilda mansion, preparing for their voyage to Europe and the Schatzalp Sanatorium in Switzerland.
I drove Sonny alone to the train station last night. He did not want to face the pain of a public farewell with Max.
Hoffnung is now no more to me than the dust on my boots. The open road beckons. To echo Ned Kelly’s last words before he was hanged, ‘Such is Life’.
Your friend,
Jonathan D’Angers (a.k.a. Finch)
The garden seemed to rock beneath her feet. Clytie leaned against the colt to steady herself. She re-read the letter out loud to try to clear her head and place the implications in order of priority.
He’s gone! Finch – Jonathan, or whatever he calls himself, has bolted. Left me to remain faithful to Rom. This colt is almost like a lover’s farewell gift – yet he’s setting me free to make my own future. Huguenot – to remind him of his ancestry. There are no clues to which road he’ll take. To Melbourne? To the South Australian border? Or across the Nullarbor Plain to Western Australia? That covers choices of thousands of miles.
She was still in her dressing-robe when the carriage pulled up and a tall, lanky figure sprang down holding Maxie in the crook of one arm. From the other he dangled a heavy cabin trunk as lightly as if it was feather-weight.
The man dropped the trunk at her feet. Doffed his hat to her.
‘Good morning, ma’am. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Chris Morgan, one half of the new owners of the Golden Hope. My brother and me we hail from California. It seems the town has already given me a new name, “Little Bear”. I take it that’s a sort of compliment, is it?’ he asked, clearly none too sure.
‘Indeed it is. That means you’ve been adopted. If they start politely calling you “Mister” it will be time to worry. We do things differently here.’
‘Sure do, Ma’am.’
She held out her hand to him. ‘Welcome to Hoffnung. I’m known as the Knife-Thrower’s Daughter, but you can call me Clytie Hart.’
His grin was broad and infectious, the Yankee twang to his words warm and pleasant.
‘Before he left Mr Sonny Jantzen entrusted me to deliver this young man to you personally – he said you had given him a gift beyond price.’
Maxie was already reaching out his hands to her. Clytie took him into her arms and smelled his hair, rubbing her lips against his cheek to camouflage the instant tears that filled her eyes.
‘Thank you – beyond measure!’
‘Well, I’d best get back to the mine, ma’am. Can’t wait to put our new Yankee methods into action and revitalise this funny old town.’
‘The best of British luck,’ she said automatically, then hastily corrected herself. ‘And Yankee luck too, of course!’
Good luck indeed, Little Bear. It will take a heap of Yankee know-how to get Hoffnung up and running again. But stranger things have happened.
She guided Maxie’s hand to wave to the man as he drove off.
She ran inside, hastily buttering a crust of toast for Max to chew, then absently patted his head and re-read Finch’s letter for clues. There were none. She tried to remember the name of the place in South Australia where his father had begun his photographic studio. She grabbed the Atlas, turning the pages to South Australia’s capital city, Adelaide. She remembered it began with the letter H.
She shook her fists in frustration. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Finch will be gone before I find the damned place on the map!’
The word suddenly leapt off the page. ‘Hahndorf, that’s it! It’s logical D’Angers senior might have gone there – a wine-growing area settled by early German Lutheran immigrants.’
It was only one of several possibilities but there was not a moment to lose. She hastily filled a box with her mother’s circus costumes and her father Franco’s memorabilia, added the velvet double-framed pictures Finch had taken of Rom and herself and Sonny’s photograph album.
She placed little Max on a rug in the garden where his eyes followed her movements with amusement, cheering her as she ran back and forth from the house, loading the circus wagon. At the sight of the wheels half buried in the mud, she let out a series of expletives she had overheard at the Diggers’ Rest, then swiftly apologised to Max.
‘You didn’t hear that, Max!’
She raced back to the barn and returned with a shovel, desperately freeing the wheels from their anchor of mud, as the sweat poured down her arms and face.
Finally she dragged the harness from the barn. Two fingers in her mouth executed the shrill whistle that Tiche had taught her. Shadow promptly came to heel.
‘I’ll teach you to whistle like that, later, Maxie. It comes in handy when push comes to shove.’ Muttering a stream of encouragements, she harnessed Huguenot to the wagon. ‘I know you haven’t done this work before, boy, but this is an emergency.’
She suddenly remembered Bo and roped the pony on a lead to the rear of the wagon. Then she raced back to lock the doors of the house. Nothing left to do but to bundle Max into the wicker box at her feet beside the driver’s seat.
‘What a clever boy you are, Max. Ask your mama no questions and she’ll tell you no lies.’
She beckoned Shadow to sit with them but he chose to run alongside the wagon.
The blinds were drawn at the front windows of Doc’s house as she ran up the pathway, holding Max on one hip. She rapped repeatedly on the door.
‘Please God, let him be home! I haven’t got time to put everything I want to say in a note.’
A dishevelled head appeared around the door and for a moment Clytie wasn’t sure whether it was Doc or Adelaide.
Dressed in old striped pyjamas he had one arm in, one arm out of his dressing-robe. Half asleep, his expression registered concern.
‘What’s wrong, Clytie?’
Her words came out in a rush as if welded together.
‘Nothing, Doc. I just came to say goodbye. I refuse to wait on any man’s decision. Max and I are leaving Hoffnung. Here’s the key to the Priest’s house. Long Sam’s shack is falling apart at the seams. Please ask him to live in my house and treat it as his own – and tell him Lola Montez’s book is waiting for him.’
Doc gave a bemused nod of the head. ‘That’s quite a mouthful, Clytie. I presume you’ve given all this proper thought? I shall be sorry to lose you but you know best what’s right for you and Max.’
‘The time has come for me to start living my own lif
e – wherever the road leads me. But you haven’t seen the last of me, Doc.’
‘In that case, it’s au revoir,’ Doc said and added casually, ‘Melbourne is lovely this time of year if you should decide to head that way.’
He accepted the house key and the envelope she thrust in his hands.
‘Who is this for?’
‘A photograph Finch took of Max and me – to remember us.’
Clytie turned to go but spun around. ‘Doc, I want you to know – about you and Adelaide. Please don’t ever change. I love you both equally.’
On impulse she leaned across and kissed Doc quickly on both cheeks, then picked up her skirts and ran down the path to the wagon. As she cracked the whip she looked back at the house. Doc was waving to Max, the key in his hand.
The lace curtains of Adelaide’s room were closed behind the wrought-iron bars. Her garden was in full bloom.
• • •
Clytie halted the wagon in Main Street, drawing a group of curious children who were pointing to the ‘ladies on horseback’ painted on the side. With Max planted on one hip she rushed inside Midd’s General Store to give instructions to Marj at the Post Office.
‘In future Long Sam will collect my mail on my behalf.’
Marj’s mouth formed a hard, thin line. ‘Are you quite sure? Him being a chink and all. Wouldn’t it be safer in Doc’s hands?’
Clytie gritted her teeth. ‘No! Doc’s already got his time cut out caring for the whole town. Sam reads and writes better English than most people around here. I’d trust Long Sam with my life. Do you want my instructions in triplicate?’ Clytie demanded.
Marj backed down. ‘No, just sign this form here.’
There were a dozen people Clytie wanted to say goodbye to, but there wasn’t time. She promised herself she would mail postcards along the route of her travels. No doubt Marj would read them in advance of them being collected and would spread the news far and wide.
On impulse she rushed inside the Diggers’ Rest, only to find it deserted at that hour except for Ginger who was lolling in the empty bar, reading the fashion pages.
The barmaid looked uncharacteristically wistful. She blew Max a kiss.
‘What’s your hurry, Clytie? Found gold have you?’
‘Would you please be sure to tell Mr and Mrs Yeoman that I’ve had to leave town unexpectedly. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I apologise I didn’t give them proper notice.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve just been given my own walking papers. Yeoman intends to offer all our jobs to returned soldiers – his patriotic duty, he says. So Gawd knows where I’ll end up.’
Clytie hesitated. ‘We never really hit it off, you and me, Ginger. I reckon that was my fault. I was envious of you.’
‘Me? The town bike?’ She gave a laugh at her own expense. ‘I was the one that envied you. Because you’re what I can never be. A born lady.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short, Ginger. Finch says you’re a good woman who is just waiting for the right man.’
‘He did?’ Ginger’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Nice kid you’ve got there.’
As Clytie reached the door, she heard Ginger’s final words.
‘I’d take the road to Melbourne if I was you.’
So! Finch took the time to say farewell to her – but not to me.
The horse was quick to follow her orders and reverse the wagon.
The sight of Holy Maude approaching, swinging her basket and singing Onward Christian Soldiers, caused Clytie to draw Huguenot to a halt.
‘Off to Melbourne, are you? Nice weather for it,’ Maude said cheerily.
Clytie opened the box at her feet and handed her an envelope.
‘Maude! What a piece of luck. I’m in a rush, can’t stop. Would you do me a favour and pin this on the noticeboard?’
‘Certainly, girlie.’ The old woman smiled at Max. ‘What a bonny babe. Funny, he doesn’t look much like the Jantzens. He looks a bit like –’
‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’ Clytie said quickly.
Waving her straw boater in farewell she drove the wagon off at full tilt. Time was fast running out. She could not risk a final visit to the cemetery. Instead, she slowed the horse to a funeral pace as they passed it and sent loving thoughts to the souls of Dolores, Lionello, Missy and Rom’s other babe, who would forever rest under the name of Robert Hart, son of Clytie Ellin Hart.
With the road to South Australia behind her, Clytie gave Huguenot his head along the jagged, rocky road that led to the highway and Melbourne. She was glad to feel the hot sun on her face as they travelled the road to their destiny, whatever that was. She recited nursery rhymes to entertain Max, or was it to give herself Dutch courage?
Humpty Dumpty was his favourite. When she reached the final words, ‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again,’ Max happily clapped his hands.
Clytie gave him a wistful smile. ‘Some things can never be mended, Max.’
Three miles out of town she caught her breath when she saw the figure on the road. Tall and lanky, he was walking at a steady pace, wearing khaki shirt and trousers, knee-high boots, a swag slung over one shoulder and Shadow at his side. The sun shone like burnished gold on his wind-blown hair.
He was singing. Her heart raced as the wind carried the words back to her . . . ‘How sweet the hours I passed away, with The Girl I Left Behind Me’.
‘That was your father’s favourite song, Max.’
The swagman glanced back, identified her wagon and resolutely turned away to face the road ahead.
Clytie drew even with him, slowing the wagon to keep pace with his stride.
‘May we offer you a lift, Finch?’ She tried to make it sound as if his answer was of no importance, but her heart was beating at a sickening pace.
‘Thanks, but I prefer to walk.’
‘Can I at least take you as far as the train station?’
‘No trains needed. I prefer to talk to people en route.’
‘En route to where?’
‘Who knows? I may end up crossing the Nullarbor Plain to Western Australia and taking a swim in the Indian Ocean. But first off I might revisit my childhood home in Hahndorf.’
It made no sense – they were going in the opposite direction to Hahndorf. What the hell is he playing at?
‘Hahndorf? How strange, that’s where Max and I are headed. I don’t have a map. Would you care to show us the way?’
Clytie held out the reins to him, furious to see that her hands were shaking.
Finch stopped. The horse stopped. Finch stared at Clytie and she stared back. He cast a backward glance at the road to Hoffnung. Then at the road that lay ahead. Then without a word he accepted the reins and climbed aboard.
Clytie did her best to appear nonchalant. ‘It seems you found time to say goodbye to a number of people – even Ginger.’
Finch’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ginger is a warm-hearted woman with a reputation she doesn’t deserve. She’s just shopping for a husband. No shame in that.’
Clytie felt justifiably reprimanded. ‘I’m sorry. Who am I to judge her? I just apologised to her. Look, Finch, I know your life is none of my business, but –’
‘You’re right, it isn’t. But for the record I wasn’t one of Ginger’s “volunteers”. And I’ve only ever proposed marriage to one woman. I didn’t stand the ghost of a chance – she turned me down flat.’
‘She was a fool,’ Clytie said quickly. ‘She lived to regret it.’
‘Too late now. That’s all water under the bridge.’
Finch kept the silence at bay by singing My Darling Clementine. Clytie felt the song’s ominous final words were aimed at her:
‘. . . You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.’
In desperation Clytie blurted out the words, ‘It is 1902.’
‘I’d noticed,’ he said.
‘One plus nine plus two adds up to twelve, a number d
ivided evenly by four.’
‘So what?’
‘That makes it a Leap Year. Don’t pretend you don’t know. In a Leap Year a woman has the right to propose. If a man turns her down, he has to buy her a pair of gloves.’
‘Cheap at the price of escape,’ he said lightly.
Clytie threw her outward calm to the winds. ‘For heavens sake, Finch, Jonathan, whoever you are, I’m asking you to marry me.’
‘Not a bad offer. But you jumped the gun a bit.’
She felt herself blushing. ‘Are you suggesting I’m only proposing because –’
‘You got the tally mixed up. The Gregorian calendar is a bit tricky. Most Leap Years are multiples of four – but almost every century is short of one Leap Year. In a nutshell, the next one is in 1904. Don’t worry, you’ve only got two more years to wait.’
‘If you think I’m just going to hang around for two years on the off-chance that you just might –’
‘Hold your horses. I’ll think it over. Give you my answer in three weeks.’
‘Why three weeks?’
‘It takes three weeks to read the banns in church before a wedding.’
‘Is that a yes answer?’
‘It’s a maybe. I’m not a man to be rushed into things.’
Clytie clenched her fists, desperately wanting to hit him.
He continued on a casual note of warning. ‘And don’t go thinking I’m easy. There’s no chance of you getting me into bed before the wedding night.’
Clytie gritted her teeth. ‘Any other conditions?’
‘We’ll stay put somewhere for the winter. I don’t fancy being stranded on some bush road miles from anywhere to deliver your bundle.’
He glanced meaningfully at her belly.
Clytie’s voice pitched out of control. ‘That’s the final straw! You knew all the time!’
‘Not hard to recognise the signs. You were carrying on like a two-bob watch.’
Clytie wrested the reins from his hands. ‘Get off my wagon! You can walk to Hahndorf or Melbourne or wherever. You knew and you were running out on me! I’d rather have a new pair of gloves than a husband like you!’
Finch snatched the reins back but kept his voice low. ‘You’ve got a real hide taking the high moral ground. You didn’t even have the decency to tell me I was going to be a father.’
Golden Hope Page 52
