by Amanda Deed
Turmoil curled in the pit of Jane’s stomach as she splashed water on her face to wash away the dust of the morning’s ride. If she didn’t disobey, she might never see Mr Moreland again. That thought caused an ache so deep it surprised her. It surpassed the grief of Danny’s rejection. Mr Moreland wanted to be around her—a fact she still found hard to believe—and she did not wish to dissuade him for any reason. The yearning for companionship with him had become stronger than ever. When Mr Moreland spoke to her, it was as though he spoke to an equal, not looking down upon her. He didn’t even appear to notice her ragged clothes or her ugly freckles and glaring red hair.
God, please make me beautiful. If she were lovely to behold, maybe nothing could keep Mr Moreland away. Perhaps he might even form an attachment to her. Jane’s throat constricted at the thought. That was a dream far too sublime to ever bear fruit. A man the likes of Mr Moreland, so handsome and gracious—and tall—was far out of her reach.
Perhaps even his gestures of friendship were a fantasy in which Jane lived. Maybe she should pinch her arm and wake herself. Surely reality would crash around her at any moment. Mr Moreland must have an ulterior motive somewhere.
She began the short walk back to the cookhouse, with Moses riding on her shoulder as usual. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. What could she say to him today? She didn’t want to blurt out any more silliness, of that she was certain. Jane wanted him to be impressed by her maturity, that she was not the rebellious child she had presented to him yesterday. Swallowing hard, she resolved to tell him she would not defy her stepmother, be it right or wrong.
As she approached the cookhouse, the sound of laughter drifted to her ears. Laughter always made her uneasy and she paused, misgiving swirling in her stomach. Hesitantly, she pushed open the door.
‘… and you should have seen the expression on her face as I held the tooth key over her mouth. She turned white as poached eggs as she lay there.’ Mr Moreland chuckled and Aunt Ruby whooped with laughter. Even Old Darcy gurgled.
Jane turned and fled, her heart in her throat. I knew it. They were laughing at me. Mr Moreland must have been recounting her visit to his dentist chair. Her pain had become the joke of the town. Heat flooded into her face. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. Without heeding where her steps were taking her, Jane hurried onward, fighting the tears which threatened to burst from her. How could he? She had dared to trust him, just a little, and he had thrown it in her face.
This confirmed her deepest fears and Jane understood it with a certainty. She was worthless. No one would ever care for her. She would be alone forever.
‘Miss Jane!’ Hurried footsteps sounded on the dusty ground behind her. Mr Moreland’s American accent rang into the air. ‘Where are you going?’
Jane would not be able to face him while filled with humiliation. Her cheeks burned with it, and he would see it in her eyes if she turned to him. But she refused to give him eye contact ever again.
‘Miss Jane. Wait!’
A sinking realisation hit her. She would never be able to outrun him. If he determined to catch her up, nothing would hold him back. She stopped then, resigning to the impending capture. When his footsteps ceased behind her, she forced out a question. ‘What do you want, Mr Moreland?’
He obviously picked up the tight anger in her tone. ‘I don’t understand. What have I done?’
Through her hurt and mortification, Jane still recognised genuine confusion in his voice. At once an element of doubt crept into her mind. What if she was wrong? No. She couldn’t be wrong. People always laughed at her. ‘You were making fun of me.’
‘What?’ He paused for a moment and then understanding must have forced its way into his mind. ‘Oh.’
His mumbled vowel confirmed her original conclusion. Jane shook her head, choking back sobs and continued to hurry away.
Within moments Mr Moreland gripped her elbow and pulled her to a stop. ‘Wait. Miss Jane. Let me explain.’
Jane tried to tug her arm away, but his hold was too strong for her. ‘There’s nothing to explain.’ She kept her face averted. He would not see how deeply he’d hurt her. With her free hand, she swiped at a hot tear, which escaped down her cheek.
‘Well then, let me tell you the same story I just told your aunt and Old Darcy.’
What was the point in that? To pour more vinegar on the wound? She shook her head.
Mr Moreland ignored her.
‘Your farrier, Mr Hayley, has a daughter. Have you met her?’
Jane bit down on her lip as she nodded. Was this all about Miss Hayley, the artful fifteen-year-old, who made puppy eyes at every young man in town?
‘Yes? Well she came into my shop recently, professing to have a toothache. I ascertained, by the way she batted her pretty eyelids at me that nothing pained her teeth in the least. I decided to play a prank, teach her a lesson. Her mother and I exchanged a wink. I pretended she had a serious infection and must have her tooth removed. The resulting chaos was quite amusing. I’ve never seen a toothache cured quite so fast before.’
It must have been amusing. She heard the laughter in the back of his throat. And his laughter did not concern hers or someone else’s pain, but rather a flirtatious girl who received what she deserved. A new kind of embarrassment flooded through Jane. I’m such an idiot. Once again I have shown Mr Moreland I am a fool. She half turned toward Mr Moreland, swallowing. He must wish to disown her now, for sure. ‘I thought …’
‘A perfectly reasonable misunderstanding.’
He had not released her elbow. Instead he brushed his thumb back and forth on her arm and tugged her further around to face him. How could he continue to be kind when she had accused him of betrayal? A knot twisted in her heart. She didn’t even deserve the friendship of this worthy man, let alone anything else she might desire. Jane was too ashamed to meet his eyes.
‘Shall we forget it ever happened?’ Mr Moreland’s words were so gentle and coaxing. It didn’t take more than his finger under her chin for her to lift her gaze to his.
‘I’m sorry.’ Jane managed to find the words, inadequate though they were.
Mr Moreland’s thumb stroked her cheek. ‘I would never make a mockery of you, Miss Jane.’
She knew it was true. The sincerity in his eyes overwhelmed her and there was something else there, too, something she didn’t want to try to analyse. Jane tore her gaze away. ‘I cannot defy my stepmother.’ She blurted it out, yet again, discomfort making her mouth run away of its own accord.
‘I know.’ Mr Moreland led her back toward the cookhouse. ‘I wouldn’t ask it of you.’ He let out a short sigh. ‘And I won’t attend your church again, either.’
Just as she suspected, this would be the last Jane ever saw of him. Her stomach sank in disappointment.
‘But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you.’
Jane looked sideways at him. ‘But how?’
‘God will make a way. He always does.’ Mr Moreland smiled. He appeared to be convinced of it. ‘In the meantime, I will write to you, via your aunt to be safe. Will you write back?’
Happiness winged its way through her soul. Mr Moreland intended to write to her. He cared enough to persevere despite Mother’s prejudice. ‘Of course I will. Via my aunt for safety’s sake.’
14
Several weeks had passed since the Feng Li incident at the Hay Chapel and in many ways life had returned to normal for Price. Some folk had continued their custom to his barbershop as if it never happened, but others held to their biased rejection and stayed away. After a month of beginning to know Miss Jane in person, it had now been almost as long communicating with her by mail. Winter had set in, although it was not as cold as a Baltimore winter. Price mused over the fact that it seemed more like a Baltimore autumn, but with far less rain than any time of year back home.
Price stood at the window in his upstairs
apartment and looked out the window over the bleak grey vista of the main street. He watched as people hurried back and forth beneath umbrellas, muddy water splashing up from the street to stain hems. For now, rain drizzled in constant rivulets down the window pane and drummed on the tin roof overhead. Price sipped at the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Tomorrow it would more than likely be dry and sunny again.
According to the latest letter he’d received from Miss Jane, the rain was good so far this season. Mr O’Reilly had planted out his crops and they were sprouting as they should. By letter, Miss Jane sounded far more confident than in person and had shared many details of her life and her thoughts with him. He came to learn that she possessed a clever wit that left him laughing often. Like the way she described an incident such as milking a sore-tempered cow one morning, or the always humorous antics of Moses. Just today she had written him of an argument she’d had with the bird.
I told him, in a stern voice mind you, to stop chewing on my wooden trunk. Naughty boy that he is, he flapped his wings and screeched at me ever so crossly. I warned him that I would lock him in his cage. He tried to nip the finger I was wagging at him, but I got my hand out of the way just in time. I growled at him then and he astonished me by squawking at me to shut up. At first I wasn’t sure of what I’d heard, but when I scolded him, he said it again, with his crest fanned out and his wings spread. He was being quite rebellious.
The argument went on for a few minutes before I did go and lock him in his cage for a while. I can only suppose he’s learnt this rudeness from my sisters who use that phrase often. I suspect that if I ever have real children, I will already be quite an experienced parent! When I retrieved Moses from his cage a few hours later, he was rather affectionate. I hope he learnt his lesson. But who knows with animals?
For all her light-hearted storytelling, Price suspected her sisters used the phrase ‘shut up’ on her too often. How else would Moses hear it constantly, for he was always with Miss Jane? It concerned him that she seemed to be an outcast in her own home. He had never seen her in a new gown, only in repaired and mended dresses, and she only appeared to have one more decent dress for Sundays. He’d captured the odd glance at her feet, which appeared to be attired in men’s oxfords—worn and patched up the same as her clothes.
Price considered the relationship between Miss Jane and her father. Why did he allow her to be treated like that? He understood, perhaps, why the stepmother and sisters were negligent, although even that was a stretch when Miss Jane was a lovely young woman. But for her own flesh and blood to ignore her was beyond his comprehension. Even Price’s own father, though they shared a strained relationship, did not neglect him.
Nevertheless, it explained why Miss Jane was so sensitive and shy. Did she have any idea how much her Heavenly Father loved her? Price made a mental note to encourage her with a few verses of Scripture on the subject. Knowing God’s unshakable love could bring great healing to a person’s life.
Price grinned as he watched the late afternoon bustle in the street. The work of love changing a man was evident in Kev Clark. The carter had come along to church with him as promised, but this time to Mrs Ferguson’s church, The Mission Hall. Clark was filled with wonder at what he’d heard that morning. He’d never heard the Good News—not in a way that made it personal to him at any rate. It astounded Clark to hear that Christ died on a cross to wash him clean of sin so that they might share the relationship of close friends. He had let out an astonished expletive at the realisation. Price chuckled at the memory.
The Mission Hall was very different, filled with grace and love. Mr Li had joined him there as well and was still considering what he’d heard. Mr Li weighed everything against his traditional Chinese teachings. In time, Price believed the Truth would shine forth in his heart.
Despite the progress with Mr Clark and Mr Li, Price still questioned why the Lord had led him to this hard place. He had envisioned winning numerous souls to Christ, but after four months in Australia he hadn’t even seen one man surrender his life. He had imagined he could help numerous souls to find peace in a relationship with the Saviour. Sure, Clark was close, but Price remained disappointed with the outcome. He wrote a letter to Mr Carruthers in Wagga, explaining the situation, but as yet hadn’t received a response. Was he putting too much pressure on himself? Lord, I want to see folks know You like I know You.
The bell on his shop door downstairs shook Price from his musings. A customer must have arrived. Though he’d been gazing out of his window, he hadn’t paid attention to who approached his store. After tossing back his coffee he hurried downstairs, taking the steps three at a time. A man stood in the dull afternoon light, water dripping from his coat and hat. Patrick had already approached him with a welcome on his lips.
‘Good afternoon, sir. May I take your hat?
The man shuffled his feet and then lifted his hat, offering it to the young assistant, and Price saw the new customer’s face.
‘Well now, Mr O’Reilly, what a pleasant surprise.’ Price’s heart skipped a beat. Jane’s father was in his store. Was he here as a customer, or had he discovered the letters and wanted to berate him for it?
O’Reilly shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Patrick who hung the two damp items on the stand. ‘Afternoon, Mr Moreland.’
‘What can I do for you today, sir?’
O’Reilly shuffled his feet again, shifting his eyes from Price to different items in the store and back to him again. It reminded Price of the day Jane stood there doing the very same thing. He cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to ask you, that is, I wanted to …’ He coughed again. ‘In general I get Old Darcy to cut my hair, but I suppose it can’t hurt to let you at it.’
He moved to a chair and Price followed with uncertainty. He got the distinct impression O’Reilly wasn’t here for a hair cut at all, and as he combed the man’s hair he became sure of it. This hair hadn’t been cut long ago. ‘I’ll just neaten this up for you, shall I?’
O’Reilly nodded.
‘Patrick, would you get the mop and clear the floor?’ Price always kept a bucket and mop handy on rainy days. He didn’t want anyone to slip on wet floorboards.
Patrick complied and Price went to work on O’Reilly’s hair. ‘How are things at the farm?’
‘Good.’
‘Your family are all well?’
‘Yeah.’
Price wanted to ask him about Jane, but he dared not. It was almost as though she was in the room with them as Jane’s unspoken name hung in the air between them. He continued to ask other questions and in turn O’Reilly persisted with his one-word answers. Like father, like daughter. The two were very similar when it came to conversation.
Within minutes, Price finished tidying O’Reilly’s hair. He brushed loose clippings from the man’s neck and then held up a mirror. ‘That’s much better, don’t you agree?’
O’Reilly nodded, seeming impressed. ‘Aye.’ He stood to his feet and fished in his pocket for loose coins. Handing them over to Price, he cleared his throat. ‘Mr Moreland. I should like to …’ His eyes darted around the room, not fixing on anything. ‘I should like to know …’ He ran a hand through his hair, then released a deep breath. ‘Perhaps, a shave as well.’
As he returned to the chair, Price became more certain that something else was on this man’s mind. O’Reilly had shaved that very morning, Price observed, only minor growth speckled his chin. ‘Very well, sir.’ Maybe he could coax whatever was bothering him out while he completed the grooming. And it might be easier if Patrick wasn’t hovering in the store.
‘Patrick, I need a bowl of warm water. Then, if you don’t mind, I would like you to duck over to Blewitt’s and purchase more shaving soap.’ The local store stocked a variety of goods. Patrick nodded his understanding and soon delivered him the water. Within moments, the young man had collected money from the till, thrown on his coat and pi
cked up an umbrella on his way out.
As Price soaped up O’Reilly’s chin, he rallied his own courage. Jane’s father’s hesitation made him nervous and he hoped what the man had to say was not too serious. He drew in a deep breath and plunged ahead. ‘Mr O’Reilly, I have the distinct impression that you did not come here today for a haircut and a shave. Is something on your mind?’
O’Reilly made a choking sound, or was it a snort? ‘I’m that readable, am I?’
‘Well, you appear to have shaved this morning.’ Price offered a grim smile.
O’Reilly sat up from his reclined position. ‘Maybe I should speak my mind then, before you take a blade to me.’
Was that supposed to be a joke? If it was, it came out sounding awkward. The man’s face held no expression to give him away. Or, was it that O’Reilly’s purpose would make Price angry and therefore dangerous with a razor? He put the blade down and leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Go ahead then.’
O’Reilly picked up the towel draped over the arm of his chair and began to wipe the soap from his chin. ‘It is about my Jane.’
Price at once became alert. ‘Is she well?’
O’Reilly eyed him. ‘I’m not sure. You tell me. Ever since you came into town, she has been moping around, sometimes crying. What have you done to her?’
Price opened his mouth to react to the accusation, but then reconsidered. It confused him though, that a man who allowed his daughter to live without decent clothes and wander the town unattended, suddenly professed to care for her. ‘I haven’t even seen Miss Jane for a month. Have you asked her what is troubling her?’
O’Reilly opened his mouth and Price expected a dressing down. Instead, the man closed his mouth again and averted his gaze. ‘I know what I’ve seen. She is unhappy. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it all began when she came to get her tooth out.’
Price sucked in a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. The man was ignorant. But how much should Price say without betraying Miss Jane’s confidence? ‘That was about the same time as she began to grieve over a lost friend.’
