by Amanda Deed
Price had told him yesterday, but Clark must have thought it a joke.
‘I said so, didn’t I?’
‘Well, have a good time, old man.’
‘Old man?’ Price wasn’t sure whether he should be offended at that.
‘Just a term of mateship, Bobby. Don’t get all het up.’ Clark chuckled.
Price became aware a frown creased his brow and shook his head, turning it into a grin. ‘Thanks … old man.’
‘That’s it, that’s it.’ Clark slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Eh, ya gonna be back in time for the big do?’
‘Big do?’
‘The fund raisin’ masquerade ball for the hospital.’
‘Oh, right.’ Price had forgotten the upcoming event in the excitement of the past few days. He hadn’t even asked Jane if he might escort her. Would she even agree to go? Price dared not hope she owned a suitable gown for a start. Perhaps he could remedy that when he returned. He made a mental note to write her regarding the dance as soon as he arrived in Wagga. ‘I very much hope so.’
Jane was astonished. More than astonished. And disappointed, too. In fact, if she were honest with herself she was downright angry. How could Price leave town like that? Suddenly and without so much as a ‘see you later’? Sure, he had written her a goodbye letter, but it was not the same. Jane paced across the floorboards in her room. Aunt Ruby had come home from church and handed her the sealed envelope with a grim face. Until she read its contents, she had been elated, barely able to wait until after dinner. But now …
Why did he not come to the farm and kiss her farewell like a true lover? And therein perhaps, lay the reason. He didn’t love her as much as he said, and now trouble had come, he’d run a mile like a big coward. One hundred and sixty miles to be exact. Too far for her to follow him.
Anxiety mixed with her disappointment when Jane remembered that she’d kissed Price. She’d kissed him! Jane shook her red curls as she paced. For one insane moment she’d believed that their love must be sealed. And oh, she’d been so forward, audacious even. Now what did he think of her? Had she put him off? Jane bit on her lip. Price had farewelled her very quickly that morning. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t come out to the farm to tell her goodbye. Maybe he no longer liked her.
Jane sank onto the edge of her bed. It must be true. He must consider her disgusting now. Her manners matched her ugly face. Price wanted no more to do with her. Why did she expect more from him? Why did she let her hopes rise so much?
Jane picked up the letter again to re-read the message. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, his words did not support her suspicions. Unless he outright lied to her, and he’d never done that before, he still cared. She didn’t think he’d ever lied to her at any rate. So why start now?
Price always talked of his desire to see many conversions in Hay, and he’d been frustrated that it wasn’t happening the way he’d hoped. It made sense that the curiosity to see it taking place somewhere else would be strong. But the timing? When would he speak to Papa? Price didn’t give her any idea of how long he would be away except for ‘a few weeks’.
So, he expected her to sit around and wait for him to return, did he? What would she do in the meantime? His weekly visits and letters were the only thing to lessen the drudgery she called her life. Until he came back, it would be one chore and then another.
Jane growled at herself. That wasn’t entirely true. Her pets would be welcome company, as they ever were, along with Aunt Ruby and Old Darcy. Jane would enjoy a ride on Essie, or a game with Jem and Zai, or plain silliness with Moses. Somehow though, these things had paled in comparison to spending time with Price Moreland.
That was it then. Jane fortified her emotions. She must suffice with Price’s letters from Wagga and occasional fun with her animals. Hopefully these weeks would pass quickly and she would be back in his arms. Perhaps he might even kiss her this time. Her whole body tingled with anticipation at the notion. If she remained patient, soon she would be his. She must trust him in that. He promised he would fight for her.
20
Price arrived in Wagga in time for the open-air service on Wednesday evening at the Wharf Reserve. Mr Carruthers handed him a handbill within minutes of greeting him. They had distributed the leaflets broadly amongst the townsfolk. Another service at the church at eight o’clock was scheduled to follow the meeting at the Reserve. Price grew excited reading the closing statement of the leaflet.
All are invited! Our theme is Christ alone, our object, present salvation; our weapons prayer and faith, and the Word of God. Come thou with us, and we will do thee good.
Wagga Wagga in many ways reminded Price of Hay, though on a larger scale. It rested on flat land alongside the Murrumbidgee River and boasted a roaring river trade. Sitting at the Reserve that evening, in darkness but surrounded by people, Price experienced a soul stirring like never before. Perhaps he still could begin something similar to this in Hay.
Both Mr Carruthers and Mr Reynolds, a visiting minister who joined in with the special services, gave enthralling addresses. It amazed Price the way the crowd walked back to the church afterward, singing hymns of praise all the way through the streets. The schoolroom they used for their church didn’t have enough space for everyone, and people stood outside the open windows and doorways.
Three more of the brethren spoke this time, and men came forward to make their peace with God, including an aged gentleman to the joy of his son. None were inclined to retire in a hurry, remaining for prayer and praise for a long time. And, when the hour grew too late, those still in need returned to Mr Carruthers’ house for further counsel.
Price expected Mrs Carruthers to be strained by the late intrusion into her home, but she took it with grace, playing the welcoming hostess and offering encouragement where needed. They finally dropped, exhausted but satisfied, into bed in the early hours of Thursday morning.
Jane walked uncomfortably along the main street of town, eyes focused on the ground to escape any strange looks, and with Moses perched on her shoulder as usual. Aunt Ruby had asked her to run to the medical hall and buy a bottle of elderberry tincture from Mr Hudson, the chemist. Poor Old Darcy suffered from a cough and congested nose, making it hard for him to work.
Though Price loved her and even thought her attractive, deluded though he might be, it hadn’t changed the way anyone else perceived her. People whispered behind Jane’s back or laughed behind their hands as they watched her pass. Maybe Price’s eyesight was failing. Understanding still eluded her as to why he chose her out of the other beautiful young ladies in Hay. Even Harriet and Nancy were blessed with better looks than Jane, although they acted like spoilt misses.
Jane stepped into the medical hall and purchased the tincture without any real trouble apart from having to repeat her request three times. Either Mr Hudson was deaf, or Jane needed to speak up more. Probably the latter. She often found it hard to approach strangers, or people she had no strong acquaintance with.
Tincture in hand, Jane stepped back out into the street, wishing for invisibility. That way no one would scowl at her threadbare skirt, which didn’t even reach her ankles, or the hole-ridden men’s shoes on her feet. When she passed the dressmaker’s shop, she tried to look away, in case the window display made her heart yearn. And in looking the other way, she saw something that made her heart sink.
Not at first, though. The sinking came later. Her immediate reaction when she shifted her gaze into the street was, now there’s a dress I should love to wear. A tall woman, almost as tall as Jane in fact, strode along the opposite side of the street. A stranger she’d never seen, but at once recognised as the type of woman Jane aspired to be. Dressed in navy blue velvet and creamy satin, the woman strolled with great poise along the raised walkway beside the road. The thick stripes across the gown stood out in bold accents, drawing every eye to her form. Finer than any garment Jane had se
en her stepmother or sisters wear, it was the kind of dress Jane dreamed about. And that was only the woman’s afternoon dress. How dazzling would her evening gowns be?
The stranger’s hat even spoke of finery—one side pinned up to the crown with flowers, the other drooping seductively and decorated with a ribbon bow. And beneath the hat, a thick and shiny dark-brown braid of hair looped down her neck. This lady must indeed be in the most up-to-date fashions. Jane had never seen her equal. She imagined the visitor must be quite rich. Another woman accompanied her, dressed with almost as much elegance, but definitely inferior. Perhaps a maid, Jane could only speculate.
When they neared Moreland’s Mos, the stranger slowed her pace and then stopped. She appeared to be reading the message Price had posted in the window explaining his closed business. Perhaps the woman suffered from the toothache, for she raised her fingers to her mouth, or maybe it was her chin. The woman frowned with concern as she turned to her companion and they whispered an exchange, then headed back the way they’d come.
Jane turned her back to them, afraid to be caught staring, and began her walk home. Who was this dashing stranger, who by appearances, had just arrived in town? In the short glimpse she’d seen of the woman’s face, Jane noticed beautiful, unblemished, porcelain skin, and dark full lips. And it didn’t take much to realise that every man on the street gawked at her. This discovery relieved Jane. For once they didn’t stare at Plain Jane and her crazy cockatoo.
Then the woman spoke. Although from across the wide street behind her, Jane heard her voice ring loud and clear. ‘Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where I might find Mr Moreland, the … er … barber?’ A confident and melodious sound. However, a thick American accent characterised the voice. The same accent that belonged to Price.
Jane’s insides froze. Her legs stopped moving, too, and she lowered herself onto a nearby bench. Moses flapped around on her shoulder for a moment before taking the short leap to perch on the back of the seat. She simply must hear what else the woman said. What would an American, whose accent exactly matched Price’s, want with him? Jane now doubted that toothache had any bearing on her appearance in town. Was she from the same city as Price? Was she acquainted with him? Jane swallowed, trying to still her nerves. Even if the woman did know Price, it didn’t necessarily mean bad news, did it?
‘I’m afraid he’s gone out of town, ma’am.’ The man she’d accosted replied.
‘Well now, that’s a shame,’ she purred. ‘Do you know where he went?’
‘Not sure, ma’am.’
‘Oh dear. Do you know when he might return?’
‘No one knows exactly. Ya could try Mr Clark, the carter. They’re good mates. He might be able to tell ya more.’
‘I see. Mr Clark is it? Thank you.’
‘Sorry I can’t help ya. If I see Bob—Mr Moreland, I mean—who should I say is lookin’ for him?’
‘Of course. I beg pardon.’ A tinkle of laughter drifted across the street. ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Violet. Miss Violet Anderson.’
Jane gulped. The woman must not be related to Price—at least, not closely. She bore a different family name. And she appeared to be unmarried, else she would not have called herself Miss. So, what business did she have with Price?
‘Well, pleased to meet ya, Miss Anderson. I’ll be sure to pass on yer regards if I see him.’
The brief meeting appeared to be over then, but after a slight pause Miss Anderson continued. ‘Are you acquainted with him, Mr…?’
‘Sorry. Finnegan.’ The man chuckled. ‘And no, I don’t know him well. I’ve only had him cut my hair once or twice.’
‘Well now, that’s a shame.’ Miss Anderson repeated her earlier phrase. ‘He’s a good man.’
Good man? What did that mean? Jane began to fear the worst and her heartbeat raced ahead, making her feel light-headed.
‘How do you know him, if ya don’t mind me askin, that is?’
‘No, no. I don’t mind.’ The tinkling sound of her laughter filled the air again. ‘I’m his intended.’
Jane jumped up from the bench, the bottom dropping out of her world. Intended? Intended! She must get home. Right now, before she burst into tears and made an unnecessary scene. But as she rose, the light-headedness became a buzzing in her ears and a fog of blackness swept over her. The last thing that filled her awareness was Moses’ screech as she hit the sidewalk.
On Friday, Mr Carruthers decided that the evening’s meeting would be dedicated to testimonies. That would give the recent converts a chance to share their new-found faith and joy, and give the regular speakers a rest. Sunday would come soon enough with its many services to keep them busy.
Again, Price sat in the meeting and listened in rapture as man after woman after man got up and spoke of renewed consecration or declared their salvation by faith. One man told of how he’d been comfortable in his life, not thinking he needed Christ. But then in one of the meetings he’d been convinced of his sin and sought and found the Saviour.
Price could barely wait to sit with Mr Carruthers and speak of the stirrings in his heart. However, Saturday morning arrived before they had a few moments to themselves.
‘I must say, Mr Carruthers, and I’m sure I have several times already, that this is precisely the kind of thing I wanted to see happen in Hay.’
Mr Carruthers let out a gentle laugh. ‘Yes, you have mentioned it once or twice, my boy. But I sense there has been a little frustration with that.’
Price let his shoulders drop. ‘No matter what I do, I’ve only managed to interest one or two people. I work amongst them, and I try to share my faith with every customer who walks in the door of my shop, to no avail. In fact, I have received opposition from people with racial biases against those I wish to minister to.’
Mr Carruthers studied him with a serious face. ‘Sometimes we plant seeds and sometimes we water them. Sometimes it can be years before we see the fruit of our labours. Patience is a must when it comes to winning souls. You can’t force people into Heaven, son.’
Price looked at him in supplication. ‘Do you think that’s it? That I’m just being impatient?’
‘Well, this kind of outpouring comes with much prayer. How is your prayer life, Mr Moreland?’
‘I pray.’ Price was aware he sounded exasperated. ‘I pray most of the time. I’m on my knees for the people of Hay most every night and every morning.’
‘And what of your church, son? Are they in unity with you?
Price sat back and considered his question. ‘I can’t say I’ve talked to them about it. I suppose I just went about this on my own, trying to win the lost and bring them to the church.’
A crease appeared between Mr Carruthers brows. ‘And yet, this can never be a one-man job, Mr Moreland. Perhaps the first thing you need to do, when you return is see if you can work together with your pastor and congregation. Hold prayer meetings. Be joined together in zeal for the gospel and for the town of Hay.’
Price found little to say in argument. The man was right. Price had walked into Hay as though he owned it, determined to change it single-handedly, without so much as conferring with the existing ministers. He heaved an inward groan. Sure, he had prayed. He prayed daily. But deep down, he acknowledged he hadn’t listened well. And why was that? Price searched his heart and his motives. He’d been unwilling to hear what the Lord might have to say, because Price was in the wrong.
Price swallowed with difficulty. ‘You are right, Mr Carruthers. I have gone about this as though it was my own work, seeking my own glory. You have given me much to think over.’ Price stood to his feet. He needed to be alone. ‘Thank you for your correction.’ Father in heaven, I have been wrong. Forgive me and help me do this with Your guidance.
Jane took her time mucking out Essie’s stall. She didn’t want anyone to see her blood-shot eyes and realise she’d been cryi
ng most of the day. And she dreaded speaking to Mother or the girls. They would likely have a new tidbit of gossip concerning Price or his fiancée. The whole town buzzed with the news.
Days had passed since she fainted in the main street, but humiliation still hung over her like a heavy fog. Jane had awoken on the footpath with several women fanning her face and fussing around her. It was bad enough that they had seen her ugliness up close, but even worse that one of them was Miss Anderson herself. Soon, but not soon enough for her liking, Jane had been carted home by Mr Clark who left her with a frowning stepmother. And Mother refused to believe anything serious was the matter.
Of course, she was quite right. There wasn’t anything wrong—physically. Except for the shattered pieces of Jane’s heart which now floated around in her stomach, making her nauseous every few minutes. Price had lied to her. Lied and duped her in the worst way. He picked the weakest-looking, loneliest, ugliest girl in town, and made her fall in love. And for what? To crush her mercilessly with the truth. And she’d kissed him! Humiliation burned in her cheeks at the memory of her foolishness. But all along he had been engaged, engaged to a very proper, lovely woman back home.
Fresh tears welled up as Jane replayed the events again, as she had a million times every day since Miss Anderson arrived. And every day, more information came to light.
When Mother finally guessed why Jane fainted, she looked at her with a strange gleam in her eye. ‘Well, that’s what comes from setting your sights too high,’ had been her consolation. But Jane recognised the smug tone in her stepmother’s voice.
From then on, every time Mother came back from a visit to town, she revealed a new piece of news for Jane. Miss Anderson and Price had grown up together. They had been promised for one another since childhood. The Moreland family had been distraught when their son disappeared. And when he wrote to them, it had been Miss Anderson who offered to travel to Australia and bring him home.
