"Here you are, sir," Liza said, handing him a sheet of stationery and pointing to the pen in the inkwell.
As Hannah guided the buggy along the lane, drifting in and out of pools of shade and lazy autumn sunshine, she couldn't wait to get back to the hotel, which was just up ahead and around the bend. A hot bath, a cup of Liza Guinness's mint tea, and a nap would set the world right again. Solving the mystery of the influenza—which had appeared suddenly in Barossa Valley, followed a strange meandering course, striking some homesteads but skipping others, and then had vanished just as mysteriously—would have to wait for another day. Hannah was exhausted. Although she herself had not contracted the illness, helping to nurse so many of those stricken, in various farms and houses, had taken everything out of her.
She wondered if the mail had come. A letter from Alice perhaps, who was on tour with the Sam Glass Entertainment Troupe. With The Elysium such an astounding success, Sam was looking to open music halls in other cities, and the best way to gain backers and investors was to dazzle them with his best acts: two brothers who juggled flaming torches, a baritone who sang arias, a comic act involving cream pies and fire crackers, a sensational contortionist named Lady Godiva, and soloist singer Alice Star. They had gone first to Melbourne, and were traveling on to Sydney after that. Hannah knew that Alice was going to win hearts everywhere she went, as she had in Adelaide where, in a short time, adoring citizens had begun to call her the "Australian Songbird."
Hannah almost hoped that there was no mail from Neal. Since his first letter back in November, he had written to Hannah regularly, giving her news and updates on the Oliphant expedition—"Soon to be launched!"— and entertaining her with stories of the people he was meeting and fascinating facts that he was learning: "Did you know, my dear Hannah, that kangaroos cannot walk backwards?"
Five months ago, on the night of Alice's premier performance at The Elysium, Hannah had been disappointed to open Neal's letter and learn that he was not coming directly to Adelaide after all. When the HMS Borealis had docked in Fremantle, Neal had met acclaimed explorer Sir Reginald Oliphant, who was putting together a massive expedition from Perth to Adelaide and who had invited Neal to join him. "I am still coming to Adelaide, dear Hannah, but my journey will not be a mere two weeks by ship, but rather a slow and arduous—but exciting and thrilling!—trek across Unknown Territory."
Although they had expected to begin the trek in January, there had been one delay after another, keeping Neal in Perth. But if there was no letter waiting for Hannah today, it meant none had come during her three-week absence which could only mean that the expedition had finally launched and Neal was on his way to her.
Hannah did not like the idea that Neal would be in the middle of Godforsaken wilderness, surrounded by deadly snakes, wild dingoes and hostile Aborigines, nor did she relish the idea of hearing no word from him in a year. But Hannah had learned that dangers from native elements were part of a colonist's—and an explorer's—life in this new world, and that being separated from loved ones for long periods of time was just one more unique element of life in Australia. Men came out to the colonies to start up a business or a farm, and then they sent for their wives and children, often being reunited two or three years later. Mail took a year, with six months for a letter or parcel to travel to England, and six months for the reply.
So, which will it be? she asked herself as she neared familiar surroundings—the Basset farm on one side of the road, the Arbin chicken run on the other—a letter from Neal, or no letter?
A man on horseback appeared ahead in the lane, and as he drew near, he tipped his hat and said, "G'day, Miss Conroy."
Richard Lindsey and his wife were drovers who moved great mobs of sheep from stations in the north down to the docks and the slaughter houses. Whenever Hannah saw such men—rugged, tanned, fiercely independent—she was reminded of the outlaw Jamie O'Brien and her strange encounter with him in Lulu's garden. She wondered where he was. The wanted posters were still up, which meant he was still at large.
"Good day to you, Mr. Lindsey," Hannah called back. She had delivered Judith Lindsey's fifth baby.
Mary McKeeghan, true to her word, had spread Hannah's name around the district, and the calls had started coming in. Mostly it was to deliver babies, and while such endeavors were gratifying, Hannah continued to feel frustrated. There was so much more that she could do but wasn't being given the opportunity. In many cases, such as she had encountered in the influenza area, if a doctor wasn't available, people resorted to home remedies. When Hannah offered to help, they seemed baffled. She had gone to one house where she had heard that an entire family of twelve was down with influenza and struggling to take care of themselves. A harried neighbor had answered the door, and Hannah had handed the woman her card, offering to help. The woman had blinked at her and said, "Ain't nobody pregnant in here," and closed the door.
I am more than a midwife, Hannah wanted to say. She continued to expand her knowledge and skills. Hannah marveled at all the things she had discovered that one could do with eucalyptus: as an inhalant for chest ailments, a chest rub for the lungs, a liniment for sprains and sore muscles, and the gum could even be made into lozenges for sore throats. She was encountering illnesses and injuries never seen in England: centipede bites (treat with tobacco directly on the wound), snake bites (make cuts in the wound, suck venom out, then pack wound with potassium permanganate), and flea infestations in bedding (place a lamb in the bed before retiring, fleas will hop on).
She was just a few hundred yards from the Australia Hotel now, and every pore in her skin cried out for a bath. Hannah did not mind living in a hotel once again, as Liza Guinness's establishment was in the country and seemed more like home. However, she still wanted a place of her own and kept her eye out for properties for sale, hoping that she could save enough money at least to rent a little cottage. But every place she looked at paled in comparison to Seven Oaks.
Standing at the front desk of the Australia Hotel, Neal wrote: "My dear Hannah, I am sorry we missed. As I explained in my previous note, Sir Reginald could not find enough supplies and financial backers in Perth, and so he decided to come to Adelaide and launch an east-west expedition from here instead. I did not write to you as it was quicker to just come with Sir Reginald. My letter would have arrived the same time I did! I have spent the past three weeks gathering supplies and instruments, and hiring a wagon and an assistant, with frequent trips north to Sir Reginald's base camp. And now I must leave Adelaide today as the expedition departs in a few days and Sir Reginald will not wait for me. I expect to be back in less than a year, fate willing. Sir Reginald reckons that on good days we will make thirty miles, and on hard days maybe ten. And we'll be stopping to take photographs, explore the terrain, draw maps and record information. Perth is thirteen-hundred miles away, we can reach it in six months, maybe less, which means I will be back before Christmas. Take care of yourself, my dear Hannah. I carry you in my heart."
As the handsome American in the white linen suit and Ecuador hat left the hotel, Liza Guinness called for her eldest daughter, Ruth, to watch the front desk, as she and Edna must hurry over to the feed store and bring Mrs. Gibney up to date on the latest events.
In the outer yard, Neal paused to look around, frustrated at the workings of fate that seemed determine to keep him and Hannah apart. Seeing no sign of her buggy, and deciding she must still be in Barossa Valley, he mounted his horse and took to the road southward toward Adelaide.
Hannah pulled into the side yard of the hotel, where a livery boy helped her with the rig. She was greeted in the lobby by young Ruth Guinness who welcomed her back, giving Hannah her mail and a sealed envelope, saying, "Mum said this just came for you."
Thanking her, Hannah wearily climbed the stairs to her room, trying to decide if she should boil water for the bath first, or for tea. Setting down her carpetbag, she removed her bonnet and short cape. The she loosened her hair and shook it out, so that her black tresses
fell over her shoulders and down her back. As she started to undo the buttons of her bodice, she sifted through her mail. Two letters from Alice. A friendly note from Ida Gilhooley, with whom Hannah had kept in touch. A notice from Mr. Krüger, the chemist in Adelaide, informing her of new inventory. And two envelopes that were Liza's own stationery.
Hannah frowned. No postmark or address on these two. Simply: Miss Hannah Conroy. When she realized whose handwriting it was, she tore open the second one—"Mum said this just came for you"—and as she read the first words, Hannah picked up her skirts and flew downstairs.
"The gentleman who left this," she said breathlessly to a startled Ruth Guinness, "where did he go?"
"I —"
Hannah turned and ran from the lobby, out the front door, where she shocked two new arrivals, flying past them, her long back hair streaming behind.
When she reached the road, she saw him up ahead, his horse going at a trot. "Neal!" she called.
He did not react.
Hannah took off at a run.
"Neal!" she cried. "Neal, stop!"
The chestnut mare continued its lazy trot while Hannah summoned every drop of strength from her fatigued body, shouting Neal's name, drawing the attention of men in the blacksmith hut, a pedestrian on the side of the road, walking with a sheep dog.
The distance between them was widening. And there was a bend in the road ahead. Neal would soon be around it and hidden by trees.
Hannah kept going. Stumbled. "Neal!"
He turned, stared for a moment, and then, wheeling his horse around, came back at a gallop, to jump down and sweep Hannah into his arms. "I thought—" she began.
His mouth was on hers as he drew her into a deep kiss. Hannah's arms went around his neck. Neal pulled her tightly to him. She held onto him with all her strength. The trees and the road vanished. They were on the Caprica again, falling in love, consumed with a brand new desire that was as painful as it was sweet.
Neal wanted to hold her forever and never stop. But he drew back. "Hannah, my God, Hannah."
"You're here," she said, and their lips came together again, in the middle of a dusty red-earth road, as they clung to each other in the same fierce desperation that had driven them to embrace in a storm that threatened to send them to watery graves. But this time there was no darkness, no cold ocean, just the golden Australian sunlight and their own heat.
Neal drew back again, this time taking a step away, to put Hannah at arm's length, and as he moved back, he saw that the top of her bodice was unbuttoned. He glimpsed the rise of creamy bosom and a hint of lace from her camisole—the top of her cleavage with dewy perspiration on the pale skin. He was rocked with desire. And then he saw something that made his face suddenly burn. The corner of a piece of linen with the initials N.S. embroidered there.
His handkerchief!
He fell back a step, stunned by the erotic power of such a discovery. She kept his handkerchief at her breast.
"I read your note," Hannah said breathlessly, pushing hair from her face, filling her eyes with the sight of him. "You're leaving today?"
"I have to go," he said in a thick voice, so intoxicated by the moment that he was oblivious of the livery boys standing at the side of the road gawking at the young woman with her hair shamelessly undone, the top of her bodice lying open to expose hidden treasure.
His handkerchief—
Neal still had her glove, exchanged for the handkerchief when they dropped anchor at Perth. Every time he had taken it out of his case and clasped it, as if clasping her hand, he had wondered if she held onto his handkerchief. Had he known at the time where she kept that little square of linen, he might have jumped ship and swum all the way to Adelaide.
They fell silent, looking into each other's eyes as the world, and reality, came back. "You really are leaving today?" she whispered again.
He saw the perspiration at her throat, on her high forehead, glittering on her upper lip and Neal thought: Sir Reginald be damned. "Maybe," he began. No. He had to go. "Hannah, I have an idea," he said suddenly, taking her by the shoulders so that the onlookers' jaws dropped. "I must go back into town and get the rest of my things. There's a wagon there that I've hired, and an assistant. But we will be coming back this way as we head north along Spencer Gulf. Come to Adelaide with me, and I will bring you back. It will give us an hour together, at least."
Hannah needed no persuasion. They hurried back to the hotel, past the boys who were disappointed that the risqué show was over. Hannah rushed upstairs to change her clothes, and Neal asked the youths to hitch a fresh horse to Miss Conroy's buggy and tether his own mare to the back of it.
While Neal paced impatiently in the lobby, with young Ruth Guinness staring dreamy-eyed at him, Liza and Edna returned, coming to a grinding halt when they saw Mr. Scott there. "We thought you had gone!"
"Oh Mum," Ruth said giddily, "Hannah came back and they had the most romantic encounter in the road!"
"Ruth Ophelia Guinness, what a thing to say!" Liza cried. But her eyes sparked with interest, and her grin broadened. "How nice that you didn't miss Hannah after all, Mr. Scott."
Uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny of the three females, Neal was relieved to hear a door open and close on the floor above, and footsteps follow the upper hall, drawing near to the head of the stairs. He went to the bottom to greet her, and when he saw Hannah at the top, his heart rose in his throat.
She wore a pale pink gown with white lace cuffs and collar, a row of white buttons from throat to narrow waist. She had chosen not to wear the crinoline that gave women an unnatural bell shape, and Neal stared in awe. Although Hannah's long skirt was draped over many petticoats, the dress still gave her a more natural, womanly shape.
He recognized the exotic blue carpetbag from the Caprica, and recalled that she said it held her most prized possessions. Had his handkerchief been moved to the bag, or was it still pressed against her breast, hidden beneath pale pink cotton, white buttons and a prim little lace collar? Desire flooded him. She was completely covered from head to foot to wrist, her hair tied up once again beneath a prim bonnet, and it was more erotic than if she stood naked at the top of the stairs.
Bidding good-bye to the ladies in the lobby, the couple departed in silence and, still not speaking, climbed into the little carriage with Neal taking the reins and spurring the horse to a trot.
Out on the country lane, the small, two-wheeled buggy with its protective leather hood and seat wide enough for only two people felt intimate. The sunlight created a somnolent heat while the hum of insects filled the air, joining the smell of the red dust and late-summer flowers. Hannah found the steady rhythmic rocking of the buggy to be arousing, especially with Neal at her side, his arm pressed against hers as he handled the reins. She couldn't speak. Her desire for him, the sweet aching that now consumed her, stopped the breath in her lungs. Neal looked so fetching in the white linen suit and white straw hat that nicely set off his new tan. She looked at the hands holding the reins, finely shaped with a dusting of brown hairs on the knuckles. Masculine hands.
Riding mutely at Hannah's side, Neal wanted to say something, wanted to voice the passion that gripped him, he searched for eloquent words and poetry that would dazzle her. But he was so consumed with desire that he could barely breathe. Keeping his focus on the road ahead, the reins, the horse, he fought his impulse to stop the carriage and take Hannah into his arms and possess her completely right there and then, in the middle of trees, rolling green hills and sunshine.
Hannah finally found breath and voice. "Have you heard anything from Boston, any word about your mother?"
"Nothing so far," he said. Neal had written to his adoptive father, Josiah Scott, who had said he would make some inquiries. Neal had also sent inquiries to another lawyer, the hall of records, two newspaper archives, even a long time friend with whom he went to university—anything that would give him a lead on who had left him on Josiah Scott's doorstep. His friend had written back to s
ay that the tear catcher bottle appeared to be a very exclusive and unique item, in that few glassmakers manufactured miniature bottles of emerald-green glass. The friend promised to keep looking.
Thinking of that now, Neal retrieved the tear catcher from his trouser pocket and held it out to Hannah, the glass flashing vivid green, the gold filigree shooting back sunlight. "I have a confession to make, Hannah. Ever since Josiah Scott sat me down years ago to tell me that I was a foundling, I had secretly clung to the belief that I wasn't rejected by my mother, that there had to be a reason why she gave me up. All those months at sea on the Borealis, with nothing but time and thoughts on my mind, I did a lot of internal examining. Changing this little vessel from an expensive perfume bottle to a tear catcher had a profound effect on me, Hannah. Thanks to you, I cannot believe now that my mother gave me up willingly."
"I'm glad," Hannah said, looking at Neal's profile. His handsome face, square and even-featured, seemed even more attractive from the side, with a straight nose over a thin-lipped mouth and firm jaw.
"I will keep writing letters home," he said, "contacting anyone I can think of who can shed light on the events of twenty-seven years ago, when Josiah Scott came home and found the cradle at his front door." And then my dearest Hannah, Neal added silently, when I have the answers and know who I really am, I will ask for your hand in marriage.
She gave the little glass bottle back to him. "What was it like on the Borealis?" she asked as a landscape of farm fields, pastures, post-and-rail fences rolled by. Hannah had already read about the year-long adventure in the letters Neal had written while he was waiting for Sir Reginald to get the expedition launched, but Hannah needed his voice to fill the silence of longing and desire, to give the moment a semblance of normalcy.
This Golden Land Page 18
