Windflowers

by Tamara McKinley

  What an ugly name for an innocent child that had yet to be born. What a legacy Charlie had left in the guise of the helpless infant that had come from a bad seed – a seed of sorrow that could only be harvested in tears. For the child’s presence would always be a reminder of rape. A reminder of murder if Joe didn’t survive.

  ‘Why did you let Charlie go?’ she asked Jack coldly. ‘Why did you leave him free when he deserved to be punished for what he’s done?’

  Jack glanced across at Aurelia who took his hand and clasped it tightly in her lap. ‘The boy was sick, Ellie, and I gave him only a few minutes head start before I called the coppers,’ he began hesitantly. ‘It was probably the wrong decision but it was the least I could do under the circumstances.’

  Ellie got to her feet and stood over him, fists at her sides, the rage making her tremble. ‘What circumstances, Jack? The rape, or the attempted murder? Which one of the two was unimportant enough for him to escape justice?’

  ‘Neither,’ he admitted. ‘But Charlie had little idea of what he’d done – has no sense of right and wrong any more. He was damaged by what he’d been through in the war – and police and prison cells, courtrooms and a trial wouldn’t change that.’ His eyes were tortured as he looked up at her. ‘What he’s done to you and Joe is unforgivable and you will both have to learn to live with that for the rest of your lives. But so does Charlie. He’s been on the road to self-destruction ever since he came back to Jarrah with Seamus. And because of what he did for Seamus, I felt I owed him at least ten minutes more freedom.’

  ‘My heart bleeds,’ hissed Ellie with cold sarcasm.

  ‘He won’t get far,’ Jack said wearily. ‘He’s a broken man with nowhere to turn and no-one to care what happens to him. The ten minutes I gave him were illusory – he won’t escape justice. It might not be the justice you’re thinking of – but it will be justice enough.’

  Ellie glared at him and began to pace. ‘I hope they catch him,’ she snarled. ‘I hope they lock him away for ever.’ The silence that greeted this pronouncement made her stop pacing and she eyed each of them in turn. ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’ she demanded. ‘What could possibly excuse him?’

  Ramming his hands into the pockets of his moleskins Jack stood up and gazed into the night. The moon was bright, veiled sporadically by drifts of grey white cloud and the fronds of the giant ferns that grew in the hospital garden. ‘Charlie came home to Warratah to die,’ he said quietly.

  Ellie slumped into a chair her eyes wide in disbelief, her tone coldly dispassionate. ‘His injuries were bad, but not life-threatening. He was riding again within months and working in the forge soon after that.’

  Jack remained staring out of the window into the darkness as his soft drawl filled the silent room. ‘Charlie and Seamus were caught in the barrage at El Alamein. Seamus was badly injured and Charlie put his own life in danger by trying to get him to the field hospital.’ He sighed. ‘Charlie was a hero that night. Not only did he carry Seamus on his back across the battlefield, he’d also tried to save his sergeant. That poor man was torn in two, but Charlie thought he had a real chance of getting Seamus to the medics’ tent. They were within sight of the dark green canvas when a sniper’s bullet caught Charlie in the side. Another glanced across his temple. Charlie felt no pain. He hardly realised he’d been hit in his determination to get Seamus to safety.’

  Jack fell silent for a long moment. ‘Seamus was dead. The sniper’s bullet had found its mark, torn through his head and glanced off Charlie’s. Charlie’s physical wounds would heal eventually, but the doctor’s couldn’t remove the tiny fragment of bullet that had embedded itself deeply into his brain. It was a time bomb. One that could shift and trigger death at any moment.’

  ‘The damage was two-fold,’ he said softly. ‘For it had taken away the essence of the real Charlie. Had warped his sense of right and wrong and enhanced the dark side of his nature.’ Jack took a deep breath as he finally turned to face her. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive him,’ he said quietly. ‘But try and understand why he did what he did.’

  Ellie folded her arms around her waist and rocked back and forth, her eyes closed, her thoughts in turmoil. Fate had decreed they should meet all those years ago on that long, lonely road to Cloncurry – but what a terrible price they’d all had to pay.

  The operation had been successful in so far as the haemorrhage in the brain had been stopped and the crack in his skull was beginning to knit. Yet Joe remained pale and still against the pristine hospital pillows, the snowy bandages emphasising the shadows beneath his eyes and the frailty of those lightly veined eyelids.

  ‘You must come home and rest,’ urged Aurelia. ‘It’s been almost three months now and you’re making yourself ill.’

  Ellie yawned and put down the magazine she must have read at least a dozen times. ‘I’m not leaving until he wakes up,’ she said firmly. ‘I want to be the first person he sees.’

  ‘And what about the baby?’ Aurelia crossed her arms beneath her bosom and eyed her sternly through the monocle. ‘It can’t be good for the poor little thing with you moping about indoors. You aren’t eating properly and not getting enough fresh air and exercise. You’ll have a hard time when it comes to giving birth.’

  Ellie flicked a glance to Joe. The doctor had said he might be able to hear what they were saying, and had encouraged her to talk to him. Yet there had been no response when she’d read his favourite books or pieces of poetry. No recognition or reaction when she kissed his cheek and whispered that she loved him. Yet despite all this, she couldn’t chance him overhearing this conversation – didn’t want anything to hamper his recovery. ‘Let’s go outside,’ she said quietly. ‘We can talk there.’

  Minutes later Aurelia sank into the verandah chair. ‘What’s the matter?’ Her grey eyes were concerned, her tone no-nonsense.

  Ellie laced her fingers over the burgeoning mound of her stomach and watched the passing traffic. She didn’t want to voice her fears that Joe might not want her now she carried another man’s child. ‘Dr O’Neil says I’m doing fine. I could probably do with putting on some weight and he’s given me a course of iron tablets.’ She sighed as she squinted into the sun. ‘I could certainly do with some fresh air and exercise, I hate being cooped up here. But until Joe wakes up I must stay.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t? What then?’

  ‘He will,’ she said defiantly. ‘He promised to come home and he did. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.’

  ‘Some patients never come out of their coma,’ Aurelia warned. ‘He could stay like this for years until his organs pack up and his heart gives out. You must face reality, Ellie. You can’t go on like this.’

  Ellie wriggled out of the chair and stood up. Her back was beginning to ache from all the sitting around and she didn’t want to hear the gruesome details. ‘I won’t have defeatist talk from you or anyone else,’ she said flatly. ‘I know the reality of the situation all too well, but as long as there’s hope I’m staying.’

  ‘What about when it’s time for the baby to arrive? Are you going to stay here in Darwin in that hotel and struggle on alone? Or are you coming home where we can look after you both?’

  ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ she replied stubbornly.

  They talked for another half an hour and Ellie finally had had enough. She had left Joe for too long and this conversation was going nowhere. As she was pushing through the screen doors she bumped into a hurrying Dr O’Neil. ‘There you are.’ His lined face creased into a warm smile. ‘Come on. He’s awake.’

  Ellie stared at him in disbelief. She’d waited so long to hear those words – now it was as if she was rooted to the floor. Then joy released her and she was pushing through the doors and almost running down the corridor to Joe’s room.

  He was propped up on pillows, his eyes still bleary with sleep. The turban of bandage had been replaced by a pad of cotton and plaster strips and the colour was returning to his
face. His dark lashes fluttered and his green eyes sought her out. ‘Ellie?’ he rasped. ‘Is that really you?’

  ‘His throat will be sore for a while, and he’ll tire very easily,’ murmured the doctor. ‘So make this a short visit and give him time to recover more fully.’

  Ellie nodded, but her whole being was centred on the man in the bed. Her Joe was alive again. Alive and breathing and within reach. She stepped into the room and approached the bed, hands reaching out for him, aching for him to hold her again.

  The green gaze drifted to the swollen belly, stilling her as it travelled back to her face. There was confusion and hurt there – a pain that transmitted itself into her very core. ‘Ellie?’ he whispered. ‘Tell me it’s not true.’

  It took all her strength to remain calm. ‘I’m expecting a baby. But it’s not what you think,’ she said softly. ‘And when you’re better I’ll explain.’ She took his hand, willing him to try and understand.

  There was no response – merely the cold green gaze of hurt bewilderment.

  Ellie was in despair. She needed to say so many things, but the pain in his eyes told her he wouldn’t listen. He had condemned her without trial or fair hearing. This was not the Joe she loved. Not the Joe she remembered. Yet how could she blame him? She was used goods – carrying his own brother’s child. ‘Don’t you remember coming back to Warratah?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Don’t you remember the fight with Charlie and what it was about?’

  Joe remained unresponsive, his eyes cold and accusing.

  ‘Snowy brought you home,’ she persisted. ‘You both turned up when Charlie and I were having a row. You must remember what that was about. Please,’ she said desperately. ‘You’ve got to remember.’

  He frowned, his gaze once more travelling to the swell beneath her shirt. ‘You said you’d wait for me,’ he whispered. ‘You promised.’

  Ellie flinched as he drew his hand from her grasp and turned on his side. ‘Joe,’ she begged. ‘Please Joe. I can explain.’

  There was no response.

  The hand on her shoulder was warm, but firm. ‘I think we’ll leave him to sleep for a while, Ellie,’ said Dr O’Neil. ‘He’s obviously confused and there appears to be some memory loss. Don’t torture yourself by staying here. Go home and rest. Look after that baby and we’ll look after Joe.’

  ‘But he has to remember what happened,’ she insisted. ‘He must have heard what I said to Charlie or he wouldn’t have come piling in like that. Surely he can’t have forgotten what the fight was about?’

  Dr O’Neil sighed. He knew the story from Aurelia. ‘He’s been very ill and there was some damage to the brain. Hopefully this amnesia will only be temporary, but I have to warn you that sometimes in cases like these the patient blocks off any incidents that are too painful and never regain full memory.’

  ‘So what do I do?’ She had never felt so helpless.

  ‘Go home with your aunt. Leave Joe to recover in his own time and I will do my best to help him restore his memory. I’ll keep in touch and let you know how we progress, but your presence here will only hinder his recovery.’

  Hinder his recovery. The words rang in her head. This was not what she’d expected. Not the awakening she’d longed for over the past three months. She moved in a trance towards the door, and as she stepped over the threshold she turned back. ‘Goodbye, Joe,’ she said through her tears. ‘Keep listening to our song and hold on to the thought that I love you, and that I did wait – despite appearances to the contrary.’

  19

  Claire hadn’t noticed where she was heading. Her mind was on what she’d learned through the long, bitter night, and the consequences they would have on her family. Yet, as she’d caught sight of Warratah’s outbuildings she wasn’t really surprised. It was home – the one place she felt she could find solace – the one natural sanctuary.

  Now, as she roamed through the little wooden house she caught the spirit of the people who lived there – heard the voices – remembered the love and security. She traced her fingers over well worn furniture, picked up photographs and letters, favourite books and ornaments, and all the while she felt she was taking repossession of her place within this family – this home. For her deepest dread had been that she didn’t belong. That she wasn’t one of them. A waif taken in by strangers, given a name and an identity that she had no right to.

  Curling her feet beneath her, she snuggled into the corner of the couch, a fat cushion clasped in her arms, her hair drifting over her face as if to shut out the world and the sunlight. The truth had been harsher than she ever could have guessed. And yet how much more traumatic it had to be for Mum in the retelling of such a terrible tale? She took a deep, trembling breath and closed her eyes. The dream she’d had the other night had come true. This was her battle after the calm, her barrier of thorns which she had to vanquish before she could find the courage to forgive and step back into the light.

  A deep calm came over her as she sat there in the silence. A calm that brought peace and the knowledge that she was strong enough to accept what fate had dished out. Her life had been happy until now. She was loved and wanted, the skeletons all in the open. There were no ghosts any more, nothing to shadow her footsteps and make her look over her shoulder.

  The soft tap on the screen door didn’t startle her, and when she saw who was standing there she realised she was glad to see him. ‘G’day, Matt. What are you doing here?’

  He ran his hand through his hair making it stand on end. ‘You asked me for dinner,’ he said as he shifted from one foot to the other. ‘But I reckon you must have forgotten.’ His hazel eyes had lost their spark, and he reddened as he twisted his hat.

  Claire pulled him into the room. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. You caught me on the hop. I don’t even know what there is in the fridge.’

  He eyed her with concern. ‘What’s the matter, Claire? You look crook.’

  She tried to laugh her worries away, but knew he hadn’t been convinced. ‘Bit of a family upset,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘No worries.’

  He put a finger beneath her chin and despite her reluctance, made her look at him. ‘I thought you trusted me?’ he said with a sweet softness. ‘Has someone upset you? Talk to me, darlin’. Tell me what’s made you look so sad.’

  Claire sank into the soft couch and drew her knees to her chest. She began to speak as he sat beside her, and as the words began to flow she felt the tensions of the previous night lift, and knew the ghosts of the past were fading fast.

  Matt remained silent until she’d finished speaking. Then without a word he enfolded her in his arms and held her close. Claire could hear the beat of his heart. Could feel the warmth and strength emanating from him – and knew he understood. Knew it didn’t matter where she’d come from or what she was. For this wonderful man loved her.

  *

  The sun was waning when they finally drew apart. ‘I have to get back to Jarrah. Mum and the others will worry, and I need to tell them I’m okay.’

  ‘Phone them,’ he suggested. ‘It’s too far to drive, and I know it’s selfish, but I’d like to be with you for a while longer.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘I want to see them. Talk to them. The phone is too impersonal.’

  ‘Then I’ll fly you over there,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not risking you driving all that way in the state you’re in.’

  She looked up at him, the humour in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. ‘I hardly know you,’ she murmured. ‘We met less than a week ago – but somehow it’s as if…’

  He kissed her with a delicious softness that made her pulse race. ‘As if we’ve always known one another,’ he murmured. ‘Yes. I feel it too.’

  They arrived on Jarrah an hour later, and knew immediately something was wrong. The strange stillness of home yard was mirrored in the Aborigine women who were sitting around the fire, their faces and hair covered with white clay. Someone had died.

  They quickly scrambled down from the pla
ne and ran to the homestead. All the curtains were closed. Claire’s mouth was dry, the fear beginning to rise. ‘Mum?’ she called as she pushed through the screen door.

  Leanne met them in the hall. ‘It’s Aunt Aurelia,’ she said as she glanced at Matt and put her arm around her sister. ‘She’s gone, Claire.’

  ‘But she can’t.’ She fell into silence. Aurelia was old, and despite her appearance, had been plagued with arthritis and a dodgy heart condition – her time had come as it would for all of them. Yet the news of her death coming so swiftly on top of everything else left her weak. Aurelia had always been a tower of strength, not only to her but to all of them. It seemed impossible to imagine life on Warratah without her. ‘How’s Mum taking it?’ She finally eased from her sister’s embrace.

  ‘On the chin as always,’ replied Leanne. ‘Yet she must be feeling crook. Aurelia was everything to her.’

  ‘Are you going to be all right, Claire?’ Matt stood in the gloom of the hall, his eyes troubled.

  She nodded. ‘You’d better get back,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll be fine.’ Her smile was wan as she kissed his cheek. ‘And thanks for today.’

  Matt hugged her then left. Claire took off her hat and wiped the sweat from her face. It was hot outside, but the heat was rising in the house and the almost sweet smell of death was already present. ‘Has someone gone to fetch Dad?’ she asked.

  Leanne nodded. ‘I sent one of the boys. He’ll meet us back at Warratah.’ She hesitated, her green eyes troubled. ‘I don’t care if we have different fathers,’ she blurted out. ‘You’re my sister, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch.’

  Claire’s breath was a sob as they hugged. ‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘And don’t worry about Jarrah. I’ve thought of a way you can keep it.’ They looked at one another and smiled. The ties were strong and invincible despite their stormy history – nothing would change that.