Whispers Through the Pines

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘I do, but I also believe ’tis foolish ta. He’ll be sailin’ away soon and I won’t be seein’ him for years.’ She thought of her brother Paddy. ‘Maybe never again.’ The sudden thought of never seeing the young soldier again made her dizzy, and around the region of her heart a painful tightening began. ‘Oh, dear.’ As she looked at Bridget, a mistiness came into her eyes, ‘I do believe I’m fallin’ in love.’

  Bridget kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug. ‘Stop worryin’, ’twill work out. Just go out with your young man and have an enjoyable evenin’.’

  And that was precisely what Sarah Flynn did.

  They dined in what was for Sarah relative splendour at a hotel in the heart of the city, being driven there in a hired carriage, and then they strolled around a nearby park until the sun set.

  It was quite late, almost nine-thirty, by the time they stood on the porch of Ma’s boarding house after a delightful evening. Will no longer could deny the words he wanted to say.

  ‘Oh, Sarah, I believe you know how I feel about you. At the barracks they make jokes an’ ask: who is that lovesick calf? An’, to a man, they’re starin’ straight at me.’

  ‘Will, I…’

  ‘Please, Sarah, let me say what I must, while I have the courage to.’ He cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his uniform as if it were too tight. ‘I’m a plain-speakin’ man, Sarah, I don’t have the fancy words others might. But…well, I’ve come to love you—I know it’s furiously fast—but I do. An’ I don’t have the time to court you like I should.’ He stopped to envelop her hands in his large ones. ‘I want you to marry me, if you’ll be havin’ a poor, sloggin’ soldier such as meself?’

  All evening Sarah had been sure that his warm glances, his attentiveness, his telling her about himself and his family who still lived in County Clare, had been leading up to this, but even so, when the words were said, they took her by surprise. Now, normally, Sarah was not the type of woman lost for words, but for once in her life, she didn’t know how to answer. She liked Will, liked him a good deal, but marriage hadn’t figured into her plans for the near future.

  She had been saving steadily since she started work at O’Toole’s, every penny she could, and she was close to her goal of having enough to start a modest shop of her own. She even had the location picked out: the vacant shop next to Mallory’s the bootmaker. Flynn’s Victuallers, it would be called—her great opportunity to become financially independent, and a woman of modest means.

  Sarah looked at Will, at his earnest face, the affection in his eyes and, all at once, her business plans didn’t seem important. Here was a man who loved her, who had dreams—he’d spoken of them tonight—of one day owning land in that country so far away from Dublin.

  ‘I’ve taken you unawares,’ he said. ‘Don’t give me your answer now, Sarah, my love. Just promise me that you’ll think about…about bein’ me wife.’ And then he leant forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  ‘Oohh!’ Waves of excitement, of pure warmth and wanting surged through Sarah. Quite overcome by her reaction to the unfamiliar throb of desire that coursed through her veins, she whispered breathlessly, ‘Oh, Will.’

  Heartened by her response, he drew her to his chest and murmured close to her ear, ‘I’ll make you happy, Sarah, if you’ll be givin’ me the chance to.’

  Cheeks flushed, heart beating so fast she felt a little faint, Sarah leant back to stare thoughtfully up into his face. How could she deny her feelings for this man? In the past she had controlled her response to the two men who had tried to court her, because love made one weak. Being in love made one dependent on another, as her mother had been on her father. That was a lesson she had learned from observing their hard life. And she had resolved from the tender age of fourteen to carve her own path in life, independently of a man.

  But no one had told her how being in love would make her feel. The emotional pull, what it was doing to her body, her heart and her soul was irresistible.

  ‘Yes, Will. I want ta be your wife, very much.’

  He whooped and twirled her around and, in the doing, made such a commotion that Ma Hingerty opened the front door and scolded them.

  ‘Come inside, you two. ’Tis an undignified performance on my front porch.’ She had been spying on them through the front window and kenned what had taken place. ‘Go into the parlour and…’ she paused for effect and to bestow a knowing smile upon them, ‘I believe a congratulatory glass of brandy is in order.’

  Sarah needed to use her accumulated abilities of procuring and organising, as well as a degree of diplomacy, during the following eight days, in order that she and Will could be wed before the Raven’s Wing set sail.

  Seamus O’Toole got a fit of the cranks because she was leaving. Ma Hingerty had a near constant tear in her eye for, after almost seven years, Sarah had become like kin to her. Bridget wept in private to be losing the best friend she’d ever had. And Linus O’Keefe beamed about the chandlery store, because Sarah had spoken frankly to Seamus and recommended him as the best person to succeed to her position.

  Will was busy, too. A berth had to be purchased for Sarah’s passage, and the best he could do was a bunk in a six-berth cabin which comprised mostly servant women and an elderly spinster of modest means travelling to Sydney to join her brother. More prosperous passengers had twin- or single-berth cabins, which were little bigger than linen cupboards. He would dearly have loved for them to have a cabin to themselves, but it was beyond what he could afford, or procure.

  Not a particularly religious man, but aware that Sarah was a devout Catholic, after some difficulty Will found a priest willing to say the words over them without the customary two weeks’ reading of the banns. And so, three days before sailing, in the company of Sarah’s closest friends, Will’s mother and sister, and three of his soldier mates, they had been wed.

  Private Elijah Waugh sat in the front pew of the old church watching the bride and groom take their vows. A long-time friend of Will O’Riley’s, as they’d campaigned in India together and had been in the same regiment for five years, he shook his head at the unseemly haste of his mate’s marriage. Marriage. Unlike Will, he had no illusions about what the priest called the holy state of matrimony. Holy, my eye! Fettered to the one woman, raising a brood of squalling brats, doing without so they could have food in their bellies and clothes on their backs.

  Oh, yes, he’d seen it, grown up with it, in fact. Watched his mother waste away to a shadow of herself, her health declining as she produced one brat after another, until she became so scrawny his pa had lost interest in her. Which for his ma wasn’t a bad thing, Elijah acknowledged, remembering his pa’s rough ways. Pa had stopped beating her and the bigger kids when he’d got drunk and periodically sought a warm bed and a willing pair of arms elsewhere. Then she’d up and died of sheer, bloody exhaustion when Elijah was ten years old. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he remembered the pitiful funeral parade, his pa getting rip-roaring drunk. And then, his ma hadn’t even been cold in the ground when Pa had taken him to the mines to work beside him.

  He watched Will kiss his bride, and his gaze narrowed on the romantic tableau. Sarah Flynn was a comely lass, no doubt about it, but he wondered how long she’d stay that way once the brats started to come?

  No, marriage definitely wasn’t for the likes of him. He liked a free and easy life, no commitments. Get a comely woman, use her and move on. That had been Elijah’s motto since he’d developed into a husky twelve-year-old. He had escaped the mines and his father’s house without a backwards glance and run off to Cardiff, where he’d found work and sexual satisfaction as a pimp for a brothel on the docks. His travels had taken him eventually to Dublin, where he’d been pressed into the army at the age of fifteen. He’d stayed instead of scarpering off, because it hadn’t been a bad deal. For the first time in his life, he’d had a full belly, decent clothing and was housed at the Queen’s expense. And while the pay was paltry, there were compensatio
ns…He could always find enough coppers for a wench or two, enough to fill his needs.

  ‘Sarah, meet my friend, Elijah Waugh. We’ve been regimental mates for years, haven’t we, Elijah?’ Will introduced his new bride to his oldest friend.

  ‘Aye, that we have, Will.’ Elijah formally shook Sarah’s slim hand. ‘Congratulations to you both.’

  Then they moved on to Will’s mother and sister, which left Elijah free to regard them without others being aware of it. His eyes narrowed further, to mere slits, as he stared at Sarah’s profile and her wellendowed figure. What followed was a surprising stab of envy, as he imagined the delights Will would encounter tonight in his marriage bed. He moistened his lips with his tongue, as if he were anticipating a tasty morsel of food, for she had the look of a passionate woman, did Sarah Flynn, now Mrs O’Riley. Aye, he knew female flesh well, and his mate Will would be in for quite a romp.

  Suddenly a sour taste came into his mouth and, the envy growing inside him, he turned away. To hell with Will and his bride! What he wanted was a dram of rum, several drams, in fact, and then a tasty wench under him to ride hard and long. He eased away from the small wedding party and headed for his favourite inn.

  Bridget and Sarah said a tearful goodbye at the ship’s gangway.

  ‘You will write?’ Bridget begged, dabbing at her eyes.

  Sarah knew she was losing her best and dearest friend, and the parting was hard, as she knew it would be. They had shared much, apart from a cramped room, in the four years they’d known each other. Joys, sadness, the relief from loneliness, and espousing their particular dreams and fears. Saying goodbye, knowing that she would never see Bridget again, was like cutting out a part of her heart and throwing it away.

  ‘You know I will. There’ll be much ta be tellin’ you, so how could I not?’

  Sarah replied, having difficulty controlling her own mistiness.

  ‘Be happy, Sarah, and live a long, prosperous life in the place Will calls Sydney Town.’

  Sarah’s smile widened as she saw Will on board, ordering his men about. He looked absolutely splendid in his uniform. ‘Oh, I intend ta, Bridget dear. And ta have several babes by and by,’ she added with a furious blush to her cheeks. The physical side of their marriage had been a wondrous enlightenment. Will had been so tender, so patient and skilful.

  Her roving glance took in the sleek line of the Raven’s Wing. Will said it was called a clipper ship and the design had been copied from the Americans. He’d also said that, because of its speed, more than a month’s sailing time would be slashed off the twelve-thousand-mile sea voyage to the colony of New South Wales. Her blue-eyed gaze ran over the rigging and the masts. The sails remained furled, as they would until the captain gave the order to shove off. A little sadly, she wondered how she and Will would find a moment’s privacy on board a ship which seemed to be teeming with sailors, soldiers and paying passengers.

  She turned to Bridget and gave her a long hug. ‘It’s goin’ ta be a great adventure, Bridget.’

  ‘I know. I envy you so much. You’re so brave. I don’t think I’d have the courage to do what you’re doing.’

  ‘We all have different levels of courage,’ Sarah said wisely. ‘Sometimes it takes a type of courage ta stay, ta endure, as our mothers did.’ She smiled. ‘And with love ta light the way, one can be brave enough ta do anythin’.’

  Elijah’s sturdy legs were set wide apart to brace himself against the swell, as the ship rolled from starboard to port in a wide trough. He hated the sea. Hated everything about it. The initial seasickness, the salty air, always feeling slightly damp or slightly cold and the boredom of being confined to certain decks. He hated the way Captain Stewart and Lieutenant Forbes kept the soldiers doing exercises, too, cleaning their kits and occasionally helping the ship’s crew with their tasks. And worse, there were none of his kind of women to alleviate the day-after-day boredom of the voyage.

  Lost in his mental meanderings, in the gathering twilight, he almost missed the swish of skirts. He glanced up to the poop deck to see Sarah O’Riley stroll its length. Oh, aye, she was the one thing that had made this voyage tolerable. Every day he tried to get a glimpse of her, or at least get close enough to take in the perfume of her, the rose water she used on a daily basis. It made her smell so good. And he’d be damned cranky if he couldn’t manage to. Sarah was an active woman and could be found on deck some time during every day when the weather was reasonable. He’d taken to spying on her, following her to see what she did, and he knew of her and Will’s special assignation place.

  He watched her gaze furtively up and down the deck, and quickly dipped back into the shadows so she wouldn’t see him. Four months into the voyage, he knew her pattern well. She did this when she was going to meet Will. He grinned and hurried below deck, along several narrow corridors, down a flight of narrower stairs to the cargo area, where it smelt musty and sour, to the most forward section where several hessian bags had been thrown down to make a rough mattress. That’s where she’d be heading.

  He’d spied on them there several times, listened to their low, urgent murmurs, and he had noted how eagerly she spread her legs for old Will, too. Oh, yes, watching had been almost as good as doing it himself. Almost. Seeing them in the throes of passion, her moaning, him grunting like a rutting animal as he rammed his dick into her over and over again would give him hard-ons for several days. And something to dream about at night in his hammock.

  Feeling his body hardening with anticipation, he headed for his observation post and waited.

  His patience was soon rewarded as, from the dim light of a single lamp burning near the stairs, he studied her as she came down with Will close behind her. Both could hardly wait to get their hands on each other, he noted almost dispassionately as, with voyeuristic enjoyment, he squinted into the dimness to make out what they were doing.

  ‘Oh, Will, dearest, it’s been so long,’ Sarah’s whisper was faint.

  ‘Aye, sweeting,’ he agreed as he nuzzled her neck. His hands began to roam over her body, kneading and caressing the fullness of her breasts, her hips. Reaching down, he pulled up her gown and ran his hands over her thighs, and then he slid into her drawers and moved down again to touch her sweet, moist womanhood.

  ‘We’ll soon be in Sydney Town, my love. Only another month or so, and then we’ll never be parted again,’ he promised huskily as he laid her down on the makeshift mattress.

  ‘Love me, Will. Please…’

  Unashamedly, Elijah watched them, his eyes narrowing with concentration as they became lost in each other. His dick was as hard as a rock and unconsciously he arched backwards and forwards in tempo with Will’s thrusts, and closed his eyes and let his imagination take over. No good! He stifled a frustrated moan lest they hear it. God, there was no satisfaction in imagining, he wanted the real thing…or close enough to it.

  Now on the prowl, as he’d been several times before, he stealthily crept away from the cargo hold and, on the upper deck, he came across one of the cabin boys going about his duties. Half mad with unsatisfied lust, he grabbed the boy and, holding a thin-edged knife against his throat, bent him over, ripped his breeches down and raped him until the lad lost consciousness.

  Satiated, finally, Elijah sighed as he straightened his tunic and his breeches. Hard-eyed, he looked down at the lad crumpled on the floor and poked him with his boot. Then he dropped to his haunches and slapped the lad’s face till he woke up. Brandishing the knife in front of the youngster’s frightened eyes, he said menacingly, ‘Say one word of this and I’ll stick yer good.’ He pulled the lad to his feet and gave him a rough push. ‘Off with yer now, and mind yer keep yer mouth shut.’

  Bridget’s first letter from Sarah, postmarked Buenos Aires, was full of the day-to-day tedium as well as the surprises of a long sea voyage and the dangers they could expect when they sailed around Cape Horn. Another came from Otaheite, in which Sarah claimed she would never again complain about the cold of Dublin, for the
heat of the Southern Pacific Ocean was much worse.

  Bridget was able to write her replies to Sydney Town, care of Will’s regiment, and took delight in informing Sarah and Will that at least one interesting occurrence had taken place in Sarah’s absence. Seamus O’Toole had finally asked for her hand in marriage, and she had accepted.

  The next letter Bridget received was postmarked 3rd February, 1850, Sydney Town…

  A fine mist lifted off the deep blue ocean on a summer’s day as the Raven’s Wing sailed up the channel to Sydney Town. Passengers and soldiers lined both sides of the deck, eager for the first glimpse of what would be their home for the next several years.

  Sarah was no less eager than the others. To feel dry land beneath her feet again, to be free of the sea wind tangling her hair, to be away from the tedium and regimentation necessary on board ship and to be away from Elijah Waugh’s prying eyes would, indeed, see her content. She had tried, she told herself, to like Will’s soldier friend, but there was something about him, a malice, knowing eyes, barely veiled lustful expressions that made her feel uncomfortable.

  The five-month voyage had been made tolerable not by seeing a great deal of Will, which she did not, but by keeping herself busy.

  As a youngster her mother had taught her the art of embroidery and sketching, and she had initiated a regular sewing bee to keep many of the women, including Captain Stewart’s pregnant wife, Cynthia, occupied. Her crayon portraits of many of the passengers and some of the crew had been a source of amusement and compliments, as well putting a few extra coins into her savings tin.

  And, when she had overheard the ship’s cook complain that the barrels of flour were infested with weevils, she had devised a multi-layered cloth sieve, a skill learned at the chandlery store, to capture the tiny devils. In the doing she had saved almost half the spoiled barrels. In general, she had made herself useful in various ways and had earned a glimmer of respect from the ship’s doctor, the prosperous passengers—merchants and several new landowners bound for Australia to make their fortune.