Thomas stared at the box. “But why didn’t she come home when she read my letters? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Gran hid them from her. She never read them.”
“But they’re open.”
"That was me, and I'm so sorry, but I thought..." She faltered.
"Even dead people have rights, young lady. Besides, there was another letter hand-delivered to her. She knew how I felt." Thomas got back into his car.
He closed the door and spoke through the open window. “What other people?”
“I’m sorry Thomas... who took the last letter to Martha?” Christie watched as he worked out who she meant.
His face went hard and his eyes cold. “You dare to stand there and tell me my late wife did this thing?”
Christie pushed the tulip box through the window and onto his lap. “You won’t even say Martha’s name! She stayed true to you her whole life.”
“She married another boy months after leaving me.” Thomas snapped through gritted teeth as he threw the tulip box onto the passenger seat. He started the motor.
"She never married. And if you open the box, you'll see your last letter is unopened, and you can even read Gran's diary, if it's not too much below your principles! Sometimes somebody needs to make a stand for the truth, and I think I've just about done all I can."
With a glare, Thomas wound up the window and drove away, leaving a cloud of dust as he sped off the shoulder. Christie stood helpless, unable to believe he would turn his back on Martha again.
THOMAS ONLY MADE IT over the next hill before pulling over again. The tremor in his hands was from anger. It had to be. That young woman had no idea what she was doing, bringing all these things to the surface. But what if she is right?
He closed his eyes. That night on the beach, in the midst of a storm, he’d pointed to the jetty.
“I’ll wait for you. There, at the end of the jetty, I will wait. Every day I will be there to meet the dawn, as we have done so many times. Promise you’ll come back.”
She had promised. And he wasn’t there for her when she returned.
His eyes opened to stare at the empty road ahead. She was here in River’s End. His girl.
Foot hard on the accelerator, he did a U-turn. And stalled. ‘Not now, dammit!’ The engine spluttered as he coasted to a halt.
AFRAID TO TURN AROUND and find herself confronted by a ghost, Martha stoically stared out to sea. Being here played with her mind and now she was hearing the voice of a man long dead. If she ignored it, the moment would pass.
Instead, someone sat next to her, long male legs dangling over the end of the jetty. Heart pounding, she stole a sideways glance. No, not Thomas. Just someone like him who was gazing at the fish below the jetty without seeming to notice her.
For a while, the only sounds were the soft sploshing of the water against the pylons and ever-present cawing of seagulls. Martha’s mind raced with questions she would not ask. The possible answers scared her too much.
A small gust of wind blew Martha's handbag onto its side, and her airline ticket slid out.
Martin picked it up. “When do you leave?”
Looking straight at him now, Martha saw the relationship to Thomas. Strong features, those intense eyes and same direct tone. She held her hand out for the ticket and when Martin handed it to her, shoved it into the handbag.
“I’ll be going soon enough, young man, don’t you worry.”
“It isn’t of concern to me, but it is to someone I care about. You need to meet her.”
Martha disagreed. If Dorothy wanted her to know about children and grandchildren, Dorothy would have told her.
"Christie only found out you existed a few weeks ago," Martin said, as if he could read Martha's thoughts. "She's been doing everything in her power to find you and put together the pieces of a rather big puzzle your sister left behind."
“Well, why are you here instead of her?”
“Oh, I’ll let them explain when they get here.”
“Them?”
The horn of a car tooted from the carpark. Elizabeth appeared a moment later near the steps, waving.
"My ride," Martha announced. She began to stand, realising with some irritation she was going to struggle. Already on his feet, Martin extended his hand. She ignored it.
“What is it about you Ryan women?”
MARTHA GLARED AT HIM and Martin almost laughed, the fire in her eyes was so like Christie’s. She reluctantly allowed him to support her, muttering “Thanks” under her breath. He gave her the handbag and held his arm out, which she pretended not to see.
The growl of the Lotus drew near and stopped. Martha glanced up at Martin. “That’s her?”
“That’s Christie.”
Martha stopped, troubled. “She came to Palmerston.”
“I told you, she was searching for you.”
“Elizabeth lied to me.”
“I’m afraid a lot of people have been lying to you. Will you wait here a moment? I’ll be back.” Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted to the steps, meeting Christie as she reached the bottom.
“Where is he?” Martin’s heart sank at the distress in Christie’s eyes.
“Stubborn old man! He wouldn’t come with me. How is she?”
“Stubborn old lady.”
Martin squeezed her hand. “She’s leaving in a minute.”
“I’d better say hi.”
Christie turned to wave to Martha, who was shuffling through the sand toward her.
MARTHA WAVED BACK. Emotion overwhelmed Christie, a bursting of happiness that she had found her great-aunt. It was only when her vision got blurry she realised she was crying. Again.
She raced across the distance and threw her arms around Martha. For a long moment, they hugged, strangers from different generations, brought together by blood, secrets and determination.
“Hello, Auntie.”
Martha released her and they gazed at each other, faces alight with joy.
"I believe you've been searching for me?" Martha said. "I fear my friend may have lied to you to protect me."
"So many people have lied, and I'm so sorry to tell you Gran was one of the worst."
The horn of Elizabeth’s car tooted again.
“Stay. Please stay a while?” Christie held Martha’s hand.
"I can't, dear. My plane won't wait, but I want you to visit me. Come to Ireland."
Martha started walking again, gripping Christie’s hand.
Do I tell her? Christie’s mind worked overtime. Will it hurt her too much? With sudden clarity, Christie knew. The truth had been withheld for long enough.
Christie stopped. “Auntie? Please, just for a moment, listen.”
Martha stopped and turned to face her. “I’m listening.”
“That night... the night you fell in the ocean and left Thomas?”
Martha glanced behind Christie at the jetty. "How do you know about that?"
"Gran was here on the beach. She and Frannie planned everything, and when you were thinking of coming home, Frannie lied about Thomas marrying her."
Martha shook her head. “He married her.”
“Well, yes. But she’d told him you’d married a boy from school.”
“She did what?”
“There’s so much more you need to know. I have to tell you about Thomas.”
“No. No, I have to leave now. Besides, it all stopped mattering the day he died.”
Over Martha’s shoulder, a movement caught Christie’s eye at the top of the cliff.
“Martha!” Thomas’ voice boomed across the beach.
Martha’s eyes widened as she stared at Christie’s face.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Christie took Martha’s arm and gently turned her around. “He’s alive!”
THOMAS ALMOST FELL down the last few steps, so intent was he on reaching the beach, but Martin grabbed his arm and steadied him. Pausing for a second, he glanced at Martin. “Not one w
ord from you.”
As if he was a young man again, Thomas flew toward Martha.
On Martha's face, there was no smile, no welcome. Just utter shock. She swayed as if to faint, but Christie put an arm around her. "It's real. He's real."
Thomas was only a few metres away when he stopped, gasping for air and unable to believe his own eyes. He drank in the reality of Martha, right there in front of him.
A step at a time, Thomas and Martha reached for each other through a stillness encircling them. As though not even one day had passed.
“I waited for you.” There was a question in Thomas’ words.
“I found out today.”
Thomas dropped to his knees before Martha. “Forgive me.”
“Oh, Thomas, it’s me who needs forgiveness. But I never stopped loving you.”
She reached out her hands and so tenderly, Thomas took them in his and kissed one, then the other. He kept her left hand in his and rummaged around in a pocket. There it was. As brilliant and beautiful as the day it was made, her engagement ring.
Martha gasped.
“If this goes on your hand, it stays there. Understood?”
“Yes, Thomas. Oh, yes!”
Thomas slipped the ring on Martha’s finger and clambered to his feet with the strength of a man reborn. His eyes were alive with love as he pulled Martha into his arms. After a lifetime apart, their lips touched and finally, they were together again.
CHRISTIE RETREATED to the steps, where Martin waited. She joined him, unable to meet his eyes in fear of what she might see. What if he never forgave her for reading those letters?
"Give it time, Christie," he said as if reading her mind. She nodded.
When Thomas put the engagement ring on Martha’s finger, Christie burst into tears.
“I’ve never met a woman who cries so much.” Martin gave her a handkerchief.
“I don’t think I ever cried before I met you.”
A few moments later, Martha and Thomas wandered across the sand, hand in hand. They stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Does this mean you might stay a bit longer?” Christie teased Martha.
“Oh, my flight. I’d better ask Elizabeth to cancel it for now.”
“What do you mean, for now?” Thomas growled.
“I have a house in Ireland to sell, dear, unless I leave it to someone? Maybe you, Christie?”
“I’m a bit over inheritances, Auntie. Although I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland and I don’t have anything stopping me from travelling.” Christie said it to get a response from Martin.
As though he had not heard her, he offered Martha his arm and headed back up the steps. All the joy of the moment disappeared, and Christie realised she wanted Martin in her life every bit as much at Thomas and Martha wanted each other in theirs.
They were together. The terrible secrets belonged in the past, and finally, almost everything was right again.
Twenty-Nine
ON THE FIRST SATURDAY in January, on the jetty, Thomas married Martha. Against the backdrop of the Great Southern Ocean, they exchanged the vows written almost fifty years ago. Promises both decided still applied to their love and future marriage.
Thomas insisted the wedding start in the early evening to avoid high tide. He would have preferred the absolute low tide at midday, having no intention, he told Martha, of fishing her out of the sea again.
The ceremony was short and simple. They exchanged loving words, promises, and rings, followed by a kiss so tender even Martin had to blink a little more than usual.
With Christie as bridesmaid and Martin as best man, Martha and Thomas posed for a photographer patiently, but their eyes rarely left each other. Since reuniting, they had not spent a day apart, as if afraid this was a dream from which they would waken.
They returned to the beach to the applause of the guests. Elizabeth threw her arms around Martha, while George, grinning broadly, slapped Thomas on the back. Daphne kept dabbing her eyes and John was exactly the same as he had been at the funeral, except with a smile. Belinda – who had done Jess and Sylvia's makeup under Christie's guidance – fussed around checking everyone was at their best for the ongoing photographs. Even Randall wore a doggie bow tie.
Watching them all so happy, so united, Christie was overwhelmed with emotions. Such joy for Martha and Thomas. Almost unbearable sadness for their lost years. Residual anger at Gran, more so than Frannie. Frannie, after all, loved Thomas and could not see past her own needs. Gran should have known better. Underneath all of that was an emptiness. As though Christie had lost something important.
"This must belong to you." Martin was beside Christie, and she started. He raised an eyebrow and held up a strand of jasmine.
“Oh, that’s from Martha’s bouquet.”
“No. I’m sure it belongs here.” Martin touched Christie’s hair, braided colourfully to one side with flowers. Weaving the jasmine around the braid, his hand brushed Christie’s skin, shooting tiny sparks of electricity through her. “There, that’s better. Jasmine sea.”
Wide-eyed, Christie gazed at him. He remembered her comment on his deck about becoming a candle maker. He wandered back to the group as though nothing happened.
Randall trotted to Christie, and she knelt on the sand to cuddle him. He licked her face, making her giggle, but inside, she was in turmoil. Since that day on the beach when Martha and Thomas reunited, Martin had been polite, but distant. They spent plenty of time together, helping plan the wedding and even sharing Christmas at Palmerston House, but it was always with company and Martin showed no interest in seeking Christie out alone.
This was the first time they touched in ages, and it took all of one light brush of his fingers to crash back through the barriers she had rebuilt. Her hand strayed to her hair. Stop wishing.
GUESTS WAITED IN THE near-darkness of dusk on the wide, timber verandah of Palmerston House, as a horse and open carriage turned into the driveway.
Martha gasped in delight at the fountain, which lit from within, flowed with tumbling streams of ever-changing coloured water. Trees around the homestead twinkled with fairy lights, and as the carriage drew near, each guest held up a lantern.
She grabbed Thomas’ hand. “This is for us!”
There was wonder in her voice, and Thomas did not trust himself to speak. All he could do was gaze at his bride. Martha was his wife. She was real.
As the carriage stopped, the verandah erupted with clapping. Thomas climbed out and offered his hand to Martha. Christie rushed to help with the dress and Martin joined them for another round of photographs.
THE FOYER WAS LARGE enough for the reception and a small dance floor. When the formalities and meals were finished, the lights dimmed, and Thomas escorted Martha to the centre of the room.
Christie watched them from the top of the steps, her phone at the ready to video this poignant event. Martin wandered up the staircase, stopping when he was at her eye level. He held out a crisp, white handkerchief.
“What’s this for?”
“You’ll need it.”
“Why?”
“Always a question.” he sighed. “Just take it.”
Christie accepted the handkerchief and slipped it into her bag. The music began, and she turned her attention to the dance floor.
AFTER THE BRIDAL WALTZ, Martin stood on the edge of the dance floor, hand extended to Christie. As the music began, Martin took Christie into his arms. Aware of the eyes on them, she kept herself from melting into him the way her body ached to. When he tried to draw her closer, Christie stiffened, and he gave her a puzzled glance.
"Smile," he suggested. "I'm not going to bite."
I can think of worse things. Christie forced a smile and let her body relax. Martin slid his hand a little lower and tightened his embrace. The strength of his arms and oh-so-masculine scent played havoc with whatever remained of Christie's barriers, and she gave up. She loved Martin, and for once, she would believe he loved her in return.
/>
Too soon, the dance ended as if to remind Christie not to dream. The music changed tempo, and other guests joined Martha and Thomas, who continued to waltz regardless of the world around them. Martin led Christie off the dance floor by a hand and held it to keep her attention as he leaned down to speak over the music.
“We need to talk.”
“We are talking.”
"Don't be difficult, Christie," Martin spoke in the mild tone that usually meant something else. "Tomorrow. Come to the house, there's something I need you to see."
Heart racing, Christie tried to read his expression. Why had he insisted she take a handkerchief from him, warning her she would need it? Had he worked out how she felt and did not reciprocate?
“Can you tell me now?”
“I can’t show you something here that is at my house.” For a moment, it seemed as though those shutters would come down again and he would change his mind.
“I’ll be there.” Christie agreed. “I love what you gave them as a present.” She needed to normalise things again. Martin squeezed her hand before releasing it.
“All I did was restore it. Thomas is responsible for creating it.”
“You undersell yourself.” Christie flashed a smile at Martin. “Coming?”
Before he could answer, she crossed the dance floor, laughed at something Belinda said and slipped through the partly open door leading to the front living room.
Inside it was a little quieter, and she paused, eyes closed, to gather herself. Whatever happened tomorrow, she still had this beautiful evening to spend with Thomas and Martha. And Martin.
“What are we doing in here?” Martin spoke from right behind Christie. She opened her eyes, heart speeding up at his voice. As always.
“How can you say all you did was restore it? Thomas told me there was a hole right through it!”
On an easel in the middle of the room was Thomas’ painting of Martha in the meadow in springtime, flowers in her hair and love in her eyes. It was framed and could have been painted a week ago, so fresh and vibrant the colours.
The Stationmaster's Cottage Page 26
