by Bonnie Leon
For several moments they sat quietly. Rustling leaves, the munching of the horses, and birdsong spoke to them. There was no need for conversation. Like old friends, they sat comfortably and ate. Rebecca finished her sandwich, then leaned back and rested on one hand. “What’s it like in Australia, at your home, I mean?”
Daniel thought while he started on another sandwich. “Not like ’ere. It’s mostly flat. There are mountains, but they’re a great distance away. And the seasons . . . well, they’re not like yours either. During winter it’s cooler but not cold. Sometimes there’s quite a bit of rain and even the bushies find cover.” He grinned.
“I’ve never heard of a bushie.”
“Those are solitary types who live in the bush.” He glanced at the horses. “And then there’s the summer months. We get storms, but the sun turns hot. Real hot, not like ’ere.” His eyes roamed over the lower hillsides. “The land is big and seems to go on forever. A man feels free there.”
“Do you have a lot of cattle on your ranch?”
“Oh yeah. Thousands.”
“How do you possibly take care of so many?”
“For the most part, they take care of themselves. But we’ve a fair number of chaps working for us. We’ve a right sizable number of drovers, and there are blacks to look after the house and crops.”
“It’s hard to imagine such a place. Are there a lot of other ranchers where you live?”
“In the district, yeah, but our places are spread out. It’s open lands, like I said.”
“That seems strange. We’ve always had neighbors, and of course, we’re not far from the city.”
“I like it quiet. Not much out on the flats—a few dingoes, a roo now and then, and once in a while a goanna might run across your trail.” His gaze moved to the valley. “This is right pretty ’ere, but a chap feels a bit closed in.” His eyes settled on the distant bay. “Have to admit though, this is a real beautiful spot.” He plucked a piece of dry grass and placed it between his teeth.
“And what about birds? There are so many different kinds here.” She glanced up into a tree and watched a pair of finches play tag.
“Oh, we have birds. They might seem strange to you though. Some make a bit of a racket, and others have brightly colored feathers, so much so they’re startling to look at.”
The peace of the woodlands enfolded the pair.
“I’m sorry about your brother. It must have been difficult to have him living so far from home and then . . . lose him.”
“Yeah. It’s especially hard on my mum.” Daniel’s voice had taken on a hard edge. “But I think he was happy. Elton came searching for a new life, and he found one.” Daniel’s words were positive, but his voice sounded sad. “How about you? What are your plans?”
“Well, like I told you last night, I want to be a lawyer.”
“From what you said, that won’t be easy. How do you figure to go about it?”
Rebecca sat upright. “I’ve completed my education, and I’ve worked alongside my father for years. I’m well prepared. I’m determined to convince my father to take me on.” She compressed her lips, then continued, “If not for the archaic views about women in this city, I’d already be working.”
Daniel picked up an apple and polished it on his pants leg. “It would be a hard go—working and taking care of a family.”
“You sound like my father.” She emptied her glass, then smoothed the rim with her index finger. “A woman must choose—family or career.” She set down the glass. “I’ve always wanted to work with my father. He’s a fine man, and the kind of work he does is quite stimulating.” She met Daniel’s eyes. “I’ve decided not to marry.”
Daniel looked slightly unnerved. He bit into the apple, and juice squirted. Wiping his lower lip, he studied Tomlin. “I believe God created men and women for different roles.”
Rebecca prepared herself for the customary lecture about how women were unable to sustain themselves in the uncompromising world of enterprise. Anger swelled.
“It’s not that women can’t have a family and a career,” Daniel said. “They’re smart enough, and some are tough enough, that’s certain. But men haven’t the tender touch for children the way women have.” He brushed a piece of apple from his shirt. “We bully our way through life. If women were working and the raising of children were left up to us men, we’d make a mess of things. Can you imagine someone like me changing a nappy? Or soothing a fussy babe?” He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. The wind caught hold of his blond hair, then dropped it onto his forehead. Rebecca was tempted to smooth it back.
“A woman can do anything she sets her mind to.” He stopped and thought a moment. “But if women give up being mums, I’m afraid we’ll have a world full of misfits. Children need their mums. Not to say fathers aren’t important. They are. But they just don’t have the touch with little ones.”
Rebecca’s heart softened toward Daniel. He understood. An ache burrowed beneath her breast. She’d never have all she wanted.
“I fear if a woman tried to care for a family and have a career, it would be too much for her. Her family would be shorted. And so would she. Plus, she’d be plain worn out.” Daniel shrugged. “I s’pose you’re right. A woman would have to choose.”
Rebecca had always been certain she would one day work beside her father. Not until this moment had she ever even considered any other alternative.
4
Rebecca followed the aroma of frying bacon to the kitchen. “I’m starving,” she said. “And that smells wonderful.”
Mildred flashed her a smile.
Rebecca glanced at the kitchen table where her father sat, a cup of tea cradled in his hands. “I know it’s not a holiday, and you never miss work. Why are you still home?”
“He’s not feeling well,” Mildred said.
“You do look pale.” Rebecca sat beside him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, just a bit of a stomach ailment.” He winced, then sipped his tea. “Mildred’s ginger tea will make things right.”
Mildred forked a slice of bacon onto a plate. “He needs to see the doctor. He’s feverish and hasn’t been able to hold anything down.”
“You worry too much. I’ll be fine.” Charles tried to stand but swayed. He pressed his hands on the table.
“Charles?”
“Just a bit of dizziness,” he said weakly.
Mildred hurried to support her brother, then helped him sit. “Just the same, I’m sending for the doctor.” She rested a hand on his damp forehead. “Flora,” she called shrilly.
Almost immediately the stout maid appeared. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Have Jimmy run into town for the doctor, and tell Tom to come in here. We’ll need a hand getting my brother upstairs to bed.”
Flora seemed rooted in place, evidently stunned at Charles’s illness. He was rarely sick.
“Please, Flora, now.”
“Yes. Of course. Right away.” Flora hurried out of the room.
“How long have you been ill, Father?” Rebecca rested a hand on his arm. She didn’t like the look of him. His coloring had gone gray, and he was sweating heavily.
Charles slowly let out his breath. “Sometime in the night I noticed a pain in my right side—it was just a twinge at first. Now it feels as if my insides are on fire.”
“Dr. Martin will know what to do,” Rebecca reassured him. “Try to drink a little tea. It might help.”
With a slight nod, Charles obeyed.
A few moments later, Tom strode in through the back door. “You needed me?” His gaze settled on Charles.
Charles offered Tom a half smile and said as jovially as he could manage, “That I do.”
Mildred moved close to Charles. “My brother’s quite ill and needs assistance getting to his room.”
“I’m the one, then. I’ve a good strong back.” He studied his employer. “Hope it’s nothing serious.”
“I’m sure
it’s not.”
Tom crossed to Charles, and grasping one of his arms, helped him to his feet.
Immediately new droplets of sweat sprang out on Charles’s face.
Rebecca leaned close to her father. “Let me help.” She draped his other arm over her shoulders.
Charles groaned, wincing.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No. It’s not you. It’s whatever’s eating at my gut.”
With Mildred following close behind, Rebecca and Tom managed to get Charles up the stairs and to his room. Mildred hurried inside and folded down his bedding. Tom and Rebecca helped lower him to the bed and lay him back.
“There you are,” Mildred said, removing his shoes and jacket, then pulling the blankets over him. “I’m sure just a little rest and you’ll be right as rain.” The words were cheerful, but her voice sounded tight.
Dr. Martin placed a stethoscope on Charles’s chest and listened. “Sounds a bit fast but strong.” He moved the stethoscope to his stomach. His brow furrowed. He palpated Charles’s abdomen, and Charles groaned. “Sorry, but it’s necessary.” The doctor continued probing. “Let me know where it hurts most.”
“There. There,” Charles said between clenched teeth. “I’ve never felt anything like this before. What is it?”
Dr. Martin’s expression was grim. “Don’t know just yet. We’ll make you more comfortable though.” He took a bottle of medicine from his bag, then lifted a glass of water from the nightstand. “Is this fresh?”
“Yes. We just brought it up,” Mildred said.
He opened the bottle and measured two spoonfuls into the water and stirred. “Drink this,” he said, holding the glass to Charles’s lips. “It will ease the pain.”
Charles sipped the mixture and grimaced. “Bitter,” he said, lying back on the pillows.
“It will probably make you sleepy,” Dr. Martin said, setting the medicine on the nightstand. He glanced at Mildred. “Measure out two teaspoons as he needs it for pain. No more often than every three hours,” he cautioned. He closed his bag and stood. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow,” he said, giving Charles’s arm a pat. He smiled, but his eyes were cheerless.
Mildred and Rebecca followed him out of the room.
“What’s wrong with him, doctor?” Rebecca asked.
“Typhlitis, I believe.”
“He’ll get well, won’t he?”
The doctor didn’t respond immediately. “Sometimes these things resolve themselves.”
“Sometimes?” Mildred asked. “And what about the rest of the time?”
Dr. Martin, who was quite tall, looked down on Mildred and rested a large hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but in most cases the patient doesn’t recover.”
Mildred sucked in her breath and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” the doctor added.
Standing board stiff, Mildred asked, “What can we expect?”
“He may gradually get better and recover. But often the patient has a spell with less pain, but it will return and become more intense. There will be nausea, increased fever, delirium . . .”
“There’s nothing we can do?” Mildred asked.
“I’m sorry. Keep him as comfortable as possible. The laudanum will help him sleep.”
Rebecca felt as if someone had hit her across the chest. “It’s just a stomach ailment.”
Dr. Martin’s grave expression settled on Rebecca. “I wish I could tell you that he’ll be fine, but I can’t.”
“How long, then?”
“A few hours. A few days. Every case is different.”
As the circumstances became real, sorrow burrowed inside of Rebecca. She grabbed the doctor’s arm. “Please, there must be something. A specialist . . . or . . .”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing.” He closed his hand over hers. “We have a mighty God. I would pray.” He walked toward the staircase. “I’ll let myself out.”
Rebecca sat beside her father’s bed, clasping his hand in hers. The weather had turned cold, and the chill seeped into the room. Two days had passed since the doctor’s first visit. Her father’s condition had not resolved itself. Instead, he’d grown sicker and now moved in and out of consciousness.
Charles opened his eyes and looked at his daughter. His voice barely more than a whisper, he said, “It’s not so bad, this slipping into the Father’s arms.”
“Please don’t talk like that. You’re going to get well.”
“No, I’m not.” His eyelids drooped. “I’ve missed your mother. She’s there waiting for me.”
“Father, no. You’re not going to die.”
Charles focused on Rebecca. “Our time here is not our own. God brings us into the world, and he sees us out.” He released his breath slowly with a slight moan.
“Do you need more laudanum?”
“No. I need . . . my senses about me.” He struggled to concentrate. “There’s something I . . . must speak to you about.”
“Daddy . . .”
“Hush, now. Listen. Things aren’t as . . . they seem.” His breath was labored. “I’ve debts, serious debts.”
“We can talk about all that later . . . when you’re better.”
“I’m not going to get better,” he said with surprising ferocity.
Over the past two days, the light in his eyes had faded. Rebecca knew he was leaving her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“About what?”
“I made some . . . bad investments.” He sucked in a shallow breath. “I thought there would be . . . time . . . to make things right again. And now . . .” He shook his head slightly. “I’m about to leave you . . . penniless.”
“I don’t care about money. I just care about you. Please don’t leave me.” Rebecca pressed his hand to her cheek.
“I should have let you come to work for me. I’m sorry about that. At least you . . . would have had a way to make a living. Now I’ve left you at the mercy of society.”
“You’re still here. You haven’t gone anywhere.”
“You could teach, or marry well.” He moaned and clenched his teeth.
“Daddy?”
He gazed at her. “I’m so sorry.”
After that Charles slept. For two more days he seemed half in this world and half in the next. Mildred and Rebecca kept watch. The ticking of the mantel clock counted off the minutes of his life.
The bedroom door opened with a whisper. “Rebecca, Mr. Thornton is here to see you,” said Flora.
“Go ahead,” Mildred said.
Rebecca gazed at her father. The laugh lines and worry lines in his face were now deeply etched. His breathing was shallow and hesitant. What if he slipped away while she was gone? “I’d rather stay.”
“It’s time you got some air. You’ve been here for hours.” Mildred looked at Flora. “Make sure she has something to eat.”
Rebecca kissed her father’s cheek. His skin felt damp and cool. She followed Flora out of the room. “Please don’t make me anything to eat. I just couldn’t manage any food right now.”
“You haven’t had a bite in nearly two days. You need to keep up your strength.” Flora eyed Rebecca seriously. “Your father would disapprove.” She stopped at the top of the stairs. “At least have a bit of broth. It will do you good.”
“All right. After I speak with Daniel I’ll have a little.”
The tall, blond Australian stood in the foyer, hat in hand. “Rebecca. I’m so sorry to hear about your father. How is he?”
“Not well.” Rebecca barely got the words out before the tears flowed. Pressing a handkerchief against her face, she whispered, “I can’t stand to just sit by and watch him die. What will I do without him?”
Daniel rested a hand on her arm.
Her defenses stripped away, Rebecca grasped his hand and wept. When the tears subsided, she stepped back, embarrassed at her display. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. This isn�
�t your affair.”
“It is. I care about you and your father.” He glanced at Flora as she moved past and on up the stairs. “Will you walk with me? It’s a bit cold but quite refreshing. The sun and air will do you good.”
Greeted by a cool breeze, Rebecca allowed herself to be escorted outside. The last of the roses had darkened and drooped as if nodding off to sleep. Only one had escaped the damage of the freezing air. Rebecca stopped and smelled it, but the fragrance had grown feeble.
“I’m right sorry, Rebecca.”
“He’s been everything to me.” Fresh tears welled up, and she wiped them away. “I can’t imagine life without him.”
“If there’s anything I can do . . . I want to help.”
Rebecca looked at him, anger flaring at the futility of the offer. “Thank you, but you can’t do anything. There’s nothing any of us can do.” She glanced at the house. “I’d better go back. Thank you for coming.”
Daniel acted as if he would say more, but instead, he simply tipped his head in quiet acknowledgment, and Rebecca returned to the house.
It seemed all of Boston turned out for Charles’s funeral. He’d been well liked and respected. Words of comfort and affection could not ease Rebecca’s pain. In a mournful fog she moved through the day, doing what was required of her.
In spite of her sorrow, she had to face her father’s financial deficiencies. Sitting across from the family attorney, she discovered that a large number of her father’s clients had never paid him, and although he was a fine lawyer, he was not a skilled financier and had made a number of bad investments. The Williams estate was in ruins.
The house and property would be sold, the family possessions auctioned off.
Rebecca wandered to the stables. When she approached Chavive’s stall, the horse thrust her head out over the gate. Her large brown eyes seemed to understand Rebecca’s heartache. Rebecca reached into a pocket and pulled out a quartered apple and offered it to the mare. Head bouncing, Chavive munched, then nuzzled Rebecca, who pressed her forehead against the mare’s face. The ever-present pain in her chest intensified. Tomorrow Chavive would go to her new family. “I will miss you so much,” she whispered.
