Mrs. Trilloe let the door of the mercantile slam behind her and stepped onto the stoop, shading her eyes with a feather duster. From further up the hill, Goliah Ashe and other men rushed to the base of the pines, where debate began on what they should do next.
Mrs. Lawson arrived, waving her thick arms and elbowing her way in. “I can’t imagine she’s strayed too far from home. There’s no way a girl like that could walk all the way through the bush into the village. And if she knew the way, why isn’t she here? How long’s she been missing, anyhow?” Everyone listened, asked questions, but no one had answers.
“Where’s Shadrach?” Goliah asked the boys.
“At his farm. Dad said he should stay there, in case she turns up. He’s turned the place inside out already but I reckon Molly’s stuck somewhere. Maybe up a tree…” Simon Callahan added to his brother’s story, his eyes wide as the sky, cheeks flaming like the sun.
“If you boys came in along the bush track and didn’t see her, and Shadrach hasn’t seen her anywhere on his property, where else can she be?” Goliah came close to voicing what Finella didn’t want to consider.
Jimmy shrugged. “I guess if she wanted to get into town, the only other way would be to walk all the way from Red Rocks. She’d be mad to try it, but Shadrach said she’s likely to do anything in the mood she’s in right now.”
“Why would she attempt a walk she’s never done before?” Finella pushed into the group and looked for answers. “I’ve walked the beach at Red Rocks with her for months now and she’s never once hinted to follow it all the way to the village. She knows she can’t manage that on her own.”
Jimmy Callahan scraped his shoe in the dust and shrugged. When he looked up, the blush in his cheek matched his brother’s. “Shad thinks she wanted to give you something, Miss Mayfield. He tried to tell her you’d left for good, but she wouldn’t listen to him. He thinks she’s somewhere out there looking for you, to say a proper good-bye.”
All eyes fell on Finella. Mrs. Lawson cocked her head and waited, her eyes freshly tuned with accusation.
“I…I didn’t…” Finella threaded her fingers together but it did not stop them trembling. Words wouldn’t come, and her dry mouth managed no more than the quick breaths she took in.
“Right, Finella, you come with me.” Mrs. Lawson pushed through the crowd to stand beside her. “We’ll walk back to my house and see if Molly’s stumbled her way there. Perhaps Mr. Ashe, you can arrange the rest of this lot to keep looking.” She didn’t wait for his reply. She snatched Finella by the elbow and pushed her all the way down the track until they were far enough for no one to hear them.
“You’re leaving? Without a proper goodbye? Is the boy addled in the head from too much sun to suggest such a thing, or are you the one that’s lost your mind?”
Finella hurried to keep up. “I wanted to see you, Mrs. Lawson. But, Aunt Sarah said it would be kinder in the long run to leave without goodbyes. She… I… well, so much has happened I hardly know where to start.”
“Start with talking. And when you’re done talking you’d better take up praying, ’cause I’m not liking the sound of this one bit.”
*
Finella prayed. She prayed along with every soul in the village who had a place in their heart for God and his mercy. She wept until no more tears would come and numbness crept over her like the shadows at Mrs. Lawson’s door.
The sun slipped into purple velvet and still no word came of Molly’s whereabouts. Night shadows lengthened and the sea lapped not far off, complicit as the sky in the keeping of secrets.
Only the hush of those who came and went filled the summer night, with few words to share and the empty shake of heads.
“Won’t you return to the house, Finella dear?” Somehow, Aunt Sarah had managed to follow her back to shore. The poor steamer master probably feared her too much to disobey even one of Sarah Mayfield’s commands, but for once, Finella ignored her beckoning.
“Agatha’s cut sandwiches for those in the search party. She’s eager to have you back.”
Finella barely heard her. She leaned against the Lawson’s verandah post with her eyes on the sea. She had to stay near the water, where it glimmered through the tea tree gully with splinters of moonlight. She had to stay within earshot of the pier, near the people. The ones who still called and carried lanterns into already searched thickets of bush.
Molly. Molly
Against a chorus of crickets and night birds, the cry of the townsfolk pierced the day, fast slipping away.
Where was she?
Finella rubbed her forehead and prayed again. Prayed for God to erase her unkind words from the heart of a sweet girl who never deserved to hear them. And to forgive her for ever uttering them.
“At least, take some barley water Mrs. Lawson’s kindly made for us. Please, Finella. I don’t like the way you’re looking.” Aunt Sarah pressed a glass against her fingers.
Finella cradled the drink in both hands. Her trembling spilt the barley water over the rim, and a trickle fell into her sleeve like a teardrop. She closed her eyes to block out the image of Molly, crying in some gully, scared and alone in the dark.
But it made no difference, even with her eyes closed, she could still see her face. Puffy eyes, swollen and weepy, tousled black hair messed up and plastered to her damp forehead in that frenzied search for the sewing box in the skillion.
And Finella had walked away from her. No, had run away, without regard for the poor girl’s confusion. How could she have been so uncaring?
Her shoulders trembled and she gripped the wet glass. Hadn’t she thought all along, that caring for Molly was God’s work? Had she really let someone else’s mistake interfere with that? And what about Shadrach? He’d begged her to listen to him. Pleaded with her until he too stepped back, with tears in his eyes and watched her with the same confusion Molly had.
And she had walked away from them both.
40
Shadrach couldn’t sit any longer. He pushed away from the table and paced the inky yard. She had to be somewhere, probably too scared to move from where she crouched.
The road held no signs of people. Mr. and Mrs. Callahan had taken off again to search their property on the other side of Saltwater Creek.
In his heart he knew she wouldn’t be there. She avoided Saltwater Creek the way sensible folk avoided snakes. He stopped his pacing and looked in the direction of the sea. But what if she had gone that way anyway, and followed the creek along its inward bend where it snaked into the fields?
But she wouldn’t. The bend always frightened her and nothing could drag her near it.
His chest clenched another inch.
Nothing could drag Molly to the fire either, but Finella had managed to get her to cook a batch of glue.
Molly wouldn’t let him touch the splinter in her finger, but she’d let Finella remove it altogether.
Until now, nothing could drag Molly past the creek, but if his sister loved Finella the way he did, there was nothing either of them wouldn’t do for her. He knew he’d wade the dark waters of a river for Finella.
And so he ran. Past his moonlit fields and back through the bush. He brushed past young tea trees and slid down the sandy track to the beach.
He toppled into a dip in the sand, and doubled over. His lungs on fire, his legs more marrow than bone. Waves shattered against the sand and the moon bounced off every crest.
“Molly,” he roared against the din of the waves. “Are you there?”
Wet sand shimmered like a mirror under silver nightlights too beautiful to hide a secret so cruel. He stumbled closer to Saltwater Creek. “Do you hear me?” he called into the night.
But his demands went unheard, and the turbulent sea continued to pound.
The further the creek twisted from the shore, the murkier his sight, and he trained his ears on any sound, any whimper he might catch from the scrub.
He waded into the shallows. But neither ear nor eye could pre
pare him for the tap against his leg and the gentle bob against his shoe.
He dipped his hand in and drew up a mass of wet rags. Nothing that belonged to the sea. It drained into his open palm, and he squeezed it hard.
Only when he shook it out, did it take a shape he knew. Molly’s ragdoll. Washed up where it should never be.
“Molly! Molly, do you hear me?” But Molly did not reply.
Something nudged his foot and a tangle of hair wrapped around his leg, dragged by an unwelcome pull.
Ankle deep and getting deeper, the creek swirled in a mass of unthinkable blackness. Shadrach screamed into the night, and sank into the waters where his sister lay.
*
The scrape of boots on gravel along Mrs. Lawson’s garden paths crumbled into Finella’s thoughts. Scattered and loose they contemplated the worst and tripped her into places her heart vowed she’d never revisit. Lantern held high, someone trudged their way to the house, muttering to himself.
“Mr. Lawson. About time you showed yourself.” Mrs. Lawson wiped wet hands on her apron and met him half way. “What news?”
He lifted the lantern higher and came into view. “They found her.”
They’d found her. Finella pressed the glass of barley water to her throat and let its coolness seep through to her skin.
“Oh, thank God.” Mrs. Lawson hurried to reach him and the old man came to a stop. “What is it?”
He gave her the lantern and with a shaking hand wiped his mouth, pinched like a clam.
“Harry?”
“They found her, by Saltwater Creek. Shad and the rest. Callahans and some other folks from that way.”
The corners of his mouth dipped like a melting candle. “Poor mite was dead before they got to her.”
“No!” Finella screamed. “No. They did not. You’re wrong. Don’t say that!”
She gulped for air and searched their faces. Why was no one else saying anything?
Aunt Sarah slid beside her in a flurry of skirt and hems, and placed a heavy hand on her back. Mrs. Lawson buckled against her husband, and the lantern light quivered.
And from somewhere in the darkness, the smash of glass echoed against the splintering of Finella’s soul.
*
The stillness of night only served to magnify the spiral of despair. Even Aunt Sarah paced the little church house kitchen, twisting her handkerchief when it was not pressed to her mouth.
Long after midnight, Goliah and Agatha returned from their vigil beside Shadrach, but the young preacher quickly retreated to his desk. And while Agatha played with her steaming cup of tea alongside Finella’s stone cold one, she too excused herself before long.
By four in the morning, Finella was already dressed and back at the kitchen table. No sun poked the day, but a steady sprinkling of early rain blanketed the iron roof. After lighting a lamp, her numb fingers leafed through Agatha’s Bible.
Would she find comfort? Was God the only hope left now? Her soul agonized for something to grip before she slipped further into grief.
She opened to Psalm 88 and her eyes fell to the words she’d uttered over and over all night.
Oh Lord. There were no other words her soul could cry, but Oh Lord. And here, the Psalmist’s words repeated her own.
Oh Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee, …my soul is full of troubles and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.
She closed her eyes against the sting of yet another grave.
I am counted with them that go down to the pit. I am as a man that hath no strength. Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom thou rememberest no more. Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps.
Tears stole the page from view and she fought against long buried images. She shook her head, but could not escape the image of her father’s body, wrapped in a rust-stained sail. Crude stitches hastily added to keep the edges in place with two small sand bags wedged inside.
Thou hast put away mine acquaintance far from me; thou hast made me an abomination unto them: I am shut up and I cannot come forth.
Finella rubbed her feet together in vain. She breathed a little warmth into her cupped hands. But nothing worked to shake the cold truth of loss.
Lord, I have called daily upon thee. I have stretched my hands unto thee… Shall thy loving kindness be declared in the grave? Or thy faithfulness in destruction? Shall thy wonders be known in the dark?
She’d promised herself she’d never revisit that rainy morning aboard the Aurora. Why now, of all times, did it torment her?
Finella refused to think about the burial canvas, but she could hear the popping of light rain fall and gather in its creases like a sorry stream. No, better to look at the murky horizon and think of the lessons Father had taught her.
She brushed her tears away. She needed fresh words.
But unto thee have I cried, O Lord: and in the morning shall my prayer prevent thee. Lord, why castest thee off my soul? Why hidest thou thy face from me? I am afflicted and ready to die from my youth up. Her shawl did nothing to keep shivers from her bones and Finella let the nightmare in.
The captain took his position and spoke words of the burial service into the rising tempest. The squall’s cruel grip snatched away the words the moment they were delivered. Salt spray mingled with tears on her lips, and Mrs. McLachlan held her by the elbow. Finella listened for the hymns. Why were there no hymns? Surely Father would’ve wanted hymns.
Two men lifted the wide plank and raised it to shoulder height. But, that’s where her father’s body lay. Why were they moving him? No, please, don’t tilt the plank any higher. Not any higher, please God, no he’ll slip into the…
Black waves lapped the edges of her world and Finella sank into the cold depths of disbelief.
She looked at the page with dead eyes. Only three verses remained.
Thy fierce wrath goeth over me; thy terrors have cut me off. They came round about me daily like water; they compassed me about together. Lover and friend hast though put far from me and mine acquaintance into darkness.
*
“Finella.” Someone shook her shoulder. “Wake up, dear. You’ve fallen asleep at the table.” Aunt Sarah whispered against her cheek and Finella rose to the copper streaks of dawn at the window. “Have you been here all night?”
Finella rubbed her temples. “Only some of it. I couldn’t sleep so I came here to read. I suppose I ended up doing both.”
Her aunt lowered herself into the opposite chair. “You look like you’ve spent more time crying.” She drew her chair closer. “But it’s time for something else, now.”
Finella stared at the old woman who hugged a light morning wrapper around her shoulders. Silver hair hung limp in a thin braid against her collarbone. Many years had passed since her skin had been smooth and now, after a sleepless night, every fold doubled.
“I made a terrible mistake, Finella. I should never have dragged you away from them. Now look what’s happened.” Her words gave way to tears and she smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth. “You must go to Shadrach. Today.”
Finella’s sore eyes stung with fresh tears of her own. “He’ll never want to see me again. This is all my fault and he has every reason to hate me for it.”
“Perhaps. But you must go, anyway. I’ve labored over it all night. Wondered what your mother would’ve told you to do.” She leaned back in her chair, the fight gone from her stiff shoulders.
“I believe your mother would have urged you to seek forgiveness and return it in generous measure. She did. As she lay dying. The only words I heard from her on the day she was struck were, ‘Do we know his name? Whoever he might be, the Lord have mercy on him.’ Who else could she have meant but Shadrach’s father?”
“But, all these years I thought Mother wanted to know his name. That if we knew him, we could…”
“Name the sinner?”
“Name the sinner.” Finella whispered the a burden she knew she�
�d never lift. Shadrach Jones. The man she’d wanted to name for six long years. The name she’d searched for. The name she knew she’d hate the minute she heard it. Only now, she knew how much she truly loved it in another man. One worthier. Kinder and more deserving than she’d ever be of finding love.
She couldn’t let herself think of poor Shadrach and the night he must have endured. What right did she have to return to him? Now of all times. What would she say?
“Go.” Her aunt insisted. “Go. Wrap forgiveness as tightly as you dare around this day. Your mother would want that. And Shadrach can’t bury Molly without it. Neither can you.”
“But, I can’t.” Finella sobbed “There’s no way I can go to him, now. Not even to obey you, Aunt Sarah. Not even if Mother and Father themselves appeared from heaven and told me to go. There’s too much I’ve already said I can’t undo.”
“You’re right.” Aunt Sarah knitted her hands into a tight ball and locked them in her lap. A look of regret Finella had never seen in her, now pulled at the edges of her trembling mouth. “No one can tell you what needs to be done, anymore. This time, you’ll have to follow your heart and decide for yourself.”
41
Morning winds chased the rain clouds away, and nothing on his beach showed signs of gloom, except the tears between Shadrach and the sea. He wiped his eyes with a sleeve cuff he knew still held the tears of a night’s worth of sobbing. Nothing he’d let himself give into, until Goliah and his wife closed the gate behind them, with Mrs. Lawson and the Callahans only a few paces ahead.
Only then, when the whispers of the living had left, did he let his head rest on Molly’s damp hair. He’d not wanted anyone to stay the night. What was the point? At least this way, he could howl, kick chairs and fight the fire until sparks spat up the chimney.
But morning brought fresh panic. The need to find air and wind, if only just for a moment. He longed for the crash of the sea to drown the sound of his weeping. He’d lost them both, in a matter of days. Lost the only two he’d promised to care for. The two he’d loved.
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