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Bound to Sarah

Page 28

by Craig Brennan


  Pat struggled to understand such a fickle society. Only twelve months earlier he had been about to suffer the same fate and the crowd had jeered just as heartily, waiting for him to swing. Watching Silas hang had filled him with revulsion. He had never seen a hanging before, nor had he wanted to, but he had to see Silas’s. He needed to feel some gratification for all his years of suffering, but in the event he didn’t feel a thing. There was now no one left on whom he could wreak his vengeance: Rawlins, Flynn, Turnbull and now Silas, were all gone.

  Something was missing inside. It was as though a part of him had been wrenched out and he wanted it back. His years of incarceration and torture had had a profound effect on him and his spirit felt empty and undernourished, as in the days when his stomach yearned for food. Nothing could heal the past that had disfigured him physically and mentally. He just had to accept that the landscape of his life had changed forever. The only remedy to ease his burden was Sarah’s constant nurturing love.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE LAST OF VAN DIEMAN’S LAND

  The thought of returning to Liverpool had occurred to them often, but what was there to go back to? Without wealth they would never thrive in England. They had no family, no close family anyway, for Sarah’s parents were dead. As for Pat, he still had brothers back in the city but he cared little for them and they probably felt the same about him. Anyway, he had friends here now, who were closer to him than he had ever been to his brothers. It was not a difficult decision to make, their emotional ties were now here. England had too many bad memories, and compared to Van Dieman’s Land, it was dull, grey and overcrowded.

  So with their new found freedom they were able to take advantage of a government entitlement to a plot of land, an enticement to encourage settlement in the colony. They could even take a plot in the area of their choice, if one were available.

  Sarah had lived in the major’s residence for a few years and now felt it was her home. She had blossomed under his roof, and slowly and carefully, almost without realising it, she was nurtured back to a state of good physical and mental health, and she was eternally indebted to the major. Her conscience and sense of loyalty would not allow her to go back to England, after all that he had done for her. She now looked upon him as a father figure and he accepted her like a second daughter, expecting nothing in return, apart from her company.

  But there was something else that left the major unsatisfied, and it related to Pat, who had put his own life in danger, in order to save his, and that tormented his conscience, even after all those years. He often used to say to Sarah, during many an evening of wine and reminiscence,

  ‘This man was willing to put his life before mine. That sets him apart from other men.’ He felt himself unworthy, a feeling that burned inside him, until he decided to give Pat £100 as a gesture of his gratitude. Pat accepted it graciously, in the spirit that it was given, but the money was not important, what mattered was the fact that he was back in the arms of his wife again. Life surely would have been perfect for him, if Sam had still been with them, but they had to look to the future now and God willing, the torment was finally over.

  The area of New Norfolk with the majestic river Derwent snaking through the picturesque landscape was becoming more and more popular with free settler and ex-convict alike and the community was thriving. It was formerly known as ‘The Hills’ but was renamed because so many people from the Norfolk Island settlement were encouraged to relocate to the area, bringing with them skills such as Stonemasons, Blacksmiths, Carpenters, Butchers and Bakers. Pat and Sarah had a small single-story timber house built, which was far better than they could have ever expected back in England, and they still had enough land to grow vegetables and house chickens and geese, and keep a goat or two. Then, with the reward money from Silas’s capture, they invested in more land and a few cows, in the hope of breeding them with a bull so they could sell the calves for their meat. If it worked out they would expand on the idea. Sarah still worked for the major, but no longer lived in, though she missed her old room, with all its happy memories and sense of belonging.

  As for John, he managed to charm Laura into courtship and marriage. At the very beginning of their courtship the major did not really approve of John, because of his past, but it soon became apparent that he was a kind and decent man - everything that Flynn was not - and had the advantage of being quite well educated. He also had good accountancy skills, which the major had since put to good use, but his passion in life was to be a horse breeder and it was his ultimate intention to take that path.

  Pat had been up since early dawn to milk one of the cows, Sarah rising a little later feeling rather nauseous. This sickly feeling had been coming over her for a few days now, but today was the worst. She suspected that she was pregnant but the nausea overshadowed her delight. By midday she was feeling fine again and this seemed to be the routine for the following weeks. Though she could not wait to tell Pat, she wanted to hold back until she was certain. When there was no longer any doubt, she broke the news to him and they both cried tears of joy. Then came the patient wait for a bump to appear and Pat attended to her every need. He would scarcely let her move, though Sarah insisted that she still wanted to carry on as usual with everyday chores.

  So preparations were being made on the Roche farm for the new arrival, but the pair could not help reflecting on the past. Pat had been inconsolable when he found out about Sam and carried a lot of guilt for a while, but Sarah gave him constant reassurance that it was through no fault of his. They were glad of the chance to start again and now seemed happier than ever, with a comfortable home, on their own land, surrounded by beautiful countryside. Compared to the conditions back in Liverpool, they had so much space and were now well on the way to living self sufficiently. But they had found it hard at first settling into life again, and it took months for them to get used to living together again. Pat felt such shame about the hideous scars on his back and it took many months for him to reveal them to Sarah. The first time she set eyes on them she was overwhelmed with grief at how much pain and suffering they represented. What have they done to you? She thought to herself, as she took him in her arms and held him. Her show of affection opened the floodgates of years of suppressed emotion. He had been strong enough to cope with being flogged, beaten, half starved and tormented, and worked in chains from dawn till dusk, but the tender touch of his wife instantly made him break down into a helpless heap.

  It was late afternoon, and Pat was bringing the cows in from a day of grazing, when Sarah appeared at the back of the house waving for his attention and clutching her stomach. Pat ran to her as soon as he saw her.

  ‘I think it’s time, Pat, will you go and get Eleanor?’ she asked, obviously in some discomfort.

  ‘Sure, are ye alright? Go an’ lie down an’ I’ll be back as soon as I can … I won’t be long,’ said Pat, jumping on to the horse drawn cart and disappearing round the side of the house down the main dirt track road. He returned about twenty minutes later with Eleanor, a neighbour who had experience in childbirth and had helped many of the local women. She was a well-built Irish woman with a heart of gold, about forty-five years old, who had been transported twenty years earlier.

  Eleanor’s was one of those few good luck stories. She had been assigned straight away to a free settler and had married him and lived happily ever after. There was the small matter of a husband back in Limerick, but they had no children and he was not the nicest man in the world, so she didn’t miss him. She now had three children from her second marriage and sometimes felt a little guilty about her happiness and good fortune, when she saw what others in her situation had suffered.

  On their arrival, she went straight into the house, while Pat stayed outside pacing up and down the wooden terrace. As darkness started to set in, Pat had still heard nothing and was growing anxious, but he was reluctant to disturb them, though he would frequently listen at the door. Then Eleanor appeared, sweating quite heavily and looking a litt
le unnerved.

  ‘Could ye go and fetch Doctor Marshall, Pat? Be as quick as ye can.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong? Is she alright?’ he asked in panic.

  ‘There are a few complications, Pat. Just go and fetch the doctor right away.’

  Pat bolted off on the horse and cart so fast it was as if he were once again escaping the confines of Sarah Island. The cart clattered out on to the main road again; the main road that went straight into Hobart town if you kept on going. Still quite sparsely populated, the area was dotted with newly-built and half-built houses, set back on either side of the road. The cart bounded up the broad track, kicking up dirt until it disappeared in a cloud of dust. Eleanor took a few moments to regain her composure on the terrace before returning to Sarah’s bedside. The thunderous sound of the horse and cart pulling up outside Dr Marshall’s house alerted the attention of his wife, who was sitting on the terrace, her head buried in a book. Pat jumped off the cart before it had come to a complete halt and darted through the gate and up the path, startling her.

  ‘Beggin’ ye pardon, ma’am, is Doctor Marshall at ‘ome? Me wife’s ‘avin’ a baby and there’s somethin’ wrong … she needs ‘elp.’

  The doctor’s wife put her book down and hurried inside to fetch her husband. Pat briefly explained the situation and the doctor disappeared into the house again, leaving his wife looking uncomfortable in Pat’s presence. Moments later he reappeared with his portmanteau and the two ran quickly down the path and on to the cart. The horse turned around and they raced back up the track, with the doctor holding on to his hat for dear life. On arrival, the doctor brushed himself down, and assuming a calm, professional demeanour, entered the house, while Pat resumed his pacing up and down on the terrace. There was no sound from inside, until the doctor emerged and said,

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point, Mr Roche, I’m afraid it is not good news. The child is not positioned correctly and both mother and child are very distressed.

  ‘Can I come in and see her?’ asked Pat, beside himself with worry.

  ‘I don’t think it would help matters at this time, Mr Roche. It may well add to her stress … I’ll come back out as soon as I can.’

  Before the door closed on him again, Pat caught the sound of faint groans from Sarah. It felt like a ton weight had been dropped on his chest. He buried his head in his hands and sat on the step, praying to the Lord to keep them both safe. In his lone helplessness he looked out at the savage beauty of the unforgiving wilderness and watched the shadows being stretched by the orange of the evening sky. A haze had smothered the sun’s glare, leaving it naked and visible to the eye without being blinded. He had been waiting too long, with too much time to think. His restlessness had waned with the day and with the darkness came melancholy. Once again the waiting came to an end, as the doctor appeared and Pat jumped to his feet.

  ‘You will have to excuse me, but there is something I need to explain,’ said the doctor, as Pat braced himself. ‘I am truly sorry, Mr Roche, but there is no simple way to put this … you have a beautiful healthy baby girl …’

  Pat’s elation was muted, knowing that there was a problem. ‘What about Sarah? Is she alright?’

  ‘I’m afraid there were complications in the birth.’

  ‘What d’ye mean … complications?’

  ‘It seems Sarah is suffering from internal bleeding,’ the doctor continued in a pained tone.

  ‘What does that mean? She will be alright though, won’t she?’ asked Pat, desperate for reassurance.

  In the dark silence of the terrace the doctor indicated the worst with a slight shake of the head. ‘I’m afraid time is short, Mr Roche.’

  Pat could no longer contain his emotion and silent tears misted his eyes over. ‘’ow long does she ‘ave?’ he asked.

  ‘A few hours maybe. She would like to see you, but she doesn’t know and I see no use in telling her.’ The doctor took up a place next to Pat and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘The worst of her pain is over, all that will happen now is she will quite simply feel tired and fall asleep, painlessly and unaware. I feel if she is told, it will distress her further and that will cause her to depart a lot sooner.

  ‘Can I see ‘er now then?’ he asked, wiping away the tears in an effort to control himself once again.

  ‘Yes, of course. Eleanor is just making her comfortable … I wish I could do more to help, I truly am sorry, Mr Roche.’ Pat did not reply, not through bad manners, he was still struggling to force back his tears. The doctor then guided him inside, with his arm on Pat’s shoulder.

  ‘How many people do I have to lose in this life before I lose my own?’ murmured Pat pitifully, half to himself. By now his faith in God had long past, and he was almost convinced he was riding with the devil on his back. The doctor heard him, but did not have an answer. He had been through similar situations many times before and it never got any easier. Childbirth was still very hazardous in those long gone days.

  On entering the bedroom, there were candles lit on both sides, straining their limited light on mother and child. With other candles scattered about the room and a lantern, there were still many dark corners where the glow could not penetrate, but it felt homely. Sarah was propped up slightly on pillows she had made and stuffed herself with goose feathers. She looked tired but comfortable, with a complexion that almost matched the fabric of the sheets, and Pat tried to hide his reaction to it. It immediately struck him as the colour of death, and he had to battle anew with his emotions to keep the tears from reappearing. He turned his attention to the little girl cosily tucked under her mother’s left arm, sleeping soundly. She had a mop of black hair and a rosy complexion, just like her mother.

  Sarah greeted him with a beaming smile, even though she was exhausted. In her mind the worst was over and she would be fine in a few day’s time. Pat returned her smile and both looked at their daughter lovingly, then at each other, before he leaned over and kissed her pale lips, wondering if it would be the last time he would kiss her while she lived. He was caught up in a bitter battle with himself; part of him did not want to hold back. He wanted to wrap his arms around her in one passionate last embrace. He wanted to cry out for his imminent loss. But he had to keep control, so as not to upset Sarah and just enjoy her final hours, keeping her peaceful and content.

  Eleanor had stepped away from the bedside as Pat and the doctor entered and a few moments later the pair left Pat and Sarah alone with the baby. The atmosphere was subdued, Sarah too tired to talk, and Pat unable to for fear of breaking down. He sat in a chair by her side and gently took her hand, kissing it softly and brushing it up and down against his cheek, before holding it in both hands and caressing it. He looked straight into her eyes with such devotion and love that Sarah could not ignore.

  ‘Why do you look so troubled?’ She asked, her voice drained but her effort holding strong. ‘Dr Marshall said as long as I rest, I’ll be fine in a couple of days.’ She had placed her complete trust in him and saw no reason to question his soothing voice and calming words. ‘We’ve a beautiful little girl, and we’re a family again,’ she whispered.

  Pat nodded his head, forcing back a tide of tears that threatened to engulf him. He swallowed hard to rid himself of a huge lump in his throat, but he could not, just as he could not stop his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. He had to cling on to his composure for Sarah’s sake, but the weight of his torment kept dragging him down.

  As that precious time drained away, like sand in an hour glass, Sarah spoke of how life would be good again with the new baby and once she felt better she would bake a celebration cake. Pat listened, though his heart was tearing apart, as the energy in her voice slowly ebbed away and her eyes began to glaze over. He could tell she would have liked to go on talking all night, but her time was drawing near. He told her all the reasons why he loved her as the colour of her life and the strength of her body made their final preparations to leave. In those last moments, even Pat’s
closeness could no longer prevent her from closing her eyes.

  ‘Please, Sarah,’ he begged, ‘don’t sleep yet … just a few more minutes.’

  But not even he could fool death into letting her stay beyond her time. He felt her final touch; her smooth finger tips slowly brushing the top of his hand, as if to say ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ yet knowing she never would. Then her hand slipped lifeless from his and she was gone forever.

  The next twenty-four hours saw Pat plunged into a state of silent despair. He was beside himself with guilt that he had lied to Sarah in her final hours and he could not look at his daughter without breaking down. He kept on apologising for deceiving her, hoping she was listening. He could see no end to his grief, life without his beloved wife held no meaning. Such thoughts were like a whirlwind, raging through his mind, erratic, restless, and untameable. He believed that even if there was a god, he would never see Sarah again, even in death. He had broken too many of his commandments to deserve a place in heaven. All he could hope for was that if he was good for the rest of his life, maybe he would be allowed to stand at the gates of heaven to catch a glimpse of her and Sam in all their glory.

  Sarah was buried at the bottom of their garden, where she could see the house and be close to him and watch their daughter growing up. He placed a simple wooden cross at the head of her grave, carved with her name and date of death. As time passed by, each day took with it a sliver of grief, and as one season followed another, Pat began to feel that the weight of his anguish was a little more bearable. He kept his promise to his wife, by always taking his daughter to her mother’s graveside, first as a babe in his arms, then as a toddler, still too young to understand. With the passing years the curious child would play around her grave, chasing her shadow around the garden and talking to her in her own childish way. Time could not wait to hold on to her childhood a little longer, and so one day she appeared on the terrace a teenage girl, come to take away the weeds from her mother’s grave, and to sit weeping for hours for the woman she had never known her.

 

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