Golden Hope (32 page)

Finch looked nonplussed. ‘I just don't get you, Rom. One minute I think you're a tough nut no girl should trust. The next I reckon you're a closet Romantic.'

‘Maybe I'm both!' Rom just grinned and walked back inside the hospital.

His last sight of Finch was of him standing alone by the young Canadian's grave, his head bowed in prayer, the wind blowing his wild head of hair.

Life's a funny can of worms. Finch doesn't know who the hell he is – but he knows he believes in a God. Me, I'm just the opposite.

He strode off whistling
The Girl I Left Behind Me
.

•  •  •

The angel was peering down at him, floating in a cloud, all pure white except for a touch of freckles and the pale blue of her eyes.

Rom struggled through the mist to force the words between his cracked lips.

‘Hey! You're no angel. I know you. You're my Kiwi.'

‘That's right, Rom. Rest easy.'

Rom. She called me Rom.

A cold compress was pressed against his forehead. Alarmed by the sight of Finch's empty bed, he tried to sit up. ‘Shit! He isn't dead is he?'

‘No. Stay calm, Finch. The surgeon signed his release, remember? Your mate will be safely on board the ship by now. Ready to sail home to Australia, just like you wanted for him.'

‘Hell, Finch can't sail without
me
. I've got to get out of here!'

He struggled against the cool, surprisingly strong hands that held him down.

‘Not yet, lad. First we have to get your temperature down. Don't worry. Their sailing date has been delayed by bad weather.'

‘You've got to get me on that ship, Sister. Finch's like a newborn baby. He'll be lost without me.'

Rom felt a thermometer inserted into his mouth. He held her eyes, daring her not to leave him. He desperately fought the desire to sleep – afraid that ship would sail without him.

‘Heather . . . don't leave me!'

She gripped his hand. ‘I'll be here when you wake up, Rom.'

‘No! Stay by me!' He was battling to get the words out. ‘Promise! Cross your heart and hope to die.'

‘I promise.'

She doesn't understand. Finch doesn't know the truth . . . I bolted . . . Clytie . . . I never answered her letter about the baby. Got to put things right. Last chance.

‘Sister! Listen to me! Dolores made me promise – never to say the words “I love you” until I really meant it . . .'

The soft Kiwi accent was fading. ‘It's never too late, Rom . . .'

He gripped the pale hand to detain her – to help him hang on.

He sensed that he was raving. Time was running out. The hands of the clock raced at high speed around the numbers on its face. Then the Roman numerals suddenly disappeared. The clock framed Clytie's face . . . He tried to reach out to her. ‘I never had the guts to tell you. I loved you – from the very first moment. Marry me, before it's too late . . .'

An orderly appeared in the doorway, bent his head close to the white veil and whispered urgently, ‘Sister, another hospital train's arrived. Doctor needs you in surgery to operate . . .'

Rom felt the angel in the white veil squeeze his hand. ‘I'll see you in the morning, Rom,' she said in a voice that trailed away into the darkness.

No you won't. I'm getting out of here. I'll get on that ship come Hell or high water.

In the days that followed Robert Hart's birth, Clytie felt alternate waves of elation, gratitude and surprise. Despite Hoffnung's entrenched attitude to illegitimacy – an act of shame to be forever recorded in the town's memory – she had received unexpected gestures of warmth and congratulations. The most surprising gift of all was the arrival of a fine bunch of hothouse flowers. Clytie was touched by the wording of the card:

‘Clever girl! Perfect timing. Our two little lads will grow up attending school together. We've called our boy Maximilian George Peter (Noni's choice). Please remember me kindly to Rom in South Africa. We can all take pride in our V.M.R. lads. Don't worry, he'll soon be home. Meanwhile, if I am able to assist you in any way, please remember you have in me a friend always at your service.'

It was signed ‘Sonny Jantzen'.

Perfect timing, he says. A babe born before his parents could marry, but Sonny skips over that fact as if it simply does not exist. A true gentleman.

Sister Bracken ran a taut ship. On her instructions Clytie was not allowed any visitors, on the grounds that the birth had been a month premature. The gifts she received were a real consolation. She was stunned by the arrival of an elegant wicker bassinet with a card from Miss Adelaide Hundey, addressed to Master Robert Hart.

‘Welcome to the world, young man. You've chosen two fine parents.

Always your friend, Adelaide Hundey.'

Clytie whispered to little Robert. ‘To most people she's just Doc's eccentric sister. But we know better, don't we?'

Later that day a noisy altercation broke out. Clytie recognised Sister Bracken's unmistakable voice laying down the law to some strident female who was refusing to take ‘no' for an answer.

‘Are you defying my orders?' Sister demanded.

‘Don't think you can boss me around, Bracken. You think you're God's gift to nursing, but you're no better than the rest of us.
I remember you when you were a snivelling little schoolgirl. If you dare to block me, I'll report you to Doc Hundey!'

Much to Clytie's delight Sister Bracken was forced to back-pedal. ‘Only on condition you don't stay too long. Nursing mothers need their rest.'

Clytie assumed the visitor was for Noni Jantzen, but she was unable to hide a broad grin when she saw the woman who burst through the doorway was the eccentric old organist, Holy Maude.

‘You look radiant, girlie.'

Holy Maude presented her with a cardboard box containing a complete hand-knitted and crocheted baby layette.

For once Clytie was speechless.

‘The women's auxiliaries of all our churches made you something. Most are for the babe but there's a bed-jacket for you. All the priests and clergymen have offered to baptise your babe whenever you say the word. You can thank Rom for that. He didn't belong to any congregation but he's become a bit of a local hero. His name was mentioned in some British officer's dispatch for rescuing a wounded Tommy under fire.'

Clytie was startled but unwilling to admit she had received no word from Rom in months. Had he even received her letter telling him she was pregnant?

‘He didn't mention that,' she said, and hoped her face did not reveal the lie.

‘Probably too busy fighting them Boers, girlie. Our volunteers are shuffled around from pillar to post. Their letters are being published in the newspapers telling us what the war's really like. A very different kettle of fish from what them Federal politicians want us to think!'

‘Hero or not, thank God Rom's safe.' Holy Maude's information from the Front might be second-hand and confused, but it was a sharp reminder of how death must be Rom's constant shadow.

To disguise her tears Clytie busied herself inspecting the baby clothes.

‘These are exquisite. And I thought people despised me.'

‘Think of it this way, girlie. There are no two ways about it. This town never forgets them what's illegitimate. It's like a nickname – you
wear it all your life. But people round here admire your spirit. And when your Rom Delaney comes home no doubt he'll do right by you.'

Clytie squeezed her hand. ‘You are a very wise lady, Miss Maude.'

‘Huh! Neither wise nor a lady. It's just I've lived long enough to live down the gossip about
me
. Everyone has a past. Some just manage to cover their tracks better than others. This town has more buried secrets than you can shake a stick at. One day I'll let you in on them. They'll make your hair curl.'

Clytie felt her heart lighten. ‘I can hardly wait.'

Holy Maude leaned forward confidentially. ‘No doubt you've heard the gossip about me. I was a young girl visiting Melbourne when Ned Kelly was captured. I attended his trial – and kept a vigil outside Melbourne Gaol the night before they hanged him. After I came back to Hoffnung I wore mourning weeds for a year. Word got around this was because I was Ned Kelly's lover.'

She squeezed Clytie's hand. ‘Gave me a bit of status, it did. I never denied it. And I'll go to my grave before I tell anyone the truth.'

‘Your secret is safe with me, Miss Maude,' Clytie whispered.

They chatted cosily together like old friends until Sister Bracken finally insisted that the old woman had outstayed her welcome and must depart.

‘See you in church!' Holy Maude added pointedly to Bracken as she passed her. ‘Isn't it about time you went to Confession?'

Sister Bracken slammed the door behind her and vented her frustration by scouring every item for the second time. In her eyes hygiene was indeed next to Godliness.

Aroused from an afternoon sleep by a rap on the window pane, Clytie saw the cause. A box rested on the windowsill and she caught a glimpse of Long Sam disappearing down the road. It held an exquisite pair of red embroidered miniature Chinese boots. A note in Long Sam's well-printed English explained that the baby's rattle in the shape of a golden cat was a good luck symbol to protect him from evil spirits.

Sister Bracken pounced on it in a fury. ‘I sent that grubby Chinaman packing this morning when he tried to leave it here. I won't have that stuff contaminating my hospital. Heaven only knows where it's been. Those Celestials are notorious for their opium dens in Melbourne – filthy people.'

As angry as she was, Clytie recognised the one element of truth in Bracken's words. Newspapers exposed the problem of addicts, including children, in Chinese opium dens. The opium trade flourished in Melbourne – because it was not illegal.

Clytie sprang to the defence of her friend. ‘Sam sells cabbages, not opium! He isn't dirty, he's dirt poor. He's lived here since he was sixteen. And he's my friend! Don't you dare remove his gift. I'll lock it in my port if it offends you.'

•  •  •

The next five days passed one by one in a dream – then the dream clouded.

Sister Bracken took Clytie's early morning temperature.

‘It's peaked sharply overnight. Your breast is red, swollen and sore. You have a bad case of mastitis, “milk fever”. The duct in your breast is blocked.'

Sister Bracken bundled up little Robert and began to remove him.

‘No! Leave him with me! I don't care about the pain. I want to keep feeding him. I
must
. He came too early – he needs building up.'

‘I can't take that risk. Your fever might be the sign of something worse, contagious. It's said enteric fever and typhoid are being spread by returning soldiers. You're also in danger of puerperal infection.'

Clytie felt feverish, confused. ‘What's that?'

‘Childbed fever, a major cause of death after childbirth. I must do what's right. The Hart baby is not the only one in my care.'

‘No, please don't take him away,' Clytie begged, her voice growing weaker.

‘Don't fret. I'll bring him back as soon as I've got your fever under control. The best thing you can do for your baby is bed rest.'

Despite Clytie's entreaties Sister Bracken removed Robert from his crib. Clytie felt her body burning, yet at the same time she was trembling violently as if with a chill. Her lower belly was distended as if she had not yet given birth. Something was terribly wrong . . .

•  •  •

. . . The circus audience was filled with the faces of strangers and friends. Clytie stood at the heart of the arena confused and frightened. None of the acts were in their right places. It was utter chaos. Clowns were on the high wire, falling like shooting stars and screaming in terror – there was no net to break their fall. Sweat poured through Clytie's
hair and drenched her costume . . . she turned to the Ringmaster in desperation. Dressed in full regalia, Gourlay's face suddenly contorted and blanked out – to become the face of Sister Bracken. She was cracking the whip, screaming at Shadow to jump into the lion's open mouth . . . Rom was spread-eagled, locked on the spinning wheel . . . it revolved faster and faster. Vlad, dressed in Boer costume, was firing pistols at him, yelling, ‘I'll get you this time, you bastard!'

A terrible piercing sound drowned out everything . . .

Clytie sat bolt upright, drenched to the skin, her long hair matted with sweat. The shrill sound from her nightmare remained unearthly – but real. A sound she had never heard before. It came from the direction of the mine head. The signal the town always feared. Disaster had struck the Golden Hope.

Sister Bracken pushed her back into bed. ‘I'm in charge now. Doctor Hundey can't help you. He's at the bottom of the Number 2 shaft. Fighting to rescue the trapped miners.'

Clytie fell back into bed but her body was on fire. Buffeted between her nightmare and the even darker waking fears, she was sure of only one thing.

Rom is in terrible danger.
The fever took control of her body and mind.

•  •  •

Time had no measure. Clytie opened her eyes to find sunlight streaming through the window of the priest's house. She realised she was in her mother's bed, wrapped in the small patchwork quilt of circus animals that Dolores had almost managed to complete for her coming grandson.

She could hear Long Sam whistling as he worked in the garden. The familiar sound brought her a small measure of comfort. Yet there was another unexpected voice she recognised was out of context. Mary Mac was hovering on the doorstep to welcome Doc Hundey.