Golden Hope (36 page)

Tonight would be the acid test, her first re-appearance in public – if she could summon up the courage to do so. For months past she had been overwhelmed by melancholia, a long dark tunnel of despair from which she had only begun to emerge, thanks to the quiet determination of a small band of friends who refused to allow her to cease her struggle between life and despair.

Doc Hundey had changed his attitude towards her from sympathy to that of a friend prodding her along the road to recovery. After he examined the cut on her wrist, which she hastily explained had been caused by a slip of the carving knife, he had nodded his head in silence but his look said everything.

From then on Doc had insisted she accompany him from time to time when he visited patients in remote areas. He claimed he needed her assistance to hold a lantern steady while he performed impromptu surgery when there was no time to transport the patient to Sister Bracken's Bush Hospital or the larger hospital in Bitternbird.

He also encouraged her to return to work. Clytie at first shied away from the idea of resuming her position as kitchen hand at the Diggers' Rest, despite Mrs Yeoman's kindly note inviting her to do so. Clytie was painfully aware of the gossip circulating about her baby and Rom's likely status as Missing in Action. She had had no letters from him as proof to the contrary.

A response to the letter she'd sent explaining her position to the Army authorities finally arrived. The wording was blunt and final, no doubt signed by some underling. With regret they were unable to provide information about a missing soldier except to his wife or close blood relative. She was requested to provide documents as proof of any legal relationship to the missing presumed dead soldier.

Clytie tore the letter to shreds and watched it burn in the fuel stove, eyed by Shadow who crouched in the doorway, watching her intently.

‘Another dead end, Shadow. In the eyes of the Law I'm just a fallen woman with an illegitimate dead baby – not even a letter of proof from Rom that he was the father.'

Shadow lowered his head at the mention of Rom's name, as if sensing the pain in her voice was caused by his master.

Clytie was grateful for Holy Maude, who insisted on accompanying her on her weekly visits to the cemetery to place fresh flowers on the graves of little Robert Hart, Dolores, Lionello and Missy, and herbs on those of Long Sam's compatriots.

Miss Adelaide Hundey regularly sent, via Doc, flowers and jam made from the blackberry bushes growing rampant behind her garden. She also kept her supplied with the latest Suffragette literature, copies of Louisa Lawson's newspaper
Dawn
and news of Miss Vida Goldstein's latest political coup.

Doc's sister had written asking Clytie to attend that night's Women's Suffrage meeting at the Mechanics Institute. The note (delivered by hand to avoid Marj Hornery's prying eyes) stated she had been instrumental behind the scenes in organising it. ‘My brother does not want me to attend because the town already considers me a crackpot who belongs in a lunatic asylum.' There was an oddly wistful postscript: ‘Maybe he's right.'

To please her friend, Clytie had agreed to think about it. Initially she had had no intention of attending another meeting, but she did read all the copies of
Dawn.

Father Donnelly visited her, followed by what Doc Hundey called the ‘entire white-dog-collar brigade'. Clytie received the ‘men of the cloth' politely and offered them tea, but she could find no consolation in their intended comforting assurances that little Robert's soul was in the care of the angels.

Damn the angels, I needed my babe here with me.

She hated going to collect her mail at the Post Office in case she crossed paths with Noni. She could not face looking at any baby – least of all little Max Jantzen.

Then this morning, as she was emerging from Midd's General Store, having received no belated letter from Rom acknowledging his son, she saw Sonny Jantzen approaching, driving his buggy. There was no time for her to disappear.

Clytie had rarely seen him since that night at the Diggers' Rest on the eve of his marriage when ‘the wine was in' and the painful truth was blurted out. Clytie had never told anyone what Sonny had said – or what he had implied.

As he drew closer she felt a jolt of pain in her stomach when she recognised the small figure on his knee. At her first sight of little Maximilian Jantzen he was waving to every person and animal he passed.

Sonny drew the buggy to a halt. ‘You're looking well, Clytie. May I give you a lift home? I'm only stopping long enough to collect my mail.'

‘Thank you, Sonny, but I'm on my way to work.' It was an involuntary lie and she forced herself to add, ‘It's good to see how your son is flourishing.'

‘Indeed, Maxie has given me a new lease of life.' He hesitated, ‘God willing, you will receive good news from South Africa.'

‘Thank you. Rom Delaney is alive and well, I have his letters to prove it,' she lied cheerfully. ‘He says he'll be home soon. Take care of yourself, Sonny. I can see you are a devoted father.'

He doffed his hat to her and drove the last few yards to the General Store where he proudly carried his son in the crook of his arm inside the store to be encircled by admiring customers.

Clytie stumbled along the road, unable to see her path for the film over her eyes. She tried but failed to wipe away the image of the chubby little face that would have been similar in age to little Robert's.

She said an angry mental prayer as her eyes smarted with tears.
Come back to me, Rom. For once in your life keep your promise, you bastard.

•  •  •

Long Sam was tending her garden diligently when Shadow led the way through the front gate. During the worst of her melancholia Long Sam had gently insisted that she work beside him when the weather was fine. He would accept no payment now that no money was arriving from Rom, but he allowed Clytie to make him tea at lunchtime for the sake of her pride – and his own.

Spring had brought a cornucopia of vegetables and heavily laden passionfruit vines and Clytie made an effort today, inviting Sam to join her inside the house for morning tea.

As always he wished to take his tea in the garden, but she insisted.

‘Sam, this is the first day I have felt peaceful in a long time. I owe much of this to your friendship – as well as to the Chinese herbs you bring me. I have baked you a special dish that I understand is popular in the land of your birth. Please come inside and share it with me.'

Sam's smile widened when he saw she had decorated the table with red napkins and tablecloth.

‘That's the traditional Chinese colour representing happiness, isn't it?' she asked, rewarded by his smile. She served China tea from a second-hand teapot marked with a Chinese trademark on the bottom that she had bought at the church charity shop. On the wall she had hung a colourful Mandarin robe that had belonged to Dolores.

Sam ate in silence but she felt nervous when his eyes kept straying to the far corner of the room.

‘Is the food all right, Sam? You can be honest. I've never made it before.'

Sam nodded and mumbled phrases of thanks, but when he glanced once more at the corner of the room she saw his eyes were misty. Embarrassed, he rose, bowed and turned to depart.

‘Wait please, Sam. What is it that has disturbed you?' She crossed to the corner that had drawn his eyes and looked about at the few objects on the table, touching each in turn. ‘Is it this? Or this?'

When she touched the book of Lola Montez memorabilia, she was shocked to see him avert his eyes, and the involuntary twitch of his hand.

She crossed to his side. ‘Sam, this beautiful book was found abandoned in that miner's right cabin Rom stayed in. Whoever this book belonged to truly respected Lola Montez. Sam, do you know who that was?'

Clytie saw the truth in his eyes and handed him the book. ‘Sam, whoever it was, I would like you to have this book.'

‘No, Miss Clytie,' he said, his voice dry with broken phrases. ‘Boys stole it from me. I thought it lost forever. Please keep it safe here with you.'

‘Please Sam, if it isn't too painful, could you tell me about Lola? I wish with all my heart I had seen her dance – she was so beautiful, so gifted, yes? Sam, no one remembers her now – except you!'

Sam sank onto the stool and together they turned the pages. His story grew with gentle animation as he allowed his memories to take wing into words. At the end of the book, Clytie thanked him. ‘Now I will never forget her. Promise me you will come here and enjoy your book whenever you want to. It isn't mine – it is yours. But I'll keep it safe for you.'

In the doorway Long Sam turned to smile at her. Just for a moment Clytie saw the seventeen-year-old gold fossicker who was enraptured by Lola the enchantress.

After his departure Clytie sat for a long time by Shadow's side, thinking about the nature of love and how it can never truly be lost as long as it was retained in a person's memory.

‘I only had my little Robert for five precious days. But nothing and no one can ever take those five days away from me.'

As painful as the idea was, she had begun to realise that for her to honour the gift of having given him birth and known him, she must begin to take steps to live again.

Clytie took down the last dog-eared letter written by Rom before his letters ceased. There was one sentence she knew by heart, but in what had become a beloved ritual, she traced the words with her finger as if to link her hand to his, her heart to his.

She repeated Rom's written words out loud. ‘If I only live to keep one promise in my life, Clytie, it's my promise to come back to you.'

Gently she returned the letter to the box and turned the key in the lock.

With a sense of resolution she filled a tub of water to bathe and wash her hair. She finished sewing the blouse from the fine white material that had been sent to her by the Methodist clergyman's wife who had waited fifteen years and was at last blessed with her first child.

She held up the blouse for Shadow's approval. ‘What do you think? No harm in my going to the meeting tonight. I'll sit unnoticed at the back of the hall so I can leave early if I want to.'

Shadow pricked up his ears, as if glad to be once again her confidante.

At dawn Finch was released from the Watch House in a town of which he didn't even know the name. He had mislaid his map, lost his bearings, had no money left for food and Rom had bolted. On top of that, the beer he had drunk last night on an empty stomach had left him with a hangover – and a black eye from the unwanted fight in the pub.

The bearded police sergeant shook a stern finger at him.

‘I'm only letting you off 'cos you were a volunteer,' he said. ‘Now hit the road and stay out of trouble in whatever place you end up in.'

Finch wasted no time in humping his bluey and heading out of town. Feeling as desolate as an abandoned dog, he hid his relief at discovering Rom sleeping on a park bench.

‘Thanks for bailing me out of the Watch House,' Finch said with heavy sarcasm.

‘I didn't,' said Rom. ‘Didn't have the money. You need to thank some old bloke whose son was in the V.M.R. He wanted to remain anonymous.'

‘Damned decent of him,' Finch said, surprised and touched. ‘I wonder what happened to the Irishman who attacked me because he was a pacifist.'

‘Dunno. Can't save the whole world, mate. The coppers probably let
you
off the hook on account of you've been fighting the Boers. Count yourself lucky.'

Rom was suddenly alert. ‘Hey, what happened to your rifle?'

Finch shrugged. ‘Got confiscated at the Police Station. Who cares?'

Finch noticed that for some reason Rom appeared distinctly morose. He looked hung-over, unshaven and grumpy. He was restless, determined to change the subject.

‘I forget which bloody road we take to Hoffnung. No point in asking you.'

Finch pointed at the signpost well ahead down the road. ‘Barnaby's Ridge four miles, six to Hoffnung.'

‘How about that! You've got perfect long sight. You must have been a real hot shot with a rifle. Any Boers within range of you would have been dead unlucky.'

Finch heaved a sigh. ‘I never intend to fire a weapon again as long as I live.'

‘Know the feeling, mate,' Rom agreed. ‘I've seen enough death to last me a lifetime. I can still smell the stench of those horses' carcasses at Wilmansrust.'

Finch felt his hands shaking. ‘Horses never declare war but we lead the poor beasts to their death.'

‘Sounds to me like you're beginning to remember stuff.'

‘Flashes – like photographs. Nothing concrete I can put a name to.'

Side by side they shuffled along the rocky road, each engrossed in his own thoughts.

Mid morning they turned a sharp bend in the road and came across a clearing in the forest. At first sight Finch decided it was barely one step away from being a ghost town. Only one house remained standing in what must once have been a thriving Gold Rush village. This sole house had a shingle roof that looked moth-eaten and stood on a plot of land with a struggling garden. Several other cabins within sight had collapsed in on themselves, their windows and doors evidently commandeered by scavengers, leaving black holes that looked blindly out on the world.

Close by the last house standing was a barn. Its door banged in the wind, creaking as if in complaint at being abandoned. Growing behind it in an old semi-derelict orchard were a few apple trees with gnarled branches in need of pruning, and fruit that was unlikely to be edible.

Rom seemed to have passed through his ‘one-wrong-word-and-I'll-bite-your-head-off' mood. It was like the sun emerging after a storm.

‘Welcome to Barnaby's Ridge. Be careful where you place your feet, Finch. Long grass can camouflage old mineshafts. This was once a rich goldfield, with half a dozen pubs for the miners, and an obliging, accommodating woman who kept them company whenever they struck gold – for a price.'