Golden Hope (44 page)

Rom added casually, as if on an afterthought, ‘Just one thing. I haven't yet contacted Clytie – I'm keeping that as a surprise. So if you should cross her path . . .?'

‘My lips are sealed,' Sonny smiled and crossed his heart. ‘Good luck, Rom. Don't hesitate to call if I may be of help.' He hesitated. ‘You're a good man.'

Sonny drove off, leaving Rom with mixed feelings.

That was a close call. Quick thinking. Thank God I haven't lost my touch.

As impatient as he was to see Doc Hundey, Rom knew he could not risk being seen visiting either Doc's house or his surgery. Word would reach Clytie in a flash. That visit needed to be handled with all due care. First he must beard a lioness in her den.

•  •  •

The small bush hospital had remained unchanged. Rom had never been a patient here, but the reputation of the battleaxe who ran it was known far and wide. The smell of the place was an instant trigger to the past. The combination of antiseptic, chloroform, iodine, sweat and urine was an unpleasant reminder of his weeks in hospital fighting the enteric fever that had killed more soldiers than Boer bullets had done.

The image of the sweet, freckled face of little Kiwi Macqueen suddenly returned with a warning smile for him to show respect to a member of her profession.

All's fair in love and war, Heather.

Night was falling when he slipped inside the hospital unobserved. The few beds were occupied by sleeping patients. Sister Bracken was nowhere in sight.

The martinet would be a hard nut to crack, but he was determined not to leave until he had extracted details of the last hours of his son's life. He crossed to the desk where a medical chart lay open. The sight of it struck him forcibly.

I can't be sure if it's the same handwriting as that anonymous letter – but I'd lay odds it is. Why on earth would that crabby nurse bother to contact me?

He seated himself on the windowsill and prepared to wait.

•  •  •

Sister Bracken stood framed in the doorway. Startled, she took a step backwards.

‘Rom Delaney! I thought you were dead!'

He shrugged it off. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. I'm living proof the reports were exaggerated. I'm the proverbial bad penny – I always turn up.'

Without invitation he seated himself in front of her desk. He gestured to her handwriting then pointed an accusing finger at her.

Her face blanched. Clearly unnerved by his presence, she did not bother to deny the silent accusation.

‘What do you want? Why have you come here?' She stammered but covered her nerves with a show of arrogance. ‘I have a hospital to run.'

The gall of the woman. Who does she think she is?

‘Doc thinks highly of your expertise – it'd be a pity to disillusion him.'

Rom folded his arms and waited, now sure of his ground. His intended silence would unnerve her.

‘If you want to know about Miss Hart's son I suggest you ask
her
.'

He leaned forward, his hands flexing with barely controlled anger.

She shrank back in the chair. ‘I presume you want to hear from me how the Hart baby died.'

The Hart baby.
Rom steeled himself not to interrupt the nervous flow of her explanation, and kept his eyes fixed on her face. His silence frightened her more than any words could.

Her answer came in a rush. ‘He was five days old, born a few weeks early – but strong and healthy. It was the second night of the mine disaster. Five men were trapped in a flooded shaft. Doctor Hundey was down in the mine for two days and nights, fighting to free them. He performed surgery unaided at the scene. He saved four men's lives. He could hardly be in two places at once.'

She sounds like she's giving evidence to a coroner.

‘Go on,' he said.

‘Miss Hart's baby was perfectly healthy when I checked on him at three in the morning. When it was time for his six o'clock feed I found him in his cot. Cold. His face blue. I tell you I did everything humanly possible to restore his breathing. I massaged him, gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I
hate
failing. But it was too late. He had slipped away in his sleep.'

Cold. Blue.
Rom tried to dismiss the graphic images from his mind.

‘Doctor came straight from the mine. It was a simple case of crib death. Doctor will tell you it was no one's fault. It sometimes happens to healthy babes – for no known reason. More often to boy babies and in the first months of their life. No known reason,' she repeated as her voice cracked with strain.

Rom shied off asking the painful question. On the defensive, Sister Bracken supplied the answer unasked.

‘I suppose you want to know if there was an autopsy. There was no need for one. The death was not due to negligence – or murder. Miss Hart was distraught. I gave her physic to help her sleep. She was suffering badly from childbed fever. Doctor removed her to her cabin against my advice, tended to her himself. A selfless man,' she ended in desperation.

Rom saw the beads of sweat on her brow.

‘Doctor took care of the burial,' she continued, ‘with help from Holy Maude. That old biddy never misses a funeral.'

Rom stared at her, trying to collect his thoughts to form the question he could not bring himself to ask Clytie: if she had seen their babe after he died. He forced himself to ask Sister Bracken.

‘I decided it best to shield Miss Hart. Dead babies look like wax dolls. A bad lasting memory for any mother. I did her a kindness.'

‘A kindness,' he repeated hollowly.

Sister Bracken finally cracked. ‘What are you insinuating? That my judgement was in error? I will swear on the Bible I did everything humanly possible to save that infant. I was sorry for the girl. You deserted her. She was penniless, left alone to raise a babe with the stigma of illegitimacy. In one way it was a merciful release.' She rose, clinging to the desk for support. ‘That's all I can tell you.
Please –
leave me alone
!'

Rom's eyes bored into hers. He rose with great deliberation. Her expression clearly told him she knew he did not trust her. Was even a little afraid of him.

As he reached the door her courage returned to deliver a parting shot.

‘Some people think you're a hero, Delaney. Not me. We had no right to fight the Boers. It took real courage to refuse to volunteer. Sonny Jantzen was the first child I ever delivered. He'll make a far better father to
his
little boy than you would have done to your poor lad.'

‘I wouldn't trust anyone who swears on a Bible! If your word is good enough for Doc – then so be it.'

He turned to look back at her. Sister Bracken was staring at him in utter horror, her hands blocking her mouth as if afraid she would scream. Rom half staggered down the track to the town, his mind reeling.

Ravaged by questions without answers, he walked around to the back door of the Diggers' Rest where locals could buy a beer after closing time – a custom to which Sergeant Mangles turned a blind eye. Tonight Rom decided he would risk being seen.

He planted himself at the far end of the bar and used his charm on the sassy redheaded barmaid at the other end. ‘Just one beer, love. Then I'll be on my way.'

Ginger glanced down the length of the bar but chose to ignore him. Turning off the light, she left him in darkness.

Jesus! One day you're a hero. The next? How soon they forget.

Determined to free his mind from the whirlpool of thoughts drowning his judgement, Rom did what he did best. He moved stealthily around the sleeping township, commandeered the things Finch needed and dumped them in the miner's right cabin.

Finch lay writhing with fear in his sleep, mumbling words in some foreign lingo Rom could not recognise.

You poor bastard. I've trapped you in an even bigger mess than I knew.

He gave Finch's shoulder a gentle shake. Finch instantly leapt up and pinned Rom to the ground, his fist raised ready to pulverise him.

‘Steady on mate, it's only me! The Boers are thousands of miles away.'

Finch was breathing fast. Rom recognised the signs of one of the terrible nightmares that also transported him back into the war.

‘Take it easy, mate. I just came to tell you I need you to hold the fort a bit longer. I need to be on my own to work out my next move. I've a big decision to make.'

‘You're not planning to leave Clytie high and dry? You
will
come back?'

‘You can count on it. It's time for you to dice the khaki. Ask my girl nicely and she'll give you my clothes to wear. I've sung your praises to Sonny Jantzen. Go see him – he'll help you find work.'

Finch looked embarrassed. ‘I don't deserve your help. There's something I should have told you, Rom. About Clytie –'

‘Save it for later. Just remember one thing. Clytie will always love
me.
'

Finch nodded and raised his thumb to underline his acceptance.

•  •  •

Doc's house lay in darkness broken only by a kerosene lamp in the front room. Wearing his usual shaggy tweeds, Doc was seated at his desk, writing in his diary. Despite the warmth of the room, Rom noticed Doc shiver with cold as he looked up and stared at Rom, unsure if his tired eyes had deceived him.

‘It's good to see you, Rom. Proof those rumours about you – Missing Presumed Dead – were dead wrong.'

‘I reckon part of me
did
die at Wilmansrust, Doc. What you see now is only half a man,' he said with an attempted laugh.

Doc Hundey studied him briefly before removing a bottle of brandy from his medicine cabinet. He poured a glass with slightly trembling hands and offered it to Rom.

‘Thanks, Doc. You know me. I never say no to a grog,' he said lightly as he placed the glass on the table. ‘You're the one person I trust to level with me. There's a heap of thoughts fighting for space in my head. I can't seem to get a handle on them.'

‘Have you talked with Clytie yet? She's been living for your return.'

‘I know. But I just can't face her yet, Doc. I bolted, messed up her life. I don't know how to put the pieces together again. I dunno – maybe it's the war.'

‘Talk it through, lad, I'll help you if I can.'

‘There are things I need to know – it's too painful to make Clytie relive it. About the night my son died. When I tried to question Sister Bracken I hit a brick wall.'

Doc frowned. ‘She's a good woman, but not famous for her tact.'

Rom's eyes never left the doctor's pale, haggard face. ‘Bracken told me our baby died the night the mine collapsed.'

‘I will always regret I was unable to be by Clytie's side when she needed me. What exactly is troubling you, son?'

‘I think Bracken's lying. I reckon she made a mistake she's covering up. Too afraid to tell
you
the truth.'

There was no doubting Doc's stunned expression was genuine.

‘He died due to her negligence? That's a strong accusation, Rom. Tell me exactly word for word what Bracken said.'

Rom began to recount their conversation in detail until he was interrupted by a series of loud raps.

Doc unlocked the front door to reveal Paddy O'Grady standing there, his nightshirt hanging over his trousers, his face lined with anxiety.

‘Me Mum is in heavy labour. Bleeding a gusher. The babe's come early.'

‘Right. I'll grab my bag and saddle the horse –'

‘No need, Doc. My wagon's outside.'

Paddy was already running back down the path.

Doc hurried to the adjacent room and spoke as he returned with his bag.

‘We'll talk later, lad. I promise.'

But Rom's chair was empty.

Doc climbed into the wagon and Paddy cracked the whip as they drove off.

Doc looked back at the house and the road behind him. Rom was nowhere in sight.

•  •  •

Hidden in the shrubs behind the priest's house, Rom stared at the light burning in the window. He could not face Clytie about their baby's death. She had already suffered too much.

Supposing I'm wrong about Bracken. What good would it do either way?
It wouldn't bring him back.

Yet he felt an overwhelming desire to comfort Clytie.

He allowed some time to elapse after he saw her extinguish the light in the kerosene lamp. His eyes followed the progress of a candle until it disappeared into the bedroom. The house lay in darkness.

Moving stealthily he entered the back door, ordered Shadow to be quiet. Pausing in the doorway of the bedroom, pity stirred with lust and guilt.

Clytie's hair fanned across the pillow. Her breathing was deep and regular, in the first stages of sleep. Beside her on the table was a small bottle marked ‘Valerian'. He knew enough about herbal medicine to know this induced deep, natural sleep.

Her arms were folded across her breast like an angel's. Her nightgown was old and worn but to Rom she had never looked more beautiful – or more trusting.

His heart turned over at the sight of the trace of tears on her eyelashes.
I kept my promise, girl. But it's not yet time to show myself.

Careful not to wake her, he lay down beside her and held her in his arms with her head on his shoulder. He was conscious of the irony.

This is the first time in my life I've lain with a woman without coupling with her.
I must be getting old.

Yet he knew his flippant thought was camouflage. Mixed with sorrow over the loss of both his sons he felt a strange sense of contentment that he could stay awake and protect Clytie while she slept.

Rom left before sunrise. Clytie remained fast asleep. He slipped noiselessly into the bush where the raucous sound of kookaburras' laughter heralded the day.