Forgiving Michael Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds

on the heel that crushes it.  Mark Twain

Wisemans's Creek, February, 1870

Tom and Elizabeth were married at the end of February. Stephen Chastagnon, the elderly priest, wondered why the bride's father looked so glum throughout the ceremony when the rest of the family were so joyful. They danced and sang their way through the evening, the church hall having been decorated by church members, who had also prepared a wonderful feast of scones and jam, fruit tarts, and lemon and pumpkin pies.  The sound of the fiddlers' music, the shuffling of dancing feet and peals of laughter floated out along the river bank and Father Chastagnon thought it a grand occasion for the church community, just the kind of gathering he was sure God loved to see among His people.

     The father of the groom, of course, was not present. In fact, he had not been sighted for eighteen months. Not that anyone seemed worried about that, for the word was that the man had gone barking mad, which was only slightly worse than he had been for as long as anyone had known him. Pity, Father Chastagnon thought, for Tom seemed to be a very level headed young man. His brothers, Joseph and Mick, might not turn out that way, the Father noted, remembering that the boys were apparently with their father, doing goodness knows what. 

‘Can you believe we're to have a grandchild that will be part of both of us, Kathryn?’ Norah beamed.

     ‘Tis wonderful, isn't it?’

     Kathryn and Norah were clearing away plates and cups and left over food after the wedding party, both thoroughly pleased with how it had all gone. 

     ‘Tis very sweet that Tom has taken Elizabeth into Bathurst for their first night together. He's tried to make everything so special for her. She's in heaven…except for the morning sickness of course.’ Kathryn grimaced.

     ‘Yes…tis a pity. I do wish they'd waited, but they're so happy, Kathryn. Hamlet still looks very glum about it all, though. Do you think he'll come around?’

     ‘He'll have to. He's to be a grandfather. Tis the beginning of a whole new generation.  And he has children to be proud of…a life to be proud of. Hopefully, by the time the wee one gets here he'll have woken up to himself. When Suzannah's baby is born it might soften him up a bit. Who can resist the newborn?’

     ‘I hope so. I don't want anything to spoil Tom and Elizabeth's happiness, sure I don't.  My heart aches for some of my children.’ Norah sucked back tears. ‘But I'm so proud of Tom.’

     ‘Of course you are. And this wedding is a sign that the future holds good things.  Nothing need mar the happiness of this day, Norah. Nor the happiness of the years ahead. You take no notice of Hamlet's face.’

But Hamlet's face and his attitude was marring Elizabeth and Tom's happiness. In spite of the nausea and dizziness which plagued Elizabeth through the following months of her pregnancy, it was her father's refusal to be happy for her that most distressed her.

     ‘I don't understand it, Tom. Surely he can see that we're right for each other. He must know how much I love you. He's always been a good father…always understanding.  And wanting more than anything for all of his children to be happy. I just don't understand it.’

     ‘I don't either, Lizzie. But I do wish you'd not fret so about it now. It's all you can do to cope with this pregnancy. I'm worried about you.’

     ‘I know you are, and I do want to focus on having the baby. But I can't imagine what Pa will be like when the baby's born. Surely, he won't be as stony faced about our child as he is about the marriage. He's tickled pink about Johnny's baby. I want him to be as happy about our son as he is about little Francis.’

     ‘We don't know that it'll be a son, Lizzie. I know that's what you're hoping, but I'll be more than happy with a baby girl. As long as she's healthy, and you're healthy, it doesn't matter.’

     ‘I know, but I am dying to give you a son.’

     ‘Don't talk about dying and giving birth in the same breath, Lizzie. It frightens me.’

     ‘Oh, men are always more concerned about giving birth than women. It's natural to us. Don't worry. It's Pa that's the real worry.’

     ‘I'm sure he'll be fine about the baby, Lizzie. It's me that he resents. I feel like he's  waiting to see me turn out like my father. I don't know if he thinks I'm going to take off, like Pa did, or what? There must be something more, something about my father that we don't know. I'll find out sooner or later, I promise. I'll make it right. But for now please concentrate on keeping well until our baby's born.’

     ‘All right, Tom, I'll try,’ Elizabeth promised.

By the end of September, Elizabeth was unable to get out of bed. Her feet and legs were swollen and throbbing. Her usually bright, happy face was haunted with fear and pain.  Tendrils of lank hair lay across her forehead, plastered there by perspiration. Tom, Kathryn and Norah took turns to sit by her bed for the week that followed, reading to her, soothing her, praying for her. Bridget Hotham came daily, checking on Elizabeth's progress, and encouraging her to hold on.

     ‘She can't hold on much longer,’ Kathryn sighed on the fourth day of October. ‘Oh, Norah, I'm so afraid we're going to lose her. She's spent, so she is, and the labour hasn't started yet.’

     ‘We've had two false starts so it can't be too much longer. Let's sponge her down again and give her tummy a rub. The wee one is itching to be out. You can see that by all the movement.’

     ‘I'm grateful we can still see the movement. I was worried a few days ago that the baby had – ’

     ‘Shush now, none of that.’

     ‘Tom…?’ Elizabeth's voice came as a strained whisper.

     ‘He's just outside, pet, having something to eat,’ Norah said quietly. ‘He's hardly had a mouthful for days. Your mother and I had to push him from the room, sure we did.’

     ‘Please…tell him I'm…sorry.’ Elizabeth could barely find the energy to speak.

     ‘You've nothing to be sorry for, Lizzie.’ Tom entered the room and came quickly to her side. He leaned close to her face, brushing strands of hair from her cheek before he kissed her lightly. ‘You're doing fine, my darling. It will be over soon.’

     ‘I'm not sure…I can…do this.’

     ‘Of course you can. I won't leave you for a minute. Bridget will be back this afternoon. She's sure it will be tonight. Then you can rest. I promise you it will be all right.’ He moved back as tears welled in his eyes. 

     Norah moved aside to let him sit down. She rubbed his shoulders gently, feeling the tension in his muscles, the strain in his neck. Dear God, she thought, don't let this be the end of this lovely marriage. Surely, after all this pair have been through, they have more years to look forward to. And the child. She couldn't bear to think of them losing their child. How would her dear son survive such a tragedy? He deserved so much more. But Norah knew well that what comes to us in this life is not always what we deserve; not the goodness nor the badness. The rain falls on the just and the unjust, she recalled from the scriptures. Justice belongs to God and sometimes we only know that justice in the life to come. Oh, please, God, she prayed silently. Please bless this sweet girl and her baby…and my dear son. Please save them. She leaned close to Elizabeth again and wiped her face with a cool cloth. 

     ‘You hold on, dear girl,’ she whispered. ‘Soon you'll have a sweet bairn to hold. It will be worth it all, sure it will.’

     Kathryn gasped quietly. ‘Oh, Norah…and it's not so far from Christmas.’

     ‘Christmas?’ Tom raised his head from his hands.

     ‘Tis something that happened between your mother and me, Tom, a long, long time ago. Something I've never forgotten.’

     Tom looked quizzically at Norah. Tears were running down her cheeks.

     ‘When Kathryn and I were on the boat...’ she started, and then turned to Kathryn.    ‘But this is not the same. This wee bairn has so much to look forward to. A home, a family, everything prepared for him. Some little ones are not meant for this world, but, oh, I do believe this one is. This is our first grandchild together, Kathryn. A gift from God, sure he is. Please believe it with me.’

      ‘Yes, this time I do believe it with you, Norah. I do.’ Kathryn clutched Norah’s hands.

     ‘Lizzie seems to have drifted off, Ma,’ Tom said. ‘Why don't you two go and have a cup of tea. I'll sit here. I'm sure Bridget will be back in the next hour or so. Do you really think it will be tonight? I don't think I can stand too much more of this. Poor Lizzie.  She's… Ma, I'm afraid. I'm really afraid.’

     ‘I know, son. But we must trust. It's all we can do now.’

     Kathryn and Norah crept from the room, holding hands. In the parlour they collapsed into the large soft chairs, both exhausted. A moment later Mary's head appeared at the door from the kitchen. 

     ‘I've boiled the kettle, Ma,’ she said. ‘Tom said you and Mrs Pollard would need a cup of tea soon. Can I bring it to you?’

     ‘Thank you, Mary. Yes, that would be lovely.’

     When Mary had gone Norah looked back to Kathryn. ‘Poor girl. She's frightened too.  She's been so good with William and Theresa all day today. Thank God it's a Sunday and she was home. She even asked me if I wanted to go to church this morning. She said  she'd mind the children for me, dear girl. But I told her I'd be doing my praying here today.’ Norah smiled briefly. ‘I'm sure God won't mind. I'm very bold with God these days, sure I am. I often ask for miracles, so I do. For Rebecca, for Mick and Joseph, as well as for Elizabeth and that precious baby. I want so much. I'm sure God thinks I'm too bold. But He did say we're to ask, didn't He?’

     ‘He did.’ Kathryn nodded.

     ‘Then we'll be asking, won't we? And believing that He'll do what's best,’ she added quietly.

It was a long night, one Tom wondered if any of them would live through. By morning Bridget Hotham had all but given up. 

     ‘I'm not sure she's going to survive this, Tom,’ she warned when she came out of the bedroom asking for more hot water and clean cloths. ‘I'll do my best, but I'm just not sure. It's taken so long. Something is wrong but I don't know what.’

     Tom spoke through his tears. ‘I've sent for the doctor, like you said. Surely...’

     ‘There's no surely, Tom. We can only do so much. You need to prepare yourself. All of you,’ she added, looking at the two distressed mothers. 

     ‘And the baby?’ Tom asked. 

     ‘I don't know, Tom. I'm sorry, I don't know.’

     Tom paced up and down the length of the parlour. Kathryn and Norah came and went from the bedroom, helping Bridget, taking out soiled cloths, taking in hot water. The doctor arrived soon after and went straight to the bedroom, a grave expression on his face, which said that he’d faced more tragedies in birth than he cared to remember, and facing the family afterwards was almost as difficult as losing the battle for life. 

     It was mid morning when they heard the mewling cry. Kathryn, Norah and Tom all leapt to their feet, their eyes glued to the bedroom door. The strangled screams they had heard from beyond the door had told them that Elizabeth was, at least, still alive. Now they could hear the sounds of new life, tentative though they were.

     Norah and Kathryn stood side by side, hands clasped. Tom rushed to the door, to be met by Bridget as she was coming through it.

     ‘She's alive,’ Bridget gushed. ‘She's alive…weak…but alive. I can hardly believe it.  She has such a fighting spirit.’

     ‘Who? Which...’ Tom stammered.

     ‘Both,’ Bridget said, still puffing with the strain of the final moments. ‘Both are alive. Both have fought like troopers.’

     ‘Thank God.’ Tom's shoulders relaxed in relief. He waited for Bridget to let him pass and went quietly into the room.

     ‘Praise be to God.’ Norah raised her eyes to the ceiling and burst into tears. She and Kathryn fell into each other's arms and turned about on the spot, hardly able to contain their joy and thankfulness. 

     It seemed only a moment before Tom came out again. ‘Lizzie fell right to sleep, but the doctor said she's not lost too much blood and that he's sure she'll be all right with rest. She just not really built for it, he said. But it'll be easier for her next time.’ His words rushed out, his eyes were drowned in tears and his smile was spread across the whole width of his face.

     ‘And the baby?’ the women chorused.

     ‘Catherine Mary Agnes,’ Tom pronounced proudly. ‘We decided last night that's what we'd call her if she was a girl. Lizzie wanted us to decide in case…well, she wasn't sure… Oh, Ma, I don't know what I'd have done if I'd lost her.’ He collapsed into the chair and dropped his head into his hands, sobbing with relief and joy, and the anguish of the loss he'd almost had. 

     ‘Catherine Mary Agnes Kearns,’ Norah said, laughing through her own tears as she patted her son's head. ‘Tis quite a name, eh, Kathryn?’

     ‘It is…for quite a baby. Our granddaughter. Our gift from God. Our hope for the future.’ 

     They took hands and went to see their first granddaughter. 

                         

Before the end of the next year Elizabeth was pregnant again. Fortunately, she had picked up quickly after the birth of Catherine, as had the baby, and now both were blooming with health.  Everyone had relaxed into the rhythm of a baby's routine, even William and Theresa, who were a very proud aunt and uncle. They had all marvelled at the beauty of the new little addition to their family. Catherine already had signs of the copper curls which still graced her grandmother's head. 

     ‘A little early to say who she'll be like,’ Elizabeth whispered, lightly touching her daughter's cheeks. Catherine beamed up at her mother. ‘But if she's like her Grandma Kearns, I'll be more than happy.’

     ‘Thank you, Elizabeth,’ Norah smiled. ‘That's very sweet of you.’

     ‘And I'm not nearly as ill this time. Surely that suggests I'm having a boy.’

     ‘I'm not sure about that logic, Elizabeth.’ Norah grinned. ‘But I'm sure God knows whether He wants to give you a girl or a boy this time.’

     ‘I'm sure God would want to give Tom a son. One to be just like him.’

     ‘We can never be sure just what our sons are going to be like.’ Norah’s heart felt heavy with the thought.  

     ‘I'm so sorry. I've reminded you of the boys again, haven't I?’

     ‘Not really, Elizabeth. I haven't said anything yet, because I'm not sure what to say about it but Joseph came to the inn a couple of days ago.’

     ‘You saw him? Why, that's wonderful.  Is he – ?’

     ‘He's just the same, I'm afraid. He wanted to let me know they were all right, so that's something. But nothing's really changed. They're just wandering about the countryside.  I did get the feeling that Joseph would think about coming home except for Mick. He still won't leave his brother. And it sounds like Michael is as bad as ever. Joseph seems a bit tired of his father's ravings. He used to be so full of promises. That was bad enough, for he never fulfilled one. But now he seems more full of hate, which is really distressing. Tis terrible to think of the boys hearing that all the time.’

     ‘But who does he hate so much?’

     ‘The world, I think, and probably if he could admit it, himself. He'd never admit that, of course, not unless there's a miracle, and I'm not past praying for that, let me tell you.  But mostly, he seems to aim all his hate at your Pa. I don't know why, sure I don't.  Except that he's probably jealous that your father has made a good life for himself and given his family what they need for a decent future. More than Michael's ever been able to do.’

     Norah sighed deeply and turned her attention to little Catherine, who was making faces at her from her mother's knee. ‘Best we leave it to God, Elizabeth. We must leave all that we cannot do to God.’

‘What's this really all about, Ma?’ Elizabeth pleaded. She and Tom had come to visit her mother and father with a purpose they were determined not to back down from. ‘Tom's been wracking his brains ever since Joseph came to see his mother this last time. Why would Tom's father be going on so much about hating Pa…even if he is babbling like a madman. Tom's out back now trying to get it out of Pa but I'm not sure that'll achieve much. Something awful must have happened between Pa and Tom's father. You must know.’

     ‘It's no good asking me about this, dear. If your father won't talk about it, then I can’t.’ Kathryn pounded the scone dough she had on the kneading board. ‘You sit down there. I've got some of these scones nearly ready in the oven. You need to rest more, girl.  You're looking very puffy around the face. You're six months along. The nausea should have settled down by now.’

     ‘I'm fine. Don't change the subject. Tom and I came over here especially to get to the bottom of this. Tom so wants to make things right between him and Pa.’

     ‘I've said all I'm going to say on that subject,’ Kathryn insisted. ‘Now you take these scones from the tray and I'll go and call Suzannah. She'll need a cup, I'm sure.  She's been very tired since she had wee Tommy. A second child really makes you know you're alive. You'll notice it I'm sure, with another one. You need to conserve all your strength.’

     Kathryn bent down and took Catherine's tiny chin in her hand for a moment, blowing a kiss at the child.  Catherine looked up from the knitted doll she was playing with and grinned. ‘At least it won't be in the middle of Summer as Suzannah's was. I think the

Summers are getting hotter don't you?’ She brushed her hair back as she rose, her forehead glistening with sweat. 

     ‘No, Ma, I don't. It must be your stage of life.’

     ‘My stage of life?’ Kathryn bristled.   

     ‘Well, you are over fifty. Isn't that what happens to women then, getting all hot and bothered?’ Elizabeth sniggered.

     Kathryn grinned, unable to take offence. It really was good to see her daughter so happy, in spite of this frustration with her father. If only Hamlet could see what a good husband his daughter had. He’d had nothing but smiles for Harriet when she married Henry Woods a month earlier. Kathryn knew it had hurt Elizabeth to see her father so approving of her sister's marriage when she knew that he still had reservations about hers. Then when James married Isabel Quinn, just a few weeks later, Hamlet had seemed as proud as punch. Even though they had hardly any warning about that wedding. Apparently, the Quinns had known for much longer than any of the Pollards had, but then, James had not been home very often, and he’d insisted that he must have mentioned it before. And why women needed so much time to prepare, he couldn't imagine.

     The upshot of it for Kathryn was, that two of her children had been married in the first two months of the year. Harriet had moved out of their home and into a sweet little cottage in Bathurst which Henry Woods had spent months refurbishing. Isobel and James were to live with the Quinns until the hut James had been living in on the property was made more suitable for a family. Kathryn and Hamlet were really happy that both of these children had made such good choices. But it was still a sore point between them that they didn't agree on the choice Elizabeth had made, even though in Kathryn's mind, a blind man could see that their daughter was blissfully happy. Surely, Hamlet would come to his senses soon. 

     As if to grant the desire of her heart, her husband came through the door and smiled sheepishly at her. Tom was close behind.

     ‘Just in time for a cup of tea and some scones,’ Kathryn said hopefully.

     ‘Tom wants to know the truth,’ Hamlet said quietly as he came up behind his wife and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Perhaps it's time, eh?’

     ‘Whatever you think, dear.’ Kathryn winked at her daughter and took out two more cups.

     ‘It was while we were living near Campbelltown...’ Hamlet started. By the time he had finished the story of Michael and Norah's one and only visit, Tom was nodding his head.

     ‘So you think what's in that safe deposit box might be what Pa stole from you all those years ago?’

     ‘I do.’ Hamlet nodded soberly. ‘Most likely the brooch. And possibly the money, for your Pa was never one to enjoy spending money. It's too much like normal folk. He'd rather steal what he wants. The only thing he ever spent money on was his drinks at the pub and most of the time I reckon he got away with someone else buying. He occasionally bought a few small trinkets for your mother and you children. And that was only to make a big man of himself in your eyes.’

     ‘Now, Hamlet. Don't be too harsh,’ Kathryn warned.  

     ‘I'm not being harsh, Kathryn. Tom wanted the truth. This is it.’

     ‘It's all right,’ Tom said. ‘I knew what he was doing when he brought things home for us. It was mostly for Rebecca and he got tired of doing it soon enough. But I just can't imagine him leaving a tin of money in a bank.’

     ‘I made a real fuss when I went to Sydney after him,’ Hamlet said. ‘I let it be known around the pubs that I'd lost a brooch that was of great personal worth to me and I suspected someone might be showing it off. Which is what he'd have done…skite about his haul. And I went to the police too. I told them what I suspected. They said they'd be on the lookout. So I suspect he never spent that money, or not much of it anyway. But I don't really care about that now.’

     ‘So it's the brooch you're really hoping is there?’

     ‘It's nearly killed me thinking what it would mean to my mother if she knew it'd been stolen. Kathryn should have had it all these years. And now Elizabeth should have it.  Our Mary Ann wouldn't want it. Nuns don't have anything like that as far as I know.’ He glanced at Kathryn, who nodded, encouraging him to continue.

     ‘Mother's name was Elizabeth, and it's amazing how much Elizabeth looks like her grandmother. If you saw the photo, you'd see for yourself. It's something she should be able to pass down to this one.’ Hamlet reached out and touched Catherine's hair softly, his eyes creasing as if he was holding back tears. ‘So there you have it.’ His voice hardened again. ‘That's why I've hated him. I know it's wrong to harbour hate, and it's done me no good over the years to do so but I've not been able to shake it…not seeing what he's done to your Ma and how he's continued to get away with all he does.’

     Tom sighed deeply. ‘There's got to be a reckoning one day.’ Shame and anger creased his face. ‘If not in this life, then the next. Justice will find its mark eventually.’

     ‘That's right, Tom,’ Kathryn agreed. ‘There are some things we can't change here on earth. We must let God deal with men like your Pa. Tis not your responsibility, you know. Now that you've heard the story you'll understand Hamlet a little better I hope.  But you mustn't take it on yourself to bring about justice.’

     ‘That doesn't mean I can't try and right a wrong, Mrs Pollard.’

     ‘Not if it means putting your family in danger, Tom. You've a family of your own now. And tis time you called me something other than Mrs Pollard,’ she added warmly.  ‘You could call me Mother. Susannah does and I rather like it. Oh, dear, I forgot to call Susannah out for a cup of tea. The poor girl will be dying of thirst in there…if she's not dozed off with the little ones, that is.’ Kathryn touched Tom's shoulder firmly and moved away from the table.

‘What are you thinking, Tom?’ Hamlet asked, watching the young man's face. 

     ‘I could try and find the bank where the safety box is?’

     ‘But how do you know your father hasn't already gone and got the box himself?’ Elizabeth asked.

     ‘I don't,’ Tom said thoughtfully, ‘but from what Joseph has said the couple of times he's talked to Ma, Pa’s still raving on about going to Sydney and the boys can’t understand what he’s talking about. They'd never figure it out unless he was clear. And who knows that he's not even worse now…in his mind, I mean. I do believe it's all coming against him, all the lying and hiding, watching his back. It would have to send you crazy after all those years, wouldn't it? Perhaps he can't even remember where the bank is himself.’

     ‘Are you thinking you'll go to Sydney?’ Hamlet asked, his mind reeling.        

     ‘Tom, no,’ Elizabeth cried. ‘Wouldn't that be too risky?’

     ‘Not at all, Lizzie. I could check out the banks, tell them I'm his son. I have the key so they should believe me.’

     ‘That’s assuming it's still there,’ Elizabeth said.

     ‘It's worth a try.’ Tom clamped his hands together decidedly. ‘I'd rather not go until Lizzie has the baby but right after that I'll see if I can arrange some time off work. I'd need a day to do the rounds of the banks. I could travel down by train. It's a great service from Sydney, this new rail. And when this mess is sorted out, we should all go for a round trip. Don't you think that'd be grand, Lizzie?’

     ‘I do,’ Elizabeth said, her face lighting up. She glanced toward her father hopefully.   

     Hamlet turned to Tom. It took him a moment to speak. 

     'Thank you, Tom, for all this...and I think it's time you called me...well, Hamlet would do,' he said shyly.

     When the two men had shaken hands firmly, Elizabeth hugged Hamlet and kissed his cheek.

 



To be continued...

Carol Preston
http://www.carolpreston.com.au
http://www.facebook.com/writingtoreach
http://www.amazon.com/author/carolpreston

Forgiving Michael Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Stoney Creek, Christmas 1863.

‘What do I do now, Kathryn?’ Norah was beside herself. She had gone into Kelso a week after Michael left in October. It had been such a lovely day that she’d decided to go after church, to see Rebecca, perhaps talk her into coming home on the following Tuesday so they could have some time together. When the innkeeper told her that Rebecca had gone without giving notice or any indication where she was heading, Norah guessed that she had gone with Michael. 

     ‘She always wanted to go with him, Kathryn, but he'd never even considered taking her and this time he was determined to go after those bushrangers. So what would he have done with her? And why haven't I heard anything?’

     ‘Try to stay calm, Norah. Rebecca's nearly twenty, hardly a child. I doubt she'd have stayed with Michael. His antics are unlikely to keep her interest. Perhaps she didn't even go with him. It may have just been a coincidence that she left the same day Michael took off. There's every reason to be hopeful that she's all right. Bad news finds its way home quickly, sure it does. And you know Michael always turns up eventually…more's the pity, I say.’

     ‘I'm not worried about Michael. He'll be off on one of his wild goose chases. I just don't want Rebecca getting herself into trouble. I just hate to think about it.’

     ‘Come on now. You'll make yourself sick. You've the other children to think about.  Poor wee William's distressed with all this weeping. We're here to celebrate Christmas.  Let it be a comfort that God knows where Rebecca is and He's not going to be taking His eyes off her, sure He's not.’

     ‘You've such trust, Kathryn. I used to be able to hope for the best, to believe everything would work out but I'm worn out with it, so I am. I hoped for so long that Michael would become the man his family needs, and all for nothing.’

     ‘Sure, it's made your heart sick to be hoping anything for Michael. But there is still reason for hope. Without hope we can't go on. You gave me hope when I could find no reason for it, Norah. Now it's my turn to do that for you. But tis not Michael we can put our hope in. Tis in what is good and right that we hope…ultimately in God, for what else can we be certain of? Whatever happens He's going to help you through. You've proven that to be true before and it will be now, sure it will.’

     ‘I do try, Kathryn. I want to believe for my children. I can see already how different Tom is to his father. And Mary's such a sensible girl, not a bit like Rebecca. That gives me hope for the future.’

     ‘Then let's celebrate that.’

     Kathryn turned towards the door as she spoke, and smiled as Hamlet led a troupe of children inside. They were giggling and chattering together.

     ‘They had been watching a pair of wattle birds feeding their young in the nest,’ Hamlet said. ‘The mother and father take turns to drop nectar from the grevilleas into their tiny beaks.’

     ‘They're nearly ready to fly,’ Harriet exclaimed as the children settled at the table.  ‘Annie wants to name them but I told her they'll be gone in a week and we won't be able to tell them from the mother and father. Isn't that right, Pa?’

     ‘It is.’ Hamlet nodded, patting his daughter's head. ‘Now, how's that turkey going?  I've been watching him for months and he's given me more than a few nips. It's my turn now to have a piece of him.’

     All the children burst into laughter, jostling each other for a space around the table.

     ‘Pa can say grace and start to carve while I put the rest of the vegetables out then.’ Kathryn slapped her husband playfully on the shoulder. ‘And don't forget to ask a blessing on Rebecca, dear.’ She smiled at Norah who rose quickly to help with the dinner, hiding the tears that welled in her eyes. 

It was September the following year before Michael returned, empty handed as usual, except for a few trinkets. Norah was so disturbed that he did not have Rebecca with him that she could barely speak to him.

     Mary was not as impressed with her father's gifts as Rebecca had been when she was young and Tom excused himself, saying he had a lot of work to do. Michael had come home late the night before and fallen into a noisy sleep almost immediately, but now Norah knew he would expect the family to be ready to hear about his adventures.  Joseph and Mick would likely be happy to sit through the tale, for it would be a story full of danger and heroism which at six and seven they still found compelling, whether it was true or not. Norah kept her attention on William as she fed him porridge and tried to wait until Michael had finished entertaining his sons. He had said nothing about Rebecca but when he started on the story of his days as a hostage of the bushrangers in Robinson's hotel, her heart began to race and she imagined her daughter being tied up and ravaged by a gang of ruffians. She could hold her tongue no longer.

     ‘Where's Rebecca, Michael? She went with you, didn't she? I know she did. Now where is she?’ Her voice was loud with fear and the two young boys at the table looked shocked.

     ‘Ma,’ Joseph whined. ‘We want to hear the story.’

     ‘The story can wait,’ Norah said firmly, glaring at her husband.

     The tone of her voice quietened the boys but Michael still sat silently, as if hoping his sons would insist he continue. When it was clear he wasn't going to avoid an explanation, he sighed deeply and looked sheepishly at Norah.

     ‘She hid in my cart, luv. I didn't mean for her to come. I told her not to – ’

     ‘Where is she?’ Norah demanded.

     ‘I don't know,’ Michael admitted, his voice flat.                     

     ‘You don't know?’ Norah's voice was rising again and the boys' eyes widened. They rarely heard their mother raise her voice.

     ‘She was with me ’til Canowindra. I couldn't leave her in Bathurst, now, could I?’ he said plaintively, as if he was in no way at fault. ‘I was lookin' to find her somewhere safe ’til I could bring her 'ome, sure I was.’

     ‘And you call that a safe place?’

     ‘The gang didn't want to 'arm anyone. We were there for three days an' Rebecca was still there when I left. She said she'd wait for me, workin' for the Robinsons. Only when I got back she was gone.’ Michael's voice trailed off.

     ‘Gone?’

     ‘Mrs Robinson said she'd worked for two weeks an' then left…said she was comin' home. So I thought that's what she'd done. The incident with the bushrangers scared her…at least at first…an' so I thought she'd 'eaded for 'ome. It was about eight weeks after I left when I went back to Canowindra. I guessed she was well and truly back 'ere…an' I…well, I 'ad things to be about – ’

     ‘You had things to be about?’ Norah's tone was steely cold now. ‘You had no idea where your daughter was, did you? But you just went about your…whatever you do…and left her to suffer whatever she might have gotten herself into. This is the last straw, Michael. I can't forgive you this. I can't.’ Norah was crying now and she gathered William up from his chair and rushed outside.

     ‘She's not a girl no more,’ Michael called as she headed across the grass. ‘She’s a grown woman now. She can take care of 'erself, sure she can.’

     Norah could sense by his voice that he only half believed that himself.

Tom was chopping wood furiously when Norah rushed up to him with William on her hip. He stopped the axe in mid air and let it drop to the ground.

     ‘What is it, Ma? What's he done now?’

     ‘It's Rebecca,’ she sobbed. ‘Your father left her at some hotel out west and we have no idea where she is…whether she's alive or dead. What are we to do?’

     Tom put his arm around her shoulder. ‘There's nothing we can do about Rebecca, Ma. You know she wanted to get away from here. She'll have found herself work …or something. She's not one to go without what she wants. Please, Ma, calm down.’

     Norah laid her head against her son's chest. She realised he was head and shoulders above her now, taller than his father. She felt his strong arm holding her up. At eighteen he was more of a man than Michael had ever been. She could depend on him. Perhaps she could trust his judgement about this.

     ‘Do you think so?’

     ‘Sure I do. Rebecca's always been a mystery to me. I don't know what she wants. But she has to go and find it, Ma. She wasn't happy here, you know that. I could search for months and never find her. It's a big country. But word will come, you'll see. We'll find out sooner or later. It seems to me it was inevitable that Rebecca was going to take off.’

     ‘And you, Tom? Are you happy here?’ Norah sniffed as her tears subsided and she stood back and looked up at her son.

     His dark hair hung about his face.  He wasn't a handsome lad but his face was gentle and soft. It belied the obvious strength of his hardened body, his work soiled hands.

     ‘My life is here, Ma, with you and with this land. I'm happy, yes.’ He chucked William under the chin, bringing a grin to the child's face.

     Norah sighed thankfully. She wiped her eyes and hugged William to her, smiling through her wet eyes.

     ‘Tis fine, little one. Your big brother is right. We must let Rebecca find her way and  pray that God will take care of her.’ She pushed her hair back from her face, capturing escaping curls from the clip at the back of her neck. ‘I've carrots to dig, so I have, and then I'll make us a bread pudding with plum jam, eh? We'll not be moping around any more, so we won't.’

     Tom chuckled at her words, then glanced at the house. Norah saw his smile turn to a frown. Now his father was back, Tom would struggle. She knew he felt nothing but irritation for his father and she knew the feeling was mutual.

By May, Norah was pregnant again. She had not welcomed Michael's attention in their bed but had endured it for the sake of peace. Being close to forty, she was a little surprised to find she had conceived another child. But with the garden now producing well enough to feed them adequately, and the bit of meat they were able to trap or buy from the sale of their eggs and fruit in O'Connell, she was confident that they could manage another member of the family.

     It would take her mind off Rebecca, she reasoned, to have another little one to care for. Tom and Mary were a great help to her, taking over the household chores when she needed them to. Joseph and Mick were quite a handful, being young boys who wanted to run and play from daylight to dusk and both being inclined to be headstrong and reckless. William was a placid three-year-old, content to be with his mother, fossicking in the grass around the garden as she worked, or on the floor of the hut when she was cooking and cleaning. Norah reckoned she had a lot to be grateful for and was in a happy frame of mind the next time she visited Kathryn.

     ‘Tis only the five of them left to be teaching now. And William's still more likely to eat the pages than notice there's words on them,’ she chuckled. ‘I've taught the others all I know.’

     The two women watched Joseph and Mick, Harriet and Annie, all now between seven and eleven, as they wrote their letters with varying degrees of concentration and enjoyment, the girls definitely displaying more of both than the boys. 

     ‘And tis enough, sure it is,’ Kathryn said. ‘The older ones can read and write now and what more could they need that they won't learn from life itself?’

     ‘Yes, I can see Joseph and Mick are not going to have the love of reading that Tom has. They'll have to learn much from life itself, I think. They're all different, aren't they?’

     ‘To be sure. Tis a mystery how they all differ, each one precious in his or her own way. Soon enough we'll be seeing them making families of their own and we'll be grandparents, so we will.’

     ‘Oh, tosh.’ Norah giggled. ‘Here I am having a baby and you're thinking about being a grandparent.’

     ‘Don't look now but Tom is nearly nineteen and our James twenty. What were you doing at that age, tell me that? Having Rebecca is what. Oh, I'm sorry, Norah. I didn't mean to remind you. Have you heard anything at all?’

     ‘Nothing. I give her to God every night. I'm at peace about her, as much as I can be without knowing if she's...’

     ‘Don't think sad things. Just trust and hold on. And what about Michael? How is he at home this time?’

     ‘The same. Restless, sometimes funny and sweet, sometimes grumpy and critical.  Tom finds it hard. They don't get on at all and I can't blame Tom. Joseph and Mick are more like Michael, I'm afraid.’ Norah lowered her voice, checking that the boys were still engaged in their writing. ‘They wrestle and laugh with him. They believe everything he says. They seem to easily see life the way he does, which bothers me a lot. They go out into the bush with him already, just wandering, on the pretence of getting firewood or hunting for possums. Sometimes they come back with something but often I think Michael is just indulging their…or his need to wander about aimlessly, avoiding whatever work should be done. Mary scolds them all severely about it but they just laugh at her. Tom holds his tongue but I think he'd prefer Michael wasn't there so he could teach the boys to be more responsible.’

     ‘You've a trial with him, to be sure.’

     The women were interrupted by Elizabeth coming through the back door. ‘Did Tom come, Mrs Kearns?’ she said hopefully.

     ‘Tom is working at home,’ Norah answered. ‘He's mending fences today. We've had kangaroos breaking down some of them and the chickens are getting out. He did send this book for you though. Someone gave it to him at church and he thought you might like to read it now that he's finished.’

     ‘Oh, thank you.’ Elizabeth took the book and held it to her heart.

     Kathryn shook her head and smiled. As Elizabeth disappeared into the bedroom her mother's voice followed her. ‘Don't start reading that now, dear. You've chickens to feed, remember.’  

     When Elizabeth had deposited the book in some private place and left the house again, her mother was still smiling.

     ‘She's been smitten with Tom for as long as I can remember.’

     ‘She's only fourteen, Kathryn. Sure, you'll have us grandmothers before our time with your speculations.’

     ‘I suppose tis because I'll not have any more of my own that I'm looking forward to the next lot, that's all.’ She laughed.

      ‘Looks like your chances to catch Ben Hall and his gang have run out,’ Tom said.

     Michael kept his eyes averted. It annoyed him to have his son reading to him about bushrangers.

     The lantern light was dim and Tom held the paper close to his face as he read the article. ‘Hall was surrounded by police in bushland near Forbes last month and shot dead. Seems his whereabouts was betrayed to police by an informer. John Gilbert, one of his gang, was also shot recently by police. And this says that Mad Dan Morgan went south into Victoria, where he was wreaking havoc but a station hand shot him down in April just as he was about to get on his horse and escape again.  It seems their time comes, sooner or later.’

     ‘There'll be more, so there will. There's always them that are ready to take up where others leave off when there's money to be 'ad,' Michael grumbled. He wished he had been in town and heard this news at the pub.   

     ‘Even Frank Gardiner is out of action if I remember rightly,’ Tom continued. ‘He's the one who was jailed last year in Sydney…thirty two years I think he got. He's been hiding out in the Weddin ranges, near Forbes, doing lots of hold-ups, I've read. Well, now he's away for a long time, so he won't be bothering anybody. And he won't be luring people to catch him for the reward either.’

     Michael upended his mug and finished off his tea before heading outside for a smoke. He was irritated and restless. His young sons had all but fallen asleep at the table listening to Tom babble on about old news. He didn't want them to think there was nothing out there to chase after any more. There were always adventures to be had. One just had to go looking for them and if Norah wasn't so close to having another child, he would take to the roads again. One day, he would take his sons with him…not Tom, but Joseph and Mick. Young William was shaping up to be another soft headed boy like Tom but in the other two he could see the signs of real men and he would not let anything get in the way of that. 

Theresa Kearns was born on the 19th of November, 1865. She was baptised in the new Church of St Francis in O'Connell, one of the first babies to be dedicated there, which was a thrill to Norah. There was also excitement about the small convent and a school house where a group of Franciscan nuns were to hold classes for the local children.  Michael took no interest in the new church but was enamoured of his new daughter, who had large dark eyes and silky black hair, promising another Irish doll he could shower with gifts and charm into adoring him.

     Joseph and Mick practised every boyish, rebellious act they could think of to draw their father's attention away from Theresa, who they saw as a messy brat and a threat to their attachment to their hero. But by the middle of Winter, Michael's interest in everything at home waned and he was ready again to seek out the promise of excitement, danger and unearned rewards.

    

By Spring, the family had settled into a more peaceful routine and although Joseph and Mick were sullen and grumpy for a month or so after their father's departure, Norah relaxed into the security of being able to plan her days and take more control of her family's wellbeing and activities.

     ‘No, you'll not be going off looking for tiger cats, Joseph, for you've never caught one yet, sure you haven't. If you want Tom to teach you to set the traps properly, then ask him, for he's happy to show you. Then you check them regularly and wait for whatever animal God sees fit to give us. Wandering about in the woods with a stick is a waste of time.’

     ‘Yes, you will be coming to Pollards today, Mick, for you've to learn to read and practise your writing even if you don't feel like it. One day you'll thank me for teaching you, sure you will, for you'll be able to get a good job and make a living for your own family.’

     ‘We will all be going to church this morning, boys, for you're definitely not staying here alone and it's time you took notice of what's being said at church. You can't escape God, you know. He's watching over all of us and the time will come when you'll be wanting to talk to Him about your troubles and you'll be wishing you knew Him better, sure you will.’

     All of Norah's directives were received with the squirming, whining and resistance characteristic of young boys but Norah felt able to deal with it now that her husband's influence was fading. She knew that Michael would return in his own good time but she was determined to make the most of this space for sanity and order in their lives. 


To be continued...


Carol Preston
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