‘Couldn’t you have had your mail forwarded?’
‘I was only going for a week or so. Then it sort of got under my skin. And I decided to stay around a bit longer.’
‘But your letters stopped.’
‘So I gather. I’ve heard the French postal system’s the worst in the world. And that’s before the strike they had. I can only presume they’re winging their way across the skies right now.’
Around them the afternoon light was fading. Birds swooped and dived and there was the continuous mantra of cicadas. A soft breeze blew and deep shadows were forming where they sat under the maple tree. Dingo got up from where he’d collapsed in a heap under the bottlebrush by the fence and sauntered over. First he put his head on Lillie’s knee for a pat. Then he nudged Seamus, who tickled him behind the ear.
‘I need time to think about what’s happened,’ she said. ‘I got a shock to see you, that’s all.’
‘I can understand that.’
Lillie looked past him to where the breeze was shifting the leaves in the weeping willows. She turned back to him and sighed.
‘Would you mind if I went for a walk down to the river? On my own. I can always work things out better down there.’
‘Of course. And while you’re there I might wander along and take a look at the horses I passed on the way in.’
Lillie nodded. ‘You might meet up with Dad. Or Arthur, the head stablehand. They’d probably be at the stables.’
‘You sure you wouldn’t like me to come with you?’
‘No, Seamus. I need to be on my own.’
Down by the river Lillie paced up and down. Her emotions were churning in her stomach. On one hand she was still annoyed with Seamus, despite the fact he said he’d written. And was he only asking her to marry him because she was carrying his child? On the other hand, he had flown across the world to see her. She could go on being angry with him. Or she could do what her heart was telling her to do: believe that he really did love her and accept his proposal. Apart from the fact she loved him with all her heart, there was also their baby to think about. To bring up a child without a father, when that father had offered to marry her, would be a huge burden to carry if she refused him because of pride. She sat down on the riverbank and fiddled with a piece of wood, pulling the bark off in strips and throwing them into the water, watching them float downstream like rickety canoes.
Ten minutes later she went back up to find Seamus.
When she found him he was leaning over the fence of the front paddock, talking to Cosmo.
‘I caught up with your father and Arthur,’ he said. ‘They’re tied up with a vet down at the stables. So I’m getting to know this little fella.’
‘His name’s Cosmo,’ Lillie said, patting the horse on the nose. ‘He’s been great for Ma. After Shannon Boy went.’
Seamus looked at her with a worried expression. ‘So what’s the final decision? Am I to stay? Or hightail it back to Ireland without my lovely bride?’
Lillie reached her hand out and caressed his face. ‘If your letters turn up,’ she grinned, ‘I might consider marrying you. If they don’t … Well … I’ll have to think again, won’t I?’
‘So the state of my poor heart is going to rely on the postal system?’
Lillie laughed. ‘Looks like it.’
‘In the meantime,’ he said, rustling in his pocket and handing her a small black box, ‘I have a wee offering.’
Lillie turned the box over in her hands. ‘What’s this?’
‘Look inside.’
When she opened the box she gasped as she saw a stunning emerald ring set in gold nestled on a black velvet cushion.
Seamus leant forward and took hold of the ring. ‘I found it in Paris. Even before I heard you were expecting my child I knew I wanted to buy you this ring. I thought I’d hold onto it until you came back to Ireland for Christmas like you said you would.’
When he placed it on her finger it was far too big and swivelled around. ‘There,’ he laughed. ‘It’ll give time for my letters to arrive while we get it adjusted.’
‘Thank you,’ Lillie said, leaning forward and giving him a kiss. ‘I love it.’
* * *
Fortunately for Seamus, his first letter arrived in five days’ time and Lillie’s flatmate sent it on. The next day another one turned up.
‘Just as well,’ Lillie said, fiddling with the emerald ring, which they still hadn’t got adjusted, but instead had managed to get an insert put in, as Lillie felt her fingers would swell later in her pregnancy, ‘otherwise I’d have to give this back.’
At first Lillie wasn’t so sure whether Dad had taken to Seamus or if he was just relieved his wayward daughter wouldn’t have a bastard child after all. However, the longer Seamus stayed at Eureka, sleeping in Ronan’s room, the more she realised the two men liked each other a lot, and often sat on the back verandah together enjoying a glass of port after dinner. Marcus and Freddie took him fishing and rabbit trapping with Arthur and once they all went camping overnight. Ma loved him and spoilt him rotten with lots of biscuits and cakes and showed him how to develop photos in her darkroom. Lillie wished Ronan was here to meet him; she was sure they’d get on too.
After the banns of marriage had been announced each Sunday for a month, she and Seamus were married on a bright sunny day at the small church in Gullumbindy with Father Fogarty officiating and Deb as Lillie’s bridesmaid. Arthur, who had shown Seamus how to skin a snake and make fire out of stone, was roped in as his best man. Lillie wore a cream silk shift she’d found in a David Jones catalogue that fell loosely over her bump. And Ma made her a garland of flowers for her hair. She and Deb had done a wonderful job with the flowers in the church with a bunch of gardenias attached to each pew and huge vases of white lilies at the altar.
‘Lilies for Lillie,’ Deb had laughed when Lillie saw them the evening before the wedding when they had a rehearsal at the church. There were more bunches in the sink in the sacristy waiting to be put in vases.
Although at six months’ pregnant she felt as fat as a porpoise, Lillie did feel pretty. And immensely happy.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Deb said as she’d helped her get ready at Eureka before the drive into Gullumbindy.
Deb had finally met Seamus one lunchtime at the Telegraph Hotel. ‘He’s a real spunk,’ she’d gushed, ‘and charming to boot. Maybe I should head over to Ireland to find a bloke like him.’ Deb had had a few boyfriends, but none had quite measured up to her wish list, which Lillie knew included Ronan. Lillie was chuffed to know she thought Seamus was all right.
‘He’s a good man,’ her father whispered in her ear as they waited at the back of the church to walk down the aisle. ‘Your mother and I know he’ll look after you and the babe.’
‘Thank you, Dad.’ Lillie smiled up at him. ‘And thank you for everything you have done for me.’
He squeezed her arm. ‘Come, Seamus is waiting.’
When they passed Ma, Marcus and Freddie on the way to the altar, Lillie found it difficult to stop the tears. At the altar Father Fogarty gave her a warm smile. Right through the mass she could hardly concentrate, she felt so happy. All those years ago when she first met Seamus she had no idea that they would end up in a fairytale like this. When he took the simple gold band they’d chosen together from the Angus and Coote catalogue and placed it on her finger next to the emerald, Lillie could no longer stop the tears falling down her cheeks.
‘I love you, Lillie,’ Seamus said, wiping her tears away with his finger.
Lillie was sad that Ronan wasn’t there to share her joy. She’d had a lovely letter from him wishing her good luck and saying how much he was looking forward to meeting his brother-in-law.
Mind you, he wrote, I hope the poor bloke knows what he’s let himself in for.
She also wished Grandma was there. Last month she and Seamus had rung her to let her know they were getting married. Taking a deep breath Lillie had also told her that she was pregnant. T
here was a long silence on the end of the line before Grandma said, ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll have a beautiful baby, darling. And I’m very pleased you and Seamus are getting married.’
As she looked at Seamus, she was so glad that Grandma had encouraged her to stay just that bit longer in Ireland. Although her pregnancy had been a shock at first, now she wouldn’t wish it any other way. Taking hold of Seamus’s hand, she squeezed it so tight that he gave a mock wince. Then he leant down and gave her a long lingering kiss and her heart soared with joy. Joy for her and Seamus. And joy for the little being inside her.
She saw the happiness in her parents’ faces as she and Seamus walked down the aisle together as man and wife. Even Marcus looked delighted, and Freddie’s grin was so large she thought his face might crack.
After the wedding ceremony there was a small party in the garden at Eureka Park. Lorna Medlow gave Lillie a kiss and patted her stomach. ‘I hope your new arrival gives your parents as much pleasure as our little Margo does.’
The day after the wedding, Lillie and Seamus left for a honeymoon at Noosa. They took a small flat on Hastings Street and swam at the beach every day.
‘If this is what married life’s like,’ Seamus chuckled, falling down on the sand next to Lillie on their first day there, ‘well, I think I’ll manage to cope just fine.’
Lillie placed her hand on her swollen belly. ‘You’d best enjoy it while you can. Soon it’ll be a screaming baby. And lots of nappies to wash.’
‘Ah,’ Seamus said. ‘Won’t that be grand?’
With the sound of the waves breaking on the shore and a warm breeze ruffling her hair, Lillie thought how fortunate she was to have Seamus. If only Ronan was back from Vietnam, life would be complete.
CHAPTER
49
Lillie and Seamus were not long back from Noosa when the phone rang one Thursday morning. Kathleen went down the hallway to answer it, and a moment later let out a piercing shriek of anguish. What she dreaded had happened.
‘Oh my God,’ she spluttered down the phone, making the sign of the cross. ‘Ronan … Ronan…’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said the Catholic padre on the other end of the line. ‘So very sorry. And that I have to tell you this sad news over the telephone. We would have got your parish priest, Father Fog-arty, to come and tell you, but he’s away on a retreat.’
Kathleen tried to swallow the huge boulder in her throat. Her head was racing and she felt faint. ‘How did it happen?’ she managed.
‘A mine in a paddy field. Your son was behind the poor bloke who stepped on it. That’s when he was hit by flying shrapnel.’
Kathleen had read about those deadly mines and had feared that Ronan might be injured by one.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more, Mrs O’Sullivan,’ the padre said. ‘That’s really all I know. He was picked up by an Iroquois and taken to the field hospital at Vung Tau. A Hercules will evacuate him to hospital in Sydney once he is stabilised. You should be able to see him then.’
Kathleen remembered another time like this. A telegram. Now it was his son. And both had been in Vietnam. How could God allow this to happen twice?
‘Is he conscious?’ she asked.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs O’Sullivan. I don’t know that.’ There was a long pause. ‘I’m saying a mass here in Holsworthy shortly. I’ll ask the troops to pray for him.’
‘Thank you,’ Kathleen said. ‘We would appreciate that very much.’
She asked for the address of the hospital where they would bring Ronan, and put the receiver back in its cradle. Then she collapsed in tears on the floor. Curling herself into a ball she rocked back and forth, sobbing as she had never sobbed before. Not even when Dermot had died.
This is where Lillie found her. ‘Ma,’ she screamed, rushing down the hallway. ‘What’s the matter?’
When Kathleen told her she gasped. ‘No … no …!’
‘Oh, Lillie … it’s my fault…’
Lillie knelt down. ‘Ma. It’s not your fault … it’s a horrid, horrid war.’
Kathleen wiped her nose on the sleeve of her shirt. She couldn’t get the image of Ronan’s broken body from her mind. When Dermot died he’d been burnt beyond recognition and his remains had been brought back to Calcutta from Vietnam. She’d stood beside his grave as a bugler played ‘The Last Post’ and his coffin was lowered into the ground at Bhowanipore Military Cemetery. What she didn’t know then was that she was carrying his child. Please, please, God, don’t let that child die.
‘Shall I go and get Dad?’ Lillie asked, placing her hand on her shoulder.
‘Yes, please do,’ she said, wiping her eyes.
‘Will you be okay here?’
Kathleen nodded. ‘Thank God Marcus and Freddie are up at school.’
‘But we’ll have to let them know.’
‘Not until I’ve seen Ronan.’
‘Mum. It might be in the papers. Someone could tell them.’
‘Yes,’ Kathleen said. ‘You’re probably right.’ And imagined the horror in Freddie’s eyes. Marcus’s, too. Oh, Ronan, she inwardly cried. My darling Ronan … please, please have the strength to pull through. For all our sakes.
* * *
Once the Hercules arrived in Sydney, Ronan was placed into an ambulance and taken to hospital. When Kathleen and James entered the ward, he was lying unconscious with drips in his arms; around him machinery blinked and beeped.
‘Oh, Ronan … what has happened to you?’ Kathleen whispered, moving to take his hand.
His beautiful face was as pale as the sheets that covered him and his eyes were closed. James put a hand on her shoulder.
‘He’s lucky he’s fit,’ the doctor said as he came into the room.
He beckoned Kathleen and James outside. There he told them that the main damage to Ronan — apart from a severe blow to the head, which was why they were keeping him in an induced coma to see if there was any brain trauma — was extensive damage to his right leg, which had taken the full force of the shrapnel.
‘Will he be all right?’ Kathleen asked, afraid what the answer might be.
‘As I said, it’s lucky he’s fit. So I have no reason to believe he won’t pull through.’
Kathleen let out a sigh of relief. ‘Will he walk again?’ she asked.
‘We don’t know,’ the doctor said. ‘Time will tell.’
Kathleen looked desperately at James. ‘Oh my God!’
The doctor put a hand on her arm. ‘We should be grateful he’s still with us. He was lucky there was a medic close by. Otherwise it could’ve been a lot worse.’
‘It’s just that he never should’ve been there in the first place …’
‘None of those young men should be there, Mrs O’Sullivan.’
* * *
Ronan tried to focus. He looked at the machinery by his bed and the blurry figure of the woman sitting beside him who was telling him to rest.
‘How can I rest when you’re here, Clara?’ he whispered. ‘You must,’ she said.
Ronan tried to work out how he had got here. And why. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Clara was sitting here by his bed. In Vietnam he’d thought of her constantly. He loved her more than any human being had a right to love another. It wasn’t something you could expunge from your heart; it wasn’t like rubbing a line of chalk from a blackboard.
‘Where am I?’ he asked.
‘In hospital in Sydney,’ she said.
Now it came back to him. A paddy field. A woman. A baby. An explosion. Pain, dreadful pain.
The night before it happened, Clara had come to visit.
‘Ronan,’ she had called out, rushing into his hutchie in the jungle. ‘It’s all a horrid mistake. You’re not my brother after all. We can get married. Oh, Ronan … can you believe that?’
She had lain down beside him and kissed him on the lips. He felt the pounding of her heart on his own pounding chest. Her tongue inside his mouth. For so long he hadn’t
allowed himself to think of her like that. Every time an image of their entwined bodies came into his mind he shoved it away, believing it was a crime to recall such ecstasy. But now she was there with him in his hutchie, and they were no longer brother and sister, it wasn’t wrong at all.
It was so, so right.
‘Clara,’ he now said as she sat by his bed. ‘Clara …’
Again she told him to rest.
When he’d woken up in his hutchie in the jungle, Clara wasn’t there. He remembered the emptiness as reality hit. She had never been there. And here he was lying alone on his sodden ground sheet in his putrid jungle greens in the steaming heat as part of this godforsaken nightmare of a war where the impenetrable jungle was riddled with Viet Cong guerrillas, booby traps, ambushes, a shocking assortment of poisonous spiders, snakes and Christ knows what else. And the ground was littered with mines. Early the next morning he had gone on patrol as if on automatic pilot. There was a torrential downpour and he did not much care whether he lived or died. Without Clara life was hardly worth the fight.
His platoon came to a small paddy field and saw a woman lying injured in the middle of it. Her baby was crying. Was it a set-up? Many were. Yet the baby’s crying was too hard to ignore. It was as he and a fellow soldier were creeping across the field to try and help them that the mine went off. It blew the other bloke clean into the air and Ronan felt the shrapnel hit him. He lay on the ground in such pain he thought he would die. In a way he was pleased about that. What followed was a blur of stretchers, padres, drips, aeroplanes and ambulances. Now he was here. And Clara was at his side. It wasn’t a dream this time.
‘Would you like a glass of water?’ she asked.
‘Yes, darling, please.’
When she handed him the water he smiled at her. This time the blurriness lifted. It was Ma sitting beside him. Not Clara.
‘Where’s Clara?’ he asked. ‘She was here.’
The Homestead on the River Page 43