by Geoff Lawson
the Colonel would stay here with me and assist Harriet with
repairs to the house. Potts and Floyd threw their things
together and took off for the hills; I think both of them were
glad to get away from us and I could guess the reason why.
Harriet and the Colonel had something going and I doubt that
Potts and Floyd approved. Women were a diversion and a
conflict of interest that could be done without. To make
matters worse, Catherine and I were also under scrutiny and
you can bet they were less than impressed about that as well.
Meanwhile, the Colonel was doing the big impressario bit
to a very appreciative one-woman audience while the two
linked arms and were surveying the front of the house. The
roof had taken a hammering and a lot of iron would need to be
replaced, along with glass, some verandah boards and the odd
weatherboard. The Colonel volunteered without prompting to
become the foreman of works.
“Oh, I do hope this is not going to cost too much.” Harriet
was no doubt thinking out loud for the Colonel’s benefit.
“Don’t you worry, m’dear, I have some funds that will take
care of that.”
I smiled and wallowed on the chair. Things were going to
work out all right. Harriet was relieved and smiling too.
To everyone’s surprise, Potts and Floyd suddenly
reappeared by late afternoon. They had only gone nine miles
from town and found their man – dead under a tree. It seems
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my aim was good after all. Hit by four balls of buckshot in the
lungs meant he would have died a slow, drowning death,
which wouldn’t have been pretty. I wasn’t particularly pleased
to hear that, but then I suppose, what goes around comes
around. Having someone shoot at you is exactly what you
should expect if you try to blow people up.
Unfortunately, now he was dead there was nothing we
could learn from him. They had found his horse a short way
off and draping him over it, had taken the body to the police
station to see if anyone knew him, after which he was
delivered to the morgue. He’d been dead in the sun for quite a
while by then and was already turning black, so it would be
imperative to bury him quick. The sight of him draped over a
horse in the main street of town caused no small amount of
interest from the locals, although no one seemed to know him.
He was another candidate for a cheap wooden cross but
without so much as a name to go on it.
We held a post operation meeting to discuss our progress.
It was certain we had smashed a cell that had been established
in this region, although it was not who we had hoped for. The
Shaun Blainey, Eric von Smidt fraternity were still at large and
their present whereabouts remained unknown.
The bombing of the train station was a mistake on the part
of the bombers – an act of arrogance that had led directly to
their downfall. No one had done that before and emboldened
by their success at evading us in Jamestown, they had gone too
far.
It was unlikely to be an accident they had bombed a
building that happened to be directly opposite where we were
staying. More likely, they were rubbing our noses in it, not
knowing that this time around we knew where to look for them
and were ready to strike back before they were able to make
good their escape. The irony was, they had destroyed a
building that no one used, which hadn’t done a single thing to
assist their war efforts; an act of bravado that led directly to
their downfall. It was highly unlikely that Eric von Smidt or
Shaun Blaine would be that easy to catch.
Next morning a telegram was sent to Cape Town,
cryptically hinting of our success and informing Watermeyer
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that a written report would soon be on its way. The big
question was, ‘now what do we do?’ Before we went any
further we would need to sit tight and await further instructions
from Cape Town, which could take days or even longer. That
was just dandy with me. No doubt Harriet and the Colonel
would think so too.
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Chapter Ten
PATEA, New Zealand. December 1898.
The three of us were still basking on the front lawn when
mother re-emerged from the house. We all looked up –
significantly, there was no sign of Rachel.
“Richard, I need to talk to you. Rachel and I are in the
parlour.”
“Looks like you’re in trouble too.” It was Agnes, thinking
out loud as usual. I was convinced that this was about last
night and I was in dread of what was about to happen next.
With an inward sigh I heaved myself up and headed for the
front door, where Mother was waiting. We entered the parlour
and she indicated that I should sit next to Rachel, then closed
the door. Rachel looked up as I entered and my concerns
increased for she was visibly less than happy. I sank down next
to her, trying not to convey any anxiety, and reached for her
hand. She sniffed and with a weak smile lifted her other hand
to wipe her eyes.
Mother paused to clear her throat, then began to speak in a
quiet, benevolent voice. “I have heard of whirlwind romances
but yours takes the cake. If it was up to me, I would march you
both to the courthouse on Monday and get you married off.
Now look at me, both of you. Have you slept together? Tell me
truthfully – don’t you dare lie!”
Rachel and I glanced at each other. The usually unflappable
Rachel looked deeply embarrassed and I could feel a
proportional rise of colour in my own face as well.
“No Mother, of course we haven’t.”
“Good. Thank God for that then.” Mother rolled her eyes
skywards and crossed herself. “Now,” she said, after a pause,
“this is what you have to do. Richard, when we get home you
must get your things together and move to Whanganui. You
must find a place to live and get a job. Rachel, when you get
home you must tell your mother and father about Richard. I
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divine that this could be difficult for you, but it must be done.
The sooner the better.” At this point, she paused to look deeply
into our eyes.
I was dazed and confused. What on earth was going on?
How did we get onto this?
With no sign of slowing down or stopping, Mother
continued. “Now – Rachel’s parents may be totally opposed to
any quick courtship. They may insist that this be dragged out
one year, two years, who knows, maybe even longer, so they
can test your mettle and your sincerity about this relationship.”
She paused again, as if to allow that to sink in. “Once Richard
is properly established, you can formally announce him to your
parents and an arrangement can be entered into to allow
Richard to visit you at home, provided of course that this is
acceptable to your mother and father. I’m sorry to have to tell
you, but it may be that they disa
pprove of Richard and forbid
you to see each other, although that would be extreme. I’m
telling you this because you need to realise what could happen
in case it does.”
Mother then rose from her seat and with a wistful smile
came over with her hands outstretched. We stood up and she
hugged us and kissed our cheeks. “I’m so sorry for you,” she
said. “I know how you must feel. Young love is always in a
hurry, but you must follow this wherever it takes you and see it
through no matter what. If you do, everything will work out –
you’ll see.” She paused, looking at both of us. “I’m going to go
now, for I know you have a lot of things to talk about. I will
instruct the others to leave you in peace and you can come out
when you are ready.” She left and closed the door.
I was completely baffled. I sat back down on the sofa, my
mind churning. I was acutely aware that our relationship had
just got a lot more complicated. Something momentous must
have happened in here, for we would never be allowed to
remain alone like this under normal circumstances.
Rachel leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. I sank
back until I stopped against the armrest and Rachel was draped
on top of me, her head on my chest. For a while we didn’t
speak, Rachel seemed troubled and deep in thought. I stroked
her hair and brushed aside wisps that had fallen across her
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face. I had never stroked a girl’s hair before and marvelled
how fine and soft it was. I pushed some hair back and exposed
her ear. It was small, like her hands, precious, perfectly formed
and covered with soft, silky skin. I stroked her forehead and
she closed her eyes.
The outer edges of her eyebrows protruded slightly from
the surface of her head, forming slight depressions above them.
Every contour was smooth, precise, compelling. She had a fine
nose and a cute mouth; her bone structure was simply
exquisite. Her head was like a classical vase of fine bone
china, a work of art. A marvel of sculpture that was at once
both fragile and beautiful, evoking a feeling of admiration at
everything she was. I brushed her cheek with my fingertips.
Like everything else, it was silky and flawless.
Her eyes opened and she looked at me. “Would you like to
marry me?”
“Yes, of course I would.”
She was silent. I could tell she was worried, although after
having said that I couldn’t possibly imagine why she would be.
“Would you wait two years for me?”
So that was it – was it?
“Of course. I’d wait five years if I had to.”
She went silent. Her expression didn’t change. Her eyes
were averted and it was plainly obvious that something still
bothered her.
“What did you say to Mother?”
“I told her you were going to marry me. God willing of
course.”
“You said that?” I was incredulous. That explained a few
things.
“Would you marry me if you knew my reputation was
ruined?”
I was surprised. Actually, I didn’t comprehend. What in
God’s name did she mean?
“I’ve told your mother my secret and now, you will need to
know about it too.”
She sat up, clutching one hand in the other, and her face
was downcast, her expression that of someone who had all the
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troubles in the world on her shoulders. I said nothing. I just
stared at her and allowed her to do the telling of it.
“Mary made the comment that I was no ordinary girl. She
asked why I travelled alone, to stay with a family I hardly
knew and my parents didn’t know at all. She felt that if I were
her daughter, she wouldn’t be pleased that I was travelling
without an escort.”
Rachel paused, still looking unhappy. It was plain by now
that this was leading to something upsetting and my mind
boggled as to what it could possibly be.
“I told her that as a girl, boys were always competing for
my attention. The other girls noticed and resented me, but
when I turned eighteen, my troubles really began. I put up my
hair and lengthened my skirts as all girls do. The problem was,
the only callers were boys from wealthy families. They were
swellheads who thought I should feel privileged that they had
shown an interest in me. I was supposed to be eternally
grateful and fall swooning at their feet. They wanted a trophy
wife, a breeding vessel to put on display. They were resentful
when Father moved them on and their families weren’t that
delighted either. Then the rumours began. I was arrogant, a
social bore. My head was too big; I was too good for anyone. It
was hurtful, but I could have lived with that. Soon however,
the rumours grew with each retelling. It wasn’t long before my
virginity was in doubt. I had the flushes for this one or that. I
was lush, easy. Girls would whisper when I passed and none
wanted to be seen with me.” She took a breath. “By then no
males did either. My reputation was in tatters. All credibility
gone. I was devastated – my character ruined by my own
gender, those who were envious and spiteful. I had no way to
fight back, nowhere to turn. To save my friends from
escalating embarrassment, I cut myself off and avoided any
former acquaintances. As time went on I became increasingly
lonely, but I wasn’t brave enough to try to renew old
friendships for fear of rejection and the pain that would surely
result from that. Now I am alone – socially tarred and
feathered. An outcast.”
Rachel stopped to sniff and wipe her eyes. She wouldn’t
look at me. I was mortified. I didn’t know what to say.
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“I was glad when Agnes wrote to me. I was just another
girl in another town, a young woman like herself. She wouldn’t
know about the ugly things. In my family I am the only girl
and Agnes and Emma have become the sisters I never had.
They are now my only friends and I love Aunt Zelda; when I
am here, I feel safe and accepted. When Agnes wrote and
invited me to stay my parents were reluctant to allow it, even
though I pleaded to come. Father was concerned that for the
past two years I had no social contact with young people.
Eventually, he decided the advantages of coming outweighed
the risks and I’m so glad he did.”
As she spoke, I grew more and more appalled. Finally, she
finished and there were silent tears in her eyes. I raised myself
and kissed her, but even so, she still wouldn’t look up as more
tears coursed down her face. I kissed and wiped them away.
She cried some more and I kissed and wiped those away too. I
kissed the corners of her eyes, her nose, her forehead and her
cheeks. Words could not define the anguish I felt. No wonder
she had so much humility. Any self-importance she ever had
would have evaporated a long time ago. To have to admit what
she had just told me could only be another blow to her self-
esteem.
Crazy thoughts went around in my head. We could run
away and begin a new life. Then I calmed down. Her parents
wouldn’t be happy if we eloped, for that would tend to confirm
the rumours, wouldn’t it. She was lush, huh? My heart turned
as hard as stone. If I could get my hands around the throat of
whoever said that I would strangle them without remorse or
pity. I took a deep breath. The intensity of my feelings shocked
me – my anger and frustration as palpable as bile in my mouth.
Finally, her tears stopped. How many other times had she
cried like this? It was too awful to dwell upon.
“I love you Rachel.” I had a lump in my throat and my
voice was strangely hoarse. “I don’t give a hoot about your
reputation.” There it was. I admitted that I loved her.
She sniffed and a weak smile crept over her face. She
untangled her arms and wrapped them around my neck, pulling
me closer so she could cling to me. There was no doubt about
how she felt.
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“I love you too,” she whispered, in between sniffs.
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Chapter Eleven
PATEA, New Zealand. April 1899
On Monday, Rachel returned to Whanganui and we all went to
the train station to see her off. It was a teary farewell. She
hugged us and as the train pulled out she waved stoically from
her window. None of us were fooled; it was obvious she didn’t
want to go. Clouds were darkening the horizon to the west and
the wind seemed to be freshening. It was a fitting background
for the mood we were in.
For once, the women were silent as the gig recrossed the
bridge and climbed to the junction at the top of the hill. We
said our goodbyes when we dropped them off, then mother and
I headed home.
Initially, the silence continued. We both had things to
ponder. Mother sat ramrod straight against the backrest, staring
straight ahead while I leaned forward, one foot on the bulkhead
with the reins loose in my hands. Some of the issues were large
and we were both locked in thought.
Before this weekend I had imagined Rachel’s life as one
long social event, that she was doted on and admired by all – it
was with some shock that I now knew how wrong that
assumption had been; that despite the apparent austerity of my