Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

by Geoff Lawson

  own humble, day to day existence, I had actually been far

  happier than she had. It was difficult to fathom how that could

  be.

  After a while, mother cleared the air.

  “You know, it’s a good thing you going to Whanganui. It’s

  time you branched out on your own; found your own niche in

  life.”

  “I know, I’ve been thinking the same for some time.”

  “Rachel’s a nice girl. You are lucky.”

  “I’m glad you think that. It’s important to me that you two

  get along.” There was another pause. After a few minutes,

  Mother cleared her throat again.

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  “I’m going to miss you. I know you will do well. You

  always have.”

  “Thanks Ma.” Another silence.

  “A word of warning – don’t fight with her. It won’t do you

  any good. She has suffered a great deal of humiliation and

  consequently, she is likely to be excessively sensitive about

  certain things. Your loyalty will have immense significance to

  her. You are her bastion of hope, her Richard the Lion Heart.

  She looks to you to give her the sense of belonging she needs.

  If she gets the idea in her head that you have abandoned her in

  any way, she will react badly. You will be in more trouble than

  you have ever been in your life.”

  I looked at Mother in surprise. “For goodness sake, you

  make her sound formidable!”

  “That’s because there is more to her than her appearance

  might suggest. She is intelligent without doubt and has almost

  certainly had a far better education than you have, so don’t

  make the mistake of underestimating her capacity to work

  things out. I have seen the way she looks at you. You will be

  wise to keep her that way. If you distress her, you will reap a

  whirlwind.”

  Silence reigned. The horse plodded on. It would seem there

  were more hidden perils in relationships than I realised.

  “Promise me you will not sleep with her.”

  I blinked. “What? No Mother, I wouldn’t, honestly!”

  “I think you mean that, but I don’t think you understand

  how close to the cliff you are. I think Rachel might spread her

  legs if you asked her to, which is precisely why you must not.

  Understand?”

  I was shocked. I had never heard my mother talk like this.

  It seemed my love life had brought out a dimension of her that

  I never knew existed. She touched my arm. I turned my head

  to look at her and she glared straight back.

  “Promise me you will not sleep with her. Promise me! Say

  it!”

  “Yes, yes, I promise!” I looked away. There was an

  awkward silence.

  “Understand son, that out here nobody cares if you get

  some poncy town girl up the duff. But her family will be

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  extremely conscious of their standing in the community. They

  will have already suffered enough humiliation, which

  incidentally, was not due to any fault on their part, and if she

  became pregnant while unmarried, they would suffer

  significantly worse. They would probably insist that you marry

  her for the sake of the child and they would never want to see

  the two of you again. Do you want that? Is that the way to get

  the girl you say you love? If you did that, you would not

  deserve to have her!”

  I didn’t answer. I brooded. Things were getting messier by

  the minute. Why was anything to do with women so damn

  complicated? Still, I understood where she was coming from.

  Mother was right.

  That was something else I hadn’t thought about. What if

  Rachel did become pregnant? I would endure the wrath of her

  family and mine. I would marry her anyway and take her to

  Northland, or better still, Nelson in the South Island. It was

  only one day’s sail away with a good wind to a place where no

  one would know us. I would do everything possible to

  compensate her for the loss of her family, although it would be

  unlikely that I adequately could. I’d try though, I was too mad

  about her to do anything else.

  The train slowly gathered speed and Rachel fell back in her

  seat. For a while, she stared absently out of her window, but

  her mind was so crowded with incoherent thoughts that she

  never noticed the scenery that slipped past. She couldn’t

  believe what she had done once the chain of events had started;

  she had astounded herself just how spontaneous her reaction

  had been.

  When she’d arrived here she was Miss Sophisticate Elite,

  the society belle who understood the need to keep sensitive

  things secret and never before had she put a foot wrong. She

  never consciously intended to tell Richard that she loved him,

  at least not quite like that and she never had the remotest

  intention of telling anyone that she was the object of scandal

  either. Without blinking or even thinking, she had blurted it all

  out; shamelessly bared to the core her wretched innermost

  feelings and afterwards, the sheer intensity of the relief she felt

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  had surprised and shocked her every bit as much as the rest of

  it had shocked the Wilsons.

  She was now on her way back to the real world and was far

  from happy to be going. In spite of everything though, the last

  few days had turned out surprisingly well. After her

  confession, Richard’s family had virtually closed ranks around

  her, adopting her as one of their own. Agnes and Emma had

  hugged her and there were tears in their eyes. In doing so, a

  huge anxiety had lifted from her shoulders and she felt so

  accepted that she would have preferred to stay in Patea

  indefinitely.

  There were compensations for having to return to

  Whanganui though. Incredibly, Richard was coming. She

  could hardly believe it; she was elated by the knowledge that

  soon he would never be far away. How would they

  communicate? He could leave messages for her at the law

  office until she could announce him formally at home. That

  would create a stir, as the staff at the law office would be agog

  if Richard turned up and asked for her. She beamed, but then

  her smile gradually faded. She knew that once she returned

  home, there would be new problems to overcome.

  She understood that the biggest problem of all was Richard

  himself. He was not from the wrong side of the tracks, but he

  wasn’t from the right side either. He neither owned a house nor

  a business; nor did he have a brick of gold in the bank.

  Frankly, she didn’t care about any of that, but Father would

  have a different view, a very, very, different view.

  After arriving at Aramoho station she alighted and claimed

  her luggage. A porter carted her suitcases to the opposite side

  where she settled in to wait. She realised now that Richard had

  totally altered her perception of herself and the world around

  her. She no longer felt like a victim in an unforgiving world.

  She also realised that the rumours no longer mattered. She had

&
nbsp; a goal and a direction in her life that even a few short days ago

  would have been unimaginable.

  The suburban rolled and rattled into the station where it

  stopped with a shudder and a screech of brakes. Her luggage

  was loaded aboard and she found a seat. If her parents would

  not reconcile Richard as part of her life then damn them, the

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  two of them would elope! She would not be denied. She had

  already decided that if they were foolish enough to force her to

  choose between Richard and them, Richard would win hands

  down. Failure was not an option.

  At Central Station, her father was on hand to greet her and

  assisted her with her luggage.

  “Good day Father,” she said cheerfully and hugged him.

  “My, you look happy,” he replied, looking her up and

  down. “Evidently a few days in the country agrees with you

  m’dear. I haven’t seen you in a mood like this for ages.”

  “Oh, yes indeed,” she chirped, but offered no further

  explanation.

  Once they reached home, her father helped her bring in the

  luggage, then returned to Warner’s. She crossed the threshold

  and hugged her mother, who had also noticed something

  different about Rachel, although she couldn’t pick what it was.

  Rachel was brighter, that much was certain, but not in a

  frivolous way. She seemed to exude a calmness and maturity

  that Emily Ellen had never noticed before.

  Once Rachel had unpacked, she put the kettle on and sat

  down with her.

  “I have something to tell you,” Rachel began. “I have met a

  very special man.”

  Emily Ellen was taken by surprise. “Really, did you meet

  this man in Patea?”

  For the last two years, Rachel had been avidly avoiding

  everyone and men in particular.

  “Yes, I did indeed,” came the response.

  Emily Ellen hesitated, trying to fathom the expression on

  Rachel’s face. “Does this man intend to court you?”

  “Oh yes, he certainly does.”

  “How does he intend to do that then, if he lives in Patea?”

  “He’s moving to Whanganui and he will be here very

  soon.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that a man who has only just met

  you is going to move here to be closer to you?”

  “Yes,” replied Rachel, grinning from ear to ear and

  nodding.

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  Emily Ellen went silent; she had heard of stranger things,

  but this was still unusual.

  “I had met him previously,” said Rachel matter-of-factly,

  smiling at the thought. It was not exactly untrue either, but it

  did sound better than it actually was. She could hardly admit

  that the first occasion she had hit him with a brolly and the

  second time she had purposely avoided him.

  “So, how old is this man of yours?”

  “I never asked, but I’d guess that he’s about twenty-four.”

  Again, Emily Ellen was silent. It was evident that she

  considered twenty-four to be rather young to be seriously

  considered as a suitor. Obviously, older men were potentially

  better providers. “What does he do for a living?”

  “He works on the family farm near Patea,” replied Rachel,

  dreading the reaction.

  Emily Ellen studied her hands. It was also evident that a

  farm labourer was a bit on the low side socially, however his

  family obviously owned some land and that at least was

  something to be thankful for.

  “Look, Mother,” Rachel said tersely. “I know what you are

  thinking and it isn’t that bad. Richard is a decent man who

  comes from a good family. They are hardworking, God-fearing

  people and when you meet him you will like him.”

  Emily Ellen blinked and looked at her daughter. Rachel’s

  tone made it plain that she was prepared to spring to his

  defence, which was in direct contrast to all the others that had

  come here. This man, whoever he was, had obviously made an

  impression on her.

  “Very well dear, we will leave it at that, shall we? I don’t

  think Father needs to know about this just yet, so it will be our

  little secret.” To Emily Ellen’s surprise, Rachel threw her arms

  around her and hugged her.

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  Chapter Twelve

  RENSBURG, Cape Colony. South Africa

  Two weeks later, we were ordered to march to Rensburg and

  report to a divisional HQ which had been recently established

  there. Rensburg was a remote small town of mostly stone or

  adobe mud-brick buildings, the bulk of which were adorned

  with grit-like dust and radiated an air of neglect. Only the

  railway station appeared to have been swept or painted with

  any regularity.

  We rode at a walk down the broad main street in no

  particular order, unmindful that we didn’t look particularly

  military. We had just come thirty miles after two months of

  constant hard campaigning so we were too damn weary to care

  whether we were in column of twos or not. We drew level with

  a double storeyed hotel that had verandahs running around it

  on both floors, from which a flagpole leaned outwards and a

  Union Jack hung listlessly from the pole head.

  Below that sprawled a large sign with the word ‘Royal,’

  painted in big, red letters and on the verandah above it a

  young, blonde-haired woman watched solemnly as we trooped

  wearily by. She was attractive and wore an ornately

  embroidered lace-trimmed blouse, the like of which none of us

  had ever seen before. As we trooped on past, the drab reality of

  these surroundings made her seem like a vision of the Virgin in

  a place of devastation.

  The woman studied us with an expression that mingled

  curiosity with apprehension and as our eyes met, I gave her a

  nod and a wink. Instantly, I realised I had made a mistake, for

  the corners of her mouth dropped and she glared back with a

  look of distaste.

  None of us had washed in weeks and we lived in our soiled

  clothes. We were gaunt from rough living and weary from

  over-work; silent, unshaven and unsmiling, we seemed to

  invoke a muted, almost negative reaction from those who

  looked on. We were crisscrossed with ammunition bandoliers

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  like Latin American bandits and there was little in our

  appearance to suggest that we had anything in common with

  her majesty’s colonial forces.

  We stared at her, unrepentant. She was beautiful and

  represented all that was noble and civilized, while we were the

  horsemen of the apocalypse and unloved. As we continued

  along, there were other people standing under shop fronts who

  also watched. None cheered, although some did wave and all

  looked on solemnly, as if unsure whether we had come to fight

  for them or had come to raid and pillage instead.

  Opposite the railway station was a broad expanse of flat

  land and a large military camp, with row upon row of buff

  coloured, bell tents, with temporary corrals for horses and

  mules. A large array of transport w
agons was parked around

  the perimeter, nose to tail and side by side, in addition to some

  that sat in an adjacent park.

  When we reached the camp there was another reaction

  similar to that of the town. As we rode in, groups of British

  soldiers appeared and stood watching, while comments passed

  back and forth. We were getting used to such attention; we

  were the men from Maoriland and our reputation as an elite

  fighting force was growing.

  In the field we were unmilitary in bearing, due to the

  irregular work we did. It was normal to be out on

  reconnaissance for days on end; living rough and sleeping

  among the rocks. We could be employed scouting ahead of a

  battalion, or acting as flank guards when escorting troop

  columns or wagons. We would be on the horizon, shadowing

  the column from dawn to dusk, far from field kitchens or other

  comforts. We mainly lived on army biscuit which was as hard

  as plaster, or anything else we could beg, borrow or steal;

  earning a reputation for being the worst thieves of the colonies.

  To the bewilderment of the English, we accomplished our

  tasks with consummate ease and they viewed us as a strange

  new breed of antipodean horse warriors. The ‘Tommies’ liked

  our sense of humour and would generously share their rations

  with us, for more often than not we were usually starved and

  lacked any rations of our own.

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  In contrast, their officers reviled us. To them, we were the

  most unsoldierly and ill-disciplined rogues who ever had the

  distinction of serving the Queen. We found them equally

  distasteful, even appalling, for they were rampant

  disciplinarians and demanded absolute obedience. Our

  response to their pointless and demeaning orders was to find

  devious means to circumvent them and in turn, they resented

  our wilful and skilfully applied independence.

  We functioned best when far from those in command – we

  were able to do our job the way experience had shown was

  best and we were free from the nit-picking trivia that was

  typical of the middle chain of command. Wherever we went

  the English and colonials alike were usually baffled as to what

  to make of us, all of which served to enhance our mystique and

  our burgeoning reputation.

  After arrival we were paraded, where we were addressed

  by Major Matlock. We were told that tents had already been set