Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

by Geoff Lawson

  wood smoke as it curled lazily upwards. Once more, I would

  like to see the sun rise over wild country and savour the beauty

  of it; to hear the call of the morepork as I drifted off to sleep.

  To expand my social life I joined the Whanganui

  Volunteer Rifles, one of two local troops of the national

  volunteer movement. We would parade one Saturday each

  month at the Army drill hall and each year there would be a

  week-long camp. This brought back memories of my cadet

  days at school, which had culminated in my winning of the

  South Taranaki Schools Championship in my last year.

  Of course, the bulk of our shooting was prone. Rifle

  supported on the elbows, body at the correct angle with legs

  apart, align sights on target; breathe in and expel, adjust sight

  picture, hold and squeeze trigger. It sounds complicated but it

  was actually pretty easy. Our rifles were the Martini Enfield; a

  single shot that was derived from the earlier Martini Henry.

  They were self-cocking and ejecting, making them the fastest

  of all single shot rifles to reload.

  Our undress uniforms were worn on special occasions and

  were a dark navy blue with red cuffs on the jackets, a red stripe

  down the outside of the trouser legs and a pill box cap angled

  on our heads. Normally though, we wore the usual buff

  coloured, daywear uniform of the New Zealand Defence

  Forces.

  The Volunteer Rifles afforded me some leisure time in an

  all-male environment and gave me something else to do

  besides working and courting, both of which were inclined to

  monopolise my time.

  There were no war clouds brewing in the colonies, but

  there was considerable debate going on about the political war

  of words occurring in South Africa. That old fox Kruger had

  stirred up a hornet’s nest over those Uitlanders and some were

  predicting more trouble yet. Others said that the British

  government had stalled over that business in ’81 and had

  created a blot on the name of the Empire. Of course, I knew

  nothing about any of that for the business of the present

  absorbed all of my energies.

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  That all changed when we paraded in June. A vital

  conference with Kruger had failed and in response, Britain was

  mobilising troops to send to Natal. War in South Africa was

  now a possibility and our government wanted a contingent to

  be speedily formed. We clustered around the notice board and

  there was no shortage of discussion about the probable

  outcome. At least half of us were keen to go and I was one, so

  over the next two weeks I thought about it long and hard.

  This was an unprecedented opportunity for adventure and

  I wanted it. Marriage would condemn me to a life of providing

  and I would never be younger than I was right now. The only

  problem was Rachel; there was no way she was going to be

  happy about it. Her unconsummated love could well be the

  reason for her haste to marry and I understood how she felt. In

  my case though, being able to fulfill her physical needs would

  be an honour only God himself could sanction and therefore, I

  could wait. Meanwhile, man has other needs besides that of

  woman and I signed the necessary forms.

  When I finally decided to tell her, Rachel and I were

  alone. At first, she seemed to be confused.

  “I don’t understand, don’t you want us to be engaged?”

  Her face was a study of concern.

  “Of course I do, and this is a chance to prove our

  commitment to each other. If we are still dead keen to marry

  after being apart for a year, your father cannot claim that we

  lack commitment in our relationship. Further, once I return, we

  can insist that we be engaged straight away and married as

  soon as possible. My service to the country and the Empire

  will give us the right to expect that. Otherwise, I’ll have no

  right to expect anything and this impasse could drag on for two

  more years.”

  She fixed me with her penetrating gaze and I could see

  that she wasn’t convinced. Suddenly, she leaped to her feet.

  “Damn you Richard! The whole point of war is that people

  die. Do you know why? I’ll tell you! It’s because you are so

  damn chivalrous, so full of honour and so damned convinced

  of your own invincibility that sooner or later it will get you

  killed!”

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  I was completely taken by surprise. I had never heard her

  swear before and I was at a loss to know how to respond. The

  irony of it was that the very qualities she admired me for were

  the qualities she now condemned. Her eyes welled up, she

  burst into tears and ran from the room. Seconds later her

  bedroom door slammed, leaving me sitting in the parlour with

  my mouth wide open.

  Emily Ellen’s concerned face then appeared before

  disappearing in the direction of Rachel’s bedroom.

  “Rachel! What’s wrong?” The door must have opened for

  I could hear sobs from within before the door closed again. I

  would have sat there for at least half an hour, nervous and

  wringing my hands, until Emily Ellen reappeared with that

  vexed look still on her face.

  “I’m sorry, Richard. Rachel is inconsolable. You may as

  well go home and come back tomorrow. By then she should

  have calmed herself.”

  Rising, I walked back to my room and sat on my bed. I

  hadn’t expected this. Countless thoughts rolled around in my

  head before I recalled one of mother’s warnings – if Rachel

  ever had cause to believe I had abandoned her, I would reap a

  whirlwind. Was that what I was experiencing now? It certainly

  appeared that way. I was so churned up that I eventually fell

  asleep with my clothes on.

  The following evening I returned to the Purdue house and

  Emily Ellen opened the door.

  “I’m terribly sorry Richard, but Rachel doesn’t want to see

  you.”

  I was rocked. For a minute I just stared, too stunned to

  reply. She gave me a pitying look and stepped forward,

  hugging me unexpectedly in a compassionate motherly way.

  “I don’t blame you for wanting to go to Africa. I

  understand why young men want to fight. There is no better

  way to prove your worthiness and gain the respect of the older

  generation. But understand that Rachel loves you and is afraid

  of losing you. I believe we have made a mistake in making you

  wait to be engaged, for had you been engaged now I doubt that

  you would have felt the need to do this. For that, I am truly

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  sorry.” She touched my arm in a gesture of regret. I had no

  idea how to respond.

  I said ‘good night’ and walked home. Later, I had no recall

  of doing that.

  Back in my room, I got angry. I brooded. I decided I

  would return to Patea at the end of the week. I may as well

  spend the last two weeks with my family before going to camp

  and in the intervening days, I hoped that I would receive a

  conciliat
ory note from Rachel. Something that would indicate

  that she might like to talk.

  None came. I was gutted.

  Emily Ellen stood on the top step; her arms rigidly folded,

  and watched Richard’s dejected form slowly disappear. She

  shook her head and turned towards the door, then with

  measured step retraced her way down the hall to the kitchen.

  Rachel was stirring cake mix when she became aware of her

  mother’s approach.

  Emily Ellen pointedly glared at her.

  “That’s the last time I do that for you! You should have

  seen his face when I told him you wouldn’t see him. I was a

  fool. I should have dragged you out there and made you look

  him squarely in the eye so you would see just how smart you

  are not, Miss Full-of-yourself. If you really love him, you

  would run after him right now and tell him you forgive him, so

  why in God’s name won’t you do it – just tell me that!”

  Rachel dipped her head; she stirred the cake mix with

  increasing intensity.

  “What’s the matter darling, cat got your tongue?”

  Rachel’s head rose suddenly and her stony expression

  increased tenfold as she continued to stir the cake mix at

  speed.

  “Give me that spoon! Talk to me!” Emily grabbed the

  spoon, but Rachel wouldn’t let go. They tugged and pulled as

  cake mix blobbed on the bench. Rachel tightened her grip until

  Emily had to give up.

  “Well! Just look at yourself! What a dismal, sorry ass you

  are. You have a lot to learn about relationships my dear –

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  you’re the guilty one and if your conscience bothers you, then

  it serves you right.”

  “Oh for goodness sake! Will you stop nagging? Why must

  you forever harp on and on?”

  “Oh! Do I harp? That’s because I’m trying to talk sense to

  a dumb, unresponsive lump of wood. You are stubborn and

  ridiculous. Stubborn! Stubborn! Stubborn!

  “So I’m dumb and stubborn? Well, that’s just wonderful!

  Where is your sympathy? Where is the support you are

  supposed to give me when I’m in need?”

  “Don’t blame me for this. All day, I‘ve had to watch you

  drag your sorry self around and look at your woeful face; your

  sniffling nose and teary eyes – all ‘oh pity me’ and ‘oh…look

  how wretched I am’ ad nauseum, blah, blah.” She rolled her

  eyes.

  Rachel did a pout that would have stopped an avalanche.

  “Oh! So I’m the naughty one! Just what do I have to do to

  get some sympathy here? Slash my wrists? Cut my throat?

  Why are you so horrible?”

  “If you weren’t feeling sorry for yourself, you would

  know why. Don’t you see that he’s as much a victim as you?

  After all, I seem to recall it was you who told me that he did

  this to speed up your marriage, which I would like to point out

  is precisely what you wanted. We certainly couldn’t show

  some old-fashioned forgiveness and understanding here, could

  we? Lord heavens no.”

  “Forgiveness! God forbid.” Rachel flung the spoon on the

  bench, leaving a trail of cake batter across the window while

  her wrist struck the rim of the bowl. The bowl wobbled. She

  lunged to grab it, but too late. It spun in a flash and flipped,

  trailing cake mix as it dropped on the floor, and star-shaped

  spatter radiated outwards from what was left of the crumpled

  mess.

  Silence. Emily put her hands on her hips.

  “Well now! Look what your stupidity has come to!”

  Rachel screamed in frustration, then ran from the room.

  Seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.

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  “What was that?” Alistair appeared, concern on his face.

  Emily Ellen donned an apron and bent down to begin scraping

  up the mess.

  “It’s your foolish daughter. Why don’t you stop standing

  about gaping and go and talk some sense to her?”

  “I’ve already tried that. It doesn’t appear to have done

  much good though, does it?”

  Emily Ellen stopped wiping and sat back on her haunches.

  “This is your fault! If you had allowed them to get engaged

  when they wanted to, none of this would have happened,

  would it?”

  “Oh, so now the lad’s in the clear and I’m the big ogre?

  How was I supposed to know a rush of blood would consume

  the love of her life; better still, since when have I become a

  fortune teller and a mind reader?”

  Emily Ellen rolled her eyes. “Don’t you wriggle out of it. I

  told you that you were wrong. Did you listen? Hell no, of

  course not!” She tossed her arms in the air. “Your wife

  couldn’t possibly be right about this, could she? Let them wait

  two years or maybe three; or why not four, just for good

  measure. Do them good, will it? Well now look what good has

  come of it! This is one big, stinking mess and your indifference

  to their needs is a prime cause of it.”

  Alistair threw up his hands and turned to leave.

  “Don’t rush off, I’m not finished! Any fool can see that

  Richard is the right one, but that’s not enough for you though,

  is it? Oh goodness no, we can’t have that for your daughter. A

  peasant in the family would never do. Do you think this

  enlistment thing is all his fault? Well, Mr. High-and-mighty,

  have you considered the possibility that you make Richard feel

  inadequate – that this is about proving that he is worthy

  enough to be your daughter’s husband?”

  Alistair’s eyes narrowed. He made to reply, but was cut off

  before he could start.

  “You didn’t think of that, did you, smart alec? Blame it all

  on the lad shall we – after all, who cares what he thinks – no

  need to take him seriously – he is, after all, only your

  daughter’s plaything!”

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  Alistair gave Emily a hard look, then spun around and

  tromped outside. He stood, glaring into the night until he

  calmed sufficiently to refill his pipe. His ears had stopped

  burning but he could still hear Emily Ellen stomping about in

  the kitchen, banging cupboard doors. He took a match and

  poked it around in the bowl of his pipe before he tipped the

  residue out and packed it with fresh tobacco.

  It went quiet – he peered through the window. Emily Ellen

  was briskly swiping a mop back and forth with excessive

  vigour. It was abundantly clear that Rachel’s love life had

  everyone in turmoil. He struck the match and drew on the pipe.

  Actually, it was always like that. When she was little and

  happy, everyone else was happy. When she was sad, everyone

  else felt miserable too. She had that effect on people. Now she

  was sad and angry, which was already proving to be

  interesting.

  With his pipe alight, he studied the far horizon. The night

  was unusually calm and still. A bright full moon had begun to

  rise, while rows of feather-like outer cirrus streaked the sky.

  The soft, pale light of the moon illuminated the unusual

 
patterns among the clouds, giving an extraordinarily peaceful,

  otherworldly look to it all. Alistair couldn’t help thinking how

  that was in direct contrast to his household at present.

  He also realised that Emily Ellen was right about the rest

  of it. He hadn’t considered these things, hadn’t made the

  connection. He of all people should have known how Richard

  felt for once he’d been just like him – he had wanted exactly

  the same things for the very same reasons.

  It had been easy to ignore. Richard would breeze in and

  out and it had been easy not to realise that he didn’t have a real

  home. When he returned to his room, there was no fire in the

  hearth, no one to cheer him. It was hardly surprising that after

  a day of labour, he would want to go home to a woman’s arms,

  food on the table and children to tickle and swing on his knee –

  the need for a wife and a life; the same need that had driven

  humanity since Adam and Eve.

  Richard was certainly attentive to Rachel and Emily Ellen.

  He exuded a quiet, good-natured charm and was astute in his

  own unpretentious way. Willing and helpful, it hadn’t taken

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  long for Emily to realise that he could deal with sticking

  cupboards, fix doors that rattled on windy days and had even

  replaced a window with the ease of a tradesman. His own sons

  couldn’t do that. Richard was sincere and engaging; he had

  proved he was capable; he would be a good addition to any

  family.

  His only fault was his job. He could have done better than

  groom a horse and stack glass. Alistair realised that he could

  have helped with that, but hadn’t. It was also likely that

  Richard had volunteered to prove something to Alistair. It was

  also understandable that he would have done it to bring their

  marriage closer, given Alistair’s intractable stance on the

  matter. He felt a sinking sense of culpability – a twinge of

  guilt. What if Richard didn’t come back? Whose fault would

  that be? He could see that he may not be comfortable with the

  answer to that. Emily had been right – it was a stinking mess.

  He was also aware that he might not get to see Richard before

  he left, and it might already be too late to try and square things

  up.

  On Friday morning, I began the rather long walk to

  Aramoho Railway Station with a suitcase in each hand. On the

  way, I detoured past the Purdue house to drop a note to Rachel.

  I walked up the familiar path with some trepidation, for this