Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction
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petticoats over her head and slid her drawers down her thighs.
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I got down on my knees and rolled down her stockings; first
one, and then the other. I kissed her and looked up to see if she
approved, and she gazed down with a wistful smile on her
face. She must have seen the longing in my eyes for she
stroked my hair and pulled me into her. I stood up and gazed
with admiration. She held her arms out from her sides and
slowly turned in a circle, so I could savour her from every
angle. As she did, she turned her head to look at me.
“Will I do?” she said in a little girl voice.
What could I say… she was Aphrodite, she was Venus. She
was Cleopatra, the most beautiful woman in the world….
I took off my clothes and draped them on the chair by the
bed. As I did, she opened her suitcase to remove a hairbrush,
and seating herself in front of the dresser, she studied her
reflection in the mirror. Without taking her eyes from her
image, she loosened her hair and allowed it to drop, then
picked up a handful and began to brush, slowly, in practiced,
even strokes. I climbed into bed and watched her – I think I
understood.
She was saying goodbye to a previous life. The very next
time she looked in this mirror she would no longer be a virgin.
She finished brushing and gathering up her hair, she tied it
behind her neck; then she stood, pushing back her chair. She
looked at her image one long, last time, then lifted the covers
and climbed in next to me – her arms and legs entwining with
mine, her brown eyes only an inch or two away. I couldn’t help
thinking how lovely she was.
Time seemed to suspend itself.
She smiled and lightly kissed my cheek, then closed her
eyes and leaned towards me; her mouth found mine and kissed
me passionately, vibrantly, challenging me, demanding that I
respond.
Later, I woke. I pulled my arm away from her still-sleeping
form and rolled on my back. I looked at her longingly. She was
a wonder. How she could make me feel like this was simply
incomprehensible. She continued sleeping, her breast rising
and falling, slowly, evenly. I had time. Soon I would wake her
and love her again.
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It was early evening and the sun was poised on the far
horizon, ready to take its final plunge at the end of another day.
For a few minutes more, its rays streamed through the
windows, brilliant, dazzling, lighting up our room in an
unnatural glow. I could see tiny specks of dust suspended,
slowly floating round and round, magnified by the intensity of
the light. It seemed so surreal, so other-worldly, its dazzling
brilliance creating a halo around each window. It was like a
divine presence; as if the angels were watching. It was just like
the light I saw when I was pinned under that horse. I
remembered thinking that the angels had come to take me. I
was wrong of course – they had come to save me.
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Author’s Note:
The ‘old days’ had old ways which are pretty well
incomprehensible to the youth of today and although I could
never cover it all adequately I have endeavoured to portray the
period as realistically as the parameters of this story would
allow me to. Victoriana was a period of complex social
etiquette, where keeping up appearances was the order of the
day and both males and females had to adhere to a strict moral
code if they were to avoid alienation by their peers.
The more historically orientated may realise that much of
the historical background in this story is fact – the original old
town bridge could swing around to allow ships through. The
Post Office clock tower, the steamboat Manuwai, the Tingey
wagon, the all–night Vigil on the stump and the chase from
Marist Brothers School, were all real too.
There actually was a suburban maternity home on the
corners of Churton, Guyton and Parnell streets in Whanganui,
which was converted into a boarding house for single
gentlemen. Warner’s was modelled on the DIC. The Central
Railway Station, the Town Wharf and the Model Dairy Co. in
Churton Street, were all there as well.
The backdrops in South Africa are also relevant – places
like Illwe, Rensburg; Burgersdorp; etc., were real enough,
although my descriptions of these places may not be entirely
accurate. The world’s largest hospital under canvas, the British
camp at Orange River Station; the siege of Paardeberg, de
Wet’s camp at Poplar Grove and de Kiel’s Drift; where the
British lost nearly two hundred fully laden wagons, are also
historical fact.
However, while the background and places referred to may
be real, there is nonetheless a time overlap in some cases. For
instance, some of the buildings that are mentioned in
Whanganui weren’t built until slightly after 1900. In typical
novel fashion they suited the story and although most have
now been demolished, they still have considerable nostalgia
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value for those who remember them. Therefore, they have
been integrated into this story…
G.M. Lawson
About the Author
Geoff Lawson was born in 1949 and was destined to lead a
varied life, leaving school at fifteen to work as a carpenter,
coachbuilder, kitchen installer etc. and in the process became a
general all-round handy guy, while his hobbies taught him
other skills – vintage car restoring, muzzle-loading hunting and
shooting plus a fascination for the historical. Along the way he
acquired the good wife, lovely daughters (grandchildren too)
and has walked through all the 101 things that mark the
passage of a life well-lived. His first foray into professional
writing began with his involvement in the restoration of New
Zealand’s only surviving steam paddle ship, which was
followed by the restoration of an iconic antique artillery gun;
which resulted in the book ‘Our Gun.’ Now retired and still
with Wendy, (the same good wife) he is still committed to
historical projects around the ‘River City.’ (Whanganui, New
Zealand)
*****
If you have enjoyed the book, please consider
posting a review on Amazon or social media to
help other readers to discover the author’s work.
Thank you. GGG
*****
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Document Outline
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
&nbs
p; Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Postscript: Two Months Later
Author’s Note:
About the Author