Golden Hope

by Johanna Nicholls

  • • •

  Dolores thanked Clytie her for the delicious food and made a show of sampling it before she went to work.

  ‘My regular client is driving from Bitternbird to take me to dinner before his Tarot reading. See how successful your mother has become?’

  ‘That’s no surprise to me. Whatever you do, you’re the best,’ Clytie said sincerely.

  She noticed the touch of rouge her mother had added to her pale complexion. The colour heightened the brightness of her eyes and picked up the hues in the multi-coloured shawl she called her Joseph’s Coat of Many Colours.

  ‘You look beautiful, Mama – as always.’

  Dolores cast a knowing sidelong glance. ‘Don’t let your Rom stay too long. You know how people love to talk. True or not.’ She paused at the door. ‘Thank you for not asking the obvious question. But no, I will not be drinking alcohol.’

  ‘I never doubted you, Mama.’

  The passing hours found Clytie growing restless, too distracted to read or sew. There was no music to calm her. Having fallen asleep on the old sofa, she was woken by the clock chiming midnight. She decided Rom had been detained another day and feeling decidedly let down, made up her bed in the corner. Too tired to draw the curtains she dismissed the Romani superstition that it was bad luck for moonlight to fall across a sleeping face . . . and fell asleep.

  The sound of her name and the sight of Rom’s moonlit figure climbing over the windowsill roused her to that state between waking and sleeping.

  ‘You thought I wasn’t coming, didn’t you? Silly girl, I gave you my word and here I am. Is your mother home?’

  She shook her head. Rom was already undressed and beside her in the cot bed. The heat from his body set her on fire.

  ‘I really need you tonight,’ he said urgently. ‘Are you ready and willing?’

  He didn’t wait for her answer but began without ceremony to take what he wanted, urging her on. Clytie sensed that tonight something was different – only half awake she wanted to participate more, but Rom didn’t seem to notice.

  His final exultant cry came from deep in his throat. He kissed the crown of her damp hair and covered her face with kisses. ‘Good, girl. Now I’ll let you sleep.’

  Clytie fell asleep in his arms, her nose buried in the warmth of his neck. She managed to murmur the words without thinking. ‘I’ll love you forever, Rom.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that!’

  • • •

  Dawn followed moonlight all too soon. Clytie awoke in an empty bed. Her mother’s door was closed.

  Having made herself a cup of tea, Clytie went outside to sit on the lawn and welcome the day. Shadow stood stiffly like a sentinel but when she called him, he crossed to her and bent his head. The letter was tucked inside his homemade collar. She opened it with trembling hands.

  My dear girl,

  I didn’t want words to spoil last night. You know me, I can’t bear a woman’s tears – I cave in like a house of cards. The thing is, I went to Trentham to buy a second-hand bridle, saddle and kit for Goldie. I managed to beat them down to a decent price.

  By the time you read this, I’ll be on my way to Melbourne to enlist as a volunteer in the V.M.R. I’m an ace shot and as healthy as a horse so they’d be crazy to reject me. But don’t worry, we only sign up for a year. The war will be over long before then. I’ll be back with you before you know it. Please understand this is my chance to make something of myself. I may not be hero material, but I can ride and shoot with the best of them. The Boers won’t know what hit them.

  I’ll earn a soldier’s pay, five bob a day, but it’s regular and I’ll send you money to pay for Long Sam’s work. I’ll keep my eye out for a diamond for you in Johannesburg.

  Remember, you promised to love me forever.

  Don’t worry. Only the good die young,

  I’m yours, Rom.

  P.S. I expect Goldie will travel to South Africa with me. They don’t allow dogs to enlist, not even Kelpies. So you’ll keep a sharp eye on Shadow for me, won’t you? Thanks. R.

  Despite the heat of the sun on her face, Clytie shivered as if the sun had also abandoned her.

  Rom has bolted and has the hide to make it sound as if he’s doing me a favour.

  Chapter 15

  Two months later the first letter with the Johannesburg stamp caused Clytie’s heart to beat in a crazy rhythm in tandem with the Salvation Army’s band as they marched down Main Street. Every Friday the band took up its stance outside the Diggers’ Rest and the sweet-faced girl in the dark uniform and bonnet trimmed with burgundy sang cheerful hymns set to modern melodies. Without asking for donations, her bucket was generously filled with coins by men passing in and out of the hotel’s bar.

  Clytie hugged Rom’s letter to her heart as she hurried to the seat beside the stone plinth that was the first stage of the planned statue for the town’s war memorial. Twyman and the ‘men of the cloth’ were still locked in debate about the actual design – a near life-sized figure of a digger, or a winged angel.

  She opened the letter with trembling fingers, trying not to tear the precious pages, the words tightly crammed on both sides of the paper.

  My dear girl,

  I’m beginning this on board the Southern Cross, sailing direct to Cape Town. It’s crammed with 460 officers and volunteers and some 500 horses – 501 because I managed to keep Goldie with me.

  Conditions on board are unprintable, rotten food, and we’re packed in like sardines in hammocks. The horses fare even worse – a dozen in our sleeping compartment with no partition so there’s scarcely enough room for me to ‘muck out’. In rough weather when the ship rolls the poor brutes (that’s horses, not us!) are in real danger.

  I’d love to get my hands on the xxxxxxx who planned all this – I reckon he’s never come face to face with a horse in his life.

  Clytie smiled over the word crossed out with seven x’s and continued.

  Doc would chuck a fit over the ‘hygiene’. Four urinals for the whole mob on board and we have to wash in the same buckets of water as our horses. Most of the blokes are flat on their backs on the deck sea-sick. Not me or Goldie.

  There are a dozen stowaways, some mere kids, some on the run from the traps. (No, Clytie, that is not why I volunteered.) The V.M.R. won’t have a bar of them but they reckon they’ll join some irregular corps in South Africa.

  Worst of all are the ‘wasters’, professional thieves who’d steal the food out of your mouth. They pinch your boots and socks if you hang them over your hammock. (Please tell the Hoffnung ladies to keep knitting those khaki socks!)

  Some days later: we’ve entered the Indian Ocean – finally left Australia behind. I chucked three poor brutes overboard (dead horses, not blokes).

  A school of whales were spouting water in a courting dance. Jesus, I wish I had a camera. Manual and firing drill is good fun. We fire at a target roped to the stern, so both target and shooter are in motion. Good practice for shooting while riding on horseback.

  Cape Town: Here at last after 30 days at sea. Some blokes down with typhoid. Goldie and me are in good shape. It’s amazing – khaki uniforms everywhere from all parts of the Empire as well as Scots in kilts and Indians in turbans. Passing the ritzy Royal Hotel I spotted so many officers sporting a monocle – you’d think half the British Army had rotten eyesight.

  Some wounded blokes from a Highland regiment invited us to their smoke concert – great blokes with a record for bravery to beat none. I had a squiz at the Artillery Howitzers arrived from England – the latest pattern for firing lyddite shells. We’re told they leave a yellow stain over everything as well as killing the enemy.

  Later: Bad news. Our Australian horses were taken – Goldie was commandeered by some Imperial officer. I copped a bay mare. She’ll do. But I’ll get Goldie back if it kills me.

  I was really pissed off (excuse language), but later we were chuffed by the reception the locals gave us Colonials marching to the railwa
y station to entrain our horses. The railway line was lined with people waving Union flags.

  The railway is the army’s key supply route guarded by camps of troops and pickets every 20 odd miles. Hills are bare of timber, little better than desert. Our volunteers are noisy larrikins compared with the British Tommies. But they’re trained soldiers – we’re only here to help out for a year.

  One thing really surprised me. The air is so clear you can see much further than in Australia. No haze – maybe because there are no forests. This may account for the legendary eyesight of Boer marksmen – they can shoot with amazing accuracy over long distances. I reckon I’ll soon find out the truth of that!

  Later: I copped my first sight of Boers on a train carrying hundreds of prisoners of war. A wild-looking bunch sporting long bushy beards and all sorts of dirty, discarded clothing. It’s funny but I had to remind myself they are the enemy – and given half a chance we’d kill each other. Young Boer lads look just like us – country battlers, untrained but as brave as they come.

  Later on outpost duty: we sleep in our uniforms. I’m lucky to get a wash three times a week. Lots of friendly lice to keep us company. Today had a welcome bathe in the Modder River. It’s rumoured that hundreds of Boers were found here after a battle with stones around their necks. (I bet you won’t read that in the newspapers.)

  4.30 am. Just given the order to move on. No breakfast, our horses unfed. Destination unknown. C’est la guerre.

  Have you written to me yet? Don’t let Shadow forget me. I’ll write again on my return to camp. Be a good girl, eh?

  Your man, Rom.

  Clytie sat rigid, clutching the letter. The pictures she imagined between the lines burned into her mind.

  So Rom hasn’t had a single letter from me in months. I must keep on writing. But what can I possibly say in my next letter?

  • • •

  It was the mirror that revealed the secret next morning. Suddenly transfixed by her reflection, Clytie had stared into the depths of her eyes and drawn back in shock at the craziness of the thought.

  I’m not alone anymore. I’m sharing my body with another soul.

  Now, waiting outside Doc’s surgery until all his patients had seen him, she faced the moment of truth.

  Doc Hundey drew her into his surgery. Although his face was lined with fatigue and his voice betrayed a throaty rasp, his eyes were twinkling. ‘Well, m’dear, if I were a doctor, I would say that you were an advertisement for healthy young womanhood. You are positively blooming.’

  Clytie returned his teasing smile, wrapped her mother’s Indian shawl around her and seated herself in the chair facing him.

  ‘I never felt healthier – except first thing in the morning. I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that I have not bled for several months.’ She added quickly, ‘I know I’m supposed to be frightened or ashamed. The truth is I am so happy I just don’t want to share my secret with anyone right now – not even Rom. Please tell me what I’m hoping is true.’

  ‘Let’s find out shall we?’

  His examination was gentle and thorough but she was suddenly nervous about the verdict.

  ‘Everything is going to plan, Clytie. You can expect to be delivered of your babe late in spring.’ He glanced out the window and turned back to her, his eyes serious. ‘But it is supremely important that you follow my advice to the letter. Have you noticed any changes in your mother’s behaviour lately?’

  Clytie was thrown by the question. ‘My mother? She doesn’t know!’

  ‘She suspected before you did, Clytie. That’s why I hope she’s been following a strict set of rules I gave her. Were you not aware of them?’

  Clytie felt chilled, forced to confront the telltale signs she wanted to avoid.

  ‘Mother’s hardly ever home. When she is she sleeps a lot. It’s odd – we’re very close but now she never kisses me – says she doesn’t want me to catch her cough. She’s become very finicky. Prefers to eat alone and uses separate crockery. On the rare times we’re together she sits out of doors, saying she only needs fresh air to regain her strength.’

  Doc Hundey nodded and waited for her to continue.

  Clytie felt a sudden rush of guilt. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been so involved in my own life, my letters to Rom and the newspaper accounts, both good and bad, about how the war is going. I’ve never really questioned her. It did strike me as odd Mama never seemed to wash her handkerchiefs – she keeps buying new ones.’

  She shuddered at images of The Lady of the Camellias. Were all her mother’s handkerchiefs spotted with blood?

  ‘Doc, please tell me it’s not tuberculosis.’

  ‘I wish I could say otherwise, my dear.’

  Clytie felt a stab of pain as if her whole body was crying inside her, but no tears came. ‘What a fool I am. The truth was right under my nose – I refused to see it.’

  ‘Mothers’ and daughters’ secrets. It’s time they were shared, Clytie. Don’t put things off. Use the time wisely.’

  She felt the courage to blurt out the question. ‘You mean time is running out?’

  ‘Your mother will tell you herself. But just so you understand the background of the disease. Consumption or pulmonary tuberculosis at an advanced stage is not something that can be readily cured. As yet there are no real sanatoriums in Australia. Wealthy patients travel to Switzerland – their last hope of recovery. Even if she had the money for treatment there your mother would never go. She told me her sole goal is to see you safely delivered of your babe.’

  ‘You mean she’s happy about it?’

  ‘Ecstatic,’ he smiled. ‘You’d think she was the world’s first grandmother. But I don’t need to tell you how headstrong she is. Despite my instructions that she must rest, she’s determined to earn enough money to tide you over – until Rom’s return.’

  Clytie’s mouth and eyes were dry. ‘Why can’t I cry, Doctor?’

  ‘Shock, my dear. I’ll do my best to persuade her to cease all work. Plenty of rest, good food and fresh air will help to build up her resistance to the disease – and buy time for her.’

  Clytie stumbled to the door, hearing his final gentle words as if they were filtered from a far distance.

  ‘The greatest gift you can give your mother is your joy in her coming grandchild.’

  Shadow was waiting outside the hotel to escort her home.

  ‘I’ll bet you’ve known about the babe all along,’ she said, and from his serious expression she knew she had an ally. ‘Rom certainly knew what he was doing when he left you in my care. Because the truth is, it’s the other way around – you’re taking care of me.’

  • • •

  Dolores sat on a rug in the kitchen garden watching the play of golden, orange and purple streaks of sunset staining the sky. Her expression was like that of a small child discovering something beautiful for the first time.

  Clytie forced herself to assume her brightest smile. ‘What a good idea, Mama. A picnic at sunset. I’ll make it for us right away.’

  ‘No! Sit down and talk to me, child. We can eat later. Time is precious. I know you’re worried about Rom.’ She tapped her temple. ‘But I feel sure he will be true to you – and return from the war. I only wish I could be sure that you will always have someone special to love, to hang on to.’

  ‘What are you saying, Mama?’

  ‘There’s an old saying: When an old life leaves this world, a new life enters it soon after. No one lives forever. I could die happy if I knew you had a child to live for – like I did. You were my guiding light, Clytie.’

  Mothers’ and daughters’ secrets – time to share, Doc said.

  ‘There is a baby on the way, Mama. I didn’t want to tell you – because I let you down.’

  ‘Let me down? Silly child! Now I can rest in peace.’

  ‘Don’t even think like that. Doc’s going to get you well again. We’ll watch the baby grow together. Rom’s coming back to marry me. He promised.’


  ‘He’d better! I told him if he doesn’t I’ll come back and haunt him.’

  Dolores’s face was flushed with happiness. She was suddenly transformed into the carefree young mother Clytie remembered as a child.

  ‘I’ll start making a patchwork quilt straight away, like I made for you.’

  ‘Lovely. But you mustn’t tire yourself. Right now I must take care of you. You must eat.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Just bring us some cheese and bread – and the wine I’ve been saving to celebrate good news. Don’t look so shocked. It’s just this once. What better news than this? I’m going to be a grandmother! God bless The Creator of All Things.’

  Clytie wrapped her mother in blankets and shawls. Dolores, drunk on happiness that was helped a little by the wine, was determined to milk every moment of the beauty of the evening that covered them in an endless canopy of stars set in black velvet.

  ‘No wine for you, my girl. My grandchild doesn’t drink alcohol!’

  Her laughter was so infectious Clytie found it difficult to remember the serious problems that lay ahead. She gave herself up to the light, joyous mood that Dolores was determined to create for them.

  ‘Tell me one of your wonderful circus legends, Mama. I’ve never heard the same story twice.’

  ‘That’s because I have five generations of circus life to draw from. Do you miss our old life, Clytie? You know you can always return to it later if –’

  ‘Rom will return, Mama. But yes, I do miss our “family” – Pedro, Tiche, Ruby, Zaza, my schoolmates and all. The circus is in my blood but right now I’m content to explore other things. There’s something magical about this place, Mama. I just want to put roots down here and take stock of the past – and my past . . .’ she added pointedly.

  Dolores eyed her shrewdly. ‘All right, spit it out.’

  ‘Mama, you promised to tell me who my father was when I was old enough. I’ll soon be a mother myself. Isn’t that old enough?’

  Dolores gave a short laugh. ‘I can hardly argue with that.’