Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  “There you go again,” Amy gently chided. “Worrying when there’s no need. She must have a name.”

  “What’s wrong with her!”

  “Nothing. My dear, you simply must not over-excite yourself. It’s good for neither of you. You’ve fed her. You’ve seen her. She’s beautiful The name …?” Amy left the question hanging in the perfumed room.

  A name. The tiny infant she’d held was hers, hers and Rick’s.

  “You’re thinking about Rick,” Amy was blunt. “It’s inevitable, I know. But you must stop. Immediately.”

  She couldn’t.

  “My darling Rick would want you to think about the baby.”

  She turned her face to the wall.

  “Don’t turn away, dear. This has to be faced. It’s up to you and me. Jake’s Jake. He’ll be a good father, and a good husband. He’ll be an excellent provider. He is not Rick, and he never will be. Grow up, Gail. You entered into a contract. Make the best of it.”

  They were asking too much.

  “The name,” Amy pressed. “It has to be settled before Jake gets here.”

  She turned back to face her mother-in-law. “What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

  “Of course, had the child been a boy, we all would have been happy to name him Richard. There’d have been no conflict, and no hint of impropriety about that. But she’s not, and she’s not going to be called Phoebe either.”

  Phoebe!

  “You hadn’t even thought that through, had you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Richard was very fond of his sister. It would have seemed appropriate, once you’d thought it through.”

  “I hadn’t. It never occurred to me. I was thinking of my mother’s name.”

  “Carol Campbell? Surely not. Alliteration in a name sounds a little silly. Don’t you think?”

  “Then Phoebe does sound like a good idea.”

  “Which is precisely why we’re having this conversation. There must be absolutely no hint, none at all, that Richard’s preferences hold sway. Anyone intimate with the family would wonder why Phoebe.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t know of the rift between them?”

  “Between who?”

  “Between Jake and Phoebe. You didn’t know? Richard always did keep his own counsel. I merely thought that in your case he might have confided.”

  “Confided what?”

  “Nothing really,” Amy prevaricated. “It’s a sister-brother thing. It’s not uncommon. Boys are favoured, carrying on the family name – that kind of thing. It’s very ancestral, an inherited trait I imagine. The girls quite rightly feel resentful. But then, of course, you have no brothers.”

  “But Phoebe loved …”

  “Richard? As did we all …”

  She closed her eyes.

  “I suggest Jessica,” Amy advised. “It’s an ancestral thing too. Jessica Campbell fashioned this gown. Under the circumstances, the name would be quite appropriate, don’t you think? Jessica Carol. How does that sound to you? Fine. I’ll tell Jake you’re adamant.”

  “But I’m …”

  “Good girl.” Amy kissed her brow, collected parcel and handbag, and exited the hospital bedroom.

  The bargain held firm. Jake calmly accepted the baby’s name. A full-time live-in nurse was employed, time limit a month. At the end of the month the nurse would be retained as a regular weekly consultant. There were conditions. She must continue to totally commit to life as Jake’s wife. She must become an active member of Belleville society. There must be no thought of taking the baby away from the family. Any attempt, and the baby would be reared by Amy.

  Neither Gus nor Ryan questioned the circumstances of the marriage or the falsehood of the baby’s premature birth. Both, presumably, were satisfied that Jake was Jessica’s father. Notorious philanderer Jake, having consoled Gail after Rick’s death, had finally got caught out. An awkward development, it satisfactorily explained the marriage ceremony away from home.

  The live-in nurse had become her only true friend. Beth Andrews, after retiring two decades ago to rear her own family, had turned to casual private nursing. Down to earth, forthright, and good natured, she’d welcomed the full-time month and was enjoying the ensuing weekly work

  The christening ceremony was held in Belleville’s handsome red brick Anglican Church. Family and friends, watched by locals leaning on the low front fence, overflowed onto the outside lawns. In the tight-knit community Press presence was inevitable; Campbell news was front page news. Carrying Jessica, dressed in great-great-great grandmother Jessica’s hand-made fine cream lace gown and bonnet, she faced snapping cameras and voracious eyes. On either side, Jake and his mother supported her through the open front doors and down the narrow aisle to the front pew.

  Whispers and turned heads followed their progress. They were all there – the family and their circle of friends, many soldier settlers and descendents from the First World War. There were visiting relatives from three States, mostly people of the land – boring and repetitious and peas from the same once adventurous pod. As well there was a smattering of well-bred wives. Like Amy, these were more peas from an identical pod, city-born and educated and capable; social assets to their affluent spouses and responsible mothers to their children.

  Yet another stylish pair had been enlisted as god parents. In their mid-twenties, the tall and handsome sandy-haired blue-eyed brother and sister were farming cousins from central Victoria. Campbell control in this region, too, was inevitable. Barbara was overseas. There’d been a profuse telegram of apology from Phoebe, who claimed to have fallen ill at the last minute.

  She was justifiably sceptical. In all the time she’d known the family she’d never seen Phoebe, nor heard her voice on the telephone. The single clear thing about this absent Phoebe was her devotion to Rick. It niggled. She’d slept in Phoebe’s bed, recuperated in her room, used (and feared) her mirror, read her books, shared the little opera book with Rick, read the loving message she’d written, marked the chill tone of the welcome card to the new baby. Was Phoebe’s continuing absence, in some way, related to Rick’s death? A fleeting question, an unwanted warning quickly repressed, it pointed to all the things she didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  The vicar made his entrance, welcomed participants and guests and began the hour long ceremony. The choir belted out happy hymns, the cramped congregation fidgeted, Jessica slept in her arms, and her breast filled to overflowing. Soon the baby would whimper and she’d be needed. Meanwhile she slipped into neutral; a mindless, and sometimes reflective, mental refuge that was becoming increasingly attractive.

  Momentarily roused for the formal rites of the ceremony, she again quickly retreated. Today was Campbell day. There’d been a pay-off. The pale blue Volvo at home in the garage, a gesture of approval for good behaviour, had arrived from the city dealer in time for the christening. Another round of applause, followed by the stentorian wheezing of the dehydrated organ, again roused her.

  “Pull yourself together,” Jake whispered. “Everybody’s looking.”

  “I wasn’t …”

  “You were asleep.”

  “You’re worn out, dear,” Amy was concerned. “Would you like me to take the baby for you?”

  She straightened. “I’m all right.”

  As they filed from the stifling church, the waiting audience applauded the members of the christening party. Monitored by cameras and press, they drove off in the Mercedes.

  Jessica asleep in her arms, she finally protested, “This is all too much for the baby, Jake.”

  “Nonsense.” He turned into High Street. “She’s sound asleep.”

  “She’s due for her feed. She’s likely to play up at the party.”

  The christening party, to be held at the newly renovated Riverview Hotel, would be much more than that for Jake. A unique opportunity, it was a never to be repeated celebration of his status as father of
the next generation of local Campbells. Beautiful wife, beautiful child, beautiful future. Jake was going to parade his perfect family before all the important people he needed to impress. Jake was not going to risk having that undermined by a screaming infant.

  Spinning a ‘U’ turn, he drew up in front of Number 6 Bright Avenue. “Don’t be too long.”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be.” Cradling the baby, she climbed from the car.

  “You’re okay to drive back?”

  “I’m tired, Jake.”

  “You do intend to get there?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She challenged the blue eyes that knew too much. “She should be allowed to sleep in her crib. All this fuss.”

  “Don’t let us down, Gail. Don’t even think about it.” He drove off.

  The telephone woke her.

  “It’s been an hour!” Jake raged. “Get here!”

  “I thought.”

  “Don’t think.”

  Quickly she dressed, changed the baby, and backed out the powder blue Volvo. Obedience had become instinctive.

  Amy was waiting in the Riverview’s air-conditioned foyer. “Thank God! He’s furious.”

  “The baby.”

  “Hullo Sweetie,” Amy took the baby. “Come meet your family.”

  She was alone in the foyer. In the reception room ahead was the buzz of excited voices and the muted hush of polite music. She could leave. She wanted to leave. But she stepped through the wide double doors.

  No one saw her, no one welcomed her. Jake was talking to a group of men dressed in slick suits. Gus was sitting in a circle of men uneasily dressed in off-the-rack formal suits. The women wore Belleville upper market or Melbourne high fashion. Jessica in her arms, Amy was wearing pale blue silk and pearls. She was already circulating. At their approach each small group paused, admired, and watched their progress to the next group.

  Her full breasts were already beginning to ache again. As a milk cow, she was replaceable. They didn’t need her. They had the baby, the baby had them. She’d fulfilled her purpose, she’d given birth to their child. She had the blue Volvo, she could demand a substantial bank account. She could leave.

  They had the baby. They had Rick’s child. How could she have done it? On the honeymoon night in Bali, and on the ensuing nights in the three bedroom cream brick house, how could she have so joyfully surrendered her body? They’d bought her body. They’d bought …

  “Are you coming in?” Ryan lumbered from a side entrance.

  When had Ryan’s drinking got so bad? Had it ever not been bad?

  Rick had said …

  “Gail?”

  “Sure.” She followed her brother-in-law into the reception area.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The new four-bedroom home was on the affluent outskirts. Though larger than the three-bedroom brick, and nowhere near as pretentious as the homes of the truly wealthy, it had been architecturally designed, luxuriously furnished, decorator fitted, and professionally landscaped. Jake boasted it was merely a step up his ambitious ladder. She didn’t ask about finance, or what would happen if he failed.

  In the large dining room there were frequent lengthy formal dinners, professionally catered for by ‘Belleville Dinners’ or the weekly help; depending on the size of the visiting group. Town councillors and local professional men, generally with their wives, but not always, were wined and dined and courted with increasing flair. Jake expected, demanded, she be at his side. Learning by example, she feigned interest in local gossip and appreciation of the crass women. Because she had no choice.

  But during the day, when the help was house-keeping, when Jessica had been fed and was asleep in her designer decorated nursery, she made no effort. When the women of goodwill who lived in the adjacent affluent houses knocked on her door, she invented excuses not to invite them in for the ritual neighbourly morning tea. The baby needed feeding, she was on her way to the clinic, she was half-way through a household chore. Easy excuses accepted with courteous disbelief. Except, as she grew stronger, dislike of loneliness occasionally won the day.

  Jill Ryan was the wife of a solicitor and mother of four teenagers away at private schools. Easy-going and affable, Jill asked no intrusive questions and was helpful with the baby. But she did like to talk. Knowledgeable locals, Jill reported, thought that Jake was walking a risky path. Many of the people he so grandly entertained mistrusted him. Meteoric rises in the business of land and property dealing and the transfer of huge sums of money had to be suspect; even if the dealer was a member of the highly respected Campbell family.

  She could not afford to dismiss Jill’s information as unfounded gossip. Self preservation dictated she pay attention, both to Jill and to the gossip of the local women with the influential husbands. Because, even in the short time she’d been with him, suspicion had been confirmed. Jake was a conniver, a devious plotter who used everyone – even his parents and his wife. What about Jessica?

  “She’s still not gaining weight.” The nurse lifted the baby from the scales. “It’s cause for concern.”

  “Do you think she should go on the bottle? Her grandmother thinks it may be me.” Confiding in Beth Andrews was a risk. During the months since she’d first come to the house as live-in nurse and, later, for the regular Friday afternoon check-ups, she’d proved herself to be more and more like Else from the Sunview – down to earth, good humoured and unfailingly honest. Like Else, Beth said what she thought without fear or favour. But her salary came from Jake. The risk was real.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Beth gently tucked Jess into the designer decorated cot. “You’re an excellent milk cow.”

  “You’re right. I told Amy … I could feed twins.”

  “What about your doctor?”

  “We don’t need him, Beth. We have you.”

  “I’m a nurse. You need regular medical check-ups. Both of you.”

  “We’re doing fine.” She leaned over the cot. “Look at her. She’s asleep already. She’s perfectly content.”

  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?” Beth eased her from the nursery. “I’ll make a pot of tea.”

  As they sometimes did, they took their tea and biscuits out to the broad verandah that overlooked the landscaped back garden. Unusually, they admired the cabbage size roses and the young jacarandas and the lush green lawn and they talked about the hot weather and the prospect of a good harvest and the absence of dust storms.

  Increasingly uneasy, she eventually ventured, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Beth pushed aside her empty tea cup. “What about the doctor?”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “It’s a fair question, Gail. You should …”

  “I told you. We don’t need him. Besides, he’s in Barclay.”

  “There’s nothing to stop you driving out there.”

  “But I don’t want to,” she confided. “We should have our own doctor. In here. It’s unnecessary to go all that way.”

  “He is the family doctor. He’s been with you all along.”

  “It still doesn’t make sense.”

  “Don’t you like him? Or …” Beth paused only a moment. “Don’t you trust him?”

  Startled, she did not answer.

  “It’s a fair question, Gail.”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  She fiddled nervously with the empty cup. She didn’t have to answer. But should she?

  “Tell me this then,” Beth urged. “Who do you talk to?”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “Ten months, Gail. I’ve known you for ten months,” Beth pressed. “Do you have any friends?”

  “You’re a friend. Aren’t you?”

  “You need friends your own age.”

  “There’s a neighbour … she’s very nice. Maybe …”

  “So talk to me about Doctor Walker? You c
an trust me, you know.”

  Beth Andrews was forthright and honest and wise and caring and efficient. She was also paid by Jake. No, she could trust no one. She needed help. Jess needed help. Maybe she should chance a small step down this risky road?

  “I have no confidence in Doctor Walker,” she admitted. “He’s the family doctor. I don’t think he approves of me. I think, maybe, I should go to a doctor closer to home.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “You think so? It would be a big step. I don’t know …”

  Beth, unusually, let the silence lengthen.

  She made up her mind. “Amy says Jess senses I don’t want her.”

  The nurse’s empathetic eyes sparked with sudden intensity.

  “That’s a new twist.”

  “Yes … well …”

  “What do you think? Could there be any truth in it?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know about babies!”

  “Maybe that’s what Jess senses,” Beth suggested. “Because I do know you want her. I know how much you love her. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Right?”

  Did Jess sense her fear? Could babies do that? Possibly. Because this fear went much deeper than not knowing about babies. This fear was more profound, and potentially more destructive. She knew nothing about people. Who to trust? She’d trusted Rick; she couldn’t trust Jake. Amy had vowed Rick loved her; Jake had rescued her.

  “I’m here to help, Gail. Talk to me.”

  He’d begged her to leave him alone. She’d betrayed him. Or?

  “What is it, Gail?” Beth was anxious. “Look at me. Talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I think perhaps …”

  “I think perhaps you should get this off your chest. Whatever it is.”

  “It never occurred to me a baby could react like that,” she confessed. “I know so little. I’m scared of hurting her. I’m scared stiff.”

  “What about your mother-in-law?” Beth’s response was unexpected. “How do you get on with her?”

  “She’s very good to us.”

  “I think I’m hearing a ‘but’.”