Unnoticed

by Amanda Deed

  So, not only would Price marry someone else, he planned to leave for America as if none of this happened. A clamp squeezed Jane’s heart so tight it might be strong enough to kill her. She was back to having nothing. Less than nothing now, because of what she’d seen she might have, even though it was naught but a fantasy. It would only happen in another life, to someone else, someone perfect.

  There was nothing more to do. The stall was clean and she must go inside sometime. Jane wiped her eyes with her damp sleeve and trudged to the house. Her family sat at the dining table, each of them waiting.

  ‘You’re late, Jane,’ Mother growled.

  Jane kept her chin lowered and hoped they wouldn’t notice her swollen eyes. ‘Sorry, Mother.’ She had no excuse.

  Silence reigned at the table for a few minutes as they passed platters around, save the clinking of china and the scraping of metal utensils. The sooner supper was over, the better. Jane began to pick at her food, not that she had been able to eat much of late.

  ‘Well, I was down at Blewitt’s today to buy a few things, and you’ll never guess what I found out.’

  Here it comes. It would no doubt have to do with Price or Miss Anderson, or both.

  ‘What, Mama?’ Harriet complied with the expected curiosity.

  ‘It turns out that Mr Moreland’s father is a very rich man. He’s heavily involved in the railway industry in America, and ship building as well.’

  ‘Really?’ Nancy sounded as though her eyes might be bulging, but Jane didn’t want to look up to see for herself. ‘Mr Moreland never mentioned it.’

  ‘He didn’t mention several details about himself.’ Harriet added with a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘Yes, and neither did he mention that he is his father’s heir—set to inherit the business, the estate, everything.’

  ‘What?’ Harriet’s knife and fork clattered to her plate.

  Nancy breathed out an awe-filled sigh. ‘It’s a pity he’s already engaged then.’

  ‘A very great pity,’ Mother agreed.

  Jane found it a herculean effort to hold herself together. She gave up trying to eat, instead sipping at a glass of water, although even that seemed like swallowing an orange whole for the lump in her throat. How could Price have deceived her so? Her heart was like a lead weight, her throat ached, her head throbbed and her stomach swirled with nausea.

  Somehow, she made it through supper, and held it together when Mother smirked at her on her way out to the parlour. Alone with the silence and aftermath of a meal, Jane began to collect the soiled silverware and plates, ready for transport to the cookhouse for washing. It was too much. She leaned on the table, dropped her head and let the sobs pour forth.

  Jane didn’t know how much time passed before a hand suddenly rested upon her shoulder. She froze, halting her tears at once. No one should see her pathetic weakness. They would make fun of her.

  ‘If it makes any difference, Jane. I’m sorry.’

  Papa’s voice giving her comfort was more than she could take. She burst into tears again, shaking uncontrollably with the force of her sobs and turned to bury her face in his coat. She needed him. Oh, how she needed him. But did he care enough? His body was rigid, and his embrace stiff and awkward as he patted her shoulders. Obligation. That was what led him to her, and nothing else. Jane pulled away from him and rushed to her room. She needed real comfort, not a pretence of it, and her pillow was the closest thing she would get.

  Aunt Ruby had tried to console her several times over the last few days. With sad eyes, she handed Jane a letter from Price the same day Miss Anderson arrived in town and tried to convince Jane to open it. But Jane refused to read any more of his lies. Tears slipped down Aunt Ruby’s cheeks as she enfolded Jane in her arms. She was genuine in her care, but her advice usually involved taking her woes to God in prayer and reading Scriptures for comfort and strength. Jane sat up on her bed. She’d promised her aunt she would try to read those Bible verses and learn about God’s love. Aunt Ruby had assured her that all answers were found in Christ. With a deep, shaky sigh, Jane lit her lamp. She had nothing left to lose, and just maybe, Aunt Ruby was right.

  21

  Something wasn’t right. Price had not received one letter from Jane and almost two weeks had passed since his arrival in Wagga Wagga. He’d written her several times, but with no reply. He couldn’t conceive of a single reason why, except that her stepmother might have kept her mail from her. Even that seemed an improbability since he’d put the envelope inside another envelope and addressed it to Mrs Ruby Ferguson. So why then didn’t Jane write back to him? He’d enclosed a forwarding address. Was she so angry at him for going away that she refused to communicate? Was she sick? None of it made any sense, and as each day passed his concern grew.

  The special services in Wagga continued to yield a wonderful harvest of souls. One man attended with a determination to mock and jeer, but ended on his knees in repentance. Another fellow came, violently opposed to his wife’s new religious zeal. But within a week he returned and knelt in tears, crying out for mercy from above, and then afterward sang praises along with her. Mr Carruthers counted at least fifty new converts, and Price had been so caught up in the excitement he forgot to consider life back in Hay. Except for the want of a letter from his beloved.

  Late in the evening after the last of the meetings, Mr Carruthers cleared his throat and looked at Price. ‘I need to ask you something, son.’

  ‘Yes.’ Price set his cup of tea on the saucer and gave the minister his full attention.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  Surprised by the question, Price shook his head. ‘What do you mean? I wanted to see this outpouring.’

  ‘Yet, you speak of nothing save this special lass back in Hay. And you did not bring her with you.’

  Price dropped his gaze to the table as he remembered the reasons he’d left her behind. ‘There is an obstacle to our happiness. Her mother is against me reaching out to foreigners.’

  ‘Hm.’ Mr Carruthers watched him for a few minutes before he spoke again. ‘I know I’ve asked you before, months ago, but why did you come to Australia?’

  ‘To share the Good News of the gospel.’ That was an easy question to answer. Price frowned, unsure why the minister asked again.

  ‘And you couldn’t achieve that in America?

  Another reason came to the forefront of Price’s mind, one he needed to confess. He hung his head. ‘No. I wanted to do it without the interference of my father.’

  ‘So, you and your father are estranged then?’

  It was a simple question, but at once guilt singed Price’s heart and he swallowed. ‘Yes. Yes, we are.’ He dared to look up at Mr Carruthers.

  ‘So, the fact is, you ran away.’

  It was hard to hear the truth from another’s lips. But Price had no argument. He nodded.

  ‘And now it seems you have run away again.’

  Price jerked his head up to stare at Mr Carruthers. ‘How so?’

  Mr Carruthers shrugged. ‘Instead of staying in Hay and dealing with the problem, you are here in Wagga.’

  Price didn’t know what to say. He had run from the problem with his father, but he had not considered that he might be repeating his folly here and now. Dropping his head into his hands, he groaned. It was true. He’d run away again, and this time he’d probably hurt Jane, and that might be why she hadn’t written to him.

  ‘Is that how you think the Lord would have you live your life?’

  Shame filled Price’s heart. ‘No,’ he answered in a small voice. ‘No, he wouldn’t.’

  ‘What is it your father wants of you, that you wish to run so far from?’

  Price rubbed his hands over his face and dragged them through his hair. ‘He wants me to run his business.’

  Mr Carruthers gave him a blank look. ‘Forgive me if I misunderst
and. You seem to be quite the businessman yourself. Why not run his?’

  Price let out an empty laugh. ‘You’re right when you say you don’t understand. My father’s business is to build steamships, trains and railway lines. These modern industries are breaking the backs of their workmen. They are treated little better than slaves, their lives put at risk for the sake of advancement. People die working for my father, Mr Carruthers. How can I be a part of that?’

  Mr Carruthers leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and bringing his fingertips together in an image of thoughtfulness. ‘It seems to me, son, that you are missing a big part of the picture. If you did manage his business, would it not be possible to work toward changes that protect those workers, improving their working conditions and keeping them safe? What if, Mr Moreland, you were placed in that position for such a time as this, just as Esther was in her life, thousands of years ago? You will always find men and women who need the Lord, even amidst the railway industry.’

  Price stared at him with wide eyes. These were entirely new ideas to him, and yet, he sensed the truth in them. He even sensed God’s voice in them. Before he could process this new information, Mr Carruthers continued.

  ‘Before you consider that, you need to go back to Hay and face your girl and her mother. Stand up for what you believe, but without causing enmity.’

  ‘But how do I do that?’

  ‘I suggest you pray, Mr Moreland. See what the Lord has to say about it.’

  The campaign of special services had ended, and nothing remained to hold him in Wagga any longer. After the conversation with Mr Carruthers, as uncomfortable as it was, Price now wanted to hurry home and see his beloved Jane once again. He had learnt much from Mr Carruthers, and his zeal had been revitalised, but now he must go and make serious decisions. Early on the Monday morning after the last of the services, Price boarded the mail coach back to Hay.

  With hours of travel ahead, and nothing to do but think and pray—when not in conversation with fellow passengers, that is—his mind often turned to Mr Carruthers’ words. Price needed to make things right. With Jane, with Mrs O’Reilly, and with his father, too. He spent countless hours searching his own heart, and questioning every motive that drove him. He’d been deceiving himself for a long time. From his decision to enter the dentistry school to learning his uncle’s hair-cutting trade, he’d used self-righteous excuses to resist his father’s wishes. Under a pious mantel he declared it was God’s will for him to take the message of the gospel to Australia. It sounded good and virtuous at the time, but in truth, he had run away and, when he stripped his motives bare, he saw plain old rebellion at its root: Rebellion against his father.

  Instead of trying to sort through their differences, Price had walked away to do his own thing, under the guise of spirituality. And he had done the same thing when travelling to Wagga to see the outpouring. Dear, dear, Jane. He’d promised her he would fight for her and then instead ran away. He had let her down, failed her. It wasn’t pleasant to examine himself in this light, but it forced him to his knees, to confess his sin and ask God for forgiveness. After extended prayer in the back of the coach, the guilt lifted and peace reigned in his heart. But things needed to be done to outwork the change.

  His priority when he returned to Hay, after making sure nothing was amiss, was to speak to Jane’s father. If Mr O’Reilly approved, together they might challenge Mrs O’Reilly’s biases. Then, he must sit with Jane, apologise for his cowardice, and speak of the future in earnest. Price’s heart rate jumped at the notion. They had several choices and changes to make, and he had no guarantee she would agree to them.

  Mr Carruthers had stirred a new vision in Price with his words. Price had never considered that he might be able to take on his father’s business and see it change—to bring safety and enjoyment to a dangerous industry. Why, he might even spend time as a chaplain of sorts, amongst the workers. The ideas springing forth in his mind brought a new zeal and excitement to Price, a sensation he hadn’t experienced for years, not even when birthing his ideas for Australia.

  Yet, he must still consider Jane. Would she be a part of it? It meant taking her back to America with him and a whole new life for her. The kind of life she deserved. That is, if she could accept it.

  Price’s smile spread when he pictured her in fine gowns at tea parties, or on his arm, meeting powerful men. Then Jane could escape to the farm and enjoy the solitude of time with horses and other animals.

  There would be no more chores for her as he would provide her with servants aplenty for her every need. Yes, he imagined that lifestyle could suit her better than one as the wife of a simple barber. Not that she would complain. She would never complain. But he wanted to give her more than basic happiness. Much more.

  ‘Eh, what you grinnin’ about, sir?’

  Price snapped out of his reverie. He had taken a chance to breathe fresh air and rode up top beside the driver, who now winked at him.

  ‘Thinkin’ about yer lady love, eh?’

  Price chuckled, self-conscious. ‘Well now, how did you guess?’

  ‘Must ha’ been that dreamy expression on yer face, I reckon.’ The driver nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.

  Price laughed again. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her, I admit.’

  ‘She must be a rare beauty then, eh?’

  ‘You guessed it.’ Price recollected Jane in her dowdy clothes. He’d uncovered a priceless gem which had been hidden for years—perhaps just for him to find. For certain, folks would be sorry they ever ignored her. They would regret not taking time to befriend her.

  He just hoped everything was all right, and Jane had simply not received his letters, or had been too busy to reply. If only the distance back to Hay could be traversed in less than two days. Price’s impatience made it seem even longer. The sooner he returned to Jane, the better.

  Keeping her promise to Aunt Ruby, Jane began reading her Bible, really reading it, and the Scriptures began to stir something in her. To establish them in her mind and heart, she spent every spare moment at her father’s desk, writing them out several times.

  She read that God’s love was as immovable as a mountain. Mountains didn’t move with ease. Only an enormous quake would make a mountain crumble. And God compared the reliability of His love and peace to that. Jane had written these words in her fluent hand, covering sheet after sheet of paper, on both sides.

  As she sat at Papa’s desk many recollections of days long gone resurfaced. Jane remembered sitting on his knee there while he read stories to her and showed her how to form letters on paper. She remembered the warmth and intimacy of those moments. But everything changed when Mama had died, buried with her beneath the red gum.

  But God promised that even if parents forsook their children, He wouldn’t. That thought alone comforted her.

  More memories rolled through her mind; memories of her parents dancing with her in the parlour. While Mama sang and clapped, Papa had waltzed her around the room, or shown her the steps of one of the other popular dances.

  With doubts mounting about Papa and the conviction that perhaps Aunt Ruby’s assurance of God’s love held substance, Jane wrote a letter to her father. Brief and to the point, she penned her heart’s question.

  Dear Papa,

  I have wondered for a long time now, do you still love me? Or am I merely an unwanted, ugly memory of the past? Please tell me the truth.

  Jane.

  Jane had left the short note on his desk, sealed in an envelope. The depth of her pain meant she was past fearing what he would do or say. She just wanted an answer. If he responded with rejection—told her he didn’t want her in his life—so be it. And yet part of her still hoped for an answer in her favour.

  The next morning, Papa left the house before she even saw him. And for the next few days he acknowledged her even less than usual. Jane’s m
inuscule hope dwindled and her heart dropped like a stone into the depths of a still pond. Papa, it seemed, wanted no more to do with her. Perhaps, after all, she had no one to turn to but God.

  Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

  Did God truly consider her beautiful and flawless? If He did, then it didn’t matter what anyone else thought or said. The Bible said God did not lie and that He never changed His mind. If true, then she could rely on His love, no matter what happened around her.

  For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

  Jesus went to the cross out of love? For her? Plain Jane, who no one else cared a whit for. That was an incredible kind of love. So then, God did not merely speak words of love, He acted on them. How many people sacrificed so much for someone else?

  Thou hast ravished my heart … with one of thine eyes.

  That sounded like words she would have said to Price Moreland a few weeks ago, or rather that he would have said to her. It reminded her of that breath-stealing moment when he captured her heart. Did God truly experience that kind of rapture over her?

  And then, one morning, a new letter appeared on her father’s desk with Jane’s name on it. It wasn’t from Price—every one of the letters from him sat in a neat pile in her bedroom trunk, unopened. She refused to face more of his lies. Besides, this letter contained no postage stamp. It must be from Papa. Her stomach clenching with sudden trepidation, Jane pried the envelope open, her fingers trembling.

  My dearest, dearest, darling Jane,

  My heart breaks with grief over what I have done to you. I never meant for you to think I didn’t care, but I see now I have. You are my sole delight and my soul delight.

  All these years, I have watched you grow and become so much like your beautiful mother and I am proud of who you are. I’ve never been adept at showing my feelings, and I became especially clumsy at it once you grew into a young lady.

  I believed a stepmother would be a great solace to you, and at first I thought she was. It took a long time to realise that she treated you well only in front of me, but I never could control her. For that, I know I am less than a man and not worthy to call myself your father. Fool that I am, I convinced myself that you did not suffer too severely, for I never saw you cry until the other day.