Forgiven

by Geoff Lawson - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

to hurry in case one looked over his shoulder and noticed me.

  Once on the north side, the road abruptly turned left behind

  the last row of houses and my quarry disappeared from sight as

  they did the same. I spurred the horse until I reached the corner

  and once again slowed down, taking the corner quietly, while I

  kept a sharp lookout for my three dubious friends. They were

  no longer in sight, but three brown horses, two still decked out

  with travelling kit, were tied to the back fence of one of the

  houses along the row. I went past slowly and could plainly see

  into their yard, before I broke into a sprint to the west end of

  town on my way back to the stables.

  I walked from there to the boarding house with my rifle,

  scabbard, canteens etc., and deposited my burdens on the front

  verandah, where I knocked a few times before I opened the

  door and stepped over the threshold.

  After I had washed, the landlady approached to say that her

  daughters would be back soon and would I like to join them in

  the kitchen for some afternoon tea. I certainly would. I was

  soon seated with a cup and a plate of warm scones in front of

  me.

  “Like some jam with those?” enquired my hostess.

  73

  “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

  “You can call me Harriet if you like.” She gave me a subtle

  smile and placed a small white bowl of orange jam in front of

  me.

  Harriet appeared to be approaching forty and was pleasant

  looking, with blonde hair beginning to streak with grey. Her

  kitchen was neat and roomy, with a large, rectangular, country-

  style table, while pleasant baking smells wafted through the

  whole room. Framed embroideries hung from one wall while a

  wedding portrait of my hostess with someone who was

  obviously her husband, hung from another.

  Just then, the sound of feminine voices in the hallway

  reached my ears and two young women emerged.

  “Oh, hello,” said the older as they strolled to the bench

  with a number of parcels. At a guess she would’ve been around

  nineteen or twenty; her hair was up and her skirt long. They

  deposited their burdens and the older one disappeared.

  “She’ll be back in a minute,” confided Harriet, smirking.

  The younger one sat down at the table. She was about ten and

  oozed young lady charm; her hair was long and she sat

  chatting to me as though she had known me all her life.

  Obviously, they were used to having tea and talking with

  strangers from afar.

  Catherine, the older one, returned and looked immaculate

  with her face scrubbed, a more feminine blouse that did her

  considerable justice and her blonde hair brushed without a

  strand out of place.

  “You talk quite posh,” stated the younger one. “Are you

  English?”

  “No, I’m from New Zealand. My mother was a school

  teacher.” I looked at the older one, who seemed to be

  embarrassed by her younger sister’s directness. I also noticed

  that she had the most arresting green eyes.

  “Oh, that’s exciting. We’ve never had anyone from New

  Zealand before.”

  I looked back at the younger one. “Yes, I suppose.” I

  wasn’t sure just how much I should tell them about that.

  “Are your friends from New Zealand too?”

  74

  The older one gave her sister a sharp look. “Nellie! Don’t

  be nosey!”

  I laughed and smiled at Nellie, then swung my eyes back to

  Catherine in time to catch her quickly look away.

  “It’s alright, I don’t mind; no, they’re not from New

  Zealand. One’s from Canada, one from Australia and one from

  South Africa.”

  “Oh, how exciting. It’s like the whole world is here.” All

  three stared. There was no real point in hiding where we came

  from; they would work it out soon enough.

  Anyway, I needed to change the subject.

  “The scones are nice. I’m glad the others aren’t here.”

  Harriet smiled and sat down opposite to pour herself a cup of

  tea. The words had hardly left my mouth though, when I could

  hear the sound of feet and voices approaching.

  “Afternoon ladies,” greeted the Colonel, who was first

  through the door. “Ah Wilson, there you are. Trust you to find

  the best place in the house.” He looked at the three women. “I

  see you are more than adequately entertained too.”

  “Tea and scones gentlemen?” enquired Harriet.

  The Colonel beamed. “Why, thank you ma’am, pleased if

  we do.”

  Harriet rose from the table to fetch more cups, while to my

  dismay an avalanche of hands grabbed at the plate of scones,

  demolishing the pile in the blink of an eye. Harriet seemed to

  be enjoying the sudden swell of male company and more

  chairs were produced, the teapot refilled and more plates and

  knives appeared. She must have noticed me looking at the

  empty scone plate in disappointment, for she produced a bowl

  covered with a wet tea towel that contained more scones.

  While the others were still busy munching I grabbed the

  biggest one.

  “Well gentlemen,” said Harriet, “now that you are all

  together, perhaps we can be formally introduced?”

  “Why certainly, ma’am,” said the Colonel, standing

  quickly to his most impressive height. “Forgive me my

  manners ma’am; this is Harold Potts, Ambrose Floyd an’

  Richard Wilson.” Harriet beamed at each of us. “An’ I’m

  Colonel Anderson. Please call me Walt.”

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  Harriet’s eyes widened. “I’m the widow Harriet Walsh.

  Please do call me Harriet.”

  Afterwards, the four of us retired to the lounge while

  Harriet and the girls cleaned up. Harriet had asked the Colonel

  if we were dining in tonight; as it was not too late to do a roast,

  if that would do. The Colonel democratically and emphatically

  stated that we would be dining in, to the apparent

  disappointment of Potts, who would have evidently preferred

  to dine out, given, of course, that the army was paying. For

  myself, I was pleased to be eating in. Catherine, naturally,

  would be there too.

  “Well fellows, how’d you get on?” I was keen to know if

  they had turned up anything.

  “Not a brass razoo,” declared Potts in undisguised disgust,

  as if he had accumulated this failure on top of the not entirely

  unanimous decision to eat in.

  “Yeah, disappointing that,” agreed Colonel Anderson, who

  seemed a little preoccupied. “How did things work out for

  you?”

  “My hunch may well have been correct. I spotted three

  people of interest and followed them back to town.”

  “You lost them?” Potts was busy stuffing tobacco into a

  pipe. The Colonel had followed Potts’ lead and had his pipe

  out too.

  “No. Quite the contrary, I followed them to a house on the

  north-east end of town.”

  “Well! That’s good. Tomorrow you’d better spend some

&n
bsp; time wandering around and see if you can spot them. It’s time

  we were able to spy on them for a change.”

  Dinner was interesting. Once the roast was ready, we waited

  while the women sat down, then the men sat down too. The

  roast was great. Lamb, with lashings of potatoes, carrots and

  gravy, all sprinkled with some kind of herb and dished on

  posh-looking plates. Nellie chose to sit next to me so I could

  see Catherine over her head. Catherine looked marvellous in a

  dark blue velvet evening dress with tight waist and bodice; the

  sleeves accented by long button-up cuffs that extended almost

  to her elbows while the front was adorned with large domed,

  cloth-covered buttons.

  76

  Various discussions were held on a variety of subjects, the

  war and politics naturally taking precedence. All the while,

  Harriet kept her eye on the Colonel, who I noted had the

  largest plate of food.

  Sometime later, the conversation began to lapse and no

  doubt sensing a willing audience in Harriet, the Colonel began

  reciting stories of his ‘Mountie’ days. There were bear

  encounters and brushes with wolves while following criminals

  through sleet and snow for hundreds of miles, over mountain

  passes and through unlimited forests. Then stories of heroics

  and Indians, along with brave dogs, which were followed by

  stories of equally nasty and troublesome brutes.

  One morning, one particularly troublesome brute had

  apparently refused to come out of his doghouse. Because he

  was the leader of the dog team, it was an exercise in the

  politics of who was boss. The other dogs would not perform

  without their lead dog, so the Colonel was obliged to crawl

  headfirst into the brute’s kennel and bodily drag the snarling,

  leg-braced, hackles-raised, fangs-bared, un-cooperative sod out

  by the scruff and harness him up, thereby establishing once

  and for all who was boss of the outfit; no less for the benefit of

  the other dogs who bore witness to the entire performance and

  were therefore also in no doubt about who was boss.

  At this point a scan of the faces around the table revealed

  that Harriet was spellbound, while the reticent Potts looked

  like he could willingly kill the Colonel. Floydie was his usual

  abstract self and would be dreaming about the never-never,

  while Nellie kept wanting to ask me questions about all and

  sundry, only to be constantly told by Harriet not to speak while

  the adults were talking.

  After a couple of hours I decided to excuse myself, so I

  could sit outside on the verandah where a bench seat was

  waiting. Potts and Floyd had already bolted for a watering hole

  and by now even the Colonel appeared to be running low on

  yarns with which to impress Harriet, who it seemed had an

  inexhaustible capacity for absorbing his tales.

  As soon as I stood up and announced my intentions, Nellie

  wanted to come too, so I was pleased to note that Catherine

  also stood up to announce that she would keep us company.

  77

  We walked up the hallway to the front of the house where

  the verandah looked out onto the courtyard, pulled the seat up

  close to the edge of the verandah to catch the moonlight and

  sat down; Nellie on one side and Catherine on the other. Early

  evening was my favourite time of day, halfway between the

  heat of the daylight hours and the cool of the hours after

  midnight.

  The moon was a giant orb in the sky, having just risen, and

  so bright that one could almost read a book from the light it

  shed. On the other side of the road one could make out the

  dark bulk of the railway station which was in deep shadow, the

  moon rising slowly behind it. Only the odd small light was on;

  there was no one about at this time of night, for the war had all

  but closed it down as far as people traffic was concerned.

  Nellie put her arm through mine.

  “You’re my friend, aren’t you Richard?”

  “Yes Nellie, I’m your friend.”

  “Would you play with me tomorrow?”

  “Sure, if I can.”

  “We could play battleships, couldn’t we?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know how to play battleships.” I lied. She

  looked up at me with an expectant face.

  “I could teach you, it’s easy, isn’t it Cath?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Catherine, smiling. Nellie yawned.

  “Look at you. It’s time for you to go to bed, anyway.”

  “Aw, I’ve been wanting to talk to Richard and everybody

  interrupts.”

  “You can talk to Richard tomorrow. Come on, I’ll brush

  your hair for you.” They disappeared inside.

  I found a pillow and fluffed it up a bit, lying back with legs

  stretched out, arms folded across my chest, content with the

  world, or at least this part of it. The train station was still dark

  and mysterious, the moon still having some way to rise before

  the front side of the station was illuminated.

  Half an hour later Catherine returned and sat down.

  “She likes you.”

  “I know. Do you like me?” It was a clumsy attempt to be

  provocative.

  78

  “Mm, I may do.” She tossed her head; a wisp of a smile on

  her face.

  “Mm,” said I, mimicking. “That sounds cryptic.”

  Her expression changed. “Does it matter?”

  “No, only teasing. You don’t have to answer that.”

  Her grin deepened. “Good. I wasn’t going to anyway.”

  Next thing, there was this god-almighty bang and the night

  erupted into a huge, eye-searing, fireball of light.

  79

  Chapter Nine

  ILLWE, Cape Colony. South Africa

  The shockwave blew us over backwards, seat and all.

  Catherine screamed. As my back hit the deck a lump of wood

  bounced from the wall behind and landed by my head.

  Realising, I rolled on top of Catherine and just in time.

  Seconds later, debris came hurtling down and crashed into the

  front of the building. Around us windows shattered. Timber

  with nails protruding and bits of door came hurtling out of the

  sky while pieces of brick came down on the roof.

  The clatter of fallout stopped. There was silence. Dazed

  and injured, I raised my head to look. The bulk of the railway

  station had changed; charred framing was visible. Roofing

  timbers poked up like stripped saplings in the moonlight and

  small fires flickered through the haze. The lights I saw earlier

  were gone.

  Catherine stirred.

  “Are you all right?” My voice barely seemed to croak. I

  rolled off her and tried to push the overturned seat away with

  my foot, but it hardly budged. It turned out that the other side

  of it was stacked with masonry and debris that would have hit

  us, were it not for the seat.

  Catherine too was dazed and confused. “What happened?”

  “Catherine!” it was Harriet, but I was almost too numb to

  register it. I struggled to get up and began to lift Catherine as

  the Colonel materialised t
o assist me. She groaned, but back on

  her feet she returned to life while the Colonel and I helped to

  steady her as we moved towards the front door. Still in shock, I

  tripped over a lump of masonry and left her entirely to the

  Colonel, who swept her up and carried her down the hallway

  to the kitchen, closely pursued by a distraught Harriet, who

  was joined by a confused and wild-eyed Nellie.

  I got up slowly, aware of aches, and staggered over to the

  front door where I leaned against the doorframe to take a

  breather. Anderson reappeared.

  80

  “Come with me.” He breezed past, heading for the road

  and the railway station. I straightened, and lifting my head I

  reluctantly followed, weaving a path through the trail of debris

  that lay scattered all over the courtyard. By the time I caught

  up he was standing in front of the station, glaring at the

  devastation. The whole central front of the building was gone,

  although the back and the ends still stood. I felt numb. Never

  before had I witnessed anything like this. Small fires still

  flickered and the light they created made the entire scene seem

  ghastly. There was a tearing noise, followed by a crash as the

  remaining roof parts slowly imploded, heaving up another

  cloud of dust while the ends were left standing alone;

  seemingly pathetic and useless. Nothing of the roof remained

  for them to support.

  People arrived in droves, hushed and staring. The whole

  town would have heard it. Potts and Floyd materialised from

  the throng, pushing their way through. They looked speechless

  and glanced over at the boarding house.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any damage?”

  “Some.” They turned their eyes away from the building

  and gave me an odd look, before heading for the boarding

  house. Next thing, a doctor with his medical bag appeared.

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “You can try that house over there. There’s a young miss

  who may need attention.” He too, turned towards the boarding

  house.

  Two policemen walked around the wreckage with lanterns,

  trying to see if there were any bodies to be found, but without

  success; although the return of daylight would possibly change

  that. In the meantime, the Colonel had spotted the man from

  the telegraph office and the two of them disappeared among

  the crowd.

  There was nothing more anyone could do, so I followed the