After looking at her for a long moment, he sighed. ‘I take your point. The war was an eye opener for me too. My faith was put to the ultimate test time after time. It’s hard to believe in God when you’re surrounded by carnage and the death of your closest mates.’
He stubbed out his cheroot. ‘But my faith is a part of me. A very personal part. I’m not about to spout religion or try to convert you, I just want to live my life as best I can.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You must think I’m some kind of religious nut or at best a whinger. Sorry.’
Matilda leaned across the table and took his hands. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me how you feel,’ she said gently.
He didn’t pull away but began to stroke her fingers. ‘You’re easy to talk to, Molly. Somehow I knew you’d understand.’
She swallowed the lump in her throat and wished she could stroke back the dark curls that fell over his forehead. Wished she could take him in her arms and hold him until the shadows faded from his eyes. The war had a lot to answer for and she regretted not having his kind of faith.
Then reason took over and she snatched her hand away and busied herself with the dishes. What on earth was she doing? she thought furiously. Pull yourself together, woman, have you lost every grain of sense you ever possessed?
Dumping the dishes in the sink, she turned on the radio and waited for it to warm up. ‘You mustn’t bury yourself out on Wilga, Finn,’ she said gruffly. ‘There’s a good social life to be had out there, and it’s time you had some fun.’
A beautiful Strauss waltz drifted from the wireless and filled the silence which had fallen between them.
‘You’re being very wise for someone who rarely leaves Churinga. Why have you never gone to the dances and parties? How come you never married?’
‘I’ve been too busy,’ she said shortly. ‘Besides, I don’t need a man to make my life complete.’
Finn was swiftly beside her, his warm hands covering hers as he turned her to face him. ‘Why is there so much anger in you, Molly? Who hurt you so badly that you shut yourself away out here?’
Matilda tried to pull away, but he held her fast. She glanced up at him, the top of her head barely reaching his chest. They had never been this close before and it was doing strange things to her insides.
‘I’m not angry,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Merely settled in my ways. You seem to forget, Finn, I’m an old woman and it’s too late for me to change.’
‘You didn’t answer my question, Molly,’ he said softly. He put a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look up at him. ‘Something happened to make you hide. Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me?’
Some things she couldn’t tell him. Didn’t have the courage. She swallowed, then after a hesitant start found the words began to flow in an almost never-ending stream as she related some of her past. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She looked up at him, a silent plea in her eyes for him to understand and not question her further.
His breath came in a long, deep sigh as he folded his arms around her and held her close. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Molly. Brave too. You shouldn’t have to shut yourself away out here because of what happened in the past. Any decent man would be proud to have you as his wife.’
‘Nonsense,’ she stuttered against the broad, warm chest. She could hardly breathe and her pulse was racing with the intensity of his nearness. How she longed to rest her head there, to breathe in the wonderful, crisp, outdoor smell of him, feel the steady drum of his pulse.
She resisted the primal urge to give in to her longings and looked up. ‘I’m old, with skin like a freckled prune and hands like a drover. My hair’s the colour of carrots and about as tough as fencing wire. I’m quite happy to stay single. The land might let you down now and again but at least it never lies to you.’
She tried to pull away from him but his grip was firm, his gaze unwavering as he led her into the slow, seductive waltz. She was a moth, trapped in the intense light of his eyes, and as he bent his head and kissed her, she flinched. For a fleeting second in that butterfly kiss she’d been burned as if by flame. It coursed through her and sent her thoughts spinning into space – shattering the tenets of her solitary life into dust. And yet it was wrong. He was too young. She was too old. Things like this shouldn’t be happening. She should pull away now and put a stop to this.
But she was transfixed. It was as if she had no control. He was leading her in a dance that she wished would last forever – and despite all her misgivings, there was nothing she could do about it.
They moved slowly with the music, becoming part of its beauty until the last refrain hovered in the stillness of Churinga. Then Finn cupped her face in his hands. He was so close she could feel his breath on her eyelashes and see the violet chards in the blue of his eyes. This was wrong – every sense told her so – and yet she wanted him to kiss her again. Wanted to feel that soft mouth on hers. Wanted the shock of electricity that sparked such conflicting, delightful emotions within her.
His lips were closer now, almost touching hers, and then slowly, slowly they settled.
Matilda was swept up in a vortex of a desire such as she had never known – had never believed possible. She clung to him, ran her fingers through his hair as she leaned into him. She drowned in the sweetness of his touch as he kissed her throat and the pulse in her neck before returning to her lips. His tongue explored the soft inside of her mouth, swirling eddies of unbelievable delight through her. She was melting into him, fusing herself into his very being – and still it wasn’t enough.
‘I love you, Molly,’ he groaned. ‘I love you so much it hurts. Be my wife,’ he pleaded as he traced fire down the column of her throat and into the hollow at its base. ‘Marry me, Matilda. Marry me before I go crazy.’
She fought her way back to reality and staggered from his arms. ‘I can’t,’ she gasped. ‘This is madness. It wouldn’t work.’
She evaded him as he reached for her. If he touched her again she would be lost, and she knew one of them had to come to their senses.
The confusion was clear on his face. ‘Why, Molly? I love you, and after what’s just happened between us, I know you love me. Why are you letting your stubbornness get in the way?’
He took a step closer to her but didn’t try to touch her. ‘Not all men are like Mervyn,’ he said softly. ‘I promise never to hurt you. You’re too precious.’
Matilda burst into tears. It was something she hadn’t done for a long time, but her emotions were so muddled that nothing could surprise her tonight. She loved him – there was no doubt about it – the miracle was that he should feel the same.
Yet as she looked at him through her tears and saw the hurt and bewilderment in his eyes, she tried to see their future together. What if it was purely loneliness that had driven them into each other’s arms? What if one day he looked at her and saw how old she was? What if he should discover he didn’t love her at all, and turned to a younger woman who could give him the children and the promise of growing old together? How could she ever bear the agony of seeing him with someone else after knowing him so intimately?
She felt the pain as though someone had plunged a sharp knife into her, and although the agony was all-consuming she knew what her answer must be and the consequences it would bring. She was about to lose him. Their friendship could never be the same after tonight – and she would never know him as a lover.
‘I can’t marry you, Finn, because I’m nearly thirty-seven and too old and worn out with working the land for so long. Find someone who can grow old with you, my love. Someone who will give you kids and a long future together.’
His hands were strong as they gripped her arm and twisted her to face him. He held her tightly against his chest, rocking her as if she was a baby.
‘I am going to marry you, Matilda Thomas,’ he said fiercely. ‘We love each other and I want you for my wife. I won’t take no for
an answer. We have only one chance in this life and I won’t throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to me because you think you’re too old.’
Her tears drenched his shirt as she thought of Gabriel’s story of the first man and woman, and how they decided to travel life’s journey together. She loved Finn and he loved her – why try and look into a future that held no guarantees for anyone? If they only had a short time of happiness then surely that was better than the bleak emptiness without him?
She looked into his eyes, saw the love he had for her and relaxed in his embrace. Drawing his head down, she felt the wonder of his mouth on hers and knew it was right. She would cherish each day, each moment, so that when their time together was over, she would have a store of memories to treasure.
‘Yes, Finn. I’ll marry you. I love you too much to let you go.’
‘Then come waltz with me, Matilda. Waltz with me forever,’ he cried jubilantly, sweeping her off her feet.
She clung to him, the tears of happiness rolling down her face. For as long as it lasts, she silently promised herself. For as long as it lasts.
* * *
Jenny wiped away the tears and put the diary aside. Matilda was an extraordinary woman. She had survived the kind of life that would have finished off strong men and had almost sacrificed her happiness because she doubted anyone as young and handsome as Finn should want her. And yet she’d had the courage to face that uncertain future, no matter how painful it might become – for she understood that life held no guarantees, and he was worth the gamble.
Jenny sighed and thought of Peter and Ben. Her own life had seemed so settled, so secure, and yet fate had stepped in and torn that life apart. Her memories were all she had left, but they were better than nothing.
The first rays of light were struggling against the storm clouds, and as she watched them drift into the room, she wondered if memories of Brett and Churinga would remain with her once she’d returned to Sydney.
Certainly she would always carry the memory of Matilda, for how could those diaries not affect the reader. But Brett? he was no Finn McCauley, that was for sure.
‘One more day, Ripper. That’s all we’ve got.’ She pulled the pup from his hiding place under the bed and cuddled him. He licked her face and trembled at each growl of thunder, his tail tight between his legs. ‘Come on, boy. A quick run in the yard then you can eat.’
She carried him out to the back porch, and after a hurried scuffle in the long grass, he was back at her side. Jenny looked up at the sky. Despite the heat, she shivered. The electricity was tangible in the air, the ominous scent of gathering forces bound the earth and sky together in a tight, breathless balance, waiting for the moment when all the furies would be unleashed.
She glanced across at the paddocks. The horses had been corralled in the far corner away from the trees that swayed and dipped in the hot wind, their long, supple branches sweeping the dry earth. Sheep huddled in woolly clumps against fences, their backs to the wind, their stupid bleating drifting across the pasture.
The scene was one Jenny knew had been repeated over the decades, and would probably be repeated for years to come. The outback didn’t change and neither did the people who inhabited it. They were a strong, invincible breed, as tough as the land they worked and the elements they fought.
Turning back into the house, she put Ripper’s dinner in a bowl. His appetite had obviously not been affected by his fright, she noticed. She left him to it and crossed the room to look once again at the watercolours that had fascinated her even since her arrival.
This was Churinga as Matilda had known it. Each detail lovingly recreated with delicate brushwork and soft colour. Jenny was glad she and Matilda shared this love of art. It made her feel even closer to the woman she had never met but whom she’d had the fortune to know intimately.
Taking the paintings down from the wall, she stacked them carefully into an apple crate then wedged them firmly with her own rolled up canvases. Adding her drawing pads, oils and brushes, she tied the whole thing up with string and brown paper. She would take them back to Sydney, she decided. Not only as a reminder of what might have been but as a tangible record of one woman’s life and influence on a small corner of New South Wales.
One more day, she thought sadly as she looked around the silent house. Only one more day and all this will be just a memory. Annoyed with herself, and feeling the need for company, she checked on Diane.
She was lying on top of the sheets, the bedside light casting a pool of yellow into the gloom, the diaries spread across the bed. She was asleep, a frown puckering her brow, her lips moving in silent communion with her dreams.
Jenny closed the door and went back to her own room. There were only a few pages left then it would be over. The last day could be spent riding over the land she had come to love so she could say goodbye.
* * *
Matilda was swept along in the wake of Finn’s enthusiasm. ‘I think we should wait a while, Finn,’ she protested. ‘You might want to change your mind.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he said firmly. ‘And there’s no reason for us to wait, Molly. God knows it took long enough for us to find one another.’
‘Then let’s just slip off to a register office in Broken Hill,’ she said urgently. ‘I don’t know that I want to be the focus of so much attention and gossip, and I’d feel a hypocrite going through a church service.’
He held her then and kissed the top of her fiery head. ‘I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing, Molly. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have God’s blessing, and the whole world can look on as far as I’m concerned. It’s you and me and the vows we take that matters – no one else.’
Matilda looked at him, not totally convinced he was right. She had spent too many years trying to silence the chattering voices over the bush telephone, and yet in the wake of Finn’s determination, she could do nothing to stem the crumbling of that veneer she had built up to protect herself.
Father Ryan had aged. His long, thin face was wreathed in lines of weariness and his once dark hair was now iron grey. The mule and buck board had been replaced with a car, but those long years of travelling through his vast parish had taken their toll.
He smiled as Matilda and Finn told them why they had come. ‘I’m delighted for both of you,’ he said in his soft Irish brogue that had hardly been touched by an Australian twang. ‘I know life hasn’t been easy for you Matilda, and I would be honoured to perform the wedding ceremony.’
She looked across at Finn as he took her hand and held it on his knee. He was doing his best to reassure her but she still felt uneasy in the presence of the priest.
Father Ryan was turning the pages of his diary. ‘So many weddings now the war is over,’ he sighed happily. ‘I’ll call the banns this Sunday and arrange the service for four weeks’ time.’ He looked up. ‘How does that suit you?’
Matilda and Finn exchanged glances, and he held her fingers tightly. ‘Can’t come soon enough, Father,’ he said.
The priest looked sternly over his half-moon glasses, and Matilda blushed. ‘It’s not like that, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘We just don’t see the sense in waiting, that’s all.’
Her hand was sweating and the room seemed to be closing in. It had been a mistake to come here. A mistake to think she could face the priest again after the things that had happened with her father.
‘Your mother brought you up to be a good Catholic girl, Matilda,’ he admonished. ‘I wouldn’t like to think you’d be entering into marriage with sin on your soul.’
There’s more sin on my soul than you’d ever think possible, she thought, as she gripped Finn’s hand for support.
He leaned forward. ‘Matilda and I have done nothing wrong, Father. We are content to wait until our wedding day.’
The priest shut the book and leaned back in his chair. He pulled out a battered pocket watch and flicked it open. ‘Would you like me to hear your confessions while you’re here? I have time.�
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‘It’s been too many years, Father,’ Matilda said hurriedly. ‘I doubt if I could remember all my sins.’ She smiled, trying to make light of it and to avoid his penetrating stare. She wanted to get out of the office and into fresh air. Needed to be away from the smell of furniture polish and musty books. Why had she let Finn bring her here when she’d sinned so badly that she was too ashamed to tell a priest? Father Ryan would preach hell and damnation if he knew what she’d done with Mervyn, and the consequences of that terrible deed.
Finn held her hand, increasing the pressure in tacit encouragement for her to remain strong. But she knew this was one time she would fail him.
‘I’m sorry, Father. It’s been too long and it would be hypocritical of me to try and confess now,’ she finished lamely.
Father Ryan took off his spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘I can’t force you, Matilda, and I wouldn’t want to. But confession is a part of the ceremony and I hope you will change your mind. If you need to talk, you know where I am. That goes for you too, young man.’
He stood up and shook hands, then led them out of the presbytery. ‘I expect you both to come to mass on the next three Sundays to hear the reading of your banns. God bless you.’
Matilda hurried down the path past the dusty, leaning tombstones and out into the street. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the claustrophobic reach of the church. It had been too many years since she’d thought about God. Too much had happened, and her faith had not been strong enough to survive the onslaught.
Finn caught up with her and grasped her arm. ‘Wait on, Matilda. What’s the rush? What is it you’re afraid of?’
She looked at him for a long moment, the dust of the graveyard swirling around her feet. ‘I have something to tell you, Finn,’ she said quietly. ‘But not here. Please take me back to Churinga.’
His silence was deep and puzzled as they walked back to the utility. She was grateful for it nevertheless. She didn’t look at the grandeur of the sweeping grasslands as they drove out of Wallaby Flats; she was busy working out in her mind what she would say to him. It wasn’t right to keep that last secret from him – the secret of the child she’d buried so long ago.
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