Matthew walked over to Albie, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and stood with him. Behind Trentham, Jonah crossed his arms over his chest, still standing so close that the other man could not have helped but be aware of the action.
‘Sorry, Albert,’ Trentham said quickly, quietly.
Albie grinned. It was a little smug, but he got away with it. ‘Thanks, mate!’ He turned his head towards Matthew. ‘I think my missus was lookin’ for you, Father. She’s after giving you a bollocking for ditching the cricket so early in the season. Says Munt wouldn’t’ve took all the glory if you’d stayed on the team.’ The change of topic was abrupt, deliberately dismissive of Trentham.
‘Then we must find her so I may receive my bollocking,’ Matthew told him and, hand still resting on Albie’s shoulder, walked away with him. Sparing a backward glance, Matthew noted that Jonah was following after them, still trying to hide a smirk.
The denomination of farming equipment forgotten, the rest of the night proceeded without incident. The musicians’ playing became louder and faster as the evening grew older. Matthew danced with, surely, every female over the age of ten in Dinbratten. He only stopped when the Alson’s twelve-year-old daughter, Kitty, whisperingly confessed to him, mid-Pride of Erin, that she harboured a secret crush on Sergeant Parks and did Matthew cross his heart and hope to die that he wouldn’t tell another living soul but oh good gracious she simply had to tell someone or she’d burst.
Lemonade was in order, Matthew decided after that.
‘You and Kitty made a handsome couple,’ spoke a voice at his shoulder as he stood alone, nursing a cold drink and watching the dancers.
Steadfast, Matthew kept his gaze forward. ‘Sergeant.’
‘Dance that well with young girls, they’ll start getting a crush on you.’
Matthew laughed, but still kept looking ahead. ‘You don’t know how wrong you’ve got that one.’
Neither of them spoke for several moments, though Matthew was horribly, stupidly aware of Jonah’s presence. All these weeks of self-reproach, of shunning Parks’ company, it all came to nought as soon as the man stood by his side.
‘Thanks for sticking up for Albie before,’ Jonah said eventually.
‘He didn’t need me to.’
‘Of course he didn’t. But you did anyway. I knew I wasn’t wrong about you.’
That comment was sufficiently cryptic that, finally, Matthew chanced a look to his side. All he could think was how he and the man beside him had kissed. Dear Lord.
‘Not wrong about me how?’
‘You’re a good bloke.’ One corner of Jonah’s mouth quirked up. ‘Of strong character.’
Matthew had to look away again. Had to force himself to school his features and break eye contact and not reach out a trembling fingertip to brush against Jonah’s woollen jacket or brass button or leather holster.
‘We both know full well, Sergeant, that that’s not strictly true. My character has some unspeakable weaknesses. As you are sadly aware.’
The music changed, tempo stepping up even further, and Fiona and Anne Campbell waved from the dance floor, shouting for Jonah to join them. From the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Jonah wave back at the sisters and take half a step towards the dancing.
‘Sadly, my arse,’ he threw to Matthew over his shoulder as he strode away, boots and buttons gleaming in the party lights.
***
On the last day of March, there came a knock at the rectory door while Matthew was engaged in further personal Lent devotionals in the late morning. It was a commanding knock. His heart sank slightly at hearing it, but he opened the door nonetheless.
Jonah Parks touched one finger to the front of his helmet. ‘Hello, Father.’
Matthew glanced beyond his caller to check there was no one else with him. ‘Sergeant.’ He could hear for himself how wary his voice sounded. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘Yer needed at the station.’
Matthew quickly masked his surprise. ‘As a priest?’
Jonah nodded once, expression grim. ‘As a priest.’
‘Of course.’ Matthew took his hat from the hook near the door at once and, stepping outside, closed the door behind himself.
‘I’m assuming you’re alright with bodies?’ Jonah asked halfway-nonchalant as they walked towards the road.
‘Bodies?’ Matthew repeated. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Young woman, I’m afraid. We found her a couple of days ago. Don’t know who she is. Or how she came to be in our creek.’
‘Gracious.’
‘We’ve had precious little to go on,’ Jonah continued, voice tight. ‘Some fucker just, just used her and left her to rot.’ He spat into the dust of the road. ‘But we can’t keep her any longer, see. Not with the weather still as warm as it is. And no one’s come forward to claim her. Nothing else for it but to start looking at burial now.’
‘Naturally,’ Matthew murmured.
‘Only thing is … I’m pretty sure she’s not a Christian.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘She’s Chinese.’
Matthew blinked. ‘Oh. Still. Even if she wasn’t Christian, that’s no reason why we shouldn’t do the Christian thing by her. If the poor girl needs to be laid to rest, I’m happy to help her.’
‘I figured you for the sort who’d think that way.’
Matthew glanced up sideways at Jonah just in time to catch the small smile the sergeant was giving him.
‘Should warn ya though—’ Jonah’s smile slipped away, ‘—your view on the situation might not be shared by the whole town.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Yer about to find out.’
They turned the bend in the main road, bringing the police station into their view for the first time. Outside the station was gathered a small group of locals. As Jonah and Matthew approached and attempted to enter the station, the group tightened about them and shouts rose up.
‘It’s not right, Father!’ yelled a woman whose name Matthew couldn’t immediately recall.
‘Don’t let them browbeat you about it!’ shouted another.
‘Stand up to them, Father!’ Mick Trentham. Why was Matthew not surprised? ‘My family’s in that graveyard! You can’t put a heathen in there with them!’
Jonah and Matthew strode purposefully through the crowd, Jonah placing one arm across Matthew’s back to better usher him along. Matthew had never seen the townspeople so agitated since he arrived.
‘What on Earth was all that about?’ he asked as soon as they were within the relative safety of the police station walls.
‘I warned ya.’ Jonah removed his helmet as he spoke. ‘They’re not happy about a Chinese going into their cemetery.’
‘What would they have us do with the poor girl instead?’
Jonah shrugged. ‘Fuck knows. I don’t think they’ve got as far as actually thinking things through.’
Matthew followed as Jonah led him through the station to an outhouse built of gumtree slabs. Inside, on a trestle table, covered by a blanket and with large blocks of ice outlining her, lay the woman’s body. Matthew approached and, through the cover of the blanket, gingerly laid a hand on her forehead and murmured a short prayer. When he finished and took his hand away again, he found Jonah looking at him with his head slightly tilted.
‘Have you photographed her? In case someone comes forward at a later date?’
Jonah shook his head. ‘Our station doesn’t have that sort of equipment. No one in Ratty does. There’s a salon in Munt and I’ve telegraphed, of course, but they’re shut for a month ‘cos he’s gone to Adelaide for his daughter’s wedding.’ He crossed his arms and sighed, his frustration with the confluence of events easily read. ‘We tried sketching her, but me and George aren’t exactly talented in that area. So now … I’m out of options.’
‘Poor girl,’ Matthew said, soft and reverential.
Jonah uncrossed his arms. ‘I suspect she might not have be
en all that poor, actually.’
‘Oh?’
Jonah moved closer and pulled a pale hand free from the blanket. ‘See her fingers?’
Matthew peered at them. ‘She wore rings?’
‘Yup.’ Jonah nodded heavily. ‘Three of them. At least. Whoever did this to her took ‘em.’
‘So you don’t think she’s some poor goldfields laundry girl, then?’
‘Hardly. These aren’t worker’s hands, neither.’
Matthew looked a little more closely. Jonah was right. He looked up at his friend, watching as Jonah gently placed her hand back under the blanket. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Jonah pushed chunks of the melting ice closer towards her body. ‘I’ll level with ya, I don’t think the town’s gonna let you bury her in Dinbratten.’
‘But surely my word—?’
‘You’re still new, Matthew.’ Jonah’s eyes looked very dark inside the slab hut. Dark and sad. ‘Even Father Swan would’ve had a hard time winning over that lot out there in her favour. And he’d baptised half this town and buried the other half.’
Matthew sighed loudly. ‘Very well. What do you suggest, then?’
‘You can bless a plot of land, right?’
Matthew frowned. ‘I can dedicate it to the Lord, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Good enough.’ Jonah’s easy, lopsided smile appeared just briefly. ‘I reckon it’s high time this town started its own Chinese cemetery. What do you say?’
He understood what Jonah was suggesting now. ‘I can’t do a Buddhist dedication, Jonah. I don’t know any.’
Jonah laughed softly, a dry sound in the stillness of the hut. ‘I know that. I just think … she deserves something, y’know? This terrible thing happened to her here in Ratty and none of us could stop it. The least we can do is offer her a little protection in the afterlife. Even if it’s technically the wrong flavour. Gotta be better than nothing.’
Matthew contemplated Jonah quietly. He admired this man, he realised. Even more than that, he truly did like him. ‘Did you have a spot in mind?’
***
They dug her grave together, two shovels working around one another in the earth as well as two rakes had worked around each other to ward off the bushfire. Her resting place was watched over by ghost gums and wattle trees—come the end of winter, she would be snowed under a blanket of yellow wattle blossom. Jonah spoke the words of the Lord’s Prayer along with Matthew when they were done.
***
They’d moved through the sombre stage already by the time they arrived back at the rectory. Both becoming louder, perhaps feeling the need to respectfully blow off a little steam after the day’s introspections and physical labours.
Jonah slipped his helmet off as he crossed the threshold. ‘Please tell me you have copious amounts of booze stashed around the place.’
Matthew placed his own hat on the hook by the door and dusted some dirt and dust from the front of his cassock. ‘Well, I don’t know about “copious” exactly.’
‘I’ll settle for merely “lots”, then.’ Jonah gave him a wink.
‘That, I think I can do.’ Matthew set about retrieving a bottle and two glasses, pouring a generous amount into each, while Jonah helped himself to lighting a candle and a lamp and setting his uniform jacket on the back of a chair.
‘As a rule,’ said Matthew, ‘I don’t drink during Lent.’ He passed one of the glasses to Jonah and took up the second one for himself. ‘But I do wish to make a toast.’ They held their glasses close together. ‘To Dinbratten’s newest daughter,’ Matthew announced.
Jonah nodded in approval, clinking his glass against Matthew’s. ‘Dinbratten’s newest daughter,’ he repeated solemnly. Silence descended while they drank their toast. Jonah broke it after a little while with, ‘You did some nice work today.’
Matthew peered into his drink. Gave a small shrug. ‘It’s my job. Just like you do yours.’
‘Between the two of us, you’d reckon we could whip this town into some sort of shape, huh?’
Matthew raised his eyes and met Jonah’s gaze. ‘I wasn’t really aware, until today, that they needed much in the way of whipping.’ They shared a small laugh, until memories of the crowd outside the police station re-darkened Matthew’s mood. ‘Will they hate me now, do you think? Not want me to minister to them, now that I’ve tainted my hands on blessing a heathen?’
Jonah’s response was unhesitating. ‘Fuck ‘em if they think that. Pardon my French.’
‘Pardon given.’
‘I mean, honestly—’ Jonah’s voice rose a little in frustration, ‘—If those cretins can’t see what a bloody marvellous minister they’ve landed themselves, well, I don’t know what to think.’
Matthew couldn’t hold back a pleased smile. ‘Bloody marvellous?’
Jonah coughed into his shirt sleeve. ‘I told ya. You’re a good sort. This town’s lucky to have you.’
‘And to have you as well, it would seem, Sergeant.’
‘Hey now. I think we’ve moved well beyond the need for “Sergeant”, don’t you?’
‘You called me “Father” this morning.’ Matthew resisted pouting. Just.
‘Yeah,’ Jonah conceded, ‘but that’s ‘cos I wasn’t sure what sort of welcome I was gonna get when I came knockin’ at yer door. Seeing as how you’ve been avoiding me for the last coupla months.’
‘I have not!’ A blatant lie. Matthew would have to atone for that in his evening prayers.
‘You bloody have, ya bugger. Barely had two words outta ya either side of the harvest fest. Not since the fire. It’s like you’ve given up me for Lent as well as the grog.’
He didn’t know just how right he was on that score. Matthew could only utter a small, ‘Can you blame me?’
Rather than answer, Jonah simply drained his glass and gave Matthew a tired smile. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got some water handy for a quick wash, have you? Grave digging’s dirty business.’
Thankful for the change of conversation, Matthew bustled about, muttering something faintly damning about his hosting duties. He took the large kettle hanging in one side of the fireplace through to the bedroom, where a jug and basin sat on the washstand. The water was only tepid, the fire having not been tended most of the day, but it was better than nothing. After returning the kettle, he fetched clean towels from the dresser and then retreated to the sitting room while his guest washed up.
Several minutes later, he was taking up the whisky bottle again, with the intent of pouring Jonah another drink, when Jonah returned. With his unbuttoned shirt and union suit hanging around his trouser-waist, Jonah was rubbing a towel over his naked chest as he gravitated towards the fireplace.
‘Jonah.’ Matthew was grateful to hear his voice sounded steady enough, even if he didn’t feel so. ‘Please cover yourself.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Jonah drawled, tone sarcastic. ‘Forgot I’m a walking temptation for you now.’ Matthew said nothing in response and Jonah must have realised that his words had struck a chord. ‘Holy shit. I really am.’ He pulled his union suit into place and did the buttons, seeming more than a little pissed off.
‘I’m trying my hardest to keep control of myself,’ Matthew tried to explain. ‘You can’t just go parading around half naked in front of me like that!’
Jonah pulled his shirt up onto his shoulders and did half the buttons up to his chest, shooting Matthew a glare. ‘I wasn’t parading.’
Remembering the bottle in his hand, Matthew miserably poured more drink into Jonah’s glass. After a moment he quietly offered, ‘I’m sorry. That was hyperbole. Of course you weren’t. But still, I can’t see you like that.’
‘Because why? You’re scared you’ll lose control and ravish me?’ Jonah made a derisive noise. ‘No offence, Matthew, but the only way you’d ever be able to ravish me is if I fuckin’ well let you.’
Silence descended. Weakened, Matthew poured another whisky for himself and drank it. After working so well together
in aid of the unfortunate girl and sharing such a companionable day, they’d now managed to upset each other over something so silly. Finally, after gathering as much of his courage as was possible, Matthew looked up at his friend. ‘I don’t even know …’ His voice petered out.
‘You don’t even know what?’ Jonah prompted after a moment.
‘I don’t even know the words for the things I want to do.’
A tiny grin started first in the blue of Jonah’s eyes, then spread to one corner of his mouth. ‘I do,’ he said simply, voice a little husky. ‘They’re all filthy. That’s probably part of the fun of ‘em.’
‘I want to kiss you.’ Matthew’s voice was barely above a whisper.
‘Well, now we’re getting somewhere.’ There seemed to be a vague air of challenge in Jonah’s tone.
‘I want to kiss you,’ Matthew repeated, still quiet, eyes intent on Jonah, ‘but my curtains are open. And it would look highly suspicious if I were to close them while entertaining a guest.’
Jonah’s grin grew a little wider, a little more sly. ‘Yeah. It would.’ He drained his drink in one go and retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair he’d placed it on earlier. ‘You know,’ he said in a casual, conversational tone as he set about putting it on and doing it up. ‘I often walk a turn of the town after dark. Don’t have to, mind. I just like to. Make sure all’s well for the night. It’d be pretty easy for me to loop around the bush out back there, come up on this place from the back. Especially now since the fire took the fence out.’
Matthew could hardly believe what he was hearing, what Jonah was suggesting, but he kept his composure. He watched Jonah take his duty band out of his pocket and work it into place on his jacket sleeve. Their gazes locked together when Jonah raised his head.
‘Don’t knock,’ Matthew breathed.
Jonah stood a little straighter, a little taller in his uniform. ‘I won’t.’ And he retrieved his helmet and strode out of the rectory.
Chapter 4
Matthew spent the remainder of the day in a state of quiet agitation. He didn’t know what time to expect Jonah to appear at the back doorstep of the rectory. “After dark” the trooper had said he walked the town. But did that mean soon after nightfall or after the pubs had shut? Around midnight or in the early hours of the new day?
By the Currawong's Call Page 8