Because Lachie was in the Vic, Miss Daly and Miss Price were as well, sitting at a table that afforded them the best view of the burly lad and drinking Mrs Strauss’ signature lemonade. Passing by them at one point on his way to the facilities, Matthew overheard their conversation was about the trade unions and the many strikes of recent times. Mentally, he reassessed the opinion he’d held of the young ladies since his first meeting with them.
Jonah, gracefully wending through other patrons whilst carrying three pints of ale, set drinks on the table, took his seat and told Matthew and Lachie not to notice the man at the bar.
Matthew and Lachie immediately looked, of course.
At first, Matthew could only see Kitty Alson and her parents, Bert and heavily pregnant Nelly, on their way out; Kitty gazing longingly in Jonah’s direction, her father telling mother and daughter both to watch where they walked. Once the small group had moved through, though, Matthew was able to see … what, exactly?
The man at the bar was unremarkable in virtually every way that mattered. If Matthew had not been looking directly at him, he felt the man would melt away into the crowd without anyone being the wiser for his presence. But Jonah had noticed him. Jonah had spotted something remarkable that no one else could.
‘Lachie,’ Jonah said, voice a little lower in volume than it had been for most of the evening.
‘Yeah, Sarg?’
‘Need you to do something for me.’
Lachie set his beer down and wiped his mouth. ‘Yeah? What?’
Jonah leaned forward slightly. ‘I need you to say goodnight to us, casual as you can, and walk out.’
Lachie opened his mouth, no doubt to protest not wishing to leave or, more likely, his still very full beer. Jonah got in before he could though.
‘Once yer out of here, I want you to go quick as ya can to get George and bring him back. Make sure he’s got his gun and cuffs. You understand me? Quick as ya can, Lachie. Go.’
Matthew glanced away to the man at the bar. Beneath the table, Jonah’s knee pressed against Matthew’s. ‘Ignore him,’ Jonah murmured. ‘We’re alright.’ And then, to Lachie, ‘Get a move on now.’
Lachie did as he was told, cool as a bucket full of cucumbers. He mumbled something about his aches and pains and decided to push off to bed, bidding Matthew and Jonah a tired goodnight before taking his leave. It was a decent performance, Matthew had to admit.
‘What’s going on, Jonah?’ Matthew whispered when they were alone.
Jonah calmly took a long drink of his beer, then checked the time on his pocket watch. ‘Just giving Lachie a head start.’
‘For what?’
‘For this.’ Jonah gave him a wink and pushed his chair back. He stood and straightened his uniform jacket. His helmet was sitting on the table, but he didn’t move to retrieve it.
Matthew watched Jonah walk to the bar and stand to the right of the man who had piqued his interest. The same spot in which he’d been served when buying the last round of beers. Jonah fished some money from a pocket and placed it on the bar. ‘Two nips of brandy for me and the vicar, thanks, Missus Strauss!’
While the landlady filled the order, Jonah leaned casually against the bar and fixed on a smile. ‘Nice ring ya got there, mate,’ he said to the man beside him.
The man grunted out a ‘Yeah, thanks’ but otherwise ignored Jonah’s friendly overture, gaze fixed on the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar.
‘Mind me askin’ where it’s from?’
The man finally looked to his right. ‘What’s it to ya?’ he said, turning his head. When he got a good look at Jonah, he added a sneering ‘Copper?’ to the end of his sentence.
Jonah gave one of his crooked grins. ‘Rampant curiosity. Comes with the job, unfortunately.’ A beat, and then, ‘You wouldn’t know a lass called Lan Ling, by any chance?’
The man made a break for it, a clumsy, drunken run that had him stomping for the front door. Jonah put his hand to his holster, fingers curling over the handle of his gun, and shouted for him to halt.
From outside, a shot fired. The man stopped running on the pub’s front porch, slowly raising his hands up as George emerged from the darkness beyond.
‘Next one’s into you, mate, unless you do what my sergeant says!’ shouted George.
Jonah advanced towards the man, boots making more noise than he probably needed to so that the bloke could hear him when he stopped. ‘I’ll give ya a whole new arsehole if you make a move,’ Jonah said, and motioned over his head for George to come forward.
George holstered his weapon and trotted up onto the porch, keeping the man at arm’s length as he circled around him. He unhooked a heavy pair of handcuffs from his belt and, one by one pulled the man’s hands behind his back and cuffed him.
Jonah took his hand away from his gun. He’d never even unholstered it.
‘I haven’t done nothin’!’ shouted the cuffed man. ‘I was just having a fuckin’ drink!’
Jonah stepped up close behind him and grabbed hold of the chain between the manacles. ‘Just wanna ask ya some questions, mate, regarding that nice turtle ring you’ve got.’ There was none of the chumminess of before in his voice now. He sounded stern and severe. Dangerous, even. He looked back into the pub briefly. ‘Apologies for the commotion, Missus Strauss!’ he called, though his gaze, and the apologies that were to be found there was for Matthew.
George clapped a hand to the man’s left shoulder and the two troopers hustled their captive away.
Lachie Jackson loped back into the pub, plonked himself down in his seat from earlier, and casually took up the remainder of his abandoned beer.
***
‘I don’t know.’ Jonah shook his head in faux disappointment, plumes of smoke floating above him. ‘I give ya the perfect excuse, leave me helmet sitting at yer table, and do ya take the excuse to come visit me? Do ya buggery.’
Matthew flicked a finger at the top curve of Jonah’s left ear.
‘Ow!’ Jonah laughed and put out his rollie.
‘I know you said we mustn’t change the way we act,’ Matthew told him, ‘but I really don’t wish to be seen jumping on any and every opportunity to see you. It doesn’t seem proper.’
Jonah pointedly cast a look down their naked and entangled bodies and back up again. ‘You wanna talk about proper?’
Matthew flicked his ear again. ‘You’re incorrigible.’ He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to where he’d just flicked. ‘Missus Strauss gave it back, I assume?’
‘Me helmet? Yeah. She did.’
‘Why is it we never see Mister Strauss? Is he ill?’
Jonah bent an arm above his head and rested his temple against his wrist. ‘There is no Mister Strauss.’
That was a surprise. ‘Oh? I wasn’t aware Missus Strauss was a widow.’
‘She’s not. There is no Mister Strauss. Never was one.’
Matthew turned onto his side to see Jonah better. ‘But his name’s on the licence above the door?’
‘Yeah. I guess you could say he exists on paper.’
‘But why?’
Jonah cut him a sideways look. ‘So she can run her business, that’s why.’
‘Is that legal?’
Jonah shrugged. ‘Don’t care. She’s good at her business. Let her run it, I say.’
‘Do you keep secrets for everybody in this town?’
‘Well …’ Jonah smiled. ‘Maybe not everybody. Just enough to keep things interesting.’
‘I’d’ve thought you’d had your fill of interesting tonight.’
‘Not every day ya catch a murderer,’ Jonah agreed. He sighed. ‘Feel like I’ve earned my keep today.’
‘How you even remembered that particular turtle design, I’ll never know.’
Jonah turned on his side also, so that the two of them faced one another. ‘I’m good at my business, too.’
Matthew smiled at him indulgently. ‘You really are.’
***
The mornin
g of the fifth of May, Matthew ran into Kitty Alson—or rather, she ran into him. He was headed for the shop when she came careening down the embankment from the footy ground and collided, smack-bang, into him. He managed to catch her and steady her before either of them ended up on the ground.
‘Whoa!’ Kitty exclaimed, breathless. ‘Father Ottenshaw! So sorry! I had such a head of steam up, I couldn’t stop!’
‘Quite alright, Kitty,’ Matthew assured her. ‘No damage done. You’re not late for school, are you?’ He was quite sure the hour wasn’t that advanced.
‘Oh no,’ she replied, readjusting her satchel on her shoulder. ‘But I’ve gotta do stuff first. Have to get to the cop shop before school starts.’
‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’
She grinned hugely at him. ‘Nah. Nothing like. I just wanna give Sergeant Parks his prezzie.’
‘A present?’
Her big blue eyes glittered. ‘His birthday present, silly.’ She leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I’ve made jam. Specially for him. Hope he likes it.’
Well, he certainly has a sweet-tooth, Matthew thought to himself. ‘I’m sure he’ll be most pleased with that, Kitty,’ he said instead.
‘Right. So.’ Kitty shuffled a bit, clearly eager to push off but too polite to say so.
Matthew gave her a gentle smile. ‘You should hurry along, then, Kitty. Be sure you still make school on time.’
‘Oh, I will, Father!’ She beamed back. ‘Oo-roo!’ And she was off again, long chestnut braids flying behind her.
Jonah’s birthday. Matthew had had no idea. He wandered the last few yards to the general store in deep thought about presents. Should he procure something? Would Jonah appreciate such a gesture from him? The fact Jonah had not given him the information about his birthday might indicate that he would not …
‘We’ve treacle teacake fresh from the oven, Father, if you’d like one for the sergeant,’ were practically the first words out of Fiona Campbell’s mouth when Matthew entered the store.
He was surprised, but recovered quickly, wearing a smile. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be seeing the sergeant before the weekend, Miss Campbell, and if I were to take one of your teacakes now, I fear there’d be none left to share with friends by then.’
He purchased his bread and milk, made some small talk, and retreated back to the rectory. He’d planned on spending the morning writing the approaching Sunday’s sermon, but an idea struck him on the short walk home and he was unable to put it from his mind. He brewed some tea and arranged his writing equipment. Apart from taking delivery of sacramental supplies due to arrive around eleven, he had the whole day to devote to this composition if need be.
***
‘I didn’t know if I should expect you tonight.’
‘I didn’t know if I’d be able to get away.’ Jonah closed the door and made a beeline for the fire, immediately warming his hands. ‘George and Katy had me over for dinner.’
‘Because it’s your birthday, I suppose?’
Jonah looked up. ‘Who told you that?’
Matthew wore a defiant expression. ‘Was I not supposed to know?’
‘It’s not that.’ Jonah set his helmet on the table, snapped open some tunic buttons. ‘I’m just … not much keen on the fuss.’
‘Can I ask how old you are?’
The question made Jonah’s crooked smile dart across his mouth. ‘I’m legal, luv, don’t worry!’
‘Not for what we do, you’re not,’ Matthew reminded him soberly.
Jonah’s smile faded. ‘Thirty-three today,’ he said. ‘Is that good for you?’
‘I’m thirty-five next month,’ said Matthew, though he immediately wondered why.
Jonah walked up close to him, leaned in until he could rest their heads together, forehead to forehead. ‘Coupla eligible bachelors like us,’ he whispered. ‘Prime of our lives. Should be finding good women to marry and be pumpin’ out heirs and rascals.’ He gazed into Matthew’s eyes as soulfully as the close quarters allowed.
Matthew moved his head a little, back and forth, gently rubbing their foreheads together. ‘Not many more years now,’ he whispered back, ‘and people will start demanding to know why we’re not doing precisely that.’
‘Pfft,’ was Jonah’s response. ‘It’s started already. I just spent half of dinner fending off Katy’s queries about every unmanned female in town.’
‘Happy Birthday,’ Matthew murmured, with more than a little sarcasm.
Jonah closed the scant distance between them for a kiss, soft and sweet and slightly sad. He didn’t retreat when they broke for air, cupping his hands about Matthew’s face and showering kisses down upon him. Matthew snaked his arms around Jonah’s waist and pulled him nearer.
‘At least I’ve got God I can say I’m married to.’ He pressed his lips along Jonah’s jawline as he spoke, feeling the tiny spikes of stubble pressing back at him. ‘But everyone here has known you for years, Jonah. They know of your womanising. They’ll all be expecting you to choose one eventually.’
Jonah leaned back, still with his hands about Matthew’s face, and gave him a long, fond look. ‘Maybe I’ll have to think about another town before too long, then. Somewhere I can start my history from scratch again.’
Matthew regarded him with an equally long and, he hoped, equally fond look, then reached his hands to Jonah’s and lifted them from his face. He turned his head and nuzzled into one palm briefly before stepping away and letting Jonah’s hands fall. ‘Shall we toast your good health on occasion of your birth?’
‘Absofuckinglutely,’ Jonah replied, and removed his jacket.
‘I figured you mustn’t want me to procure you a present,’ Matthew said, pouring whiskies, ‘or else you’d have made sure I knew an important day was approaching.’
‘I don’t need nothing from ya, Matthew.’
‘So I didn’t get you anything.’ He handed Jonah a glass of scotch.
‘Good man.’
Matthew took up the other glass. ‘Many happy returns.’ He clinked their glasses together.
‘Ta,’ said Jonah, taking a drink.
Matthew sipped a little scotch, looking at Jonah over the rim of his glass. ‘I have, however, written something for you.’
He timed it just right that Jonah spluttered and coughed in response. Matthew chewed at his lip to stop himself laughing.
Jonah recovered and wiped at his mouth. ‘Fuck. Have we reached the poetical portion of this affair already?’
‘I could write you poems if you wish,’ Matthew said airily. ‘Though I fear the first rhyme I think of for your name is quite bawdy.’
There was a distinct sparkle in Jonah’s eyes. ‘Oh, you could write me some dirty words, I’m sure.’ He took another drink, eyes still on Matthew. ‘So … if not poetry, what then?’
Matthew set down his glass and moved to the fire, where he’d propped his day’s work against some books on the mantel. ‘I don’t know if you know much about your name.’
‘Lived in a whale, didn’t he?’
‘That story is most likely an allegory for the resurrection.’ Matthew smiled. He held the paper in his hand towards Jonah. ‘Did you know it means “dove”?’
‘As in a bird of peace?’ Jonah accepted the written tract.
‘Indeed,’ said Matthew. ‘I, I wrote you a pamphlet. All about your name. And peace and resurrection. Please don’t be offended by its spiritual meditations.’
Jonah stared down at the pages. ‘I don’t believe it’s possible,’ he said eventually, ‘for you to put two words together that could offend me.’ He lifted his gaze. ‘When did ya do all this? It must’ve took ages.’
‘Today.’ Matthew shrugged. ‘After I ran into Kitty Alson this morning.’
‘Makes a good jam, that lass. Ah.’ Jonah smiled to himself. ‘That’s how ya found out it was me birthday.’
‘You could have simply told me, you know. I wouldn’t have made any fuss if that was your wish.’
Jona
h looked down again at the pamphlet, his smile still shining. ‘Things seem to have worked out just fine as they’ve gone.’ He suddenly held the pages out towards Matthew. ‘Would you read it aloud to me? In yer church voice?’
‘I can do you better than that.’ Matthew grabbed up the whisky bottle and a dolly lamp. ‘I can read it for you in a church!’
***
Jonah sat in the front pew, long legs sprawled out casually before him, and looked up at Matthew, just two small steps above in the chancel, reading at the lectern. The only light came from the dolly lamp Matthew had brought with them, it gave little illumination but it was enough to read by. They ran the risk of discovery, that someone passing on the main road might see faint light from within the church at such an hour, but what of their lives was without risk these days?
The pamphlet Matthew wrote had raced from his pen first as a hotchpotch of thoughts, ideas and theological tenets, quickly filling page after page. Then, he’d formed and moulded these base elements until they resembled conscious composition, one idea following logically from another. Finally, he had finessed the writing itself, choosing a better word over a pedestrian one, a more lyrical phrase over mere groupings of words. The finished treatise, he had copied out onto fresh paper in his best hand, pouring good wishes for their recipient into every pen stroke.
Reading it aloud now, in his “church voice” as requested, he could watch the effect his words had on his friend. Jonah’s expression was open and receptive, allowing Matthew to read him as easily as the words on the page. He could tell when Jonah learnt something about his name or his namesake he hadn’t known before. He watched Jonah’s posture and attitude change slowly across the reading, casualness giving way to focus and surprise and finally delight and contemplation. He could see in Jonah’s face the precise moments Jonah listened between the lines and heard what Matthew was not saying. While Matthew spoke of truth and fairness and resurrection, Jonah heard his meaning of love and admiration and second chances. By pamphlet’s end, Jonah was leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped but head lifted, gaze intent on a middle distance.
By the Currawong's Call Page 16