Toward Love's Horizon

by Michele du Barry

  Scott sank deflated into another chair, his eyes accusing. “She saved your life, Ezra! Why didn’t you kill him before that?”

  “Because I didn’t know. I didn’t find out until much later exactly what had happened between them and then it was too late. She feared for her life and her sanity, and it was then she made me promise to get the children to you. I think Angela would have killed herself if it hadn’t been for the children.

  “Laporte was perverse and sadistic and he used her like a whore. He almost destroyed Angela! I thought at times that if he didn’t kill her she would surely go insane.

  “Then one night he and Jules got drunk. They took turns raping her. I never heard a complaint from her before but that night—” Ezra shuddered like a huge tree being felled. “Sometimes I still hear her screams echoing down the hall in my dreams. I thought they had killed her but they hadn’t—only raped and sodomized her so brutally that she could hardly walk.”

  Scott’s face took on a gray hue and his fists clamped onto the arms of the chair until the knuckles were white. A muscle twitched in his tight jaw and his eyes looked sick.

  “It was then that Angela found out that they meant to torment the children anyway and then kill them and her. She went mad and while they were dead drunk she smashed Jules’ head in and slit Laporte’s throat.

  “We escaped on the raft and drifted for days before being picked up by a wrecker. They took us to Key West and it was there Angela found out she was pregnant with Laporte’s child.”

  “Clare! No wonder she couldn’t tell me! But you should have, Ezra. I’ve made a complete fool of myself and wrecked our lives!”

  “That’s not everything,” Ezra declared, “these papers are yours—a full pardon. You are free now to do what you want.”

  As Scott sat just staring in stunned silence Ezra related the rest: Jack and Amy, the attempted suicide and abortions, the Old Woman and finally the deception of Celeste and Clyde. He left Scott sitting with both hands covering his face.

  His shoulders shook with silent sobs that wrenched his heart and soul. Angela! His abused, mistreated wife, and he had only compounded the brutality of the others. She was guilty only of loving their children better than herself. She had fought and when that wasn’t enough had surrendered herself in their place.

  But worst of all was the crime he had performed upon her at their last meeting. Scott could hardly breathe, seeing once again those wide shocked eyes staring at nothing, unblinking in their terror. Once again she had come to him even after his disbelief and rejection, to comfort him. He in turn had been his usual blind, stubborn self and ravaged her in an unspeakable way.

  A knife twisted in Scott’s insides and pierced through his beating heart, but still he lived. He wanted to die! He didn’t deserve to be alive after what he had done to her.

  “Angela! You’re not dead! I won’t let you be,” Scott groaned, writhing with the agony of full knowledge. I swear I will find you!”

  Much later, Scott was himself again—and went in search of Ezra.

  “You said once that you would kill me for what I did to Angela,” Scott told Ezra as they faced each other on the veranda. “Well, do it now. I won’t lift a finger to stop you!”

  Ezra looked at the complete devastation of the man standing before him. He looked as if someone had beaten him. “Why should I put you out of your misery? Alive, you will have to live with what you have done for the rest of your life. Besides, I couldn’t orphan Robert. He has already lost a mother.”

  “Do you really believe that? I haven’t given up. I will continue searching until I find Angela or have proof positive she is dead.”

  “And if she’s alive, what then?” Ezra’s look was skeptical.

  “I will take her back to England and love her as I never have before. Ezra, will you help me?” There was a silent plea in his voice.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “First thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Ezra held out his hand. “It may be a long hard journey—we may as well start as friends.” They shook hands and Scott couldn’t help but admire the big man who had saved his wife and children from destruction.

  The day was almost done and the sun was impaled on a peak of the mountains. This was the time of solitude that Rose devoted to herself and she wandered between the gnarled trunks of trees on the edge of the forest. She never ventured very far for fear of getting lost and even worse the fear of being seen by anyone besides the Mudds. For Hazel had convinced her that someone would be looking for her, but Rose had no desire to be found. Especially not by the man in the locket.

  Hazel’s never ending delight was making up plausible stories of why she was lost, why she couldn’t remember, and who the people inside the golden heart were. But Rose didn’t want to know, well maybe the children, but they weren’t likely to be wandering around in the bush looking for her. No, if anyone came it would be that man with the dangerous eyes, that made her feel sick and weak when she studied his portrait. So she was careful on her solitary walks and alert for any danger.

  She stretched putting a hand to the small of her back where a persistent ache resided from scrubbing the floor. Hazel had insisted that she was a guest but Rose stubbornly overruled her, needing to contribute to the work involved. Besides it was good to have something to do to occupy her hands and mind, since there was nothing to think about except her forgotten past.

  She was suspended in time with no past and no future, only the present. There were three people in the wide world she could trust: Will and Hazel Mudd and herself. They had been wonderful, treating her like the daughter they had never had. Living at the foot of the Blue Mountains was simple and undemanding with only the basic need to survive from day to day.

  Sometimes Will let her ride his old horse and Rose felt strangely upset because it wouldn’t move past a walk and had no pep. When she sat astride she closed her eyes and could feel all the vigor of a powerful mount surging between her knees. She was galloping with the wind, taking high jumps and almost dashing over the edge of a cliff straight into the sea. But when her eyes opened again it was not a young stallion she was mounted on but the sad old hack.

  And Hazel would nod her head sagely. “You’re a lady,” she would say, “all ladies ride to the hounds in England. English women have horsemanship in their blood!”

  They spent happy hours together cleaning and cooking and doing chores around the farm and Hazel taught her how to serve kangaroo in at least fifty different ways. She would reminisce fondly about the grand dinner parties she had cooked, the wonderful compliments she got. Once a duchess had actually tried to steal her away from the people she had worked for, because everyone knew a good cook was hard to find. But Hazel had stayed where she was, perfectly content. After all who knew what it would be like working for a duchess?

  “A duchess,” Rose repeated as she walked along. “Duchess.” And the word had a familiar ring to it. She could almost hear in her mind a laughing masculine voice saying that word. But it didn’t upset her as so many whispers from her past did. Instead she felt warm and very safe and her fingers rubbed the emerald that she always wore around her neck.

  A koala bear with a baby clinging to its back looked down at her with round curious eyes. Rose smiled up at it. They were so cuddly looking but Will had warned her against touching them. They were wild creatures, unused to man and for all their innocent looks had sharp claws which could tear open flesh.

  That reminded her of her dreams, such confusing swirling pictures troubling her sleep. They started out so nicely with a faceless man gently but thoroughly making love to her. But then right in the middle of it she saw his face and it was the man in the locket with his face twisted with hate. He hurt her, taking pleasure in doing vile things which she could never escape. He shouted at her, horrible words, until her eardrums shattered and she woke up screaming in the night.

  There were other dreams too and she was drowning in a sea of red
wine and crimson blood. A ship with white sails was sinking too and on it was the monster with a leering scarred face who had thrown her in. “Chérie” he shouted pointing at the scarlet waves and she looked to see a fin hurtling toward her.

  Every night she had those nightmares mixed up with a jumble of faces and places. It was a relief when the dawn approached and she could get up and start the fire, beginning preparations for breakfast.

  Darkness was descending like a slowly falling curtain and Rose hurried through the shadowy forest toward the warmth of home. The closed windows glowed from within with a subdued light. The tightly stretched and oiled skins didn’t let much light in or out. They should have glass inserted but it was too precious and Rose saw tiny diamond panes glittering in the light. She blinked and they were gone.

  It happened all the time—brief split-second glimpses into her past. Inconsequential things like a yellow flower, a white horse, a glowing fire in a huge stone fireplace, a torn faded flag waving from the top of a tower. They made no sense, only served to remind her that her memory had been wiped clean—almost. But it didn’t bother Rose that she couldn’t remember, it was the flashes of the past that upset her. If not for them she could have been very happy in her new surroundings.

  As Rose opened the door she smiled. It was always the same familiar thing each time she returned at dusk. Fragrant aromas greeted her and Hazel was at work, in her glory, basting the wild ducks that Will had shot this morning. This was a rare treat for them and the evening had the festive atmosphere of a gala party.

  “It smells divine!”

  “I always did have a way with ducks,” Hazel said. “What I wouldn’t do for a real stove! We would eat like kings.”

  “But we do already,” complimented Rose sitting in the chair before the fire and taking up her sewing.

  She was making over one of Hazel’s dresses to fit herself. They were much the same height but there was enough material to make three dresses for her own slender figure. It was plain brown cotton, far less expensive than the clothes she had arrived in but that didn’t matter. Hazel had very few clothes and the fact that she was willing to share freely with her was only another facet of her generous personality.

  Marmalade curled up on the rug not far from Rose and she laughed as the cat sniffed the air and eyed the birds on the spit.

  “You greedy thing,” she cooed leaning down to scratch Marmalade’s chin. “You already gorged ourself on the giblets. For shame, you ate long before we did.”

  Will came in and his eyes lit up at the domestic scene that spread before him. Rose was a charmer and had brought a bit of sunshine into their routine lives. He wished now that they had been able to have children. What a comfort and help it was to have a young one about the house. Even her nightmares didn’t disturb him because she gave so much of herself that she made up for any commotion she caused.

  They dined on the tender ducks stuffed with rice, and vegetables fresh from the garden, washed down with homemade wine. Excitedly they went over the plans for his trip to Sydney for he would be leaving in just a few days. Hazel wouldn’t accompany him this year, although in the past she had looked forward to it with rarely suppressed jubilation, because Rose refused to go. Nothing would induce her to go near the city and seeing how upset just the mention of it made her they let it drop.

  So his journey would be a solitary one and he would miss them dreadfully. Will was becoming very fond of Rose and the thought of her absence made him wish the trip could be put off.

  “You won’t tell anyone I am here, Will?” Rose asked rising and beginning to clear the table.

  “No, I promise. Couldn’t stand having you leave us just when we’re becoming a nice settled family. My lips are sealed.”

  “And if you see—that man—you must not even speak to him or look at him,” Rose murmured apprehensively. “I couldn’t stand to see him. The very thought makes me ill!”

  “You can depend on me, Rosie!” Will patted her hand as she stood beside him. “Don’t want no stranger coming here upsetting you. You’ll be safe here, girl. Never have no visitors, except for a party of fools trying to climb them blasted mountains. Nothing on the other side but a desert!”

  Rose froze and then said slowly, “I’ve heard there is supposed to be rich grasslands for sheep—”

  “Them fools think so but not me. Break their long necks trying to cross them. Tried before, even had a fancy soldier with them.”

  “A soldier? With a red uniform and gold braid?”

  “That’s right, real fancy duds for roaming the bush and climbing mountains. . . .”

  “They won’t come again, Will?” Rose clutched the edge of the table with one hand and put the other over her eyes.

  “You all right, Rose?” Hazel put her arm around the swaying woman’s waist.

  “Yes, yes. It’s just that—I don’t like soldiers in red uniforms.”

  “Don’t fret, no soldiers and no handsome browneyed strangers will get into my house!” Hazel laughed cheerfully. “I’ll crack them on the head with my big cast iron frying pan, addle their brains so they can’t remember their own names either!”

  “Oh, Hazel!” Rose threw her arms around the stout shoulders and clung like a frightened child. “You are so good to me—you and Will—and I do love you both!”

  eleven

  Rose stood very still in the forest with Will’s rifle in her hands. There was a rustle in a bush and she raised the gun in a smooth silent motion and looked down the sight. He had been gone for a week now and she was determined to put fresh meat on the table. A tiny bird streaked skyward and she lowered the rifle. It wasn’t even big enough for one mouthful.

  She continued on in the early morning chill. The cold weather was invigorating and for a moment she paused closing her eyes. And she felt the sting of snow against her cheeks, smelled peat smoke ascending in wild wisps driven before the wind. Glittering ice mountains indented by blue fingers of water spun by in a glimpse, as if she was riding very fast on a horse.

  The fragrant scent of the smoke lingered even when she opened her eyes and a desperate longing to be in that rare enchanting scene overwhelmed her. Where was it and what had it meant to her? Instinctively Rose knew she had been happy there, even more contented than she was here. Should she close her eyes and go back again? No, there was food to find and besides she never knew if she would visit the same scene again in her mind.

  Cautiously she crept up on a small glade and was rewarded with a glimpse of a gang of fleeing kangaroos. With quick precision she raised the rifle and fired. One of the largest of the animals fell and she ran into the clearing to inspect her kill. Pulling a knife from her waistband she squatted down to slice open the throat and bleed it when her hand froze.

  She couldn’t do it! With each blink of her startled eyes pictures flashed through her brain like lightning. It wasn’t an animal’s throat being cut but a man’s and her hands were doing the deed!

  “Don’t be stupid!” Rose shouted at herself. “It’s only an animal! You’ve eaten kangaroo dozens of times before. Stop it!” And before she could run she slit the animal’s throat and threw the bloody knife down.

  Now there were other images: a knife slicing through a muscled shoulder and the man turning, shocked—and it was he! She started running, leaving the kangaroo, knife, and rifle all behind, not knowing where she fled, just wanting to be rid of those brown eyes shot with gold.

  Rose tripped and fell sprawling full length on the soft ground. She couldn’t get up or control the weeping that shook her like an angry storm. When she came to her senses again it was hours later and she passed a hand over her blurred eyes, forcing herself to get up. She must retrieve the rifle and knife and take the kangaroo back to the house.

  With jerky movements she brushed off her white shirt and the divided skirt of burgundy velvet. She shivered; it was growing cooler and a blast of cold air made her hurry back to the glade. She had just picked up the gun when crashing sounds mad
e her whirl around.

  Through the trees, some distance away, were two men mounted on magnificent horses. For one second she stood very still just looking and then she bounded into a clump of bushes and crouched low, frightened out of her wits. They came closer, always closer, and Rose put her hand over her thumping heart lest they hear it.

  It was he! She almost fainted with the shock of seeing him in the flesh. He attracted and repelled her at the same time, and when they stopped in the glade he jumped from his horse with the ease of a great jungle cat.

  Another man was with him, huge and dark-skinned. Not an aborigine, Rose thought, they were small people. He was different, but she wasn’t afraid of him the way she was of the other one. They inspected the dead kangaroo and the forgotten knife. His gold-dusted eyes swept the forest pausing where she was hidden and she pressed her fingers against her lips to still any sound, even her breathing.

  If he found her, Rose was sure he would attack her just like in her dreams. She almost screamed at the thought. The eyes moved on and the men talked but she was too upset to pay any attention to the words.

  She must escape at all costs. But first she had to remain undetected, then she would run home as fast as she could and bolt the door. Hazel would protect her, she had promised, and they had the rifle. If it was loaded she might have shot him he called up such violent emotions within her.

  No sound alerted him but suddenly the brown-eyed man turned and stared straight at her. Rose knew he couldn’t see her even though she could see him through tightly laced foliage. It was as if some instinct told him she was there. He stood very still listening, so close she could feel the heat from those hot golden points of light in his eyes.

  Her knees began to shake as he moved toward her hiding place and by the time he reached her she was quaking all over, unable to move. His hard brown hand parted the bushes and those eyes looked down at her with incredulous joy.

  “Angel!”

  Yes, it was the man of her dreams, of her worst nightmares. His surprised voice fell gently on her ears calling up some forgotten response, but before long he would want to hurt her as he always did. Cringing, Rose tried to back away from him but his arm flashed toward her and hauled her to her feet