‘Ah, I don’t think we should, er ... I’m not sure,’ he stammers.
Meg laughs. ‘It’s a present, a going-away present, just a little kiss, Jack.’ She is surprised at her own boldness and at how easily the words come.
‘Meg, we’re not walking out together,’ Jack says doubtfully.
‘But we should be, Jack, I have always wanted you.’
‘Wanted me?’ Jack looks at her, surprised.
‘To walk out with me,’ Meg laughs.
‘Well, it’s not like that, see,’ Jack manages, ‘I’m sort of ... well, Jessie.’
‘We both love you, Jack,’ Meg says quickly, stopping him from going any further. ‘Don’t you want me to say goodbye to you properly?’ Meg rises slightly and kisses Jack on the cheek. She smells of rosewater and her lips are soft against his rough, stubbled skin. Her hand now rests between his legs and Jack knows that she will soon feel his rising, feel him coming alive. He tries to fight back the urge that overcomes him. ‘Meg, I mustn’t.’
‘Mustn’t what, Jack? Mustn’t let me give you a little farewell kiss, a little present to take to the war?’ She takes Jack’s head in both her hands and turns him towards her and kisses him gently on the lips, her kiss lingering. Meg is beginning to get excited herself. Suddenly she rises from the table. ‘Come, Jack.’
Jack is afraid to rise, afraid his reaction to her kisses will show through his trousers, but Meg pulls at his hand. He rises slowly, and Meg turns and kisses him as he stands. ‘Come and get your reward, my brave soldier going to war,’ she coos.
Meg leads Jack into Hester’s bedroom which still contains the marriage bed which Joe has not shared for many years. The linen is freshly starched and the bed wears the prettiest rose and blue coloured quilt Meg herself has appliqued.
‘No, Meg, really,’ Jack says, pulling back, ‘I can’t, please, I mustn’t.’
Meg stops and turns to him and her large, dark eyes fill with tears. ‘Jack I want to give you this present. I want to give you what I value the most.’ She gives a pitiful little sob. ‘Now I see I’m not good enough for you. Not good enough for the high and mighty Jack Thomas.’ She gives a second little sob and looks up at him. Bending her forefinger, she wipes a single tear from her cheek.
Jack doesn’t know what to say. ‘Of course you are, Meg. You’re beautiful, it’s just that me and .. .’ His voice trails off.
‘It’s only a little present. It’s all a country girl has got to give. Something only you and I will ever know about, Jack. It can be our secret forever.’ Then she adds, ‘Poor Jack, don’t be concerned, it is only little me saying goodbye. I am so very proud of you, you know, volunteering to fight the Germans.’ She bursts into tears and sits on the bed. ‘Jack, you may die, you may never come back,’ she says in a sad little voice. ‘May I not have this at least to remember you by?’
Jack looks down at the distraught Meg. She is achingly beautiful and her snowy breasts heave most enticingly with her distress, for somehow the top four buttons to her blouse have come loose and he can see the warm, firm flesh rising and falling.
He quickly moves over to Meg and puts his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. ‘Meg, please .. .’ Meg grabs his hand and places it against her eyes so that the wetness of her tears is felt on the back of his hand. Then she kisses his hand and pulls it downward so that it rests on her breast. Jack feels he must surely burst through his moleskins. She places her free hand about Jack’s neck and pulls him down to her so that Jack is forced to go onto his knees in front of her. She looks directly into his eyes, her own shining with her sweet tears. ‘Do you hate me so much, Jack, that you would humiliate me so?’ She sobs and throws herself at him, embracing him, whimpering against his chest.
Jack can contain himself no longer. Her heat is against him and he thinks he must die from his desire to take her.
‘No, no, Meg, you are lovely,’ he gasps, overcome with the need to tear her dress from her body.
Meg now smiles brilliantly through her tears and then pushes him gently away and rises from the bed. As she stands upright again her skirt mysteriously drops from her waist to the floor and at the same time the last two buttons on her blouse seem to have unfastened so that her breasts now rise high above a straining bodice, half of one nipple showing pink and sublime.
Meg steps neatly out of her skirt as though she hardly notices it’s fallen from her waist. It is all done seemingly in one movement whereupon she reaches out and turns the lamp down and then bends over the glass to blow it out. Jack is thus presented with the sight of her pantaloons curving out from her tiny waist and pointing deliciously at him, the cotton material pulled tight and smooth over her derriere, her shapely calf and trim ankles also showing to their very best effect.
Jack senses he has one last opportunity to make his escape, but he knows as well that he will not take it. His earlier resolve has leaked from him like water through a kitchen sieve and he trembles at the knees. ‘Oh, God,’ he groans, his entire body now filled with desire. Meg is a very pretty thing indeed, well beyond the wildest dreams of most young men and she has driven him way beyond any reason.
With her back to Jack, Meg now removes her blouse and bodice then turns to face him. In the half light her lovely breasts, free of all constraints, are heaving invitingly. Meg smiles. If she is feeling self-conscious standing near naked for the first time in front of a man, she does not show it. She cups her breasts in her hands and lifts them slightly as though she is offering them to him. Jack’s mouth is dry and his tongue frantically works around the roof of his mouth, trying to regain its moisture. Now Meg’s hands leave her breasts, which drop no more than an inch, firm and round with the nipples pointed upwards. She runs her hands down the smooth curves of her waist and effortlessly slips her pantaloons down over her legs as though her hands have found them in error and they have peeled off her hips and legs as though intended to do so by nature. She steps out of her underwear to finally stand nude in front of Jack. Meg allows him but a moment to see her beautiful body before she steps forward and puts her arms about his neck and pulls him towards her. She can feel Jack trembling against her and she senses he is ready and cannot contain himself much longer.
‘Oh God, I must have you, Meg,’ he groans. ‘I must take you now!’
Meg goes onto her tip-toes and kisses him on the mouth.
‘Oh Jack, you are so handsome,’ she whispers. Jack’s hands go frantically to his belt as Meg begins to unfasten the buttons of his shirt and then pulls it over his head and casts it aside as his trousers drop to his boots. Jack, with his pants now about his ankles, sits on a small stool beside the bed, tugging desperately to remove his boots.
With the moonlight streaming through the window, Meg pulls back the sheets, her beautiful body turned half sideways to Jack. She looks over her shoulder and smiles almost wistfully. ‘Come, Jack,’ she says softly, ‘come and get your going-away present.’ Then she slides between the fresh sheets, holding them up to her chin. ‘Come now Jack Thomas, my soldier of the King,’ Meg giggles. ‘Show me how you fire your gun.’
In the early hours of Thursday morning, as Jack sits brooding in the De Dion on the way to Riverview, he knows that the temptation had been too great for him to resist. That Meg was a dish too sweet not to savour. If it should ever happen again, he now tells himself, he will be well able to resist her future advances. But Jack senses that he is deluding himself — he knows his willpower does not possess sufficient strength to refuse a body as tempting or lips so soft. He is well aware that he has been seduced and is not so arrogant nor so stupid as to deny the pleasure he has derived from Meg’s body, or even so naive as to tarnish the experience with a fit of conscience. He has come away in wonderment at the delight of Meg’s body and her female ways, but he is also aware he has betrayed Jessica and that his manhood has ridden roughshod over his sensibilities. He knows it’s pointless to feel remorse
, though his guilt is quite clear to him. Now, with the dawn breaking, he wonders why his thoughts are not singularly of the beautiful Meg, but are instead persistently of Jessica.
Why could it not have been Jessie waiting for me? he thinks. Jack Thomas knows he does not love Jessica less for having spent the night with Meg, nor does he mean to castigate himself for his unfaithfulness. He tells himself he must first return from the war before he can claim his sweet Jessica and be true to her forever. Meg has said it will be their secret, that nobody will ever know. As Jack heads for home in the quickening light, this thought proves a balm for a conscience where the one-eyed snake is king. Hester was right.
Later the same morning, though this time closer to the noon hour, Meg sees Hester’s pony trap approaching the house on her return from old Mrs Baker’s sickbed. She drops her crocheting and comes running out into the yard to meet her mother.
‘Oh Mama,’ she cries, as Hester alights, falling into her mother’s arms, ‘it was awful at first and I thought I must surely die of shame, but then it was wonderful!’ Meg pushes away and holds Hester at arm’s length. ‘I was very, very good.’
Hester smiles, collecting her bags from the trap. ‘Yes, yes, my dear, it is not seemly that you should enjoy yourself, but will you be pregnant? That is the question.’
‘Oh, Mama, it will not be for want of trying,’ Meg laughs gaily. ‘I think I shall make a splendid Mrs Jack Thomas of Riverview Station.’
‘Now, now, my dear, there is still much to be done, do not count your chickens before they hatch.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jessica’s vomiting continues until it can’t be ignored, and Joe decides she needs some attention.
Joe and Jessica arrive in Wagga Wagga to see the Heathwood family doctor, an old codger named Nathaniel Merrick who calls a spade a flamin’ shovel and is a man who well understands the ways of the bush.
Joe remains on the verandah seated in a wicker chair while Dr Merrick examines Jessica behind a screen in his surgery. After a thorough examination, he allows Jessica to dress while he washes his hands, then goes out and calls Joe into his surgery. The old doctor shows him to a seat in front of a battered-looking desk and then sits behind it in an old captain’s chair with a swivel base so that he appears somewhat unstable, rocking from side to side. As if to steady himself, he places his elbows on the surface of the desk and rests his chin on his clasped hands, then leans slightly forward and addresses his attention to Joe.
‘Mr Bergman, your daughter tells me she is not married.’
Joe nods his head. ‘This is true, doctor.’
The doctor unclasps his fingers and leans backwards in the chair, which squeaks in protest. He absently reaches forward and picks up his pen from the desk and places it down again.
‘Well, I have examined your girlie and she is pregnant,’ he announces.
Joe stares at the old physician in disbelief. ‘Pregnant? But she’s just been a bit crook in the guts, that’s all.’
‘Ah, a common enough occurrence with pregnancy, Mr Bergman. She is, I estimate, about two and a half months gone, if I’m not very much mistaken.’ He looks up cheerily at Joe. ‘Not enough to disgrace the lass, eh? Though you’ll want to contact the family of the young bloke concerned and make the necessary wedding arrangements.’ He pauses then adds, ‘Soon as possible, eh? These things are best done sooner than later.’
Dr Merrick notes Joe’s look of surprise and leans over and in a conspiratorial voice declares, ‘Come now, these things happen. You may count on my discretion in this matter and, when the time comes, I’ll issue a birth certificate with a notice attached to say the child is of premature birth.’ He pauses and chuckles. ‘Two months is about the average shortfall in the district.’
Jessica, now fully clothed, has come to stand to one side in front of the examination screen. The doctor seems oblivious of her presence and speaks to Joe as if she’s not there. ‘We are, Mr Bergman, famous in this district for hastily rung wedding bells, a tintinnabulation which proves to us once again that the forces of nature are always more powerful than our intellect.’ The physician smiles to himself. ‘Any doctor around these parts who mentions the word “shotgun” will, I’ll vouch, soon enough find his .practice starved of customers.’
Dr Nathaniel Merrick now hears a sob from behind him and turns, surprised. It is as though he has entirely forgotten Jessica’s presence in the room. ‘Oh there you are, Miss Bergman,’ he says. ‘Come, come, my dear, it is not such a tragedy. Take my word for it, these things generally have a way of turning out quite splendidly in the end.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ Joe mumbles and rises and stands awkwardly, his big fists holding his money purse.
‘That will be five shillings and sixpence, thank you,’ Nathaniel Merrick says crisply.
Joe counts out the silver coins. He has the exact amount, two half-crowns and a sixpenny bit, and places the coins down on the desk.
‘You may have a receipt if you wish, though in these circumstances evidence of a doctor’s visit can sometimes prove a botheration. What do you think?’ ‘No, it don’t matter, doctor.’
‘We’ll keep it to ourselves then,’ he says, adding kindly, ‘until further notice, eh?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’ Joe nods to Jessica to follow him. They cross the small room and Joe allows Jessica to leave the surgery. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, turning back. ‘Are you real sure, Dr Merrick? Are you, I mean, positive, like?’
The old physician removes his eyeglasses and begins to polish them slowly using a clean gauze dressing. He looks up at Joe quizzically. ‘As positive as fifty years of practice in my profession can make me, Joe Bergman. Two and a half months, I’ll stand by that.’ Joe remains at the door a moment longer and seems to hesitate. Noting Joe’s worried expression, the old physician looks sternly at him. ‘Mr Bergman, is there something you haven’t told me? Have you and the girl ... ? I think you know what I’m trying to say. Can we expect a normal child?’
‘Right,’ Joe says absently, not understanding the implications of the old doctor’s question. ‘Right then, doctor, we’ll be off.’ He closes the door behind him. Jessica is waiting for him outside and follows him to the sulky and climbs up into the seat. Her head is bowed, and she is trying with all her strength not to cry. Without a word or a look to his youngest daughter, Joe climbs aboard, takes the reins and turns the pony for home. They stop briefly at the Oatbank Brewery beside the river on the edge of town where Joe purchases a bottle of brandy. He is not a drinking man normally — two glasses of milk stout of a Sunday with Jack Thomas is about his limit. Feeling her father’s shame, and there being nothing she can possibly say that will comfort Joe, Jessica begins to sob.
It is almost four hours before Joe feels able to speak, by which time Jessica has stopped crying. ‘Jessie, who done it to you? Who is the father of your bastard?’ Joe tries to keep his voice even but his anger comes through and Jessica draws back as though his words alone have the capacity to harm her. She remains silent, staring miserably out at the flat, remorseless landscape, where the saltbush seems to be dancing in the heat.
‘Jessie, dammit, speak to me. Who put you up the duff?’ Jessica shakes her head. ‘I can’t say,’ she replies quietly, trying not to cry again.
‘Can’t say, or won’t say? Look at me, girl!’ Joe demands.
Jessica does not reply and bites her bottom lip, refusing to look at Joe.
‘Can’t or won’t? Answer me, will ya!’ Joe thunders.
‘Won’t, Father,’ Jessica says softly, then gives a small involuntary sob.
With the reins in his right hand, Joe suddenly reaches out and grabs her by the throat, very nearly pushing her from the sulky. ‘I’ll not take that from you! You tell me now, Jessie!’ With his left hand, he pulls Jessica around so that she looks directly at him. His thumb and forefinger are pushing against he
r windpipe. ‘You tell your father, or I’ll thrash you, girl!’ Joe stares straight down into Jessica’s eyes. They are red-rimmed from weeping, but there’s something he’s seen in them before — Jessica isn’t afraid. He knows she’s not going to tell him. His fingers close tighter around her slender neck and he begins to shake her as though the information he needs can be forced from her. He realises that Jessica is going blue, her tongue is protruding from her mouth. She claws frantically at his hand, her eyes filled with terror.
Panting, Joe releases her throat and sees the deep scarlet marks his thumb and finger have made on her neck.
He’s gripped her too hard and he is shocked to think he might have killed her. There’ll be bruises to show for it, the marks on her throat clear for weeks. Jessica bends over and coughs violently, clasping at her throat with both hands. Then she leans quickly over the moving sulky and vomits.
Joe pulls to a halt and waits for his daughter to recover, getting down from the sulky and bringing her the canvas water bag hanging from the back. ‘Here, drink this,’ he says gruffly, the anger gone from his voice.
Jessica rinses her mouth and spits, then takes a sip of water and winces at the pain of swallowing. She hands the water bag back to Joe before wiping her mouth using her pinny, but doesn’t once look at her father. Joe is feeling remorse, realising that he’s hurt her, but seeing her recovered, his anxiety turns back into fresh anger. ‘You’ll tell us or you’ll be punished, girl, you understand?’ he says roughly. ‘Your mother will not forgive you ever, you hear? She’s a proud woman and you’ve shamed her terribly. She’ll make you answer for this!’
Jessica turns to face him. ‘I can’t never tell, Father,’ she rasps, her voice barely above a whisper.
Joe stands silent, holding the water bag. The doctor’s words keep repeating in his head. Two and a half months — exactly the time when Jessica took Billy Simple into Narrandera. Jessica has been fucked by the idiot and now she carries a murderer’s child.
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