The Last Mile Home

by Di Morrissey

  The Pembertons and the Andersons attended both services. Mrs Anderson had the sad task of telling the McBrides that Phillip preferred that none of the McBrides attend the funeral of their son. He blamed Abby and her family for taking him from them.

  The town and district were devastated by the tragedy. The loss of the two young people was bad enough, but the division between the grieving families added confusing dimensions to individual and community grief. Barely concealed differences surfaced as groups discussed the deaths and their impact. Old-timers agreed that never in memory had the district been so polarised and saddened by tragedy. There were many who confided to each other that no good came of defying church, family and the unwritten rules of society. The official investigation blamed a signal failure as the cause of the accident.

  Gwen barely let Richie out of her arms once he came home after being checked in the hospital. The children hovered around supportively, watching Gwen bottle feed the tiny boy and their enthusiasm for helping at bath time created an atmosphere that enabled the entire family to cope with the grief and adjust to new routines dictated by the infant. Gwen’s love for her daughter was transferred to the baby with double measure.

  Privately, she and Bob spent hours anguishing over their actions. Should they have stopped Abby marrying Barney? Broken hearted or not she’d be alive and with them still. Gwen thought of Abby throughout each day and dreamed of her at night. She vowed to herself that she would think of her every moment of every day as if that would keep her close to her daughter. And each night Gwen sobbed herself to sleep in Bob’s arms.

  With time, however, the threads of their shattered lives began to weave together. The children returned to school, suffering the stares and whispers of the other children. Bob drove himself to physical exhaustion and Gwen kept sobbing over reminders of Abby all about the house. The laughter had gone from their lives. The songs had ceased.

  There was nothing to relieve the grief at Amba. Enid sank into a shadowy world, staying in her bed, her dogs clutched close to her. Her mind was troubled, her heart broken, the tenuous links that had been leading her back to her faith severed forever. There was no God. There was no hope.

  Mrs Anderson tried to get her to eat, but more often than not the food trays came back untouched. Concerned, she spoke to Phillip Holten, but Phillip, locked in his own guilt and grief, could offer little help. When Mrs Anderson asked about the future of little Richie, Phillip Holten bellowed at her to ‘Never mention the child ever again in this house!’

  Little had changed six months later, but the joy of Richie’s smiles and healthy progress brought light into the lives of the McBride family. Mrs Anderson, sometimes accompanied by Jim, visited most Sundays. Once, working in the kitchen garden at Amba she was describing Richie’s latest efforts to Jim when she glanced up to see Enid standing by the door listening. Catching Mrs Anderson’s eye, she turned away and walked slowly to her sitting room. The small incident cemented Enid’s resolve to confront Phillip over an idea she’d been considering for some time.

  ‘Am I interrupting, dear?’

  Phillip looked up from his stamp album, surprised to see Enid out of her room — she had spent most of her time since Barney’s death confined to bed. ‘No. It’s perfectly all right. Do come in, my dear. Is something the matter?’ He noted that Enid’s hands were clenched in front of her and that she was holding herself stiffly. There was something very determined about her manner as she sat down.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you, Phillip. I have been thinking for some time about this matter and I have come to a decision.’ She took a deep breath, trying to still her nervous breathlessness. ‘I want us to adopt Barnard’s son. I believe his place is here. With us.’

  Phillip stared at her in outright astonishment, then his face darkened. ‘You’re talking nonsense, Enid. I will never countenance such an idea. I refused then, and I haven’t changed my mind. We must forget that girl ever existed,’ he said bitterly. Then, seeing Enid’s tragic face, added more softly, ‘You can’t replace him, Enid. He’s gone.’

  ‘It would make me happy, Phillip.’

  ‘My dear, you haven’t the strength to take on a child. And at our age . . .’

  ‘We have the Andersons . . .’ began Enid, but her determination crumbled when she saw Phillip’s face set hard.

  ‘I will not hear any more of this,’ he said, holding up his hand . ‘Come, sit down and have a glass of sherry.’

  Meekly, Enid sat and Phillip poured the amber liquid into small crystal glasses.

  It was Enid’s last stand. From then on, her secret feelings for Abby and her lack of resolution with Phillip began to nurture overwhelming feelings of guilt. She kept telling herself how different it might all have been had she really stood up to Phillip when Barney was pleading for his family’s support over his marriage to Abby. She agonised endlessly and her condition quickly deteriorated.

  The mood in the house took its toll on the Andersons as well and one night after dinner, Mrs Anderson confided to her husband that it was like working in a morgue. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can take it, Jim. It’s so depressing round here. I’m more nurse than housekeeper these days.’

  ‘We can’t let Mrs Holten down. Or him for that matter. What would Barney say if we left them in the lurch, eh luv? Besides, where would we go? This has been our home far too long.’

  ‘You’re right,’ sighed Mrs Anderson. ‘And I couldn’t bear to move too far away from that darling poppet Richie. I keep remembering Barney as a baby . . .’ Her eyes filled with tears and her shoulders shook as Jim patted her consolingly.

  Within two months Enid was in such frail health, her heartbeat so erratic, that she was admitted to hospital. Phillip spent most of each day at her bedside as she struggled for breath. The doctors were not optimistic. In lucid moments she could talk of only one thing — the baby. Phillip found it increasingly difficult and yet compassion for his wife forced him to listen and acknowledge her words.

  Late one afternoon as he sat by her bed, she suddenly opened her eyes and stared at him with fierce, unnaturally bright eyes. She took his hand and gripped it with surprising strength. ‘Phillip,’ she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘I so wanted the baby . . . so wanted to love him. He’s part of me, Phillip, and you . . . Can you understand that? He needs our love.’

  The effort exhausted her and her grip fell away and for a moment she seemed to fall into a sleep. Then her eyes opened and met Phillip’s. ‘Love is what we all need.’ She took a breath. ‘Love is the only real thing in this world . . . Do you understand, Phillip?’

  He took her hand. ‘Yes, dear,’ he said quickly, anxious to please but not really understanding what she had said. ‘Enid dear, don’t tire yourself. Rest now.’

  She closed her eyes and Phillip sat a while longer then left to find a nurse. When they returned, Enid had slipped away.

  The nurse checked her pulse then looked at Phillip. ‘ I ’ m sorry, Mr Holten.’

  ‘She wasn’t in any pain,’ said Phillip, unable to find any other words. He kissed his wife’s forehead and, with bowed head, walked slowly out of the room.

  Alone in his grief and bitterness, Phillip worked on at Amba, refusing invitations from the Pembertons and other acquaintances to visit or stay for a meal. He spoke little to the Andersons except when necessary. It seemed impossible that his life had come to this. He was now known as a recluse, a lonely and bitter old man.

  The gossip in town was of his hatred for the McBride family, how he blamed them for taking away his son and now his wife. But the gossips could not know what was really consuming Phillip Holten. In the long lonely evenings in his darkened library, Phillip sat staring straight ahead into the gloom, trying to fashion a new sense of purpose out of the wreckage of his life. He kept hearing Enid’s voice.

  ‘I so wanted the baby . . . He’s part of me, Phillip, and you . . . He needs our love.’

  It played on his mind, over and over again, like a record with the
needle stuck in a groove until he resolved to act.

  Shearing was finished when a letter to the McBrides arrived from a solicitor in Sydney. As he read it, Bob’s face tensed, his hands shook and his temper flared.

  ‘He can’t do this,’ he shouted. ‘I don’t understand. He can’t take Richie from us.’

  Gwen quickly took the letter and read it, sitting down slowly on a cane chair on the verandah as she took in the unbelievable news — Phillip Holten was taking legal action to obtain custody of his grandson.

  She looked up at Bob, speechless for a moment. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. ‘What right has he, what right?’ demanded Bob as he stamped up and down the verandah.

  ‘Maybe as much right as us, luv,’ said Gwen quietly. ‘There was no will. We never asked any legal advice, we just assumed . . .’

  ‘You talk as if you’re going to let him go,’ said Bob, puzzled. ‘Aren’t we going to fight . . . ? ’

  ‘We’d better talk to Father O’Leary.’

  Father O’Leary had talked to the solicitor in town and came to see the McBrides, looking gloomy. ‘It could be an expensive legal fight and I don’t like your chances. Holten argues he can offer the boy a better, more secure future.’

  ‘But what about love, what about a mother in his life?’ demanded Gwen, close to tears.

  Father O’Leary patted her hand. ‘ He has Mrs Anderson, who raised Richie’s father, plus he says he plans to have a live-in nanny and governess.’

  ‘Why? Why is he doing this?’ cried Gwen.

  ‘He’s lonely, he feels guilty, and he hates us,’ answered Bob bitterly.

  ‘Now, Bob,’ Father O’Leary said soothingly, ‘that won’t help you or him. Prayer may help though. Will you join me?’ And they bent their heads together, praying for guidance and strength for Richie, for the souls of his parents, and for Phillip Holten.

  Gwen went to see Sarah Pemberton, wondering if she could help. It was less in desperation and more a quest for sharing the agony with another woman.

  Sarah was sympathetic but she too emphasised the harsh reality of Phillip Holten’s resources. ‘He has the money, he has a lot of influence still, despite his strange behaviour, and he could make it very difficult for you all if you just tried to disappear with the baby. Look at it this way. You’ll be close by Richie here and that’s important . . . I know I can speak for Keith when I say you’re welcome to stay on here at Anglesea.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarah.’ Gwen’s mouth trembled, then she dropped her head on her arms on the table, her shoulders shaking with great sobs. Sarah let her cry out her feelings, patting her shoulder until Gwen gathered herself together.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I guess everything got on top of me. This is so hard for us to bear . . . and also knowing it’s the last thing Abby would want.’

  After several weeks of frantic efforts to try and thwart Phillip Holten, it became clear to the McBrides that they were not going to be able to keep Richie with them. Gwen asked Mrs Anderson to plead their case, that it was a monstrous cruelty to take the little boy, now almost a year old, from the only family he’d known.

  ‘You’d be wasting your breath. He’s already hired the nanny and I’m not supposed to have contact with you about Richie. Once he’s over here, I doubt you’ll be allowed to see him at all.’ Hearing the sadness in her voice, Gwen broke down.

  ‘All I can say is that Jim and I will give him all the love we can, and keep talking about you all to him. In time Mr Holten might come round. He’s a stubborn man, give it a bit of time is all I can say to you.’

  It was of little comfort to Gwen. She clung to Richie, who was confused and dismayed at all the tearful attention. Gwen and Bob sat the other children down and tried to explain the situation fairly.

  ‘We all have each other, Mr Holten doesn’t have anybody, and he is Richie’s grandfather too,’ said Bob. ‘And he can offer him a better future at Amba, schools and so on.’

  ‘What’s wrong with our life, with our school?’ demanded Kevin.

  The girls started to cry and so did Gwen. Brian, not fully understanding his mother’s unhappiness, climbed onto her lap and hugged her.

  It was a cold legal document that arrived stating the child would be collected the following Tuesday. Gwen tried to downplay the parting, telling the children they’d be seeing Richie soon for Christmas. Each child kissed and hugged Richie who happily waved as the tearful children trudged down the track to the school bus. Brian was sent up to the Pembertons’ to play under Sarah’s watchful eye so he wasn’t around when Richie left, then Bob and Gwen quietly waited.

  The car pulled up and the nanny — a plain-looking lady in her thirties — and a man in a dark suit got out of the car. Gwen was standing by the gate holding Richie in her arms. Bob walked forward, handed over the small cardboard suitcase that held Richie’s clothes and few toys. He signed the papers and beckoned Gwen. The nanny smiled and reached for Richie who turned away and clung to Gwen, hiding his face in her shoulder. Gwen was crying, unable to release her grip on Abby’s baby.

  Bob took Richie from her. ‘Don’t make this harder on yourself, luv.’ He kissed Richie and handed him to the nanny. ‘Be a good boy, matey,’ he said brokenly.

  The nanny swallowed. ‘He’ll be well cared for, please don’t worry.’

  She got in the car and Richie began to scream and squirm, holding out his chubby arms to Gwen when he realised she wasn’t coming with them.

  Bob held Gwen’s hand as the car began to pull away.

  ‘Richie . . .’ screamed Gwen at the sight of Richie’s crying face inside the car.

  Bob wrapped his arms about her and held her to him as she struggled, trying to run after the car. Finally, when the fight had left her and she stood quietly sobbing, Bob led her into the house, sat her in the kitchen and set about making tea.

  It wasn’t till much later that day that Gwen found they’d left behind the wooden train Mr Richards had made for Richie.

  Bob put it up on the mantelpiece. ‘We’ll send it over. Abby cherished that train . . .’

  It was too much for him. He rested his head against the mantelpiece and his shoulders heaved as he was overcome by his feelings of grief, frustration and loss.

  THREE CHRISTMASES PASSED. EACH YEAR WHEN the ruby-tipped Christmas Bush blossomed, the McBrides gathered it along with wild flowers to put on the graves of Abby and Barney. Time had eased some of the pain but their sadness surfaced again every time they thought of Richie alone at Amba, and that was often.

  They had had no contact with him since the day he was taken from Gwen’s arms. But Gwen and Bob kept telling the children, and themselves, that Richie was being given a great opportunity for the future. And, after all, they had each other, and Phillip Holten was all alone. Yet, despite the rationalising, Gwen ached to hold her daughter’s child again.

  Time had dragged so slowly and Gwen felt older than her years. She noticed, too, how sadness had deepened the lines on Bob’s face. They had made repeated attempts to see Richie over the years but were always rebuffed by Phillip Holten. Richie was kept at Amba most of the time and if it hadn’t been for Mrs Anderson’s visits bringing news of him, Richie would have been totally lost to them.

  Once, about a year ago, Gwen had been crossing the main street in town when Phillip Holten’s car, driven by a man she didn’t recognise, went past. She glimpsed the wistful face of the young boy in the back, and as she stood in the middle of the road she knew that it was Richie. It took all her will to stop running after the car. She wanted to catch it, hurl her shopping basket at the window, to wrench open the door and free her small grandson.

  A driver tooted politely at her still standing in the road, breaking her trance. Gwen trudged across the road and sank on to a chair in the cafe. The agony of knowing he was so near yet forbidden to see his family was devastating. Gwen had had several meetings with Mrs Anderson who told her what a bright and lively boy Richie was, how he delighted the station hands wit
h his antics, and that he had already been enrolled in boarding school which he’d start when he was eight. If Phillip Holten knew of these meetings he ignored them. For the Andersons, Richie was the light of their lives. But Phillip Holten refused to see joy in the company of the boy, continuing to agonise over the loss of his son and wife.

  Phillip suffered alone. He spoke to the Andersons, the nanny and the men around the property only when necessary. He spent long lonely hours in his library during the evenings. As Richie grew older he had tried to make the evening meal his time with the boy, but although it had become habit for both of them, neither enjoyed the experience. Phillip was awkward, unable to relate to the tiny figure at the end of the formal dining table. Attempts at conversation were strained and more like a polite inquisition — Phillip asked questions and the boy responded briefly.

  Richie felt awkward with the authoritarian figure who seemed devoid of warmth and humour. Phillip usually turned the occasion into an educational opportunity for instruction on manners. Richie, however, resorted to an observation game based on one Jim Anderson liked to play. He set about memorising every item in the room, each night adding another to the list. The next day, in his favourite hideaway in the barn, he would try to recite them all. Sometimes he’d select an object he didn’t have a name for and would quietly ask his grandfather. ‘ What glass thing, Richard?’ Phillip would ask in surprise, turning in his chair to look at the sideboard. ‘Oh, that’s called a decanter. You put port wine in it. When you are an adult you can have some port wine.’ The boy wondered what port wine was but saved up the question for another day. For Phillip such brief exchanges were the highlight of the meal and would hearten him enormously.