The Stationmaster's Cottage

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  I so much regret allowing Frannie into my life. She gave me the opportunity to do what I had hoped, which was direct you away from an unsuitable marriage. I did not think of the hurt I would cause. I broke your heart, and for that, I will never forgive myself.

  I stood there in my living room as she lied to you. When she said Thomas was going to marry her, I let you cry in my arms. There was still time to undo the harm yet I kept silent.

  After her son was born, she begged me for the letters, wanting to keep them with Martha's wedding and engagement rings. She was guilt-ridden and terrified Martha would find out what we did. She told me how she fooled Thomas into giving up on you...

  Thomas sat at the edge of the jetty at dusk. Badly sunburnt, he turned when he heard the creak of timber behind, squinting through painful eyelids.

  “Martha?”

  “No, darling. It’s Frannie.” She sat next to Thomas, shocked by his red skin.

  “You’re back. I thought...”

  “I know. And I wish I had better news.” Frannie crossed the fingers of one hand, hiding it behind her back.

  “You couldn’t find her?” Thomas dropped his head.

  “Tom, I spoke with her.”

  The sudden lift of his head and spark in his eyes almost undid Frannie's resolve, but she had come too far to back down now.

  "Tom... the thing is Martha is marrying someone else. Someone she met when she was at that rich school in the city years ago. They kept in touch, and she's been seeing him since she went to stay with Dorothy."

  The words made no sense. Thomas stared at Frannie in disbelief.

  “Um, and she’s getting married soon. She wanted me to say how sorry she is and she hopes you’ll remember her kindly.”

  “No. She promised. Frannie, she promised to come home.”

  "I know you loved her, but she's not like us. Tom, she is rich, and she wants to be with a rich man. You need someone who cares about you for who you are."

  Thomas staggered to his feet, a man defeated.

  “Tom? I’m so sorry to have been the one to tell you.” Frannie sounded so sad Thomas held his hand out to her. She took it and stood up.

  “You’ve been a loyal friend to me, Frannie.” Squeezing her hand, his shoulders slumped as he hobbled off the jetty with Frannie at his side.

  CHRISTIE STOOD AT FRANNIE’S grave. The storm was overhead; thunder boomed across the beach and shook the ground. Lightning snaked into the sea, its waves whipped up by a fierce wind.

  Only wearing Martin’s T-shirt, a pair of shorts and sandals, Christie was drenched in seconds when the rain descended in sheets.

  With the light from a torch, she stared at the headstone.

  Frannie Blake (nee Williams)

  Loving Mother of Thomas Jnr and Wife of Thomas

  This woman lied her way into Thomas' life. Lied to him and lied to Martha, supposedly her friend. Yet, Thomas loved her. She had intended to marry Thomas, and she wilfully destroyed true love to make it happen.

  Christie pushed soaking wet hair from her eyes and fought against the wind to reach Gran’s grave. It did not matter Gran had loved Martha and wanted the best for her. Or that she had not foreseen the terrible damage she would do. It meant nothing she paid for it her whole life with failed marriages and estranged family.

  “How could you have done it?” Christie cried. “I will never forgive you. Never!”

  Twenty-Seven

  MARTHA STOOD BY THE window of her bedroom, willing the time to pass. Outside, the clear blue sky might have been hand painted, so vivid was its colour, refreshed by the storm that reminded Martha of the night so long ago. She should have listened to Thomas; given him, the chance to explain what happened. Instead, her mind refused to let go of what she had seen.

  Thomas’ bedroom, lit only by his bedside lamp. Beside his bed was Frannie, slipping out of her dress and undoing her bra as Thomas – carrying two glasses – entered the room. Mesmerised, he stopped as Frannie tossed her bra onto the bed and stood before him, almost naked.

  Later, on the beach when Thomas told her it was not what she thought, instead of trusting him and letting him speak, she had thrown her ring on the ground and run away. He deserved better, and in time, he had chosen Frannie as his wife.

  She missed him. Oh god, how she missed Thomas. Should he miraculously appear in front of her now, she would beg his forgiveness and promise him anything if only he would give her a second chance. Except, he was dead. There were no second chances.

  THOMAS HAD STRUGGLED to sleep. Before the driving rain forced him back inside, he could have sworn he saw someone at the graveyard. A light moved around for a while, but it was too far to see who was there. The remainder of the night had been about "what ifs".

  What if he had forced Martha to listen to him about his innocent agreement to let Frannie stay the night? What if he had told her how shocked he had been at seeing Frannie undressed? What if the argument changed direction and Martha had forgiven his poor judgement?

  He kept coming back to the same answer. No matter how deeply he loved Martha, time and circumstance changed him forever. Raising his son, seeing him marry and have his own small family were the happiest years of his life.

  A drunk driver took it all away. His son, daughter-in-law and wife all killed instantly on a trip to the city. Only three-year-old Martin survived the accident, somehow unscathed in his booster seat. The devastating loss was almost too much to bear. Except he had a little boy who needed him. His creative, compassionate, stubborn grandson.

  No, he would not change one thing. Martin was only here because of that night, and it made the whole tragedy tolerable. Martha had made her choice, marrying a boy from her past. No wonder she had not bothered to reply to his letters. He had glanced inside the box and found they were all opened. She had read them but ignored his heartfelt pleas.

  He still had no theories of why those letters and the rings were hidden in the attic of the place he called home for so many years.

  DRENCHED TO THE SKIN, Christie had dragged herself back after more than an hour in the graveyard. At one point, she sat at the top of the stone steps, waiting for flashes of lightning to illuminate the jetty. Over and over, she imagined Martha falling into the wild ocean and Thomas diving in to save her.

  Under a hot shower, she gradually stopped shivering and crying and tried to rationalise what she knew. Gran had done something unimaginably cruel to her own sister in the name of love, and in volumes, she paid for it. Her guilt and regret interfered with every relationship she forged, from husbands to her own daughter and even with Christie. Lie after lie compounded until it was beyond her to tell Martha what happened that night and instead, she let her sister believe Thomas had not loved her.

  At the end of her life, she could no longer bear the burden of guilt and needed Martha’s understanding and forgiveness. Rather than writing it all in a letter, or even just sending the diary to Ireland, Dorothy put in place an elaborate arrangement, hoping Christie would uncover the truth. To do what?

  It was all a hopeless, tragic story and Christie believed she would never forgive Gran. In the early hours, she fell asleep, her arms wrapped around herself.

  Now mid-morning, she parked the Lotus outside the bakery, so hungry she felt ill. She had woken late, exhausted and lethargic from the events of the night and previous day. Totally drained, she did not think she even had another tear left in her body.

  Pushing the door open, Christie was relieved only Belinda was there. She hurried to Christie, glancing behind her.

  "Mum's upset with me," she said.

  "I know, but she's just afraid to lose you," Christie explained. "She loves you lots and children leaving home is scary sometimes."

  "I want to do something useful with my life! What you did for Jess was amazing, and I love makeup and stuff. It's time I did something for me."

  “So, come and see me and I’ll run through all the pros and cons of the beauty industry. I can talk to your mum as
well to reassure her. Just give me a day or two, okay?” Christie got a smile from Belinda. “Now, I haven’t eaten properly in ages, so what shall I get?”

  "Well, there's no croissants left because Mrs White phoned a few minutes ago to put the last couple of them on hold. So, what about a scroll?"

  "Yes, please. How was the dance? Did Jess enjoy herself?"

  “Hmm?” Belinda concentrated on selecting the biggest cinnamon scroll. “Oh, yes she did! The thing is she’s got lots of friends who don’t even care about that silly birthmark, but looking so darned awesome made her shine.” Belinda secretly added an apple slice to the bag before scrunching the ends and putting it on the top of the counter.

  "I'm so glad. Jess has a natural beauty, and she's easy to work with, once you get past the shyness." Christie hid a smile, having seen Belinda's generosity.

  The door opened, and Elizabeth slipped in.

  “Hello Mrs White, I’ll be right with you.”

  Christie turned to Elizabeth. “Hello, I keep meaning to phone to see if you’d let me drop by.”

  “Of course. Maybe... how about tomorrow some time?” Elizabeth averted her eyes. Seeing the Lotus outside made her question herself, yet again.

  “Thank you. I might bring a photo album to see if you recognise the person I mentioned. Martha Ryan. My great-aunt?”

  Elizabeth’s hand covered her mouth.

  “What is it?” Christie prompted. “Are you alright?”

  All she got in response was a nod. Christie contemplated Elizabeth. The other woman was hiding something, and there had been too many secrets, too many lies.

  “Mrs White, I don’t mean to sound rude, but if you know anything at all about Martha, you need to tell me now.”

  A bit surprised at Christie’s abrupt tone, Belinda did not know what to do, so went to find the croissants she had put aside.

  Almost in relief, Elizabeth grasped Christie's hand, her words rushing out. "I wasn't honest with you, and I am so sorry. I was trying to protect her, but it isn't my place to do so, and she will leave without ever knowing you exist if you don't go and find her now!"

  A shiver went up Christie’s spine. “Do you mean Martha?”

  “Yes. Martha, your great-aunt, is here in River’s End.”

  Christie’s hand flew over her mouth. Martha was here! This changed everything. Thomas is alive and in River’s End. Martha is here. She could reunite them!

  Belinda came back with the croissants. “Do either of you want some water? Maybe to sit for a while?”

  “Was Martha there when I came to Palmerston House?” Christie kept her voice even.

  "She was upstairs. You surprised me as I thought I knew everything about Martha after all these years, yet there you were. A great-niece. And you need to understand she was terribly fragile." Elizabeth dropped her gaze. "I should have told you, and I certainly should have told her."

  Christie agreed. People kept making decisions for other people, all in the name of misguided love. “You’ve known her for a long time?”

  “We’ve been friends forever. We met when both of us were sad as I could never have children and she would never marry. It was what bonded us.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Saying goodbye to Dorothy.”

  “Goodbye?”

  “She’s going home to Ireland and has a bus to catch.”

  “I have to go.” Christie took off for the door.

  “Wait! What about these? You need to eat!” Belinda was uncannily like Martin, and Christie almost laughed.

  “I’ll be back. I’ve got to find her!”

  As the door jangled behind Christie, Belinda picked up the bag. “Fine. Just go. I’ll stay here with your delicious food. Now, Mrs White, I have your lovely croissants.”

  MARTHA PAUSED AT DOROTHY's grave after Elizabeth dropped her off, waiting until the car disappeared. She had time to visit the grave later before her friend returned.

  Now her ankle was so improved, the stone steps were much easier to navigate. The morning was beautiful with a higher than usual tidemark and ocean debris the only reminder a massive storm swept through last night.

  Once on the sand, Martha turned to the cliff face. Her hand reached instinctively to the carved love heart as her mind went back to 1966.

  THOMAS CHIPPED OUT the last of the engraving and stood back, happy with the result.

  Martha was more critical. “Why does T heart M?” she reached out to touch.

  Thomas lightly smacked her hand, and she grinned at him, not at all affronted.

  “Don’t annoy the artist!” He tried to sound stern.

  It was hard to do when Martha snuggled into him. Thomas dropped a kiss onto her head. "It will take millennia before this cliff erodes. This way, only time itself can erase our love."

  HOW THOSE WORDS TAUNTED Martha. She wanted to watch the whiting swim around the seabed from the end of the jetty and think one last time about the man who she would love beyond eternity.

  CHRISTIE’S TIREDNESS and hunger vanished the minute she got behind the wheel. Her mind was in overdrive. She had to find Martha first and introduce herself, then work the rest out. As she drove to the corner to head around the block, she recognised a dirty four-wheel drive coming toward her. Sure enough, Thomas was driving along the road to the mountains.

  She almost did a U-turn to follow him but knew she had to find Martha first. Without another thought, she dialled Martin’s number. As it rang, she hoped somehow he was past his disappointment in her, remembering the last thing he had done was kiss her forehead.

  He answered in a curious tone. “So, you do have my number.”

  “What do you mean?” Christie’s mind was on Martha.

  “I recall asking you to text me when you got home that night. When I confiscated your car keys.”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, but that has to wait. I need to ask about Thomas.”

  “Thomas?”

  “I passed him leaving town. Would you go and bring him back please?”

  There was a long pause as Christie pulled into the carpark. The graveyard was empty. Where was Martha?

  “Thomas will be back this afternoon.”

  “That’s too late! Martha is here, Martin! Here in River’s End and she’s leaving soon to go home to Ireland forever.”

  “This isn’t our business, Christie. Leave things alone.”

  "Please, please help me." Christie began to cry, her words tumbling over each other. "Both of them were lied to. My grandmother was behind it, and other people helped. If we don't tell them, we're no better than anyone else who kept them apart."

  “Calm down. How do you know this?”

  Christie took a deep breath to settle herself. "I read Gran's diary, and there is a full account in there of what she did the night they broke up, and what was later done to keep them apart. They need to know the truth and make their own decisions."

  Desperate to get out of the car and sprint to the beach, Christie dried her eyes while she waited for Martin to reply.

  “I can’t get Thomas. My bike is in a million pieces thanks to him dissecting it so you’ll have to find him.”

  Christie turned the motor on and started nosing out of the carpark. “You need to locate Martha.”

  “No.”

  "Yes. I think she's on the beach so, please find her for me. Keep her there until I bring him back."

  "You're being rather bossy," Martin said.

  Christie laughed. “No doubt you’ll sort that out too.”

  “Hmm. I wouldn’t be laughing about it though.”

  He hung up, and Christie grinned. She was being bossy, in her own quiet way. It was about time she stood up for herself and what she believed in. She turned the car toward the cottage.

  Twenty-Eight

  THERE WERE JUVENILE whiting darting around the seaweed below the jetty. Martha watched them with a smile, remembering beach barbeques with fresh fish pu
rchased for cents from the fishermen. Her friends were all ghosts now, but their laughter lingered on this jetty.

  Its familiar creaks and groans changed a little. There were footsteps on the old timber boards, and Martha hoped it was not that poor man who found her in the rain. The footsteps came closer and then stopped.

  “Martha?”

  Martha froze at the familiar voice.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU stopped me for this!” Thomas was furious. Christie caught up with him not far out of town and after tooting her horn and flashing her lights at him without result, found a safe passing point. As she had gone past, she gestured for him to stop and he had, concern filling his face.

  They met halfway between the two vehicles.

  “Is something wrong with Martin?” Thomas demanded.

  “No. Of course not. Oh, I’m so sorry if that’s what you thought.” Christie realised she must have driven like a mad woman and made him think it was an emergency.

  As soon as she told him he needed her to come back to town to see Martha, he had gone white and stormed back to his car. Christie grabbed the tulip box, which she had rushed to get from the cottage, and followed.

  “Thomas you don’t understand—.” Christie started, but he cut her off.

  “Nothing to understand. Stay out of my business. Not one more word.”

  Christie held out the box.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the truth. You were lied to.”

  “I know. She never loved me.”

  “You were her one true love. Other people lied, Gran for a start. It was all one big set up, Thomas! Other people created the catalyst for your separation and other people kept you apart.”