by Bonnie Leon
Rebecca tried to imagine Bertram playing with a child. She couldn’t conjure up the image no matter how hard she tried. The idea seemed preposterous.
Her doubts must have shown, for Willa said, “I know he seems stern, but he has a good heart. Bertram’s father withheld his affections, so, sadly, Bertram learned to be reserved.”
Reserved? Rebecca thought. Brutal might be more fitting.
Willa clipped off an unruly branch. “He cares deeply for his family. However, instead of revealing his feelings, he shows us in other ways. He’s provided us with a nice home, he maintains a good reputation in the district, and he works exceedingly hard to maintain this station.
“It’s been a burden he’s carried well. Since he was a lad he knew that one day Douloo would be his to rule. He paid close attention to his father’s handling of the place, and when his father died he took on the responsibility courageously.”
The word rule had jumped out at Rebecca. That’s exactly what he does—rule. She knew it was wrong, but it seemed everyone else was unaware of the potential harm.
Willa pushed herself up off her knees and brushed bits of vegetation from her skirt. “When Bertram was twelve he was required to go away to boarding school. It was excruciating for him. He told me how devastated he was. Indeed, he said he feared it would break his heart. All he thought of was returning home.” Her sky blue eyes shone with pride. “And yet, he did as he was told without complaint, and he worked hard earning high marks in school. When he came home for good, that was the beginning of life to him. He relished the responsibility of safeguarding Douloo.”
Rebecca felt a twinge of compassion for the boy who had been sent away and then returned to face the responsibilities of a man.
Willa smiled tenderly. “Bertram’s always taken a serious view of life. But that’s part of what drew me to him. Of course, he was very handsome,” she added, smiling. A dimple identical to Daniel’s appeared in her cheek. “I believe I fell in love with him at first sight.”
She turned serious eyes on Rebecca. “Don’t be too hard on him, eh? His growing-up years were difficult. Too much, perhaps, was expected of him. And his father believed in swift obedience. If it didn’t come about, the offender felt the sting of the belt. Mr. Thornton believed he had absolute authority over his family and that he was accountable for their sinful behavior or their righteous conduct.”
Rebecca knew she was taking a dangerous step but felt compelled to ask, “Isn’t that what your husband believes?”
Willa’s eyes widened, the blue deepened. A moment passed. Then she said fervently, “Bertram loves us. He does what he believes is best. And he seeks God’s will and direction in all things. He’s a man of God, and I trust him to do what is right.” She paused, then added, “Truly, a man carries the greater burden in a marriage. God holds him accountable for the way he takes care of his family.”
Although Rebecca knew she might endanger the blossoming relationship between herself and Willa, she tentatively pushed on. “I agree a husband has an important role as head of his home, but God has placed him there as a protective covering, not as a monarch. There should be mutual respect and cooperation. And a man should never forget that God has provided his Holy Spirit to teach and guide all of his children. It has been my experience that growing as a Christian is often a series of errors. Our mistakes help us recognize our heavenly Father’s voice, and hopefully, we will learn to listen and obey.”
For a long moment Willa was quiet. Finally she said, “You’re wise for someone so young, I dare say. And I agree with you. However, there are those who have ears to hear and those who do not. Indeed, wouldn’t you agree it is wise to listen to the more mature, the ones who know God and his Word best? My husband is a fine example of maturity. I’ve never known a man more committed to prayer and to the study of our Lord’s Word. He never misses his morning prayers.” She clipped a rose and set it in a basket. “I trust him.”
Rebecca smoothed the ground beneath a rosebush. It was true that some Christians needed more help than others, and it was always sensible to seek out advice from one more mature, but that was not an excuse for heavy-handed leadership.
“When someone loves deeply, he can be trusted.” Willa looked over her garden. “My Bertram loves in just such a way. In fact, this garden is an expression of his affection. He allows it because he knows how much it means to me. Water is precious here. And if this garden is to live, we must keep the ground moist. Many men out here would consider it a waste to put water into a flower garden, but Bertram understands me well. And he loves me—so we have a garden.”
Rebecca railed inwardly at Willa’s use of the word allow. Did she make no decisions on her own? However, it was a man’s world whether one lived in Queensland or Boston.
Hoping to avoid friction between herself and her mother-in-law, Rebecca decided to let go of the differences. “It’s clear Bertram loves you. Who wouldn’t?” She stood and kissed the older woman’s cheek.
Willa placed a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “I’m so happy you came to us. I’ve always wanted a daughter, and now I feel I have one. After Elton left . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “Well, it hasn’t been the same.” She smiled painfully. “And you’ve helped fill the gap.”
“I’m happy you feel that way. I’ve always missed having a mother, and now . . . well, now you’re more than just a mother-in-law to me. I’m glad I’m here.” Rebecca did feel a special bond with Willa. Maybe meeting Daniel had been an answer to more than one prayer. Not only had she found a man to rescue her, but perhaps she’d found a mother as well.
Even as the pleasant thought settled over Rebecca so did the shadow of Bertram. In spite of Willa’s confidence, Rebecca doubted his wisdom. And moreover, she was confused. Clearly, he was a man of God, but she disagreed with him on many issues. Should she trust the one with years of experience or her own convictions? Could it be that she’d been misled all her life, that what she’d been taught about individual spiritual accountability had been wrong?
Pushing aside her turmoil, she leaned close to a rose, smelling its heavy, sweet fragrance. She bent the stem and broke it off and added the rose to the bunch in Willa’s basket. She needed to feel some sense of independence, to breathe.
“When we first arrived Daniel said we would ride often, but he’s been so busy there hasn’t been time. I was wondering if I might go on my own.”
“That would never do. It would be unwise, dear. This is a wild place, and you don’t know your way about. It could be dangerous.”
“I know a little bit of the area. We’ve been to church, so I know my way into town. I could keep to the road.”
“You’ll need more than that before you go too far afield. There are miles of open ground, and to the inexperienced eye it all looks alike. You could easily become lost. And to go unescorted . . .”
“At home I used to ride nearly every day. And I never required an escort.”
“Perhaps with Bertram’s permission. And you must give yourself more time; there are dangers you know nothing about. There’s the heat, and sometimes dust storms come up without warning. And what would you do if a lizard or snake frightened your mount and you were thrown? No. Bertram wouldn’t allow it.”
Bertram wouldn’t allow it? Rebecca felt rising frustration. “Meghan Linnel rides alone. In fact, she’s been here on several occasions.” Just the thought of the arrogant young woman made Rebecca angry.
“She’s not like other women.”
“That’s obvious,” Rebecca said.
Willa cocked a brow. “Meghan grew up in the district and has always come and gone as she pleases.”
Rebecca folded her arms over her chest and settled a challenging look on Willa. “You know as well as I do that Meghan comes here to see Daniel. I’m not sure she hasn’t seen him more than I have.”
Willa seemed to be struggling to stifle a smile. “Do I hear jealousy in your tone?”
“I think her behavior is disgrac
eful.”
“I understand the difficulty for you, but you’ve nothing to fear from Meghan. Daniel’s interest is completely platonic—they’re no more than friends.”
Willa clipped another rose. “Meghan has a mind of her own. I’ll grant you, she’s a bit forward at times. But you’ve no need to worry. She was raised properly and knows where the line of propriety is—she won’t step past it.” Willa moved to another rosebush.
“I’d still appreciate it if Miss Linnel would stay away from Douloo.”
“She’s simply having a bit of a tantrum. She knows her visits get under your skin. The smart thing for you to do is to not let on.”
“I don’t think it’s proper for a woman to call on a married man.”
“Indeed. But Meghan and Daniel have been friends since they were children. They’re chums, actually.” She smiled warmly. “And I know my son. He’s an honorable man and will not shame you.” She smiled. “I’m not certain, but I think he may actually love you.”
Rebecca sighed. If only we did love each other, she thought. Life would be more bearable.
As if reading Rebecca’s thoughts, Willa said, “Nothing is too difficult for God.” She placed an arm around Rebecca’s waist as they walked toward the porch. “Let’s put these in water and then see if we can find a sweet treat for the children, eh?”
The two women quietly trimmed the flowers and arranged them in vases. Rebecca’s mind remained with Daniel. Had her feelings for him changed since arriving at Douloo? She didn’t believe so. She’d always held him in high esteem and still did. He worked long hours, and she often went to bed alone. In some ways, she wondered if their friendship hadn’t wilted to some degree. His father kept him so busy that they had little time for conversation.
There were times during the day when she longed to see him, to share a new discovery or some inner thought. He seemed the only one who could satisfy the need for comradeship. Had she always felt that way?
Willa set one vase of flowers in the center of the dining room table and the other on a parlor stand in the sitting room. After that, she cut slices of sweet bread. “The aborigine children fancy this,” she explained, arranging the bread on a plate.
“They do love the sweets, but I’m not so sure they don’t enjoy the stories even more.”
“That might be true, but their mothers are not so pleased.” Willa frowned. “I pray that one day they’ll hear with more than their ears.” She carried the plate of bread and walked to the library, where she picked out a book from the case.
Willa sat on a bench beneath a gum tree, and children gathered about. An aborigine girl, no more than three years old, with wild yellow hair and skinny arms and legs, climbed into her lap. Willa hugged her and kissed her cheek, then handed her a piece of bread.
“Thank ya, mum,” the little girl said.
“You’re very welcome.”
The rest of the sweet bread was handed around to the children and their mothers. Jim joined the group, leaning against a gum tree. When he caught Rebecca’s eye, he winked. The aborigine adults stood and watched quietly, their expressions suspicious. The little ones settled on the ground and munched on bread, their faces eager. Willa opened the book and began reading.
“A carnival was coming to town, and a little boy named Johnny wanted badly to go,” Willa began.
Rebecca sat on the ground with a young aborigine boy leaning against her. He ate his bread slowly, listening to the story. This is wonderful, Rebecca thought. The children love tales. It’s a good introduction to literature. She gazed at the group of youngsters and their mothers, wondering if any knew how to read.
“Johnny worked very hard to earn the money for a ticket and a sweet roll.” Willa smiled at the children, then continued.
A breeze rippled Rebecca’s bonnet. She loosened the ties and let it drop onto her shoulders. After all, she was sitting in the shade. She glanced at Jim. He seemed taken with the story. His gaze was nearly as animated as the children’s. He’s a puzzle, she thought, wishing it weren’t inappropriate to nurture a friendship between the two of them. Daniel allows his familiarity with Meghan to continue. Isn’t it the same thing?
Jim glanced at her and tipped his hat. Rebecca nodded, then turned her attention back to Willa and the story.
“Johnny had almost reached the carnival when he saw an old woman sitting along the side of the road rocking back and forth and looking very sad. He didn’t even want to look at her, for he knew there wasn’t enough money left to help anyone else.”
The little girl in Willa’s lap tapped her arm. “Is he going to help her?”
“We’ll have to read on and see,” Willa said, then continued. “Johnny stopped and asked the woman what was wrong. ‘I have no milk. And my children are hungry.’
“Knowing that if he gave her the last of his money there would be none for the carnival, the boy reached into his pocket and took out the remaining coins. He stared at them, then held out his hand and offered them to the woman. She smiled and with many thanks accepted the gift and hurried on her way.”
“What’s he gonna’ do now?” one of the children asked. “He’s got no money.”
Rebecca watched the children’s faces. Their black eyes shimmered in anticipation. There should be a school for these youngsters, she thought but knew better than to even suggest such a thing. It wasn’t done.
“At the gate there was a man, and he watched Johnny as he stood looking in. Finally he asked him why he didn’t buy a ticket, and when Johnny told him about the people he’d met along the way, the man looked at the ground and in surprise bent and picked up a ticket from the dirt. Holding it up, he said, ‘Well, what d’ya know—a ticket.’ He looked about. ‘I don’t see anyone here looking for it. How about you use it?’
“Then the man dug into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and handed it to Johnny. ‘Wouldn’t be a carnival without a hot roll.’
“Johnny walked through the gate. Once inside he bought the hottest, biggest roll the baker had. There were painted clowns and acrobats, and he actually got to ride on a camel’s back. Even though Johnny had given away all his money, it had turned out to be an exceedingly wonderful day.”
Willa closed the book and studied the children’s faces. “Johnny gave everything he had, but he wasn’t sad. He felt happy inside because he was able to help the people along his way. And God had been watching over him. He was very pleased with the little boy and made certain Johnny got to enjoy the carnival after all.”
“Can you read another story?” a little boy asked.
“I’ll read you a story about Jesus.”
The children turned quiet, and some glanced at their mothers, whose faces showed disapproval.
Willa was not put off. She opened her Bible and read the story about how Jesus taught at the synagogue while he was still a boy. Then she explained that he’d come to tell everyone who would listen all about his Father in heaven. And that every person, no matter how evil he might be, could one day live in heaven if only he believed in the Savior who had come to rescue him.
The children fidgeted, and when Willa finished they jumped up and ran off to play. All except the little girl who sat in her lap. She hugged Willa. “I like Jesus,” she said, then walked away. The aborigine women returned to their work.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jim said, tipping his hat. “Reminds me of the days when I was a boy. We never missed church.” He offered Rebecca a smile, then walked toward one of the corrals.
Willa stood. “He’s a nice young man,” she said. Then glancing at two of the aborigine women, she knit her brows. “They don’t hear. And I don’t know how to help them understand. I pray that the little ones will believe one day.” She held the books against her chest. “If I could just get one to accept the truth, the others might too.”
“I’m sure it will happen,” Rebecca said.
Willa smiled. “I will continue to pray and to tell stories. The rest is up to God.” She walked toward the house
.
“I’ll be along shortly,” Rebecca called after her. She wanted to speak to Callie. Maybe Callie could explain why the blacks were so strongly set against Christianity. With a glance at the pale blue sky, she wiped moisture from her brow, then settled her hat in place and crossed the dirt yard to Callie’s cottage.
Suspicion tightening the corners of her mouth, Callie met Rebecca at the door. “Why ya ’ere?”
“I wanted to speak to you. And I’ve never been to your house.”
Holding open the door, Callie stepped back to show off the sparse interior of the single-room cabin. A table, two grass-woven rockers, and a bed were the only pieces of furniture. “Nothin’ much ta see, eh?” She almost smiled. “Can I get ya a glass of water?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Rebecca leaned against the porch railing and watched a woman scrubbing clothes alongside a nearby cottage. A baby lay in a pouch slung across her chest.
Callie dipped water out of a barrel and handed it to Rebecca.
“Thank you.” Hoping the water was clean, she sipped. It was surprisingly cool. She emptied the cup, then handed it back to Callie. “That was refreshing. I was thirsty.”
Callie returned the cup to the hook on the side of the barrel, then sat on the porch steps to watch three young boys playing with stones in the dirt. They tossed the pebbles, then cried out their joy or disappointment at the results.
Rebecca didn’t understand the game, but she enjoyed watching.
“Mrs. Thornton is a good woman. She’s kind ta the children,” Callie said.
“She’s always kind, which is why I’m a bit confused. Some of the women seem angry when she shares her Bible stories.”
“It isn’t Mrs. Thornton . . . We don’t believe in Jesus. The God she speaks of isn’t our God.”
“There’s only one God, the almighty God who created the heavens and the earth. Jesus was his Son.”
“Yer God is only a tale spread by the white man.”
“Callie . . .”
“We shouldn’t speak of it anymore.” She stood. “Ya should go now.” Without even glancing at Rebecca, Callie walked past her and into the cottage.