Unto Death

by Lena West

  Without apology she reached out and took Lucy's hands, running her finger over the bright gold wedding ring. Thoughtfully, she studied Lucy's pitiful countenance.

  “You're a married lady, Lass.”

  Lucy nodded, fresh tears threatening to spill over.

  “Shush now. Shush. I only commented, because your troubles can't be those most young girls come here weeping over.”

  It took Lucy several seconds to grasp the nun's meaning.

  Bright scarlet infusing her pale cheeks with colour, she hastened to agree.

  “No. No, Sister. Besides, I'm not … At least I don't think I am. Not yet,” she stammered.

  “I can see how you might be disappointed not to find yourself in a family way yet, although at your age I can't imagine such a trifle bringing you here, seeking refuge and guidance.”

  About to refute this last, Lucy closed her mouth on the words. The Sister had the truth of it. She was desperately in need of guidance, and her feet had led her here, to this blessedly cool, quiet haven.

  “I don't know what to do,” she whispered. “I'm in the most dreadful coil.”

  “There's no need to tell me anything you don't want to, my dear, only you know, sometimes talking helps you to see your way clearly. Mine are safe ears; mine and God's.”

  She didn't press for confidences, simply sat, gently massaging Lucy's hands; a soothing presence. After a while, seeing that Lucy wasn't ready to talk, she made a second suggestion.

  “There's a little retiring room behind the alter. It'll be unoccupied at this time of the day and you can sit and rest out of the public view. I'll make us both a nice cup of tea. I'm Sister Mary Magdalene, by the way.”

  Obedient to the light tug on her hand, Lucy rose and walked down the outer aisle at the nun's side. Before Sister Mary Magdalene went to fetch the promised cup of tea, she brought another wet cloth, handing it to Lucy.

  “There's nobody about to disturb you, so just you sit here quietly and put this over those poor eyes till I get back.”

  “My name is Lucy. Thank you, Sister.”

  There was a faint scent of incense in the air, and close by a clock measured time with a placid tick-tock, tick-tock. Eyes closed, the cool, wet cloth covering them, in this quiet haven Lucy's pain released its agonising grip; her racing heart slowed its pace, keeping time with the clock. Lucy slept, awaking with a start.

  “Oh! Oh Sister, I'm so sorry. I fell asleep. I didn't mean to be so rude.”

  “Think of it as a healing sleep. It was for no more than a few minutes. See, the tea's still lovely and hot.”

  She poured two cups, adding milk and sugar to the one she handed to Lucy.

  “There you are Lucy. Drink that down. It'll perk you up no end. Tea is not known as the great British panacea for nothing. I do believe your little catnap has done you good.”

  Chance had guided her footsteps to this refuge; and chance had led this beautifully kind nun to her side at the exact moment she was in dire need. Certain any confidences would be safe, Lucy decided to share her sordid story.

  “… so, you see, Sister, quite apart from the breaking of my heart, I'm in a most dreadful quandary. I'm so afraid any action of mine will only serve to make matters worse.” Her writhing fingers threatening to shred her poor, maltreated handkerchief, she raised pleading eyes to her companion. “I don't know what to do.”

  “I do see, my dear.”

  Sister Mary Magdalene sat, lost in deep thought. Lucy, reduced to silent apathy, sat slumped at her side.

  “You know, Lucy, although it looks very bad from the evidence, you've only seen this situation from one side. I can think of more than one explanation which would exonerate your young man entirely. He may not have been a willing recipient of the kiss you witnessed. Is he happy, married to you?”

  Lucy considered the question carefully.

  “I believed he was, although,” honesty forced her to admit the caveat, “there was always a part of himself he held in reserve. Sometimes he'd get such a sad look, although he'd be cheerful again immediately, if he saw me noticing. I never could account for it. Do you think he regrets marrying me?”

  “Regrets or not, he did marry you. He swore a sacred oath before God; as you did also, Lucy.”

  The eyes turned on Lucy now held a new sternness.

  “Remember, what God has joined together, let no man put asunder. Or woman either. If he truly is committing adultery with this woman, it is up to you, as his wife, to show him the error of his ways and lead his steps back onto their true path.”

  “But, if he loves her, not me …”

  “This isn't a simple matter of love, Lucy, painful though that may be. The seventh commandment clearly states, 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.' If doing so, he's endangering his immortal soul; which is immeasurably more important than earthly love.” She paused a moment, studying Lucy quite critically.

  “I believe you first need to be observant and determine whether or not your worst fears are realised. If they are, you must encourage him to put his paramour aside, and devote himself to making a success of his marriage to you.”

  She looked deep into Lucy's eyes, as if gauging her moral fibre.

  “Do you care enough to lead him into salvation, Lucy? Are you strong enough to forgive those sins in need of forgiveness? I'm going to pray for you to be shown the way through your darkness, and for you to be granted the strength and courage to follow it to its end. Whenever you feel lost and alone, pray to Our Lady and Jesus for help; and help will be given. With God on your side, you're never truly alone. Remember that.”

  Having said all she intended to, she escorted Lucy back into the body of the cathedral.

  Not yet ready to face the world; to face Stephen, Lucy retreated once again to her corner behind the pillar to sit, mulling over her new friend's words. She knew what she'd seen, but Sister Mary Magdalene had offered her a tiny glimmer of hope; and if more than hope was required, did she have the strength and courage necessary to guide Stephen back from the darkness?

  Yes, she told herself. She loved him. But did she love him enough to forgive him? That, she simply did not know.

  This whole situation was like a Gothic romance, except that it was real. In a book, you knew it would all turn out right in the end. In real life, Lucy was rapidly coming to realise, there were no guarantees. Unsure of what to do next, she adopted Sister Mary Magdalene's advice to wait and observe.

  Before she left, she went down on her knees and prayed, with all the desperation in her heart.

  9

  What an abysmal fool I was. Why didn't I listen to my friends? Then I wouldn't have found myself reduced to this shamefully pitiable state.

  I wouldn't now be contemplating the inherent possibilities of death. But ...

  Whose death should that be?

  Mine?

  Hers?

  His?

  Theirs?

  Nobody's?

  And is Death really the best solution?

  How she kept her tongue between her teeth and didn't burst into a torrent of accusations the moment Stephen stepped through the door - to which she had obtained a second key from the concierge - reeking of That Woman's foul perfume, Lucy never knew. Perhaps the heartfelt prayers she had directed to Mary, Mother of God and Help of Christians whose church she had sought refuge in, had helped after all. Stephen's own troubled abstraction also helped.

  He looked like a man in sore need of rescue. A rescue presently beyond Lucy's meagre resources.

  Isabella Cummings might have her talons sunk deep into his soul, but she wasn't making him happy, Lucy, setting aside her own misery, observed. Not happy and carefree as he had been with her until today. It was in recalling the happiness they had shared during those precious honeymoon days, Lucy discovered a sliver of hope.

  That night, the first they hadn't made love to fall asleep in each other’s arms, Stephen tossed and turned; a man in torment.

  Lucy knew, because she had lain
awake herself, huddled as far from him as the confines of their bed permitted, concocting and discarding a multitude of schemes to win him back to her. To win his love.

  Which two things were not the same, she realised, as the first rays of the morning sun stole through a gap in the curtains.

  While the second held most appeal to her heart, the first seemed to her the more urgent, and perhaps the more doable. It also offered her scope to apply logic and reasoning, and to take certain matters into her own hands.

  She recalled the instructions she'd received from her unfashionably earthy Grandmama.

  He already likes me, she thought, and until She stuck her nose in, he was enjoying being married to me even if he doesn't love me. I know he was. It will be hard, but I'll prove to him he can be happier with me than with Her.

  She didn't have to wait passively on the actions of others, either.

  That was a truly powerful thought. A strengthening one.

  In the morning, Stephen rallied, paying Lucy all the small courtesies she had grown accustomed to, and putting on a show of interest in the entertainments laid on by his cousins. To a casual observer, they were a perfect couple. Only Lucy noticed the strain underlying Stephen's smiles.

  On the steamship carrying them home to the Hunter, Stephen left Lucy in possession of their cabin, to which he returned hours later. The odours of whiskey and cigarillo smoke wreathing about his person, he tripped entering the cabin, falling against the bed and waking Lucy who'd fallen into a troubled slumber.

  When he stripped off his clothes and tumbled into bed, she gathered him close, wrapping her slender arms around him.

  She didn't know if he found comfort in her embrace, but she felt stronger, more certain of what must be, with his warm body in her keeping.

  By the time they docked, soon after dawn, she had settled on her course. She prayed again for the strength and courage to carry out her decision.

  Stephen was hers.

  Her husband.

  He had married her of his own free will. She had accepted him in good faith.

  And no worthless, adulterous excuse for a woman could be permitted to steal him from her.

  Knowing herself to be in the right strengthened Lucy's resolve, and her courage with it. She would vanquish her enemy, not in open conflict, but by employing every scintilla of feminine intelligence and cunning she possessed. This situation was exactly the kind which called for the application of Grandmama's earthy wisdom.

  *****

  “Finally! Come here girl and give your poor, old father a kiss. Dear girl, we've all missed you so much.”

  “Papa!”

  Lucy was so glad to see her father waiting for the train, which was so much quicker than driving. A tear, hastily brushed away, trickled onto her cheek, immediately replaced by a determinedly sunny smile.

  While Lucy greeted her father, Stephen directed the porter to carry their bags to the carriage waiting in front of Maitland Railway Station.

  Girding himself to disguise the truth from Lucy's loving family, Stephen stepped forward, hand outstretched and a smile plastered on his face; the same false smile he'd been cultivating following his reunion with his true love, Isabella

  He'd been overjoyed to see her.

  Appalled at her effrontery in coming to him in Lucy's innocent presence.

  His carefully constructed house of cards had crashed around his head when the two parts of his double life collided. He had striven to explain to Isabella the absolute necessity for Lucy to be kept in ignorance. She had pouted, quite unrepentant, reminding him they had been apart for over a month and she simply couldn't wait another minute to be in his arms. Naturally, he'd surrendered; giving up his attempt to tutor her in how they should go on. Hopefully she would remember, and in future, abide by the rules he'd laid down.

  Now he had two weeks before the Cummingses' return to Far Horizons. Two weeks to shore up the tottering foundations of his life with Lucy.

  Suffering a touch of mal-de-mer, induced by the motion of the waves, she hadn't questioned the excuses he'd made last night, so he didn't think he'd given himself away. If he had, she would surely have treated him to tears and recriminations, neither of which had eventuated. Instead, he'd awakened wrapped in the warmth of her arms. He steeled himself to make a greater effort if he was to succeed in the double life he'd embarked upon.

  *****

  Unwittingly, an alliance in deception was formed, so that between Stephen's determined cheerfulness and Lucy's reluctance to worry her family, the short visit proved uneventful.

  All too soon for Lucy, it was time to join Will Murphy, the middle-aged, Irish foreman who had brought the Eden Vale wagon, combining a routine delivery of wool to be shipped south, with helping the newly-weds home with all their assorted baggage, along with those of Lucy's possessions she wanted with her in her new home. Lucy had breakfasted in Grandmama's room with the old lady who rarely emerged till later in the morning, thereby ensuring she was last down.

  “Lucy!”

  Maggie's scandalised outcry drew all eyes to where Lucy stood, adorned in snug-fitting buckskin breeches and jacket.

  “You go straight back upstairs, my girl, and put on a decent travelling dress.”

  “No, Mama.” Lucy raised her head and looked her mother in the eye, determined not to give in.

  She was a married lady now, not Mama's little girl, and she would decide for herself what to wear.

  “I'm not going to bump up and down on the bare, wooden seat of the wagon, arriving at Eden Vale covered in bruises. I'll be far more comfortable riding Snowflake, and she'll like it better too, instead of being led behind the wagon in all its dust. As for the breeches, Stephen told me country women ride astride for safety, so I had a tailor in Sydney make these riding clothes for me.”

  “Humph.” Maggie snorted her disapproval.

  “I still don't see why you couldn't ride in one of Mr Cobb's coaches. It'd be quicker, and far more respectable.”

  “And be cooped up with other people in the heat and dust, jolting and bouncing on the rough roads? No thank-you, Mama. Besides, riding home with Stephen will be a wonderful adventure.”

  Lucy tossed her head and glared at her mother.

  “Don't fuss, Maggie.”

  Peter wrapped an arm round his wife's shoulders, hugging her to him as he poured oil on the troubled waters.

  “The girl's right. It will be a marvellous adventure for our two young people, you know, and even in the countryside round here I've seen girls wearing trousers and riding astride.”

  “Thank-you Papa. None of your friends will see me Mama, and they wouldn't care if they did.”

  She put an end to further discussion by kissing her parents and bidding them farewell.

  Will, told the evening before that Lucy would be riding the spirited white mare her father had given her for her last birthday, had set out at dawn, long before the time Stephen gave Lucy a leg up into the saddle.

  Stephen’s eyes widened at the sight of those breeches stretched to a wicked, skin-tight embrace of his wife's shapely bottom as she mounted. Without the audience, he might have been tempted to stroke an appreciative hand over those wholly delightful curves. Riding behind her down the road became an exercise in self-restraint; information which he slyly imparted to her when the thinning traffic permitted him to move up beside her.

  Startled, the blush that never failed to make Stephen smile staining her cheeks, Lucy turned self-conscious eyes to him.

  “Oh Stephen, I forgot to ask if you minded. Only you were the one who mentioned riding astride in boys’ clothes, so I'm afraid I simply assumed you'd approve. You don't mind, do you?”

  Not that she cared if he did; she'd seen the lascivious gleam in his eye and counted it a point in her favour that he still found her physically desirable. He hadn't touched her in that way since before Isabella Cummings burst on the scene, and she was beginning to doubt her own attractions. Now, reassured she had something to work
with, she relaxed, looking forward to the journey ahead.

  “Not at all, Lucy dear. I'm very proud of my beautiful, adventurous wife. You're a sight to gladden any man's eyes, and mine especially, in those trousers.”

  At last Stephen felt comfortable again with Lucy, as if some invisible barrier had been crossed. Shortly before midday they overtook the slower wagon, waving to Will as they cantered past, leaving him in their dust. Will had smiled shyly from behind the bushy black beard covering most of the face visible beneath his battered, broad-brimmed hat. The new missus was a bit of alright. She'd soon sort out young Stephen.

  The carefree mood continued, light-hearted and easy, throughout the day. They rested at suitable intervals, boiling the billy for tea while they waited for Will to catch up. Relieved to have their relationship back to normal, Lucy concluded the incident she had witnessed between Isabella Cummings and Stephen couldn't possibly have been what she'd assumed.

  More likely Stephen had gone to That Woman's room to tell her it was all at an end between them. Otherwise, how to explain his easy, relaxed manner now?

  With a happy smile, she turned to point out to him the brilliant blue flash of a kingfisher as they splashed across a shallow creek.

  Faced with the privations of a bush camp that night, Lucy earned the respect of both Stephen and Will by treating it as a jolly lark, although she was relieved when they made a bed for her up among the packing crates and boxes on the wagon, out of reach of the creatures scurrying about in the dark.

  She would have liked it even better if Stephen had joined her in her snug nest, but Will's presence put a dampener on the sort of romantic interlude she was planning for the next time her husband made his way to her bed, where she had something to prove.

  Besides, the long day in the saddle had taken its toll on muscles unused to such strenuous exercise. Thank goodness for Grandmama's foresight, she grinned, awkwardly applying the liniment her grandmother had given her to her nether regions.

  *****

  Lucy groaned, her abused muscles reducing her to an undignified scramble when she climbed out of bed. Thank goodness this would be their last day on the road.