Taste of Victory

by Sandra Dengler

  “Ebenezer ends. Barmah begins. Tear that down. Build this up. A lot of sweat for what is, ultimately, defeat. I’m sure when y’r Rev. Bogisch devoted his life to y’r Ebenezer Mission, he entertained hopes and dreams as bright as Reginald’s. I cannae help but worry that Reginald’s may come to the same ignoble end.”

  “Defeat.” Ellen studied her. She drew her knees up and folded her arms across them as a shelf to rest her chin. “Yes, I suppose. In some ways. Ebenezer served scores of blacks for a time. But for every baby born, three or four people died. The last baby born at Ebenezer was little Willie Marks. I remember because I got to help with the birthing. I was thirteen.”

  “What are ye now, may I ask?”

  “Nineteen. Rev. Bogisch didn’t fail. He wanted to bring health and prosperity and Jesus Christ to the aborigines. He did that, but only to so very few. He was defeated by the government and by the way things are. The blacks are dying out. A generation or two, and there won’t be any of us left. That will be the final defeat.”

  What remained to be said? Samantha said nothing. In Ireland the yellow and red and black races of the world, other than being utterly alien and incomprehensible, were…well, they were seen as different. Freaks and curiosities. Not non-people, and yet not quite people in every sense of the word. Certainly not civilized or fully sensate.

  Yet Samantha sat here listening to Ellen talk about an eighty-four-year-old man dying of a broken heart. She listened to Ellen’s eloquence and thought about the deep and resourceful blacks she had known at Sugarlea when first she arrived in this upside-down land. Her racial perceptions, ingrained through a lifetime of schoolbooks in Erin, obviously needed changing. But to what? And besides, she already had a mighty headache, and it wasn’t doing her attempts at thinking the least bit of good.

  They dined that evening under a brand new tin verandah roof. The cooling effects of complete shade would have helped more if it were not for the heat assailing Samantha on all sides and radiating up from the very floor. The cook served mutton with onions and carrots. Samantha managed to force down a bit of the carrots. She was already slim naturally; she’d soon be too lean to cast a shadow.

  Reginald—enthusiastic, cheerful, competent Reginald—kept up a constant, thoughtful attention that flattered Samantha. He was always available, but never smothered her. This was the kind of Prince Charming every woman dreamed of meeting. Much as she would have preferred wallowing in the misery of the climate, he made her smile, and he kept the conversation bright.

  The sun sank low toward Echuca, but the heat did not abate. The three sat on the verandah, sipping tea and watching the changing shadows on the scraggly trees.

  A black man came striding up the track from the river. Samantha recalled his name was Toby, and she had met him down at the mission’s little pontoon wharf. On his shoulder he toted a canvas bag. Rather like a lanky black Saint Nicholas. She smiled at the thought. This would be the mail, no doubt, the last of the load in Echuca Charlene. He came straight to the house and plopped the bag on the verandah.

  With a grin and a nod, Toby greeted Ellen and Reginald and Samantha. The grin stayed put as he studied Samantha’s face. “Your nose, missy. Bad look. Too much little possum haunch, all fresh butchered.”

  “What a refreshingly colorful description.”

  “Color full. Thass it! Too much full color. Red.”

  Reginald was grinning, too, and his expansive smile suggested utter delight. Ellen pawed through the mailbag, handed the five or six letters to Reginald, and disappeared inside with the bag.

  “River down some more.” Toby sat down and leaned against a porch post. “Boat hard time, mail gunner come by skiff now and later, says Gus. Gus says he rode to Echuca on the last of the water a week ago. Don’ know what he’s doing here now.”

  “Then, Samantha,” said Reginald, “we’d best cut short your stay and send you home now. I wouldn’t want you stranded here.”

  “’Tis quite as hot in Echuca, aye?”

  “No. Nowhere in the Riverina is it cool this time of year, but Echuca has more vegetation, and it’s slightly cooler along the river. Also, there is medical attention in Echuca should the heat prostrate you, and there is none out here. I’ll feel much better when you’re safely back in town.” With his pocket knife he slit open the top letter in the stack.

  “As ye wish, of course. Y’re me employer. And ye understand the land. I dinnae know it yet. Still, ’tis the first time in me life I’ve ever been waited on hand and foot like this. Like royalty I’m being treated, and I loathe to return to being mere common folk.”

  “Common?” Reginald laughed. “No, Samantha, common you will never be.” He paused to read his letter.

  Ellen came out with the mailbag. “Here you go, Toby. Remind Mr. Runyan we need stamps, will you?”

  “I do that. Tell him too much. Him say ‘I got Victoria stamps. Ellen she is New South Wales.’”

  “You tell him I know for a fact he can sell Victorian stamps to anyone, even if they’re from the other side of the world, and he’ll sell some to me.”

  “I tell him again.” Toby lurched to his feet.

  Reginald raised a hand. “Toby, will you tell Mr. Runyan I’d like to send Miss Connolly back to Echuca as soon as possible.”

  Toby grinned. “Letcha know.” And away he went, as smoothly and swiftly as if the temperature were normal.

  Ellen walked out across the commons toward a cabin that was probably her own domicile. Perhaps it was because so much land lay vacant and unused that people out here made themselves such huge yards, placing secondary structures so far out as to bring new meaning to the word outbuilding. You walked and walked and walked without leaving the dooryard.

  Samantha pulled in a lungful of heavy air. She felt lightheaded. There was a sudden tenseness here, and she was slow to realize she was not its source. She glanced over. “Reginald?”

  He was staring tight-lipped at one of his letters. Normally so cheerful and soft, his features had hardened in just plain anger. He drew a deep breath and stared at the underside of his new verandah roof awhile. His eyes returned to the letter, but his face did not soften.

  “Reginald?”

  He waved the letter. “Latest instructions from the home missions board. They feel I should make purchases and handle shipments directly from Barmah here. They believe the office and secretary in Echuca are an unnecessary expense.”

  “They’re in London. How would they know what is necessary?”

  “Indeed.” He tossed the letter aside. “This changes everything. I must think about it. Excuse me, Samantha, please.” He leaped to his feet and strode out across the yard.

  Samantha was sorely tempted to scoop that letter up and read it. She must not. Although it certainly pertained to her—this was her position they were abolishing—it was not her letter. By dint of mental strength she managed to beat temptation to a nubbin, but only by practically sitting on her nervous hands.

  Toby appeared from among the trees and met Reginald at the far end of the commons. They talked. Toby nodded. Reginald wagged his head. His white shirt still glowed in the sun, but it was now a yellowish glow as the sun made its final bow. Toby left. Reginald stood about awhile with his hands in his pockets, then came back toward the house. Sadness had replaced the anger in his face.

  Samantha grimaced and pretended it was a smile. “Since I be nae longer in y’r employ, I shall offer unrequested advice. Get angry. Jump up and down and scream. Let it all out, as it were. Ye’ll do y’rself nae bit of good stuffing it all away like this.”

  “I’ll vent my anger tomorrow with a hammer, putting on roofing. Do you feel up to a stroll?”

  “Aye. Sure ’n I ought to move about some or I’ll melt into a solid mass.” She stood experimentally. No weakness, no dizziness posed problems. She took his proffered hand and stepped out into the waning sun. Why did the land not cool off better when the furnace went down?

  He did not release her hand. He t
ook it in his and pinned her arm with his. It provided a welcome steadying effect. “Toby says the Echuca Charlene is fired up and waiting at the wharf for you. Apparently Gus loathes walking, and he’s afraid he’ll have to do just that if his boat strands.”

  “I feel like a deserter.”

  “By no means! I only feel terrible about giving you the sack so precipitously. I shall, of course, make your reemployment a matter of earnest prayer.”

  “I understand the situation, and I thank ye for y’r prayers.”

  He licked his lips and glanced skyward as if seeking to pluck words out of the brazen emptiness. “I believe you said you never married.” They strolled out across the yard toward the track to the river.

  “As me grandmum says, ‘Nae even a close call.’” Grandmum. How was she tonight? She should be here instead of Samantha. Grandmum sought out heat as a moth seeks the flame. Grandmum spent most of her day curled up in the inglenook, pressed against the warm chimney.

  He chuckled. “My own dear grandmama would have said the same thing about me all the way through my schooldays. Then I met Darla. When I was courting Darla Custer, my whole world turned to mush. I was just finishing seminary—tests, reports, papers. I nearly failed the next-to-final quarter, for no matter what I applied the front of my mind to, Darla was at the back of it.”

  “Head over heels in love, y’re saying.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I completed seminary in spite of myself and we married. I would like to say that meeting Jesus Christ personally was the greatest thing in my life, and it would certainly sound pious, but it would be dishonest. Being married to Darla was greatest, closer heaven than heaven itself. We had nineteen months together. She died in childbirth. Our newborn daughter died twelve hours later.”

  Samantha closed her burning eyes. Why did such losses never strike scoundrels? Why was it always wonderful people who suffered?

  He led her onto the river track. “I mourned her for years. Still do, inwardly. In fact, it never occurred to me that I might get over it—until I found you in a wilted little heap on the track that day. Since then, whatever the front of my mind is doing, you are at the back of it.”

  Samantha stopped and turned to face him. “Be ye saying ’tis love y’re smitten with?”

  “I don’t know, Samantha. It’s been so long, I don’t know. And I’m afraid. The last time I loved, I lost.” His earnest eyes held hers comfortably. “What if I were to allow myself to love you and something happened? I’m sure it sounds silly, a child’s fear, but it’s real to me. I’d feel as if I caused another tragedy.”

  “’Twas not y’rself sought me out; I came to ye seeking work.”

  “True. When I left you behind, safe and comfortable in that inn, I told myself you were gone from my life. I had done my Good Samaritan job, and it was over. But I couldn’t forget you. And when you walked into my office, out of the blue as it were, the first thing that came to my mind was ‘This is a sign from God! He wants this!’”

  “Strong words, Reginald.”

  He smiled and started walking again toward the river. “Not to mention melodramatic. And I’m not normally a melodramatic person. I’m telling you this only to show you my state of mind then. Believe me, the job was yours from the moment you walked in. It was my immense good fortune that you are well organized, efficient, precise, and you can think quickly and clearly. You took care of permits and applications…. In a very large way, you made Barmah possible. I couldn’t handle all that paperwork and also see to the actual building. It’s two full-time jobs. Both of them would have fallen by the way. So, you see, you were indeed a gift from God. I wasn’t that far off in my first reaction.”

  “And now ye dinnae need me anymore.”

  “So the missions board says.”

  She patted his hand, suddenly overwhelmed by a mix of—a mix of what? Sympathy? Admiration? Both, and more. “Sure ’n ye’ll expand Barmah as time goes on, but y’r essential buildings are nearly complete. ’Tis not the crush of work now that it once was. Ye’ll make out fine with Ellen at y’r side.”

  “Ellen. Yes. She’s nearly as big a blessing as you. I’ve had no prior experience with outback missions, and she grew up in one. Her experience and competence have been invaluable to me. But you, Samantha…” He shook his head. “You are unique in my life, not because of your contribution, but because you are you.” He smiled at her. “There I am, being melodramatic again.”

  “And I be speechless.”

  She had just lied to him, and he a man of God. She was never going to tell him she had lied, for it would profit him nothing to know about Cole Sloan.

  Grandmum’s quote was no longer true. Cole Sloan had asked her to marry him. Once upon a time he professed his love for her. And he had stolen her heart. But that was another time in another place. He was lost now in the maddening maze of Sydney, and she was just as lost, frying in the empty outback. Never the twain shall meet.

  And just as well. Cole Sloan was everything this man beside her was not, and not to his credit. True, Reginald was quite regular-looking and Cole inordinately good-looking. But Reginald was honest and open, Cole crooked and devious. Reginald adhered to a high moral code. Cole openly admitted he didn’t mind living in the moral gutter on occasion.

  Reginald could be trusted.

  Cole could not.

  No contest.

  Although the air still hung silent and lifeless, it no longer suffocated her. They walked in peace through scattered golden scrub. Somewhere off to the left, the brush rattled as a kangaroo made a hasty exit. Such noises no longer bothered her. Perhaps Samantha was becoming inured to this alien land after all.

  Toby shattered the peace by running up the track from the river. “Getcha bag, missy,” he grinned as he passed them, heading toward Barmah.

  Reginald chuckled. “When perpetual motion machines are perfected, it’s Toby they’ll have to beat.” He sobered. “Speaking of perpetual—”

  “Aye?”

  “Two things. First, although I admit that my feelings for you are strong, I’m not yet suggesting engagement or marriage or…I hope you understand.”

  “Y’r uncertainty was the first thing ye admitted. Aye, I understand, for I’ve been victim to fear and indecision meself on many a time.”

  He smiled. “Of course you understand. You’re a wise and understanding woman; one of the nicest things about you. Secondly, I did not press this next issue in the past. I thought you would be in association for quite some time and I could, bit by bit—” He stopped and sighed. Obviously, he was having a great deal of trouble with phrasing.

  “Issue?”

  “There’s nothing to keep you in Echuca, and work is scarce there. You will almost surely move on. I trust and pray we’ll remain in correspondence, but this is a matter to be completed face to face, and I no longer have the luxury of time.”

  “What issue?”

  “The matter of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I fear you are still eighteen inches away from salvation.”

  “What?”

  “The distance between your head and your heart. Your head knows the catechism and all the words. But you’re heart does not yet know the person Christ.” He stopped and turned her to himself. “This may be the last time we meet for a while. I cannot let this opportunity pass without begging you to invite Jesus Christ into your life.”

  “Me, uh, me brother-in-law said essentially the same thing, though he phrased it differently.”

  “The phrasing is immaterial. The fact of it is all-important. Only the payment Jesus Christ made can give you entry into eternal life, and that you can receive only by receiving Him.” He sighed. “I can preach an evangelistic sermon to hundreds. So why do I get all tongue-tied and spout bromides when I look into your eyes?”

  “Meself would hardly call it ‘tongue-tied.’”

  “Tongue-tied! The glory of Jesus is so unspeakable, and all that He can do for you, and all you can do for Him—it all c
omes tumbling into my mind at once and I can’t channel it out to you coherently.” He pressed her hands in his. “Very well; perhaps it’s best I write a letter, after all. I beg you as a matter of life and death to look favorably on my petition.”

  “I look forward to receiving it.” The intensity of his plea rattled her.

  Toby, his skin glistening and his clothes soaked in sweat, arrived at the wharf about the same time they did. He handed her traveling bag across to Gus the skipper. Reginald bade her farewell and kissed her hands in parting. She heard a loud splash as she stepped aboard the tiny sidewheeler and glanced beyond the stern. Toby, still fully clothed, was bathing.

  The little boat proceeded less than half a mile before tying up to a snag for the night. “No moon,” explained Captain Runyan with uncharacteristic terseness. Samantha curled up on a lumpy little pallet and slept much more soundly than circumstances would dictate.

  A steam sidewheeler, regardless its size, is both dirty and noisy. Echuca Charlene’s wood-fired boiler spewed soot and rained ashes on the deck. Her piston thudded. She throbbed. Her dual paddle wheels flailed at the brown water and kicked it into a frothy wake. The wheel housing smelled stale and moldy.

  And yet, all her quirky little faults aside, she shared the beguiling charm nearly all these riverboats displayed. She glided smoothly, elegantly past forested shores and open fields. She tooted her whistle and rang bells from time to time, sometimes for official reasons and sometimes to greet a farmer in his wagon. She was fun to ride in. Best of all, the flat river met her flat bottom solidly. No pitch, no yaw, no lurching disturbed Samantha’s delicate stomach.

  By the time Echuca Charlene hooted her whistle and reversed her paddles on her approach to the Great Echuca Wharf, Samantha had resigned herself to job seeking. Job seeking? That was the easy part. What about Reginald? That thorny problem defied resolution. Should he actually propose, ought she accept? If not, why not?

  Once in a lifetime she might find a strong, sensitive man who loved her. Most women never found such at all, so rare are they. Here was a catch not to let slip away. And yet, she did not return his love.