Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction Page 13

  the Colonel would stay here with me and assist Harriet with

  repairs to the house. Potts and Floyd threw their things

  together and took off for the hills; I think both of them were

  glad to get away from us and I could guess the reason why.

  Harriet and the Colonel had something going and I doubt that

  Potts and Floyd approved. Women were a diversion and a

  conflict of interest that could be done without. To make

  matters worse, Catherine and I were also under scrutiny and

  you can bet they were less than impressed about that as well.

  Meanwhile, the Colonel was doing the big impressario bit

  to a very appreciative one-woman audience while the two

  linked arms and were surveying the front of the house. The

  roof had taken a hammering and a lot of iron would need to be

  replaced, along with glass, some verandah boards and the odd

  weatherboard. The Colonel volunteered without prompting to

  become the foreman of works.

  “Oh, I do hope this is not going to cost too much.” Harriet

  was no doubt thinking out loud for the Colonel’s benefit.

  “Don’t you worry, m’dear, I have some funds that will take

  care of that.”

  I smiled and wallowed on the chair. Things were going to

  work out all right. Harriet was relieved and smiling too.

  To everyone’s surprise, Potts and Floyd suddenly

  reappeared by late afternoon. They had only gone nine miles

  from town and found their man – dead under a tree. It seems

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  my aim was good after all. Hit by four balls of buckshot in the

  lungs meant he would have died a slow, drowning death,

  which wouldn’t have been pretty. I wasn’t particularly pleased

  to hear that, but then I suppose, what goes around comes

  around. Having someone shoot at you is exactly what you

  should expect if you try to blow people up.

  Unfortunately, now he was dead there was nothing we

  could learn from him. They had found his horse a short way

  off and draping him over it, had taken the body to the police

  station to see if anyone knew him, after which he was

  delivered to the morgue. He’d been dead in the sun for quite a

  while by then and was already turning black, so it would be

  imperative to bury him quick. The sight of him draped over a

  horse in the main street of town caused no small amount of

  interest from the locals, although no one seemed to know him.

  He was another candidate for a cheap wooden cross but

  without so much as a name to go on it.

  We held a post operation meeting to discuss our progress.

  It was certain we had smashed a cell that had been established

  in this region, although it was not who we had hoped for. The

  Shaun Blainey, Eric von Smidt fraternity were still at large and

  their present whereabouts remained unknown.

  The bombing of the train station was a mistake on the part

  of the bombers – an act of arrogance that had led directly to

  their downfall. No one had done that before and emboldened

  by their success at evading us in Jamestown, they had gone too

  far.

  It was unlikely to be an accident they had bombed a

  building that happened to be directly opposite where we were

  staying. More likely, they were rubbing our noses in it, not

  knowing that this time around we knew where to look for them

  and were ready to strike back before they were able to make

  good their escape. The irony was, they had destroyed a

  building that no one used, which hadn’t done a single thing to

  assist their war efforts; an act of bravado that led directly to

  their downfall. It was highly unlikely that Eric von Smidt or

  Shaun Blaine would be that easy to catch.

  Next morning a telegram was sent to Cape Town,

  cryptically hinting of our success and informing Watermeyer

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  that a written report would soon be on its way. The big

  question was, ‘now what do we do?’ Before we went any

  further we would need to sit tight and await further instructions

  from Cape Town, which could take days or even longer. That

  was just dandy with me. No doubt Harriet and the Colonel

  would think so too.

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  Chapter Ten

  PATEA, New Zealand. December 1898.

  The three of us were still basking on the front lawn when

  mother re-emerged from the house. We all looked up –

  significantly, there was no sign of Rachel.

  “Richard, I need to talk to you. Rachel and I are in the

  parlour.”

  “Looks like you’re in trouble too.” It was Agnes, thinking

  out loud as usual. I was convinced that this was about last

  night and I was in dread of what was about to happen next.

  With an inward sigh I heaved myself up and headed for the

  front door, where Mother was waiting. We entered the parlour

  and she indicated that I should sit next to Rachel, then closed

  the door. Rachel looked up as I entered and my concerns

  increased for she was visibly less than happy. I sank down next

  to her, trying not to convey any anxiety, and reached for her

  hand. She sniffed and with a weak smile lifted her other hand

  to wipe her eyes.

  Mother paused to clear her throat, then began to speak in a

  quiet, benevolent voice. “I have heard of whirlwind romances

  but yours takes the cake. If it was up to me, I would march you

  both to the courthouse on Monday and get you married off.

  Now look at me, both of you. Have you slept together? Tell me

  truthfully – don’t you dare lie!”

  Rachel and I glanced at each other. The usually unflappable

  Rachel looked deeply embarrassed and I could feel a

  proportional rise of colour in my own face as well.

  “No Mother, of course we haven’t.”

  “Good. Thank God for that then.” Mother rolled her eyes

  skywards and crossed herself. “Now,” she said, after a pause,

  “this is what you have to do. Richard, when we get home you

  must get your things together and move to Whanganui. You

  must find a place to live and get a job. Rachel, when you get

  home you must tell your mother and father about Richard. I

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  divine that this could be difficult for you, but it must be done.

  The sooner the better.” At this point, she paused to look deeply

  into our eyes.

  I was dazed and confused. What on earth was going on?

  How did we get onto this?

  With no sign of slowing down or stopping, Mother

  continued. “Now – Rachel’s parents may be totally opposed to

  any quick courtship. They may insist that this be dragged out

  one year, two years, who knows, maybe even longer, so they

  can test your mettle and your sincerity about this relationship.”

  She paused again, as if to allow that to sink in. “Once Richard

  is properly established, you can formally announce him to your

  parents and an arrangement can be entered into to allow

  Richard to visit you at home, provided of course that this is

  acceptable to your mother and father. I’m sorry to have to tell

  you, but it may be that they disa
pprove of Richard and forbid

  you to see each other, although that would be extreme. I’m

  telling you this because you need to realise what could happen

  in case it does.”

  Mother then rose from her seat and with a wistful smile

  came over with her hands outstretched. We stood up and she

  hugged us and kissed our cheeks. “I’m so sorry for you,” she

  said. “I know how you must feel. Young love is always in a

  hurry, but you must follow this wherever it takes you and see it

  through no matter what. If you do, everything will work out –

  you’ll see.” She paused, looking at both of us. “I’m going to go

  now, for I know you have a lot of things to talk about. I will

  instruct the others to leave you in peace and you can come out

  when you are ready.” She left and closed the door.

  I was completely baffled. I sat back down on the sofa, my

  mind churning. I was acutely aware that our relationship had

  just got a lot more complicated. Something momentous must

  have happened in here, for we would never be allowed to

  remain alone like this under normal circumstances.

  Rachel leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. I sank

  back until I stopped against the armrest and Rachel was draped

  on top of me, her head on my chest. For a while we didn’t

  speak, Rachel seemed troubled and deep in thought. I stroked

  her hair and brushed aside wisps that had fallen across her

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  face. I had never stroked a girl’s hair before and marvelled

  how fine and soft it was. I pushed some hair back and exposed

  her ear. It was small, like her hands, precious, perfectly formed

  and covered with soft, silky skin. I stroked her forehead and

  she closed her eyes.

  The outer edges of her eyebrows protruded slightly from

  the surface of her head, forming slight depressions above them.

  Every contour was smooth, precise, compelling. She had a fine

  nose and a cute mouth; her bone structure was simply

  exquisite. Her head was like a classical vase of fine bone

  china, a work of art. A marvel of sculpture that was at once

  both fragile and beautiful, evoking a feeling of admiration at

  everything she was. I brushed her cheek with my fingertips.

  Like everything else, it was silky and flawless.

  Her eyes opened and she looked at me. “Would you like to

  marry me?”

  “Yes, of course I would.”

  She was silent. I could tell she was worried, although after

  having said that I couldn’t possibly imagine why she would be.

  “Would you wait two years for me?”

  So that was it – was it?

  “Of course. I’d wait five years if I had to.”

  She went silent. Her expression didn’t change. Her eyes

  were averted and it was plainly obvious that something still

  bothered her.

  “What did you say to Mother?”

  “I told her you were going to marry me. God willing of

  course.”

  “You said that?” I was incredulous. That explained a few

  things.

  “Would you marry me if you knew my reputation was

  ruined?”

  I was surprised. Actually, I didn’t comprehend. What in

  God’s name did she mean?

  “I’ve told your mother my secret and now, you will need to

  know about it too.”

  She sat up, clutching one hand in the other, and her face

  was downcast, her expression that of someone who had all the

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  troubles in the world on her shoulders. I said nothing. I just

  stared at her and allowed her to do the telling of it.

  “Mary made the comment that I was no ordinary girl. She

  asked why I travelled alone, to stay with a family I hardly

  knew and my parents didn’t know at all. She felt that if I were

  her daughter, she wouldn’t be pleased that I was travelling

  without an escort.”

  Rachel paused, still looking unhappy. It was plain by now

  that this was leading to something upsetting and my mind

  boggled as to what it could possibly be.

  “I told her that as a girl, boys were always competing for

  my attention. The other girls noticed and resented me, but

  when I turned eighteen, my troubles really began. I put up my

  hair and lengthened my skirts as all girls do. The problem was,

  the only callers were boys from wealthy families. They were

  swellheads who thought I should feel privileged that they had

  shown an interest in me. I was supposed to be eternally

  grateful and fall swooning at their feet. They wanted a trophy

  wife, a breeding vessel to put on display. They were resentful

  when Father moved them on and their families weren’t that

  delighted either. Then the rumours began. I was arrogant, a

  social bore. My head was too big; I was too good for anyone. It

  was hurtful, but I could have lived with that. Soon however,

  the rumours grew with each retelling. It wasn’t long before my

  virginity was in doubt. I had the flushes for this one or that. I

  was lush, easy. Girls would whisper when I passed and none

  wanted to be seen with me.” She took a breath. “By then no

  males did either. My reputation was in tatters. All credibility

  gone. I was devastated – my character ruined by my own

  gender, those who were envious and spiteful. I had no way to

  fight back, nowhere to turn. To save my friends from

  escalating embarrassment, I cut myself off and avoided any

  former acquaintances. As time went on I became increasingly

  lonely, but I wasn’t brave enough to try to renew old

  friendships for fear of rejection and the pain that would surely

  result from that. Now I am alone – socially tarred and

  feathered. An outcast.”

  Rachel stopped to sniff and wipe her eyes. She wouldn’t

  look at me. I was mortified. I didn’t know what to say.

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  “I was glad when Agnes wrote to me. I was just another

  girl in another town, a young woman like herself. She wouldn’t

  know about the ugly things. In my family I am the only girl

  and Agnes and Emma have become the sisters I never had.

  They are now my only friends and I love Aunt Zelda; when I

  am here, I feel safe and accepted. When Agnes wrote and

  invited me to stay my parents were reluctant to allow it, even

  though I pleaded to come. Father was concerned that for the

  past two years I had no social contact with young people.

  Eventually, he decided the advantages of coming outweighed

  the risks and I’m so glad he did.”

  As she spoke, I grew more and more appalled. Finally, she

  finished and there were silent tears in her eyes. I raised myself

  and kissed her, but even so, she still wouldn’t look up as more

  tears coursed down her face. I kissed and wiped them away.

  She cried some more and I kissed and wiped those away too. I

  kissed the corners of her eyes, her nose, her forehead and her

  cheeks. Words could not define the anguish I felt. No wonder

  she had so much humility. Any self-importance she ever had

  would have evaporated a long time ago. To have to admit what

 
she had just told me could only be another blow to her self-

  esteem.

  Crazy thoughts went around in my head. We could run

  away and begin a new life. Then I calmed down. Her parents

  wouldn’t be happy if we eloped, for that would tend to confirm

  the rumours, wouldn’t it. She was lush, huh? My heart turned

  as hard as stone. If I could get my hands around the throat of

  whoever said that I would strangle them without remorse or

  pity. I took a deep breath. The intensity of my feelings shocked

  me – my anger and frustration as palpable as bile in my mouth.

  Finally, her tears stopped. How many other times had she

  cried like this? It was too awful to dwell upon.

  “I love you Rachel.” I had a lump in my throat and my

  voice was strangely hoarse. “I don’t give a hoot about your

  reputation.” There it was. I admitted that I loved her.

  She sniffed and a weak smile crept over her face. She

  untangled her arms and wrapped them around my neck, pulling

  me closer so she could cling to me. There was no doubt about

  how she felt.

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  “I love you too,” she whispered, in between sniffs.

  97

  Chapter Eleven

  PATEA, New Zealand. April 1899

  On Monday, Rachel returned to Whanganui and we all went to

  the train station to see her off. It was a teary farewell. She

  hugged us and as the train pulled out she waved stoically from

  her window. None of us were fooled; it was obvious she didn’t

  want to go. Clouds were darkening the horizon to the west and

  the wind seemed to be freshening. It was a fitting background

  for the mood we were in.

  For once, the women were silent as the gig recrossed the

  bridge and climbed to the junction at the top of the hill. We

  said our goodbyes when we dropped them off, then mother and

  I headed home.

  Initially, the silence continued. We both had things to

  ponder. Mother sat ramrod straight against the backrest, staring

  straight ahead while I leaned forward, one foot on the bulkhead

  with the reins loose in my hands. Some of the issues were large

  and we were both locked in thought.

  Before this weekend I had imagined Rachel’s life as one

  long social event, that she was doted on and admired by all – it

  was with some shock that I now knew how wrong that

  assumption had been; that despite the apparent austerity of my