Sarah's Baby

“Perhaps she was afraid your grandmother would turn really nasty if your friendship with her persisted,” Sarah answered, as the dark whirlpool of the past swept her on.

“What else could have accounted for her nervousness?” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, I never lost my affection for her. And she did love you, Sarah. I’ve never felt that kind of love.”

“No. You just have to get along on idolatry.” She spoke without thinking, her words dredged up from that deep well of bitterness.

He stood looking down at her, knowing this yearning to do so would never stop. “If that was said to hurt me, it missed the mark. Idolatry, as you put it, isn’t something I crave. It’s not easy living up to a million expectations, either.”

“But you do. I’m sorry, Kyall. I know you wanted none of it. But your grandmother’s and your mother’s fixation on you left your father and Chris out in the cold. How is Chris?” Sarah had a lot of affection for Christine, who was three years younger, feelings that were reciprocated. But she’d never been tempted to confide in Chris. That really would have started something.

Kyall turned toward the cool breeze blowing in the window and fluttering the filmy lace curtains. All in keeping with the house, except that the windows were flanked by two pretty-scary wooden witch doctors from New Guinea. “Chris is in the States at the moment. She gets plenty of work.”

“She’s stunning,” Sarah said, carefully pushing a few tendrils of hair away from her face. “I always said she would be. She’s got a ton of grit. She paid me a visit the last time she was in town—it has to be a year ago now.”

“She told me.”

Sarah nodded, knowing how much Christine loved and confided in her brother. “It says a lot for Chris that she never resented you because of your mother’s attitude—endlessly, openly criticizing Chris while lauding you. Chris would’ve given anything for some love and encouragement.”

Fire sparked in his brilliant blue eyes. “She got it from me. And Dad. It wasn’t all terrible.”

Sarah started to apologize. Stopped. It was much too late to forgive the McQueens. “No, I suppose not.” Sarah sighed deeply, knowing she was only doing damage to herself by standing there talking to Kyall. Their problems would never be resolved. “I’ve spoken to your father. I always liked him. But I find it difficult to speak to your grandmother and your mother. You know that.”

“So nothing’s changed?” What was that expression flickering in her eyes? She wasn’t as indifferent to him as she pretended.

“Nothing can change, Kyall.”

“Why is that?” he challenged, desperate to get somewhere near the truth. “You’ve never had the guts to tell me.”

She lifted a hand, let it fall. Wordlessly.

Somehow that broke his heart. “Forgive me.” Swiftly he reined himself in. “This is hardly the time.”

Someone else, a male mourner, was approaching. “Sarah, are you willing to spend a few hours with me?” he asked urgently. “There are so many questions you’ve never answered. I know I made one terrible mistake, God forgive me. But, Sarah, I loved you. I shouldn’t have touched you until you were a woman. I’ve had to live with that. Excuses are no good. I know that. When are you leaving?” He held up a hand to stay the other man—he didn’t know him—who appeared determined to speak to Sarah.

“Two or three days. I have things to attend to.”

“Tomorrow. Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Kyall, there’s nothing more to say. You’re wasting your time.” Was she a total emotional coward? Simply that? Loving Kyall McQueen was like a terminal illness.

“Look at me.” He knew his demeanor was pressing, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re not looking at me. Why? Does my face upset you? Do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you at all.” Her voice was low and stricken.

“But apparently you’ve got so much against me.”

“Kyall, please don’t.” Being with him, within touching distance, was so disturbing she was afraid of it. Even on this day of sorrow, her flesh was responding the way it once had.

“How can I when there’s something in your eyes that…” He lowered his dark head. He wanted to lift up her chin with its ravishing dimple, force her to look at him. “I’m not a fool. Don’t treat me like one. Tomorrow?”

“So I can be cross-examined?”

“It’s a sad thing, Sarah, to be left completely in the dark,” he said, the severity of his hurt never forgotten. “It’s like being blind. If you despise me for what I did, you must tell me.” He broke off, glancing over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you think that guy would go away?” he said in frustration.

“People want to speak to me, Kyall,” Shockingly Sarah felt like laughing.

“Okay, but you can’t shelter behind your wall of silence forever. I’ll be back in town tomorrow afternoon. Say, around three,” he said, looking every inch the arrogant, always-gets-what-he-wants McQueen. “I’ll come and fetch you at the shop.”

“Kyall. I thought I made it clear—”

“That’s just it.” He mocked her with the merest flash of his marvelous smile. “You never have. To this day. I almost have to wonder if you were part of some conspiracy.” He strode away.

MURIEL DEMPSEY’S FUNERAL was, in every way, an event no one was destined to forget. It brought Sarah back to town, the one place she’d planned never to go again. It brought her back into Kyall McQueen’s orbit with its powerful emotional pull. It struck fear into Ruth McQueen, watching their intense conversation from across the room. Sarah had never spoken out in all these years. Neither had Muriel. Now with Muriel gone, what would happen? Sarah might think she could tell her story with impunity. As always, Ruth would be ready to step in. Nevertheless, fear pounded forcefully through her veins, raising her already elevated blood pressure.

There were anxious stirrings inside Harriet Crompton’s breast, as well. Harriet had once believed young Sarah was pregnant when she left town. She would’ve done everything in her power to help, but Sarah had gone off with Ruth McQueen in the unlikely guise of benefactor and protector. Harriet couldn’t dispute the fact that McQueen money helped many. The child had gone willingly, seduced by education. Lord only knows, she’d been the one to encourage Sarah. Sarah had written to her frequently over the years, sounding fulfilled and happy. Why, then, did she continue to think there was some mystery? Obviously it hadn’t been a pregnancy, after all. Harriet was certain Sarah would never have given up her baby. Muriel, too, would never have given up a grandchild. And Sarah wouldn’t have kept such momentous news to herself. She would’ve told Kyall. For surely Kyall McQueen was Sarah’s first and only lover. Both of them so young, so beautiful, so radiant and careless, suddenly thrust into adult love.

It was a puzzle Harriet often brooded about. Both of them had locked up their hearts. And Muriel…

Harriet didn’t want to consider whether poor Muriel had died of a broken heart.

CHAPTER THREE

LATE THAT AFTERNOON Sarah drove into the desert to scatter her mother’s ashes. Harriet sat beside her in the passenger seat, her mother’s friend Cheryl in the back.

Red sand streamed off in the wind, the four-wheel-drive bouncing over the golden spinifex clumps that partially stabilized the dunes. It was an unending vista, awe-inspiring in its vastness. Low sand plains and ridges extended to the horizon, dotted here and there with a tremendous variety of flowering shrubs and stunted mallee, the branches of which were bent into weird scarecrow shapes.

Desert birds flew with them—the lovely swirls of budgerigar in flocks of thousands, trailing bolts of emerald silk across the sky, the countless little finches and honeyeaters, the pink and gray galahs, the brilliant mulga parrots and the snow-white sulfur-crested corellas that congregated in great numbers in the vicinity of permanent water holes. Apart from early morning, welcoming the sunrise, this was the time of day the birds were most active. In the noontime heat they preferred to preen or doze in the trees to escape the blinding intensity of the sun.

Sarah crossed Koomera Creek at a point where the iridescent green waters had subsided to a shallow, tranquil pool that, up until their approach, reflected the fresh, light green foliage of the river red gums. The brassy glare of the sun was now giving way to a sunset that spread its glory across the sky, innumerable shades of pink, rose and scarlet streaked with yellow and mauve, the whole brushed with deepest gold.

Sarah knew where she was headed. A solitary white-trunked ghost gum that grew out of a rocky outcrop some quarter of a mile on. It was a marker for anyone who got temporarily lost or disoriented in the dizzying wilderness, with its head-spinning, extravagant colors. Burned umber, fiery reds, glowing rust and yellow ochres, pitch-black and a white that glared in the sun.

“We’re here.” Sarah spoke quietly, looking up at the stark white bole and delicate gray-green canopy of the ghost gum, which stood like a sculpture against the incandescent sky.

All three were silent as they approached the curious stony outcrop, its surface so polished by the windblown sands that it reflected all the colors of the setting sun.

When it was time to release her mother’s ashes, Sarah walked alone to the base of the ghost gum, while Harriet and Cheryl stood side by side, quietly saying a prayer for their friend.

“No more heartache, Mamma,” Sarah told her mother silently. “What I did cost you dearly. Forgive me. The Lord will protect and look after you now. You’ll never be alone. Dad will come for you now. Life wouldn’t have been so hard for you had Dad lived. But that’s all past for you, Mamma. Go with God.”

WHEN THEY ARRIVED back in town, Sarah dropped Cheryl off first, both women hugging silently and swiftly. But Harriet’s thick dark brows knit when Sarah drew up at her old colonial, the front door guarded by an eight-foot-high Maori totem pole.

“How do you feel, my dear?” Harriet asked.

Sarah let her head fall back. “Empty. I think that’s the word, Harriet. My mother didn’t have a happy life or an easy life. I wanted her to come to me, but she wouldn’t.”

Harriet thrust out her strong chin. “Listen, my dear, don’t blame yourself for anything there. You were a fine daughter to your mother. I remember very clearly how Muriel’s face lit up every time we talked about you. You realized your ambitions. She was proud of that.”

“They came at a cost.” The words left Sarah’s lips before she could draw them back.