Sarah's Baby. Margaret Way
people in business. Her own son was forced to leave. She simply doesn’t have it in her to love anyone. Except Kyall. This is a real crisis, my angel. I have no money. Nowhere else to go. No husband anymore. I know it’s dreadful to accept what she’s offering, but she proposes to look after us if we do what she says.”
So the answer, although it was terrible and not what she wanted, was very clear. She was to go away and put her baby up for adoption. Afterward, as though nothing monumental had happened, she could resume her education, one important difference being that she’d never go back to the town but be enrolled in an excellent girls’ boarding school.
NOTHING HAD PREPARED HER or would ever prepare her for the sight of Kyall. She thought she gave a stricken gasp, but in fact she hadn’t made a sound. She stood outside the church, flanked and supported by Harriet and Joe, surrounded by people of the town, the mourners, as her mother’s casket slid into the hearse and then began its final journey to the funeral home on the outskirts of town. It had been decided that she would attend her mother’s wake first before the cremation. Harriet and her mother’s best friend, Cheryl Morgan, would accompany her.
There was something eerie about seeing Ruth McQueen again. She had aged. Lost height and weight. Never a tall woman, she’d always had such an imperious manner she’d managed to overcome her lack of inches. From this distance—and Sarah hoped she’d keep it—Ruth McQueen looked almost frail. Wonder of wonders! Hard to believe that, but she still had the incredible aura of glamour her daughter Enid, though a handsome woman, totally lacked. Both women were dressed in black from top to toe—a lot of people weren’t—but the McQueens always did things by the book. Kyall’s father, Max, a tall, handsome man with lovely manners, glanced in her direction. He lifted his hand and smiled, somehow indicating that he’d see her at the house.
The McQueen women had already turned away as Kyall cleared a path for them to the old, meticulously maintained Rolls Ruth McQueen kept for her dignified entries into town. What was more of a surprise—but then again, perhaps not—was the presence of India Claydon of Marjimba Station, who now stood beside Kyall, suggesting she was a young woman of some significance in his and his family’s life. India did not look in Sarah’s direction. Her concern was solely with supporting the McQueen family, as though they were the chief mourners.
India, a tall, athletic young woman with a long fall of glossy brown hair and bright blue eyes, appeared cool and elegant even in the heat of the day, which had most women waving decorative straw fans. India Claydon was a few years younger and had never been a friend. India, as heiress to Marjimba Station, liked the locals to keep their distance. Certainly she had looked down on Sarah and made the fact very plain. India had been educated at home until age twelve, when she was sent away to boarding school. As fate would have it, she’d attended the same prestigious school Ruth McQueen had picked out for Sarah. An excellent school was something Muriel Dempsey had found the strength and the courage to insist on for her clever daughter. Right from the beginning, India had made it her business to let the other girls at school know Sarah was there through the charity of that philanthropic family, the McQueens, her own family’s close friends. If it was meant as an embarrassment, the ploy backfired. No one cared. Sarah Dempsey was a bright girl, a real worker and she excelled at sports. Everyone liked her. She was kind and courteous, respectful to her teachers, who couldn’t praise her enough. Eventually she was “dux” of the school, the top student, as well as school captain. Impossible to believe Sarah Dempsey had ever put a foot wrong in her life. Impossible to believe that behind the sweet seriousness of her expression lay a grief and a guilt that had never been resolved.
What did I do wrong that my baby was born without a chance at life? Sarah agonized endlessly as she faced the future without her child. What had happened? During all that long, lonely waiting time, she’d tried her very best to take care of herself. She had felt physically strong, never questioning that she would deliver a healthy child.
But I slept while my baby died.
LEAVING THE CHURCH, Kyall kept moving forward, unaware that his face was still and somber. People greeted him on all sides, saying the usual things one said at funerals. Untimely…sad occasion…no nicer woman than Muriel… He could see they were pleased he and his family had come to pay their respects. Some were a little awkward about mentioning Sarah. These good-hearted people knew all about the adolescent bond between him and Sarah Dempsey. They had been inseparable. He knew there’d been lots of whispers when Sarah had gone away so suddenly to boarding school, everyone certain his grandmother had put an end to an “unsuitable” relationship. No doubt in the town’s view it had been for their own good. Kyall had to admit their bond had amounted to near obsession. They were both too young for it. Probably the townspeople felt that the breakup had been inevitable from the start. Such a friendship would never culminate in anything, given the fact that his family reigned supreme and the Dempseys, though respectable people, were nevertheless working class. That would be the reasoning.
Still, Kyall knew the town had a soft spot for the remarkably bright Sarah, Miss Crompton’s protégée, fatherless child and a great comfort and help to her widowed mother.
There were just too many obstacles, too much formidable opposition from his family. His grandmother Ruth, who showed little or no affection for anybody, doted on him. Who knew why? But the upshot had been the severance of the greatest bond of his young life. With some bleakness, Kyall pondered that. I could never forget her, but Sarah quickly enough blotted out all memories of me.
Now his family was attending Muriel Dempsey’s funeral, an odd gesture, perhaps, but one that was obviously much appreciated. It was, everyone seemed to agree, in the true spirit of the bush, yet the pain in his heart was so bad Kyall thought he might groan aloud with it. Across the room he could see the women of the town, one by one, go to Sarah and wrap their arms around her, hugging her, their faces full of sympathy and compassion. The men gripped her hand. Some of the older men, the grandfathers, hugged her close. He saw India’s brother, Mitchell, a friend and in his view the pick of the Claydons, kiss her on both cheeks; he wasn’t surprised when she lifted her beautiful grave face and gave him a heartbreaking smile. Sarah had always liked Mitch. It was Mitch who’d christened her at age ten the “little Queen of Koomera Crossing” a reference to some quality in Sarah that put her above the rest.
She was more beautiful every time he saw her. Even now, when he knew she was filled with desolation, she managed to keep the tears at bay. She was…gallant. He knew she wouldn’t break down until she was entirely on her own.
She wore a simple black dress that made her skin glow and her hair glitter. That extravagant blond mane was pulled back from her face and arranged in a thick upturned roll, though wisps like little golden flames found their way onto her temples and cheeks and clustered on the creamy nape of her neck. Taller than most of the women around her, she was slim to the point of thinness.
Even as a child she’d had presence. Now, her natural beauty allied with her focused demeanor and high intelligence gave her real power. Not the power his grandmother possessed and had basked in for most of her life but the power of the spirit. Sarah was the sun, on the side of the angels. His grandmother? Well, his grandmother was his grandmother. He’d always thought of her as a woman full of darkness, full of secrets. Her eyes, for instance, were so dark one could look into them and never see the bottom.
His grandmother and mother weren’t among the women who reached out to Sarah with consoling arms. They stood together as people expected them to, overdressed in this company, faces pale, clearly saying the necessary words, words that covered up what both women wanted most. For Sarah to go away. Miles and miles and miles away. Back to the city and her medical practice.
They were out of their minds if they thought he’d forgotten Sarah. It was just something he couldn’t give up. Like a powerful addictive drug. Soon it would be his turn to speak to her, although he knew she wouldn’t want it. The last time they’d confronted each other, she’d told him she never wanted to see him again. You’d have thought he and the McQueens had personally run her out of town, instead of financing her education. It was all so inconsistent with the Sarah he thought he’d known and with whom he’d shared such a remarkable friendship.
That friendship