23. Amelia
23
AMELIA
WALHALLA, 1902
RHODONITE: Heals wounds, remain calm in danger
B irds are ever the first to sense signs of trouble. Their squawks of warning fade with their swift exits, as the fierce north wind whips its breath across a dirty grey sky, and hot air twirls dust spirals through the rustling trees. The keening wind rises in a haunting fury and echoes throughout the valley; branches crack and are swept to the ground; thunder rolls across the hills and lightning cracks overhead.
This form of brewing storm is common to Australian summers; relentless heat and the threat of how quickly the weather turns, or what disaster might develop, is what people in Walhalla fear most. Bushfire . Tinder -dry eucalypts still line the hills and the gullies, despite the constant felling of trees for building and burning in the mine’s boilers or crushers for continued mining extraction. The threat of ravaging flames, fuelled by the refuse of undergrowth, is a constant reality in a town built of timber. At this time of year, a bushfire is of as high a concern as a mine collapse or the banks of the Thomson River breaking.
At witching hour, hours before the dawn, I ease from the bed and tiptoe from Thomas’s side, woken by a rattling window. The air is oppressive, blazing hot and dry, and I search out some cool water to soothe the sandpaper in my throat. The wind circles and thrashes the side of our cottage and the singing of crackling trees has me increasingly uneasy. I smell danger.
I check on our daughters, and the baby’s tiny forehead feels clammy, her skin sticky to the touch. I bathe her with a cool flannel, watching her little face contort and then relax into sleep again. We have not agreed on a name, so sure we were of having a boy. Alice is curled into a ball nearby, her thumb finding its way into her mouth as always. Damp curls uncoil from her plaits like thread bound too tightly around a spool.
I give thanks she is resting. The poor child has felt the irritation of this weather. The elements affect her. ’ Tis not difficult to see she is one who already knows too much. Before bedtime I soothed her with cool lemon tea and read her the story she so enjoys from her King Arthur’s book of tales. I whispered them softly to calm her. Finally , sleep ensued.
That she delights in Jago’s lovely gift makes me smile. The book was found on our doorstep shortly after the incident on the prince’s birthday holiday.
With the foreboding in the air, I cannot rest. My nerves twitch and scratch in anticipation. I avoid using a candle; on a day like this, any hint of flint is too dangerous.
Instead , using the touch of fingers to guide me, I grate beeswax and add crushed calendula leaves. By the time the soft mauve light of daybreak appears through my window, three small bowls of a healing salve for cuts and bruises are set aside. The moon lowers to the horizon, and my family’s slumber continues. I take the opportunity to spread the cards.
The Tower , the Knight of Swords , Death . This cannot be. I swallow the lump in my throat and tune in to the voice deep inside me. A sudden death. An accident. But who is in danger?
In an instant, an unholy whirring screams into the stillness, and the call of the wind shrills through me. The pitch keens higher, sweeping the hills and breathing danger on the town. A crack of thunder follows and the resounding boom echoes, rippling across the valley. Then the crash of branches. By the time the second clap of thunder arrives, Thomas is up, pulling on his boots. I sweep my cards into a muslin bag to hide them.
‘ Must check the mine. Men down pit might need help.’
‘ Will you not wait for the bell to ring?’
His mop of hair splays out from under the cap he has hastily set on his head, and I follow him to the door. ‘ Nay —best go dreckly, my bird.’
Then comes the urgency of men’s raised voices and pleas that ricochet off the trees. Thomas is out and calling over his shoulder before I have the chance to remind him to be careful.
‘ Stay inside, my bird, and make ready. Might need your salves.’
I grip the door knocker tight, fighting the strength of the wind to stop it slamming closed behind me. While the air does not smell of fire, I look upwards in hope. We dearly need a break in the weather—and rain. Lots of rain.
Hours drag on, and I attend to my daughters with my nerves on edge. The temperature rises and the wind cracks like a whip outside. ’ Tis too strong to venture out and too hot to stay in; our tempers flare while we remain housebound. Then Alice spills her drink on the floor and bursts into tears when I chastise her. I feel I am teetering on the edge of a cliff.
A cerise sky lights the early evening. I am eager for Thomas’s return. I have scarcely settled the baby to sleep when the sound of a fist pounds at my door. I jump to my feet.
‘ Mrs Treloar ? Amelia !’ I hear that voice in my dreams.
But when I open it and they stagger inside, this time it is Thomas who is injured: he has taken a nasty blow to the head. He leans against Jago with a scarlet patch of blood flooding the shirt held to it. Red rivulets trail down his cheek where it has dried and congealed on his face; his eyes dance wild and lost. Jago sets him into the chair in front of the hearth. Suddenly , Thomas collapses and slides off his seat like an eel into the creek.
‘ Help him!’
Jago sweeps Thomas into his arms and marches to our bed, laying him onto the quilt. The deja vu balls in the pit of my stomach.
‘ Treloar has the strength and courage of ten men. Fear not: your husband will be fine.’
His caring manner does little to allay my concern; beneath the brief smile Jago offers, his expression is grim.
‘ What happened?’
‘ We were clearing rubble, and I regret his head had the misfortune to encounter a bough as it fell. An enormous eucalypt was hit by lightning and the largest part of it landed fair across the Barretts ’ roof. Jack Barrett is dead, and I’m afraid, his son Joe , too.’
Bile rises in my mouth; I’m sickened by the news. ‘ What do they need?’
‘ You have enough here to contend with. But I am afraid there is little of the house left to salvage.’
Thomas stirs and moans; his hand moves shakily to touch his head and the blood matted into his hair, then drops, limp, to his side. I move closer and notice the dent in his skull. How did I miss it? His eyes glaze over and suddenly his head slumps forwards, dropping to his chest like a boulder.
I press my lips together and cover my mouth. His injuries are so great I am at a loss to know where to attend first. My heartbeat quickens. I have never felt so afeared.
‘ The doctor?’
‘ Unavoidably detained, I’m afraid. He’s in the village, attending others.’
Jago helps me peel back his shirt and disposes of the putrid garment. I continue to care for Thomas , wiping the sweat and dirt from his face, whispering for him to stay with me. The gash on his brow has thankfully missed his eye. Nevertheless , the head wound is severe.
Jago returns with Ivy in tow, and I whisper a prayer of thanks. She cradles our baby in her arms and ushers Alice away before she is wakeful enough to notice her father’s condition. I am able to tend my husband in peace. Ivy is a kind and dear friend; indeed, she is the best I have ever known.
Jago stands by me while I spoon a sleeping draught between Thomas’s lips, then is silent while I bathe the great injury to his head. My eyes are glassy with tears. High emotions course through me in the presence of the two men I love more than life itself. But Thomas desperately needs me, and I am determined to save him.
‘ I must go to Mrs Barrett , Amelia ,’ Jago whispers by my side. ‘ She has nothing….’
I cover my face in my hands for a moment, imagining the pain of losing both men so cruelly. This was what I saw in the cards the day Agnes and Sarah insisted I read for them. Poor Sarah . Then my gaze flickers over my stores to see what I can share with Lizzie Barrett .
‘ Please , take this.’ I move past him, aware of the heat from his body, his scent strong and tart with perspiration. I fill a basket with a loaf of bread baked the day before and a jar of blackberry jam.
‘ And this tea, too.’ I pour some of the sedative mixture into a small bottle; I will need the rest for Thomas . ‘’ Tis a draught to calm her. Black wattle and hops sweetened with honey. If there is anything else I can do….’
Jago takes my hands in his. ‘ Tend to your husband now, Amelia . Nothing will stop your heart from breaking if the one you love is lost to you.’ His eyes search mine, and the marine depths are soulful and sincere.
‘ I pray for his speedy recovery and know first-hand how fortunate he is to be in your safe hands. Men the like of Treloar with a steady hand and kind heart are sorely needed and valued by those below the ground. Take care, Amelia .’
I glance away, and his face blurs behind my tears.
D ays stretch into weeks and then some. Thomas makes little progress in his recovery. After stemming the initial flow of blood, the doctor sutured the gash in his head to the best of his ability and wrapped it in in a swathe of bandages. Alice made me smile when she said her papa looked like the men who wore frocks in Egypt .
I attend him for more days and nights than I recall. I mop perspiration from his brow and offer sips of meadowsweet and silver birch to aid healing. At first his words slurred and made no sense. Now the gift of speech has left him completely. His stare is vacant. I fear he is slipping away.
Ivy sustains us with broth and baps for our supper and cares for my daughters while I attend to Thomas . This evening, she offers to sit with him for an hour, suggesting a walk in the fresh air may help replenish my strength. It seems an interminable length of time has passed since she shared news of the funeral service held for the two Barrett men. I did not attend. I’ve not ventured out further than to gather water for weeks.
Taking the path beyond the road, I slip into the dusk. The landscape is ravaged and ragged, with fallen trees and branches removed and naught but dust remaining. Walhalla is indeed fortunate to have avoided bushfire. Even so, an eerie presence grows. I cannot escape it.
Away from the prying eyes of neighbouring cottages, I peel off my stockings and shoes. Then , avoiding crackling twigs and stones, I pick my way down the track to the banks of the creek. As the cool stream washes my ankles, I curl and flex my toes and my body relaxes. It may not bring the same relief as the Celtic Sea , the waves and tides of home, but the sound of running water is calming and restorative.
Pillowy clouds dance overhead and the last rays of sunshine filter through a powdery lavender sky. The rainbow sheen on the water reminds me of the stained-glass windows of a church.
‘ Good day to you, Mrs Treloar . How fares your husband?’
I start as the timbre of Jago’s voice thrums through my body and turn to face him.
Then I catch my breath at the sight of his son behind him. He’s holding a bucket in his hands and dowel for a fishing rod. I sense he is afraid of me. Heat flushes my face.
‘ Father , may we go?’ Lionel pouts. ‘ We haven’t much time.’
‘ Come now, Lionel . This is a perfect spot to collect worms to bait your lines. Make haste, boy, and search down by the bank. I shall pause here for your return.’
With a glare aimed at me from under his heavy black lashes, Lionel drops his head then reluctantly follows Jago’s instructions.
‘ How is Treloar ?’ he repeats and meets my gaze.
‘ No better, I fear.’
‘ A tragedy for a good man such as he to be struck so low.’
‘ Indeed , it is.’ I bite my lip and look away. I cannot imagine how we will fare without Thomas’s love and care. ‘ The doctor can do nothing more. Sadly , there has been little improvement, but I remain hopeful….’
‘ Oh , my love. What a terrible turn of events. I cannot bear to see you this way. Will you allow me to help?’
‘ I thank you for your kind offer, but we will find a way.’
We have a small sum of savings cosseted for a rainy day and kept beneath the mattress, but I know ’tis not enough to sustain our family. With few hours to myself to forage for ingredients, my stocks are low. Though ’tis hardly of consequence. Since the accident, the villagers have stopped coming to my door. The sight of an injured or incapacitated man is an ill omen for a community whose livelihoods are tied to the mines, reminding them the threat to life is too great to be trifled with.
‘ I wish with the breadth of my heart you had taken a different path; that I might have spared you such suffering. You must understand, Amelia , that despite trying to fight it, my feelings for you are unchanged.’
I read the intent behind his words: if only you were mine.
His bright eyes are illuminated in the lilac hues of the setting sun. We were not meant to be.
I turn away. I will not listen to words that do not and will not change our circumstances. I am a married woman, and my husband lies unconscious in our bed. My irritation rises. ‘ You have no right to speak this way.’
‘ I say it because I care for you, dammit! All I have thought these past weeks is how you will endure this. There must be something I can do!’
I refuse to beg for charity. Indeed , he has already given me more than enough to last a lifetime.
‘ Say the word and I? —’
‘ Father .’ The boy’s voice interrupts from behind him. ‘ Is this worm a good fat one?’
Lionel darts a look at me behind his father’s back and pokes out his tongue. My stomach lurches again. But when Jago turns to him, like an angel descended from heaven, a beatific smile beams across the child’s face and he is all innocence and light.
‘ Mother is waiting. Might we return home?’
‘ I will finish my conversation. However , you go on and lead the way, and I will follow shortly?—’
Lionel stares with eyes wide, feigning fear. ‘ But , Father , she is…’ He covers his mouth and whispers.
I hear it like the sigh of the wind before a storm. Lionel drops his hand and mouths the words for my benefit. Witch . You are a witch.
It shocks me to the core. I look from one to the other.
Jago steels himself for my sake. ‘ That is quite enough!’ He raises his voice. ‘ You’ve been listening at keyholes again, and to the gossip of foolish women. I will not suffer your impudence. You will apologise this minute!’
‘ No matter, Mr Carrick . He is but a child.’
I crouch to Lionel’s level with a hand out to reassure him. ‘ I know you meant no harm.’
His face erupts into a sneer of contempt, wiped away so swiftly I barely believe I saw it. ‘ You cursed Joe Barrett dead.’
Tears sting my eyes, and I gulp a breath in shock. ‘ Is this true? This is what people are saying?’ I look to Jago , seeing quite plainly this is not the first time he has heard it.
‘ Be off with you, boy! Back to your mother’s skirts before I tan your hide.’
Lionel stomps away with his nose pointing to the sky in the manner of Mariah entering a room of miners’ wives. She has encouraged the boy to believe he is above all others.
‘ My apologies, Amelia . It is superstitious nonsense and hearsay. Do not concern yourself. I will have a word with the maid immediately on my return.’
‘ People fear what they do not understand,’ I answer, staring towards the trees. Dappled light flickers across the water. ‘ It will do you no good to involve yourself in my affairs. People will talk.’
‘ Do you think I care what these holier-than-thou biddies say?’ Jago hesitates, with a quick glance at Lionel’s retreating shape in the haze of violet light. ‘ I am a friend to you—not an enemy.’
‘ You may not care, but I have no choice, Jago ! I have an invalid husband and two daughters who need me. I cannot ignore what the people of this town say about me—nor have I the power to thwart the path of our fate. ’ Tis best you leave me be. We should not be seen together—here or anywhere.’
‘ I know you do not mean it. The way you feel about me is written in your eyes, my love.’
In a step, he takes me by the shoulders and leans me against the trunk of a manna gum. He lowers his head, and my face tilts in response, as natural a movement as taking a breath. His scent of earth and mix of spices, his powerful maleness, are like a tonic to me. I close my eyes.
‘ Your words are braver than you be, my darling. That is what I love about you.’
Seconds feel like hours. The air between us is sucked from my lungs and my heart beats so loudly I am deafened by the sound echoing in my ears.
‘ We are more to each other than friends, Amelia . I will always love you. You hold my heart in your very hands?—’
My body feels heavy. I am tired of fighting. Never have I felt more alone. More afraid. Yet while desperately concerned for my family, here before me is the man I have yearned for with every part of my being. My soul. His love shields me like a cloak; he is all-encompassing. Jago Carrick . I hear his name whispered in the wind. It is carved deep into my heart—albeit with a poisoned pen.
At the touch of his lips, I fall into his embrace. Arms enfold me, drawing me to the strength of his body and breadth of his chest. I gasp for air and inhale his scent, my mind and body at odds and out of control. It’s as though I’ve fallen to the depths of the ocean and been dashed against the rocks like a fishing trawler in a storm.
Jago’s need hardens against me, and I react instinctively, moulding to him like quicksilver. I pull him closer and press my hips to his, longing for him to release the ache in my body. My fingers run through his hair, and, unable to resist, I cradle his face in my hands.
Swallowed deep into his kiss, I ravage his mouth with a desperation that scares me. Hot licks of fire spark deep into my loins with flames that stretch the length of my body. I love him more than I can ever hope to express with my body, or my soul. And he loves me.
A single magpie rattles a sharp warning overhead; it swoops low, then resettles on the branch of a silver gum nearby.
I am seconds away from losing all sense and reason, but the voice speaks clearly in my head. Stop . He is not yours.
I turn my face away and push off his chest. It takes the entirety of my strength and will to drag my body from his.
‘ No —we must not.’
His breathing is short and sharp, and his eyes clouded with passion. ‘ I cannot bear to be parted from you again, Amelia . I love you. We must be together.’
‘ No . Please do not ask this of me.’ I force a harsh edge to my voice. ‘ We have families to think of. This must end, Jago , before too many lives are ruined.’
He punches a fist into his palm. ‘ Damn it, Amelia . If only you had run away with me when I asked you! Perhaps it is not too late….’
‘ You speak of impossibilities.’ I straighten my bodice and smooth my hair from my face. What can he be thinking? We have no choice. Our lives follow predetermined paths, and we are not meant to be. ‘ I have my children, a new baby; and I will never leave Thomas .’
Talk of running away is romantic nonsense. Knights on horseback fail to gallop the tracks of Walhalla , nor might I expect to be spirited away anywhere except in storybook tales. Jago may propose escape, but I will never sacrifice or abandon my family. I refuse to commit them to a life of shame because of my imprudence and self-regard.
He takes my chin in his hands and gazes with tenderness at my face. His eyes are glassy and immediately I understand there is more he has not said.
‘ Sadly , my love, it will end soon enough. I am to return to Cornwall , to explore a site on the Devonshire border. Mariah and Lionel will follow shortly.’
A twist stabs deep in my chest. Then he will be gone to me forever.
‘ Will you deny us a farewell, Amelia ?’
The thought of one last meeting, one last kiss is tempting. We are two souls drawn together, yet this truly is the end. Already I shall burn in hell for my betrayal, and I pray for the strength to survive denying him now.
‘ Please , Jago . How can you ask this of me when you know it cannot be?—’
‘ Because I love you, Amelia . And as sure as seas meet the ocean, and the light of the moon shines the way for the stars at night, I will always love you. We were one from the moment we met. You know it too. We may have taken vows apart, but our hearts belong together. Mine is yours forever. I will love you in this lifetime and into the next.’
My eyes fill with tears at his expression of devotion. Likewise , I cannot imagine the burn of love I feel for him will ever be doused. I am bereft with longing: for what has passed; the pain and ache of hiraeth set deep in my bones; the intense sadness of what is lost and will never be again.
We are bonded in a way that cannot be denied. But if it is wrong in the eyes of God and the law, why does it feel so true to love Jago Carrick the way I do?
‘ I love you too, Jago . I wish you well. Now and forever.’
When I slip away and scurry up the embankment to my home, it requires every part of me to deny him: my faith in the ways of the past and the strength of my body in the present.
The truth of the price I will pay is too great a sacrifice for any one lifetime.