Sarah's Baby

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 had ended literally overnight. Maybe his daring to make love to her, to take her virginity, had shaken her to the very core. He remembered—how he remembered—that she’d cried. He’d thought it was with rapture. Hadn’t tears filled his own eyes? It hadn’t been rapture, though. It’d been something else. Things hidden in a young girl’s soul. All he knew was that she’d stepped away from him as if it was the only possible way she could protect herself. As if this perilous new dimension in their lives could only damage her. Of course, she would’ve feared having a child; any young girl would have. But their child. Wouldn’t that have been the most wonderful thing? That was his spontaneous reaction, years later of course, although he realized it would have changed their lives.

Ultimately he’d discovered that Sarah had wanted more for herself. And why not? She’d gone away. Withdrawn her body, her mind and her heart. In effect, his own family’s money had sealed her off.

A few moments more and he saw his mother and grandmother turn away, both formidable figures, as Miss Crompton returned to Sarah’s side. She was a spare, birdlike woman, but elegant, erect, albeit dressed like a woman from another era—Edwardian?—with hairdo to match. There was a troubled look on Harriet’s face, her English skin weathered to crazed china by an alien sun. It was a face that would’ve been outright plain except for a fine, glinting pair of gray eyes that were normally filled with sardonic humor. He liked and respected Miss Crompton. Many times he’d sought her out in the late afternoons when he was in town and knew she’d still be in the schoolhouse, her second home. He felt with certainty that she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers. She was a very interesting woman with a keen mind. As a boy she had taught him, reined in his high spirits. During those years he thought she took as much notice of him as Sarah, showing her pleasure in their learning skills, knowing he would soon go away to his prestigious private school to complete his education. What had she called him?

“The princeling.” That was it, although she never said it to hurt him. It was more like taking a shot at his grandmother for whom, he came to realize, she had a deep, unspoken distrust. It had been strange growing up knowing most people regarded his iron-fisted grandmother as a terrible woman. No, not a woman at all. A vengeful deity. Get on the wrong side of her and all manner of afflictions would be called down on you. He had never wanted to believe it—since he was completely unafraid of her—but he came to see over the years that it was true. Yet it was due to his grandmother that little Sarah Dempsey, who lived with her mother over the shop, was now the well-respected Dr. Sarah Dempsey. Her aura of calm poise and balance, of caring, would inspire confidence in her patients. Yet the sparkle, the vivaciousness, the youthful high spirits he remembered in his Sarah now lay below the surface.

Hell, would the pain ever stop?

He made his way across the packed room, the press of bodies raising the temperature to an uncomfortable degree. Sarah looked cool, though. Was that because she was so blond? Or maybe the hot blood no longer raced through her veins….

“Sarah. Miss Crompton.” He stood in front of them. Sarah didn’t raise her eyes. Hadn’t she told him she didn’t want to see him again? But pride, and he had plenty of it, didn’t seem worth bothering about where Sarah was concerned.

“Good to see you, Kyall.” Harriet Crompton smiled up at him—encouragingly, he thought. “I’ll leave you and Sarah alone, although I’d like to speak to you later, Kyall, if you can spare me a few minutes.”

“Of course,” he said, his faint smile sardonic. Acknowledging what they both knew: it didn’t do to keep Ruth McQueen waiting.

“I want you to know how sorry I am about your mother, Sarah,” he said, trusting that his voice carried his utter sincerity.

“Thank you, Kyall.” She flushed, then paled. “My mother always thought the world of you.”

“Did she?” he asked quietly, his skepticism plain. “Estranged wouldn’t be an overstatement. Our relationship became extremely complex after you left. When I was a boy, I knew your mother liked me. She said so. I made her laugh. But once you were gone, she presented a different face. She couldn’t have been more distant. No, not distant,” he mused, looking over Sarah’s golden head. “What? As though the whole situation overwhelmed her.”

“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.

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