Sarah's Baby (10 page)

Until Mad Molly.

Sarah peered into the entrance hall with its polished timber floor, calling out, “Hello? Anyone there?” Her voice trailed off as a small, wiry woman with a lined, cheery face and hair so dry it looked like rope, emerged from a side room. She was wearing an apron that said Life Is Good and wielding a broom like a weapon.

“Of course! Sarah!” she cried, her expression relaxing. “Dr. Dempsey. So long since I've seen you. You remember me?”

Sarah moved forward, smiling in greeting. “Of course I do, Tilly.” Gently she touched the woman's broom-wielding arm. “How are you?”

“Oh, I'm getting there.” Tilly pushed a cleaning rag into her pocket, looking at Sarah's face with pleasure. “I work
for Mrs. McQueen now. Domestic duties. I get free board and a nice wage. And you? I was so sorry to hear about your mother. Couldn't get to the funeral. I was working.”

“That's all right, Tilly. I'll miss my mother terribly.”

“I understand, dear.” Tilly's expression was genuinely sympathetic. “Can I help you in some way?”

“Not really.” Sarah glanced around at the forlorn empty house. “For some reason, I had a compulsion to see this house again.”

“Nothin' good here.” Tilly swallowed, then shook her head. “I wouldna come for quids, only I had to. Mrs. McQueen wants it kept clean and aired. The bloody place is haunted—excuse the language. I shut the back door and it keeps opening up.” There was a faint edge of panic to her matter-of-fact voice.

“I expect it's not quite shut, Tilly, and the breeze—”

“Listen, love,” Tilly interrupted, looking grim. “Would I lie to you? The bloody place is haunted, I tell you, and nothin' ever rattles me. You come with me and I'll show you the back door. I'm positive I shut it.”

The back door was open—obviously no surprise to Tilly—causing her to ditch her broom. “Y'mind havin' a go at shutting it, love?”

Sarah laughed. “There's nothing to fear, Tilly. There's a logical explanation for everything.”

“Not here, there isn't,” Tilly muttered, scowling darkly. “That poor little soul's hauntin' the place. Me friend, Chrissy Cole—remember her?—swears she's actually seen her. Reckons the little girl's dress is stained with dried blood.”

“Oh, Tilly!” Sarah said. “You don't believe that. As far as I recall, Chrissy Cole liked to play jokes on people.” Sarah opened and shut the door a few times, checking it out. No warping. The door opened onto another flight of
steps and the rear garden, which had an abandoned air, although the grass had been neatly mown. Fluorescent purple bouganvillea grew so prolifically the back fence couldn't be seen.

“Okay, okay.” Tilly shook her head. “But the place gives me the willies all the same. I'm glad to say I'm nearly finished.”

“How are you getting back to the station?” There'd been no vehicle out front.

“Someone'll pick me up,” Tilly said. “Why do you want to look around? There's a bad feeling in this house.”

“Two mysterious deaths might explain it. I suppose there's such a thing as psychological haunting. Did you know Molly Fairweather?”

“Spoke to her a few times. She always acted like she was out of it. Or drunk.”

“And was she, do you think? Drunk?”

“She never went into the pub. Afterward no one found any beer bottles or spirits. It was a rum old business, that, forgive the pun.”

“She was a nurse, right?”

Tilly nodded. “Never wanted to talk about herself, but once she let something slip. Something about her days at St. Catherine's. You've heard of it?”

“The big maternity hospital in Adelaide.” Sarah gazed at the other woman with disturbed eyes.

Tilly was instantly alerted. “What's up, love? Did you know the woman?”

Did I?
Sarah thought, desperately trying to contain her muddled feelings, hoping it wasn't true.

“Did you, love?” Tilly persisted, grabbing Sarah's arm. “Are you all right? You've gone very pale.”

“Actually, I don't feel too good, Tilly.”

“Poor darlin',” Tilly clucked. “It's a sad, sad business
losing a mother. Why don't I make you a cup of tea? I've brought the makings with me.” Tilly half turned.

“Thank you, Tilly. You're very kind, but I should be getting back to town. I've got many things left to do.”

“When are you leaving, love? I hear you're doing very well at your city clinic. We're all proud of you.”

Sarah smiled her thanks. “I'll probably be here until Friday. It's nice to have spoken to you. Do you enjoy living and working on Wunnamurra?”

Tilly accompanied Sarah to the front door. “Just between the two of us, love, I do and I don't. I think the world of Kyall. He's a wonderful young man. A real doll. His father, Mr. Reardon, is ever the gentleman, no problem at all, but the two ladies, Miss Ruth and Miss Enid—” here Tilly elbowed Sarah in the ribs “—on a scale of one to ten I give 'em a twelve for treating other humans like they're beneath them. Why do you suppose that is? And Mr. Reardon…I keep asking myself why he doesn't just take off. I expect it's the money. Sometimes too much money can be bad. There was a financial collapse in his family, and Mrs. McQueen is so sarcastic about it, I guess he had to grow another skin—or punch her out.”

“Max is too polite,” Sarah offered wryly. “Well, I'll be off, Tilly. You take care of yourself.”

“You, too, Dr. Sarah.” Tilly leaned both arms on the balustrade. “Ever think of comin' back to town? We'd love to have you. Everyone would, in my opinion. Except maybe the good ladies of Wunnamurra.” Tilly gave a raffish grin. “'Cause I like you so much, Sarah, I'm gonna tell you this. You made a big mistake lettin' Kyall go. I mean, word was you two kids were wild about each other.”

“That's what we were, Tilly. Kids.” Sarah smiled sadly.

“Ah, well, love, things would have gone a lot better if Mrs. McQueen didn't get between you. No one good
enough for her boy. She idolizes Kyall and hates everyone else. Bizarre, eh?”

“Not really, Tilly. It happens. Take care now.”

“You, too, love,” Tilly called as Sarah walked down the steps. “Better get your skates on, love. Unless I'm mistaken, that's the bloody Rolls comin'. I better get inside. Mrs. McQ wouldn't thank me for standin' around chattin'. Gotta work till you're bloody exhausted. See ya, love.” Tilly scuttled off.

N
OT FOR A MINUTE
did Sarah expect the Rolls to simply glide by. How Ruth loved all the window dressing, the trappings of money and power. She would have recognized Joe's four-wheel-drive in any case. The pressure was on, Sarah thought. But she was a woman now, not a powerless, vulnerable, near-solitary teenager, living under the so-called protection of the enemy. And Ruth McQueen
was
her enemy. She'd faced up to that a long time ago.

Sarah made her way through the curiously silent garden—curious because birds were an eternal presence in the town—fighting the depression of grief. With the loss of her mother, her life had altered very suddenly and drastically. In short, she didn't have to protect Muriel anymore. She didn't have to live her life according to Ruth McQueen's dictates. Then there was this puzzling business of Molly Fairweather. She knew she wouldn't be able to get it out of her mind. Easy enough to check on the nurse's professional background, which seemed to have become one of her top priorities. Was it possible that Nurse Fairweather had been involved? Had she delivered her child? There'd been no male doctor; of that she was certain. The midwife had delivered her little Rose, with Ruth, extraordinarily enough, present in the room. But then, wasn't that terrible woman her child's great-grandmother? A blood relative. She supposed that, unwelcome as Ruth's presence had been, she'd had a right to be there. Her own mother, the
mother she'd loved and lost, had not been there to see her through the most momentous event of her life. She had felt so alone, so sick with disappointment, but Ruth had insisted concealment was crucial. Sarah had been told on a daily basis what was required of her.

Then her baby had died. Tears. Always tears. She hadn't even kissed her tiny Rose goodbye.

Oddly Sarah felt that stir again. That tug. What if Ruth had been lying? No. No. No. She had to reject that. Not even Ruth McQueen was capable of such evil. At the same time, many questions were raised. She prayed she'd get the answers. Ruth claimed the baby had been cremated. Sarah had been unable to give words to her grief, her lack of comprehension. But now she was back to fight Ruth McQueen.

Sarah stood on the pavement as the Rolls slid onto the grassy verge. The window in the rear lowered and there was Ruth, glaring at her, obviously sizzling with anger.

Sarah spoke first. “Good morning, Ruth.” She gave an ironic smile.

“Good morning, Sarah.” The thinnest veneer of civility. “Would you kindly tell me what you're doing here?”

“I'm just satisfying my curiosity,” Sarah answered calmly, turning back to glance at the melancholy house. “You don't mind, do you? I wasn't breaking in.”

“You'd be in trouble if you were.” Ruth recovered enough to address her driver. “Give me a few minutes, Jensen. I'd like to speak to Dr. Dempsey in private.”

“Certainly, ma'am.” Jensen was most respectful, opening the driver's door and stepping onto the grass. However with his face half-hidden from Ruth, he winked at Sarah, then moved off to take a stroll in the countryside. The Sinclair house was situated in splendid isolation on the outskirts of town.

“Get in, Sarah.” Ruth's voice cracked. “I want to find out where I stand with you.”

“Where you stand?” Sarah echoed, making no attempt to obey. “You stand exactly where you've always been. I hate you, Ruth. You took every possible advantage of me and my poor mother. My only comfort is that I never did sign your piece of paper.”

That brushed too close. “Which piece of paper are you referring to?” Ruth stared back fixedly.

“You know very well. There were other pieces of paper, too. Papers my mother signed. I wouldn't have touched them.”

“Ah, so proud!” Ruth didn't trouble to hide her sneer. “Are you going to get in or aren't you? Or do you like being out in the scorching sun?”

“It's preferable to sitting with you.”

Ruth lifted her thin shoulders. “Obviously you're in a disturbed state of mind.”

“There's nothing wrong with my state of mind,” Sarah answered as calmly as before. “I should've guessed about Molly Fairweather.”

“Guessed what?” Ruth drew the words out contemptuously.

“She was the midwife, wasn't she. She delivered my little Rose.”

A tiny light leaped in those unfathomable eyes, and then they half closed. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“Are you afraid to answer?”

“Me, afraid? Of you?” Ruth laughed as though she couldn't envision the day. “Let's talk about you, Sarah. My loyalty first and foremost is to my grandson. You talk about taking advantage! You certainly took advantage of him, getting yourself pregnant. Wouldn't the town like to know about that?” She gave another low, derisive laugh.

Sarah stood her ground. “Yes, and your part in what happened afterward.”

Ruth's face beneath the expert makeup looked white and masklike. “You choose your words badly. I protected you. If it weren't for me, you and your mother would have finished up God knows where. As it is, the fact that you have a profession you owe to me.”

“That's true. That's how you try to justify your actions. It wasn't an immaculate conception, Ruth. Kyall was my baby's father. You prevented me from telling him. I
should
have told him. We both should've faced the consequences, but it's been deception, deception, deception.”

“Exactly.” Ruth clenched her fist and struck it against the plush window frame. “How do you think Kyall would feel if he knew the whole story?” she said fiercely, spitting out the words. “He'd despise you.”

“I no longer care.” Sarah only half lied. “Secrets have a way of festering. I can't live with the stench anymore. I wouldn't have hidden anything from Kyall, but our child died and that changed everything. It also meant I had to go through all the inner devastation alone. Kyall was spared.”

“Why do you speak of this now?” Ruth demanded furiously. “It was over long ago.”

“Not to me, it isn't over. The past is never really past, Ruth. Even you know that. I lost a child, the worst blow in life for a woman.”

“Anyone would think you were the only one,” Ruth said without pity.

“Isn't Kyall the only one in the world for you? The only one you've allowed into what passes for your heart? If anything happened to him, it would leave a great chasm that could never be filled. The same with me. I lost my Rose.”

“Your Rose. Your Rose.” Ruth spoke with great force. “God, you're pathetic. If you were a real woman like me,
you'd get on with your life. Find a man. Have other children. Or aren't you capable of that?”

“I still love Kyall, you know.”

An unreadable expression swept Ruth's face. “You won't live happily ever after,” she warned. “You know that, don't you? Kyall's passion would soon wither if he ever found out you were prepared to give away his child. No, you're going back to where you belong. The only question is when.”

“My plans are my own.” Sarah looked at her steadily. “It was your little great-granddaughter who died. Did you grieve?”

“Are you mad?” Ruth reacted violently, the veins standing out in her neck. “I grieved for the whole sorry business, but I had to be vigilant. You were with Kyall yesterday, weren't you? He told me all about it. How that fool Joe Randall suggested you take over from him at the hospital. Don't do it,” Ruth said harshly between her teeth. “Don't even think of it. You will not come back to this town.”

“How many people are going to stop me?” Sarah's whole manner was controlled.

Ruth gave her thin, malignant smile. “Believe me, my dear, one's enough.”

Sarah paused to glance back at the house. “What was Molly Fairweather to you? I understand she was a nurse. It'll be easy enough for me to check out her credentials and where she worked. What did you have on her, Ruth? Or what did she have on you?”

For an instant Ruth flinched, then rallied. “So you're prepared to delve into things that are none of your business and of no possible interest to you. Miss Fairweather is dead. Gone.”

“She had to go?” Sarah asked with a bitter urgency.

Ruth McQueen's face suddenly froze. “Get in that ve
hicle now and drive back to town,” she ordered harshly. “I'll follow you. You're no match for me, my girl. You never were and you never will be. If you know what's good for you, you'll go on with your life. There's no place for you here. If you can't see that, you're a fool.”

“What an arrogant woman you are,” Sarah breathed. “What makes you think you can threaten me?”

“Because I can.” Ruth raised her chin. The stretching of her lips signified what she thought of that question.

“No. You can't. I have Kyall on my side.”

Ruth thrust her hand out of the window to signal her driver. “That can't happen—
ever,
” she said, her voice thick with anger and hate. “I'll make sure of it.”

“Keep me posted,” Sarah replied. “I'm not running scared of you anymore or your psychological warfare.”

“To hell with you, Sarah Dempsey.” Ruth sank back into the plush upholstery.

“I know you're a woman who'll stop at nothing,” Sarah said calmly, glancing at Jensen as he approached. “You've been protected by your money. I have no doubt that you'll try to turn Kyall against me. I'll just have to live with that, because if I'm the town's choice as doctor, I'm coming back to Koomera Crossing. And no one, not even you, Mrs. McQueen, will stop me.”

 

S
HE'D BROUGHT OUT
all her mother's things. Not much to show for a life. Now she'd packed them away. Everything except her mother's wedding dress, veil and the string of pearls her father had given her to wear on that very special day. Very good pearls, she thought. Her father had spent time in Broome in far Northwestern Australia, the pearl capital of the country and source of the finest South Sea pearls. She could imagine her father as a young man, care
fully looking over the loose pearls, selecting the very finest. Probably well beyond his budget.

Sarah crossed to the dressing table and sat down on the padded seat. She clasped the pearls around her throat. They had a lovely luster that complemented her skin. The pearls had been her mother's prize possession. It had taken her father years to buy her mother a proper engagement ring. A small diamond cluster. Sarah wore it on her right hand. She decided it could stay there until she died.

Father and mother gone. Rose. Her private torment. She had patients with worse griefs. The ghastly, gut-wrenching days when a young cancer patient died. Those deaths were always devastating, no matter how expected. Yet she'd learned to maintain a sense of objectivity, a professional calm. It was either that or go mad.

Sarah stared into the faintly spotty mirror, seeing through and beyond it to the past. The past was Kyall. In a way she'd been reliving it since she arrived in Koomera Crossing. She couldn't see into the future. Much as memories of Kyall had dominated her life, she couldn't picture herself marrying him. Not then. And not now.

Sarah stood up. She went to the bed, picking up her mother's pretty wedding dress. How slender and petite Muriel had been. She herself was taller, longer-limbed. The dress was simple, youthful, with a scooped neck, tulle sleeves bound with satin, a skirt with bands of tulle and satin. Although packed very carefully, the materials had yellowed with age. As had the flower-wreathed veil.

You didn't have much time to be happy, Mum,
she thought as she repacked it with fresh tissue paper.
Dad even less. Maybe there's a curse on us all.
Yet she could imagine her mother on her wedding day, floating toward her bridegroom, face radiant with love. Jock Dempsey, from all accounts, had been a prize. It hadn't been unusual to hear her
mother ask repeatedly and with some wonder, “Jock, why did you marry me? I'm so ordinary.”

“That's ridiculous! You're lovely, inside and out,” her father had always replied tenderly. “My lovely loyal wife.”

Her parents had been very happy together in the short time they had. Always touching each other, sharing words of love. Maybe it was genetic, this one-man, one-woman thing.

It was well after eleven o'clock, as she was preparing for bed, that she heard footsteps, one after the other, on the rear stairs leading to the store's small flat. Her stomach contracted with apprehension. Who could it be at this time of night? As she listened in some dismay, she heard a knock. And she recognized his voice.

 

“S
ARAH
? P
LEASE OPEN
the door. I can see your light.”

Kyall. Ruth hadn't taken long. Sarah picked up her robe and slipped it on, tying the silk cord at the waist. No point trying to send him away. Kyall had come looking for her. Probably without pity.

“You finally made it,” he said. There was no duplicity in his smile. No anger.

She nearly buckled with relief. Ruth hadn't told him, if only for one reason—that she'd be exposing herself. “Kyall, this isn't a good idea,” she protested as if the sleeping town was all ears. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Thirty minutes past the hour of eleven.” Laconically he consulted his watch, then looked back at her, his eyes so ablaze they practically blinded her. “Are you going to let me in?”

His voice didn't suggest he'd been drinking. Neither did his appearance. The light from inside revealed the strong
planes and angles of his face, the blue-black gloss of his hair.

“This will be all over town before morning.” She stood aside to let him enter, the door so narrow and he so tall and wide-shouldered, she had to ease back.

“Why should we care?” His smile sparkled with mockery. “We're admired by just about everyone in town, aren't we? Hell, Sarah, we're not kids who need supervision. We're both over thirty. And getting older every day. I have no woman. You have no man. Neither of us has a child. The fact of the matter is that we're stuck in a time warp.” He moved across the small living room to slump into an armchair, yanking free the top button of his shirt. He looked up, studying her. “What happened to us, Sarah? Why the hell are we marooned like this?”