Sarah's Baby (5 page)

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 Withdrawn her body, her mind and her heart.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 grand
mother 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.

 

M
URIEL
D
EMPSEY'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.

L
ATE 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.”

 

W
HEN 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.

Harriet, too, sat back, still frowning. “I've always thought that, Sarah, although you've maintained a poised and dignified facade.”

“I learned that from you.” Sarah turned her head to smile.

Harriet's thin cheeks crinkled into an answering smile. “Ah, my dear, with a face like mine, dignity's all you've got,” she announced mock mournfully. “You were the best pupil I ever had and I've had a few that have gone on to make names for themselves, like Charlie Garbutt.”

“I was never as brilliant as Charlie,” Sarah gently scoffed.

“Charlie was and is entirely focused on other planets. He's brilliant and respected worldwide as an astronomer, but you were more of an all-rounder. Interested in earth-lings, mostly. I don't think I could've wished for three better pupils than you, Charlie and Kyall, who found passing exams with flying colors a piece of cake. Even when you didn't study. Incredible, the bond between you and Kyall,” Harriet mused, touching the lace on her rather grand, faded gray dress. “Then it was all over.”

“It had to be, Harriet. You know that.” Sarah sighed uncomfortably.

“I know no such thing!” Harriet ripped off her glasses
and rubbed furiously at her aristocratic high-bridged nose. “There's so much I didn't understand, Sarah.”

“Yes,” was all Sarah could muster.

“Are you coming in with me, my dear?” Harriet heard the exhaustion in Sarah's voice. “I've got a bed made up for you. I don't like the idea of your going back to the shop.”

Sarah shook her head. “You don't have to worry about me, Harriet, but thanks all the same. There are things I have to do. Pack Mum's clothes—” She broke off.

“Cheryl and I can help you do that,” Harriet answered crisply. “You look done in.”

“I'm not a girl any longer, Harriet. I'm not even particularly young. I'll be thirty-one this year.”

“That's hardly old! You've never looked more beautiful. You have the sort of bone structure that will last. You know, Sarah, if something's wrong I'd want you to tell me what it is.”

“Plenty is wrong, Harriet,” Sarah found herself saying, staring fixedly at the street lamp and beyond that, the evening star. Was there a place called heaven? Was her mother there? She made a distraught movement of her hand. A hand that Harriet, thin face pinched, caught and held.

“Can't you trust me, Sarah? You know that anything you tell me in confidence I would never tell anyone else.”

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know that, Harriet. I'd trust you with my life. But there are some things we can't unload on others. I'm fine, really.”

“That's what your mother used to say when she was in the doldrums. ‘I'm fine, Harriet. Don't you worry about me, Harriet.' Of course I did.” Harriet paused briefly. “I couldn't help noticing you and Kyall this afternoon. Neither of you is happy. You're not married. Kyall's not married.”

“Surely Ruth will get her way,” Sarah burst out scorn
fully. “God knows, she always does. I spoke to India briefly. She came up to me to say a few words. For appearance's sake, only.”

“That's right!” Harriet agreed. “She's so different from Mitchell. But Ruth doesn't run Kyall's life, my dear. Pay attention, Sarah, because I'm right. Kyall is his own man. He has a different strength from Ruth's. A better, brighter strength. So much time has passed, but I don't think either of you has forgotten the other.”

“Isn't that strange!” Sarah gave an odd little laugh. “Whenever I read an article about obsession I think of Kyall and me. And I think of a long-ago day when I made the decision to seek a new life. You have no idea how powerless I felt then.”

“I think I do. In fact, I swear I do.” Harriet sighed. “Am I right in thinking you still love Kyall?”

“Harriet, Kyall is a sickness. Nothing more.”

“That splendid young man a sickness?” Harriet snorted disgustedly. “I ain't stupid, as the bad guy invariably says in the movies. I think for your own sake you have to get a few things out into the open.”

“I don't have a child tucked away somewhere, Harriet, if that's what you're thinking.”

Harriet didn't answer immediately. “It's not what I was thinking, not at all, because I never dreamed either you or Muriel would hide your own. All I know is,
something
is wrong. I'm speaking out because I feel you can't go on this way. You deserve a full life, Sarah.” Harriet frowned. “A full life includes the man you love. Marriage. Motherhood. I had my chance at marriage when I was young, but I missed it. I was never pretty—not even a tiny bit—but I had a good figure, good hair and good eyes. But I played it too cool for too long. The chance never came again. I don't want that to happen to you.”

 

S
ARAH SPENT THE EVENING
sorting through her mother's things. It was a heart-wrenching job, but she was desperate for something to take her mind off her despair. A comment of Harriet's had upset her. The remark about her and her mother never hiding what was theirs. The terrible reality was that her mother had given in to Ruth McQueen's demands for adoption, persuaded it was for the best. An absolutely harrowing decision, and it had returned to plague her. Her mother had gone into a kind of inconsolable bereavement. As she had herself. Except that she'd never signed the adoption papers, fighting it to the end.

Once that awful woman, the midwife, put the baby on her breast, there was no way she was ever going to part with her. A profound spiritual and psychological connection had taken place. Woozy, not exactly sure of her surroundings, she'd still protested, telling Ruth McQueen in the absence of her mother that she was going to keep her child.

“I'm keeping her, no matter what!” she'd cried, finally finding the decision so easy. “I haven't signed your damned forms. I know I said I would, but now I'm not able to. This is my child. Mum and I will move away. We won't bother you, but you'll never take her from me.”

Words that must have brought down the wrath of God, for her child
had
been taken from her. She'd never seen her again, though she'd demanded in hysterics that she be allowed to kiss the lifeless little body.

She'd been given a sedative. And afterward she'd fallen into a deep depression, thinking she could still hear and see her tiny Rose.

God knows what had brought her back from the brink. Some inner strength she didn't know she had. Or just the resilience of sheer youth.

“What you have to do now, my girl, is put your mistake
in the past,” Ruth McQueen had told her, black eyes mesmeric. “You're not the first and you won't be the last. Get on with your life. It may seem hard now, but you'll survive. My grandson will, too. You'll realize in time that you've done the right thing by not telling him. Especially now that the child has died. Make no bones about it, he would blame you. For keeping him in the dark about your situation and for losing the baby. I know my grandson. Do what you're told and you'll have me as a friend.” There was a short pause. “Do you really want me as an enemy?”

Ruth McQueen. How did you protect yourself from a woman like that? How did you protect your mother? So the woman she hated gave both of them a helping hand. With McQueen money, along with her job working nights, Sarah had become Dr. Sarah Dempsey. Battling her aversion to taking McQueen money, she came to reason that they owed her. After all, Kyall had been involved in making their baby.

The going had been tough, but she'd made it.

Until now. Her mother's death was a powerful turning point.

It was midnight before she went to bed, sleeping with her mother's pink cotton robe wrapped around her. A robe whose front was soon soaked in tears. Having used up all her strength, Sarah fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

S
HE RETURNED
Joe's four-wheel-drive first thing in the morning, parking it on the hospital grounds, then walking into the building to speak to the man himself. Looking around, she had to applaud what she saw. McQueen money had provided this hospital for the town. No expense had been spared in its construction, its neat gardens, its medical equipment, its cheerful interior.

She found Sister Bradley at the nurses' station and ex
changed a few words before moving down the corridor to Joe's office. Joe had said he particularly wanted to speak to her. What about? Word in the town for more years than she could remember was that Joe had been Ruth McQueen's lover. A rumor Sarah had found so overwhelming she'd tried to discount it. She liked and respected Joe. Everyone did. He was a fine, caring doctor, devoted to his patients and the well-being of the town. Joe had brought her into the world. It was impossible to dislike or distrust him.

But his relationship with Ruth McQueen…it couldn't be true. Wouldn't Ruth have a problem mating with a mere mortal? Sarah wondered if this was some wild story people chose to believe simply because it was so bizarre. Not that Ruth McQueen was without a lethal sort of attraction. Even now that she was a woman in her seventies, you could see that she'd possessed sexual magnetism.

Imagine trying to make love to her, Sarah thought. Joe would've had to manage the whole business on his knees. When she tapped on the glass door, Joe raised his head, his gentle, worn face lighting up.

“Come in, Sarah. Please sit down.”

“I've left your car out front.”

“Thank you, my dear. Did you manage to get a little sleep?”

“Not right away, Joe. I don't have to tell you what it's like. Now, what's this you want to talk over with me? You look awfully tired. Are you all right?”

“Sort of.” Joe responded.

“That's not much of an answer.”

“All right then, my dear. I have cancer. I'm not telling anyone else.”

“Joe!” Sarah was saddened and shocked. “If you can bear to, please tell me more.”

Joe did, going into clinical detail. It was clear he had only six to twelve months to live. “As I say, Sarah, and you will know, it's the end of the line.”

“You're so calm, Joe.” Sarah said, finding it difficult to swallow.

“I'm seventy. I've had a good innings.”

Sarah couldn't contain her distress. “Oh, Joe, how I wish we doctors could change things that desperately need changing.”