Matilda's Last Waltz (57 page)

Father Ryan took off his spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘I can't force you, Matilda, and I wouldn't want to. But confession is a part of the ceremony and I hope you will change your mind. If you need to talk, you know where I am. That goes for you too, young man.'

He stood up and shook hands, then led them out of the presbytery. ‘I expect you both to come to mass on the next three Sundays to hear the reading of your banns. God bless you.'

Matilda hurried down the path past the dusty, leaning tombstones and out into the street. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the claustrophobic reach of the church. It had been too many years since she'd thought about God. Too much had happened, and her faith had not been strong enough to survive the onslaught.

Finn caught up with her and grasped her arm. ‘Wait on, Matilda. What's the rush? What is it you're afraid of?'

She looked at him for a long moment, the dust of the graveyard swirling around her feet. ‘I have something to tell you, Finn,' she said quietly. ‘But not here. Please take me back to Churinga.'

His silence was deep and puzzled as they walked back to the utility. She was grateful for it nevertheless. She didn't look at the grandeur of the sweeping grasslands as they drove out of Wallaby Flats; she was busy working out in her mind what she would say to him. It wasn't right to keep that last secret from him – the secret of the child she'd buried so long ago.

And yet it was a secret she would have given almost anything to keep to herself. She still felt used and dirty. Soiled by Mervyn's lust and the lie she'd had to live ever since. How would Finn react? Would he still want her? Would he understand why she couldn't possibly have gone to confession?

She stared out unseeing. She had to have faith in him. Had to believe he would understand why she couldn't begin their new life with this on her conscience. Her Catholic upbringing had finally proved too strong to ignore.

Finn drove into the yard and Matilda climbed down. She turned to him and held him in silence for a long moment then walked into the house. Her fate was in his hands.

Some time later, she stopped talking. She was dry-eyed as she saw the horror creep over his face and the shadows darken his eyes but so far he had said nothing.

‘Now you know it all, Finn,' she said quietly. ‘If you want to call off the wedding, then I understand.'

He rose from his chair and knelt at her feet. He put his arms around her as he rested his head in her lap. ‘My darling girl,' he groaned. ‘Did you think my love for you was so fragile? It wasn't your fault – or your sin – you have nothing to be ashamed of.'

Matilda's breath escaped in a long sigh as she ran her fingers through his thick, dark curls. And when he looked up into her eyes, she knew words weren't necessary. With the tranquillity of knowing she had finally come home, she gave herself up to his embrace.

*   *   *

They were married three weeks later in the little wooden church in Wallaby Flats. Two of their drovers acted as witnesses and the only guests were the men they employed on Churinga and Wilga.

Matilda had decided not to wear white. It didn't seem fitting and would only have been another lie. So she'd driven back to Broken Hill, and after much indecision finally chose a dress of sea green. It fell from the tiny rose at the waist almost to the floor in a swirl of silk that shimmered in the sunlight like she imagined waves danced on a distant beach. She chose shoes that were dyed to match and made up her own bouquet with roses cut that morning from her garden.

The dress set off the fire of her hair, which she'd brushed to a gleaming copper and left hanging down her back in a cloud of curls. A coronet of pale cream roses took the place of a veil. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful.

As she stood alone in the entrance to the church, she looked down the narrow aisle to the altar. The organ was playing, Father Ryan was waiting for her, and there by his side was Finn.

Matilda felt a flutter of awe. He looked so handsome in his suit, his dark hair damply curling around his ears and over his forehead, and she loved him deeply – and yet that still, small voice reminded her of the promise she made herself when he proposed.

‘For as long as it lasts,' she muttered. ‘Please let it be forever.'

The creaking organ was being thumped enthusiastically and Matilda suddenly wished she'd asked one of the men to escort her down the aisle. But it was too late now. She had been on her own for so many years, what was a few steps more towards a much brighter future?

She took a firmer grasp of the bouquet and with a deep intake of breath, walked towards Finn.

The service passed in a kaleidoscope of incense and flowers, of Finn's deep baritone and mesmeric eyes. Finally the ring was on her finger and her new husband was looking down at her with such pride she felt like crying from sheer joy.

Finn had arranged for their wedding breakfast to be held in the hotel. As they left the church to cross the street, Matilda was bewildered by the size of the crowd who'd come to watch.

Don't mind them,' he whispered, taking her hand and nestling it in the crook of his arm. ‘They haven't seen such a beauty before.'

She shot a glance at the curious faces, the mouths moving behind hands and the sly smiles – and knew their reason for coming was very different. But for Finn's sake she kept silent.

The hotel had been decorated especially for the occasion with banners and balloons and tables groaning with food. There was even a three-piece band of violin, piano and bass. Finn held out his hand and led her on to the tiny square of dance floor.

‘Come waltz with me, Matilda,' he said with a grin as the band struck up the Banjo Paterson tune.

She laughed and stepped into his arms. ‘Forever,' she whispered.

Two hours later they had cut the cake, changed into their travelling clothes, and were sneaking out of the back door of the pub.

‘No one will notice,' insisted Finn. ‘I gave the landlord enough money to keep those blokes in beer for at least another hour or so, and by that time we'll be long gone.'

‘Where are we going exactly?' laughed Matilda, as she climbed into the utility. ‘You've been so secretive.'

He tapped his nose. ‘It's a surprise,' was all he would say.

She didn't mind where they ended up so long as they were together. She sat beside him in the ute, her head resting against his arm as he drove towards Dubbo.

The light was fading as they reached the airfield but still Finn refused to tell her his secret destination as he helped her up the steps of the light aircraft and buckled her into her seat.

‘What's going on, Finn?' she laughed uneasily. She had never seen a plane this close before, let alone been in one. ‘You aren't kidnapping me, are you?'

He rained kisses on her face. ‘Too right, Mrs McCauley. Just you wait and see.'

The propellers whined, the plane rocked and they were tearing down the runway. Matilda gripped the arms of the seat as they took off into the sky. Then she let the breath escape and stared in wonder at the earth beneath them.

‘I always knew it was beautiful, Finn, but I never realised how grand it was. Look at that mountain, and that stand of trees by the lake.'

He smiled as he took her hand and folded it between his own. ‘From now on, Mrs McCauley, you will see things and visit places you have only dreamed about. I want you to enjoy life again, to have all the things you ever wanted.'

She stared at him. Where was the woman who was tough and rough and could swear and shout as well as any man? Where was that hard little woman who'd ridden out with the mob and kept Churinga going through the war years? She had melted away, Matilda realised. Grown soft and feminine. And all because of this man who'd shown her what love could be.

She sighed happily. Life was taking on a new meaning, and she meant to experience every last wonderful second of it.

They landed in Melbourne. After a snatched evening meal, he took the cases and dragged them out to catch a taxi. ‘We aren't staying here, Molly. But I promise you that before tomorrow morning, we can begin our honeymoon.'

‘Enough, Finn McCauley,' she said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘I'm not going any further until you explain just where we're going.'

He slammed the taxi door and waved the tickets in her face. ‘We're off to Tassie,' he said with a grin.

She couldn't find the words to express her surprise.

Finn hugged her, and as she leaned into him, kissed the top of her head. ‘You let me into your past. Now it's my turn. I want to show you what a beautiful place Tassie is, and share it with you.'

The Melbourne docks were bustling as the taxi weaved its way around the giant stacks of freight, and the heavy machinery. The
Tasmanian Princess
was gently tugging against her moorings. As Finn took her elbow and steered her through the passenger terminal, Matilda looked up and up in awe. Painted blue and white, with a vast funnel emblazoned with the Australian flag, the ship's decks were alive with the colour and jostle of her many passengers.

‘I booked one of their largest cabins,' Finn murmured as they followed a seaman along the narrow corridors. ‘I just hope you like it.'

Matilda waited as the seaman unlocked the door and dropped their cases inside. The man smiled, touched his hat and pocketed his tip. Then Finn turned to her and swept her off her feet.

‘This might not be the threshold of Churinga or Wilga, but it's our home for the next twelve hours.'

She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled close as other passengers eyed them with knowing looks. She was nervous and excited and knew she was blushing furiously – but how safe she felt in his arms, how certain she had done the right thing.

Finn carried her into the cabin and kicked the door shut behind him. He held her close, the rapid thud of his heart echoing her own. His eyes were dark as he bent his head and his mouth was soft but urgent against her lips.

Matilda clung to him, half afraid of what was to come, half impatient, and when he slowly set her back on her feet, she felt an ache of disappointment.

‘I'll leave you to freshen up, Matilda,' he said softly. ‘The bar's not too far away, and I won't be long.'

She wanted him to stay, wanted to tell him she didn't care about wedding night convention – but a tremor of doubt forbade it. When the door clicked behind him, she stood there for a long moment staring at it. The memory of Mervyn was suddenly very powerful in that flower-filled room. She thought she could feel the rasp of his hands and hear his breath.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off his presence. What if sex with Finn should bring back the horror of that time? What if she didn't please her new husband and found she couldn't give him what he wanted?

‘Oh, Finn,' she sobbed into her hands. ‘What have I done?'

‘Molly?' His voice was soft as his arms held her close. ‘I should never have left you. I'm sorry.'

She hadn't heard him come back. She looked up at him through her tears. He put a finger against her lips.

‘Shhh, my darling, I know. And I understand.' He kissed her, softly, fleetingly, and as her arms curled around his neck, the kiss became deeper.

Matilda felt the presence of Mervyn fade into obscurity as Finn's gentle hands cupped her face and stroked the column of her neck. Now she understood how the wild colts must feel as he gentled them. How could she ever compare this languorous love-making to the violence of her first experience?

Finn kissed her neck and the hollow at her throat, tracing liquid fire with his tongue. His hands moved over her, arousing a tidal wave of yearning that seemed to have an endless height and depth that was beyond her reach – and when her dress fell in a slither of silk at her feet, she arched her back and gave herself up to the electricity of his hands on her skin.

His flesh was taut, the clean, firm lines running beneath her fingers like the softest of leather. She tasted the salt of his sweat, breathed in the earthy, manly smell of him, and buried her fingers in the tight curls on his broad chest.

Dark hair feathered her breasts as he softly kissed her belly and caressed her hips. She cried out as his tongue scorched a trail of fire along the inside of her thighs.

The outside world ceased to exist as she was swept up in a whirlwind of sensations. She wanted to consume him, to be consumed by him. As he moved over her and slowly entered her, she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him deeper until they were fused in joyous communion. Flesh against flesh, sweat mingling, breath shared, they rode the riptide until it broke.

Matilda lay in the curve of his arm, as sensuous and languorous as a cat in the sunshine. She arched into him as he ran his hand down her spine and followed the valley of her waist and the hill of her hip. Even now, in the afterglow of his lovemaking, his hands could arouse her.

‘I love you, Mrs McCauley,' he whispered.

*   *   *

Matilda's first sight of Tasmania astounded her. She hadn't really given much thought to this seventh state, and had only looked it up in an old atlas after Finn's arrival on Wilga, but now, as she stood on the deck, she realised that the tiny dot on the atlas had no bearing on the mountainous sprawl on the horizon.

Devonport was a sleepy port with a town that nestled between the Mersey River and the Bass Strait. Black rocks and yellow sand fringed the shores where green swathes of grass were sheltered by leafy trees, and little wooden houses perched on the hillside and in the valleys.

There was colour everywhere in the bright flowers, the shingled roofs and verdant lawns, and Matilda would quite happily have stayed here. But Finn had his own agenda, and she too was keen to see the place where he'd been brought up, so they hired a car and headed south.