The Last Mile Home (19 page)

‘Seven Little Australians,'
said Mr Richards, reading the title. ‘And what makes this so special?'

Richie slowly turned the pages and as he did, Phillip came to the hall door. He saw instantly that the bookcase doors were open and that the two on the settee, their backs to him, were obviously looking at a book. He was stunned and confused, frozen to the spot.

‘I look at the pictures,' explained Richie seriously. ‘This is my best picture. I love this picture.' His lip trembled slightly as he looked at the black and white drawing of a large family happily together in a big lounge room.

‘Ah now, I've read this book. It's about seven brothers and sisters in one family and they all love each very much.'

‘I'd like brothers and sisters.'

‘But you've got others you can love, haven't you?'

‘Yes, I love Mrs A and Jim.' He paused, ‘And I love Diet and Tucker.' He paused again, thinking hard. ‘And I love lambs.' But no matter how hard he tried, he knew this didn't add up to a family like the one in the picture.

‘And you love your grandfather.'

Richie hesitated then said very slowly,

‘Y . . . es.'

‘He needs a lot of love from you, you know, Richie. When your dad got killed and your grandma died, he lost his family too.'

Richie didn't have time to start to grapple with this concept before Phillip coughed and walked into the room. The boy quickly closed the book and was going to hide it behind his back when Phillip said pleasantly, ‘You can keep the book if you like, Richard.'

‘Really, Grandfather? Really keep it?'

‘Of course, but look after it, mind.'

Richie ran over quickly and surprised his grandfather with a hug, then ran out of the room calling for Mrs Anderson to tell her the news.

The two men returned to their tea and cake. ‘You've got a good lad there, Mr Holten. He's coming along real fine.'

Phillip was deeply moved but he tried to be nonchalant. ‘ Well , thank you for those kind remarks. It's a struggle of course with no real family around for support.'

They talked for another hour and Phillip was sorry when his guest announced he had to get on the road as he had a few hours' drive ahead of him. ‘I hope you will drop by again. It's a pleasure having a talk with you, Mr Richards.'

‘Well, I've promised to come back in a couple of days for the carols on the common,' he said as Richie and Mrs Anderson came in . ‘Ah, here's the young jackeroo come to say goodbye.'

Holding the train close to his chest with one hand, Richie extended his other to shake hands. ‘Thanks for making my train. I love my train too, you know.'

‘Now that's a nice thought to take with me,' said Mr Richards. Crouching down to be at the boy's eye level, he spoke in a soft, confidential tone. ‘ You know what you do when you love something very much? You share it.'

‘Like give someone else a go with it?' asked the boy cautiously.

‘Yeah, that's the idea.' Mr Richards leaned forward and whispered briefly in Richie's ear, pulled back and winked. Richie smiled and tried to wink back.

At the evening meal Phillip was very relaxed. He had felt a warm feeling when Richie arrived for dinner and smiled as he carefully put the book on the table beside his plate. For the first time Phillip found it easy to make conversation with his grandson. They exchanged a few light remarks about Mr Richard's beard and how he looked a bit like Santa Claus, speculated about what Santa might bring Richie for Christmas, commented on the quality of the Christmas cake, and agreed that another slice before bed was in order.

Afterwards, in the study, Phillip poured himself a scotch whiskey instead of his usual port wine. He was enjoying it while looking out of the open doors at the night sky when Mrs Anderson came in to say goodnight.

‘Before you go, Mrs Anderson, what are these carols on the common Mr Richards said he was coming back for?'

‘Oh, it's the CWA ladies doing their bit to make Christmas Eve a little bit special this year. They're having carols by candlelight. Everyone is invited.'

‘Thank you. Goodnight, Mrs Anderson,'

He settled down in his usual leather chair and was so deep in thought that he didn't notice Richie's small figure until he stood beside him.
His hair was damp, slicked in place. His cotton dressing gown was pulled tightly around him by a silk cord with tassels. He held his beloved train.

Phillip looked at him in surprise. ‘You've come to say goodnight, have you?' They normally said goodnight at the dinner table.

‘Mr Richards said you were sad because you lost your family,' said Richie, pausing to take a deep breath. ‘Well, you've got me.' He thrust the train into Phillip's hand. ‘ You can have a go with it, Grandfather.'

Phillip took the battered and grubby train and lifted it up for closer examination, turning it over slowly in his hands. The hard lines of his face, the familiar set of his mouth, seemed to melt and he looked unsure and deeply moved. He could barely speak. ‘Thank you,' he whispered hoarsely, putting the train on his lap and a hand on the boy's shoulder. ‘ Thank you very much.'

As their eyes met, Phillip realised that the needs of this boy were also his own needs and he saw how he had been denying them all his life. ‘I think I'll enjoy this very much tonight. I'll give it back at breakfast if that's all right with you.'

Richie smiled, relieved. It had taken a lot to give up his train, but he sensed the gesture had finally pleased the man he'd never been able to please.

At the McBrides' everyone but Gwen was in bed. She finished wrapping some more Christmas presents and hid them at the back of the grocery cupboard on the top shelf. Then she went to the mantelpiece over the fireplace and reached behind an old tea caddy for an envelope, took out the single sheet of paper and sat down at the kitchen table. It was the pencilled note Mr Richards had sent them almost four years ago.

Gwen folded the letter carefully and put it back behind the tea caddy then went out on the verandah and looked up at the night sky and found the Southern Cross.

‘Goodnight, Abby,' she whispered.

A
LOCAL FARMER TOOK HIS SLASHER TO THE COM
mon to cut the grass; another ran an electricity extension from the community hall for strings of coloured lights in the pines by the creek; and a team of youngsters set out chairs and bales of hay in a semicircle. Ladies from the CWA prepared a table with a crochet cloth, flowers, candlesticks and a Bible. Back in the hall they worked on the scones, cakes and sandwiches for supper.

The Church of England minister arrived with a portable organ. It had been a magnificent but hot day and as the sun dipped, the little valley which cradled the common cooled and a soft breeze
made it a welcome oasis for the rural families that began rolling up from all directions.

There were loud greetings and excited tumbling on the grassy slopes by the younger children. The teenage boys sat on post-and-rail fences or squatted in groups exchanging gossip and glances at teenage girls, all prettied up and giggly. The adults shook hands or hugged. The men exchanged views on the weather, prices, needs and prospects; women swapped notes on their preparations for Christmas. Everyone agreed that the CWA ladies had done themselves proud. It was going to be a great Christmas Eve. Mr Richards arrived and was given a small cheer by the McBride family.

As the sun finally slipped behind the distant ridge line, the ministers of three religions, led by children carrying a cross and candles, emerged from the community hall. The little procession moved down the slope to the natural amphitheatre by the creek, followed by the steadily growing crowd.

Mrs Doherty, the organist, sitting under a halo of coloured lights, struck up with
Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,
and as everyone found seats in family groups, the sky glowed pink and purple.

The candles on the table were lit and then, when it seemed all was more or less organised, the
Church of England minister, the Reverend Charles Hill, stepped forward and nodded to the organist, who quickly worked in a closing bar.

‘Thank you, Mrs Doherty,' he said at a level more to be seen than heard, then lifted his voice to pulpit strength. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, a happy and holy welcome to you all on this wonderful occasion. I am sure that I speak for my fellow clerics in saying that we are delighted to be here. To start our round of Christmas religious celebrations with candlelight carols out here in this beautiful setting is indeed a blessing, for here it is so easy to feel the presence of God. It is such a natural feeling and it brings us joy, just as that wonderful event in a manger in Bethlehem so long ago brought joy to the world.'

He paused and looked around and grinned. ‘I rather detect something like a smell of a manger here tonight.' The crowd roared with laughter. ‘I mean . . . I mean . . . the smell from the bales of hay,' he added, which earned him a round of applause and sent him back to his seat well pleased with the mood he had established for the evening.

An ample lady in a floral dress and long white gloves stepped forward as conductor for the evening. ‘ Our first carol will be
The First Noel.'
She gave a small signal to Mrs Doherty and soon the valley filled with song. The simple faith that held
strong good people together manifested itself in voices raised in joyous expression of goodwill and love.

The shimmering twilight gave way to a darkening velvet sky which began to fill with stars. Mrs Anderson glanced over at the McBride family enthusiastically singing. She knew that they must also be remembering this night so few years ago when Barney and Abby were wed on this very spot. But their faces were alight with peace and faith and they presented a picture of complete family unity and love that made her heart twist. She caught the eye of Mr Richards on the end of the aisle near Gwen and they exchanged smiles.

At the end of the first carol, Mr Hill announced that during the next item the children attending the ministers would move among the people with altar candles. They would light a candle at the end of each row and the light would be passed from person to person, candle to candle, along each row.

There was a scurrying for candles brought in handbags and string bags and the mounting of them in a variety of holders, from silver family heirlooms to simple cardboard shields decorated with coloured pencils. And, as the singing again rang over the New England hills, the little bushland amphitheatre started to sparkle like the sky above as candle after candle was lit.

Gwen turned to Brian who was rummaging in his school bag handing out candles to the family. ‘Did you remember to pack one for Mr Richards, Brian?'

‘Genius that I am, of course.' He grinned and handed a candle to his father, who passed it to Gwen. She swung around. ‘Here you are Mr . . .' and stopped. He wasn't there. The chair beside her was empty.

She stepped out and looked down the path that divided the crowd. She saw two figures standing near the back, scanning the scene, then taking a step or two, then stopping, unsure of where they should go. She became half aware of another person suddenly appearing behind them, and for a fraction of a second she thought it might be Mr Richards, but her attention went back to them and she started to tremble.

There was no mistaking, even in the fading light, the tall straight figure of Phillip Holten and beside him, holding his hand, an excited little boy.

‘Oh my God, it's Richie,' she murmured.

As she stared in disbelief, a little girl appeared at her side with the altar candle. Without taking her eyes off the boy, Gwen lit her candle, and then slowly raised it shoulder high. The man and the boy walked towards her.

‘Bob,' she whispered urgently.

Phillip Holten led the boy to them and for a second they all just looked at each other.

‘I'd like to wish you all a merry Christmas,' Phillip said, then bent down towards the boy. ‘Richard, this is the surprise present I promised you . . . the rest of your family.' He looked at Gwen. ‘And this is your grandmother.'

Richie smiled and held his candle up to Gwen's. ‘Hello, Grandma. Can I light my candle now?'