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Could she tell such a bald-faced lie and claim she and Seamus were wed? With Jesus looking down on her, could she lie to a nun who was willing to help her?
Above the door through which Sister Rosemary had entered a clock ticked loudly; ticking away seconds; ticking away her chance to hold her secret. Ticking away her time to agree and move on and live with the lie.
The minute hand moved onto the half-hour with a loud tick and Meg met the nun’s eyes. ‘He will be as soon as he gets home on leave.’
‘Ah.’ Sister Rosemary rolled her lips as though she might hold Meg’s secret.
‘I missed him by two days or we’d already be married. I’m sure he’ll get leave before our baby is born.’
Lifting her chin, the nun patted Meg’s hand before standing and folding her arms inside the wide sleeves of her habit. ‘There are many such consequences in this war. Our home is kept fully occupied with such children and mothers still waiting, with hopes pinned on a man’s return. I regret your baby’s placement cannot go ahead as planned.’
‘But why not? If this woman is willing to take my baby—’ Dread curled in Meg’s stomach like a ball of lead, weighing down her baby. The message was clear; unassailable and unbending in its judgement.
Unmarried mother, unwelcome baby.
Her chest hurt where the hard knowledge lodged in her heart, and she prepared to plead her case even as the nun shook her head. ‘The foster mother was willing because she believed the parents to be married. As a devout Catholic, she cannot accept a child such as yours into her God-fearing home. I’m sorry. We can take your child in and offer him or her for adoption?’
Sucking in a breath that was not enough to feed her heavy heart or fill the void opening inside her, Meg rose and faced the nun. ‘My child will not grow up unknowing of his parents, or of the love we share. Thank you for your time, Sister. I’ll see myself out.’
Later, Meg wasn’t sure how she made it out of the asylum, or how she made her way back to New Farm Park. Her feet simply took her to the bus stop and back along the path she had walked this morning. The path she had blithely taken, trusting in the goodness of Gerry’s friend.
She passed the stone commemorating the park’s opening by the
Queensland Governor Hamilton Goold-Adams, which had been delayed until July 1919 because of World War I. So many things were delayed because of war.
Including my wedding.
Why were words spoken in a church any more binding than promises made beneath the moonlight? A promise was a promise, whether spoken before God in a church or in one’s heart. If Meg didn’t believe that, then Seamus wasn’t going to return to her. To them.
But she did, as much as Gerry had believed her friend the nun would help Meg find a home for her child. How had Gerry got it so wrong with her old friend, or had she forgotten how rigid Catholic teaching was?
She must have been raised a Catholic to have been best friends at school with the nun, and yet Meg’s lack of a wedding ring didn’t deter Gerry from being her friend too. How could two people raised in the same faith react so differently to the same circumstances?
Setting a hand protectively over her child, Meg wandered down to the riverbank and sank onto the grass. Breezes blew intermittently, ruffling the surface of the water into wavelets. A branch floated by, its leaves clinging tenaciously to its tip. She tipped her face to the sky and prayed for Divine inspiration. Whatever happens, she promised her baby, I’ll do the right thing by you. I love you.
##
It was late in theafternoon; so late that golden light tipped the trees in the park as Meg wandered home from the river. Vera was pulling weeds from the bed next to the gate when Meg pushed the front gate open. As the hinge squeaked, Vera stood with more speed than grace and put a hand on her chest. ‘Thank goodness. I was hopeful you were meeting a family when you didn’t arrive home for lunch. Did it go well?’ Meg met her gaze and Vera’s voice trailed away. ‘Oh no . . .’
Meg stood on the brick path; her hat held loosely in front of her stomach and shook her head. ‘Not very well. In fact, it’s safe to say it went terribly.’
‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Come onto the veranda. I’ll make a nice pot of tea and you can tell me about it.’ Vera settled Meg on the swing seat Reg had hung for his wife years earlier before hurrying away to the kitchen.
Meg closed her eyes. The sounds of the city were muted here, and it was easy to lose herself in the domesticity and simple pleasure of being looked after by Vera. Gentle sounds – of fine china cups and silver teaspoons chinking onto saucers – floated down the hallway and melded with the sounds from the river – chugging boats and the slap of waves against the bank – and gleeful calls of children in the park.
‘Here we are.’ Meg opened her eyes and Vera set down a wooden tray on a round table, beautifully carved in patterns like the fretwork above the doors. ‘Nothing like a strong cuppa to forget the worst of days.’ Vera poured two cups, handed one to Meg then sat beside her. Pushing lightly, she set the swing seat gently rocking and sat quietly, easy company after the disappointment of today. They rocked back and forth, slow and steady, calming, soothing, and Meg’s thoughts wandered from river to park and park to river like water flowing to the sea.
Eventually, Vera set her feet down and stopped the motion of the swing. ‘Another cup?’
‘Yes please.’ Meg handed her cup and saucer to Vera for topping up.
‘It was never going to happen, Vera, not while Seamus and I are unwed. Our love, this war – nothing changes the fact that in the eyes of the church we’ve committed a terrible sin by making a baby before we took our marriage vows.’
‘So, Gerry’s friend couldn’t or wouldn’t find someone to help you?’
‘Oh, there was a woman lined up. Sister Rosemary spoke on behalf of the God-fearing woman when she declined to allow a bastard child to taint her household. But she did offer to have my baby adopted through their asylum.’ Subdued undertones of anger buzzed beneath her words in spite of the hours spent in contemplation on the riverbank.
Vera’s move, turning to face Meg, set the swing wobbling. ‘The very idea of— The gall of that woman! Did you tell her Seamus will be marrying you when he comes home on leave?’
