Читать книгу The Tarnished Necklace - Trish Inc. Duffin - Страница 4

Dusk gathered as Peter, Susan and Maria, united in grief, wept over the lifeless bodies of Chenoa and her son, until the tears no longer flowed. The night closed in around the small house. Eventually Susan lit some lanterns and said that they needed to prepare Chenoa and baby Jack. Peter cleaned the baby, cradling him gently as he was washed and then dressed in his layette. For a second he handled a diaper and then realised it would never be needed and fresh tears filled his eyes. He laid the baby in his mother’s arms, the diaper folded to one side. Sleep came fitfully that night and he was aware of Maria quietly crying and Susan comforting her. Peter wished he could have curled up and had someone comfort him, but he was a man of twenty-three with no mother to offer comfort. He had never known such luxury, yet he still yearned for a mother’s touch.

Maria and Susan awoke late in the morning still feeling exhausted and went to find Peter as his bed was empty. He was found grimly digging his wife’s grave, his face streaked with tears and dirt as he laboured. Further banging in the barn found Susan’s husband, Andrew, working on the coffin, his face set like stone. Susan and Andrew’s three younger daughters were collecting the eggs, milking the cow and picking flowers.

The men worked hard throughout the morning constructing the coffin and working on the grave. It was a quiet job, both men immersed in their grief and doing a job that would bring no sense of satisfaction.

Maria and Susan slipped off to tell everyone who would be interested about Chenoa’s death and let them know of tomorrow’s funeral. Few people approved of such a union between an Englishman and a savage. Fortunately there were some within the community who weren’t so bigoted and had come to love Chenoa’s sweet ways and Peter’s quiet, gentle humour. However, it was obviously going to be a small funeral. Susan and her daughter were back in time to prepare a late lunch for the men. The Reverend was away in another town as his parish covered a large area. It fell on Andrew to officiate so he planned the funeral with Peter as they made the coffin.

The next day was warm and sunny, in complete contrast to the mood of everyone as they gathered to the side of the house where the coffin lay. Peter spoke of his love and admiration for his young wife. No-one knew the situation in which they had met and he didn’t want anyone to know. What he wanted them to think was they had met, fallen in love, married and she had died giving birth to his son. Most of that was true as he had indeed fallen in love after they had married. He did consider the baby his son and was truly looking forward to being a father. His words caught in his throat as he spoke of his shattered dreams and the emptiness in his heart.

Andrew stood beside him offering strength with his mind wandering back to the last three months. Peter and Chenoa had bought the neighbouring land from their neighbours, Jason and Samantha White, who were missing their family and had decided to move back closer to them. They had also quietly but firmly established themselves as close friends. Maria, especially, had become close to Chenoa and had been excited over the baby’s arrival. While Peter worked in the fields she was frequently over at their home helping her friend around the house. Andrew and Susan had quickly taken Chenoa and Peter under their wings as both were without parents and very new to the world of farming. Now Andrew was watching this young man’s heart break.

Eventually the eulogy was finished, the last hymn croaked out and silence fell on the small gathering. Even the sky was quiet and there was barely a sound except for the odd cry from a far off bird. The men gathered around the coffin that held both mother and child. Peter had previously laid the baby in Chenoa’s arms and sealed the coffin. It was now slowly lowered into the ground. Andrew glanced over at Peter and saw a man deep in the grip of grief, and that sight hit him hard. Shovelling the dirt in place was the hardest thing the men had ever done. They had travelled great distances on horse-back, built houses, felled trees, worked on railway lines and worked long hours, but the shovelling of the dirt was the hardest as it hit their souls.