The Thorn Birds (52 page)

“What’s Luke like?” he asked, over breakfast.

She put her head on one side, considering. “Not as much like you physically as I used to think, because in those days I missed you more, I hadn’t got used to doing without you. I believe I married him because he reminded me of you. At any rate, I had made up my mind to marry someone, and he stood head and shoulders above the rest. I don’t mean in worthiness, or niceness, or any of the things women are supposed to find desirable in a husband. Just in some way I can’t put a finger on. Except perhaps that he
is
like you. He doesn’t need women, either.”

His face twisted. “Is that how you see me, Meggie?”

“Truthfully? I think so. I’ll never understand why, but I think so. There’s something in Luke and in you which believes that needing a woman is a weakness. I don’t mean to sleep with; I mean to need, really need.”

“And accepting that, you can still want us?”

She shrugged, smiled with a trace of pity. “Oh, Ralph! I don’t say it isn’t important, and it’s certainly caused me a lot of unhappiness, but it is the way things are. I’d be a fool to waste myself trying to eradicate it, when it can’t be eradicated. The best I can do is exploit the weakness, not ignore its existence. Because I want and need, too. And apparently I want and need people like you and Luke, or I wouldn’t have spent myself over the pair of you the way I have. I’d have married a good, kind, simple man like my father, someone who did want and need me. But there’s a streak of Samson in every man, I think. It’s just that in men like you and Luke, it’s more pronounced.”

He didn’t seem at all insulted; he was smiling. “My wise Meggie!”

“That’s not wisdom, Ralph. Just common sense. I’m not a very wise person at all, you know that. But look at my brothers. I doubt the older ones at any rate will ever get married, or have girlfriends even. They’re terribly shy, they’re frightened of the power a woman might have over them, and they’re quite wrapped up in Mum.”

Day followed day, and night followed night. Even the heavy summer rains were beautiful, to be walked in naked and listened to on the iron roof, as warm and full of caresses as the sun. And when the sun was out they walked too, lazed on the beach, swam; for he was teaching her to swim.

Sometimes when he didn’t know he was being watched Meggie would look at him and try desperately to imprint his face upon her brain’s core, remembering how in spite of the love she had borne Frank, with the passing of the years his image had dimmed, the
look
of him. There were the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the stunning silver wings in that black hair, the long hard body which had kept the slenderness and tautness of youth, yet had set a little, lost elasticity. And he would turn to find her watching him, a look in his eyes of haunted grief, a doomed look. She understood the implicit message, or thought she did; he must go, back to the Church and his duties. Never again with the same spirit, perhaps, but more able to serve. For only those who have slipped and fallen know the vicissitudes of the way.

One day, when the sun had gone down far enough to bloody the sea and stain the coral sand a hazy yellow, he turned to her as they lay on the beach.

“Meggie, I’ve never been so happy, or so unhappy.”

“I know, Ralph.”

“I believe you do. Is it why I love you? You’re not much out of the ordinary way, Meggie, and yet you aren’t ordinary at all. Did I sense it, all those years ago? I must have, I suppose. My passion for titian hair! Little did I know where it would lead me. I love you, Meggie.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. I must. My ship sails for Genoa in less than a week.”

“Genoa?”

“Rome, actually. For a long time, perhaps the rest of my life. I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, Ralph, I’ll let you go without any fuss. My time is almost up, too. I’m leaving Luke, I’m going home to Drogheda.”

“Oh, my dear! Not because of this, because of me?”

“No, of course not,” she lied. “I’d made up my mind before you arrived. Luke doesn’t want me or need me, he won’t miss me in the slightest. But I need a home, somewhere of my own, and I think now that Drogheda is always going to be that place. It isn’t right that poor Justine should grow up in a house where I’m the servant, though I know Anne and Luddie don’t think of me like a servant. But it’s how I think of myself, and how Justine will think of me when she’s old enough to understand she hasn’t a normal sort of home. In a way she never will enjoy that, but I must do as much for her as I can. So I’m going back to Drogheda.”

“I’ll write to you, Meggie.”

“No, don’t. Do you think I need letters, after this? I don’t want anything between us which might endanger you, fall into the hands of unscrupulous people. So no letters. If you’re ever in Australia it would be natural and normal of you to visit Drogheda, though I’m warning you, Ralph, to think before you do. There are only two places in the world where you belong to me ahead of God—here on Matlock, and on Drogheda.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her, stroking her bright hair. “Meggie, I wish with all my heart I could marry you, never be apart from you again. I don’t want to leave you…. And in a way I’ll never be free of you again. I wish I hadn’t come to Matlock. But we can’t change what we are, and perhaps it’s just as well. I know things about myself I would never have known or faced if I hadn’t come. It’s better to contend with the known than the unknown. I love you. I always have, and I always will. Remember it.”

The next day Rob appeared for the first time since he had dropped Ralph, and waited patiently while they said their farewells. Obviously not a couple of newly-weds, for he’d come later than she and was leaving first. Not illicit lovers, either. They were married; it was written all over them. But they were fond of each other, very fond indeed. Like him and his Missus; a big difference in age, and that made for a good marriage.

“Goodbye, Meggie.”

“Goodbye, Ralph. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. And you.”

He bent to kiss her; in spite of her resolution she clung to him, but when he plucked her hands from around his neck she put them stiffly behind her and kept them there.

He got into the car and sat while Rob reversed, then stared ahead through the windscreen without once looking back at her. It was a rare man who could do that, Rob reflected, without ever having heard of Orpheus. They drove in silence through the rain forest and came at last to the sea side of Matlock, and the long jetty. As they shook hands Rob looked into his face, wondering. He had never seen eyes so human, or so sad. The aloofness has passed from Archbishop Ralph’s gaze forever.

When Meggie came back to Himmelhoch Anne knew at once she would lose her. Yes, it was the same Meggie—but so much more, somehow. Whatever Archbishop Ralph might have told himself before he went to Matlock, on Matlock things had gone Meggie’s way at last, not his. About time, too.

She took Justine into her arms as if she only now understood what having Justine meant, and stood rocking the little thing while she looked around the room, smiling. Her eyes met Anne’s, so alive, so shining with emotion that Anne felt her own eyes fill with reciprocal tears of that same joy.

“I can’t thank you enough, Anne.”

“Pish, for what?”

“For sending Ralph. You must have known it would mean I’d leave Luke, so I thank you just that much more, dear. Oh, you have no idea what it did for me! I had made up my mind I was going to stay with Luke, you know. Now I’m going back to Drogheda, and I’m never going to leave it again.”

“I hate to see you go and especially I hate to see Justine go, but I’m glad for both of you, Meggie. Luke will never give you anything but unhappiness.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Back from the CSR. He’s cutting near Ingham.”

“I’ll have to go and see him, tell him. And, much as I loathe the idea, sleep with him.”

“What?”

The eyes shone. “I’m two weeks overdue, and I’m never a day overdue. The only other time I was, Justine was starting. I’m pregnant, Anne, I
know
I am!”

“My God!” Anne gasped at Meggie as if she had never seen her before; and perhaps she had not. She licked her lips and stammered, “It could be a false alarm.”

But Meggie shook her head positively. “Oh, no. I’m pregnant. There are some things one just knows.”

“A nice pickle if you are,” Anne muttered.

“Oh, Anne, don’t be blind! Don’t you see what this means? I can never have Ralph, I’ve always known I could never have Ralph. But I have, I have!” She laughed, gripping Justine so hard Anne was frightened the baby would scream, but strangely she did not. “I’ve got the part of Ralph the Church can never have, the part of him which carries on from generation to generation. Through me he’ll continue to live, because I know it’s going to be a son! And that son will have sons, and they’ll have sons—I’ll beat God yet. I’ve loved Ralph since I was ten years old, and I suppose I’ll still be loving him if I live to be a hundred. But he isn’t mine, where his child will be. Mine, Anne,
mine
!”

“Oh, Meggie!” Anne said helplessly.

The passion died, the exhilaration; she became once more familiar Meggie, quiet and sweet but with the faint thread of iron, the capacity to bear much. Only now Anne trod carefully, wondering just what she had done in sending Ralph de Bricassart to Matlock Island. Was it possible for anyone to change this much? Anne didn’t think so. It must have been there all the time, so well hidden its presence was rarely suspected. There was far more than a faint thread of iron in Meggie; she was solid steel.

“Meggie, if you love me at all, please remember something for me?”

The grey eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ll try!”

“I’ve picked up most of Luddie’s tomes over the years, when I’ve run out of my own books. Especially the ones with the ancient Greek stories, because they fascinate me. They say the Greeks have a word for everything, and that there’s no human situation the Greeks didn’t describe.”

“I know. I’ve read some of Luddie’s books, too.”

“Then don’t you remember? The Greeks say it’s a sin against the gods to love something beyond all reason. And do you remember that they say when someone
is
loved so, the Gods become jealous, and strike the object down in the very fullness of its flower? There’s a lesson in it, Meggie. It’s profane to love too much.”

“Profane, Anne, that’s the key word! I shan’t love Ralph’s baby profanely, but with the purity of the Blessed Mother herself.”

Anne’s brown eyes were very sad. “Ah, but did she love purely? The object of her love was struck down in the very fullness of His flower, wasn’t He?”

Meggie put Justine in her cot. “What must be, must be. Ralph I can’t have, his baby I can. I feel…oh, as if there’s a purpose to my life after all! That’s been the worst thing about these three and a half years, Anne. I was beginning to think there was no purpose to my life.” She smiled briskly, decisively. “I’m going to protect this child in every way I can, no matter what the cost to myself. And the first thing is that no one, including Luke, shall ever imply it has no right to the only name I’m at liberty to give it. The very thought of sleeping with Luke makes me ill, but I’ll do it. I’d sleep with the Devil himself if it could help this baby’s future. Then I’m going home to Drogheda, and I hope I never see Luke again.” She turned from the cot. “Will you and Luddie come to see us? Drogheda always has room for friends.”

“Once a year, for as many years as you’ll have us. Luddie and I want to see Justine grow up.”

Only the thought of Ralph’s baby kept Meggie’s sagging courage up as the little rail motor rocked and jolted the long miles to Ingham. Had it not been for the new life she was sure was growing in her, getting into a bed with Luke ever again would have been the ultimate sin against herself; but for Ralph’s baby she would indeed have entered into a contract with the Devil.

From a practical viewpoint it wasn’t going to be easy either, she knew that. But she had laid her plans with what foresight she could, and with Luddie’s aid, oddly enough. It hadn’t been possible to conceal much from him; he was too shrewd, and too deeply in Anne’s confidence. He had looked at Meggie sadly, shaken his head, and then proceeded to give her some excellent advice. The actual aim of her mission hadn’t been mentioned, of course, but Luddie was as adept at adding two and two as most people who read massive tomes.

“You won’t want to have to tell Luke you’re leaving him when he’s worn out after the cane,” said Luddie delicately. “Much better if you catch him in a good mood, isn’t it? Best thing is, see him on a Saturday night or a Sunday after it’s been his week cooking. The grapevine says Luke’s the best cook on the cutting circuit—learned to cook when he was low man on the shearing totem pole, and shearers are much fussier eaters than cutters. Means cooking doesn’t upset him, you know. Probably finds it as easy as falling off a log. That’s the speed, then, Meggie. You slap the news on him when he’s feeling real good after a week in the barracks kitchen.”

It seemed to Meggie lately that she had gone a long way from blushing days; she looked at Luddie steadily without going the least bit pink.

“Could you find out which week Luke cooks, Luddie? Or is there any way I could find out, if you can’t?”

“Oh, she’s apples,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got my branches on the old grapevine. I’ll find out.”

It was mid Saturday afternoon when Meggie checked into the Ingham pub that looked the most respectable. All North Queensland towns were famous for one thing: they had pubs on all four corners of every block. She put her small case in her room, then made her way back to the unlovely foyer to find a telephone. There was a Rugby League football team in town for a pre-season training match, and the corridors were full of half-naked, wholly drunk players who greeted her appearance with cheers and affectionate pats on the back and behind. By the time she got the use of the phone she was shaking with fright; everything about this venture seemed to be an ordeal. But through the din and the looming drunken faces she managed to call Braun’s, the farm where Luke’s gang was cutting, and ask that a message be relayed to him that his wife was in Ingham, wanting to see him. Seeing her fear, the publican walked back to her room with her, and waited until he heard her turn the key.