The next day, the body of Sergeant Erik Nielsen was found and the town went into mourning. Later, once the truth came out about his connection to corrupt politicians, people would shake their heads and wonder how they missed it. Pip knew exactly how they felt. People who could hide their true selves were like chameleons, blending into whatever scene they needed to belong to and putting on whatever front the people around them needed to see. Erik’s death had saddened her. She hadn’t wanted anything terrible to happen to him, but he’d chosen his path and ultimately it was doing the bidding of bad men that led to him being out there that day and ended up costing him his life.
Pip walked along the corridor and stopped in front of room 12B. When she walked inside she immediately noticed the difference in Bert. He had deteriorated noticeably since her last visit. She wasn’t sure he was aware she was there, but it felt important that she come here and tell him in person about the diary.
His breathing was raspy and shallow. ‘Bert?’ she said softly. ‘It’s Pip. I came to tell you I found Molly’s journal.’ There was no change in his breathing and no reaction on his face, but Pip sat down and dug out the journal, opening the book to the last page. It was important that he heard the truth. He’d lived almost seventy years waiting for it. She began to read.
As I write this, I feel a sadness about leaving our home. I know it will only be for a few months, and I’m certain that with everything we have endured we will return and have the future we always dreamed about all those years ago. This is our second chance, and I will do whatever I need to do to have my husband back again—whole and happy.
I cannot begin to imagine the horrors of what he must have been through, all those years in that terrible place—and even though I feel I’ve let him down, I too was fighting my own demons and have overcome them. I will be the wife Bert deserves. I know we can find our love again. I will never give up trying.
By tonight I will be by his side, and there I shall stay until he is ready to come back home. Home to me. Home to a new beginning and a lifetime of love.
Pip put her hand over his and squeezed gently. ‘She was on her way to be with you, Bert. But that night it was raining heavily, and there was an accident and she was washed into the dam. She didn’t leave you, Bert. She was coming to you,’ she said softly.
A single tear slid from the old man’s eye and Pip leaned forward eagerly.
‘Bert?’
She wasn’t really expecting him to open his eyes and miraculously start speaking, but the silence that followed, except for the rattle coming from his chest, felt like an anticlimax all the same. It didn’t matter, though—it was closure. Bert now knew the truth and she felt better for doing it.
‘Goodbye, Bert,’ she said softly, standing to leave. This would be her final visit; the nurse on duty had warned her he didn’t have much longer.
That night, Anne called to let her know Bert had passed away later that afternoon. Pip wondered if he’d been holding on, waiting for something. Something he had finally found. Peace.
The sound of a car coming up the driveway late one afternoon caught Pip’s attention as she was standing at the sink finishing the last of the dishes. Drying her hands on the tea towel, she walked to the front door just as the squeaky gate opened. She blinked when she saw who her visitor was.
Jan Wiseman, née Maguire, looked up from shutting the gate and paused as she spotted Pip waiting on the verandah. The older woman straightened her shoulders, as though preparing to go into battle, and Pip braced herself for whatever was about to come.
To her surprise, Jan didn’t march up the pathway. Instead, she looked … meek. ‘Afternoon,’ Jan said stiltedly as she reached the end of the path and tightened her hold on the strap of her shoulder bag.
‘Jan,’ Pip greeted her calmly, still at a loss for the reason for Jan’s visit.
‘I just wanted to come out and see how you were after your accident. The town’s pretty shaken up by the whole thing and that whole horrible incident with Sergeant Nielsen.’ She sighed sadly. ‘We always considered him one of us, but to do such a thing … Well, we’re all just glad you’re all right.’
Pip considered the woman before her quietly for a moment before standing to one side. ‘Would you like to come in for a cuppa?’
Jan’s shoulders seemed to relax a little as she nodded and silently followed Pip inside.
As the women settled in with their beverages, Jan bent down and pulled out a container from her bag, placing it on the coffee table. ‘I brought some vanilla slice,’ she said, sounding more than a little self-conscious as she opened the lid and slid it across to Pip.
Okay, this is getting weird now.
‘The reason I came out here today,’ Jan started, ‘was because your … visit a while back—the things you were asking about Frank Maguire.’ She paused, looking troubled. ‘They were true.’
Pip didn’t interrupt, sensing the woman needed to get some things off her chest.
‘My father was a proud man, but … damaged. I remember him being quiet, withdrawn most of the time. We didn’t have a close relationship—he wasn’t a man you got close to. I was the one who took over his care when the dementia set in, you see,’ she said, glancing up briefly, and Pip nodded. ‘He used to say things, get lost in the past. He used to talk about his grandfather, Edward.’ Her fingers were restless in her lap as she fell silent. ‘One day,’ she continued after a long pause, ‘he started rambling—I’d never heard him so distressed before. It got so bad I had to call the doctor and they sedated him. He’d been talking about his father and grandfather and how they’d threatened to send him away if he ever spoke about it again. I had no idea what it was until a few months later after he’d passed away and I was going through his belongings.’
Pip remained silent, her curiosity piqued.
‘I found this,’ Jan said quietly as she withdrew a clear plastic folder holding a yellowing piece of paper.
Jan hesitated only briefly before offering it to Pip. On closer inspection, Pip could see that it had been ripped and taped back together. The page was filled with elegant cursive handwriting, and it took a few minutes to decipher it, but as Pip read the name at the bottom of the page, her heartbeat began to increase. Frank.
The letter read more like a confession, the words seemingly written frantically, almost as though he couldn’t write them down fast enough. It spoke about guilt and shame and a need that he’d never known how to control. Then he asked for forgiveness for the horrific things he’d done and mentioned Arthur by name.
Pip glanced up at Jan and saw her watery eyes watching her intently.
Another name leaped off the page: Terrance Stanley. Pip quickly continued to read.
… I saw him walking along the riverbank and I could feel the darkness beginning to rise inside me. I didn’t even try to stop it. I can still hear that boy crying, begging me to stop, and I felt nothing for his pain, just a surge of power. It is only after the act that I am filled with loathing and remorse—it’s like I am two different people and I can no longer contain them both.
I saw the look of contempt in Bert’s eyes that day and I was forced to face my demons. There was no more hiding. Bert had seen who I was. He was the only one who refused to look the other way—only he did, more to save the rest of our regiment than for any favour to me. I know I will never be brought to justice, never stopped, as long as Grandfather and Father continue to cover up my lies. I can no longer fight this battle.
This is my final confession. I am sorry.
Frank
‘Where did your father get this?’ Pip asked, feeling stunned.
‘I was only able to piece together bits from his ramblings, but I suspect he was there when they found Frank’s body. I know his father definitely was. They would have been sure to get rid of this letter before anyone else found it. I guess Dad retrieved it.’
Pip wondered how the young Arthur had dealt with the death of Frank Maguire. There would have surely been relief that he was gone, but maybe some resentment that he had taken the easy way out before Arthur could exact his own revenge once he was older, bigger, stronger. There would undoubtedly be shame, if Jan’s understanding of the things his father and grandfather had said were true.
The older Maguire men would have realised that Arthur had been one of Frank’s victims after reading the suicide note, and instead of comforting the boy, they had threatened him into silence. Not, Pip imagined, that there would have been much chance of Arthur talking openly about what had been done to him; back then, such things were never spoken about. Poor Arthur. Pip’s heart ached for the child who had no one to protect and comfort him.
‘Why did you bring this to me?’ Pip asked quietly.
Jan straightened and shuffled around in her seat for a moment before speaking. ‘I just thought you should know the truth.’
Pip considered the woman silently before speaking. ‘I’m writing a book about Bert and Molly, and in it I’ve included Bert’s concerns about Frank in relation to the Stanley murder.’ Pip paused, preparing for an argument, but Jan sat quietly. ‘I won’t include any of this,’ she nodded towards the letter, ‘if you’d rather I didn’t.’
‘I’ve struggled with it,’ Jan admitted, taking a tissue from her bag and dabbing at her nose. ‘My heritage is something I’ve always been proud of. To be part of the family that built this town.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve never done much with my life. I was married young and it wasn’t a happy marriage. My husband left me with two children to raise and an elderly father to care for—a business to run … I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve left Midgiburra in my life.
‘My family roots are the only thing I have that make me feel as though I’m special,’ she admitted quietly. ‘But I’ve realised—thanks to you digging about,’ she said bluntly, ‘that sometimes the bad parts of history need to be exposed along with the good. My family have done more than just produce two famous parliamentarians. The Maguires built businesses and farmed this land and built a town—that wasn’t all Edward’s doing. It was his brothers and sisters doing all the hard work. They were good people. Honest people,’ she added firmly. ‘If you want to use this letter in your book then I won’t stop you. It’s not true history if you hide the bits you’re ashamed of—that just makes it a … story,’ she shrugged.
Pip stared at the woman across from her. Jan was the last person she had expected to reveal such a profound thought.
And yet no truer words had ever been spoken.
‘Told you she’d love you,’ Chris said later that night when they were alone after a day spent in Melbourne meeting his daughter.
Sian was tall and slim, her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and Pip had felt self-conscious under the girl’s serious, dark-eyed gaze when they’d been introduced. But once Sian overcame her initial shyness, Pip found herself relax too, and the three of them spent a lot of time laughing—mainly at Chris’s expense.
‘I think love is a bit of a stretch,’ she said. ‘But you were right about something,’ she added, and her voice softened. ‘She is amazing. I had a really great day.’
‘Me too,’ he nodded, his fingers idly tracing her hand. ‘So do you think you could see yourself doing this more often?’
‘Doing what more often?’
‘The family thing. Spending time together—the three of us.’
‘Of course.’
‘I know we haven’t really talked about what’s going to happen after you finish your book.’ She saw him swallow quickly before continuing. ‘But I don’t want this to be over.’
She knew this conversation would eventually come up—it had been hanging over them for the past few weeks. ‘I don’t want it to be either,’ she said simply. ‘But I do have a lot of loose ends to tie up.’ Delivering her book to her publisher being the main one. ‘And I still have a job I’m not really sure I want to leave.’
‘I get that,’ he told her solemnly. ‘And I’d never want you to give up something that was important to you. I just … I can picture us here,’ he said in a rush, searching her gaze intently. ‘I can see us being a family. Making a life together. And it doesn’t have to be here exactly,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m willing to make sacrifices too—whatever it takes to make a future work for us.’
Pip smiled, reaching up to touch the side of his face, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against the softness of her hand. ‘Me too,’ she said simply and melted under the warm kiss she received in reply.
Pip wrote madly over the next few weeks, barely stopping to do more than eat and relax for a few moments in the afternoon with a coffee on the back verandah, soaking in the beauty of this special place. She would miss it once she went back to the city. Her manuscript was flowing and she barely even noticed as the days on the calendar ticked over faster and faster.
Then, suddenly, it was finished. She was exhausted, mentally and emotionally, from the experience, but renewed too. Whereas before she had struggled with the memories the book was bringing back, now she had clarity and determination. These people she had helped put away were no longer a threat to her or anyone else, and she owed it to those they had destroyed along the way to tell the truth, all of it.
Then the day finally came to say goodbye to the little house, to Rosevale, and it was a lot harder than she had ever imagined it would be.
When she agreed to come out here, she had been only thinking about the book she needed to write—she had no idea how coming to this place would change her life so completely.
As she locked the door with the gigantic skeleton key and dropped it into the milk can for Uncle Nev, she couldn’t help the wry smile that tugged at her lips as she thought back to the day she’d first arrived. So much had happened since then.
She tried not to look in the rear-view mirror as she drove away. Instead, she focused on the road ahead.