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Brisbane, December 1945
Roses freshly cut from Vera’s garden in the early morning scented the air. Gerry had fashioned them into the most beautiful wedding bouquet Meg had ever seen. Trimmed with white ribbon and scraps of lace, it seemed far too elaborate against her white sheath dress.
But Geoffrey smiled and his eyes looked warmly on her as she came down the aisle of Vera’s, and now Gerry’s local church. The late morning was already nudging ninety degrees, and a nativity scene set up opposite the pulpit highlighted that Christmas was almost upon them. Desperate to reclaim Jennifer and share their first Christmas together, Meg struggled to focus on the ceremony. She glanced at Gerry who stood by her side, fashionable in a slim black dress and white bolero jacket. Her new dress was simple, but without her friend’s sewing skill, Meg would have become Geoffrey’s wife dressed in her RAAF uniform.
Roger had kept his promise to stand as Geoffrey’s best man. As witnesses, they were also the only guests. Neither she nor Geoffrey had family in Brisbane, and Meg still hadn’t spoken to him about her family, other than to say they lived in Sydney.
‘It’s too far for them to come at such short notice,’ she’d said, and left it at that. Geoffrey’s family lived in the northwest of the state on a large cattle station.
‘Same here. We can visit them later – after we’ve found Jennifer.’ His quiet certainty had reassured her, and his presence calmed her anxiety as they had filled in form after government form to make that happen.
Meg was grateful for his help, and grateful too that Geoffrey belonged to the Church of England, like her, as the minister read from Saint Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians. But each exhortation about what love should be cut like a knife. She’d left the choice of reading and order of service to Geoffrey. Was the reading from Saint Paul deliberate, chosen to remind her what she had agreed to? They hadn’t spoken of love at all; not since his first declaration in the hotel before Jennifer was born when he’d admitted he had feelings for her. Since then, neither had offered a word about love. If only she loved her soon-to-be husband. When the lesson ended, they would make their vows. How could she say them and be true to her promise?
Dear Lord, please see into my heart. When I promise to love, honour, and obey, I’m promising to be the best wife I can be to Geoffrey. You know Seamus has my heart, but I pray I will learn to love my husband.
That was the only way she could plight her troth and mean it. She stumbled through her vows, and marvelled at Geoffrey’s clear, firm promise, spoken directly to her. Did he mean the words, or had he made a similar promise to God?
‘For as much as this man and this woman . . .’
The ceremony slipped past, and suddenly, it was over.
The minister closed his Bible. ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.’
Three sets of eyes turned to watch them.
Meg gripped her bouquet, willing it not to shake as Geoffrey leaned towards her.
After she had accepted his proposal, Geoffrey had kissed her cheek, respectful of her emotional state given the loss of her daughter. She hadn’t considered their first proper kiss would be in front of witnesses.
She looked into her husband’s eyes. Husband. Applied to Geoffrey, the word felt strange, and it gradually dawned on her what lay ahead. She hadn’t thought beyond the fact they were getting married to help reclaim Jennifer, but marriage carried obligations. Responsibilities. Rights.
Meg closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the moment. Geoffrey held her shoulders and the clean scent of his aftershave blended with the scent of roses as he pressed his lips to hers. He was gentle and brief.
Our first kiss.
One day, she would look back and feel good about the choice she had made; what she had done. One day – if she worked at it, she hoped to love the man who took her arm and led her to the registry to sign her maiden name for the last time. She picked up the pen and wrote “Margaret Olivia Dorset”.
When all four of them had signed the register and their marriage certificate, Geoffrey held out his hand. ‘Allow me to escort you to our wedding breakfast, Mrs Ransom.’
##
Gerry had spent the last couple of days cooking while Geoffrey and Meg completed application forms and crafted a petition to the archbishop, requesting his help in securing information about Jennifer’s whereabouts. But now, the forms were set to one side as the four of them ate a roast beef lunch with vegetables from their own vegie patch.
When the main course was finished, Gerry lifted a small, round fruit cake from the sideboard. It sat in the centre of a fine bone china cake plate. ‘Time to cut the wedding cake.’ She handed a beribboned knife to Meg.
Rationing meant the cake lacked the customary icing, and Gerry had probably used a couple of months’ worth of ration coupons to make it, but it looked pretty with its floral centrepiece held together by a ‘wedding’ ring made of twisted tinfoil. Throughout the war Vera had collected and reused pieces of foil, and the sight of the tinfoil ring brought a lump to Meg’s throat.
‘If only Vera was here to share today with us.’
Geoffrey’s hand covered hers. ‘I’m sure she’s here in spirit.’
Meg nodded, and together they plunged the knife into the cake. Gerry and Roger clapped as the first wedge was cut then Gerry took over the task of cutting slices and setting them on more of Vera’s best china.
Roger gestured to Gerry. ‘I think now is a good time, don’t you?’
Grinning, Gerry slipped out of the dining room.
‘What have you two been up to?’ Geoffrey didn’t seem perturbed by the secrecy. He was enjoying their day, but Meg began to feel detached from everything. She was keen to get on with what needed to be done to bring Jennifer home. While the ceremony had been necessary, and she’d gone along with Gerry’s enthusiasm in deciding on her dress, did they really need to go through this semblance of a wedding breakfast when her daughter was somewhere out there, alone with strangers, while they ate cake.
‘Voilà!’ Gerry entered the room carrying a tray on which a bottle of Champagne and four crystal glasses sat. ‘Time for a toast.’
‘My contribution to your wedding day,’ said Roger, unwrapping the foil and carefully releasing the cork. The pop was loud, and champagne erupted from the neck.
Gerry quickly raised a glass and caught most of it. She laughed. ‘Can’t let good plonk go to waste.’ She handed a glass to Meg.
Roger huffed and said, ‘Plonk? I’ll have you know this is an excellent French Champagne from my father’s cellar.’
Gerry parried, ‘And plonk is Aussie for the French blanc, which means white, see! And I did say it was the good stuff.’
‘Droll,’ Geoffrey smiled before leaning close to Meg. ‘Are you okay, Margaret? You look pale. Is the heat getting to you?’
Drawing the ragged tatters of her patience together, Meg shook her head and managed a smile. ‘I’m fine.’
Geoffrey accepted a glass from Gerry, and as soon as their guests had their glasses in hand, raised his towards Meg. ‘To my bride. May today be the first of a long and happy life together.’ He tapped his glass lightly against hers and drank.
Meg sipped hers. Bubbles tickled her lips, reminding her of happier, more carefree days when the New Year seemed exciting and full of promise.
Stop it, Meg.
Distracted she may be, but she could be gracious. She was grateful for her husband and friend, and all they were doing and had done for her. Raising her glass in another toast, she said, ‘Thank you for today, my friends. This wine and cake, the wonderful lunch, my beautiful dress and flowers – they’re lovely gestures. To our friends, may you always share good times with us.’
They finished their glasses, and Roger stood. ‘Sadly, some of us have to work. I leave you to enjoy what’s left of the champagne in peace.’
Gerry rose and joined Roger at the door. ‘Roger has offered me a ride into the city. I’m going to see a movie. I won’t be home until six o’clock, so you’ll have the house to yourselves.’
Meg half rose, but her dress was caught between her chair and Geoffrey’s, and she sat awkwardly again. ‘Gerry, don’t feel you have to leave on our account.’
Suddenly, she didn’t want to be alone with Geoffrey. Alone meant it was time to fulfil her wifely duties. She wasn’t ready!
‘Nonsense.’ Gerry picked up her handbag then slipped her arm through Roger’s. ‘Sharing a house when you’re newlyweds will be hard enough as it is. Take this time as an extra gift from me to you.’ She blew them a kiss and disappeared down the hallway, Roger’s walking stick tapping out their passage until the front door closed.
As Geoffrey stood, her dress came free, allowing her to stand. He picked up the half full bottle and their wine glasses. ‘Shall we finish this in our bedroom—’
She didn’t mean to frown, or shake her head, or whatever it was she did, but Geoffrey went still. He looked at her for a long, drawn-out moment then said, ‘Or perhaps we could sit on the veranda and see if there’s a breeze.’
‘That sounds lovely.’ She contained her sigh of relief . . . Just.
‘The veranda it is. After you, my dear.’
##
How had that happened?
Meg lay in their bed and stared at the pattern in the pressed metal ceiling. She gripped the sheet as though it was all that kept her there while Geoffrey padded down the hallway to the bathroom.
Once the champagne was finished there had been no reason to linger outside and Geoffrey had escorted her to what had been Vera’s bedroom, now theirs. Renting it from Gerry had seemed a good idea, especially with the housing shortage, but the realities of sharing a home as a newlywed had become apparent the moment Geoffrey rose above her and slid home, consummating their marriage.
Wire springs loudly proclaimed what they were doing, and Meg hadn’t been able to muffle her cries. Her body had a mind of its own, and it didn’t matter about doing her duty or her lost love when Geoffrey made love to her.
It wasn’t like it had been with Seamus. At the River, beneath starry skies at the edge of an army camp, making love had been delightful and new. Seamus had kissed every inch of skin, and she’d roared out of her body and climbed to the stars. They’d been in the first flush of new love and Meg had been certain she’d never experience its like again.
Her husband was gentle and considerate at first, and Meg was certain that shattering feeling she’d known was lost with Seamus. But as Geoffrey thrust faster, his breathing, less regular, he stoked a slow burning fire that grew and blazed until it swallowed her whole.
She had known they would consummate their marriage but enjoying it surprised her. She wasn’t in love with Geoffrey, and yet, she’d liked making love. More than liked. For that time, nothing else had filled her mind. Not even Jennifer.
As her body became her own again, guilt nudged her conscience.
Geoffrey entered their bedroom and closed the door. ‘How do you feel?’ He was dressed in an open-necked shirt and dark trousers, and his hair was damp and slicked back. He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her hand and kissed her palm. Folding her fingers over his kiss, he smiled. ‘Do you feel like a stroll along the river?’
Meg nodded. ‘I’ll have a quick wash first.’
Geoffrey reached for her peignoir, the soft peach silk, his wedding gift to her, and held it while she turned her back and slipped her arms through the sleeves. As she belted the sash, he held her shoulders and dropped a kiss on her neck.
Her shoulders hunched, his hands dropped, and he stepped away.
She turned quickly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— It’s just—’
One hand rose to stop her apology. Hurt flickered in his eyes, there and gone so quickly she almost wondered if she’d imagined it. But why wouldn’t he feel hurt when his wife of a few hours pulled away from his touch after they’d just been intimate?
But now his doctor face, the one he wore when talking with patients, gave nothing away. ‘I’ll be in the garden when you’re ready. Take your time, Margaret. There’s no rush.’ He left her in peace. A moment later, the screen door squeaked open and softly closed.
There’s no rush.
Guilt and grief crashed over her and clashed within her. He was a good man, and she was behaving as if he’d forced her into their marriage. If anything, it was she who was using him. His sense of honour had led him to repeat his offer when no other way of reclaiming her daughter could be found. In accepting him, she had made him a promise of a life together. A good life.
There and then, she vowed she would be a good wife to Geoffrey.
But how did she begin to do that while her daughter was lost to her?
##
Small, gold-tipped waves caught the late afternoon sun and made the brown water almost pretty. Wash from a steamboat travelling towards the river mouth slapped against the bank in rhythmic waves below them. As they passed the power station and approached the park, Meg was still lost in thought. No matter what bad things happened in her life, the world kept turning. Life went on. Of late, she’d let it drag her along on the ride. She needed to take back control of her life and steer a better course. Starting now. Starting with this kind and good man who walked by her side.
So much had changed; now, she was a wife as well as a mother. Determined to do better, she took her new husband’s arm as they turned back into New Farm Park. ‘Geoffrey?’
‘What is it, my dear?’
‘Thank you – for everything. I will be a good wife to you. I didn’t mean to pull away when you touched me. It’s just that I’m—distracted.’
He was quiet for a moment as they stopped in the shade. ‘I understand. Wondering where your daughter is must consume your thoughts, but we will find her, Margaret.’
She smiled, feeling her cheeks quiver as she fought to hold it in place. ‘I believe you, but it’s so hard. All the time I was away from her, I thought – ‘this is tough, but it’s the right thing to do’. Then the war ended, and it was only going to be a few weeks, just a couple of months bringing home prisoners of war and the wounded, and that felt like the right thing to do too. I knew Jennifer was safe with Vera, and I knew I’d see her soon, but there were so many families who’d waited years for their loved ones to come home. How could I not help them to be reunited?’
‘And when you finally made it home, it was to a double loss.’
He drew her into a gentle embrace. It comforted her and she drew strength from him, and from his touch. It demanded nothing and gave so much.
‘I promise I’ll move heaven and earth to bring her home to you.’
She breathed in the clean soap smell of him and the lingering scent of his Old Spice aftershave. ‘I know.’
‘Tomorrow, we’ll visit the archbishop’s secretary and deliver our petition then call in and see if Roger has had any luck contacting the Catholic diocese. The mother superior’s refusal to hand over Jennifer’s adoption details is frustrating, but perhaps the convent is waiting for permission to hand over the information. Government bureaucracy grinds along slowly too.’
Meg nodded. ‘Time seems to go so slowly, but it feels so hard waiting to get my daughter back.’
Geoffrey glanced at his watch and tucked her arm in his. ‘It’s five-thirty. Let’s head back. Gerry will be home soon. After that wonderful lunch, the least we should do is have dinner ready for her when she comes in.’