Lauren's Dilemma (27 page)

Laurie
started crying, the tears rolled down her cheeks so fast her handkerchief could
not soak them up. And Dick was shattered.

“Thank you
for your testimony, Mrs. McKinlay. You can be excused now.”

The rest of
the case passed in a daze. Laurie, feeling as if she had endured a flogging,
sat with lowered head. She had bared her soul in public, and life would never
be the same again.

The jury
retired to consider the evidence, and she let Dick’s lawyer escort her to her
hotel room. “I’ll let you know as soon as the jury reaches a verdict. “I'm
afraid you're going to receive a lot of newspaper attention, Mrs. McKinlay. I'd
be inclined to bolt the door. There's sure to be a swarm of reporters here
soon. It was a courageous thing you did for Dick. I hope he appreciates it.”

When he
left, she locked the door and lay on the bed, going over everything in her
mind. Would Dick get off? If he did, would he forgive her for telling the world
he wasn't really a man?

“You are,
Dick,” she whispered fiercely. “You are a man. It isn't your fault the war did
these dreadful things to you.”

Sleep
proved impossible. What would her father think when it became public knowledge
that his daughter had deliberately married one man while carrying another man's
child? What about Blair? The expression on his face was enough. He knew he was
the father of her baby.

If Dick
hadn’t killed Helen, who did? A disgruntled, rejected suitor, perhaps? She
spent most of her time away from Coolibah. If only the police could apprehend
the culprit, they might all find a little peace.

Sheer
exhaustion from days without proper rest finally took its toll and she drifted
into a troubled sleep. Frantic hammering on the door woke her up, and groggily
she opened her eyes and struggled off the bed.

“Mrs.
McKinlay, it's the police.”

The jury
must have reached a verdict. Her hands shook so much she had trouble unlocking
the door. “Have they reached a decision yet?” she asked fearfully.

“No.”

Bewildered,
she stared at the policeman. “What then?”

“Mrs.
McKinlay.” He looked pale and strained. “We're sorry to inform you...”

“What's
happened? Is Dick all right?”

“He's
dead.”

“Dead?”
 
A savage roar almost ruptured her eardrums. A
black curtain dropped down over her eyes. “How?” she asked in a voice that she
didn’t recognize. She clung to the door so she wouldn’t topple over.

“Is there
someone we could get to stay with you?”

“No, only
the McKinlays.”

“We've
already spoken to them. Mrs. McKinlay has collapsed, so her husband is
attending to her. We found your husband dead in his cell. It appears his heart
gave out. We’re very sorry.”

“Sorry!”
 
It’s all your fault she wanted to scream the
words at them. But they had only done their job, and the evidence had been
overwhelming. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even cry. She had no tears left to
shed.

The case
was closed, as far as the law was concerned, unless new evidence surfaced. For
Laurie and the McKinlays, a raw, gaping wound had been left wide open.

They
departed for home, Laurie staring straight ahead, trying to ignore the crowds
milling about them. She was the villain of the piece, with Blair the grieving
husband, Helen the unfortunate victim, and Dick the poor husband whose heart
gave out with the shock of learning his wife carried another man's child.

“We won’t
forget what you tried to do for Dick,” George said in a quivering voice. “It
took real guts for you to speak out like you did.” He patted her hand. “You
sacrificed your good name for nothing, I’m afraid. Our boy is still dead.

Mrs.
McKinlay kept on sobbing.

“Is it
Blair Sinclair’s child you’re carrying?”

“Yes, but
Mr. McKinlay, I didn't deceive Dick. I told him all about the baby, and he told
me about what happened to him in Egypt. We agreed to get married so
both our secrets would be safe. Please don't think too badly of me.”

“I don't,”
he interrupted harshly, causing Mrs. McKinlay to sob even harder. “It's Blair
Sinclair who’s at fault. The man's a bloody disgrace.”

“He didn't
know about the baby.
 
We planned to get
married, but Helen, who was engaged to him before the war, turned up and ruined
everything.”

It was not
hypocritical to mourn Dick. Although Laurie had not loved him as a wife should
a husband, her fondness had been genuine, even if tinged with pity. As for
Helen, her death was frightful, but her main sympathy lay with her aunt and
uncle and, of course, Blair.

* * *

Laurie
stood dry-eyed as Dick’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Perhaps in death
he would find the peace that had eluded him in the final year of his life.

As she
turned to leave, she bumped into Blair. “I'm truly sorry for the way things
turned out, Laurie. This mess is my fault,” he castigated himself. “How on
earth could a little slip of a girl like you have the courage to publicly lay
your life bare? There wouldn't be too many people who would have been prepared
to do what you did.”

“I wanted
to save Dick. It didn't help, not in the end. He's still dead,” she finished
off on a sob.

“My God,
Laurie. I don't know what to say.” Pale and drawn with fatigue, he looked as if
he hadn't slept in days. “We need to have a long talk, but this isn't the time
or the place,” he said, resting the flat of his hand against her swollen
stomach. “I've been a bloody fool.” He turned on his heel and strode off.

* * *

Matthew
Cunningham didn’t make it to the funeral on time. A train derailment had caused
the line to be blocked for several hours. He finally met up with Laurie at the
McKinlays’ that evening.

“Dad!” She
ran into his open arms, sobbing as if her heart would break.

“Laurie,
Laurie.
 
Come on, princess, don't cry, it
can't be good for you. You're safe now, your old Dad's here.” He pushed the
damp, tangled curls away from her face and handed her his clean handkerchief.
“You have a lie down. I'm sure these good people will put me up for the night,
and we'll go home on tomorrow’s train. I’m Matthew Cunningham, Laurie’s
father.” He introduced himself.

“George
McKinlay.” The two men shook hands. “My wife's lying down. She’s still
distraught,” he apologized.

“Of course,
I understand, only to be expected.”

Laurie
couldn’t speak. The words had dried up in her throat. She let Hettie make her a
cup of tea and help her into bed. When she awoke next morning, her father sat
beside the bed holding her hand.

“Oh, Dad.”
She started trembling.

“Shh,
princess, it's all right.”

“I'm so
sorry for not telling you how things were with Dick.”

“It's all
right,” he interrupted. “George has filled me in on everything. Those parasites
from the newspaper should be horsewhipped for what they wrote. I’m proud of you
for speaking out like you did. It took courage to bare your soul to try and
save Dick.”

“Thanks,
Dad. I was frightened you would think badly of me, like everyone else does.”

“This Blair
Sinclair.” He stuck his chin out pugnaciously. “He hasn't come out of this in a
good light.”

“It wasn't
his fault. He didn't know about the baby. He wanted to marry me, until Helen
came along and ruined everything with her lies.”

“She always
was a vain, selfish creature,” he surprised her by saying. “I blame Jane for
spoiling her so outrageously, but Richard should have put a stop to it years
ago.”

* * *

They left
for home on the morning train. George drove them to the station. Mrs. McKinlay
was still confined to bed.

“You’re
welcome to stay here at any time, Laurie,” George assured her.

She would
never take up his offer. The memories here were too bitter.

Of Blair
Sinclair there was no sign. His betrayal was a mortal blow. He obviously didn’t
want to be tainted by the scandal of being associated with a fallen woman. A
letter from his lawyer offering financial support for their child was the best
she could hope for. What else had she expected?

Chapter
Fourteen

The war
dragged on. The winter of 1916-1917, according to the papers, was the harshest
in France
for forty years. This comment was borne out when Mrs. Tresize read out parts of
a letter from her son Fred, who had been evacuated with what he called trench
feet.

We are
crouching in waterlogged shell holes, sometimes standing up in trenches thigh
deep in slimy mud. Some of the sandbags protecting our dugouts have turned
green with mildew.

The tone of
the letters to home had changed. Gone was the lighthearted banter. Some of the
troops were resigned, others bitter, disillusioned with their lot. I’m glad we
haven’t got anyone over there. I wouldn’t be able to stand it.

Life had
changed for them now. She had been ostracized by most of the townsfolk, her
father a little less so. This drew the two of them even closer together.

The vicious
campaign waged against her, after the newspaper stories, was shocking. What
hurt more than anything else, was that her father had also been drawn into the
scandal. People he thought of as friends cut him dead in the street, and the
bulk of his customers started shopping in one of the larger towns.

Of those
who remained loyal to him, most refused to let her serve them, as if they
thought contact with her would somehow contaminate them.

“The likes
of her isn't fit to mix with decent, Christian folk.” If she’d heard this once,
she’d heard it a hundred times.

Someone
threw a brick through their shop window, with a note wrapped around it. Written
on the piece of paper were the foulest words she had ever seen in print. A
slogan daubed along the side of their shop in red paint, called her a whore and
a murderess.

She held
her head high whenever she ventured out in public, which was not often. In the
street, she received lewd comments and insolent stares from some young men. You
should be in uniform, she thought bitterly. Perhaps if they had witnessed the
suffering in the trenches as Dick had done, they would be more tolerant.

If only the
police could find Helen's murderer things might settle down a little, as there
were many people who still thought poor Dick guilty. With a manpower shortage
and no clues to follow up, the case had been virtually closed.

Mrs.
Tresize, their loyal housekeeper, proved a tower of strength, shielding them
from a lot of the hatred.

The first
vote on conscription for the army had been “No.” Now there was to be a second
one. The propaganda dished out by both sides was cruel, full of hatred. Women
handed out white feathers to men they considered shirkers because they would
not enlist. Daily, Laurie read the papers. Shocking casualty lists from the
French battlefields filled several pages. How could fit young men not volunteer
of their own accord?

* * *

The train
from Melbourne steamed into the siding at Sandy Ridge.
Captain Blair Sinclair stepped off and glanced around with interest. So this
was where Laurie lived. He asked directions to the Cunningham store, and the
reaction of the porter shocked him.

“Wouldn't
bother going there, Captain. Few people have anything to do with them anymore.
Matthew Cunningham is all right, but he’s got that harlot of a daughter living
with him.”

“Enough,”
Blair snarled. “How dare you speak about Laurie in such a way?” He clenched his
hands in his pockets to stop himself from ramming his fist down the man's
throat. “She's got more courage and decency than any woman I've ever met.”

“Well, if
that's your attitude.” The porter sniffed. “Town's this way.” He stubbed his
finger over his right shoulder.

Blair
strode off, fuming. What a disgusting man. He had made up his mind to speak to
Matthew Cunningham first about marrying Laurie. He could not risk blundering in
and upsetting her in her delicate condition.

For the
first time in his life, except for Gallipoli, he knew the gut-wrenching
sensation of real fear. Suppose she rejected him? He wouldn't blame her under
the circumstances. He strode to the nearest pub and ordered a beer.

“Have you a
lad who can run a message for me?” he asked the bartender.

“Yeah,
Bobbie can do it.” He yelled out, “Bobbie.” A youth dashed in from out back.
“The Captain here wants you to run a message.” The bartender lumbered off,
leaving the two of them together.