The Moments Beyond

©2008 by: KC

CHAPTER FIVE

"So," said Lachlan softly, "it wasn't a cat."

"A cat?"  Betsy looked at the baby, then back at Lachlan.  "What do you mean, a cat?"

"When I was sleeping.  I kept hearing a little sound, like somebody crying," he said, rather sheepishly.  "That's what it sounded like."

"Well, as you can see, he's not." 

"I can see that," he said, "what's his name?"

Betsy had been prepared for that.  "We call him Lucky," she said, elusively.  "Because I was lucky to have him."

"Hmm," Lachlan seemed to be thinking to himself, "not a lot of women in your shoes would feel that way.  Three kids, the war going on, on your own and all that--"

She shook her head.  "I don't think that way at all.  This little guy--he's the best thing to come from the war."

The tone in her voice moved Lachlan.  "Would you bring him a little closer, luv?  I'd like to see him."

"Sure."  She walked closer to the bed.  "Just don't be surprised if he bursts into tears--he's not much used to strangers."

"Thanks for the warn--"

The tea pot whistled.

"Oops--there's your tea.  Hold on to him, will you, I'll just be a minute--"

Before he could protest, she plopped the surprised baby in the lap of his equally surprised father and hurried out the door.

~*~

Betsy took her time in the kitchen, wanting to give Lachlan a private moment with the baby, a moment she assumed would be brought to a quick end by some high pitched shrieking.  But when she finally appeared with the tray, she was surprised to find little Lucky perched atop Lachlan's good knee, his little face wide-eyed, listening as Lachlan crooned some old tune, smiling and making faces to him as he did so.

"Wow," she said, "how'd you manage that?"

"Manage what?" he asked, innocently.

"I told you," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, "he's not used to strangers.  He's only now starting to warm up to Johnny--"

"--and yet you left me alone with him," Lachlan pretended to whine. "Just me and me good leg."

Before she could answer, the baby, hearing his mother's voice, turned and raised his hands in the air.  She put the tray down on the nightstand.

"I guess that's my cue."  She picked her son up.  "I need to get him ready for the day, you'll be all right here?"  She noticed Lachlan hadn't taken his eyes off the baby.

"Sure," he said, absently.  "He's beautiful, Betsy, he looks just like you."

"Oh, no," she said, "not really."  And walked out of the room.

He watched her walk out of the room, then reached for the tea and took a long swallow.  He was tired again, already.

But, as he closed his eyes, he had one nagging thought: she was right.  The baby didn't look particularly like her.  Oh, he had her blonde hair, but the eyes...

A thought that had started to emerge in his rapidly fogging brain eluded him.  He was just too tired.  It was all he could do to return the cup safely to the tray before he nodded off again.

~*~

Finding him asleep, Betsy went back to her chores, first finishing up in the kitchen, then taking a quick trip out to the barn to feed the animals.  Marion had dutifully milked the cow earlier that morning and the eggs Betsy decided to leave for Charlie to retrieve when he came home from school.  She led the cow out to the corral with one hand, the baby on her hip with the other, then returned to the barn, put him in the old play pen she had kept for such purposes and quickly mucked the one stable.  She worked as fast as she could, not wanting to leave Lachlan alone, then took the baby and hurried back into the house.  Checking on Lachlan, who was still sleeping, she proceeded to the nursery and changed Lucky's diaper, then put him into the playpen in the living room while she made his lunch.  By that time, on top of the lack of sleep from the night before, she was running on willpower alone.  Fortunately, after having eaten, the baby was ready for his nap. Giving him a kiss, she put him down in the crib, went into the bedroom and settled in the big wing chair beside the bed and was out like a light and didn't wake up until she heard the sound of the school bus coming up the lane.

She went out on the porch to watch the children descend from the bus and start up the lane to the house.  The guilt that she had felt the moment they left for school had been with her all day: she hoped they hadn't taken it as hard as she had.  Charlie seemed to be his happy-go-lucky self as he bounced along.  It was hard to tell with Marion, although her mother realized, the little girl was getting better and better at hiding her feelings and the events of the past morning hadn't helped.

"Hi, you two," she greeted them, her voice deliberately bright.  "How was your day?"

"Ok," the little boy responded quickly.  "I'm hungry."

"Sit down," she said, taking his lunch pail and Marion's.  "I'll get your snack.  How about you, honey?"

"The teacher gave us a spelling test,"  the girl answered, diffidently.  "I got an A."

"I thought the test was tomorrow?"

"So did I.  She surprised us.  She said we should be studying all the time."

"Well, good for you," Betsy said, taking the pitcher of milk out of the icebox and pouring two full glasses, "You're so smart!"

Charlie made a face at his big sister who responded in kind; Betsy smiled, inwardly, watching them devour their mid-afternoon snack.  The little boy downed the rest of his milk and jumped up.

"Mommy, can I go play now?"

"Not so fast, buster.  Go to your room and get out of those clothes.  And then I want you to put away all those toys you have all over the floor."

"Can I see the soldier?" Charlie asked, suddenly.  Marion rolled her eyes.

"No, he's sleeping again, your little brother, too, so I want you to be quiet.  Go on, now, when you're done in there, you can go outside."

"I'll get your eggs, Mommy," he said, earnestly.

Betsy felt a lump in her throat; so he hadn't forgotten.

"Come here!"  She enveloped him in a big hug and ruffled his hair.  "And I'll make you scrambled eggs tomorrow morning, okay?"  He nodded.  "Get along, now--and remember--" she put a finger to her lips.

As the little boy scampered out of the room, Marion started to get up.

"Marion."

"What?"

"I meant what I said, I'm proud of you.."

"Okay."

"And I'm sorry about this morning."

"It doesn’t matter. "

"Yes.  It does.  You  matter.  I love you very much, you know that, right?"  When she didn't answer, Betsy said, "Marion.  Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, Mommy.  Mommy?"

"Hmm?"

"How long is he staying?"  She pointed her head in the direction of the bedroom.  Betsy waited a moment.

"I don't know, honey.  He can't go anywhere, just yet, he's too sick.  I thought I explained that to you."

Marion said nothing,  and took a final swallow of her milk.

"Can I go now--"

"We still need to--"

A loud noise interrupted them.  Both she and Marion rushed down the hall.

~*~

They found the door to the bedroom wide open, and a very guilty little boy standing over the pile of Lachlan's clothes which had been folded neatly on a chair but now lay strewn on the floor.  He was holding something shiny in his hand.  Lachlan, obviously startled awake, was trying to sit up, blinking his eyes against his blurred vision.

"What the fuck?" he yelled.

Betsy immediately took her son's arm and yanked him back into the hall.

"Charlie, what the hell were you doing?"  She grabbed the object he was holding out of his hand.

"I just wanted to see his gun," he replied, miserably.

"Did I or did I not tell you to stay--"

"Don't you yell at him," Marion cried, wildly, "you're always yelling at us--"

"That is not--"

The baby started wailing.

"--just--go and take care of him.  "Now!"  The tone in her voice brooked no argument.  Marion stomped down the hall.  "And you--young man, you march to your room and stay there!"

Charlie, almost relieved to leave his mother's sight ran off.  Betsy glanced at what she was holding for the first time: to her surprise, it was the medal the doctor had told her about.  She took it over to Lachlan, who was still trying to get his bearings.

"Lachlan, I'm so sorry--''

"What was that all about--"

"Charlie was just--I told him to stay--" She was too flustered to keep with her train of thought.  "He was looking for your gun."

"What fucking gun," he muttered, irritably, "I don't have a gun--"

"I know that--but look what he found!"  She smiled gamely and held the medal up for him to see.  "I had no idea this was here!"

His face went stone cold.

"Get it away from me."

Betsy was taken aback.  "But this is your medal.  Your medal for--"

"I said--get it out of my sight!"

Betsy quickly plopped the medal into the deep pocket of her apron.  "I'll--uh--I'll be right back," she said quickly and disappeared.

~*~

She stood in the doorway, arms akimbo, and glared at Charlie who was sitting miserably on the bed.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

The little boy shrugged, afraid to speak.

"I specifically told you to leave him alone, did I not?  Answer me!"

"Yeah."

"Yeah.  Yes, well, you can stay in this room until dinner and if it isn't spotlessly clean by then, maybe you can just go to bed without it.  Do you hear me, young man?"

He wordlessly nodded his head.  Betsy steeled herself at the welling in his eyes and closed the door.

~*~

She went on to the baby's room to find Lucky laughing and gurgling as his sister finished changing him, teasing and playing with him at the same time.  He barely noticed his mother: Marion was the only other person with whom he was just as happy to be with as her.  Betsy stood behind Marion, deliberately.

"Thank you."

Her daughter didn't answer her; she picked up the little boy and went down the hall, to the kitchen; Betsy trailed behind her.

"There's juice and cookies for him in the--"

"I know where it is," Marion replied curtly.  She put him in his high chair and went to get his snack.

Betsy bit her lip.  She took the pot of stew that was left from the night before and lit the stove, hoping she would be able to get Lachlan to eat.  The two of them stayed silent with each other, busy with their respective jobs.  The baby took two bites of one cookie, then grabbed the bottle of juice and sucked at it noisily.  Marion made a funny face at him.

"You want to go outside, don't you?"  Marion took him in her arms again while he still held the bottle tightly and exited out the back door, slamming it behind her.

Betsy stayed in front of the stove, waiting for the stew to boil, blinking back tears.  She took a couple of deep breaths, knowing that if she started to cry there would be no end to it.  Finally, as the pot bubbled, she brought herself under control and turned the knob to simmer.

~*~

She stopped dead at the threshold of the door to see Lachlan leaning heavily against the window, looking outside at the children sitting underneath the huge elm tree.

"Lachlan!"  She tried to hide the frustration in her voice.  "What are you doing?"

He seemed not to hear her.

"Is the little sheila all right?"

She stood beside him.  "She's fine.  I thought we agreed you wouldn't--"

"--she's crying.  Maybe you should go to her--"

"No."  She sighed.  "I think we just need some time away from each other right about now--"

After a moment, he said, ''my fault.  I shouldn't have gone off."

"You didn't do anything.  Charlie woke you up, you were startled, that's all, you had every right to be."

"So--where is the little bloke, now?"

"I sent him to his room, where he belongs.  Maybe next time he'll listen to his mother."

"Aw--he was just being a kid.  No worries.  That why your daughter's so mad at you?"

"She'll get over it."

"But she's ropeable.  Are you sure she's okay with the little bub?"

Betsy tried to hide her irritation.  "Yes,  I'm sure.  She's been helping me take care of him since he was born."

He seemed not to hear; his gaze shifted to the old gray barn in the background.

"That's a bonzer shed you've got--out there."

"Please speak English?"

"The shed--" He pointed in its direction.  "I love 'em.  Always have.  Maybe because of what's usually inside them--"

"Oh.  Well--there's not much inside of that old barn, I'm afraid.  Just the old cow, a couple of chickens--now, come on."

His face had acquired an odd look.

"Wasn't there--I seem to remember--a horse?"

Betsy's heart began to pound.  'Um--yes.  You came out a couple of times--to ride."

She held  her breath, but all he said was, "Did I?  Fair dinkum," the last words, almost to himself.  "I always loved horses.  Where is she now?"

"I had to sell her.  We needed the money.  My neighbor has her, now.  She's always out in his field.  Whenever we drive by, she runs after us.  It's very sad."

"It's fucked," he replied, a tinge of anger in his voice.

"Yeah.  The kids didn't talk to me for a week."

~*~

Late that night, as they both lay in bed, careful space between them, Betsy tried to comfort herself that, though this had been one of the worst days ever, at least Lachlan's appetite was starting to improve: he had eaten a decent dinner, and he was starting to remember things, bit by bit.  She sighed.  Johnny would be back in the morning, and things would be better.  She had to believe that.

But Johnny never showed up.

Chapter Six