Reuben thought of the war and wondered if what he had done constituted murder. He suspected it did and didn’t answer.
‘Just close your eyes and repent of everything you can think of,’ said the Reverend. ‘Make sure you mean it. Confession and repentance are the keys to salvation. You must turn away and never sin again.’
So Reuben confessed his sins. He thought he would be confessing his fornication, but God and Satan whispered, ‘No, we don’t want your fornication. Confess to us your pride. Confess to us that you use others to fulfil your own needs. Confess to us your lack of responsibility towards those who love you. Confess your desire to destroy instead of create!’ Reuben did, and it took so long the Reverend’s legs got tired and he sat on the step next to Reuben, his hand resting on Reuben’s head.
Hours later when Reuben had finished repenting, he looked up at the Reverend and tears were streaming down both their faces. Reuben listened and all he heard was silence, then slowly and quietly came a voice. It was just the one voice, off in the distance: the soothing, gentle voice of God. Satan had done his work, taken the dying and left. Reuben felt his chest and it was light. He looked down and saw his soul and it was flying, freed from its cage. Reuben didn’t notice the pain in his knees from kneeling so long on the hard steps until the Reverend reached out his hand and helped him to stand.
The Reverend took Reuben home for lunch and while they ate Wensleydale cheese sandwiches and drank tea he told Reuben about the state of human depravation and the ignorant practice of infant baptism. He showed Reuben verses from the Old Testament and the New Testament that proved salvation came through faith, and Reuben learnt them by heart. That night he showed Reuben to his spare bedroom and they started again the next day and the day after that and after many weeks, when the Reverend had taught Reuben all he needed to know, he took his small flock of thirty villagers down to the pond behind the chapel on a Sunday afternoon. The flock sang ‘All to Jesus I Surrender’ as they stood on the banks of the pond, far enough back that their shoes wouldn’t be ruined in the mud. They watched as the old Reverend with his shaking arthritic arms pushed Reuben’s body under the icy cold water with all his might. Reuben went into the water with his brown soul and his special white clothes and came up from the water with his clothes brown from the mud but his soul white as snow. At least that’s what Reuben believed.
Thirty-Eight
The Tests
Monday, 29 August 1921, Ballarat, when no one likes a test.
June could be chilly but this was Arctic. The icy ghosts of men escaped out from the mines that had closed two years ago, and the town was filled with a cold that was unusual and silent.
Edie, Gracie, Lilly and Paul had taken a horse-drawn cab from the shops. ‘I keep telling you there is no way in the world motor vehicles will outdo reliable horsepower,’ said Paul several times. When the horse pulled into the drive they ran inside and slammed the door shut on the cold. Edie said, ‘You could catch your death out there,’ as she put her basket of shopping on the kitchen table.
‘Are you having another lesson? You’ll need to rug up. You should take a blanket for your knees,’ said Gracie.
‘It’s my driving test today,’ said Edie, and she felt sadness wash over her.
Edie thought of Virgil’s lovely blue car, which led her to think about his lovely blue sweater and his lovely blue eyes. She would get her father to buy a Morris Crowley like Virgil’s, so she would be used to it, but it would have to be a four-seater. Virgil’s was a two-seater. She looked at the clock. It was 2 p.m. and her test was at three. Virgil was picking her up. She didn’t know if it was Virgil or the lessons she had liked the best but either way they just had to go on because she spent all week looking forward to her lesson. It was something she was doing for herself.
Lilly and Paul had gone into his study, chatting away with each other, oblivious to Gracie and Edie who walked down to the kitchen. Gracie filled the kettle with water, Edie got out the cups and saucers and made sure the pot was empty from the last lot of tea.
‘I really enjoy my lessons, you know,’ she said to Gracie.
‘Why do they have to stop?’ said Gracie, pointing to the tea caddy that was out of her reach. Edie stood on her tiptoes and lifted it off the mantle.
‘Well, I’m going for my licence and once I pass I won’t need to have lessons any more.’
Gracie put two teaspoons of tea leaves into the pot. ‘So don’t pass,’ she said, and they both smiled.
At half-past two Edie stared at herself in the hall mirror. She studied the fine lines around her eyes and mouth and wet her finger and ran it over her eyebrows. She was thirty-five years old and she laughed at her younger self who had stood in front of this mirror and thought she was too old to get a husband at nineteen. That young girl had no idea how old she would become. Edie realised how silly she had been, but now she really was old and there was absolutely no hope of a husband and a husband was something she no longer wanted. So why was there this tug on a string whenever she thought about it? She shook her head then pulled her green cloche hat firmly over her hair and down to her eyebrows; she tied a red scarf
