Seeing their father in tears for the first time in their lives the children sobered up. Wesley stopped whimpering and sat open-mouthed, licking sauce from his face. Martha stopped crying and wiped her tears, spreading sauce further across her face. She and Wycliffe put their saucy, sticky arms around his neck, spreading tomato sauce and peach juice all over his suit and his tears washed away his temper.
‘Come now, Martha, I need you to look after the little one,’ he said gently.
‘But how can she when she is barely more than a baby herself? Is she two? She looks just over two.’
He turned and it was the younger sister. She walked over and picked up Wesley and didn’t even seem to bother that the child was covered in sticky saucy mess.
‘You go and talk to my sister about her wedding and I’ll fix all this up,’ she said and smiled at him. Suddenly he knew that he was where he was meant to be. He was filled with contentment and his life didn’t seem so bad. He could manage it, he could find his way. He stood up and towered over the short girl. How old was she? Seventeen? Nineteen at best — a child still. He used to take girls like her and fill them with his lust. Then he banished the thought. He couldn’t become that man again. He watched, his hand gently on Martha’s head as Gracie got a cloth from the sink and ran it under the water, then still holding Wesley on one arm, she came back to him and she reached up on her toes and wiped the sauce from his shoulders, his collar, and last of all his cheek.
‘There,’ she smiled, ‘you just look like a normal father who loves to play with his children.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘my sister is waiting — off you go.’
For the first time in his life Reuben felt that a female had the upper hand and he started to protest, but seeing the determination in her face, the pursing of those lips that only a few minutes ago had filled the room with their smile, and feeling that really she was much taller than him, he put his head down and did as he was told.
When he got to the office the sister was waiting patiently, not a scrap of irritation in her, as though waiting was something she was quite expert at.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘the children.’
‘Oh, Gracie will sort them out,’ she said.
‘Hmm,’ he said, realising that despite any real evidence he was sure she was right.
‘So you are getting married?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Can it happen on the ninth of November?’
‘Any reason for that date?’ he looked in his diary.
‘No none at all — just that it’s a Sunday afternoon.’
‘I don’t know if I can do it on a Sunday,’ he said. ‘There are two church services — one in the morning and one at night, as you know. It’s most unusual.’
‘We only ever go to the morning service. Couldn’t it be done at three in the afternoon?’
He thought of the sister and the quietness that was filling his house. ‘Has she murdered them?’ he asked and they both laughed. ‘Sunday afternoon it is then. You will need to let me know what hymns you would like in the service — the week before will do. Perhaps you and your fiancé can come and see me that week.’
‘Yes, that would be fine,’ she said and he stood up.
‘We better go see what your sister has done to my children.’ They walked back into the kitchen and found Wycliffe and Martha clean, in pyjamas and eating fruit at the clean table. Wesley was in the kitchen sink being bathed.
Gracie turned and smiled at them. ‘All set for the wedding then?’
‘Your sister’s smile,’ said Reuben to Edie, and he held his hand over his heart.
Later that day Reuben piled the two youngest children into the pram, Wesley sitting on Martha’s lap and Wycliffe balancing on the axle at the back, and he wheeled them all to Ligar Street, where he was told he would find the church organist painting his house. He wanted to make sure that the hymns he had chosen for his first service were ones the organist knew.
He saw the man up the ladder, splashes of yellow paint dripping down his overalls, and called out to him. The man held onto the ladder with one hand and turned and waved with the other, still holding the paintbrush, dripping yellow paint over the garden.
When Reuben saw who it was he almost fell to his knees. Even though he was older, and had filled out, Reuben knew him the minute he saw him because he had seen him so often in his dreams and nightmares. When Theo had clambered down from the ladder and stood the paint tin safely on the grass, Reuben could wait no longer and he wrapped Theo in his arms and held him tight, wet paint and all.
‘You saved me,’ he said.
‘Ah no, I think you saved me,’ said Theo.
‘No, it was you who saved me,’ said Reuben.
The two men sat for hours on the verandah, saying nothing while the children played around the tree in the front yard and the baby slept in the pram.
‘Is that a rose tree?’ asked Reuben.
‘It’s a long story,’ said Theo, ‘for another day.’
Later that night Reuben swore that he would never question God or his ways again.
Forty-Nine
Sunday Afternoon
Sunday, 10 November 1924, at 3 p.m., when the sun shines love on the world.
The sun was kind and sweet and a warm glow settled on the earth making everyone
