And Those Who Trespass Against Us Read online

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  And Those Who Trespass Against Us

  Copyright © 2001 by Helen M. Macpherson

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

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  And Those Who Trespass Against Us

  by

  Helen M. Macpherson

  Copyright © 2001 by Helen M. Macpherson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Parts of this work are fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-935053-41-5 (eBooks)

  eBook Conversion August 2010

  (Originally 1-930928-21-1)

  Second Edition "author's cut" edition, revised, and re-edited

  Cover design by Donna Pawlowski

  Published by:

  Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

  4700 Hwy 365, Suite A, PMB 210

  Port Arthur, Texas 7764

  Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

  Published in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  Writing and reading styles change, and mine certainly have over the years. I remain profoundly grateful to Barb and Linda for their initial assistance with the first edition of Trespass. However, it was understandable that, when I submitted Trespass for republication, I would tweak a few things. In doing so, I hope the story remains as enduring to you, the reader, as it does to me. Once again I must thank Regal Crest for republishing this work. I would also like to thank Donna for her great cover art. Lori, as my editor, you've consistently demonstrated the patience of a saint, capably dealing with the subtle differences in the Aussie language. I can't begin to thank you enough for the trouble you've gone to in ensuring this version of Trespass remained true to the original storyline. Robin, thank you so much for your efforts in finding those little bits I missed. To Chris, many, many thanks for reading the manuscript for me. And I also thank the many people who wrote to me, regarding whether there would be a rewrite of Trespass. Without you, I don't believe Trespass would have re-entered publication. Finally, I'd like to thank my partner, Kate. She is once again doing a happy dance at the prospect of having me back with her, instead of seeing me spend days on end in front of a computer screen. Thank you for your love and forbearance, and the many snacks as I sat in front of the computer.

  And Those Who Trespass Against Us

  by

  Helen M. Macpherson

  Chapter One 1872

  THE MOMENT KATHERINE Flynn stepped from the train she knew something was wrong. The station was deserted--no stationmaster, no porter. She placed her bags down and glanced along the length of the platform. All was quiet, except for the wind which blew in a spiraling fashion along the platform, spreading dust in its wake. Observing her greater surroundings, she realised not only the station, but everything was covered in a fine film of dust.

  She'd heard dust storms were a regular part of Australian country life, and were said to be more fierce than the Reckoning itself. Until now she'd never witnessed the effects of one, and had chosen to dismiss such descriptions as the Australian way of over exaggeration, something she'd frequently experienced since her arrival in Australia.

  I've come a long way to be greeted by nothing but the wind, Katherine thought. She wistfully smiled. If someone had told her two years earlier that she would find herself in the remote Australian countryside, she wouldn't have believed them, for two years ago to the day had been her wedding day.

  Katherine had been twenty-two when she'd finally succumbed to the parental pressures of finding a husband. The threats her mother weaved regarding a prospective life as a spinster were too much to bear. The problem being it wasn't marriage which was the greatest worry. In all honesty, she hadn't yet found someone who she could imagine spending the rest of her life with. That was until the day her father brought home a client who wished to continue business discussions which had not been finalised at the offices of Flynn and Company. Iain Fihilly was the only person Katherine had met who came close to what she expected in a lifelong companion and, so after the acceptable months of courtship had elapsed, she consented to marry him.

  The day of their wedding was no different from any of the many other days she'd experienced in the countryside of Ireland. Gray and overcast, a light drizzle fell as the family coach approached the town church. Alighting from the coach, Katherine's hem dragged along the ground, causing a brown ring to form at the base of the white silk gown. On reaching the ornately carved wooden doors of the ancient church, a flustered pastor informed her the groom hadn't yet arrived, but assured her of a good explanation for his non-attendance. Truth was--he wasn't coming. He had instead elected to elope with a younger woman who possessed not only good looks but also a sizable dowry. Thus, Katherine was left, a somewhat nonplussed bride, standing and listening to the weeping ravings of her mother in the minister's quarters of All Saints Church, in Kilmarney, Ireland.

  Katherine's mother wouldn't be consoled and talked of nothing but the disgrace brought onto the Flynn name. In her own unsettled way, she placed the guilt for the farce of the wedding at Katherine's feet. Katherine, unable to spend her days living with the ranting of an unrepentant mother, packed her meagre belongings and left home the following day. She'd left no note, nor had she told anyone of her intended destination.

  She walked out on her family and into a vocation guaranteeing never again would she be hounded to marry. This vocation, although not exactly of Katherine's choosing, provided a means of escape from her mother and the supposed shame brought on the family name. And so, Katherine spent her next twelve months at Our Sister of Mercy Convent. There she lived a frugal existence, no longer harassed by the social pressures strangling a woman of the 1870's. The sisters were a group who asked no questions, with most of their calling being exacting work, involving residence in countries far from Irish shores.

  Nothing could have suited Katherine better when Mother Superior raised the matter that their work was again needed in Australia, and she was to replace the sister residing there. Mother Superior made it clear that she didn't have to go, for the sister stationed in the western New South Wales countryside was a woeful correspondent, and no one at the convent was fully aware of what life would hold in store for Katherine. The Mother Superior advised, once she arrived in New South Wales, if she didn't like her position in the young, flourishing state, it would take the convent some time to raise sufficient money to secure a return passage. What the Mother Superior couldn't know was that the opportunity presented Katherine with just what she needed to finally sever the ties with her old life, and she wholeheartedly grasped at such a fortuitous coincidenc
e.

  After an uneventful sea journey, save for the occasional bouts of seasickness, followed by an extremely slow four-day train trip, Katherine had eventually arrived at her destination--a deserted train station.

  Chapter Two

  THE SUN WAS stifling. God obviously didn't have Australia in mind when he invented this habit, Katherine thought. Beads of perspiration ran down the middle of her back, settling in a wet spot at the base of her spine.

  Katherine walked the length of the platform, trying the two doors of the cement-rendered building. They were both locked. She rubbed the glass of one of the dust-covered windows to see if someone was inside and merely asleep. The room was bare except for a bench that travelled the length of the walls, its path only broken by a fireplace, centrally positioned against one of the walls. She stepped back and looked at the walkway to the left of the room, which formed an exit from the station. She glanced through the walkway and saw only dust-covered countryside. The place truly looked deserted. Katherine frowned. The town's sister knew she was arriving today. Why had no one come? Katherine thought she'd best wait. Despite the platform having a verandah, the time of day afforded little respite from the unrelenting heat of the sun.

  Not clear on where she should go next, her only choice was to wait. She moved down the brick platform. Taking shelter in a recess in the wall, she made herself as comfortable as possible, and closed her eyes.

  SHE AWOKE WITH a start, unsure of how long she had slept. A man in uniform, who could have only been the stationmaster, stood over Katherine. In his hand was a flask, the contents of which he was tilting towards her lips, as if he meant to pour the liquid down her throat.

  "Thank heavens you're alive, Sister. Sitting here the way you were, I thought you'd fainted and died in the heat. Here take some water, but sip it, don't gulp it or you'll find yourself bringing it up again."

  Katherine gratefully accepted the flask. She quenched her thirst, taking the time to look at the man. He wore a deep blue jacket and trousers which, like his surroundings, were covered in a fine film of dust. His uniform and hunched shoulders didn't strike her so much as his face; for she didn't believe she'd ever seen so many creases on a man's face. Even her Grandfather's face hadn't told the tale of hard years this one did. It was as if the wind, which had weathered so perfectly the surrounding landscape, had created this face also.

  Katherine realised she was staring, like an inquisitive child. "Thank you. I don't know what happened. No one was here when I got off the train. At first, I thought the convent had sent me to a ghost town. I tried to get inside but the doors were locked."

  The stationmaster looked at the doors and back to Katherine. "I'm sorry, but we had to lock the doors because..."

  "That would be the 1:15 weekly train from Sydney," another voice said. "That was two hours ago. If you're going to live out here you're going to have to learn not to fall asleep in the sun."

  Until then Katherine was oblivious to the presence of anyone but the stationmaster, and was surprised when a figure stepped out from behind him.

  "How can you be expected to bear the heat with all those clothes on? What's that cloth?" The person reached forth and ran the fabric of the habit between two dusty fingers. "It looks like wool. If you want to survive more than a week out here you're going to have to find something lighter than that."

  Katherine looked up, only now realising the station's other occupant was a woman. Her manner of speaking wasn't coarse; in fact her speech was impeccable. Yet the clothes which adorned her figure were bewildering and entirely unexpected for a woman. She wore no dress, favouring instead a pair of pants and a shirt. The trousers were a dusty brown colour, similar to the dust on the stationmaster's jacket, and were the same width all the way down her leg. The blue, dust-covered shirt looked like it had been fashioned from light cotton. The shirt covered a tapered upper body, accentuated by the woman's slender hips, giving her a no-nonsense air.

  The woman herself was equally interesting. She was overly tall, for a woman, and her face was slightly square. Yet this didn't make her appearance harsh. Her face had been tanned by the sun, but hadn't yet begun to show the telltale signs of weathering, like the stationmaster's. Her hair, sensibly pulled away from her face and into a pigtail, was light brown in colour. The woman possessed no physical similarity to the stationmaster now standing quietly at her side. Katherine looked from one face to the other, again realising she was ogling.

  Stiffly pulling herself up from her seated position and breaking her gaze from the woman in trousers, Katherine extended her hand to the stationmaster and introduced herself. "Excuse my rudeness. My name is Sister Flynn, Sister Katherine Flynn." She had risen too quickly and struggled to not fall down.

  He offered a steadying hand. "James Nelson, Sister, and this is Miss Catriona Pelham. I know how tiring the journey is from Sydney, and then to arrive to this. Would you like a cup of tea?"

  "Thank you. That's very kind. However, after the tea do you think you could tell me where Sister Coreen is? I was expecting her to meet me this afternoon, as she was to show me to my living quarters. You must know her. Her full name is Sister Coreen Watson." Katherine didn't miss the look which passed between Mr. Nelson and Miss Pelham, and an unsettling feeling settled in her stomach.

  "If it's Sister Watson you've come all this way for, then I'm afraid your journey has been wasted." Mr. Nelson looked at Miss Pelham for assistance.

  Miss Pelham took up the story where Mr. Nelson had awkwardly stopped. "You would have to be blind not to notice everything is coated in dust. Earlier today, we had a dust storm which went on for about an hour. Being the main market day, a lot of people were in town when the storm hit. Most of those who came in from their properties, or farms as you would be more familiar with, took refuge in the Town Hall. What you must understand is our Town Hall is, or should I say was, no more than a wooden shack. At the height of the storm the wind whipped though the town, uprooting trees and moving houses. Unfortunately the shops and houses which weren't strong enough either collapsed or blew away."

  Miss Pelham stared into the distance, her face strained, as if she were reliving the events of the afternoon all over again. "The Town Hall was one of the buildings which collapsed, killing ten people and wounding many others. So, you see that's why no one met you. Every person who could still walk has been down at the hall sorting through the rubble for bodies and survivors. Most of the job was completed with only a section remaining when one of the workers heard the muffled sound of a crying child. When they pulled away the debris, they found the body of Sister Watson, and under her an unscathed girl. By the looks of it, she'd shielded her from the falling roof, dying in the child's place. She was quite dead when they found her. Probably killed by the impact of the roof." Miss Pelham paused and gazed around her surroundings as if to compose herself. "So if it's Sister Watson you're waiting for, I'm afraid you'll be waiting a long time. She's dead you see, gone forever." Miss Pelham turned, walked a few paces away, and stopped and stared out at the gaunt landscape.

  "Although if you want to be of assistance there's something you could do," her voice carried back over her shoulder while she continued to stare into the distance. "Father Cleary who runs the church is away up north and not expected to return for a while. We can't leave dead bodies in the open for too long, or they'll turn."

  "Turn, what do you mean by turn?"

  Mr. Nelson awkwardly shuffled. "They will start to, er, be fouled by the hot weather."

  Unsure of where the conversation was heading, Katherine looked from Mr. Nelson to the back of Miss Pelham. "What is it you want me to do?"

  The woman turned, her tired blue eyes meeting Katherine's. "The dead need the appropriate prayers said over them prior to them being buried and, frankly, Sister Flynn, you're the closest we have to a town priest."

  Katherine felt her jaw drop and she turned to Mr. Nelson. "I can't pray over them. I'm not ordained to do such a thing. I'm only a nun! Isn't there some way
you can wait until Father Cleary returns?" Katherine pleaded. She felt the grip of a hand on her shoulder and she was wheeled around until she was merely inches from Miss Pelham's face.

  "Look around you, Sister Flynn. The shimmering effect you can see in the distance is the heat. If the bodies are not buried by nightfall they'll attract the flies, which in turn will bring disease. It must be done now and at the moment you're the most a qualified person we have."

  Katherine stepped back and away from Miss Pelham's angry form. "I don't think you realise, as a nun, I do not have the authority of the church to perform last rites. I can say nothing over them which would make their path into the hereafter assured. As a nun these words would have no religious significance."

  "Do you think those people who are dead give a damn if it's you, me, or the town drunk who says final prayers for them?" Miss Pelham said, her eyes piercing Katherine's. "If I felt the matter could be resolved in such a way, then I'd do it myself. This is for their relatives who are still alive. They're looking for assurance, religious assurance their loved ones will be safe in the hereafter. You can give them such assurance. I doubt in this time of grief they care who you are, only that you're the nearest thing they have to a priest. I suggest you realise in Australia not all things fit the mould like they're supposed to. You're here for a long time if what Sister Coreen said is true. If that's the case, you can endear yourself to the townspeople now, or you can spend a very long and lonely time here."

  "I understand what you're saying, but when Father Cleary returns," Katherine got no further.

  "Sometime in the future the father will be back, and he can ensure everything is remedied from a religious perspective. Now I think we should be making a move." Affording her no time to object, Miss Pelham grabbed Katherine's arm, and propelled her through the walkway exit to the railway station.