SONS OF THE FATHERS

Chapter 12: Shadows and Dust

Looking at the General it suddenly seemed an intrusion to touch him, so he backed up a couple of steps, just waiting.  Slowly Maximus sank to his knees on the hard pavement, his hand still pressed to his chest as though trying to get to something that he couldn't quite grasp.  
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As soon as the library doors opened that morning, Terry and annsmac headed for the computers, entering Lachlan and Elizabeth Macquarie into a search engine. Link after link appeared on the screen and they quickly scanned the information. Suddenly Terry made a long, low whistling sound and leaned back in his chair.

"What did you find," annsmac asked, leaving her computer and coming to stand behind him.  Leaning over his shoulder, she read, "Journeys In Time: the journals of Lachlan and Elizabeth Macquarie 1809-1822." (footnote to any unbelieving reader: check it out yourself... http://www.lib.mq.edu.au/all/journeys/menu.html )

 "Journeys In Time?" she said aloud.  "What a strange choice of title. I wonder why that was chosen for a site dedicated to their personal journals?"  

 

Terry's eyes locked on hers.  "There's always a reason," he murmured, "...always."

 

Eagerly the two of them began scrolling the pages down the screen. Half an hour later the front legs of Terry's chair thumped loudly back to the floor.  "Oh my God!" he exclaimed softly.

"What it is this time?" annsmac inquired, again coming up behind his chair.

"Look!" was all he said, pointing at the screen.  

 

Annsmac had already found several references in the journals she was reading to the fact that Elizabeth liked to sketch the scenery she saw about her in New South Wales and there on the page was a sketch of Sydney harbor obviously done from the vantage point of the Macquarie chair.  There was just a bit of a problem with it.  It had not only the enormous arch of the Harbor Bridge, it also had the unmistakable rooflines of the Opera House.  

 

"What's the date on that?" annsmac asked, her breaths coming rapid and shallow.  

 

"It says ' May-1818'," he answered.  

 

"Nothing more specific than that? No day of the month?"  

 

He shook his head.   "Do you know what this means?" he continued.  

 

"I don't think it means the Opera House is a lot older than we've been led to believe," annsmac replied.  

 

Terry was busily printing out a copy of the page with the small sketch. When he held the paper in his hand, he tapped it with his finger. "Proof of life," he said seriously. "But proof of life...WHEN?"

Annsmac looked down at the page.  "I'd say May 1818.  But...HOW?"  

 

Terry rose from his chair.  "We'd better get this to Maximus."

Quickly the duo ran back to the sandstone outcropping.  Maximus was still on his knees.

"What's going on?" Terry asked, concerned by the sight.  

 

"I'm not certain," Jack replied, "but it may well have something to do with...orange."  

 

Terry's observant eyes locked onto the General's form.  Indeed, from Maximus' expression one could be rather certain that yellow... in some form...was present with his rustyred.  Terry licked his lips thoughtfully,staring alternately from Maximus to the printout of the sketch.  Silently then, he handed the sketch to the Captain.  Jack studied it a moment, preparing to hand it back as he commented, "Nice sketch of the view from here...but what of it?"  

 

"The date," Terry said, his voice soft and low, "look at the date it was drawn."  

 

Jack turned the paper again, looking at the small, scribbled notation in its lower right corner that told when it had been done. His seagreen eyes widened as they moved up, meeting Terry's.  "May 1818?"  Terry nodded.

"How can that...be?" Jack asked.  Together then then two men stared at Maximus.  The Captain drew in a deep breath.  "She...she's...here?"

 

Again Terry nodded silently.   Jack pursed his lips, letting that breath out in little puffs as he examined the sketch once more. The artist had put initials for their signature and he clearly saw the "M".  The first letter was slightly blurred as though a drop of water had fallen on the ink in some long ago day, but to him it definitely looked more like a "J" than an "E".  Tapping at the spot with his fingertip, he handed the page back to Terry.  

 

"What do you make of this?"  

 

The K&R agent had been so focused on the date he'd not really studied the initials.  "J," he said,  locking his eyes on Maximus.  "Joimus Meridius."  

Elizabeth was concerned.  She knelt in front of Joimus, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Come, my dear," she said gently.  "I think we should return to the house."  She feared such deep emotion was not good for a lady so far along in her pregnancy.  Standing then, she held out her hand.  "Come," she repeated.  

 

Joimus looked up at her, her cheeks stained with tear tracks.  "I can't leave," she gasped.  

 

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked, not understanding.  

 

"I can't leave...him."  

 

"Him?"

 

"Ma...the General," Joimus said, her voice not much above a broken whisper. "He's...here."  

 

Elizabeth looked about.  "Where? Where is he?"  

 

Joimus rested her palm flat on the dirt.  "Here," she sighed.  "He's here."

Elizabeth's brow knitted.  She looked over her shoulder to where Joseph Big waited with the carriage.  Perhaps she should call for him to come and help her with the distraught woman?  Looking back at the kneeling woman, she changed her mind.  This lady needed gentle reasoning, not forcible lifting.  Heedless of her cotton morning gown, she sat in the dirt in front of Joimus.  

 

"Tell me," she said, her voice tender with compassion.  "Tell me how he is here."  

Joimus looked into Elizabeth's wide-set pale blue eyes, finding only an almost motherly willingness to listen, to understand.   Elizabeth Macquarie was 40, only 7 years older than Joimus, but she had about her this maternal air that radiated comfort. Joimus saw in Elizabeth's eyes the personal knowledge of great suffering and loss and knew that
she could trust her with her heart.  Looking down, she ran the fingertips of her right hand through the dust, leaving shallow, curving trails.  She studied the marks, her eyes lingering on them almost fondly, then lifted her face to look toward Elizabeth again. The older woman saw that Joimus' focus seemed to be far away, though, in other times, other places, as she spoke.  

 

"I've lost him...been separated from him...so many times," she whispered, her mind bringing to her inner visions of Victoria Falls, the Plains of Sheba, the rose garden at Droogheeda, the small tent on the Saltflats of Doom, the shed behind the burnt farmstead near Bellingen, the darkness of the Olgas.  

 

Elizabeth, listening, thought of the evening she and Lachlan, newly and secretly engaged, had exchanged locks of hair the night before his return to India, how after 2 years of separation he had tried to come back to her, his journey adding 7 more months to her yearning waiting, not knowing he'd been shipwrecked, had made his way up the Tigris to Baghdad, then across Cossack lands to St. Petersburg and on via Copenhagen to London...not exactly a direct path...and with no word of his continued existence the entire time.  

 

Joimus' focus returned to Elizabeth and she was surprised by the level of understanding she found in their blueness.  She smiled slightly, acknowledging the mutuality of feminine pain.  

"And now this vast abyss of time has opened between us," she continued.  "He is here...right here...," she looked back at her trails in the dust, "only," a new tear tracked its way down her cheek, "187 years hold my hand away from his."  

 

She lifted her hand, looking at the dust clinging to her fingertips.  "All I have now is but shadows and dust."  

 

Elizabeth blinked back her own tears.  "You...know...he is here?" her words a wondering question.

Joimus nodded, curving her arms about herself.  "We have been together...he and I...in ways that leave no doubt of shared space."

 

Elizabeth did not completely understand this, but the expression on Joimus' face left no room for doubt as to the truth of it.  Pushing back a stray curl of deep bronze hair that had wandered onto her wide brow, Elizabeth pondered this.  

 

"Does...does he know that you are here?" she finally asked.  

 

Joimus smiled again.  "I'm sure of it," she replied.  "Red always knows when yellow has come." Joimus did not explain her remark and Elizabeth did not ask her to. 

Maximus' palm rested on pavement, not dirt, but he lifted his hand, absently running his fingertips across his lips as he mumurmed, "Shadows and dust," a phrase that had suddenly filled his mind. Removing his other hand from his chest, he looked at it then closed his fingers one by one over nothing more substantial than air.  His chin quivered slightly.

 

Terry knelt in front of him, holding out the page, pointing to the date and initials. "She drew this," Terry said, "Joimus drew this...in 1818."  

 

Maximus pressed his lips tightly together, recognizing Joimus' distinctive way of sketching.   He looked at it, long and hard, then closed his eyes.  "Further than I thought," he said, sighing heavily,  then looking back at Terry.  "She's gone further than I had thought."  

 

"We'll get her back, Maximus," Terry said encouragingly.  "We'll find some way."  

 

Maximus smiled wanly, closing his eyes again.  "I am so...tired," he murmured, slumping off his knees onto his left hip.  

 

Aubrey on one side, Terry on the other, helped him to his feet.  "Let's go back to Woolloomooloo for just a bit," Jack said.  "A bit of rest and we can all think more clearly."  

 

They began to walk, heading down the path around the curve, Maximus turning his head for a lingering look at the spot where he'd felt Joimus' presence.  He didn't want to go, but Aubrey and Terry were half-lifting him as they moved and he felt so drained that he gave in, letting them guide his steps.

A short, sharp cry escaped Joimus' lips.  "He's gone!"  She pressed both palms into the dirt. "Oh, Elizabeth! He's not here any more!"

 

It was time.  "Joseph!" Elizabeth called.  Instantly Big was at her side. "Help me get her to the carriage," she directed and Joseph simply scooped the pregnant woman into his arms, carrying her down the path.

 

They followed the same route to Government House as they had the night before, only now the late morning Sydney sun shone around them as they rode along.  Joimus pushed down a deep sob that kept wanting to rise up within her and turned her eyes toward the harbor where water in every shade of blue and turquoise glittered and sparkled in the light.  They passed along a row of mulberry trees and Elizabeth tried to distract her by explaining how she'd been promoting the culture of silkworms.  

"There!" Elizabeth said, pointing ahead and to the left where a  house came into view.  It was set in four acres of garden and shrubbery on a low hill looking down to the harbor and its own little half-moon of a beach.  Joimus looked at it, instantly aware of its different location and appearance from the almost castle-like Government House that nestled so closely behind the modern Opera House.  It was set further back from the edge of Sydney Cove and was a two-story structure covered in white plaster with a pillared veranda stretching across its front.  

 

Joseph pulled the carriage up, helping the women down.  Holding Joimus' elbow, Elizabeth guided her across the veranda, under the Georgian arch above the front door,  into the wide entrance hallway, and on to the parlor where she settled her into a comfortable high-back wing chair upholstered in red leather.  Hearing their arrival, the
Governor walked into the room from his office at the back of the house.  

 

"What have we here?" he asked, his Scottish brogue thick and rich despite its regular spellings on the page.

Joimus looked at Lachlan Macquarie.  Elizabeth had told her he was 57 and she found herself gazing at a tall, clean-shaven man, broad of shoulder and with a long nose dominating his strong, Highland face. He, in his turn, took her measure with his penetrating grey eyes set below prominent brows.  His hair was steely grey, matching his eyes, and he was garbed in the scarlet regimental uniform of a major-general, heavily braided and with epaulettes that almost dwarfed Aubrey's.

"Ah," Elizabeth smiled, greeting her husband, "I'd like you to meet our, um, houseguest, Mr. M."

She held her arm out toward Joimus, "This is Joimus Meridius, wife of General Maximus Meridius of the Italian army."  

 

Lachlan cocked one bushy brow.  Elizabeth noted that and continued, "Her husband is not, um, currently traveling with her and so I have asked that she stay with us here in Government House."  

 

The Governor studied her unusual mode of dress, taking in the fact of her well-advanced pregnancy.  He had a very tender spot in his heart for pregnant women and so, putting aside the many questions flooding his brain, smiled at her graciously, inclining his head in exactly the manner that Maximus did.  The sight of this General doing so, despite the great differences in their appearance, made her blink back quick tears.  

 

His observant eyes did not miss that and he turned a questioning look on his wife. Elizabeth gulped slightly and tried to explain.  "This dear lady has been, um, strangely separated from her  husband and traveling companions and entertains some fear of not being able to, um, rejoin them."  

 

Lachlan raised both eyebrows at this and, crossing the room, came and took Joimus' hand in his own.  "May I be of service to you, Madam, in securing your return to those with whom you desire to be joined?"   In spite of his rather formidable appearance, he seemed so kind and genuinely concerned, that she quite liked him and her lips curved into a small smile.  

 

"I thank you, Your  Excellency," she said, "but it is a matter I must figure out for myself."  

 

He looked puzzled, but stepped back, putting his hand on Elizabeth's arm.  Joimus saw the look that passed between them, the silent conveying of familiar affection, regard, and firmly-settled love.  She was glad, remembering when she had stood there alone by the ledge, wondering about the two of them, and now seeing it plain before her eyes.  

Elizabeth left the parlor to arrange for some refreshments to be prepared. While she was gone,Lachlan asked the strange lady, "What ship did you arrive on, Mrs. Meridius?"

Joimus licked her lips. How to reply? How?  She knew he would know the names of all arriving vessels.  "Um," she said, "it was the USS Golden Eagle...but we did not put in at Port Jackson (NOTE: that's the proper name for Sydney harbor)."  

 

"No?" he queried.

"Um...no," she continued, "we disembarked further, um, north up the coast."  

 

"Not Newcastle, surely?"  

 

"Um...no...further, um, north than that."  

 

He was just about to probe for more information when Elizabeth came back into the room accompanied by a serving girl bearing a tray of tea and small pastries.  "Enough, Mr. M.," she laughed.  "You'll quite wear out our guest with your questions."  Joimus looked at her gratefully.  

 

Lachlan took a seat across the room from Joimus, his grey eyes full of curiosity.  He was well aware of Elizabeth's derailing of his attempt to find out more about their guest, but decided to indulge her and bide his time in the hope of discovering why she was behaving as she was.

Elizabeth handed a small plate of pastries to Joimus, saying over to her shoulder to Lachlan, "Mrs. Meridius is from Pennsylvania, dear."  She smiled at her.  "My husband fought in your War of Independence." Her eyes twinkled.  "Though on the side of the English, of course."  

 

"I was but 15," Lachlan interjected, then explained, "Fresh from the Highlands.  It was my first sea voyage."  

 

"Were you in Pennsylvania, then?" Joimus asked.  

 

"No," he replied, "Halifax, Boston, and Charleston...but never Philadelphia."

 

"I understand you spent some time in India," Joimus continued, trying to keep him off the topic of her arrival in Australia.  

 

"Nearly 20 years," he sighed.  With careful questioning, Joimus got him to tell her many tales of his adventures in India and also Egypt.  She was truly interested and once she got him going, he seemed to forget about what he intended to ask her in turn.  

Maximus lay for a while on the bed in his and Joimus' room in Himself's northern apartment, but couldn't sleep.  HOW had his wife ended up in 1818? More importantly, how could he get her back?  He rubbed his hand roughly back and forth over his eyes then got up and went out to the main living area.  Terry was at Himself's computer, annsmac watching over his shoulder.  Himself was sifting through the papers they had printed out at the library and Aubrey was near the window wall, speaking softly with Rose.  

 

"YES!" Terry suddenly exclaimed, snapping his fingers in front of the monitor.  

 

"What is it?" Himself asked, getting to his feet and walking toward the desk as Maximus also did.  

 

"The Museum of Sydney!" Terry smiled.  

 

"On the corner of Bridge and Phillip Streets?" Himself queried.

"That's the place. It's where Government House used to be," Terry explained.  "It's built over the exact site.  Part of the old foundations are still visible."  

 

"But Government House is way up from that," remarked Franki, who had explored its gardens.  "Very near the Opera House."  

 

"Not the one in 1818," Terry grinned.  He tapped the computer screen.  "I think we should go there.  We may find some sort of clue to where Joimus is."  

 

"She was in front of Mrs. Macquarie's chair," Maximus said softly.  

 

"She WAS," Terry agreed.  "But it's not a place she could stay for long, now is it?"  

They rounded up Bud, Berti, Zack and Susan, explaining where they were going and why. Steve overheard and joined them, bringing Laura along.  In several SUVs they drove to the museum, gathering together on the plaza in front of its main entrance.  

 

Berti, staring up at the 3-story building made of peach-colored stone, remarked, "It's hard to imagine that the Macquarie house and its gardens once occupied this area."  

Indeed, it was.  Maximus blinked, looking at it.  The vast difference in its appearance made him feel even more separated from Joimus, even more aware of the great passage of the years.  

"What the heck are THOSE?" Phyllis asked, pointing to the west side of the plaza where 29 columns were scattered.  

 

Himself walked over, reading a nearby plaque. "It says they're the 'Edge of the Trees' sculpture.  

 

Phyllis touched a column embedded with oyster shells and crab claws.  "Trees?" she asked.  

 

Himself continued with information from the plaque.  "Seems they're supposed to be a metaphor for the first contact between the Aborigines and the British."  

 

"Strange," Phyllis remarked, shaking her head slightly.  

 

Maximus, too, was feeling 'strange' as he stood on the pavement.  He didn't understand why but he felt somehow connected to Joimus again, though not in that shared way back by Elizabeth's chair.  He had no way then of knowing that the white granite in the pavement and the steel studs beneath his feet traced the outline of Government House, parts of it going all the way out into Bridge Street.  As he moved toward the building, his feet stepped down what had been left side of the parlor.  Joimus sat a mere five feet away, quietly sipping a cup of tea as she heard the Governor's tales.

He paused, lifting his head, listening as though there might be some sound other than the passing automobiles, the braking of a bus.  

 

"What is it, Maximus?" Aubrey asked, coming up beside him.  

 

"Something...nothing...I don't know," he said, brushing his hand through his hair.

Joimus turned abruptly, startled, dropping her delicate china teacup with its Macquarie crest, its handle completely breaking off.  "Oh!" she cried, "I'm so sorry!"

 

"It's all right," Elizabeth said, picking up the two pieces of the cup. "What startled you?"

Joimus looked at the large window behind her. It was closed tight.  "I...I...felt a sudden breeze," she stammered, touching her cheek, looking at Elizabeth with sad eyes, "almost like back by your chair." She shook her head. "But it couldn't be. He wouldn't know where I'd gone...that I was...here."  

 

Lachlan sat back in his chair.  This lady had more to her than met the eye.  His gaze moved to his wife and he saw her expression of deep compassion. That told him she knew more than she had as yet shared with him.   This was most unusual behavior on her part.  He needed to get to the bottom of it...soon.

Himself paid the AUD7 for each member of his group and they entered the square black-glassed cubicle that formed the entryway of the decade-old museum. On its first level they came face to face with a full-scale recreation of a section of the façade of first Government House, actually incorporating some of the building materials retrieved from archaeological excavations of the site.  One of its windows had a video inset, telling the story of the House.  Its first sections had been constructed in 1788, but Macquarie had greatly expanded and improved it.  It was then they learned that the steel studs  outside marked the area of the 1788 part and the white concrete the larger boundaries of the enlarged home.  

 

Maximus reached out, resting his palm on the recreated wall, closing his eyes.  So near and yet so far.  

"Look!" called annsmac, who had found a display of "relics, ruins, and rubbish" from the house, retreived when its location was discovered in 1983.  "It says the house was demolished in 1849."  

 

Maximus walked over, looking at the pieces beneath the glass, his fingers running slowly along the top of the case, pausing and curling back on themselves halfway down its length.  He peered through the glass, his eyes roaming over a small teacup, its handle missing.  Why did he feel such a pull towards the cup? It had obviously been discarded as worthless many years ago.  And yet.  He wished the glass did not separate his hand from it.  He ached to touch it, to pick it up, to encircle it with his fingers.  All he could do was lay his hand flat on the glass above it.  

 

"Did you find something interesting?" Himself asked.  

 

"Just a broken cup," he sighed. "Just an old cup."  

 

Himself looked at the General curiously, recognizing  the yearning and the pain lingering in his eyes.  He noted the way Maximus' hand pressed to the glass and read in the tension of the strong fingers their desire to break the dividing glass.  

 

"Joimus?" he asked softly.  

 

Maximus gave one slight nod of assent.

Himself walked over to Aubrey and Terry who were studying a blueprint of the house. "She was here," he stated, "or...is...here."  He jerked his head toward Maximus. "He's found a connection."