Colleen McCullough - Morgan’s Run

Stephen hadbeen in a quandary ever since he had seen Kitty blush on Christmas Day of 1790. Eyes opened, he noticed after that how her attention was always fixed upon him, though her attitude to Richard had subtly changed. Before that picnic he had utterly intimidated her-she was a natural mouse, and not a very bright mouse either. Very sweet, very humble, very dull. Had she not owned William Henry’s eyes, Stephen was sure that Richard would have passed her by without a glance. Therefore Richard’s strength, his intelligence and his reticent nature made him appear in her eyes as a God the Father kind of person, immensely old and the fount of all authority. Fear and obey. After the picnic Kitty had definitely lost a little of her terror of him, Stephen presumed because of the gold necklet she never left off-how women adored sparkling gewgaws! Or was it that sparkling gewgaws cost precious money, and were thus an indication of esteem? But it was he, Stephen, who fueled her dreams of love. That was unmistakable. Precisely why he had no idea, though he was used to attracting women. Probably, he thought, I give off emanations of unattainability; women inevitably want what they cannot have. Though it has not occurred to Kitty that Richard is hers for the lifting of a finger, so there must be more to it than that.

What to do for the best? How to channel her feelings away from himself and toward Richard?

Tobias, curled in his lap, got up, stretched, repositioned himself. A weeny marmalade bundle with gigantic paws that promised he would one day be a lion. What a cat Olivia had given him! Brilliantly clever, scheming, tough, stubborn, and irresistibly charming when he wanted to be worshiped and fussed over. The kittens he might have sired! But Stephen, wanting a pet which slept alongside him in his hammock rather than roamed abroad in search of sexual conquests, had castrated him without qualm or regret.

The answer to his quandary had not yet appeared when Supply sailed for Sydney in May. May of 1791 already! Where did the years go? Over four years since he had met Richard Morgan.

Stephen had been put to surveying, since he knew the rudiments of the art; those who had returned on Supply to take up land were anxious to do so, and Major Ross wanted them out of town post-haste. The Sirius seamen would probably last the distance, Stephen thought, but the marines were not so enthusiastic. Men like Elias Bishop and Joseph McCaldren-incorrigible troublemakers in their day-were principally interested in being deeded their land, then selling it. Having gotten what they could out of Norfolk Island, they would then return to Port Jackson and apply for land there, also to sell. They wanted hard money, not hard labor. And in the meantime they lolled around Sydney Town making mischief with those marines not yet due to retire. Poor Major Ross! An enormous kettle of trouble was brewing for him in Port Jackson and England. With backbiters like George Johnston and John Hunter-not to mention that mental-case Bradley-whispering in Governor Phillip’s receptive ear, Ross would see little thanks for his work. Stephen respected him as much as Richard did, and for the same reasons. Faced with a virtually insoluble predicament, Ross had proceeded without fear or favor. Always a dangerous thing to do.

“The trouble is,” Stephen said to Richard over a mess of fried chicken and rice Kitty had flavored splendidly with sage and onion from her garden and pepper from her pestle, “that one has to have a line of sight to survey, and Norfolk Island is a dense forest of trees which all look the same. I can survey wherever there is cleared ground, but a lot of these sixty-acre blocks will not be on cleared ground. I can put Elias Bishop at Queensborough, but Joe McCaldren refuses to go so far out of Sydney Town, and Peter Hibbs and James Proctor want adjoining pieces right in the middle of the island. Danny Stanfield and John Drummond want to be near Phillipsburgh. By the time I am through, I swear I will need to be confined in a strait-waistcoat and chained to a gun in the shade. Supervising the likes of Len Dyer is a holiday compared to this.”

“Is Danny Stanfield coming back, then?”

“Aye. He went off to marry Alice Harmsworth. A good man.”

“The best of all the marines.”

“With Juno Hayes and Jem Redman, aye,” Stephen agreed.

Kitty interrupted. “Is the supper tasty?” she asked anxiously.

“Magnificently so!” Stephen responded, wishing he could snub rather than encourage her, but too fair to do so. “Such a change from eternal Mt. Pitt bird too! I admit they save our salt meat-I admit that the Major’s pessimism about how many future mouths we will be feeding is well founded-but I confess that when I heard the birds had flown in to nest in apparently unreduced numbers, I was near sick to my stomach. However,” he said blandly, “Tobias is very partial to Mt. Pitt bird.”

“Oh, dear! I thought it was forbidden to give them to our pets,” said Kitty, looking frightened. “Please do not get into trouble, Stephen!”

Richard went into God the Father mode. “The wastage of Mt. Pitt birds,” he said ponderously, “is shameful. Stephen has no need to catch any to feed Tobias, Kitty. All he needs is to pick up carcasses strewn along the tracks. The greedy ingrates pillage the poor females of their eggs, then throw the rest away.”

“Oh, yes, quite!” squeaked Kitty, retreating in confusion.

“Richard,” said Stephen after she disappeared through the door with an empty bucket and a flustered explanation that she needed to fetch water from the stream, “sometimes ye’re an absolute looby!”

“Eh?” asked Richard, startled.

“When the poor little creature ventures a remark, ye squash her flat with logic and good sense! She makes us a delicious repast-out of fucken rice, of all things!-yet how d’ye thank her? By donning the snowy vestments of God the Father!”

Mouth open, Richard sat stunned. “God the Father?”

“That is what I call you these days. You know-as in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost? God the Father is the one sits on the throne and dispenses whatever-it-is He deems just reward or punishment, though it seems to me that He is quite as blind as every other judge in or out of Christendom. Kitty is the most harmless of all His creatures-for a man in love, Richard, ye’re as inept as a hobbledehoy! If you want her, why in fucken Hell d’ye not act as if you want her?” Stephen demanded, his exasperation fanned because of his own predicament with her.

Face a study might have made Stephen laugh were the situation different, Richard heard this diatribe through, then said flatly, “I am too old. Ye’re right-she thinks of me as a father, which is not unreasonable. My daughter would be her age.”

Stephen saw an even brighter shade of red. “Then make her think of you otherwise, you fool!” he cried, shaking with rage. “Damn you, Richard, ye’re one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen! There is no flaw-I know, because I have searched for one. I have been in love with you since before I was born and I will be in love with you until long after I die. The fact that I am a Miss Molly and you are not is irrelevant-no one chooses whom to love. It simply happens. Somehow you and I have managed to cope with our different preferences and forge a friendship too strong ever to break. Yes, I know the silly child thinks she is in love with me, so shut your mouth and stop looking noble! Just as well for her that she does fancy herself in love with me. Did she not, she would come to you a complete child-and that no man in his right mind wants!” He ran down, hiccoughed, looked spent.

“But you said it, Stephen. No one chooses whom to love, it simply happens. And she has chosen you, not me.”