Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [36]
Amy was not impressed with his description of Sydney or their prospects for the moment and began to rethink her situation. Unbeknownst to Tyndall, she used the money he had sent her to travel to London to look for work and be ready to join Tyndall on his return. When Tyndall’s second draft of money arrived at their Belfast home, Amy’s drunken father with whom they had lived, had promptly cashed it and spent it on booze. Shortly afterwards he received a letter from his daughter lamenting that she had lost the child she had been expecting some time previously and was in a bad state, as conditions in London were tough due to an epidemic. She asked if more money had come from Tyndall. Her father sent her a note denying any money or letters had come and saying that he was upset to hear of her miscarriage.
Not one to miss an opportunity to better her circumstances, Amy teamed up with an elderly Scottish landowner and travelled north with him. With the loss of the child and a husband on the other side of the world she chose immediate comfort. In the meantime, during the flu epidemic in London, her boarding house was burned down and some people died. The local priest in London wrote to Amy’s father with the news of the fire and of Amy’s disappearance. He hoped she hadn’t been one of those who died in the epidemic. In a drunken state her father relayed the confused news to drinkers in the pub that Amy had died. That night staggering home, he fell into a pond and drowned. When Tyndall’s next letter arrived, the village postmaster returned it and wrote to inform him of the sad demise of Amy and her father.
Neither of them had close family so Tyndall had then turned his back on the old world.
Now, at twenty-five, he was a handsome bachelor in transition from adventurer to solid citizen of the north-west of Western Australia, a frontier that attracted the adventurer, but a developing area that appealed to his business instincts. He was respected and well liked among the waterfront people and merchants he serviced along the coast. He could drink his way through the night with a bunch of seafarers down by the wharf, then scrub up and next night be all charm, wit and tact at a dinner party given by one of the middle-class merchants with a daughter or two of marriageable age. The daughters of the rather limited upper class and very wealthy also eyed John Tyndall, but not with serious intentions. They were simply fascinated by his handsome looks, swaggering nature and the stories that were told in whispers about his past, stories more often based on fantasy than fact.
Tyndall felt no pull to cement his boots ashore. He loved the sea and his boat. He loved the freedom. He had dallied with dusky maidens on a score of islands from Tahiti to Thursday Island, but was yet to meet another woman of his own race to confuse his reasoning with any sort of love he had briefly experienced with the now forgotten Amy. He believed that out there, somewhere, was a woman of spirit, beauty and loyalty who was ready to match his spirited run at life. John Tyndall had his dream too. But in his philosophy, in love, as in war, it was every man (and woman) for himself.
The little temporary settlement on the island beach reminded Tyndall of the odd circumstances in which he found the Hennessy woman on a beach some days ago. He grinned to himself. At least no one was going to pull a gun on him on this beach. She had guts, he reflected, but was she really strong enough to survive this rough and remote land? Like so many from the old country, she probably didn’t have a clue what lay ahead of her. Her husband was lucky to have such a pretty and plucky mate at his side. He hoped all went well for her and made a mental note to sail past the beach on his return to Cossack to see if there was any sign of the Hennessy camp.
A soft word from Ahmed snapped him out of his reverie and he prepared to go ashore.
This island had been