The Black Opal by Katharine Susannah Prichard (english novels to improve english TXT) 📕

“Seein’ I’ve taken on family responsibilities, I want to run straight. I don’t want my kids to think there was anything crook about their dad.”

If he moved no one else, he contrived to feel deeply moved himself at the prospect of how his unborn children were going to regard him. The men who had always more or less believed in him managed to convince themselves that Jun meant what he said. George and Watty realised he had put up a good case, that he was getting at them in the only way possible.

Michael moved out of the crowd round the door towards the bar. Peter Newton put his daily ration of beer on the bar.

“ ’Lo, Michael,” Jun said.

“ ’Lo, Jun,” Michael said.

“Well,” Jun concluded, tossing off his beer; “that’s the way it is, boys. Believe me if y’r like, and if y’r don’t like⁠—lump it.

“But there’s one thing more I’ve got to tell you,” he added; “and if you find what I’ve been saying hard to believe, you’ll find this harder: I don’t believe Charley got those stones of Rummy’s.”

“What?”

The query was like the crack of a whiplash. There was a restive, restless movement among the men.

“I don’t believe Charley got those stones either,” Jun declared. “ ‘Got,’ I said, not ‘took.’ All I know is, he was like a sick fish when he reached Sydney⁠ ⁠… and sold all the opal he had with him. He was lively enough when we started out. I give you that. Maybe he took Rum-Enough’s stones all right; but somebody put it over on him. I thought it might be Emmy⁠—that yeller-haired tart, you remember, went down with us. She was a tart, and no mistake. My little girl, now⁠—she was never⁠ ⁠… like that! But Maud says she doesn’t think so, because Emmy turned Charley out neck and crop when she found he’d got no cash. He got mighty little for the bit of stone he had with him⁠ ⁠… I’ll take my oath. He came round to borrow from me a day or two after we arrived. And he was ragin’ mad about something.⁠ ⁠… If he shook the stones off Rum-Enough, it’s my belief somebody shook them off of him, either in the train or here⁠—or off of Rummy before he got them.⁠ ⁠…”

Several of the men muttered and grunted their protest. But Jun held to his point, and the talk became more general. Jun asked for news of the fields: what had been done, and who was getting the stuff. Somebody said John Armitage had been up and had bought a few nice stones from the Crosses, Pony-Fence, and Bully Bryant.

“Armitage?” Jun said. “He’s always a good man⁠—gives a fair price. He bought my stones, that last lot⁠ ⁠… gave me a hundred pounds for the big knobby. But it fair took my breath away to hear young Sophie Rouminof had gone off with him.”

Michael was standing beside him before the words were well out of his mouth.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Jun replied, after a quick, scared glance at the faces of the men about him. “But I took it for granted you all knew, of course. We saw them a good bit together down in Sydney, Maud and me, and she said she saw Sophie on the Zealanida the day the boat sailed. Maud was down seeing a friend off, and she saw Sophie and Mr. Armitage on board. She said⁠—”

Michael turned heavily, and swung out of the bar.

Jun looked after him. In the faces of the men he read what a bomb his news had been among them.

“I wouldn’t have said that for a lot,” he said, “if I’d ’ve thought Michael didn’t know. But, Lord, I thought he knew⁠ ⁠… I thought you all knew.”

In the days which followed, as he wandered over the plains in the late afternoon and evening, Michael tried to come to some understanding with himself of what had happened. At first he had been too overcast by the sense of loss to realise more than that Sophie had gone away. But now, beyond her going, he could see the failure of his own effort to control circumstances. He had failed; Sophie had gone; she had left the Ridge.

“God,” he groaned; “with the best intentions in the world, what an awful mess we make of things!”

Michael wondered whether it would have been worse for Sophie if she had gone away with Paul when her mother died. At least, Sophie was older now and better able to take care of herself.

He blamed himself because she had gone away as she had, all the same; the failure of the Ridge to hold her as well as his own failure beat him to the earth. He had hoped Sophie would care for the things her mother had cared for. He had tried to explain them to her. But Sophie, he thought now, had more the restless temperament of her father. He had not understood her young spirit, its craving for music, laughter, admiration, and the life that could give them to her. He had thought the Ridge would be enough for her, as it had been for her mother.

Michael never thought of Mrs. Rouminof as dead. He thought of her as though she were living some distance from him, that was all. In the evening he looked up at the stars, and there was one in which she seemed to be. Always he felt as if she were looking at him when its mild radiance fell over him. And now he looked to that star as if trying to explain and beg forgiveness.

His heart was sore because Sophie had left him without a word of affection or any explanation. His fear and anxiety for her gave him no peace. He sweated in agony with them for a long time, crying to her mother, praying her to believe he had not failed in his trust through lack of desire to serve her, but through a fault