Chapter 9 

That morning I had woken up smiling, I had had a dream about Joe and I was desperately hoping I would see him that night. I thought I would do some baking before going to work; it would be nice to be able to give Joe some fresh bread. He had told me how they seemed to be eating mostly out of tins since they’d been on the run. I had noticed how thin he had gotten when I last saw him and I worried he wasn’t getting enough food. I had to wonder too if the opium replaced meals for him sometimes or at least made him forget about them. There were too many things occupying his mind for him to worry about something that would seem as unimportant as food. 

I had just finished the baking and the bread was cooling under a cloth on the table, when there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Mr. Vandenberg there, with that look on his face that people have when they’re not quite sure how to tell you that they have bad news. Immediately I thought that my worst fears had been realized and the coppers had captured or killed the whole Kelly Gang and I felt the air pushed out of my lungs, as if I’d been punched in the stomach. I felt dizzy and would most likely have fallen down, if Mr. Vandenberg hadn’t taken hold of my arm.  

“Steady on lass, let’s get you back inside.” He helped me onto a chair.  

“What…” My throat seemed suddenly too dry for me to be able to speak.  

“This came for you this morning.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. For a moment I just stared at it, wondering if Joe had somehow managed to write me a letter, until I realized I was holding a telegram.  

Mr. Vandenberg saw my bewilderment. “Read it lass,” he said gently. I folded the paper open. 

Patrick Ryan gravely ill at Ballarat Hospital. 

A wave of relief swept over me at first, it wasn’t about Joe at all, this was something else. Then the meaning of the words sank in. My brother was seriously ill. If someone had gone to the trouble of sending me a telegram that had to mean that it was life threatening. I felt guilty and then shocked and finally strangely calm and determined.  

I looked up at Mr. Vandenberg. “I need to go to him.”  

He nodded. “I know lass. I have already arranged everything and will take you to the station. If you’ll just pack the things you need we’ll go straight away and you can make today’s train.” Dear Mr. Vandenberg. He truly was like a father to me.  

“But how will you manage, I don’t know how long…”  

He interrupted me with a wave of his hand. “I have already spoken to Mary, she will help and she said her cousin can come too, so there’s no need for you to worry about anything here. Just get yourself ready, I will wait in the buggy.” 

I got my things together and tied them in a bundle, and then my eyes fell on the bread cooling on the table. Joe. I needed to let him know where I had gone. I sat down to write him a quick note. 

My dearest Joe, I’m sorry I had no time to let you know that I had to go away. My brother is gravely ill in Ballarat Hospital and Mr. Vandenberg is taking me to the train. I made the bread for you. All my love, Eileen. 

It was woefully inadequate I know but I had no time to write what I really felt in my heart, how much I had been looking forward to seeing him and how I felt torn in two having to leave him like that. I left the note on the table next to the bread and hoped that Joe would understand. 

When I had finally said goodbye to Mr. Vandenberg and the train pulled out of the station I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. I worried about my brother and I prayed that he would be all right. We hadn’t seen each other for a long time and didn’t even write that often, but there had always been a special bond between us, even more so since our parents died. I had written to him about Joe, not mentioning him by name but calling him ‘my sweetheart’ – I didn’t want to worry Patrick by letting him know that I was in love with an outlaw. My throat constricted at the thought of Joe. How would he feel when he found the house empty? What would he do? Would he stay there for a while? And I didn’t want to think it but the thought forced itself into my head anyway – would he go to someone else? If he did, could I really begrudge him that – I had no idea how long I would be away and when we would see each other again. I had promised to be there for him but at that moment my brother needed me more than Joe. With a heavy heart I settled in for the long trip. 

~~~ 

At the hospital in Ballarat the nun looked me up and down and found me wanting I’m sure but when I produced the telegram she had to accept that I really was entitled to be there outside the regular visiting hours and her manner softened a little.  

“I will take you to him.” She walked ahead of me soundlessly it seemed, while my steps echoed too loudly in the corridor. I caught glimpses of people lying in beds behind doors being quietly opened or closed as we passed. Finally the nun stopped in front of a door that looked like all the others. “He’s in here. Sister Margaret has been sitting with him.” She opened the door and motioned to someone inside and a tiny old nun came out. “This is his sister, she has just arrived.” They both nodded at me. “We will be in the office at the end of the corridor.” Soundlessly they walked away and I stepped inside the room, closing the door behind me. 

It was an austere little room, almost like a cell, with a tiny window high on the opposite wall, showing only a patch of evening sky. A candle was burning on a little table by the bedside, the flame flickering for a moment as the air moved. With trepidation I slowly walked into the room. There was a lump in my throat as I sank onto the chair that had been placed next to the bed and took a first look at my brother. 

His eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep, both of his hands resting on top of the sheets. Carefully I entwined my fingers with his and gave his hand a light squeeze but he didn’t react in any way. I took in the sunken cheeks covered by a scraggly beard, the sharp angles of his body under the covers and the deathly pallor. Memories from years ago flooded my brain, Patrick and me sitting by the bedside of first our mother and then our father, holding onto hands that had lost their strength, looking into faces that life was slowly leaving. Suddenly it hit me with full force that my brother might be about to leave me too and I gave in to the despair that I had managed to keep at bay all day.  

“Please Patrick,” I whispered as the tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked, “don’t leave me, you promised when Ma and Da died that we would always have each other. I need you. I have tried to be strong, all my life I’ve been keeping it together, no matter how hard it got, I was always the dependable one. I thought ‘just this once more, I can do it, then it’ll get easier’ but it never gets easier at all. And now Joe…” I put my head down on the bed against his hand. “I love him so much you know but it’s hopeless, just hopeless.” Thinking about Joe arriving at my house and finding it cold and empty, made me cry harder. “What am I going to do Patrick? What am I going to do?” 

I must have fallen asleep in the end, exhausted by the long trip and all the emotion. A gentle hand on my shoulder woke me up. It was the old nun, Sister Margaret. 

“Come on child, you need to get yourself to bed. Have you got somewhere to stay?” I got up, carefully stretching my stiff body and looked into her friendly eyes.  

“Yes, thank you Sister.” Mr. Vandenberg, bless his heart, had organized that too and sent a telegram to his sister who lived in Ballarat.  

“Then go and have some rest, you can come back tomorrow. It’s all in God’s hands now.”  

I bent down to kiss Patrick’s cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, don’t forget your promise,” I whispered, only for him to hear. 

I was back at the hospital early the next morning and spent most of the day at Patrick’s bedside, holding his hand and talking to him. I didn’t know if he could hear and understand me but it made me feel better to fill the silence with words, it was as if as long as I was talking, he had to be there to listen to me. I talked about our childhood, our parents, the house where we used to live, people we used to know, life in Beechworth. And I talked about Joe too, what he was like and how he looked. I even told him all about the Kelly Gang, it was good to be able to talk about it all to someone, no matter that he never said anything back. After a while I got to imagining what Patrick’s responses would have been and I started asking questions on his behalf and making comments I thought he would have made.  

“You think that Mary sounds like a lively lass? Aye, I think you would like her. Would you like me to put in a good word for you? Yes, you may be right, might be better to just let your charm speak for itself. Mind you, it’s good she can’t see you now because quite frankly I don’t think she would be that impressed. Better make more of an effort there, at least have a shave first.” 

That’s how I went on all day and the next and the one after that. When I ran out of things to talk about, I found books to read aloud to him. Anything to keep the silence at bay. At the end of the third day, I was reading ‘Lorna Doone’ and was just about to start a new chapter when I thought I heard something. I glanced up from the book to see Patrick looking at me. My heart stopped and I just stared. He struggled to get out a few whispered words.  

“Shut… up… Eileen… trying to sleep…”  

My sudden laughter must have echoed around the whole hospital, it certainly brought the nuns running into the room but by then I was holding onto Patrick and sobbing my heart out with relief.