Two Women Passing

Kimberley:

My face freezes, yet I force my legs to keep walking. I want to turn
around and walk back the other way, but I cannot; it would look too
obvious. People are already staring--I do not want to make a spectacle
of myself. If I just keep my eyes downcast it should be all right. Look
at the other people, look at the courthouse; just do not look at her
face. Then I will be fine. It is only if I see her face that I will
become emotional.

Rebecca:

Oh, no! Why did she have to be here? What am I meant to do now? It's
too late to turn back the other way. I am going to have to walk past
her. Am I going to be able to handle this? I'll just walk past quickly,
careful not to look at her face. If I see her face I'll start
weeping.

Kimberley:

I do not know why I am so shocked to see her. It is quite natural she
should be here for her brother's trial. The poor thing, I almost feel
sorry for her. There is no way her brother will escape the gallows. The
evidence against him is too strong. Even if it were not, he would still
most likely hang. Murder is a very serious crime. The only suitable
punishment is death.

Rebecca:

She would be here, wouldn't she? Probably wants to see justice done.
When Vern dies no doubt she'll jump for joy. If he was set free (not
that I hold much hope for that) she would probably start sobbing and
no-one would be able to control her--not any of those prying eyes that
are watching us so careful, like. The thing is, I really feel sorry for
her--her husband being murdered and all. I wonder if she blames me. Of
course she would. 'Though I had nothing to do with that man's
death--and did all in my power to prevent it--I am Vern's sister. I am
sort-of responsible for his actions. In the eyes of many that makes me
as guilty as Vern is. This lady might even think I should be put on
trial, too.

Kimberley:

Why am I even here? My husband is dead and nothing will ever bring him
back. Whether his murderer is hanged or set free, my husband will still
be dead. But if I do not attend the trial, people will think I do not
mourn my husband. If I had not turned up today, it would have been the
gossip of every member of the Victorian police force (and their wives)
for many months. Oh, why am I worried about what society thinks at this
time. My husband has recently died. There are more important things to
think about. I loved my husband and will miss him terribly. I just do
not see any point in revenge. Forgive your enemies, the bible teaches
us. Maybe that is going a bit far. I cannot actually forgive my
husband's murderer, yet I do not hate him nor long for punishment to be
given to him. That will not bring Daniel back.

Rebecca:

I wonder what she's thinking. Does she hate my brother? She must. Does
she hate me? What if she says something to me? I don't think I could
bear it. It's quite likely she'll shout at me or might even do me harm.
None of those people watching us would blame her. They are probably
expecting it. To see me, like this, must be an awful reminder of her
tragedy. Not that any of it was my fault. I keep saying that--but it
was really. Vern's my brother. I gave him assistance and help in hiding
from the police--but who wouldn't do that for their brother. You would
have to have a heart of stone to turn him in. But the murder had
nothing to do with me. I even made him promise never to kill anyone.
'Even if the traps come after you', I said to him often enough, 'Let
them capture you before you touch a hair on their head.'
Should I have insisted more? I must have been able to do something.
I'm his sister. Could I have made a difference? Was there anything I
could have done to prevent the killing? Could I have saved that woman's
husband? All the suffering and agony she must be going through would
have been spared her.
It would have been spared me, also. Soon I will go through despair and
misery, because Vern will almost definitely be hanged. I will face the
death of a loved one, myself.
Strange, isn't it, how, although she wears fine clothes and her
husband died honourably and I wear mended clothes and my brother is to
be hanged, we can feel exactly the same emotions. Grief is the same, no
matter the situation.
Not that I imagine she could ever see it that way.

Kimberley:

I loved him, of course I loved him. If I didn't love him, why was I
always so worried when he was gone? Why did I spend my days imagining
the worst that could happen to him? I never knew, while he was away
from me, whether he was safe or not. My information regarding any event
he participated in would come from my husband after the event had
already occurred--who was not always a reliable source. Sometimes I
found the newspapers more truthful.
One of my friends asked me, yesterday afternoon, whether I had somehow
known when my husband died. I told her that the night he had died I had
worried myself to tears. I told her that, on that specific night, I had
been sure something horrible had happened to him. What I told her was
the truth. What was also the truth, but which I did not tell her, was
that the worries and fears I had on the night he died were no different
to any other night he was away. I felt that way all the time.
The waiting and the worrying was the worst part. When the end finally
came it was almost a relief--no, don't think that, think of anything
else besides that. It would even be better to think of the girl walking
towards me. Yes, think of the girl. Think of her loyalty.

Rebecca:

I hate feeling like this--like all of it is my fault. The whole of the
two years that he was wanted by the police, I felt this way. I'm sick
of it--I just want it to be over.
Don't misunderstand me. I love my brother, I love him very much. I
would lay down my life to save him. But when Patrick Mullins came to
the house and gave us the news that he'd been captured, I was relieved.
I hate to say it. I hate to even think it. I can't change it, though.
Feelings can't be tamed or broken-in like a brumby.
I didn't mean to be relieved and I would have cut off my right arm if
it had stopped me feeling that way. But there it is. I was (and, God
help me, still am) relieved. Mary, pray for my soul.
It wasn't that I was relieved about the capture in itself, and the
conditions of the capture can hardly bear thinking about. That poor man
and his poor wife. She's just there. The wife of the man my brother
murdered. I can't bear the pain.
No, I wasn't relieved that he was captured. More like I was relieved
that the end had finally come. I don't mean to be complaining but it is
a hard life to be the sister of a bushranger, when 20 police are
searching for him any night of the week. I was always waiting, always
worrying, never knowing if he be alive or dead, never knowing if he be
peaceful or doing harm. For the end of that I am relieved--but, oh, how
I wish it could have ended differently.

Kimberley:

I wonder what she is thinking? Does she blame my husband, and
therefore me, because of this? Although my husband, himself, was
unsuccessful in capturing her brother, it was his plans that led to the
bushranger's capture. And, to contribute to the bad feelings she must
be having about my husband and, therefore, me, it was due to the
'incident' her brother will be treated with extreme harshness.
Incident. Why must I insist it was an incident? It was murder. No
argument has ever been made that it was self-defence. Murder. I should
hate my husband's killer. I should hate his sister, who walks towards
me. She is my enemy. Look at everybody's eyes on us. They know we are
enemies. It is natural that I should hate her. I don't hate her,
though. What is wrong with me? Why can't I hate her? I should hate
her.
Bravely, I look at her face, hoping it will be the trigger to anger
me. Yet I feel no anger. Her face looks so sad and worried--and almost
pretty, too, in a Colonial sort-of way. All I can do is pity her. The
poor girl, about to lose someone she loves dearly. I know exactly how
that feels.

Rebecca:

I keep my eyes firmly on the ground, but then I feel her stare. There
are some people, and no doubt much wiser people than I, that would tell
me it is impossible to feel a stare. They have never had someone stare
at them the way this lady is staring at me. My face rises involuntarily
to hers. I see her looking so hard at my face that it startles me. I
cannot place the look. It is not of anger or hate, like I thought she
would have. It confuses me. Why is she looking at me like that?

Kimberley:

She looks back. Should I smile? That would seem condescending or, even
worse, triumphant. I would like to, though. She might smile back and I
think I would like to see her smile. I wish that I could tell her I do
not blame her.

Rebecca:

I wish I could tell her I am sorry.

Kimberley:

But I cannot.

Rebecca:

But I cannot.