Scarlet Runner

by Lily Ennis

  She glanced at Percy. ‘All right?’

  Percy nodded but he couldn’t move.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Mary.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Percy whispered. ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘Percy, he fell,’ Mary replied. ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘You weren’t there. I frightened him. I was supposed to be holding the ladder. If I hadn’t gone up, given him a fright... I killed him.’

  Mary squeezed her brother into her. ‘Percy, I’m not listening to nonsense talk, do you hear?’ She brushed his wet face with the sleeve of her blouse. ‘Now, be a brave boy and go tell the undertaker.’

  She went back to Emily calling back to Percy over her shoulder. ‘And see if you can find your brother.’

  Now Mary couldn’t hear the wind screaming at the house, or the iron railing against the ineffective nails. She couldn’t hear the rain pelting the tin or her mother’s wails. She was in her own vacuum, numb.

  * * *

  The storm lasted two days. Everyone spoke of it as the worst storm in living memory. Minor surface flooding had reduced the main thoroughfares to quagmires. Buildings stood up to the wind surprisingly well with only a few windows blown in here and there, a few roofs off. Fallen trees blocked roads. Folk were surprised that the Bell house suffered the way it did, tucked in beneath the hill.

  Gerald had lain at home for five days. It was the strangest thing: people on Gerald’s side – the company and businessmen, came at night. But the miners with whom Gerald had worked visited during the day. Emily was pleased. Gerald didn’t hold any personal grudge against the men. It was a testament to Gerald that the striking men wanted to say goodbye.

  Nell was a brick, consoling Emily through those unbearable first days. No one seemed to understand the way Nell did. Emily couldn’t have got through it without her.

  Archie paid his respects, but not without Emily’s permission. Mary pleaded with Emily to let Archie share her grief at the house. Emily was too drained to draw battle lines with Archie but she was pleased for Mary that he wasn’t embarrassed to show himself.

  Jack came for Percy. Jack could barely manage a sentence, but Percy didn’t mind. He knew Jack would never give up on their friendship. He didn’t tell Jack he knew it was him; the dung, the cow, the chickens. Jack couldn’t tell Percy about the roof. It was only supposed to let in a bit of rain, but it had gone so horribly wrong.

  Joe Wright paid a visit to Emily on behalf of the company. It would pay a small stipend for Gerald’s loss until the company was able to secure a replacement mine manager. This was a more than generous offer under such straitened circumstances. The house belonged to the company for its mine manager. Unfortunately Emily and her children would have to leave, but not, Joe stressed, until the company had found a replacement. Gerald had shares in the company so Emily did not have to worry about that sort of thing.

  The strike continued to whirl around them and the magnitude of it diminished as the Bell family contemplated the loss of their patriarch. So much was left unsaid to Gerald. They each wrestled with their own consciences as they went about their daily lives, quite apart from one another, each suffering their own guilt.

  * * *

  Nell came to the house on the day of the funeral. She looked beautiful dressed in black; she felt beautiful, Gerald would have told her so. She wore a cameo around her neck, his final piece to her.

  She kissed Emily on the cheek and hugged her tightly, struggling to keep her sobs at bay. She hardly ever came to the house now; not since she and Gerald became lovers. It was too hard to keep up the pretence. But now, well, she loved Emily. And Emily needed a friend right now.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Nell asked.

  Emily stuffed a handkerchief into her purse. ‘Yes.’

  She called to the boys who appeared tucking in shirts and straightening jackets. She smiled.

  ‘Gerald would be pleased,’ she said. ‘Where’s your sister?’

  ‘I’m here,’ said Mary. ‘I just threw the lounge rug over the line.’

  ‘You haven’t got time to be doing that,’ said Emily curtly. ‘We’re burying your father, God rest his soul.’

  Mary bit her lip. Everyone was on edge. She was pleased Nell was here and had not just met Emily at the church.

  They walked the short distance to the church. For all the division prior to the funeral, it was a big turnout. Men from both camps came but sat on opposite sides, an uneasy truce implicitly observed.

  Mary greeted Archie who hugged her.

  ‘Sit with me, Archie,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  Archie hesitated and surveyed the division within the church. Then he met Mary’s gaze; sea grey eyes that intimated at the storm within. Archie squeezed her hand and led her to the front to sit with the family.

  Percy bristled. Emily and Nell sat hand in hand and looked stoically forward as organ music washed over them. Sam didn’t seem to notice. But if Mary had cast a glance to Sybil she would have seen a look that would make milk curdle.

  Suddenly it was over and Gerald’s coffin was lifted by Joe, Darcy, Sam, Percy and Hector Fryer, the mine superintendant. Emily gasped: they needed another coffin bearer. Archie quickly slipped in behind Darcy.

  Mary suddenly couldn’t control her tears. Archie was wonderful. It made everything worse!

  The entourage slowly made its way to the cemetery snaking through the rammed earth streets lined

  with the functional ugly buildings of an industrial town.

  Mary stood at the graveside. There was something about having Gerald’s mourners around her that gave her strength. She clenched her teeth; she would not cry.

  After Gerald’s burial Archie took Mary aside. ‘How are you, darling?’

  Mary dabbed a handkerchief to her face. ‘I’ll be fine. Thank you for today.’

  ‘Ah, Mary.’ He hugged her tightly. ‘Are you ready to come back to me? I’m going mad without you.’

  Mary set her mouth into a thin line. ‘I don’t know, Archie. I... I really don’t know what to do.’

  Archie hugged her again and this time he didn’t let her go as she cried and cried.

  * * *

  William, Floyd and Garrick milled around outside the Victoria Battery waiting for the knock-off whistle when a procession of workers would exit the property. Numbers of demonstrators were still strong, all armed with placards. Some carried duffel bags. Rose was there with Henry.

  She approached the union leaders. ‘Why don’t we see Archie at these pickets?’ Rose asked William.

  William tipped his hat to her. ‘Not his style, miss,’ he said. ‘Besides, he’s got no help at home at the moment. What with Mary’s situation.’

  ‘I’m worried about Mary,’ Rose confided. ‘She’s tormented. Torn. She doubts her position in the struggle. She feels guilty about taking the opposite side to her father.’ Rose frowned. ‘I fear we have lost her. I don’t know if anything will bring her round.’

  A whistle sounded and workers trickled through the gate. The demonstrators immediately started shouting at them, Rose included. She rammed her placard high in the air and chanted the matching slogan.

  ‘Don’t be a traitor to your cause! You dirty rotten unprincipled dogs,’ she added. Then she smiled at William. The picketers moved with the procession, jostling and shouting obscenities until the men began to peel off as they headed for home.

  Rose followed for half a mile then let the more hardy continue, her Henry included. She pecked him on the cheek. ‘Be careful.’

  The men picked a target; Horace Pickles. He’d been working on the transmission line, as had most of the others, getting ready for re-opening. A wiry man with furtive eyes, he pulled his cloth cap low on his head and quickened his pace.

  ‘Do you not understand the plight of the working class?’ William challenged the man getting so close he could almost smell his pipe smoke breath.

  Horace buried his head into his shoulders.

  ‘
You’re no better than a scab,’ yelled Floyd. ‘You know that don’t you?’

  Garrick scrambled ahead of Horace so the man had to tack to avoid banging into him. Garrick shoved his placard in front of Horace’s face.

  ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ Garrick cried.

  Horace shook his head keeping his gaze at his feet and carried on walking, tacking this way and that trying to avoid the menace. Finally Horace turned into the yard of a modest wooden cottage. His wife and children waited for him on the veranda. Quickly they went inside slamming the door behind them. The blinds snapped down.

  William, Floyd, Henry and Garrick paused outside the entrance. They shouted and chanted slogans until nearly dark, when Garrick lit a fire in the rough carriageway.

  William lit a cigarette and dragged slowly. Still no lights came on inside the Pickles’ home.

  ‘It’s just like rabbiting,’ William remarked. ‘The rabbit holds itself still as a statue hoping its predator will eventually get tired of waiting and leave. It’s a waiting game.’ He passed his cigarette to Garrick. ‘We’ve got all night.’

  ‘Aye, we have,’ said Garrick.

  William fished sandwiches out of his pocket and the others did the same.

  The lights didn’t shine in Horace’s house all night and even the light of the moon couldn’t illuminate the happenings inside the house.

  The men succumbed to sleep and apart from waking in the night to relieve themselves they slept, albeit fitfully. When one of them woke he woke the others and they made as much noise as possible to disturb the Pickles family. They finally awoke to the first blackbirds at five the next morning. Immediately they started a raucous din, chanting slogans and shouting union speak.

  Eventually Horace emerged, kissed his wife on the cheek and walked down the path to the front gate where the men were ready with obscenities and placards. He refused to acknowledge his tormentors, gazing ahead at the ground directly in front of him.

  ‘What’s on today, Horace?’ Floyd taunted. ‘Keeping capitalist production going in the face of socialist rhetoric?’

  William shot a surprised look at Floyd who let fly with another.

  ‘Providing electricity for capitalists at the expense of the working class?’ He moved in closer to Horace and lowered his voice. ‘Are you the one working class man who does not take home the company’s candles?’ He winked and smiled.

  ‘Side with us,’ called William. ‘Put down your tools. It’s only by joining us that there will be candles for all. Nay! Electricity for all. When the working class controls the means of production the employing class will be asking us for electricity.’

  Horace kept walking. There was nothing he could say. He just had to keep his head down until he got closer to the battery where other men walked to work, also being followed. He mustn’t let them see his fear. Never show fear, he said to himself. Other demonstrators could be heard before they were seen and in the melee were the voices of Rose and Bessie, who had travelled early to be at the first demonstration of the day.

  ‘Henry!’ she called and ran to him. ‘I was worried. How are you?’

  Henry and the others were relentless, protesting until Horace and his colleagues disappeared into the bowels of the company property.

  Rose threaded her arm through Henry’s and led him to a carriage. ‘Doesn’t look like you converted anyone,’ she chided.

  Henry pressed his lips into a tight line. ‘I’ll be back tonight. I’ll break him.’

  * * *

  Isabelle paced Archie’s dining room while he wrestled with the laundry, hanging damp clothes over the chairs. She wrung her hands.

  ‘Archie, you have to see Mary,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to get through to her.’

  He draped Fanny’s dress on a chair back then set it in front of the range. ‘I do understand, Isabelle. If anyone wants her back it’s me.’

  ‘She seems tormented with guilt,’ Isabelle continued.

  Archie bristled. ‘Do you think she’s lost to us? Is that what you think?’

  Isabelle pursed her lips. ‘Well...’

  ‘No!’ Archie cried. ‘Mary’s one hundred percent committed to our cause. She just needs time.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t see Mary changing sides on the memory of her father.’

  Isabelle folded some towels and laid them on the warm hearth. ‘How long do you think you can do without her?’ She surveyed the room: dirty dishes littered the table along with Archie’s papers.

  He sighed. ‘I do miss her. And not as a housekeeper, although you are forgiven for assuming so. I thought she needed to spend some time with her mother and brothers. You know, to remember Gerald properly. I don’t want to rush her.’

  ‘Well I want her to get back to business. The longer she leaves it the harder it might be for her to come back. Please Archie,’ Isabelle begged. ‘Get her back.’

  * * *

  Emily tied a black ribbon in Mary’s loosely plaited hair. Mary sensed Emily’s sobs and she turned to face her mother.

  ‘Ma?’

  Emily dabbed at her eyes. ‘It’s silly. Nothing. Gerald would plait my hair for me. He’d spend ages brushing it until it shone.’ She looked through Mary as she remembered, then whispered. ‘Then he’d plait a ribbon into it.’

  Mary took Emily by the hand and led her to the lounge where they sat in front of the tiny open fire. Mary threw a lump of coal on.

  ‘Sam will have to get some coal,’ she said.

  Emily sighed. ‘Sam will have to do a lot from now on. So will Percy.’

  She held Mary’s gaze. ‘What will you do, Mary?’

  Mary wandered over to the fire and stood with her back to it. It was exactly that question she’d been wrestling with since Gerald’s death. So undecided was she that she couldn’t eat, couldn’t cook, couldn’t clean house, couldn’t do anything. She hadn’t been outside the house and both she and Emily had let Rosa do the lion’s share of the work. And where was Archie? Why hadn’t he been to see her? No wonder she couldn’t eat! She was fretting on top of grief. How could he possibly stay away when he professed to love her? Perhaps she needed to be away from Archie; to help her see more clearly. She hadn’t made herself consider her father’s side when he was alive so she would do it now.

  ‘I’ve been trying to see father’s point of view. He was placed in a very compromising position. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. He couldn’t choose his side. Not like me. I feel I’ve behaved like a spoilt brat. Appalling. Look at Sam. He doesn’t have a choice. He wants to work.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘God knows, it’s what we all want. But Sam’s locked out and he had no say about it. The strikers have a choice: to stay or leave.’

  She sat down, exasperated.

  ‘We’re not so very different,’ said Emily, ‘you and me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I fought for years against the demon drink,’ Emily explained. ‘Oh, the promise of a better society that only prohibition could bring. Was I naive?’ She smiled softly and stared into the spitting fire. ‘I know what Gerald was up to. I’m not stupid. He thought I didn’t know why he was out all hours. All I managed in those long years of campaigning was to drive my husband to drink on the sly.’

  Tears reeled down Emily’s cheeks. ‘He never blamed me for it. He was generous man. He let me have my little win; humoured me.’

  Mary handed her mother a handkerchief. ‘Do you think he was perhaps humouring me?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘No dear. He couldn’t see how you could openly oppose him. I tried to explain. Tried to make him remember what it was like to be so in love that it clouds everything.’ She took hold of Mary’s hand. ‘He did say to me that he was proud that you had such an understanding of the philosophy behind the cause. He attributed that to Archie.’

  Emily smiled. ‘He didn’t hate Archie, Mary.’

  ‘He might have said,’ Mary replied.

  ‘Now, you know he never would,’ said Em
ily. ‘But he was hurt, nevertheless.’

  A scuffle on the roof disturbed them.

  ‘Oh, it’s Sam,’ said Emily rushing to the centre of the room and looking up. ‘Is Percy with him?’

  ‘Ma,’ said Mary. ‘Percy’s blaming himself for dad’s accident.’

  ‘Why?’

  Mary shrugged. ‘He says he gave him a fright. That’s why dad fell.’

  ‘Oh, that’s terrible!’

  ‘Talk some sense into him,’ Mary continued. ‘He’s taking it pretty hard.’

  Emily frowned. Suddenly her concentration lapsed and she felt she wasn’t in the room with Mary, wasn’t anywhere except inside her own mind with Gerald.

  * * *

  Joe paid Archie a visit. The meeting hadn’t gone well. He pleaded with Archie to consider applying for the mine manager’s job.

  ‘But Archie!’ Joe pleaded. ‘It’s what you know. This strike isn’t going to last forever. You might help shorten it if you take it on.’

  Archie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He laughed without humour. ‘I’d be lynched before I started, Joe. Are you mad?’

  ‘You’ll never have another chance in this town,’ Joe continued. ‘You do know that don’t you?’

  ‘What makes you think that’s the only thing I want? I know I’ll not ever work as a manager in this town. But this strike is bigger than the Waihi Goldmining Company. It’s bigger than Waihi. When we win industrial relations in this country will change forever. I’m not worried about my own skin anymore, Joe. Thousands of workers are counting on me to make it right for them; for them and the sons that will come after them.’

  Joe huffed a stream of breath. He knew Archie had set himself on a pedestal, but by God, he hadn’t realised how high a pedestal.

  ‘Did Sybil put you up to this?’ Archie demanded.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Because it’s the sort of hare-brained idea she’d come up with.’

  Joe knew Archie wouldn’t budge. Probably knew it before he came here. Archie was a man driven by principles. Joe wished he could say the same of himself. As he trudged home he wondered whether it would ever be the same as before, with Archie. He loved having his brother near him, but now Archie may as well be back in Ballarat. And when this was all over Archie would have to leave Waihi to ever work as a mine manager. Still, there was one piece of news that Joe could take back to Sybil: Mary hadn’t been working for Archie since the accident. Archie told him that Mary needed some time on her own to grieve properly.