All I See Is You

by Lily Hammond

  ‘Do you feel any better?’ Maxine asked.

  Eliza blinked at them, unable to fathom what was happening. She wanted to cry out, to flail her arms, but they were caught in something cold and wet and she shrank back and looked at the two women instead, her throat working on cries that wouldn’t come.

  ‘Can you speak?’ Ruth asked, and Eliza turned to her, drawn to the softness of her voice, the gentle way she’d asked that awful question.

  Eliza shook her head and the movement made her close her eyes again, feeling sick. This must have been what it was like on the boat for her mother, the constant movement making her pale and ill, making her stomach heave and heave until Eliza had been sure her mother was going to bring up not just the tiny sips of water she’d managed to swallow, but the very skin of her stomach.

  ‘Give her something to drink,’ Ruth said, and held a cup to the young woman’s lips as Maxine lifted her into a semi-sitting position. Eyes still closed, Eliza gulped at the water, most of it spilling across her lips, but she sank back into Maxine’s arms again at last, her mouth wet, a little better.

  ‘Can you carry her to the car?’ Ruth asked, pitching her voice low and touching Maxine on the arm. ‘We should get her to a proper bed.’

  ‘We don’t have any beds left,’ Maxine said, shaking her head. ‘We should take her to the hospital.’

  But Ruth shook her head too. She’d spent the last two years of the war nursing, and most of a year afterward, and she knew they’d found Eliza in time. Another hour or two and it would have been a full case of heat stroke.

  ‘She just needs to be kept cool,’ she said. ‘Lots of fluids.’ She looked critically at her new patient and gave an emphatic nod. ‘We can look after her perfectly well at home.’

  ‘Except that we are out of beds,’ Maxine said again.

  'Then she will have to ours,' Ruth told her, looking up at the face she loved, at Maxine's tired, worried eyes.

  Which blinked at her. 'Our bed?'

  Ruth nodded decisively. 'Our bed,' she repeated. 'For now.'

  Maxine didn't answer. What point was there? Ruth was right. She bent instead and tugged gently at the towelling wrappers around their newest stray.

  'We're going to take you home,' she said and watched the astonishingly blue eyes widen in what she took to be consternation. Clearing her throat, she shook her head. 'Back to our house,' she clarified, and moved aside a few inches with a gesture at the women still clustered around behind her. 'We run a sort of boarding house,' she said, then shook her head at her own words. 'Well, not really. More just a home for women.'

  'For those of us fallen on hard times,' Dot, one of the women said, pushing through to peer at the foundling. 'You'll be all right, don't you worry. Maxine and Ruth will take real good care of you.'

  Eliza heard the words and looked from one woman to the next, to the next, taking in their concern, their kindness, and she couldn't help it, tears sprang to her eyes. She struggled against her wrappings, feeling as weak and pathetically grateful as a kitten welcomed in out of the rain.

  'We'll pop you in bed,' Ruth said. 'Get some fluids into you - and some food. Get you feeling better in no time.'

  'They'll get you sorted, never you worry,' Dot said, butting in again. She couldn't help herself. She knew desperation when she saw it – and this girl had all the signs. She didn't know where she'd be herself, if Ruth and Maxine hadn't plucked her right off the streets and into their big, untidy house.

  'All right,' Maxine said. 'Let's get these towels off you and help you into the car. It's a wee hike away, I'm afraid, but we'll make it just fine and dandy together, don't you worry.'

  Eliza wasn't worrying. There was something about that brown face that was comforting, and the woman beside her, despite the brown hair tucked untidily behind her ears, reminded Eliza of her mother. She swallowed, her dry throat clicking, and jerked impulsively in her wrappings, and if not for them, she thought she might have flung her arms around both of her saviours.

  Because that was how they felt – like saviours.

  She blinked, her eyes teary and gritty. Her head ached again, and she let the angels, who smelt warm from the sun and flowery and exotic from some sort of lovely cologne, unwrap her carefully and gently.

  Her dress stuck to her, and Eliza looked down at herself, embarrassed by the way the fabric moulded against her breasts and her flat belly, plastered itself around her thighs.

  'It'll only be a minute until we reach the car,' Maxine said, looping her arm around the tiny waist of the girl and all but holding her up. She glanced at Ruth and nodded.

  Ruth leapt forward. 'Dot,' she said as she took her place on the other side of the new girl. 'Carry on with the picnic, will you? There's no need for all our food to go to waste – and the children can still have their swim.' She lifted the girl's arm over her own shoulder and shrugged herself into place to support the poor thing back to the car. 'I'll drive back at four to bring the baskets and blankets home.'

  Chapter Fourteen

  'How is she?' Maxine asked, pitching her voice low in the hallway outside her own bedroom as Ruth backed out of the door, a tray with an empty bowl on it in her hands.

  Ruth nodded. 'Much better. Now that we've got her cooled down.' She nodded down at the bowl, pleased. 'Managed a few mouthfuls of food too. She'll be up and about with no lasting harm in no time.'

  Maxine nodded. 'Has she said anything yet?'

  Ruth's eyes clouded and she shook her head. 'I don't think she can speak.'

  'Not at all?'

  'Not at all. I asked her, and she just shook her head.' Ruth's mouth turned down in a little grimace. 'She got such a frightened look on her face when I asked her.'

  'Where's her family?' Maxine thought furiously. 'She must come from somewhere.'

  'I don't know love,' Ruth replied, stepping along the hallway to the stairs. 'She indicated she was on her own, and burst into some very exhausted, frightened tears.' Ruth paused at the top of the stairs. 'I patted her a bit then, to calm her, and she wrapped her arms around me like she was a child.' She shook her head, her bobbed hair springing out from where she'd tucked it behind her ears. 'I didn't ask her anything else then, and she drifted off to sleep.' A glance back towards the door. 'She's all tucked in. Maybe we can find out more after she's had a good night's sleep.'

  There was a commotion downstairs as the women and children trailed in off the bus. Maxine leaned over the bannister to see what the fuss was. She'd just gotten back from picking up the picnic things, and everyone had been fine then – tired and sandy, and happy.

  'What's going on?' she asked, letting Ruth go down in front of her to slip through into the kitchen with the tray.

  'Martin's found something,' Patty, his mother, said. 'On the beach, just before we left.' She hugged herself but couldn't help but feel a wee bit proud of her Martin. He'd found the woman after all, even if he did keep insisting to the point of driving her batty, that the lady was a mermaid washed up from the Congo, of all places. Honestly, Patty wasn't sure where her boy got all his ideas. She patted Daisy on the back and hoisted the sleeping child higher in her arms. 'Show Maxine what you found, Martin,' she said.

  Martin held up his treasure, and the crowd of women parted for him like he really was an important explorer home from his adventures. He arranged his features in as serious expression as he could manage, and stepped forward, clearing his throat and puffing his chest out – just a little bit.

  'I found 'em in the dunes,' he said. 'Above where the mermaid was.' He blinked at Maxine and nodded solemnly. 'They were hers, I reckon.' He wasn't quite sure that mermaids would own shoes but had made the determination that if they were trying to become human, then they would need them, and that explained it all.

  Maxine took the shoes from him with gratifying pomp. Martin watched her closely as she looked them over, trying to contain his growing excitement.

  'They're just old shoes,' he burst out at last, bringing the other item out fr
om behind his back with a flourish. 'This though – this is what else I found!' He handed it over, eyes gleaming in triumph.

  Maxine put down the shoes, because the seven-year-old was right – they were just a worn pair of shoes, the leather stiff and dull. Winter shoes though, which might or might not be relevant. Maxine didn't know, but she would think on it in a moment.

  Martin was holding out a handbag, and Maxine nodded at him, her generous mouth turning up in a smile.

  'You did well,' she told him. 'This could be really helpful, if it's hers.'

  The little boy pushed his shoulders back and beamed at her. 'It's hers,' he said with all the certainty he could muster.

  Maxine nodded. 'Right, well, how about we all get out of the entranceway, and we can put the kettle on while I have a look through this?'

  The small crowd of six women nodded and shuffled, then turned to put their things away, two of them making for the stairs, sleeping babes in their arms.

  Martin tugged on her sleeve. 'Can I look with you?' he said. 'I did find it, after all.'

  Maxine gazed down at him for a moment, then looked up and caught Ruth's eye. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen and gave Maxine a smile and a nod.

  'Sure,' Maxine said easily. 'Why not?'

  'If there's any lollies in there, can I have them too?' Martin's brown eyes were hopeful. 'I'll share them with Daisy – and with Leonard and Timmy too.'

  'Timmy's too young for sweets,' Maxine said automatically and Martin nodded thoughtfully.

  'I expect you're right,' he agreed. 'He hasn't even any teeth yet.'

  Maxine walked into the kitchen, Martin trailing after her. Ruth was already filling the kettle, so Maxine sat down at the table and looked at the black handbag.

  'Looks well-used,' Ruth commented, sitting down at the big scrubbed rimu wood table. A few of the other women sidled into the room and sat down too, expectant looks on their faces.

  Maxine glanced at them, considered taking the bag up to her room, then remembered that the girl was sleeping in there. She shrugged. They were all good sorts here. And just as curious as she was, most likely. There was a little red coin purse inside the bag and Maxine snapped it open, took note of the contents, then put it on the table.

  'Just a couple pennies,' she said, and everyone around the table nodded, most of the women knowing exactly what it was like to be down to your last couple coppers.

  There was a wad of papers tucked in against the lining of the bag and Maxine drew them out next. The bag was empty now, but she had a feeling that these were what they needed to unravel the mystery of the girl who couldn't talk. She held them up a moment, looking at Ruth.

  'We'll see what these are, don't you think?' she asked.

  Ruth nodded.

  'Birth certificates,' Maxine said softly, holding the thick paper and glancing quickly at the print on them. 'English ones.'

  'English?' Ruth asked.

  Maxine nodded. 'If this is our girl, her name is Eliza Mia Sparrow.' Her lips tilted in a smile. 'That's a mighty pretty name.'

  'Sparrow like the bird?' Martin asked. It was a funny name for a mermaid. Perhaps she wasn't really one at all. Perhaps she was just an ordinary person after all. He wondered if there were any sweets in the bag.

  'What's the other one?' Ruth asked, while the rest of the women simply leaned closer over the table. Behind them, the kettle set to whistling on the stove, and one of the women jumped up to make the tea.

  Maxine looked at the other certificate. The writing on this one was faded, and she squinted at it, turning it slightly to the light that still shone outside the window.

  'I think this might belong to her mother,' she said.

  'Her mum?' Dot, who held an insatiable curiosity about everyone she met, asked. 'Where's she, then?'

  'I don't know,' Maxine answered, then picked up another of the pieces of paper in the pile from the handbag. She scanned the writing, then leaned back in her chair, her heart suddenly heavy.

  'She's dead,' she said, mouth dry, looking up to frown across the table at Ruth. 'Died at sea a month or so ago, on the crossing from England to here, I guess.' Maxine blinked. 'They buried her at sea.'

  There was silence around the table as everyone digested the news. It was Dot who spoke again first.

  'Poor mite then, if she can't speak. She wouldn't have known how to get around.'

  More silence, as they all thought about that.

  'Especially if they didn't have anywhere organised to stay,' Patty added, and tugged Martin closer to her side. Her cousin's kid had been born deaf and the only sounds he could make even now were a sort of high-pitched squealing. They were sending him off to live at the deaf school soon, where he’d be taught to talk properly. 'You did good, Martin,' she said. 'Finding her. You're a real hero.'

  Martin grinned and even let her ruffle his hair, which usually he hated. He even felt better about the lady not being a proper mermaid.

  Maxine sighed, shuffled through the rest of the papers, then tucked them back into the bag. 'I think that's the gist of it, ladies,' she said. 'Now, how about that cup of tea? I'm going to have mine in the garden, I think.'

  There was a sudden bustle about the kitchen, and the rattle of crockery, and the fragrant smell of the Bell tea. A steaming cup was handed to Maxine and she nodded her thanks. Everyone knew that when she said she was going to take her tea in the garden, it was the signal that she wanted a few minutes peace and quiet.

  Ruth of course, was exempt from leaving Maxine to sip in peace on the bench under the old oak. She sat down quietly beside Maxine with her own cup.

  'How long has she been in Dunedin, do you think?' Ruth asked.

  Maxine shrugged and stretched out her legs. There was sand on the cotton cuffs of her trousers.

  'Two or three weeks, would be my guess,' she said.

  Ruth shuddered. 'I'm glad we found her in time.'

  'She's a pretty wee thing. But what are we going to do with her?' Maxine asked on a sigh, lifting the cup to her mouth and taking a sip of the hot, strong tea. 'We're at complete capacity here as it is. All the beds are taken. Even the camp beds.'

  Ruth turned to her. 'Didn't you say Clemency offered to put one of our women up at her place?'

  Maxine snorted and her tea slopped over into the saucer. 'I didn't imagine she was serious!'

  Ruth subsided back against the wooden bench seat. 'No,' she agreed. 'I expect not. It's a shame though.'

  'She's got it into her head to close up her studio,' Maxine said.

  'Close it up? Why on earth would she want to do that?'

  The early evening sun picked out the frothy tops of the carrots in the garden and Maxine stared idly at them. 'She has some hare-brained idea of travelling around the country taking photos of real people.'

  Ruth's eyebrows rose under her fringe. 'Her society matrons aren't real enough for her, then?'

  'She wants to record what is going on in this country. She was out in the crowd on Saturday, you know – photographing the men. That's what she wants to do. More of that.'

  They sat in silence for a long minute. Above them, the breeze soughed through the branches, and the sun moved on from the carrots to pick out the curves of the pumpkins under their umbrellas of leaves.

  'I think she should,' Ruth said at last and Maxine looked at her in astonishment.

  'You do?'

  Ruth nodded, and widened her eyes at Maxine for a moment before taking another sip of tea and speaking. 'I do,' she said. 'There are people suffering right here under our noses, and yet the shops are full of food and the big dinners and dances go on as if there isn't a Depression at all.' She put her cup down with a rattle on its saucer.

  'They gave out 800 food parcels on Saturday,' Maxine observed mildly.

  Ruth shook her head. 'They had to. Those poor hungry men were going to wreak havoc down on George Street if they didn't do something like that.' She paused. 'Anyway. I think it's a good idea. I do. Clemency hasn't anyone a
t home to worry about. In fact, I worry about her.'

  Maxine looked at her. 'You worry about Clemency?'

  'As do you, and you know it,' Ruth replied. 'She's lonely.'

  'She's given up.'

  Ruth nodded, feeling a deep wave of affection come over her and she leaned against Maxine's arm. 'Not everyone is as lucky as we've been.'

  Maxine's arm snaked around her shoulder. 'That's for certain,' Maxine said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clemency leaned over the table and went through the photographs again, starting at the beginning, taking in the hollow eyes of the men in the pictures, their frayed cuffs, clenched fists.

  A sea of men, hats bobbing as they opened their mouths and roared at the fat gooses on the steps of the hospital board.

  The line of helmeted police officers, arms linked in front of Wardell's Grocery, faces set.

  She picked up another photograph. The women at the Solicitor's office, their eyes wide with worry, skin drawn and grainy, even though they were the lucky ones – they had jobs. She's snapped the picture of the women without thinking, capturing them in a huddle, hands cradling cups of tea as though trying to draw strength from the tepid brew, and again, another image of them leaning towards the window, gazes fastened on the scene playing outside on the street.

  Clemency breathed in, satisfaction making her nod to herself. She lifted her eyes to look out the window, at the dazzle of blue water at the bottom of the hill. The sun was playing over the water, turning the ripples to sparkling diamond points.

  She brushed her fingers over her hair, touched the soft skin under her eyes for a moment, then reached down, back to the table, to the photographs, and drew the last one of the stack to her.

  She looked down and stared.

  This one she'd snapped on impulse, raising the camera without even looking through the viewfinder, without adjusting the focus, the aperture. She'd just lifted it vaguely in front of her face and clicked the little button, turning back to do so as she walked away.