An Uncommon Woman

by Nicole Alexander

  A rising sun skimmed the tree-edged horizon in the faraway east. Through the orchard Davidson could be glimpsed, leading her father’s saddled horse from the direction of the stables, the now silent collies appearing to trail beast and man at a safe distance. Edwina knew it was wrong to feel a sense of relief at her father’s departure for town, but at times his harsh character made her feel disheartened and quite often maudlin. The splintering light glinting through the orchard distracted her thoughts, the refracted brightness increasing as the sun rose in the sky.

  Between the gnarled trunks of the lemon and orange trees, her mother’s decorated coolabah shimmered brightly. Caroline had been so alive, so vital. Twenty years his junior, her husband once referred to his wife lovingly as his little Bowerbird and the description was perfect. Plain in appearance but with striking blue eyes, their mother was a hoarder of magnificent proportions. Ten years after her leaving, her bedroom remained filled with clothes and novels, sketches, scrapbooks and bric-a-brac. It was a sanctuary for her daughter, but more importantly it was a reminder of how big and imaginative a life could be in the most indistinguishable and remote of places.

  Edwina walked barefoot across the leaf-littered ground, zigzagging through the gnarled trunks of the fruit trees, clutching the coloured piece of glass. Jed kept close, snuffling and continually whining, as if trying to explain something of great importance. She smiled at the old dog, placating him with a pat, promising him a tasty titbit. As she drew closer to the coolabah tree the shapes strung from the branches grew recognisable. Bottles, cans and tins, many of the labels faded by age, tinkled in the morning breeze. Their mother’s habit of attaching an object to the branches had, by the time of her death, grown to the depositing of items on the ground.

  At the base of the tree, a pile of debris became a mass of decipherable objects: flowers, feathers, stones, mouldering fruit, coins, nails, rifle shells, and pieces of glass. The tree bridged the boundary between the homestead and the thick scrub beyond, and what had begun life as a Christmas tree, was now Caroline Baker’s memorial, a living reminder of a woman’s need for artistic expression, of creating beauty where there was none. Edwina carefully added the shard of glass to the mound at her feet, contemplating her own sheer lack of invention.

  ‘Edwina!’ Aiden called to her from the veranda. ‘There’s braised kidney for breakfast.’

  ‘Has Father gone?’ She ran back towards the house, Jed loping behind.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed, the skin of his brow crinkling, ‘as has Mrs Ryan. Left you a mess in the kitchen I’m afraid. I must say they were both keen to leave. I’d forgotten how quickly the old girl could move when she puts her mind to it. Even Father had a spring in his step this morning.’

  ‘The scent of money brings out the best in him,’ replied Edwina.

  ‘Edwina,’ chastised Aiden. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t be walking about out here in broad daylight when you’re not dressed.’

  ‘Oh, fiddlesticks.’ She joined him on the verandah. ‘Who is going to see me? Besides, it can’t be much past six.’

  Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, Aiden gave her bare feet a disparaging look. ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘You sound exactly like Father.’

  ‘If you keep on like this,’ warned Aiden, ‘I won’t tell you my news.’

  ‘News,’ Edwina said eagerly, ‘what news?’ She shook Aiden’s arm. ‘Do tell.’

  ‘Steady on, E.’ He smoothed the sleeve of his ‘going-out’ jacket.

  ‘My, we are dressed up.’ The suit, purchased from a travelling tailor who’d measured Aiden up and then mailed the completed trousers, jacket, vest and shirts, wasn’t a perfect fit, but the material was of good quality. She waited obediently, although Edwina couldn’t quite stem the tug of disappointment at the new changes in her brother. It was true he was becoming quite the man. But despite his soft looks, Aiden was also beginning to cultivate some of their father’s stuffier characteristics.

  Hesitantly he began, ‘It’s about the circus. I spoke to Father about you coming with me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Aiden, not meeting her eyes. ‘He said no.’

  Edwina felt her spirits fall, briefly wondering if her brother had even bothered to go into battle on her behalf. ‘Oh.’

  ‘He said it wasn’t the place for well brought up young women.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Edwina walked into her room, the wire springs of the rumpled bed creaking as she sat on it. ‘I’ve seen the papers after the circus has been to town. Everyone goes. It’s a big event and family entertainment. The problem is that Father wants me to stay here for the rest of my life.’

  ‘That’s not true, E.’

  ‘Really? And how do you know?’

  Jed ambled into the room, snuffling the floorboards. A breeze lifted the leaves outside, blowing them through the open doors and sending them tumbling across the floor.

  ‘So what’s this news you have to tell me?’ Edwina finally queried.

  Aiden was slow to answer. ‘I’m to find that Will fellow and give him the money owed. Father entrusted me, so to speak. As it’s only for the day, after all. I’ll be back before dark.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m taking the buggy.’

  Edwina knew her eyes were popping. No-one except their father was allowed to drive it. ‘You’re taking the buggy? Whatever for?’

  Her brother’s cheeks reddened in indignation. ‘Because, Edwina, being the age that I am it’s more appropriate for me to be driving a buggy.’

  Edwina walked across the room, crossed her arms and looked her brother up and down. ‘Really? So that’s why we’re looking so shiny this morning. Going courting, are we? Or, more specifically, you’re hoping to find someone to court.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘And Davidson will be, what, your chaperone?’ teased Edwina.

  Clearly Aiden had forgotten about the stockman’s role in the day’s proceedings. ‘I’ll tell him to wait for me until I’m ready to leave.’

  ‘Wait where?’ At the question Edwina could see that her brother’s bravado was starting to lessen. In spite of her disappointment she was rather impressed with Aiden’s attempt at rebellion. It was no small thing to go against their father’s wishes. ‘Fine, go.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Now you’re asking me when you’ve already made the decision.’

  ‘I thought –’

  ‘Just be careful, Aiden. Father will be in town as well, you know. And don’t delay. It’s always a push to make the return journey by dark. It would be quicker on horseback.’

  She was right and Aiden knew it, but he mumbled something about knowing the way by heart and the longer hours of daylight now spring was here. ‘Besides, I’ve checked the almanac. It’s a full moon. I’d take you with me, E, but if Father caught us …’

  ‘I know,’ Edwina reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t worth the inevitable drama that would follow. Although Edwina suspected that any fault would be laid squarely on her rather than her brother. As it was, Aiden was risking their father’s wrath if he caught sight of the buggy. ‘Be careful. Don’t go promenading down the main street.’

  Aiden hugged her. ‘Thanks, Edwina, you’re the best. And don’t worry, I promise to tell you everything when I get home.’

  With Aiden’s departure, Edwina dressed quickly. Although disappointed, there was something quite freeing knowing only she was left at home. Jed padded after her, down the hallway and through to the parlour where breakfast was served. The braised kidney and tea were cold. The fire in the hearth nearly extinguished. Setting the plate of offal on the floor for the dog, Edwina gathered the breakfast things on a tray and walked outside, across the dirt to the kitchen hut.

  The room was a mess. Mrs Ryan hadn’t bothered to wash the pots and pans. Hunks of meat were soaking in kerosene containers filled with brine, flour covered part of the dirt floor, the pitcher used for drinking water was empty and the door to the
wood stove’s fire box was open, the coals barely smouldering. Edwina surveyed the hastily deserted area, hanging the few clean cooking implements above the oven. Through the window she could see that the woodpile was totally depleted. The lengths of timber fetched by Aiden were still untouched, yet to be cut into usable pieces.

  Edwina sat heavily at the wooden table yearning for a cup of tea, wondering if the labour involved was worth the sweet satisfaction once the hot brew was laced with sugar. Wood needed to be chopped with the axe, the fire coaxed back to life, water fetched from the barrels outdoors, then boiled. She picked at the bread-crumbs on the board. Cut a chunky wedge from the freshly baked loaf. The dough balled in her cheek.

  Never would she have thought as a child that their lives would be so altered with their mother’s passing. Edwina still recalled their bedtime stories and the way her father would often interrupt their telling, dragging a chair to the end of the bed and sharing his own childhood tales. England’s friendly ‘Green Man of the Forest’ was a particular favourite, although their mother once confessed that Father concocted his own story based on an effigy carved on a tree near his childhood home. How she wished for those happy days.

  In the quiet Edwina picked at the hardened calluses on her palms. Her little brother was on his first visit to town without their father as chaperone. That didn’t bother her so much. Edwina understood that young women didn’t travel long distances by themselves and that society demanded that the fairer sex be constantly chaperoned and cosseted. What did bother her was the way their father continued to treat her like a child.

  A dirty cup and saucer was at her elbow, and beneath the cup, what appeared to be paper. She stared at the object, surrounded by other unwashed things, focusing on the size of the item, the folds, the creamy smoothness that was stained, ringed by tea. Edwina didn’t want to investigate further for she knew it was her note, her projections, her ideas. Reluctantly she unfolded the paper, peeling apart the stuck notes to reveal her carefully considered sums and accompanying explanations, every word and numeral smudged. Had he even read it? she wondered. Probably not. That was what her contribution, her enthusiasm, was worth to her father – blotting paper for spilt tea.

  It would have been easy to cry. To curl up in her room and wait for Aiden’s return. To hear his excited stories of his day at Wywanna. The paper scrunched in her fist.

  Edwina wanted to see more of the world. And she wanted to be seen. To meet people, to experience different things. She refused to be a carbon copy of her mother, relegated to the small island that was Baker’s Run. But there were few opportunities available to her. Edwina was either a daughter, a sister or, in the future, perhaps a wife – although the latter wasn’t written in stone for there were a few spinsters and widows in the district. Women considered old maids aged thirty. Women whose potential husbands died in the war. Young women farmed out to look after the households of married brothers or sisters. Daughters compelled to care for motherless families. Edwina chewed on the bread. Thought of the cow that needed milking. Of the butter that should be churned. Of the father that was only interested in her as a dutiful daughter content to obey his rules. What if she didn’t want any of those roles? What if she wanted something more? The world was changing. Cars and planes. Shorter dresses. And a great bridge was being built across Sydney Harbour. Edwina realised that if she didn’t get out soon, she never would.

  Chapter Five

  It was noon by the time Edwina reached the outskirts of Wywanna. Hot and tired, she patted Heidi-Hoe affectionately, glancing out from beneath the wide brim of her father’s fedora. The thoroughfare was busy. Apart from those on horseback, the sulkies and drays, a number of automobiles motored past, horns tooting at anyone in their path. The road ahead held many travellers, with a few on foot as well. Strangers called out a friendly greeting to Edwina and she lifted a hand in reply, emitting a gruff deep voice that didn’t sound quite like her own but was nonetheless, to her mind, clearly contrived. The men rode on followed by a sulky driven by a woman; it was filled to capacity with children, the youngest of which, supported on an older sibling’s knee, kicked pudgy legs out the side, a tongue poked in Edwina’s direction.

  On one side of the road a team of men were cutting prickly pear, their lower legs protected from the death adders the plants tended to harbour by guards fashioned from kerosene tins. Ahead, an irregular line of structures rose above scattered trees. Edwina felt the breath catch in her throat. Now that the town and circus lay within her reach, leaving the property seemed like the absolutely worst decision she had ever made in her entire life. It was one thing to feel sad and sorry for oneself, quite another to rush thoughtlessly ahead without considering the consequences – one of the results of the morning’s rash decision-making being the pain in her thighs and bottom. Nearly five hours in the saddle was not for the faint-hearted and it would be with gratitude when her feet eventually touched the ground. She drank thirstily from the waterbag.

  ‘Come a-ways have you, mate?’ a passer-by queried.

  Edwina made a point of wiping her lips roughly with the back of her hand. ‘A-ways, yes,’ came her blurred response.

  ‘Be worth it. Nothing like a circus for bringing the girls to town.’ The man winked. ‘I’m at the stage where I need a wife, but you, lad,’ he drew his horse closer, peering at Edwina with interest, ‘well, with your soft looks I’ll be betting you’ll be rolling around in the hay before sundown. Half your luck,’ he chuckled. ‘I myself was always partial to a taste of the wares. Hard to buy when you don’t know what you’re getting.’ He sniggered and rode on.

  Edwina’s heart raced. She took another gulp of the warm liquid, feeling the heat of her burning cheeks. Did men really speak that way about women? And was that what was expected of young men? Was that what Aiden intended to do? The very idea of her young brother rolling in the hay with some fast girl absolutely appalled her.

  Heidi-Hoe plodded onwards, nickering at every horse encountered. Heavens, she thought, the animal was like her, starved for conversation. The tall mast of the clock-tower, the pale curves of Wywanna’s town water tank and a row of buildings of various heights gradually became recognisable. Her stomach grew tight. Soon they would cross the railway tracks and the narrow one-lane bridge that spanned the brown swirl of the river. It was barely a half-mile after that before they reached the town proper. Pulling her chin closer to her chest, Edwina concentrated on arranging her features into a gruff semblance of the male ancestors lining the bedroom mantelpiece. You can do this, she told herself, you can do this.

  ‘It’s a fine day for it,’ a man in a dray called to her.

  His wife smiled a greeting, shushing the four children in the rear of the wagon. ‘Trees are flowering real pretty this year, sir,’ she said.

  Edwina tipped her hat and nudged her mount forward, just missing a swaggie who glared from between a battered hat and bushy beard. The dogwoods were pretty with their tight clusters of flowers. The trees were one of the features of the area but Edwina could not enjoy the spring showing. It was too late to turn back, although the ghastly comments made by the stranger had quite ruined the adventure. She realised now how silly she’d been, but perhaps it was just as well. She would have to find Aiden as soon as possible and ensure he behaved himself. To calm herself, Edwina concentrated on the people heading into town. The older women still favoured ankle-length skirts while the younger set were dressed in garments of a more tubular shorter style. Edwina was reasonably abreast with current fashion, thanks to the mail-order catalogues they received. Neatly rolled up in Heidi-Hoe’s saddlebags were a pair of shoes and a beige day-dress in the current style. Purchased three years ago for the rare occasion when the family attended a funeral or town, it wasn’t quite as fancy or as short as some of those currently on show but it would do. Riding dressed as a man was one thing, carrying off such a guise once she was on foot and in a crowd was quite another.

  The mob was a happy one. People waved to each other
, children talked loudly, some sang songs. It was difficult not to be caught up in the excitement. It was also a perfect way to enter the town unnoticed. Edwina’s attire wasn’t really much different from what she wore on the farm, except that the suit was comprised of ill-matching pieces. A too-big riding jacket of her mother’s passed as a man’s suit-coat. Aiden’s waistcoat, white shirt and necktie, although firm across her bust, were more satisfactory items, as was the spare pair of trousers that arrived with his new suit.

  ‘I can see it. I can see it,’ one child on foot called. Youngsters raced to the side of the road, pointing and crying out in excitement.

  In the distance the tops of two large circular tents were visible, each of which were supported by central poles. The tallest flew a bright flag, fluttering in the wind. The pounding of wood was loud and rhythmic and as Edwina watched a third tent sprung upwards, the billowing sides abutting the centre marquee and looking for all the world like a crusader pavilion from a faraway world. A cheer went up from those nearby as the breeze carried the noise of a marching band, the clattering and clash of musical instruments and a strange reverberating, almost guttural sound that was similar to a trumpet.

  Instead of continuing along the road, many of the travellers, on foot or on horseback, suddenly left it, detouring across a paddock. Edwina hesitated. Automobiles, drays and buggies were continuing straight ahead along the dirt road.

  ‘This is quicker, mister,’ a snotty-nosed boy advised on seeing her indecisiveness. ‘We can get through the gate and be some of the first there.’

  And avoid the town, thought Edwina. ‘And there’s a band?’

  ‘Of course there’s a band. They parade through the street they do, telling everyone they’re here. They arrived on the morning’s train. Saw them myself I did. Watched the elephants help unload and then hightailed it home to do me chores.’