‘Thanks,’ he said, taking them gratefully and trying not to appear too pleased that Ivy looked jealous. He drank thirstily as Ivy and her friends were distracted by the banter both on and off the field.
‘Hope they’ve put the champagne on ice,’ Nick called over to Greg in the outfield. ‘You’re going to need gallons of the stuff by the time I’ve run you around.’
‘I’ll be toasting our victory,’ Greg called back, ‘and our woman of the match for getting you out.’
Nick just laughed and Patrick wanted to tell him not to get too cocky. As surprising as it was, that girl could really bowl.
‘Yes, let’s see if your girl can get Nick out too,’ Tristan King said to Albert Merriweather. ‘She certainly cleaned Patrick up.’
‘I doubt our Nick will be so easily bested,’ Alistair said with a sniff.
‘… and I doubt that wicket was anything more than Patrick being a gentleman and letting it through,’ Sybil said in a too-loud whisper and Frankie paused in her run-up, staring across with one hand on her hip. Ivy looked nervously from one woman to the other.
‘She got me fair and square, Mother,’ Patrick called over, peeling his orange. ‘No shame in it when she’s as good as she is.’ That earned a look of relief from Ivy, however Nick’s father was scornful.
‘Humph. I wouldn’t go that far.’
Albert took off his spectacles, looking set to defend his daughter lest a miffed-looking Harriet beat him to it, when Pretty Boy commented for them both.
‘Ignoramous, ignoramous.’
Patrick looked at Ivy in surprise before joining most of the party in laughter and shaking his head. She really did have the most eccentric family.
The afternoon wore on and Frankie was on a roll, cleaning up Nick for a mere twelve runs and taking to the field to make the final catch as Greg finished off the rest. She was happily glowing as she walked off, red-faced from all the exertion and excitement, but Ivy looked embarrassed as Frankie shoved at her escaping hair and wiped dirt from her palms onto her already grubby skirt. Such unladylike dishevelment hadn’t escaped Sybil’s notice either – her eyebrows were certainly raised as Frankie tossed the ball in the air and gave his mother a smug stare.
Frankie’s team were declared the winners by a mere three runs and a magnanimous Greg suggested they say it was a draw, being ‘among friends’.
‘Blow that,’ Frankie exclaimed before gulping down a glass of celebratory champagne, and although Ivy looked over at Sybil worriedly, Patrick had to shake his head in amusement once more. Eccentric was the word, all right, but to his surprise he decidedly liked it.
The cicada song had risen to a loud, echoing cacophony as Ivy fixed her curls and powdered her nose in the tent-come-makeshift-parlour the men had erected for the day but, despite all the noise, heat and discomfort, she was excited. Although, if the mirror on the box was anything to go by, she was also a bit drunk. The tell-tale flush in her cheeks and her giggly state betrayed the fact that she’d had three glasses of champagne – the very first time she’d ever had more than one. Coupled with the fact that Patrick was here at her eighteenth birthday party and would be accompanying her on the bushwalk about to take place, it was little wonder she could barely put her hairpins in and her hat on without needing to take deep, calming breaths.
Despite Frankie’s embarrassing behaviour and the peculiarities of her family, Patrick had made it very obvious today that he liked her regardless. The tantalising prospect of an impending courtship beckoned and Ivy closed her eyes, savouring this longed-for moment.
Maybe she would let him hold her hand today. Maybe she would even let him kiss her, and the thought made her eyes flick open and go round in the mirror as she touched her fingers to her mouth. Perhaps, perhaps, she’d even …
‘What’s taking you so long?’ Frankie demanded, knocking on the tent flap before peeking in.
‘Hurry up, everyone’s ready to go and waiting for you.’ Aggie looked in too before sighing and leading the way through. ‘What are you doing in here? Primping?’
‘Well, it is my birthday,’ Ivy reminded her sisters as she readjusted her marvellous hat.
‘Lest anyone forget that,’ Frankie muttered, eying it with derision.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Ivy said, feeling bolder than usual. Perhaps it was the champagne. Frankie didn’t answer under a warning look from Aggie but she did roll her eyes, which Ivy found annoying.
‘Anyway, are you ready now?’ Aggie asked her, tidying a few strands herself and looking at Frankie’s completely messed-up hair with a slight frown. ‘You may want to fix yourself up a bit, while we’re at it.’
‘I don’t care,’ Frankie said with a shrug. ‘I’m here for fun and adventures, not to impress the men.’
‘Just as well.’ Ivy pinned a stray curl.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Frankie demanded.
‘Just that you couldn’t make less of an effort to act like a girl if you tried,’ Ivy said, her annoyance at Frankie rising, ‘and besides, I would have thought you were also here for my birthday?’
‘We’re all here for your birthday,’ Aggie said, in a reassuring tone. ‘Although people may be getting impatient waiting—’
‘Not everyone thinks the pinnacle of a woman’s worth is to marry some snooty man and become his doormat, you know.’ Frankie faced Ivy.
‘Patrick isn’t snooty!’ Ivy was offended. ‘And who says I’d ever be someone’s doormat?’
‘Who said I was talking about you and Patrick, let alone your marriage?’ Frankie said. ‘I’m just talking about all this ridiculous … bait women like you throw out to land the stupid ruddy fish.’ She flicked her hand at Ivy’s hat.
‘Well, it’s better than stomping about like a man and … and making a spectacle of yourself.’
Frankie frowned and Ivy wondered momentarily if she’d offended her sister but then Frankie kept going. ‘I’d rather be an authentic spectacle than a fake one on display all the time. That just sickens me, the way women do that, like we have to advertise our prettiness to be worthy as a potential mate.’
Ivy gasped. ‘Don’t be crass!’
‘Don’t be so pathetic then! Honestly, if you gave half the thought towards bettering the world as you do to the state of your bonnet rack—’
‘Frankie, that’s enough,’ Aggie warned but Frankie continued.
‘—you could offer something of substance to society, something that counts in the bigger scheme of things. That’s what you should be thinking about turning eighteen. Not all this … this … self-decorating.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with trying to look attractive,’ Ivy defended herself, despite reeling from Frankie’s attack. ‘It’s one the nicest things about being a woman, not that you’d know anything about that.’
‘It’s a shackle,’ Frankie stated flatly, ‘and a way to make us focus on the very least thing that matters. What possible use does it offer womankind to bat your eyelashes when you could be changing the very law and having true power, Ivy? Think about that, why don’t you? Maybe beyond just your own little world for once,’ she added, circling the air above her.
‘That’s too far,’ Aggie pleaded.
‘I’m afraid it isn’t far enough. You’ve been too spoilt by flattery for too long,’ Frankie declared. ‘When are you going to wake up and see that far more important things are happening? Things you could be a part of, and live a life that matters?’
‘I don’t care about your … your revolution and your arguing and awful stories about poor women cast onto the street and in gaol. I just want to settle down and be happily married and away from all that … that …’
‘Reality?’
‘Horribleness.’
‘But what about purpose and meaning?’ Frankie said, spreading her arms wide. ‘What will your life be worth just as somebody’s wife?’
‘It’s worth something to have a husband and children and raise a family! How could anyt
hing matter more than being a …’ Ivy pulled herself up abruptly and looking guiltily at Aggie.
‘… than being a mother.’ Aggie finished for her as both sisters finally went silent. ‘How, indeed.’ The look she cast them both was one of the deepest hurt and Ivy dipped her head, ashamed to have affected her so.
‘I’m …’
‘Aggie, I …’
‘Yes, you’re both sorry, I know,’ Aggie said, squaring her shoulders. ‘Let’s just go on that walk then, shall we?’
Aggie left the tent and Frankie followed her, not meeting Ivy’s eyes. Hurt and ashamed too, Ivy supposed. She wondered how this latest ‘healthy debate’ had got so unhealthy, so quickly, supposing the champagne must be somewhat to blame. Her mother had often warned her that it loosened the tongue. Certainly that was a lot more arguing than Ivy would usually engage in yet the emotions of the day were high, and now they wrestled for dominance as she stared back at the mirror. There was guilt and pain in her expression, but excitement remained there too, as selfish as that made her feel.
For it was still her birthday. Surely that made selfishness somewhat less of a sin.
The thought made her feel rebellious and a budding recklessness began to grow as the best effects of that golden champagne returned. Suddenly she wanted to drink more of it with Patrick, leaving the deeper ponderings about life until tomorrow. For turning eighteen wasn’t only a time to consider her adult responsibilities, it was time for some adult fun too. However much of it she dared to try.
Nine
Something was up with the three sisters. As little as he really understood women, Patrick could see that much, as Frankie marched along silently up front and Aggie walked quietly beside Robert behind her, both seeming preoccupied since fetching Ivy. As for the birthday girl, she’d barely said a word, so he’d prattled on about the scenery and cricket and really anything to keep her engaged and by his side. Somehow they’d fallen further and further back until they were the last ones visible on this stretch of the path that rose above the river.
Turning to remark on that fact, she surprised him instead.
‘This way,’ she whispered, taking off into the bush in a sudden dart, and Patrick’s heart leapt as he hesitated, knowing he should dissuade her. But, oh, the temptation of following her as she dipped below a branch and threw him a daring look such an innocent girl shouldn’t know how to send.
And so he followed, against good sense, his blood pumping as they broke off from the party, voices fading behind them as they dove deep into a shadowed pocket of ancient rainforest that ran along the gully. It was soon cooler and the air was dank with moss and earth, a primeval, welcoming scent that enticed him to breathe it in deeply and squint up at the dappled light of the canopy above.
‘Look,’ Ivy said, pointing at a dragonfly and he watched, entranced, as she followed it. ‘It will lead us to water, they always do.’
She seemed ethereal and fairylike here, much like a dragonfly herself as she moved down through the bracken, no longer a girl but a wood nymph in a mysterious, abundant paradise. Then they came to a tinkling waterfall and she turned to him, pausing as the dragonfly hovered nearby.
‘We could drink from it, I suppose, but I thought it might be more fun to have another champagne.’
‘Did you bring some?’ he asked, drawing closer, mesmerised by her skin, which looked impossibly smooth and soft in the shadowed light.
‘No,’ she said, her eyes on his mouth as he dared to draw even closer. ‘But I hid a bottle behind the parlour tent, which isn’t very far … as the crow flies …’ Her voice was trailing off as he stared at her mouth too.
‘Then I’d have to drag myself away from you,’ he said, eyes moving to her neck as he raised one hand to brush a red curl away and she sucked in her breath.
‘I’ll be here, waiting to give you your reward.’ It was a bold thing for Ivy to say but she seemed suddenly daring. Transformed, and so close now he was breathing her in. The pull of her was like a drug but he managed a reply.
‘Can I claim a little of it now?’
She didn’t answer. Instead her soft lips were suddenly on his in the lightest brush, like the silvered wings of the dragonfly. It was as if she’d cast a spell and he fell deeply under it as she pulled away and their eyes met. Something snapped inside him then and he pulled her against him in a rush and kissed her back, a passionate, unrestrained kiss that seared through his body as skin met skin and she clung to him, soft, yielding. Woman. Yet Ivy, still Ivy, he forced himself to recall. He knew he had to end it before it led to more so he pulled away. Their breathing was laboured as they broke apart.
‘I … I’d better get that champagne,’ he said, backing away.
‘Hurry back,’ she said, her beautiful face filled with promise and longing. He nearly changed his mind, but then he turned and took off through the forest at a run, every precious second counting before someone noticed they were gone. Still, it was only ten minutes there, ten minutes back, he reckoned. Not too concerning an amount and surely enough time to cool his blood and regain control. However the thought of returning and drinking champagne then kissing her again both tantalised and tortured and Patrick knew he’d have to be strong enough for both of them today. Because as ladylike and angelic as Ivy Merriweather may be, she was flesh and blood too, and deep in this age-old rainforest she became more than a beautiful girl. She became a powerful, primal seductress.
It was one of those moments Ivy knew she’d remember always: the time she shared her first-ever kiss with the man she loved deep in the cradle of paradise. For she did love Patrick Earle – the feeling in the kiss they’d shared was too powerful to be anything less. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, this sensation of being emotionally blended with another being and physically consumed by them at the same time. Every part of her had felt suddenly more alive and driven by a strange, aching need, almost like hunger but far more wondrous.
‘Adult fun’ was surpassing all her daydreaming and expectations, but, as the minutes ticked by and she waited for him to return, those other emotions began to resurface and take over.
Adult responsibility began to gnaw. For this was also the day she’d hurt her sister Aggie and that pulled at her conscience as she paced the forest floor. It was all Frankie’s fault, attacking her like that, she fumed, but Ivy was a fair-minded girl and she soon had to concede that she couldn’t really lay all the blame at her elder sister’s door. She couldn’t really blame the champagne either.
Truth was, she was just plain angry at them both, and her mother too. That admission made her stop now and stare at the trickling waterfall and creek, trying to sort through such an enormous thought. There was no other word for it, she realised with sudden clarity as the water seemed to wash the truth clean.
She was angry, even at poor Aggie.
Her sisters and mother infuriated her with all their passion and fire over feminism and women’s rights, because it made the world seem an ugly place and Ivy’s world was all about beauty. Why should she be made to feel guilty about that? Loving beautiful things, wanting to be beautiful and attract a handsome man, appreciating the beauty of all that surrounded her with an artistic eye … wasn’t that simply part of being a woman? The best part, perhaps? Her father even claimed it to be a form of intelligence and he was a professor, after all.
Yes, Ivy was angry, and sick to death of being made to feel inferior within her family, and adding that to the incredible feelings Patrick had awakened in her was a dangerous game. Passion and fury were combining with that budding recklessness of before and she was alone. In the middle of the forest at the heart of this wilderness.
An inner wildness came over her then, a need to immerse herself in it further and become part of its very veins, and so she began to follow the water, down further into the gully, where only the dragonflies would usually go. Creeping through thick undergrowth and guided by the building flow, she emerged at its place of release: a small cove alongside t
he river. It was lined with rocks that gleamed in the sun and Ivy blinked against the glare and heat, her dress feeling heavy all of a sudden, her hat ludicrous now. Off they came, and, clad only in her underthings, she picked her way over the rocks to the water and waded in, the coolness like silk against her skin. Patrick would be back soon, and his fingers might trail against some of the places the water caressed. She allowed the sensual pleasure of that scandalous thought consume her as the river washed the anger and recklessness away, leaving her with passion alone.
She felt calmer now as she made her way out and climbed across the rocks towards her clothes, every inch of her skin refreshed, alert. Alive to the sensation of touch. Water, sunshine, moss.
Perhaps if she hadn’t been thinking about the feel of the soft, slimy stuff beneath her feet she would have relied more on her sense of sight and noticed a batch of oyster shells clinging to the rock. And perhaps she would have avoided the soles of her feet being cruelly sliced as she stepped on them and cried out in pain, slipped hard and fell. And perhaps her world would have stayed lit by the sunlight on her eighteenth birthday on this, the first day of 1902.
But instead it all turned black as her red curls hit the rock. The warmth of her very essence began to trickle into the water; a dark crimson stain soon to clear when the tide washed it away and Ivy became one with it. Flowing with the lifeblood of the Australian bush.
Ten
‘Ivy!’
Frankie’s voice was growing hoarse and Aggie was growing more and more agitated as they scoured the bushland along the path.
‘She’ll be with Patrick, exploring,’ Robert reassured them yet again but both sisters looked at him askance.
‘That doesn’t help much if we can’t find him either.’ Aggie’s tone was clipped. That she spoke to him in such a manner revealed just how worried she truly was and Frankie felt her gut tighten. What a drama to cause so late in the day, she fumed internally at Ivy, supposing this was her sister’s idea of revenge after their fight. Yet fear was overriding anger as the shadows lengthened and the light began to grow golden. The danger of her sister being lost in the bush overnight was becoming less nonsensical with every passing minute and she doubted Patrick Earle would risk her sister’s reputation by disappearing with her as long as this. No, something was wrong, and Frankie knew Aggie sensed it too.
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