Sisters of Freedom

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  She tried desperately to push that truth away but once Patrick had dropped her off with only a perfunctory goodnight kiss she couldn’t seem to halt it.

  Everyone was in bed when she went into the house but Ivy knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep so she headed out to the ponds, strolling about them restlessly, huddled in her coat. Wondering if Riley was up, despite herself. She drew closer to the annex, unable to resist being nearer to him and suddenly there he was, wide awake and rolling a cigarette as he leant against the annex door, but he was really watching her.

  ‘How was the party?’

  ‘Good,’ she said, coming closer, ‘how was your night?’

  ‘Had a great time playing with the kids, then it was pretty much the same as usual,’ he said, ‘just keeping company with the moon and reading awhile.’

  Ivy nodded. She would have preferred to be here than at the party, listening to his rumbling voice paint pictures of wondrous tales from days gone by. It surprised her, realising that she’d changed from the social butterfly she used to be to someone who was happier with the gentler comforts of home.

  Riley stepped away from the door, pocketing his unlit cigarette as he moved towards her.

  ‘So what did you get up to? Eating cake and drinking champagne?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, tracing his features with her eyes, drinking him in. How wonderful it was to have him here at Kuranda in flesh and blood, no longer just a memory.

  ‘Dancing?’ he said and she shook her head.

  ‘Patrick said he didn’t feel like it.’

  ‘Seems a shame to get all dressed up in your finery and never get to dance.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘Is that an invitation?’

  Riley smiled back. ‘It is now.’

  He took her in his arms, never taking his eyes from hers, and slowly began to lead her around. She remembered this safe, warm place, as she leant her cheek against his chest. The gentle comfort of him. Home. The word floated through her mind as he began to hum softly under his breath, the same tune he often whistled or sang, and it reverberated against her ear.

  ‘What’s that song of yours?’ she mumbled against him.

  ‘It’s American,’ he told her, ‘it’s about a man who lives on the Wabash River.’

  ‘Sing it to me?’ she asked and he softly began.

  Many years have passed since I strolled by the river,

  Arm in arm, with sweetheart Mary by my side,

  He stopped dancing, and she drew back, her eyes moving up to his, and he was gazing at her with intensity.

  It was there I tried to tell her that I loved her,

  It was there I begged of her to be my bride.

  Ivy reached up, unable to resist kissing his mouth from where those beautiful words escaped. Riley pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her back. There was nothing unrestrained about this kiss and Ivy felt passion leap for the second time in her life, only this time it was even more consuming, like she wanted to crawl inside him, so much did she want this. So much did she love him. Her heart exploded with the fact and she drew back, the reality of that sinking in.

  ‘I … I can’t … do this. I’m getting married to Patrick tomorrow,’ she said, shocked that she’d completely put that out of her mind. ‘I … I could never do that to him … not after all I put him through before.’

  ‘I love you,’ Riley said, pushing her hair back from her face and cupping her cheek. ‘Fiona knew it. It was her other dying wish, that I go to you and love you. That’s why she wanted us to share the children, to keep the people she cared for the most together and for me to find happiness … with you.’

  Ivy began to cry at those words. ‘But I can’t do this to Patrick. It’s too cruel.’ She sobbed, backing away and shaking her head. ‘… and it’s too late. I’m sorry, Riley, sorrier than you’ll ever know.’

  And with that she ran back to the house and up to her room to cry away the ache in her heart, broken by the knowledge that she’d found passion once more, but it came wrapped up in love for the wrong man. A man she believed in and a man who believed in her, but from whom she was wretchedly destined to forever be parted.

  Thirty-Five

  Aggie stared out the window to where the lone figure of Riley Logan stood, head bowed in the moonlight, and she clutched baby Ivy tight. Fear flooded through her as she considered what she’d just witnessed and what it could mean. For Ivy did love Riley Logan, she’d read it clearly in the way they had just danced and held each other and kissed, and in the wretchedness of Ivy’s sobs as she ran from him. Ivy was too kind a girl to break things off with Patrick on the eve of their wedding day. But she didn’t know what Aggie knew, that Frankie had feelings for Patrick and, if the look on his face had been anything to go by that night, he had feelings for her too.

  Still, this wedding would go ahead. Ivy and Frankie were both blindly unwilling to hurt each other, yet ultimately they were making decisions that would leave them wretchedly unhappy. Aggie could well foresee it. And poor Riley Logan would be left alone in the process. There was really only one person who could put a stop to all this and that was Aggie herself, the single soul that knew the truth of it all, reading the turmoil going on with her sisters as clearly as if their stories lay before her in an open book.

  But her own happiness lay in the balance in all this too, for if Riley married Ivy instead, the legal custodians of her children would be together, just as their dying mother had probably planned. That they would take them and raise them together seemed too logical and voided Aggie and Robert’s need to adopt the three girls, for it was the power of Fiona’s wishes that would hold the most sway. That love was sure to influence Riley’s decision above all others, despite what Ivy might say.

  Yes, sisterly love was a powerful thing and it was holding them all in its grip now as sibling loyalty made prisoners of them all, yet looking over at her sleeping husband’s contented face and at the baby that rested in her arms, Aggie knew it had fierce competition. For the love a man and a woman shared was a force to be reckoned with too. And a parent’s love likely more powerful still.

  Well should it be a celebration of romantic love in the church tomorrow at Ivy and Patrick’s wedding but in reality it looked set to be the scene of all forms of love going to war. In a year when a woman’s right to vote was the most important topic of the day it seemed a woman’s right to love would be the greatest fight of all.

  Thirty-Six

  Our Lady of the Rosary Church, Sydney, 14 June 1902

  Sister Ursula began playing the ‘Wedding March’ and the congregation rose as one as the little twins walked down the aisle, adorable in their matching pink dresses, followed by Frankie and Aggie, also in pink. Ivy tried desperately to calm the nerves coursing through her body but it was no use.

  ‘You ready, Ivy girl?’ her father asked and she looked at his dear face, fighting the urge to blurt the truth: that she couldn’t possibly marry Patrick Earle today. That she loved Riley Logan, with all her heart. He was her home and she belonged with him, building a life on the river where there were moments so beautiful you simply had to believe there was a God.

  But it wasn’t a river version of God joining her to Patrick today, it was a Catholic one. The service was being celebrated in his family’s faith, at his mother’s insistence, and it was too late for Ivy to take Him on as she stared out at the packed church. It was too late to change her mind, lest she hurt this man who had been through so much because of her. He deserved her loyalty on this day. And what God would join together, Catholic or otherwise, neither man, nor woman, could legally divide.

  Ivy nodded at her father and he led her down the aisle to smiles from the assembled throng, but Ivy searched each face desperately, finding the one she most wanted, yet dreaded to see. He sat by himself, towards the back, and she caught his eye in the briefest of moments, reading burning love there and a last-minute plea that she change her mind.

  Yet, as she dragged her e
yes away and looked to the end of the aisle, Patrick met her gaze too, nervous and wide-eyed as he watched her approach. She knew she couldn’t leave him at that altar any more than she could tell her father what she truly felt, and so she kept putting one foot in front of the other, helpless to avert her fate.

  Sister Ursula changed the tune mid-song, as Harriet had suggested weeks ago, and the words filled Ivy’s mind.

  Daughters of freedom, the truth marches on,

  Yield not the battle till ye have won!

  And so Harriet’s three daughters made their way down the aisle on this cold winter’s day, yet there was no truth marching with the bride, for the battle for true love was well yielded. Indeed over before it had barely begun.

  She reached the end of the aisle and could see Father Brown glaring at Sister Ursula as she finished playing the anthem but the old nun glared defiantly back at him. Ivy registered that at least one woman in this church had won a small victory today.

  Father Brown turned to Albert then, his loud voice booming.

  ‘Who gives this man to this woman in holy matrimony?’

  ‘I do,’ her father said and Ivy felt the finality of the situation descend over her as he took her hand and placed it in Patrick’s.

  He looked slightly sick too but tried to smile and she tried to return it as they turned to face the priest and the Latin Mass began. Ivy looked over to her sisters as they stood beside her, her last bastion of hope. Her protectors. But only God Himself could save Ivy’s broken heart now.

  Frankie was drawing on the deepest strength she possessed: the love she felt for her family, especially for her younger sister Ivy as she glowed in bridal white like the angel she was. It was the only thing that stopped her running from this place and away from the terrible truth: that she was in love with the man Ivy was marrying. For ‘feelings’ had ceased to be the word she applied to what coursed through her. All the emotions she felt for him had become that one, great, all-encompassing force. He’d almost uttered the word himself last night but she’d stopped him, for it could never be admitted by either of them now.

  Yet it was true. She loved him, as maddening and argumentative as he could be.

  They fired each other’s blood in more ways than one yet he’d admired her for her mind first, long before their bodies had a played a part in it, to the point he would support her, she knew, if she was the one who married him that day. He’d listened to her and he’d changed, a respect not many men she knew afforded women. A man she once considered pompous and incapable of supporting the feminist cause was now a man who would help a wife have a career and fight for reform. He’d come a long way that year, showing a depth of character she would never have supposed he possessed, and a loyalty unsurpassed as he stood honouring his vow to Ivy. Doing what was right, despite how he felt.

  Frankie knew she would go away while they honeymooned and not return for quite a long time, perhaps visit her great-uncle Frank in Queensland or go to Melbourne and perhaps try to meet with Vida Goldstein, who was returning from her American tour. Begin her spinsterish political life in earnest, knowing the only man she ever would have compromised it for would never be hers. The one who still would have let her pursue her passions, indeed support them as they studied and lobbied together, and who would have helped her find a way to navigate it all as a married woman. They could have journeyed through their careers together, fulfilling aspirations. Lifting one another up. He was a rare such man, as she’d realised too late. But she was duty bound by her love for her sister, and she was destined to be his sister too.

  The priest droned on, binding Ivy to this man, like a spell they’d never be able to break. Latin words, like so many others found in law. But this was God’s law, and the law of nature – the primal fact that men and women were drawn together and joined by the flesh – ruled on. The decision irreversible once vows were made in these holy walls.

  Frankie lifted her gaze to Aggie, knowing she was the only one who would ever suspect the truth. There was no censure as her sister returned her look, only understanding, and something else Frankie struggled to read. But then the big moment arrived as the priest reverted to English and Frankie braced herself to watch the life-changing moment that would seal all their fates as Ivy finally became what Frankie had never have thought she wanted for herself and indeed, would never be: Patrick Earle’s wife.

  Aggie struggled as she watched it all unfold. There were so many people to love that it was impossible to choose what was right when her heart overflowed with it all: sisterly love one moment, maternal love the next. Beside her, Frankie’s eyes were huge and round, like she watched a funeral service rather than a marriage. At their pew, the twins were transfixed, and baby Ivy cooed and smiled on Robert’s lap, bringing all of Aggie’s mothering instincts to the fore. And then there was her love for her husband as he sat distracted from the ceremony, gazing at their soon-to-be daughters adoringly.

  Everyone she loved most was caught in this web and Aggie was the only one who could untangle them but, oh the risk, she agonised, looking over at the baby once more. She was standing now, her little legs flexing in her stockings as she tried to find her balance. It reminded Aggie of something, one of her earliest memories, of her father calling from the lounge room all those years ago. ‘She’s walking!’

  Aggie’s gaze was drawn to that baby, now a grown-up bride, as she took yet another momentous step. Somehow Aggie found the courage to look at Ivy’s expression properly for the first time, finding her sister’s eyes trained on Father Brown’s face as he intoned, ‘… a decision to be made reverently, solemnly and in the eyes of God …’

  But Ivy’s eyes were filled with terror and something that broke Aggie’s heart: a terrible aching sadness. Something that her sister would now live with for the rest of her days, married to a man she didn’t love while the one she did watched on, tied to her by a dying woman’s words.

  ‘… what God joins together, man must not divide …’

  Baby Ivy gurgled happily and Aggie felt a tear inside as she desperately tried to choose between those warring loves.

  Father Brown cleared his throat. ‘If there is anyone here who knows of any reason why this man and woman should not be joined together …’

  The love she felt as a wife, as a mother, as a sister …

  ‘… let them speak now or forever hold their peace.’

  Aggie’s eyes flew from the baby then back to Ivy and all Aggie saw was the little girl in her sister once more, the one she’d so achingly nearly lost not six months ago.

  ‘Then, by the power invested in me …’

  ‘I object.’

  Thirty-Seven

  There were gasps around the church and Aggie’s heart beat hard, heat flooding through her with the shock that she’d been the one to say it.

  Father Brown paused and stared over at her, astounded at first then demanding, ‘On what grounds?’

  Aggie sought desperately for the right words but realised the truth must simply march on. ‘This man and woman don’t love each other, they each love someone else.’

  There were more gasps and Sybil Earle could be clearly heard. ‘Of all the outrageous things … Patrick, refute this nonsense at once.’

  But Patrick was turning towards Ivy and they both gaped at one another.

  ‘You love someone else?’ Ivy said, eyes huge.

  Patrick hesitated before answering. ‘Yes,’ he admitted as the room erupted further. ‘Yes, I’m sorry but … but it’s true. I do. And … and you?’

  Ivy nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I do too.’

  She looked down the aisle towards the back of the church where Riley Logan was slowly standing. Scandalised muttering from the congregation rose as he began to walk towards her, and Ivy ran down the altar steps. Riley began to run too, then she launched herself in his arms as he spun her around, both laughing yet crying too. Lowering her to the ground, he lifted her veil, his expression rapturous and reverently adoring as
he kissed her.

  ‘I love you,’ she wept.

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be,’ Harriet said.

  ‘A common man like that over my Patrick …?’ Sybil said, clearly furious, but Ivy and Riley didn’t care. They were still kissing, then held each other close.

  ‘Marry me?’ Riley said.

  And Ivy smiled through her tears as she looked up at him, her face incandescent with pure joy. ‘Yes.’

  The crowded church was filled with shocked whispers and exclamations as they watched, but soon eyes began to turn back to Patrick.

  ‘And … and what about you then?’ the priest spluttered. ‘Who is the woman you profess to love?’

  But Patrick was already staring at Frankie, his expression filled with desperate heartache. ‘One who won’t wed me, I’m afraid.’

  Frankie stared back, still appearing stunned, but her face slowly lit into a glorious, tear-filled smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, eyes glittering. ‘It’s customary in these situations for the groom to marry the bridesmaid.’

  Patrick gazed at her in disbelief before he broke into a smile too, one filled with love, and he moved over to stand before her. ‘Well, I’d best act on that decision immediately before you realise you’ve just broken your own law.’

  ‘Some rules are made to be broken,’ she said as he took her in his arms and kissed her. Sybil Earle collapsed in a faint.

  ‘Frankie …?’ Harriet could be heard saying in amazement, turning to Albert, but he could only shrug. Aggie watched her parents shake their heads and begin to laugh, adding to the chaos in the church, and Father Brown looked around in consternation, red-faced.

  ‘Sit down now, all of you,’ he boomed loudly. ‘This is a church, I’ll have you remember.’

  But the place was in complete uproar as the two couples continued to kiss and he threw his hands in the air and walked out. Aggie was left alone by the altar, her eyes trained on Robert. They were the only two people not moving or commenting as the twins ran down the aisle to Ivy and Riley at the back of the church. Aggie slowly followed them and Robert joined her, handing her the baby. She cradled little Ivy fearfully as they reached them. Ivy and Riley had drawn apart as the twins hugged their legs with excitement and Ivy looked at Aggie tearfully, her face shining with happiness as a bride’s should. Ivy took her sister’s hand.