The Art of Preserving Love

by Robbi Neal

  He stood and waited some more.

  Finally she said, ‘Of course I give my permission and I am sure he’ll say yes and if he doesn’t I will throw an almighty tantrum.’

  ‘All right then,’ said Theo.

  Everything in his life had just suddenly fallen into place. He put his hat back on, straightened and standing tall, tapped his stick on the ground a few times as if he knew there was something else he should say or something else he should do but it just wouldn’t come to him, so he strode away while Edie stood, her eyes closed waiting for his kiss, the kiss that would seal him to her. The kiss that would show the world she was worth something because someone named Theodore Hooley wanted her for his own. And the churchwomen, watching her standing with her eyes closed and her head held up and her lips waiting as Theo walked away, laughed and nodded at Vera Gamble. Edie Cottingham was just Too Much.

  Four

  Paul

  A seed is planted but may not grow because the sun at its most spiteful burns any vulnerable thing.

  Paul Cottingham had Reverend Whitlock pinned up against the cold bluestone of the church wall.

  ‘Reid is a joke,’ said Paul vehemently. ‘All he managed to give this country is Empire Day — one lousy holiday, a holiday we already had and he gave it a new name and everyone acted as though he was the workingman’s hero.’

  Reverend Whitlock’s hair bristled and his thin eyes narrowed until they disappeared.

  Paul was furious with the Reverend’s sermon and had hauled him off to have it out with him. Reverend or not, the man was a top-class idiot. Paul had swung his umbrella about as if it was a sword and Whitlock had retreated in the face of Paul’s advance until his back was up against the church wall and he stood pinned like a dunce in the corner of a schoolroom.

  Whitlock’s cheeks turned beetroot.

  ‘Now, Reverend,’ Paul took the Reverend’s fine slender hand firmly in his own broader one and held it tightly.

  The Reverend winced. He hated to admit it but it hurt. He wouldn’t ever tell anyone that. He might say, Oh, that Cottingham’s got a handshake like a bear, but he’d never say it hurt.

  ‘Do you think it’s reasonable to denounce a man in his absence?’ Paul put the question as though Whitlock was on the witness stand and he was addressing Judge Murphy.

  Whitlock knew exactly what he was talking about; Cottingham made no bones about his political commitment.

  ‘Well now, if Mister Deakin wanted to lead this country again, then surely he put himself forward for public scrutiny, wouldn’t you say, Mister Cottingham?’ The Reverend thought he defended himself quite nicely. ‘The trouble with the protectionists,’ he went on, gathering confidence, ‘is that they want too much too fast.’ He nodded in agreement with himself. He didn’t like change. Change brought conflict and conflict unnecessarily churned up your gut and pushed acid into your throat and you could taste its bitterness. That couldn’t be good for you. He felt the need to burp and stifled it. If only Paul Cottingham would keep his blasted opinions to himself. But he could see the wretched man wasn’t going to, and after all, he never had. Obstinate fellow. The daughter was painted with the same brush. No wonder she was still single. He’d seen the outrageous shortness of her skirt. That would be the topic of next week’s sermon. He’d put a stop quick smart to such sluttiness before it caught on.

  ‘Yes, in the public arena,’ said Paul, ‘but your words from the pulpit are considered to come from God. We are building a new nation, Reverend Whitlock. Do you honestly believe that God would have us build this nation on the backs of starving families? This town we live in, Reverend, is gloriously built on the backs of the miners. Look at this very building, at St Patrick’s Cathedral opposite there; look at our immense Town Hall with its glorious clock that chimes every hour. It’s mining money that’s purchased those bluestone blocks and the carved organ they house. It’s the hard labour of ironwork that has decorated the buildings, but do you see the miners living in fine buildings? No sir, only the mine owners, who never get their hands dirty, can afford to buy their way into heaven with bricks and mortar. We must pray that Mister Deakin remains prime minister of this nation for many a year so he can protect our trade and our workers as much as possible.’

  Surely, thought Paul, this supposed man of God should care first and foremost for those who had little.

  ‘Mister Deakin! Well! We all know exactly where that man got his ideas from. Mister Deakin is a Satanic spiritualist,’ the Reverend spat.

  ‘Mister Deakin is a staunch admirer of Bunyan and what finer Christian example could anyone wish for?’ snapped Paul.

  ‘I hear tell,’ the Reverend said slowly, producing his trump card, ‘that our honourable Mister Deakin claims he channelled the words of his book from the great man Bunyan himself. There is only one place spiritualism comes from, Mister Cottingham, and it isn’t our Lord Jesus Christ.’ Reverend Whitlock smiled, then he leant in close and whispered, ‘Because I am a man of God and don’t spread another man’s sins far and wide I won’t say this too loudly, but — I think you’re a bit of a radical socialist, Mister Cottingham.’

  Paul laughed, loudly and deeply, rolling back on his heels. The stupid man thought he had insulted him, when in fact Paul was proud of his socialist beliefs. To him it was the only Christian option.

  ‘Don’t you take anything seriously?’ the Reverend sneered.

  Paul stopped laughing and grinned, as though Whitlock was a bit slow on the uptake. Then Paul spoke slowly, as if he was explaining to a child — obviously the Reverend had the social intelligence of a six-year-old.

  ‘We have, Reverend, a choice between free trade and protectionism; one dependent on chance, the other on care. Do you leave the wellbeing of your flock to chance, or do you care for it?’

  Paul’s gaze scorched the Reverend, who had to look away, and as he did so, his eyes widened. Paul turned to see what the Reverend was gawking at and saw Edie standing under a tree with the Hooley lad.

  ‘That girl of yours is being very forward with the church organist. If they stand any closer they’ll be fornicating in public view.’ The Reverend raised an eyebrow. ‘But I’m not one to point out another’s sins. It’s not my style, Mister Cottingham.’

  Paul had already forgotten the Reverend and murmured absently, ‘You may step down.’

  Paul watched his daughter closely. Hooley whispered something in her ear and after a while she whispered back. Then she lifted her face as though she expected Hooley to kiss her, right there in public, for goodness sake. But Hooley put on his hat and walked away.

  Oh no, thought Paul, the stupid fool has cast her aside. He got ready to rush over to comfort Edie but then when she turned in his direction he saw she was triumphant, her eyes filled with everything she had ever hoped for. She took out her notebook and wrote something and then she rushed over to him.

  ‘Oh Papa, it’s like I’m walking on a sunbeam, can you see it? Can you see all the pieces of me just floating around in the sun?’

  He looked hard at her. Excitement was building and twirling in her head and her heart; it was bubbling so furiously it was threatening to spill out in front of everyone. She reached out as if to catch the sun, to catch her dreams and hold them tightly in her hands forever.

  ‘Steady, steady,’ he said.

  Edie took a deep breath. ‘He didn’t kiss me but that doesn’t change anything. Not really, does it?’ Paul saw her tuck away that first tiny disappointment. ‘He’s going to ask, Papa,’ she said. ‘That’s all that matters. He’s going to ask you.’

  ‘What’s he going to ask me?’

  Edie twirled around. ‘Look. I wrote in my notebook.’ She held the book open and he saw she had written:

  Fifth November Five

  Plan — Papa will give permission.

  ‘What shall I say? Not on your sweet Nellie, I suppose.’

  Edie dug him in the ribs.

  Then she burst into laughter and ran, triumphant, in fr
ont of Missus Blackmarsh and Missus Turnbull and twirled in front of Missus Whitlock and they all tutted and glared at Paul as if it was his fault that his daughter had finally lost her marbles, and Theo, who was watching her from where he stood with some of the men, smiled. She was everything he wasn’t.

  Edie ran to Beth and grabbed her hands and jumped on the spot; soon she’d be an engaged woman. She turned to her mother and threw her arms around her, and her mother held her tight. Lucy was still not sure what all the excitement was about and looked questioningly at Paul as he walked over to them.

  ‘We’re off home now, girls, we’re not staying for morning tea this week,’ he said. ‘It’s time that scandalous skirt was put back in a cupboard where I hope it will spend the rest of its life. It’s done enough damage for today. Maud Blackmarsh will be telling stories about it for many years to come and the skirt will get shorter every time she tells it.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Edie, ‘this is the best skirt I’ve ever had.’

  All the way home they tried to keep up with Edie but failed, so she was waiting at the front door for them.

  Paul stopped to catch his breath and reached into his pocket for his key. He looked at Lucy, who was pale and winded.

  ‘You look done in,’ he said as he helped her through the door. She leant against the cool wall. ‘It was probably the brisk walk home,’ he added with no conviction. If only it was just a brisk walk that was causing Lucy to look so ashen. He stood in the rainbow beam and wished Lucy would be all right; only then would he be able to breathe properly again and lose the constant constriction he felt in his chest.

  Lucy took deep gasping breaths. ‘I’m just going to have forty winks. I won’t have lunch, Beth.’

  ‘Beth can bring you in a tray,’ Paul said, hoping she would eat.

  ‘No, thank you all the same. I don’t think I can eat.’

  ‘But you must eat, you must keep up your energy.’ Paul felt his chest getting tighter and the air becoming heavier. Lucy didn’t reply, she took another deep breath and walked to her room, using the wall for support.

  ‘I’ll come and check on you in a while,’ he said after her.

  ‘Mama’s all right, isn’t she?’

  Paul looked at Edie. He knew there was something important happening with Edie but for a moment he couldn’t remember what.

  ‘Papa? Mama’s all right? She’s not sick or anything?’

  ‘She’s just a little tired, nothing to worry about; the vigorous walk home from church has done her in. She’s just having forty winks.’

  Paul took Edie by the arm and walked her into the dining room, and they sat at the oval blackwood table. Beth made several trips to the dining room, carrying the lamb, then the potatoes and gravy, and finally the peas and carrots.

  Edie lifted the lid covering the roast lamb and it seemed a live thing staring back at her; it looked just like Missus Blackmarsh who had said she was Too Plain. He won’t come, he won’t come, the Blackmarsh lamb taunted as its heat hit her face and she quickly put the lid back on to shut it up.

  ‘I can’t eat — when do you think he’ll come to ask, Papa?’

  ‘I expect given his age — what, he must be thirty at least — I’d say he’s as eager as you are, dear,’ said Paul. ‘Now pass me the vegetables.’ He didn’t want to bother with this fellow wanting his daughter at the moment.

  ‘You’ll be the bridesmaid, won’t you Beth?’ Edie asked, ignoring her father’s jibe at Theo’s age.

  ‘I don’t have a dress,’ said Beth.

  ‘That’s easily fixed,’ said Edie. ‘Besides, you have to be my bridesmaid, you’re practically my sister.’ Edie grinned at her father and kicked her feet feeling her skirt brush against her ankles. She put her hand in her pocket and felt her notebook resting snugly there. Her plan had worked. Without a little extra incentive Theo might have spent the rest of his life considering whether or not to ask her. She may not be pretty but she knew how to make plans and solve problems.

  Just as well I pushed her into him, thought Beth as she tried to avoid the peas and only pick up carrots, or he’d never have had the courage to take her by her arm and ask.

  Paul sliced up the lamb as though he was slicing up the Reverend. The pulpit was not the place for politics and Paul had pressed his point home with the Reverend, a man so spineless it was no wonder his compassion was so thinly spread. Without the pulpit as a fortress for his thoughts, the man was feeble-brained. After lunch Paul would go and tell Lucy how the Reverend had whispered in his ear, ‘You’re a bit of a radical socialist’, as though he’d just cleverly unmasked a secret.

  Paul had felt like patting him on the head when he came out with that, the way you pat a child who has just worked out a simple equation or how to spell c-a-t. ‘Good boy, Reverend, good boy,’ he’d felt like saying, ‘you’re starting to figure things out by yourself.’

  Of course Paul hadn’t said anything; he was too busy laughing at the man’s incompetence.

  ‘Compromise is not the same as defeat.’ He hadn’t realised he’d said it out loud.

  ‘Sorry?’ asked Beth.

  ‘It’s what I always tell my clerks,’ said Paul. He put a slice of lamb on Edie’s plate, ignoring her protest, and a slice on Beth’s. He put two slices on his own.

  Of course what had really got in the way of his little talk with the Reverend was Edie. He looked over at her; she was playing with her food.

  ‘For goodness sake, Edith, stop chasing that pea around the plate.’ She looked at him. He’d hurt her, he shouldn’t have snapped at her like that. ‘Chase all the peas you want, love,’ he said and got up and took yesterday’s papers from the paper basket and buried his nose in The Courier. It was four broadsheets and took up a good deal of space on the table — he had to push his crockery out of the way — and if he read he didn’t have to think about Lucy. Oh Lucy. But he couldn’t help thinking about her. If she was at lunch she’d be giving him her look for reading at the table. But she was lying down, and it was his fault and he’d check on her soon. But he turned to the page with the cablegrams and pretended to be more engrossed than he was, building an invisible wall of ‘don’t disturb me’, because he knew that Edie badly wanted to interrupt him.

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ here it comes, he thought. He’d never get his few moments of relief with the paper. He watched as she swallowed the last of her stewed apple whole, gulping it down like a dry piece of steak.

  ‘Papa,’ she said again.

  ‘If it’s about Hooley, you don’t need to prep me,’ he said.

  ‘Well, what are you going to say to him?’

  He sighed. He just wanted to read his paper. He didn’t want to think about his only child being claimed by that tall, too quiet man who was nearly half her age again. Edie’s chin was out, that was a bad sign. He’d never get any peace. He folded the paper and put it on the table.

  ‘I suppose that first of all I shall warn him about your persistent temperament, your stubbornness, the way you put your nose in the air when you’re cross — which you are too often, and the way your chin juts out when you’re determined to have your way — which you always expect. I shall warn him that unlike most women you always speak your mind whether it’s needed or not, and that if he persists in marrying you he shall never have a moment’s peace.’ He smiled at her worried face and added, ‘And then I shall say it’s up to you because you’ve never listened to anything I’ve ever said anyway.’ He stood up, dodged her swipe at him and pushed his chair into the table. ‘I’ve got to go to the office for a few hours.’

  ‘Working on a Sunday?’ asked Edie. ‘What if Theo comes by?’

  ‘Theo already, is it? Then send him down to the office.’

  ‘What are you going for?’

  ‘I have to go and prepare my speech for tomorrow night’s meeting at the Mechanics Institute,’ he said, thinking he might also finish the paper. ‘If we’re to build a new nation, Edith, it must not be built on
the backs of factory workers and miners — they’re a sorry bunch, being paid tributes instead of decent wages. As if you can feed families on tributes! I had a fair mind to walk out of the Reverend’s sermon this morning, I was that riled. I can only hope the rest of the congregation took as much notice of the Reverend’s words as you did, Edie.’ And he ducked another swipe. ‘Well, you know where I’ll be,’ he said.

  ‘But what about Theo?’

  ‘What about him? I already said — send him down to the office.’

  ‘But Papa, he might not want me if he has to walk to the office,’ she said, sounding six years old.

  ‘If a three-block walk puts him off, Edie, then he’s not worth having.’

  ‘Four — it’s four blocks.’

  ‘Well, if it’s four blocks then we can test his commitment and stamina at the same time.’ Paul picked up The Star from the basket, rolled it and The Courier together and tucked them under his arm as he walked to the door. Damn that man for wanting his daughter. He’d miss her terribly when she was married.

  Paul stood at the door of his wife’s bedroom. She was asleep, lying in her clothes on top of the made bed, her arms flung above her head, her dress falling over the side of the bed in a waterfall. He watched the tides of her body rising and falling. It was quiet. Not a sound except her breathing. He knew she was too old to be going through this and the guilt made his chest begin to hurt as if a bluestone block was sitting on top of it. She was so thin, she hardly showed. He’d seen her body through the bathroom door; she was like a twig bending under the weight of an emperor gum’s cocoon. The shame made him slump against the door.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘I was just going to the office,’ he said, ‘but I can stay here with you.’

  ‘What about Edie’s beau?’

  ‘He can come down to the office. I’ll only be sending him back to Edie anyway. If he’s serious he won’t resent a little running around for our daughter.’