The Sisters' Song

by Louise Allan

  ‘It is his fault,’ she said. ‘He spread it from one end of the hall to the other. It looks like the frost has come inside.’

  ‘I’m not meaning that.’ I inhaled and slowly released my breath. ‘I’m meaning it’s not his fault you had to give up singing.’

  Her face twitched, and she looked down and swallowed a few times. ‘He’s still done the wrong thing.’

  That night, I whispered to Len in bed. ‘I’ve tried to turn a blind eye to it because I know this isn’t the life she wanted, but, sometimes, I’m not sure she loves him at all.’ I hesitated before continuing. ‘Sometimes, I think she even hates him.’

  ‘She’s his mother,’ Len whispered back. ‘Every mother loves their child.’

  ‘Do they?’ I said.

  ‘At least you love him, Ide,’ he continued. ‘Let’s just hope she’ll be happier when Alf gets back.’

  Meanwhile, Alf was fretting up in Darwin. He was homesick and wrote sad letters about how much he missed Nora and the bush. Eventually, Alf’s father wrote to the powers that be saying they needed him at the mill, cutting wood, and as that was considered an essential wartime service, he was allowed to come home early.

  ‘He’s a bit soft if you ask me,’ said Mum when she heard. ‘It’s that cleft in his chin.’

  ‘Alf is not soft,’ I said. ‘He’s built for log-cutting, not soldiering, that’s all.’

  He arrived late one afternoon towards the end of 1943. Through the window of the taxi, I glimpsed his slouch hat move forward and back again. Then the door opened and he climbed out. He appeared slimmer and taller in his uniform, and the sun behind him made his shadow long. He slung his swag over his shoulder, and as he began to walk towards us, his pace quickened until he was striding over the footpath and through the gate. He took the steps in one stride, up and onto the verandah. He dropped his swag and enveloped Nora in his arms, holding her as if he wanted to draw her inside of him and never let her go.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ His voice sounded dry, as if it was coming from the back of his throat.

  Nora’s arms stayed by her sides, and then slowly one hand slid up to his shoulder.

  Alf took her chin in his hands and looked her full in the face. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you.’

  She laughed, a low-pitched, awkward sound.

  Then he pressed his lips against hers and closed his eyes for a long minute.

  Ted was watching them. His eyes were wide, his face open and angelic, framed by his blonde curls. In one movement, Alf let go of Nora and crouched in front of him. Ted’s fingers tightened around mine. Alf took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. His square face was smiling and friendly. ‘By jeez, have I been itching to meet you.’ He motioned with his hand. ‘Come here, son.’

  Ted hid his face in my skirt. ‘It’s all right,’ I said as I patted the top of Ted’s head. ‘Go and say hello to your father.’ But he gripped me even tighter.

  Alf winked. ‘It’s all right. We’ve got plenty of time to get to know each other.’

  The next day, Rex, one of Alf’s brothers, came into town with the truck. I waited with Nora and Ted on the verandah while Alf and Rex loaded the suitcases onto the back of the truck.

  ‘Tarney’s Creek,’ Nora said. She was wearing sunglasses and I couldn’t see her eyes. ‘Alf and Rex have bought their father’s sawmill and a lease on a plot of forest there.’

  ‘Tarney’s Creek?’ I said. ‘I didn’t know there was anything there.’

  She shook her head and her lips quivered. ‘Some huts, apparently. But they want to make the most of the war, with all the building that’s going on. Then we’ll be able to buy a house.’

  ‘We’re ready when you are,’ Rex called from the truck.

  I squeezed Nora close as we embraced. She felt spindly, as if she was hollow and might break. Briefly, her arms pressed against my back, before she let go and stepped away. She pushed a finger up under her sunglasses and wiped her eyes. Then she fixed her handbag over her elbow and said, ‘I’ll be in town each month.’

  ‘And I can visit you,’ I said. ‘It’s not like when you were on the mainland.’

  ‘C’mon, Ted,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to go.’

  He squinted up at his mother. I bent down and pulled him towards me, holding him so my cheek was against his. So I could feel him and inhale the soapy scent of his curls and the milky fragrance of his skin. I knew they were waiting, but I couldn’t let him go. The past couple of years had been the happiest of my life. I wanted to keep holding him until the light waned and the shadows crept forward and hid us, and we could escape and never have to part.

  ‘C’mon, Ted,’ Nora said again.

  I let my arms drop and straightened. Without looking back, I turned and ran up the steps and into the house. I was already sobbing before I’d closed the door. I leant against it and felt the house judder as the truck rumbled and clanged its way up the street and took him away.

  After two and a half years of having a child in the house, just like that it was empty again. I wandered from room to room, trying to find something to do or dust, but all I could hear was the sound of my own feet. I wouldn’t have believed our tiny house could echo, but it did. I think I cried more about them leaving than I did when I lost the babies.

  I spent the daylight hours outside, trimming the ivy before it took over the whole house; getting stuck into the weeds and ripping them out with the hoe; raking fertiliser into the soil; and planting bulbs and perennials. Each night at dusk, I stood on the back step and surveyed my day’s work—the churned soil, the vibrant blooms and the verdant green. I saw all that I’d created, yet I felt empty.

  In the evenings, Len and I sat in armchairs by the fire. He smoked and read the newspaper, while I sat opposite and kept myself busy. I knitted a sky-blue jumper for Ted, a grey cardigan for Nora and a rust-coloured jumper for Len.

  At the end of the following month, Nora and Ted came into town with the log truck to do the shopping. By nine o’clock I was out on the wicker seat on the verandah waiting for them. The day was already warming up—puffy clouds in a light-blue sky, birds singing in the trees on the verge and the smell of the geraniums in my nostrils. Every now and then, I wandered down to the gate to check the street.

  Then I felt the shudder as the timber-laden truck rounded the corner, and I dashed to the gate and peered out. When I saw its peeling and rusty face as it clanged and hissed its way down the street, I felt as if I was greeting an old friend.

  They pulled up outside. Ted was sitting on Nora’s knee, squinting out of the cabin window. His face burst into a smile when he spotted me. Nora couldn’t get down from the truck fast enough, and Ted scrambled out and into my arms. He was heavier and his limbs were longer. His hair was thicker and his eyes were darker. But he was in my arms and, once again, my world felt complete.

  ‘I’ll be back about four,’ Rex called, as the truck rattled off.

  Ted and I waved until he disappeared, while Nora brushed herself down. Despite living in the bush, she looked smart in a grey linen jacket and pleated skirt. ‘You’ve no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.’

  We went to town and bought flour and butter, Velvet soap and Ajax, and four ounces of cheese from the store. Nora bought some fabric and I purchased more wool. Finally, we visited the lolly shop for Ted, where Mr Gourlay in his starched white apron slid humbugs into a brown paper bag before spinning its ends so they looked like ears.

  Then we sat down in the tea rooms, at a table with a chequered cloth and a sprig of lavender in the centre. All around us customers chatted and clanged cutlery, and the place smelt of pumpkin soup and toast.

  ‘Did you see that lady in McKinlay’s wearing slacks?’ said Nora.

  I shook my head and lifted Ted onto my knee.

  ‘I wish I could be that adventurous with fashion. Lots of women in Melbourne wear trousers…’ She fell silent and picked at a thread on the tablecloth. ‘I’m finding
it hard.’

  Ted wriggled on my lap and I held him closer.

  ‘We don’t even have running water. I have to fetch it from the creek with a bucket. And there’s just a camp oven over a fire to cook with, and I have to do the laundry by hand…’ She spread her fingers to show me the ulcerated skin over her knuckles.

  ‘Oh, Nor, take care that doesn’t get infected.’

  She clenched her hand and covered it with the fingers of the other. ‘It’s never-ending, the work. Cooking and cleaning. Alf keeps telling me it’s not forever, that we’ll move to a proper house soon, and Rex keeps telling me being busy is good, that it’ll make the time pass quicker.’

  I let my chin rest on top of Ted’s curls. I could smell Velvet soap in his hair.

  ‘The highlight of my week is mass. Father Piper comes out and says it for us. He’s very nice and it’s terribly good of him to come because it’s such a long way. We set up the kitchen table outside in the clearing for an altar. It’s not a real church, and it’s not the same…’ She shrugged. ‘But it’s better than nothing. And I thought I might sew a dress to wear…’

  Our soup and bread arrived. I cut off the crusts and tore up the bread, and dotted it on top of the soup. It was tomato, warm and familiar. I blew on it and fed a spoonful to Ted. He opened his mouth for more.

  Nora inspected her bowl but didn’t lift her spoon. Her top lip twitched. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can do it.’

  I kept feeding Ted. As soon as he’d swallowed one spoonful, his mouth was open for more. ‘It won’t be forever, Nor.’

  ‘Marriage is.’

  ‘Alf’s a good man,’ I said. ‘He’ll look after you.’

  She sat a while longer, eyeing her bowl with glassy eyes, then picked up her spoon.

  We were quiet when we returned home. I kept an eye on the clock and felt heavier with each passing minute—I wanted to send those hands back the other way until it was morning again. But the crockery on the dresser soon started clinking as the truck rumbled down the street. Outside, Rex honked the horn and it was time to go.

  I carried Ted out on my hip. Nora came through the front door, grappling with her hat and bags. I kept walking down the steps, my feet slowing and growing heavier. When I’d unlatched the gate, I turned.

  Nora was still at the front door, trembling and shaking her head. ‘I can’t. I don’t want to go back out there.’

  I wanted to close the gate and say, ‘Stay. Both of you. Stay.’ But already she was striding forward again, down the steps onto the path and through the gate. I followed and with each step, Ted’s knees pressed further into my midriff. When we reached the truck, Nora set her basket on the grass and held out her arms. Ted clung to me, his knees gouging my waist and his fingers pinching my shoulders.

  ‘C’mon, Ted. We’ve got to go,’ said Nora. She gripped his waist and pulled.

  His fingers dug in deeper, and he shook his head and started to cry. I wanted to glue him to me and run back inside so she couldn’t take him. Instead, I hitched him closer on my hip and brushed a curl away from his ear. With my mouth against his pink, wet cheek, I whispered, ‘Go to your Mum. So you can come back next time.’

  He quietened, the tears in his eyes like morning dew.

  ‘Go, Teddy,’ I said.

  Nora caught him by the waist and he let go of my shoulder. He twisted and watched me as she hoisted them both up and into the truck. I bent and retrieved her basket, wiping under my nose before straightening and handing it to her. She shut the door of the truck and Ted squashed his face against the window. His fingers blanched against the glass, his eyes dark. He stayed pressed against the window as they jostled up the street and the ground under me quivered. They reached the corner and stopped. At a break in the traffic, they were off again, a red rag swinging back and forth, alone on the empty tray, until they disappeared.

  I walked back through the gate and ran up the stairs and inside. I kept going, down the hall and out the back door to the garden. When Len came home from work, I was still outside, hacking at the ground with the hoe, hoping to bury my ache.

  A few months’ later, as I stood at the kitchen bench cutting orange cake for afternoon tea, Nora told me she was pregnant again. I swallowed and said, ‘That’s great news.’ I kept my back to her and my eyes on the cake until my face had time to settle. I cut slowly, a couple of pieces each, and arranged them elegantly on the plate. By the time I turned, I was smiling.

  But Nora wasn’t. She was looking at me with terror in her eyes. ‘The last thing I want to do is take another child to that godforsaken place.’

  I joined her at the table and took her hand in sympathy, but as she talked I could feel the pressure percolating and rising like steam inside me.

  At the end of the conversation, she pulled herself taller and exhaled. ‘I’ve made my bed and in it I must lie.’

  After Nora had left, I headed outside to water the bulbs I’d just planted, but as I passed the baby’s room, I stopped. I turned the handle and stepped inside. The room was in half-light, and the bassinette stood silhouetted by the window. Before I’d reached it, my tears were already flowing.

  Each time Nora came to town, she was paler and skinnier and lagged further behind her swollen belly.

  ‘Take it easy. Take it easy,’ Rex would say as he helped her down from the lorry. He’d hold her gently as he lowered her to the ground, as if she might break. He kept holding her, walking with her, until he was sure she had her balance.

  As her date of confinement neared, her belly protruded further and her walking slowed. She took the verandah steps slowly, then stood at the top, hand on hip, while she caught her breath.

  ‘Why don’t you wait here and rest while I go to town for you?’ I said when I saw the dark arcs beneath her eyes.

  ‘I’ve got an appointment with the doctor. But it’d be nice to go on my own for a change.’

  So Ted and I waved from the gate as Nora’s slim back plodded its way up the street towards the tram stop on the main road. We spent the morning in the garden picking ripe tomatoes. We ate them on the verandah with a sprinkling of salt, smiling at each other as the juice dribbled down our chins.

  Later, we sat at the kitchen table. I sharpened the pencils with a vegetable knife and Ted asked me to draw birds with pretty wings.

  As I was drawing a colourful rosella, he said, ‘Can I live at your house again?’

  ‘Oh, Ted, you make my heart do somersaults.’

  ‘Like an acrobat?’ he said.

  Just after two o’clock, the front door clicked open and Nora bumped down the hallway, her arms laden with bulging bags.

  I took the bags and set them down by the dresser. ‘You shouldn’t be carrying those.’

  ‘They weren’t going to walk themselves home.’ She removed her hat and held the back of the kitchen chair as she eased herself into it. ‘The doctor said I shouldn’t be lifting things. Apparently, it can make the cord wrap around the baby’s neck.’

  I stilled. ‘Oh, Nor…’

  She stripped her gloves from her hands and rubbed at the bandage between the knuckles of the fingers of her right hand. ‘But who else is gonna cart the water? Alf’s gone all day and when he’s home, well, he can’t do the laundry or cook or any of the other things that need to be done…’

  I sat next to her and took her hand. It felt dry and chafed. ‘Nor, I’m coming out to help.’

  Her lips quivered. She withdrew her hand and reached up her sleeve for her hanky. ‘Thank you.’ She sniffed and wiped under her nose. Her eyes were red and puffy. ‘I think I’m getting a cold.’

  I rubbed her shoulders and, even pregnant, she felt thin and bony and like a fragile bird.

  I told Len that night after dinner.

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  I shrugged. ‘She’s got no one, Len. Mum and Grandma can’t get out to Tarney’s. There’s no running water or electricity and the doctor’s told her she’s not meant to be lifting.’ I lea
nt in closer and deepened my voice so it sounded grave. ‘I don’t think either of us could live with ourselves if another baby in this family died.’

  He sighed, then nodded.

  Chapter 14

  At three o’clock the following Thursday afternoon, I was packed and waiting for the truck. Rex always brought the timber into town, while Alf and his other brothers kept working at the mill. Rex looked like a giant behind the wheel, filling all the space from the roof to the floor. I climbed into the cabin and found a spot for my feet amongst the twigs and bark. It smelt of wood and diesel.

  We drove up past the City Park and onto High Street. Past the stately homes, including the Godfrey-Smiths’, then out through St Leonard’s, where the houses became smaller and more sparse. The road grew narrower and more convoluted, then we were in amongst trees and ferns and the patchy light of the forest.

  We wound our way over the Sideling Range. Rex let the truck build up speed on the downhill sections, so it could chug its way to the top of the uphill ones. My hands gripped the seat as we lurched around each bend, and Rex honked the horn in case another truck was coming from the opposite direction. There was no railing, nothing to stop us going over the edge, and my knuckles stayed white until we were through.

  Then the farmland and hills rolled out before us. Paddock after billowing paddock, folding and criss-crossing, all shades of green and yellow, some fallow and red. It was even more vivid than I remembered.

  ‘Looks like patchwork,’ I yelled over the jangling of the truck.

  Rex leant forward and peered out the window. He nodded, as if he’d not noticed it before.

  We drove through the town of Tinsdale, and on further. Past farms with gracious English trees clustered about the gates, past cows with bursting udders and past fences crawling with blackberries. Then I spotted her—a small, grey peak rising from the horizon and shrouded in cloud.

  ‘There’s Ben Craeg!’ I cried.

  I was still moved by the sight of her, striking and majestic against a sky lit by the lowering sun. She kept disappearing behind a hill or the trees. But she was still there, always there, and I felt as if I was coming home.