by Louise Allan
‘Just leave it,’ he said. He was looking down at his dinner, hands either side of his temples. ‘Please.’
Clara bent her head and blinked a few times. ‘I’m just saying, Ted, that I really want a nice wedding…’
‘It will be a nice wedding,’ he said, looking up. ‘The family I want will be there.’
Clara sighed again. ‘Why can’t you…’
‘Stop!’ Ted rubbed his temples. ‘Just stop! Please. All of you.’ He turned to Clara. ‘I’ll do anything for you…except that. I can’t face seeing them again.’
Clara looked down at her dinner, then picked up her fork. She sat for a while before she started to eat again.
Later, when we were on our own in the kitchen, she said, ‘I guess I’ll have to accept it. And try not to let it spoil our day.’
I turned to her. ‘I wish it was different, too.’ I shook my head because there was nothing else I could say.
The night before the wedding, Alf dropped Grace off at Pearson Street. Grace wore a new hat with a brim and a woollen coat, and carried a small suitcase because she was staying for the weekend. The two of them stood on the verandah, and behind them the sky was darkening. I could just make out the silhouette of the birch tree on the verge.
‘Do you want to come in?’ I said to Alf.
He shook his head. ‘It’s getting dark and I’d better get home. Nora’s a bit, umm, well, she’s not too good.’
I nodded.
Alf set his shoulders and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve made a gift for Ted and Clara.’ He stepped aside. Behind him was a low table with sculpted edges and turned legs.
‘Oh, Alf,’ I said as I stepped outside to inspect it more closely. It was made of blackwood, its top streaked all different shades of brown—blonde, tawny, umber. ‘It’s beautiful. It’s the nicest gift. Ben’ll take it up to them first thing in the morning.’
‘I have a card, too,’ he said. He fumbled in the pocket of his jacket, extracted a stiff envelope and held it out.
I took the envelope. TED AND CLARA, it said in block letters.
‘It’s from his mother, too,’ he said. ‘If you get a chance, tell them we wish them all the best.’
‘I will,’ I said.
His posture was stooped as he walked down the steps, and his jacket and trousers hung loosely from his frame.
‘Alf,’ I called. He looked back, one hand on the gate. ‘You deserve to be there.’
He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. He looked wounded and weary as he nodded, then continued on through the gate, his footsteps slow and dragging. I waited until his tail lights had bumped all the way up Pearson Street and turned the corner before I went inside.
Grace stood in the doorway to Mum’s old room and I flicked on the light. The room looked dark and old-fashioned, but I’d aired it and dusted, and set roses in the vase beside Mum’s statue of Our Lady.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Grace. She sniffed the air. ‘I can smell the roses.’ Her voice sounded resonant and mature. ‘Your house never changes, Aunty. Nothing about you ever changes.’
Later that night, Len brought the coffee table inside. As he lifted it, I spotted the engraving on the underside of the wood.
FOR TED AND CLARA
ON THEIR WEDDING DAY
28th APRIL, 1963
Made by A.L. Hill
Ben Craeg
We readied for bed, but before he turned out the light, Len sat on the edge and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pyjama pocket. He smoothed its creases.
‘It’s my speech for the wedding,’ he said. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’
I climbed under the covers and waited while he studied it for a few minutes, his lips moving as he read. Then he set it aside and turned out the light.
We lay in the dark for a while. ‘I’m not the one who should be saying it,’ he said.
I reached over and took his hand. ‘Just do the best job you can.’
The day of the wedding dawned clear. Ben looked handsome, his hair neat and slick, and he wore a dark suit and a slim tie. He’d bought a car a few months beforehand, a second-hand Holden, and he took the coffee table with him when he drove off to meet Ted.
Grace dressed in a bottle-green sheath frock that made her look even taller and slimmer, and turned her eyes the colour of mint. She wore a tiny hat that had a sprig of netting, and from under it her curls splayed out over her shoulders and down her back.
I’d bought a new outfit for the wedding, too. A pleated skirt and matching jacket in powder blue with a white trim, and a white pillbox hat, gloves and shoes. Len whistled when he saw me and took photos of Grace and I standing by the front fence. As Len clicked, the breeze blew stray wisps of Grace’s hair into her mouth, and she giggled that tinkling laugh of hers.
The church bells were tolling as we walked up the steps and the organ was playing softly. The church smelt of candle wax and incense. We walked down the aisle, the pews already filled with people.
Ted and Ben were seated at the front on the right, and we slid in behind them. As soon as he heard us, Ted turned. He was pale and twitchy, wiping his nose and wringing his hands.
‘I’ve made a mistake,’ he said.
‘What?’ I said, feeling my forehead start to perspire.
‘You can’t back out now,’ Len hissed, his eyes wide.
‘It’s not that,’ he said. He looked frightened. ‘The table Dad made.’ He looked about to cry. ‘I should’ve…’ Ben shifted closer to him so their arms were touching. ‘I should’ve asked him.’
Then the organ played a loud chord to signal the entrance of the bride.
‘Oh, Ted,’ I said.
‘I should’ve…’
I shook my head. ‘It’s too late.’ I gave his arm a squeeze. ‘We’ll work something out. You go and get married.’
Ben took Ted’s elbow, and they stood and walked to the front of the sanctuary. Two brothers, side by side, together. Then Clara was beside them, too, tiny on her father’s arm, her face concealed behind a fine, white veil.
I don’t remember much of the mass or even the exchange of vows. My mind was on the two people who weren’t there. If I’d known how to drive, I’d have driven out to Ben Craeg and brought them back myself.
One thing I do remember was Grace singing ‘Ave Maria’. I remember every note. She sang all that couldn’t be said, all the joy and all the sadness.
The reception was busy and noisy. Platters of olives and calamari, thin slivers of salami and cured meats, and dishes of fish and pork. Course after course of food. Len was having a rollicking time, helping himself to beer and wine and fried pastries dipped in sugar.
The wedding cake was huge and tiered, and then a three-piece band started playing.
‘If this is a small wedding, I don’t know what a big one is,’ said Len as we waltzed.
Ben and Grace took to the dance floor, too. Poor Gracie didn’t get a chance to sit all afternoon as young men lined up to sweep her onto the floor.
Towards dusk, Clara changed into her going-away outfit. We stood in a circle and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and the newlyweds went around everybody and said goodbye.
‘We’re going out to visit Ted’s parents now,’ said Clara when they reached us, ‘as soon as we leave here.’ Her eyes shone in the light and she looked sweet in a salmon pink skirt and jacket.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I’m so relieved to hear that.’
‘Ted says the coffee table is beautiful,’ said Clara.
‘Oh, that reminds me,’ I said. ‘I forgot to give you their card.’ I dug in my handbag and found the envelope.
Clara watched as Ted prised the card from the envelope without tearing it. It was white, with two embossed hearts wrapped together by a ribbon. When Ted opened it up, a slip of paper fell out and onto the floor. He bent and picked it up and the blood drained from his face. He held it out to Clara with a trembling hand.
Clara inhaled. ‘One thousand pounds,’ sh
e said in a half-whisper. It was a cheque for a thousand pounds.
Ted’s lip was quivering. He looked at me, his eyes filmy. ‘We can’t accept this.’
‘It’s their gift,’ I said. ‘They want you to have it.’
Still holding the envelope in his hand, he moved on to Gracie, who was standing next to me. ‘Thank you for singing,’ he said.
‘That was my gift to you,’ she said. ‘And from Mum, too.’
They left in Ted’s Morris, lip-sticked and toilet-papered, the tin cans clanging on the road as they drove off down the hill. We waved until they disappeared.
We dragged our weary bodies home, and a bit later, into bed. Before I fell asleep, I had just enough time to think about a future that might remedy the past.
We were awoken by a rap at the door. I pushed myself up onto my elbow and rubbed my eyes, straining through the dimness to see the hands of the mantel clock. It was just after midnight.
‘Who could it be at this hour?’
Len was already out of bed, clawing his way through the clothes draped over the bedroom chair. The knock came again.
‘Coming!’ Len called as he slipped his dressing gown over his shoulders and tied its cord. He closed the bedroom door as he left. The front door clicked open and I heard low voices. They quietened and I waited for a few minutes, sitting up, fully awake now.
When Len didn’t come back, I climbed out of bed and shrugged on my dressing gown. The front door was ajar and I pulled it wider. Len was standing at the top of the steps, and on the step below, were Ted and Clara. They were still wearing their going-away outfits. Even by the dim light, I could see their eyes were red-rimmed and their faces were grey.
I knew something bad had happened. As I looked from one to the other, from the bottom of my belly, a dread began to rise.
Len started coming towards me, his arms outstretched. ‘I’m sorry…I’m so sorry to do this to you…’ he was saying. When he reached me, he took my shoulders in his hands and opened his mouth, but no words came.
My stomach was churning and my skin felt chilled. ‘It’s Nora, isn’t it?’ I said quietly.
Len shook his head. ‘No, it’s not Nora.’ Everything slowed, like in a movie, and Len’s voice seemed to come from a distance so I could barely hear him as he said, ‘It’s Alf. It’s Alf…’
I was shaking my head. ‘No, not Alf. Not Alf…’
‘He hanged himself yesterday morning.’
The colour left the world and there was only light and dark. I tried to turn, to walk away from it, but my legs were shaking and wouldn’t hold me up. I could hear my voice clanging inside my head as I kept repeating, ‘Not Alf. Not Alf…’
Len’s arms were around me and his mouth was moving, but his voice was coming from so far away. ‘Ida, Ida…Can you hear me?’ I tried to tell him I could. I opened my mouth and moved my lips, but nothing came out.
Then Clara was beside him, saying, ‘Lie her down. Lie her down before she passes out.’ They laid me on the floor in the hallway. ‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you. It’s all right, Aunty,’ they kept saying. A hand was in mine, and a voice was saying, ‘Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.’ I grabbed it and tried to squeeze it, but the voice was still saying, ‘Squeeze my hand.’ I tried to tell them that I was, and to ask them where Grace and Ben were, but I couldn’t get my mouth to speak.
Then the blackness came and when I came to, they were there, the three of them hovering over me, and the colours were coming back into the room. They tilted me up, and Len tried to make me sip water from a tumbler, but I pushed it away and kept repeating, ‘Where’s Grace? Where’s Ben?’
They helped me up and led me back to bed and lay me down. I kept trying to get up because I had to check on the kids.
‘Shhh, Ide,’ said Len, pushing me back down and patting my arm. ‘Stay still. Stay still.’
Then Grace came in and we lay on the bed. I put my arms around her and squeezed her and we cried. Afterwards, we were quiet and in the lounge next door, I could hear them talking. I got up off the bed and walked down the hallway to the lounge.
They turned when they saw me. Ted and Clara were sitting on the fireside chairs, and Ben and Len were standing in front of the fireplace where the last of the embers were glowing.
‘Tell me what happened,’ I said.
Len came over and rested his hand on my arm.
Ted started to speak. ‘Dad told Mum he was going outside. And Mum thought he was going to chop some wood. She saw him enter the woodshed, but after about an hour, when she hadn’t seen him come back out, she went looking. And found him…’ He paused and shook his head. ‘The O’Reillys heard her screaming and went running over. They called the ambulance, but it was too late.’
None of us moved.
‘It was just after eleven o’clock, apparently. The time we were getting married.’
In the distance the town clock struck once. We were all quiet as we remembered a man who’d never done a thing to hurt anybody else. Then I wept. I stood there in the doorway, my shoulders heaving and all of me shaking. I just stood there and cried for the man who deserved a lot better than what he got.
Ted and Clara left, but none of us returned to bed. We stoked the fire and all night we boiled the kettle and drank tea and sat with our thoughts. I couldn’t help but think of Alf, alone in the woodshed, slinging a rope over the rafters and tying a noose while Ted and Clara were saying their vows.
I waited until the sun had risen, then I looked up the number and picked up the telephone and made my first ever phone call.
Her voice sounded weak at the other end.
‘It’s me, Nor,’ I said. ‘Ida.’
She cried. Her breaths came in bursts, before she said, ‘Don’t blame Ted. It’s not his fault.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘He went out to see him.’
‘If you want to blame someone,’ she said, her voice quieter. ‘Blame me. I should have loved him more than I did. In the way he loved me.’ She started crying again, softly. ‘But I couldn’t.’
I waited until she was quiet, and then I said, ‘Nor, can’t we be done with blame? Isn’t it time we found some forgiveness? Including for ourselves.’
Chapter 31
We returned to the little church at Ben Craeg. Rex and Alf’s other brothers waited outside in their sombre suits. I felt their prickly chins as I kissed them and they smelt of mothballs and aftershave.
The hearse drove in and they slid him out, packaged in shiny wood.
Nora and Grace and I walked in together and sat in the front pew of the church.
Alf’s brothers, and Ted, Len and Ben carried him up the aisle as the organ played ‘Abide With Me’. They set his coffin down just before the altar. The morning sun streamed through the stained-glass window, lighting a dove in the leadlight and falling onto the wood so it gleamed.
The little church was bulging, filled with people from around the district whose ancestors had known the family for five generations and had come to farewell one of their own. They spilled out through the doors and onto the steps outside.
They carried the casket out to ‘Be Thou My Vision’ and we gathered around the grave in that little cemetery in the valley, where so many of those I loved now rested. They lowered him into the ground beside his mother and father.
Nora went up to the grave and stood at the side. She was dressed all in black, tall and erect. She bowed her head and brought her hands together at her lips. Then she wasn’t alone. Beside her stood Ted. She turned. He was smaller than her, but when he reached for his mother’s hand, he looked big. They held each other’s eyes momentarily and the looks on their faces said, I forgive.
I looked out and up, over the pines, over the green of the forest, and up to Ben Craeg, watching over Alf forever now. ‘Goodbye, dear Alf’, I mouthed. Because I knew that’s where he was—up there on the summit of Ben Craeg, greeting God.
I was only forty-six years old, but my bones were weary
and the world felt heavier and sadder. I didn’t enjoy cooking or getting out in the garden. I couldn’t even knit. Len couldn’t be bothered doing much of anything either. He didn’t go fishing and, by the back fence, the pile of nets waiting to be repaired grew higher.
Of an evening, Len and I would sit in front of the television until they’d played ‘God Save the Queen’, then we’d switch it off and sit in the silence. We didn’t speak, but I knew Len was thinking of Alf, too. Some nights I couldn’t sleep at all, and I got up and sat on my own until the sun rose.
I telephoned Ben Craeg each Sunday and spoke to Grace. Most weeks, Nora came to the phone, too. I waited for her to crumple, like she had after Ted left, but it seemed as if the opposite was happening. As if Alf’s death switched something on in her and she was opening up, emerging from the hazy half-life she’d been living.
She learnt to drive, and drove the Ford to the Ben Craeg shops and to mass on a Sunday. Then she began playing the organ for the church. When I next visited Ben Craeg, I went with her. She played the hymns with a reverence she reserved for music and God, the two things she respected above all else.
‘You play so beautifully,’ I told her as she drove home afterwards. ‘You always have.’
She sighed. ‘They needed someone to do it after Myrtle had a stroke.’ She was dressed in slacks and a matching jacket. She kept her eyes focused on the road. ‘I was only going to do it until someone else came along, but I quite like it.’ She changed gears without looking down, turned the corner and then we were on the road home. ‘If I tell you something,’ she said, ‘promise you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone else.’
I promised I wouldn’t.
‘I couldn’t stand the way Myrtle played,’ she said. ‘She made the hymns sound like funeral dirges. I used to think that if she didn’t hurry up, we’d be dead before she finished.’