by Robin Klein
‘It’s Grace’s decision to finish that course, and I won’t stand in her way,’ Mum said loyally. ‘I want all you girls to have something better in life, not have to battle along. And I won’t have you sticking your nose in, either, Heather, and making her feel guilty about it—you’re not to say one word! We’ll manage somehow, we always do. If that land Dad’s gone off to look at is half-way decent, he’ll get stuck into clearing it and eventually build some kind of house. Depends if we can get the bank loan, of course, depends on a lot of things. But I don’t want you spoiling Grace’s last afternoon at home by harping on family troubles! You go and help her pack, it will be nice for the two of you to have a bit of a chat…’
‘It’s just…you look so sad about her going away again…’
‘Rubbish,’ Mum said fiercely. ‘Can’t keep you all tied to my apron strings for the rest of your lives, can I? Got to spread your wings…’
Heather, unsure of her welcome, went to watch Grace pack her suitcase, but when it was finished, received a flattering surprise. Grace glanced at her watch and whispered, ‘Listen, there’s hours yet before that wretched train leaves. Can you dream up some tactful way to get me out of here? I want to buy poor old Mum a box of chocolates to cheer her up—anyone would think I was off to the North Pole the way she carries on. You can come down to the shops with me if you like, but for heaven’s sake don’t let on to Vivienne and Cathy! They’ll only want to tag along, and I’ve had about as much as I can stand of their chatter!’
Heather, elated at the thought of Grace wanting her company and hers alone, went back to the kitchen. She suggested, in a voice as smooth as ribbon, a surprise afternoon tea of freshly made raisin scones before Grace left to catch the train. Mum said delightedly, ‘What a good idea! How about taking Grace out for a walk while I get it ready? You could take her over to see the new Assembly Hall at the high school for half an hour—perhaps make it one hour, then I’d have time to make a nice cinnamon cake, too.’
Grace, in gratitude, let Heather choose the chocolates when they reached the shops. Heather couldn’t remember one other time when they’d walked along Main Street with so much camaraderie. Six months—oh, I’m going to miss her! I need her here, she thought, feeling oddly devastated. Overcome by the confusion of regarding Grace as anything but a snooty, opinionated older sister whose comings and goings didn’t matter in the least, she said quickly, ‘Look, you mightn’t have noticed—Osborne’s have a shoe department now. And they’ve started widening the little lane so traffic can get through to Haymarket Street…’
But Grace had halted in front of the jeweller’s shop and was gazing intently at the window display. It couldn’t be the shelf of watches that had caught her attention, Heather thought, for she had a watch already, but…it could be the display of engagement rings! Perhaps Anthony Robinson really had proposed, just as Cathy said he might! The fact that Grace hadn’t said anything about it didn’t mean much, she always had been reserved and apt to keep things to herself. Very likely she’d accepted, but had told him he’d have to wait until she’d finished her dressmaking course. That course—even at school she’d never been one for leaving tasks lying about unfinished, everything in her life always so manicured and orderly…Heather could recall her sitting up late at night to complete detested school projects, staying home from the beach because she had to study for an exam next day. And even when she’d left school and started work, it had been the same—clothes for the next day carefully ironed and laid out in readiness.
‘I’d like a dark red dress one day,’ Grace murmured. ‘Exactly the same colour as that ring…garnet, I think it’s called. A lovely colour, just like wine. I’d design it all by myself…’
A bride’s going-away dress! Heather thought excitedly. Just because she was making Anthony Robinson wait surely wouldn’t prevent her dreaming about the actual wedding! She’d probably be making secret plans already, Grace always liked to have things perfectly done, down to the last small detail. Hilary Melling’s wedding would be nothing compared to it—and most likely Grace had already decided to have just Heather as a bridesmaid! Who would choose to have immature little girls like Cathy and Vivienne follow them, giggling, down the church aisle? They certainly hadn’t been invited by Grace to go shopping on her last morning at home…
‘Diamond rings are really beautiful, too, aren’t they?’ Heather said meaningfully, basking in the wonderful empathy of strolling along Main Street with Grace, looking in shop windows together as though any age difference had shrunk to a negligible barrier. Such empathy should lead to secrets being shared…
‘Yes, but everyone always picks diamond engagement rings,’ Grace said. ‘You can hardly even tell the difference between Margaret Edwards’ one and Eleanor Grantby’s. I’ll be choosing something more unusual when…’
Heather held her breath. At any moment now Grace would confide in her, as though they were best friends, perhaps even ask her not to tell another soul, certainly not Cathy or Vivienne just yet…
‘Goodness, Mr Ulster never seems to change his window display from one year to the next,’ Grace said absently. ‘I swear that’s the same old dusty blue velvet that was there when we had the farm and Mum used to bring us into town once a month on the mail-van. Remember those days?’
‘Not really. I would have been too small, and Cathy and Viv only babies then,’ Heather said, but a hazy image rippled across her mind, a picture of herself instructed to cling to the side of a pram and not let go, trudging along on fat little legs that wobbled with tiredness. The haziness cleared, and she suddenly remembered with startling vividness the pram being wheeled into a park, a checked blanket spread on the ground, the frantic terror of watching Mum in her straw hat with the flowers walking away, walking through a strange little gate that turned mysteriously around instead of opening. But…hadn’t there been someone else there, too, someone surely no more than seven or eight, but exuding confidence and self-possession? That someone had said calmly, ‘Mum’s just gone to ask the shop lady if she can heat up the baby’s bottle. She’ll come back soon. Don’t cry, Heather, people will think you’re a sookie if you cry like that. You sit here on the blanket, stay right here on the blanket. I’m going to look at the pretty flowers…’ Her own short legs stumbling through grass, tripping on things, her own voice wailing in panic, ‘Wait for me, Grace! Oh, wait for me…’
‘Mum always let us look in Ulster’s shop window as a treat, she’d cross the road specially,’ Grace said. ‘Isn’t it funny how you see things as a kid? I always thought this window was like a magic cave, everything so glittery and sparkling—but it’s really just a few trays of cheap rings and marcasite watches. Remember during the war when he had a little model of Hitler in the window, trapped inside a set of shark’s teeth? That’s gone now, he’s taken it out, but it’s about the only thing that’s changed in the whole of Main Street…’
‘Oh, go on, Grace, there’s lots of new things happened since you’ve been away!’
‘Such as?’
‘Well…there’s Osborne’s shoe department and the lane being widened. And they might be going ahead with the new bridge over the river,’ Heather said, and then, blessed with a dazzling idea, added craftily, ‘Let’s walk up to the corner and look at the photos in the Gazette window.’
The Gazette office was next to Robinson’s furniture store, and Anthony could very likely be attending to the window display. He’d leave what he was doing, his face lighting up at the unexpected sight of pretty Grace, and come out to the footpath. He’d stand there chatting, Heather thought, only she would hastily remember some little article of shopping she had to do, and leave him alone with Grace. For Grace, she thought with a surge of unhappiness, was going back this afternoon with nothing resolved, no word said, nothing to anchor her here unless…‘Come on, let’s go and look at the Gazette photos,’ she urged, but Grace shook her head.
‘Those photos are always the same—someone’s fat wife wearing a revolt
ing big orchid, or people smirking over potty little awards they’ve won at the Show. I’ve got far more interesting things to think about.’
Anthony Robinson really has proposed to her, that’s what she means! Heather thought, aching with happiness. Oh, he has! She’s only going back to the city to finish that course—and six months isn’t all that long when you think about it. It doesn’t matter that she didn’t take the job with Miss Tully, Mum will get along somehow, she always does. And in the spring Grace will come home to Wilgawa for good, she’ll be busy making her trousseau for the wedding…Mum’s going to be so happy, something nice happening to our family for a change! Grace married to Anthony Robinson and living right here in town, I’ll be able to visit her any time I like, she’ll teach me things, maybe I’ll grow up just as pretty and smart…
‘Even if you don’t want to look at the photos, the Gazette’s got this…this lovely new sunblind over the window. It’s really unusual, sort of like a little canopy…’ she gabbled, desperately wanting all those things to be confirmed. But Grace had turned aside and was walking away, through the little park towards the riverbank. Heather, tripping over a grass tussock, hurried after her. ‘Where are you going?’ she called. ‘Grace! We’ve got to get that two o’clock bus back home so you can…’
‘It’s only half-past one,’ Grace said. ‘And I’m going to have hours and hours of being cooped up on that awful train. Oh, if there’s one thing I just can’t stand, it’s being cooped up! I think I’ll go for a nice long run now while I’ve got the chance…’
‘Hang on a minute, I can’t keep up!’ Heather complained, stumbling over Grace’s shoes, which had been kicked off and left at the top of the steps leading down to the river. Heather bent to retrieve them with faint disapproval, for people of Grace’s age didn’t run about without shoes in Wilgawa, it just wasn’t done…Specially not if they were going to be Mrs Anthony Robinson and live in that lovely big house over on the east bank.
‘Here—catch!’ Grace cried, snatching off her paisley scarf and tossing it back over her shoulder.
‘Your hair’s come down all over the place!’ Heather said.
‘You sound just like Aunty Ivy, and who cares, anyhow? Oh, those ghastly visits to Aunt Ivy and all the others! This is the most boring little place in the whole world, same old shops and same old people and conversations! So bored…having to put up with that dreary Anthony Robinson because I couldn’t be nasty to him when his father’s just died. But now it’s nearly over and I’ll be going back home to the beautiful, beautiful city!’
Back…home.
Grace ran along the riverbank with her long hair adrift. She didn’t stop to pin it up, but tilted her face joyously to the sky and spread her arms like wings. A cold wind blew over the water, scattering leaves from the poplar trees, showering her with golden coins.
Heather stood quite still, watching, feeling so desolate she could hardly bear it. She became aware that the sun had disappeared behind a mass of banked clouds, that the season was drawing to a close and winter coming, that the river suddenly looked bleak. There was a sensation of weight upon her shoulders, of a burden that was perhaps beyond her capabilities.
I’ve become the eldest in the family now, I’m not ready for it, she thought, panicking, and opened her mouth to call out, ‘Wait for me! Oh, Grace, wait for me, I want to come with you…’ But Grace had disappeared around the curve where the willows grew, and Heather made no move to follow, not sure if she’d ever catch up.
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Copyright © Robin Klein 1992
Introduction copyright © Fiona Wood 2017
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
First published by Penguin Books Australia, 1992
This edition published by The Text Publishing Company, 2017
Cover design by Imogen Stubbs
Series design by W.H. Chong
Page design by Text
eISBN: 978-1-92541-062-4
The quote on p. 6 is from the poem ‘To Autumn’ by John Keats, and the lines on p. 44 are from ‘The Destruction of Sennacherib’ by Lord Byron.
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