Eumeralla - Secrets, Tragedy and Love

by Joanna Stephen-Ward

  Ruth put the plates of smoked salmon and lemon wedges in the fridge while she buttered the bread. When the doorbell rang she covered them with a glass dome and hurried down the hall. Through the fly-screen door she saw Fiona.

  “Hello, Aunty Ruth,” she called.

  Ruth pushed up the latch and let her in. “Hello, Fiona,” she said, careful not to sound too eager. Virginia had told her that Fiona hated being hugged or kissed, but Ruth suspected that this was more to do with their turbulent mother-and-daughter relationship than coldness on Fiona’s part. However, wary of rejection, she always let Fiona kiss her first. With a dart of pleasure she saw that she was wearing the amber necklace and silver and amber earrings she had given her for Christmas.

  Fiona handed her a bunch of red chrysanthemums and kissed her cheek.

  “They’re glorious. You can put them in a vase while I get the starter.”

  While Fiona arranged the flowers, Ruth went into the kitchen to get the starter and the bottle of white Burgundy.

  “Smoked salmon – yum,” said Fiona.

  Ruth put the wine in an ice bucket. “I didn’t cook anything – it’s too hot. It’s egg salad, then oranges soaked in Cointreau for dessert.”

  During dinner Fiona told her about Gabriella. “So, I’m going to Queensland in a few weeks — that’s if I can get time off.”

  Ruth coughed to cover her alarm. “Sorry, something caught in my throat. That’s a good idea,” she managed to say. ‘She can’t have told Alex and Virginia – they would have rung me,’ she thought. ‘We’ve got to stop her.’

  They finished their salads and Ruth collected the plates. “No stay there, it won’t take a minute, it’s all ready.”

  In the kitchen she stood dazed by panic. She was tempted to go into the lounge and phone Alex and Virginia, but knew that Fiona might overhear. By the time she came back to the dining room with the oranges and a jug of cream she had an idea. She prayed Fiona would agree.

  As soon as she thought she could sound normal, she said, “Gabby needs a holiday. Why don’t you and Keith take her on a cruise?”

  “That’s a fabulous idea.” Fiona poured cream over her oranges. “I’ll get some brochures tomorrow.”

  ***

  Gabriella knew she was being selfish and cowardly. When rays of light shone through the blackness of her despair she pushed them away. Afraid that the happiness she had once taken for granted would return only to be snatched away again, she spurned her mother, her brother Keith and her friends. Ignoring their comfort and advice, she submerged herself in mourning.

  When she and Brett had married she was at teachers’ college and he was in his final year at university. Barely able to afford the rent, they lived in a cramped flat with one bedroom. The first year of their marriage had been bliss. The last six months had been hell. Despite the grim warnings from the doctors about the inevitability of Brett’s death from leukaemia, she had refused to give up hope. He would get better. He was young.

  When he had died, Gabriella had been too exhausted and disbelieving to exhibit signs of grief. Keith, her mother and friends, thinking she was coping well and being brave, helped her search for a block of land she wanted to buy with Brett’s insurance money. As soon as she had found the three-acre, heavily-wooded plot just outside Dalby, she wrote to her uncle Alex asking if he had time to design her house.

  I want it to disappear among the trees as if the logs had fallen and formed themselves into a house, she wrote.

  He replied immediately.

  Designing a house to your unusual specification stimulates me. I’ve started the plans already.

  Alex and Virginia, able to get discounted plane fares because Fiona worked for Ansett Airlines, had frequently come up to Dalby. Gabriella was astonished by how soon the house was completed. Built in natural timber that blended in with the landscape, it was surrounded by a wide verandah and shaded from the sun by giant eucalyptus, wattle and jacaranda trees. She planted exotic shrubs and fruit trees in the garden. Virginia helped her choose furniture and Gabriella enjoyed the luxury of having plenty of money. The day before Virginia and Alex flew back to Sydney she held a party.

  After the weekend she was alone in the quiet house. She had wandered through the rooms. But, instead of appreciating the new furniture and grey slate floors that, along with the pale walls, made it look cool and spacious, she longed for the tiny flat that she and Brett had rented. Reality swamped her. She would never share this house with Brett. She would never have his children. She would never see him again. Depression descended like a curtain.

  That night she lay awake. When she should have been getting up she fell asleep and did not wake till late that afternoon. When she explained her absence to the headmaster he had been sympathetic. He tried to support her, but when Gabriella repeatedly came to school late, dirty and untidy, he had to ask her to resign. She did not care. Brett’s insurance money had enabled her to pay cash for the land and house and have plenty left over.

  Unable to sleep, Gabriella’s mind had been tortured. When she began talking about killing herself, Keith had left the house he shared with his friends and moved in with her. He had swapped his carefree life for one that was almost that of a warder. She knew he had done it willingly, but she did not thank him or respond to his company.

  In the background she heard her mother’s voice. Instead of allowing it to comfort her, she resented it. She would suggest that Gabriella ring this friend or that friend. Now they had got to the job saga. Gabriella must look for a job and find something to occupy herself to help her get over her grief.

  ‘As if Brett was a pet dog that I can replace with another pet dog,’ she thought as she pulled the last cigarette out of the packet. She did not notice how pale her mother looked, she just wished she would go. ‘Why can’t anyone understand how I feel? They think that because I’m young I’ll recover and find another husband. But I expected fifty years of marriage and children and I’ve been deprived of that.’

  “Fiona rang me last night, Gabby. She thought it would be fun if you and Keith and her went on a cruise – she’s got some brochures. There’s a sixteen day cruise to Fiji – ”

  “A cruise, a job – anyone got any more ideas as to how I can recover?” Gabriella threw the cigarette packet on the coffee table. “Why don’t you all hold a competition? No I don’t want to go on a cruise.” She tore the skin from the reddened area round her thumb nail and watched the blood seep out.

  “Gabby, don’t bite your nails. You used to have beautiful nails.”

  “I used to have a lot of things, Mum. Go home. I’m okay.” But she knew her mother would stay until Keith arrived home. Gabriella wanted to kill herself, but was too frightened. Once she had read a novel about a woman who had gone to hell, where she was condemned to suffer the punishment of strangulation for eternity. The graphic descriptions had stuck in her memory. She was not religious. She had attended Sunday School and she and Brett had been married in the local Methodist church, but phrases from the Bible that portrayed God as unforgiving frightened her. If there was divine retribution she might be punished for committing suicide. Her body rotting in a coffin or being consumed by the fires of cremation was one thing – suffering for eternity in a gruesome way was another.

  “Fiona’s right, Gabby,” she heard her mother say. “It must have been meant.”

  “What?” she asked irritably.

  “Fiona saving your life.”

  “Nothing’s meant, Mum. I wish I had drowned.” But as she said it, she remembered the salt water stinging her eyes and going up her nose, her terror, and frenzied struggles for air.

  “Darling, that’s a terrible thing to say.”

  Rage exploded in Gabriella’s brain. “You don’t understand how it feels!” she screamed. “No one does. I’m sick of your inane chattering. Every day you arrive falsely cheerful with a silly smile on your face. Leave me alone – I don’t want you here. There’s only one thing I want and that’s Brett.”
/>
  Her mother covered her face with her hands. Gabriella had rarely seen her cry, but when she had, her tears had been controlled and nothing like the sobs that racked her now. Overcome with remorse, she jumped off the sofa. “Oh, Mum. Mum.” She flung her arms around her.

  “Gabby,” her mother gasped. “When your father died I had to put on a brave act for you and Keith. I didn’t have the luxury of a quiet time to grieve. What would you have done if I’d fallen apart?” Her voice was shaking.

  “Mum, I didn’t mean it.”

  Her mother pulled herself out of Gabriella’s arms. “You did, Gabby. You’re so wrapped up in yourself you can’t see what’s happening around you.” She rummaged through her handbag looking for a hanky. “Keith’s girlfriend dumped him because he spends too much time with you. She told him to let you wallow in melancholy if that’s what you want. He rarely sees his friends now. It’s a dreary life for a young man. You’ve been struck by tragedy but it’s time you were brave and considered other people.” She walked to the door, hoping Gabriella would stop her from leaving, but she didn’t. Feeling defeated, she drove back to the small rented house in CecilPlains, the country town where she and Laurence had begun their married life. He had been full of dreams in those days.

  “I won’t be a gardener all my life. I’ll save up and buy Acacia back one day.”

  Futile dreams that had come to nothing and ended with his death seven years ago. He had been fifty. She hadn’t known he had an ulcer. She hadn’t known he was seriously ill until he collapsed when the ulcer perforated. It wounded her that he had never told her how ill he felt. “Just a bit tired,” was all he had said when she had expressed concern about his colour.

  The short walk from the car to her front door left her breathless. She had a pain in her chest. It had been there all day and was getting worse. ‘Damn indigestion,’ she thought. Engulfed by a sensation of doom, she went into the lounge and sat on the sofa, trying to get her breath. She wondered if, like their father, Gabriella and Keith were cursed.

  A photo of Laurence in uniform when he was twenty-four stood on the desk. Virginia had taken it just after he’d joined the army and before he had left for the training camp. He was smiling in the photo. Smiling in a way she had never seen. Confident, relaxed and supremely happy. Content in his marriage to Francesca, and as yet untouched by war, he looked at ease and optimistic.

  How different from the haunted man she had first met in 1948 at a tennis party. His expression then had been the same as Gabriella’s was now. All the girls had tried to attract his attention. With his thick blonde hair, turquoise eyes and well-shaped limbs, he was exceptionally handsome. The aura of tragedy surrounding him had added to the fascination. Between matches he had sat on the grass pretending to watch the other games, but she realized he was immersed in his own thoughts and unaware of the eager girls. She was new to the district and knew nothing about him, not even his name, and felt disadvantaged. Too shy to ask questions, she had listened to snippets of conversation.

  “His wife died at the end of the war.”

  “He’s still devastated.”

  “He was supposed to inherit Acacia, but he and his brother were cut out of the will and their stepmother got everything.”

  “He works as a gardener for the council now.”

  When they were introduced Laurence had spoken kindly to her and she was grateful. Not many men bothered with plain women. During the day he resisted the attempts of other girls to engage his attention and asked her to be his doubles partner for the next match. She went home that night in a haze of joy that lasted until she looked in the mirror. “You dill,” she told her reflection. “As if a man like him would be interested in a plain thing like you. He was just being kind because you’re new and didn’t know anyone.”

  She often wondered if he had married her because she was robust and energetic: the opposite to Francesca whose fragile beauty had underlined her fragile health.

  The pain in her chest intensified. When it shot down her left arm she knew it was not indigestion. She was having a heart attack. She was going to die. It was too late to destroy the photos and letters in her bedroom. Keith would find them when he was clearing out the house.

  ‘Burn all the letters and photos,’ was the last thing Laurence had said to her.

  The last word he had said was ‘Cheska.’ It was his first wife who occupied his thoughts as he lay dying, not his second who sat by his hospital bed, holding his hand.

  ‘Virginia,’ she thought. ‘I’ll ring Virginia and tell her about the photos and letters.’ She tried to calm herself. ‘No. I’ll phone for an ambulance and then I’ll ring her.’

  Cautiously she stood up and took two steps towards the telephone. A crushing pain exploded in her chest and she collapsed.

  A neighbour, worried when she failed to arrive for the committee meeting of the Country Woman’s Association, found her at nine o’clock that night. She was dead.

  ***

  Eleanor woke from the dream about Jonathan at six o’clock on Tuesday morning. Her happiness dissolved as the image of her and Jonathan riding round Eumeralla was replaced by the reality. She heard Greg chopping wood. ‘It’s waking from the dream that is the nightmare,’ she thought, staring at the battered chest of drawers. She had recurring dreams about Jonathan, but this one had been different. Instead of being in the past this dream had been in the present. Acacia and Eumeralla were one property as they were meant to be. Laurence and Francesca were alive. They were all wealthy, with a station manager and his assistant, stockmen, gardeners and staff.

  Things in her dream were as they would have been if Jonathan had not left. If he had not died. The two facts were linked in Eleanor’s mind because if he had not left her he would not have died in the way he had. She told herself she had been right to send him away instead of allowing him to come back to Eumeralla. Even Jonathan’s father had agreed with her decision and blessed her marriage to Greg. She sighed. Nothing she did to justify her actions eased the guilt. The knowledge that her existing life was based on the timing of Greg’s return from the war added to her desolation. One month later and the outcome would have been different. She would have taken Jonathan back and Greg would have returned to his old job as the assistant station manager of Acacia. She knew that such thoughts were irrational.

  ‘All my yearning can’t alter things,’ she thought. ‘And Johnny might still have died violently. Men like him don’t die peacefully in their beds.’ She grunted. ‘Who am I fooling? If I’d let him come back he’d be alive. There’s no peril here that he couldn’t have managed. We’ve had no serious bushfires. He wouldn’t have got bitten by a snake, he was too strict about bush law. And no horse would ever have thrown him. It’s safe here. He would have been alive if he hadn’t gone back to Brisbane. If I hadn’t forced him to go.’ She threw back the mosquito net and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cream wall that needed a fresh coat of paint. “Johnny,” she murmured.

  She went over to the window and watched Greg raise the axe and split a log in two blows. ‘Where does he get the energy?’ A thunderstorm had woken them at midnight. Rain had drummed on the corrugated iron roof for two hours, keeping them awake. The two acre garden surrounding the house was a riot of purple bougainvillea, scarlet hibiscus and yellow wattle. During the night apricots had fallen and the ground under the tree was a patchwork of golden fruit and white petals from the magnolia tree.

  ‘Greg’s a good husband and father – he deserves better than me with my mind stuck in the past,’ she thought, knowing that she would be unsettled all day. She always was after these dreams. She recalled the drawings of the new homestead for Eumeralla that Virginia’s husband Alex had made. Excitedly she and Jonathan had studied the plans. They had discussed the large kitchen with the cook, taking her requirements into account. The plans had never left the paper on which they had been drawn.

  Putting on her dressing gown, she went down the hall hoping a shower would revive
her. As she passed the kitchen the smell of baking bread wafted out. Neil was pushing more wood into the stove. He shut the door and glanced up. The kitchen was hot and his tanned face was flushed from the heat of the fire.

  “Hi, Mum,” he said with a grin.

  His cheerfulness made her feel more alienated. Everyone was happy except her. She stood in front of the mottled mirror in the bathroom and trimmed her hair. Dark brown curls streaked with grey fell into the cracked white basin. When she finished she threw them into the waste basket and stepped under the tepid water of the shower. Three minutes later she turned off the taps and dried herself, momentarily comforted by the thickness of the new towel Hazel had bought her. As soon as she had started working in Brisbane, Hazel had given her mother presents whenever she visited Eumeralla. Except for birthdays and Christmas she had stopped buying things for her siblings and father. June had been indifferent to the fragrant herbal shampoo and conditioner. Greg, Neil and Tom had sniffed the bottles of aftershaves suspiciously, then told her they didn’t want to smell like queers. Only Eleanor had been grateful for the violet-scented talcum powder and soap. Her precious gifts from Hazel included a tube of hand cream, a tub of moisturizer and a bottle of perfume. But it hurt her pride and increased her frustration that she had to depend on her daughter for things that most people these days regarded as necessities.

  After dressing in clean jeans, a shirt and sandals, she cut her nails short and rubbed lotion into her tanned hands that were mottled with brown blotches. Fifty-four years of exposure to the harsh sun had left its mark. The parched skin on her face soaked up the moisturizer. Seeking comfort, she took the bottle of perfume out of her drawer and sprayed a small amount on her neck. Its scent evoked memories of Jonathan and their eight-year marriage when money had been plentiful and she wore perfume every day.