The Pearler's Wife

by Roxane Dhand

  Mrs Wallace spat on a corner of her hanky and removed her spectacles. ‘You have responsibilities here, Maisie. People depend on you. Have you become so selfish that you would turn your back on them because you feel your wings have been clipped?’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  She began to polish the glass. ‘Marjorie and Duc, for starters, and your lugger crews and divers. The merchants in Asia Place are owed money, as is the bank. Going back home seems to me the coward’s way out. And where would you go? Do you think your mother would welcome you back, given all the trouble she took to send you here?’

  Maisie was momentarily lost for words. ‘She couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’ She hesitated and then went on. ‘You started to tell me something months back in Port Fremantle, but you stopped yourself and changed the subject. Is there something you know and are not telling me?’

  Mrs Wallace put a hand to her chest. ‘Your mother was keen on someone else for a while.’

  ‘Yes, I remember that conversation. I assumed it was someone she’d known before she married my father and you changed the subject. I’m guessing now that she was married.’

  ‘Yes. She’d been married for a few years and you would have been about two, I think.’

  Maisie wasn’t sure where this was leading. ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘Your father was working very long hours at his courts of law, making a name for himself, and your mother was on her own with a young baby – you – and she was lonely. She became – shall we say – close to a work colleague of your father and the friendship developed.’

  ‘Was she in love with him?’

  Mrs Wallace replaced her spectacles and sank back on the chair. ‘Oh, yes. Head over heels. But he was married too, and nothing could ever come of it. Your father found out, of course, and when your mother told him she was expecting a child, he refused to believe it was his. He insisted she give it up for adoption but she wouldn’t hear of it.’

  Maisie’s curiosity was spiked with incredulity. ‘How do you know all this, Mrs Wallace?’

  ‘I was there, dear. I nursed your mother after the little boy was taken.’

  ‘Didn’t her family wonder what had happened to the baby?’

  ‘Your father gave out that the baby had died. They even conducted a funeral for him with an empty coffin and burial ceremony. It almost broke your mother.’

  ‘Why, then, did she send me away?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain. But I suspect she never forgave your father, and you are the very spit of him. Maybe you were too much of a reminder of what he had done and she wanted to punish him. What I do know is that your mother didn’t send you away without knowing you would be safe and looked out for a thousand miles from home.’

  Maisie sat very still, trying to take it all in. Even now, she struggled to understand how her father could have been so cruel.

  Mrs Wallace brushed some fluff off her sleeve. ‘Your mother and I stayed in contact – at Christmas and so on. She knew I was over in England last year and asked me to travel with you to Australia. That’s why everything was arranged so quickly after she received Maitland’s letter. My passage was already booked and I couldn’t afford to wait. So, in a very roundabout answer to your question, I don’t think you going back home would be in anyone’s best interest.’

  Through the lattice, Maisie caught a glimpse of Marjorie as she tried to duck from view. She got up from her chair and said, loudly, ‘Do you know what, Mrs Wallace? I believe my backbone has got over its slump. Tomorrow we go back to work.’

  CHAPTER 29

  MAISIE FOLDED THE BROADSHEET and laid it on the desk. The Wet was in full swing. After months in the Japanese hospital, Charles Harvey had succumbed to diver’s paralysis. Coop was now the last of the imported English divers still in the Bay to have survived the experiment.

  The comments in the newspaper recorded the white public’s bewilderment and outrage. ‘How is it possible that white men have lost out to the Asiatics?’ demanded one correspondent. ‘The Japanese sabotaged the divers,’ claimed another. A third attacked the pearling industry, insisting the white divers must have been given ‘unsuitable boots and faulty equipment in a bid to shanghai the experiment’. Not one considered the possibility that the Japanese divers were just better at finding and hauling up shell.

  Beyond the lattice, Maisie could hear Marjorie laughing. She had a beautiful laugh, deep and unrestrained, and Duc was laughing with her. It was good to hear some happiness in her home. They never failed to cheer her up. She cast a glance at Coop, who was slumped in a cane recliner, smoking a cigarette. From time to time she looked in his direction, but her eyes could not hold his. He seemed lost in his thoughts and she tried to imagine what he might be thinking.

  They’d been silent for some minutes but Maisie was not ill at ease. Their silences were comfortable and fond, like memories they were yet to collect.

  She pushed back her chair a little. ‘It’s not just the Japanese that the newspaper is targeting. They launched a scandalous attack on the Indigenous people a few days ago too.’

  Coop hid his thoughts in his whisky glass. ‘What did it say?’

  ‘The editor called on the new mayor to rid the town of all Aborigines. He says that the whole race is an idle nuisance – “a drunken, disease-infested menace” was what he actually said in print. He seems to think the government is right behind him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry. No-one’s going to take him or the government seriously. Every household I can think of employs at least one Aborigine, and most have a Chinese cook as well.’

  ‘You would think so, but there have been no letters of protest to the editor and only one of support, from Bishop McMahon – which I find somewhat disappointing given that Jane was such an advocate of Indigenous rights.’

  Coop leaned back and took a long pull on his cigarette. ‘The leading whites will stir themselves if they think they’re going to lose their domestic help. It won’t have anything to do with protecting native rights, though. It’ll be more to do with not being inconvenienced.’

  Maisie laughed. ‘When did you become so cynical?’

  He shifted in the chair. ‘Since Duc told me this morning that he’s had his application for a car licence turned down. The mayor made a point of telling him personally.’

  ‘He shouldn’t need permission from anyone. Duc earned that car with his own money. Licences are routinely stamped over the counter at the council offices, and Mrs Brightlight says it won’t be long before she is going to be able to issue them at the post office.’

  ‘I know. What the mayor’s really saying is that an Asian shouldn’t be allowed to own a car.’ Coop’s eyes seemed to focus on the world outside the window for a long second. ‘What did Marjorie have to say about this latest grand scheme to expel Aboriginal Australians from the town?’

  ‘In her opinion, her people will never be accepted in “white-fella” Australia, even though they lived here long before Captain Cook planted the British flag in Botany Bay. She says the ways her people are tormented will never change – not even a hundred years from now. As long as white men are in charge, they’ll never be left alone. And I trust her instincts because, at the end of the day, she really is the one at the receiving end.’

  ‘It’s not going to just blow over, that’s for certain.’ There was a dark tone to his voice.

  Maisie pushed at a pin in her hair. ‘Why do you say that?’

  Coop ground the stub of his roll-up into the ashtray. ‘You see the Aborigines on the streets blind drunk, or begging for tobacco and food. Or they camp outside the welfare office waiting for their benefit money. Give them something and next thing you know, they’ve given it away. So they’re always broke and hungry. The whites don’t want to accept responsibility for the situation they’ve put the locals in, so if they shove them all out of sight – well, problem solved.’

  ‘Aborigines see things differently to you or me. If one of Marjorie’s mob were to bang on
our back door and say he was hungry, she would be obliged to feed him. She calls it “kinship stuff”. And the Aborigines are not the only people lolling around on the streets, by the way. Most of the indentured crews are drunk throughout the lay-up season.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Let’s not argue, Maisie. I’m not defending the whites. We agree that something needs to be done about racial unfairness. It’s a real problem for the pearling industry. The Japanese are just better suited to diving for shell, whatever your newspaper says. There’s no simple solution to any of this, though. It’s going to take years of negotiation by people more skilful than you or me.’ There was no anger left in his voice, no lingering bitterness. ‘Let’s talk about something cheerier. Have you heard from Mrs Wallace?’

  ‘Yes, she says she’s bringing her husband Arthur to walk me down the aisle in lieu of my father, and that she wouldn’t miss it for the world. She can’t spare us her boys, though, as they’re busy on the farm. It’s a pity because I would have loved to have met them.’

  They didn’t say anything for a while, and she wondered if he’d heard her. A gust of wind blew in through the lattice, carrying with it a puff of dust, and sent a drying leaf flittering across the floorboards. Coop stretched out and trapped it under his boot.

  ‘You’re darned lucky to have Mrs Wallace. Not everyone would up sticks and leave their family for a month, even for a blood relative. I don’t know how you’d have coped if she hadn’t been here when the Atticus went down.’

  The thought of Mrs Wallace and her blustery kindness made Maisie shake her head. The grief of Jane’s loss had almost engulfed her. It was still there months later, waiting beneath the surface.

  Maisie drank some tea, then got up from her chair and walked over to the lattice. She felt wobbly on her feet, like she’d been drinking, and clung to the wooden screen for balance. She forced herself to stand up straight and pushed her shoulders back. Coop didn’t need to worry himself over how upset she still was about Jane.

  She concentrated on the view. It hardly seemed possible that a year had passed since she’d last looked out on the same scene. The Clancy lay on its side on the tidal mudflat, picked clean of its rigging like a bleached bone, waiting for the full tide to rid it of its vermin. She let her gaze move past the lugger to the water of the Bay. The sea shone like molten jewels, but it was beauty spiked with danger. For a moment she saw Jane’s face, and thought about the others who had been lost with her. But there was no point dwelling on what was gone, she reminded herself. Jane herself had taught her that.

  Coop tapped his foot on the floorboards. ‘What about your parents? What news from England?’

  Maisie frowned. Her head had begun to throb. The last thing she wanted to think about was her parents. Just that morning, a starchy formal note had arrived. Written in her mother’s black, rigid script and signed without any expression of affection, it had waspishly declined Maisie’s invitation to the wedding.

  His people are in trade. And he’s your employee! What can you be thinking? If you were still living under our roof you would not be allowed to entertain such madness. It would be tantamount to consorting with the chauffeur. Could you imagine being married to Prebble? We simply would not permit it.

  Damn you, Mother, she thought. She was almost glad that Coop couldn’t read. Accidents of circumstance did not dictate one’s worth as a person. More than the unwarranted attack on Coop, though, she was hurt that even though she had released them from their financial commitment to Maitland, her parents still didn’t care to be involved with her life. So many times she had wanted to ask her mother about the paternity of her brother and why her father had done what he did, but she had not had the courage to begin. She understood with perfect clarity that they would never know what had happened to their little boy and she would never know her brother. They were bound together, her mother and father, and were clinging to a veneer of respectability, rather than walk away from the mistakes they had made.

  She crumpled up the reply she had begun, threw it in the wastepaper basket and reached for the teapot. ‘My parents are not coming to the wedding.’

  ‘Did you really expect them to?’ Coop said. His dark eyes were hooded, an alien expression on his face.

  Maisie lifted the lid of the teapot and stirred the dark brew. ‘I suppose I hoped that they might, but they said they’d send something as a wedding gift – when they’d had time to consider what might be suitable.’

  Coop put his glass on the coffee table and slid it away. He looked hesitant. ‘In their letters, they never mention me, do they? And that’s why you never read them out. I will always be working-class to them, the wrong side of the chalk line. I can’t do anything to change that. It’s who I am. They remind me why I left England in the first place. I’m better off here in the Bay, where no-one gives a toss where you come from. Here I’m William Cooper the diver, whose business is pearl shell. That’s all anyone cares about.’

  She turned away, pulled a handkerchief from her dress pocket and began to blot her clammy hands. ‘My parents’ views are very different to mine, Coop; I don’t know how many times I need to say that. I do have some better news, though. Pierre Fornallaz has sold the pearl.’

  He was fussing with his glass again, sliding it a few inches to the left and then to the right. A deep frown wrinkled his forehead. ‘When were you going to tell me that?’

  ‘Don’t get cross! I only heard from the bank today that all Maitland’s outstanding debts are cleared and, if I want, I am free to trade again under Sinclair Marine.’

  Coop continued to move his glass but didn’t pass comment.

  Maisie felt a little cold hand squeezing at her heart, and clutched her handkerchief between trembling fingers. ‘Aren’t you pleased for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but what comes next?’

  ‘Duc is spending a lot of his time in Asia Place with his ear to the ground. He’s talking about investing in the wool business. Apparently he once overheard Maitland say that was where the smart money would be made if war comes to Europe. So, I’m going to invest my uncle’s money in wool too. When your father comes for the wedding, you should tell him to think about army uniforms instead of socks.’

  Coop stood up and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘He isn’t coming either, Maisie.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s a dreadful blow. You must be devastated.’

  ‘Like you, I’m not that surprised if I’m honest. He can’t afford to be away from the business for three or four months, travelling here and back. And after what’s happened with the Titanic and then the Atticus, well, understandably he’s not keen on boats just at the moment. He sends his fond wishes for our happiness, though.’

  ‘I think you should still tell him about the investment opportunity. If war does break out, he’ll be much more in the thick of it than us. I’ll help you write to him, if you’d like?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll ask JB to help me when I go back to the Seafarer’s tonight. He always seems to get the words just right with my dad.’

  Maisie pressed her clenched hands into her lap. The rejection had come out of nowhere like a sudden wind, and blown her off balance. ‘What’s going on, Coop?’

  He began to jiggle the coins in his trouser pocket. ‘We’re poles apart, you and me. You’ve created the beginnings of a commercial empire, Maisie. For nine months of the year, I roll up my sleeves and dive for pearl shell. The more I pick up, the more I earn. That’s the extent of it.’

  She had to make this better. ‘My only ambition is to be your wife.’

  ‘When I can’t read? When the only work I know how to do means using my hands? Maybe your parents are right, and I should remember I’m a working-class man. I’m not in your league and shouldn’t fool myself I ever could be. Maybe it would be for the best if I just walked away.’

  He was staring at her so bleakly that knots of dread tightened in her stomach. ‘Where has this come from? Are you saying that you don’t want to m
arry me? You’ve changed your mind?’ The words burst out of her mouth like bubbles. She hardly knew what she was saying.

  Coop held up a hand, his long expressive fingers stretched wide. ‘How could you even think that? I’ve longed to marry you from that first moment on the ship when I saw you at the lifeboat drill. It’s just – I don’t know how to say this … Sometimes when I look at you, my heart leaps with glorious hope for our future. Then I remind myself where you come from and who I am, and it sinks with despair. Maisie, I’m scared to death that one day you’ll wake up and realise you’ve made a terrible mistake, and it will be you who has changed your mind.’

  She made herself wait before she spoke. The one thought she could hold onto, amid the panic, was that she couldn’t lose him; that it was up to her to make him understand.

  ‘Yes, we’re from different backgrounds, but we’re absolutely not mismatched. Who you are is far more important than where you hail from. We’re fighters, Coop. This is the best decision of my life.’ She held out her arms as if inviting him to dance. ‘Come, my love. Let’s take a walk up to the lighthouse. It’s too hot in here to think straight.’

  They followed the crushed-shell path towards the beacon, Maisie clutching Coop tight to her side. She could feel his heart racing against the top of her arm, his skin damp through his shirt. When they reached the bench, she turned to him and looked deep into his eyes for a very long time, stroking his sunburned face with the back of her hand and whispering the things that people in love say to each other.

  ‘Let’s go a bit further,’ she said after a time, ‘while we still have the light.’

  He looped his arm around her waist and they walked on together, her head against his shoulder, towards the horizon and the future.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  IN JULY 2013, PERTH in Western Australia was cold and wet. At 2200 kilometres north of Perth, Broome is not the sort of place you visit on the spur of the moment, but sometimes we do impulsive things.