Clarence nodded, gave his name, then taking the hand of Molly, then Hannah, he walked them through the picket gate.
“Are we going for a walk now, Mr. Filbey?” Hannah asked, feeling the need to skip and jump, now that this nice man was holding her hand.
“We are so and you can call me Dada now we’re going to live in a nice house together and run a plot of land.”
“And Mrs. Filbey?”
“Yes, Mrs. Filbey too. I’m sure she’ll soon get better.”
“And Molly? We’re to be like sisters together and never go back to the orphanage?”
“Yes and Molly.” Clarence squeezed Molly’s hand affectionately and she smiled up at him hesitantly. “And you’ll never have to live in an orphanage again.”
He had noted the grocery store as he had passed it earlier. It was similar to the shebeens, the unlicensed houses that sold goods and liquor from the front rooms back home in Ireland. Not that he imagined that the place he had just passed sold poteen, an alcoholic drink made illicitly, as there was the Bush Inn to serve the thirsty, but he’d pay the place a visit later, on the way back to the settlement anyway. They’d need a few provisions to tide them over until they moved to the Aldridge place; they couldn’t rely on the settler wives.
He saw Aubretia in the distance. She was hurrying, her boys clasping her hands, running beside her. She was at the top of the road to Aldinga by the time they had caught up with her and he could see that she was crying and trying to get away from prying eyes.
“We’ll come with you” he said, his own heart beating like the clappers as he listened to the gasps of the girls who still hadn’t become accustomed to the heat.
“You don’t have to” she said, though her face said different and she didn’t murmur when he and the children accompanied her along the road. She didn’t speak, except to say a polite “hello” when Clarence introduced the girls as his daughters. They hung back and walked in silence; this was another situation to get used to in their young lives.
“It was the bullet from William’s gun” she said later, as she took off her bonnet and slumped on a chair on the verandah, after asking her elder boy to keep his eye on his brother and take the girls into the yard. “The coroner recorded misadventure after I stood up for Jackie and told him how hard he had worked here and that he was a valued member of our family. There was no apology from the troopers for the shooting of that other man and neither he nor my husband will get a Christian burial.”
Her tears began to start again and Clarence almost took her in his arms to comfort her, but knew she wouldn’t want him to.
“The coroner has released William’s body and they’re burying him tonight in the cemetery when the sun goes down. We didn’t know many people in Willunga and I can’t afford to get someone to make him a headstone. I can’t even afford the price of a coffin” she said, her voice muffled now as she had her head in her hands. “So they’re putting him in a hessian sack, just like you would if it were an animal.”
His heart went out to her as he gazed upon her trembling frame. He could afford a coffin for her husband if she wanted one, he wouldn’t hesitate to help her in anyway he could, but somewhere in his mind was the possibility that the coroner had recorded misadventure when he could have recorded suicide had he a mind to. His verdict would avoid the family’s ostracism, as taking one’s life was a crime.
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Aldridge.” Clarence hated himself for bringing up the subject but Bessie would give him the length of her tongue if she didn’t get to move onto the property soon. “Have you given any more thought to the circumstances?”
“The circumstances?” A tear-stained Aubretia looked at him inquiringly. “My husband’s burial, you mean. No, I couldn’t face watching him being buried like that.”
“No, I’m sorry, if I were you I wouldn’t want to neither, no I meant have you given anymore thought to letting me purchase this place?”
“I’ve done nothing but think about it, Mr. Filbey. I would like to stay of course, for the welfare of the boys and the birth of my unborn child. As you pointed out, it is a long way to travel with a newly born infant if I was to book a berth on an England bound ship, but I could be able to afford to pay for lodgings and a midwife in the city, once we have come to a fair agreement on the price.”
“How much were you thinking?”
He waited whilst she struggled with the embarrassment of talking about money to a stranger, when it had always been her husband who had handled these things.
“I had heard from William that land is selling for one pound per acre. I believe that this would amount to ten pounds for the land we have here. I thought five pounds for our home, which would include what bit of furniture William made and any household possessions that we have accumulated whilst here, though it wouldn’t include the livestock. Those and the horse and cart and the growing vegetables, I would need you to state a separate price for.”
Clarence considered. Was he to be like Colooney, taking advantage of a situation that could only line his pockets in the long run? Could he live with his conscience if he was to offer her a pittance, agree with her price for the house and the land, but a meagre amount for the rest?
“Perhaps twenty three pounds would cover it,” he heard himself saying. What was he thinking, Bessie would go mad? “But I still think you should take a few days to consider leaving here in a hurry. I can get a couple of men to build another room; it would be up in a trice if I’m not mistaken.” He could hear himself. He was sounding too eager. Why would anyone put themselves out in this way for someone they had only met that day? She was looking at him curiously, before gasping a little, as a tiny foot or hand began to kick her in the ribs.
“See, there’s another little life besides your boys you must consider.” Please take up my offer of taking care of you.
“It might be wise to stay a little longer, Mr. Filbey. Yes, I think I’ll agree and stay.”
Chapter Eleven
Molly and Hannah huddled together in their shelter, whilst listening to the sounds that were coming from inside the cottage. It was dark, around two o’ clock in the morning if they were able to tell the time and had access to a fob watch, but Hannah knew from a bit of eavesdropping from time to time, that there was another little soul beginning to make its way into their uncertain world. Uncertain, because the big woman, the one they called the midwife, who had arrived just as they were being shooed off by the mammy to their shelter, was heard to shout on occasions and the muffled cries of the nice mother – Mrs. Aldridge, they called her, who had been walking around with her hand to her back for the past few days, was beginning to terrify them both.
It had been a few weeks before when their dada had arrived at the settlement with a horse and cart and had loaded up the family’s possessions. The mammy seemed cross, but she was always cross and to avoid a slap, which she was wont to dole out if you didn’t move fast enough, they had stood hand in hand waiting for instructions. It appeared that they were going to live at the place where they had played with the boys, Bertie and his younger brother Ralphie. They had liked it there with the grunting pig, the squawking hens and the black dog that would lick you all over if you let it. It would be nice to be part of a family and live in a house together, or so Hannah had thought at the time.
It seemed that the men who had lived at the settlement, the ones whose wives had seen to the cooking, had been to build an extra room onto the cottage since the girls had been there. It was to be used by the Filbeys, according to the mammy, but not the girls as they were to have their own little place in the yard. Their own little place was what the locals would call a kipsie, a small shelter by the creek, which had a door to keep the draughts out and a large, lumpy straw mattress which the girls could cuddle on together and keep warm when the nights got chilly. Across the way was the dunny or so Dada had told them to call it, a wooden hut where they could sit on a wooden bench and let nature pay its call.
It was
chilly that night as they listened to the cries of the newborn baby. Autumn had arrived, a time devoted to harvesting and the girls were feeling tired from their exhausting day. Hannah thought back to when that they had arrived at Meant to Be Cottage, that’s what the nice lady called the place. Hannah couldn’t read, but there was a rough carved plaque with the name etched into it, hanging on the picket fence.
The shouting had started when the mammy had got down from the cart, walked up the steps of the verandah and in through the front door. Mammy had murmured something in return to the lady’s greeting, which had caused their dada to rush in after her and angry words were said. Bertie and Ralphie, looking scared, had joined them outside as they waited, hoping that the sounds of quarrelling from the grownups would cease. It seemed that it was the mammy that was causing holy hell and from that day to this one, the mammy hadn’t spoken nicely to the lady at all. Every day had been full of back break for all of them. Even Molly was expected to do her fair share.
Their job was to clear the weeds from and around the vegetable patch, digging with a small flat pointed blade. The weeds were used for something called compost and had to be carried in a bucket to the muck heap which held the waste. Another of their jobs was to search far and wide for the eggs that the “chooks”, a new name for chickens, tried to hide in the undergrowth. Today had been the hardest day, having to pick the little nuts that Dada said were almonds. To be fair, their jobs were easy compared to what the boys were asked to do. Bertie was used to clear the scrub, following Clarence and the cart, which was loaded with debris after he had used a hatchet to hack at the bushes and tall growing weeds. Ralphie was the helper, holding the horse’s bridle whilst Clarence was sawing down a tree, or helping to stack the logs onto the top of the cart, which had been hewn in readiness for winter fuel. They all had to pick the fruit from the trees, the last of the lemons and the nuts, then the parsnips, potatoes, onions and a fat looking thing that Dada called a pumpkin from the vegetable patch. Bessie sold the things from the “veggie patch” from a table on the Aldinga Road. It appeared that the cottage had been built on the road which went to the ocean, where fishermen lived and slate from the quarry was sent from the port, to the rest of the colony by ship.
Their food was good. They didn’t go to bed with empty bellies. If they didn’t get to eat from the produce that was grown or any animal that could be caught in a snare or shot with the Aldridge rifle by Dada, he would drive the cart to the grocery and come back piled up with all sorts of things. The lady could make a tasty, filling porridge, a mash from fat, brown spuds and slices of chicken or meat that had been baked in the oven range. She was good at making bread and they ate it with a spread of meaty dripping and she had made them each a nightdress, whilst she sat in her room in the evening waiting for the baby to appear.
Hannah had been told by one of the helpers back in the orphanage whose sister was about to take ownership of one, that babies were found in a cabbage patch, but as they didn’t have any cabbages in the vegetable plot here to look under, maybe the big woman had brought it today in her bag. Quite why the nice lady had been shouting was beyond her, you’d think getting a baby to love would make you feel happy.
*
The Filbeys sat together on their timber frame bed that Bessie had insisted they buy from a carpenter who had recently set up business in the village. She wasn’t going to demean herself by lying on a straw mattress in the new room that they’d had built and had used her own bit of money to make the purchase along with a flock mattress. She was loath to offer the use of it when it came to the birth of Aubretia’s child. Why should she? The woman should have travelled up to the city, not be lolling about in the cottage that didn’t belong to her anymore. There had been hell to pay from Clarence, who had sympathy with the poor woman having to give birth in such a confined space and on a mattress and the boys having to sleep outside on the verandah, but Bessie shut her ears to it and was determined to have her own way. Just like she shut her ears to Clarence, ranting over the division of labour in what Bessie was now calling “the homestead”. Aubretia would have to earn her and her boys’ keep; they were not a charity case.
To be fair to Bessie, she had never really recovered from the heat exhaustion that had struck her down on those first few days. She had lost weight and was apt to suffer from depression, being quick to note that her husband had a penchant, a liking for this young woman, which caused her fits of jealous rage at times. Each day had become a struggle. Although it was autumn now, the weather was still hot and humid and her only relief was to find a shady tree near the nearly dried up creek. And tonight, another night when she couldn’t sleep because of the damn woman’s cries keeping the sleep from her, she made a vow to herself that it wouldn’t be long before the Filbeys had the homestead to themselves.
Clarence mopped at his brow, more with agitation than the heat that had built up in the small dwelling, Mrs. Poskitt having insisted that the kettle was simmering at all times. He was desperate to go and help the girl – to hold Aubretia’s hand, stroke her beautiful face and tell her he’d take her pain away if he could. So this was what it would have been like if Bessie had given birth to an infant. All the pain, the agony, the fear that maybe it would all be for nothing and she could have died in doing so. He was glad that he hadn’t been born a woman; it seemed a precarious way to have to live your life. Find a man, marry him, depend on him for everything. He’d go and sit on the verandah, let the women get on with things in the house. Not that Bessie had offered any help to Aubretia; she’d been walking around in a bit of a huff all day.
It was cool on the verandah. The boys were sleeping, wrapped up in a blanket and sharing a palliasse. He looked upon them with sympathy, as they lay there looking grubby and unkempt, Bessie having declared that it wasn’t up to her to drag out the tin bath and stick them in it. She had enough to do; there was the cooking and preparation of their meals, now that Madam had taken to her bed to bring forth another mouth for them to feed, besides having to man the stall outside by herself. He’d been cross when she had had referred to Aubretia as “madam”, just because she spoke well, had a headmaster for a parent and had married into the gentry. She was a human being who deserved their care in her time of need, he had declared crossly, which had set Bessie off ranting again. If he was that concerned about his fellow beings, he should take himself off to the city and feed the poor and starving there instead. There was no talking to her. He sighed, looking up at the planet Venus that shone so brightly in the darkened sky, the twinkling of the stars as they hung above the horizon out to sea and wished not for the first time, that life could be different and that the child whom Aubretia was giving birth to and these tousle haired sleeping boys were his.
Though perhaps there was a way that he could still have Aubretia in his life, without it costing anything. He hadn’t paid a penny to Aubretia for the land title, they hadn’t been to the office to have the papers signed or his expression of interest recorded whilst searches were done, nor had he paid her any money for the rest of the estate. She wouldn’t know to find someone from the legal profession to give her a bit of advice. She was a woman and had been dependent on her husband, who had signed any document, seen all the plans and sorted out legalities without consulting her. He could ask her to stay, pay to have another small dwelling built on the acreage and have his cake and eat it.
But she trusts you, his voice of conscience prodded him whilst he stood there pondering how Bessie would react if he put his thoughts into actions. Aubretia is trusting you to do what’s right and you are the master of her destiny.
*
It was dawn when the first cries of William John Aldridge were heard by the occupants of the cottage. Bessie sighed thankfully. Now she could get some sleep. The boys slept on, oblivious to the fact that they now had a baby brother, the girls cuddled closer as the dog, sensing something was different began his barking and Clarence leapt up the steps.
“It’s a boy,” said Mrs.Pos
kitt, beaming from ear to ear, thankful that it had been a fairly easy birth and she hadn’t needed to call upon her husband. “Fists like a pugilist and a good pair of lungs. Mrs. Aldridge’ll need to rest now, make sure she drinks a lot of milk.”
Clarence nodded and after the woman had tidied Aubretia, washed the baby, got rid of the debris involved with childbirth, then wiped the area down with Lysol, he was allowed to take a peek. It was a perfect scene and one that he would remember for the rest of his days. Aubretia looked exhausted but satisfied with giving birth safely to the babe in her arms, her face aglow as she sat upright against the wall where the midwife had placed her and Clarence, spellbound as he looked upon her, knew that even if he had to take the blows and curses from Bessie, he would aim to protect this woman forever.
It didn’t take long before he had to prove that vow, as Bessie, envious of Aubretia’s ability to produce three healthy boys that would have been an asset to the homestead had they been hers, was dismayed to be asked by Clarence to allow Aubretia to sleep in their bed. It seemed unfair to expect a woman just getting over a birth and having to stay in bed for the next two weeks or so and needing privacy to suckle the child, to carry out this duty in the same, small room which her sons had to share. They could sleep on the verandah, they would be warm enough together for a time and he and Bessie would sleep on the palliasses. He should have seen the signs, should have been aware that being barren all their married life, Bessie might see the cosseting of the young mother as being an insult to her womanhood, might have suffered from some inferiority that could have caused her to react the way that she did.
Things came to a head a few days later when Clarence, noting that the milk urn was nearly empty, there was just a jug or so left because Aubretia was drinking more than her fair share, according to Bessie, decided he would take the horse and cart along to the grocery and whilst there inquire if the owners knew of anyone who wanted to get rid of a cot, rather than have one made by the carpenter. Bessie was cross on two counts. Firstly because she had wanted to go with Clarence, as she liked to have a look around the shop that could have been described as an Aladdin’s Cave, the place filled with all the goods that the grocer could get his hands on. There was smelly cheese that was provided by a Greek farmer down in Reynella, oranges brought along from a place in Echunga, slices of pickled pork, quinces, gooseberries, dried fruits such as currants and raisins, plums, apricot curd, beef or kangaroo steaks, bacon, locally made butter, flour, oats and barley, all sourced from the many settlers in the area or shipped in via the nearby port.
A Distant Dream Page 11