Brother Sister Soldier Cousin

by Phyllis Johnston

  Mum and Dad half looked at me, their eyes shifting above my head as though the ceiling was of interest, then back to me as if they would like to be somewhere else. What had happened to them, to me?

  Mum said, “You are our daughter in name, but not by birth.” She blushed and put a hand to her mouth.

  “What d’ya mean?” A rough voice croaked out of me. How could I be Helen Forbes and not their daughter?

  Dad cleared his throat. “Ruby … ahem … She gave birth to you. But Pearl is your real Mum.”

  “I’m not Ruby’s baby,” I shouted, and glared at Mum.

  Sometimes heifers wouldn’t own their calves, pushed them away, and now Mum was doing the same to me. Her own flesh and blood! Her own child! But Dad said I wasn’t Mum’s baby? Had they stolen me from Ruby? I shivered and stepped to the fire where steam rose from my wet clothes. My head churned with disbelief.

  “You are my baby,” Mum cried. “You are our child.”

  “Not if I was Ruby’s baby,” shot out of my mouth. I felt nasty and mean, wanted to hurt Mum and Dad, Harry too. I didn’t want to be Ruby’s baby. I wanted Mum as my mother, not Ruby. She was my aunt, but now …

  I looked at Dad. “You’re not my father, then. Are you?”

  Was he? Had Dad had an affair with Ruby and I was a dreadful mistake?

  “I’m your dad, Lenny. We’re your parents,” he sighed. “You had croup at eight months old. I took my turn nursing you half the night. We thought we would lose you.”

  Croup? What had that to do with anything?

  “Your blood father is Australian, a married man,” Mum said in a low voice. “From Sydney. Ruby came back to New Zealand for your birth.”

  Dad stared at the fire. “Two days after you were born, Pearl and I went to see Ruby in hospital. You were the image of our children as babies.” Dad half smiled at me. “‘Aw, Pearl,’ I said. ‘Let’s take her. She’s your kin. Our children’s kin.’ Lenny, we couldn’t let you go to strangers.”

  “And you opened your eyes,” Mum said softly. “A week-old baby can’t see or understand, but the way you opened your eyes and stared at us seemed to say, yes.”

  My face felt swollen like a frog’s. I had had no say in this. Ruby and I were part of “a disgrace to the family”, a “fallen woman”, a “girl gone wrong”. Mum or Dad used these words to Jess and Harry about keeping their reputations. Wide-eyed, I’d listened too; you didn’t get pregnant, or have intimate relations with a male before marriage… Now, Mum and Dad were gooey-eyed remembering me as an infant.

  I ran to the passage door. Mum put her hand on my arm. “Lenny … Helen …”

  I jerked her hand away and rushed into my bedroom and slammed the door. Standing by my bed, arms stiff and hands clenched, I screamed and swore.

  “Damn and hell! Damn and shitty hell!” The words echoed on the high ceiling as I committed the unpardonable sin of swearing, of not being ladylike, of being common…

  A knock came on the door.

  Harry said, “Lug … I mean Helen?”

  “Go away.” I lay on the bed, tears running down my face. I didn’t want to be Ruby’s baby. I was happy with Mum as a mother and Dad as my father. Ruby was all right as a glamorous aunt but she was no kind of mother.

  No wonder she put her nose to mine, gave me Maori hongis and whispered, “You are one glorious babe.” Did she regret giving me to her sister? Did she want me to be her daughter? Was I going to live with her some day, like Barbara and her mother? I was just like Barbara, after all, living away from my true mother, living with an aunt and uncle.

  Jess had never felt like a true sister, and I didn’t look like her, even if we had looked alike as babies. She was my cousin, and Harry too. Dad my uncle, Mum my aunt, Ruby my mother; the new facts spun round and round like tops in my mind.

  Mum came in with one of her best cups and saucers and a plate with a slice of bread and honey. She placed them on the dressing-table and sat beside me. Her eyes were red, her face puffy, and she rubbed my back as though I had a sore muscle.

  “Helen, love. We were advised by Ruby’s doctor not to tell you of your adoption until you were twenty-one.” She wiped my face with the towel. “It’s a shock for you, but it makes no difference to us. You are our girl.”

  I felt angry. Inside me pulsed a boil of resentment spewing poisonous thoughts of “illegitimate baby”, “aunt that was mother”, “father that wasn’t”, “brother and sister that were cousins”.

  “You’re my aunt,” I stated.

  Mum’s hands shook as she helped me off with my damp clothes. “Aunt, grandmother, stranger, what does it matter?” she said crossly. “I am your mother, Helen. I loved you, cared for you and still do. Drink your tea, then come and help. Do the vegetables or some ironing.”

  I sipped tea and rubbed Ginger’s hairs off my legs. The towel was thick with his hairs and smelt of him. I loved Ginger best of all now. He couldn’t lie because he was an animal. He was always true.

  Peeling potatoes and pumpkin, washing silver beet, I tried to feel I was a slave adopted into the family to be a drudge, but I couldn’t because Mum made a rhubarb sponge and rushed through some ironing before we both ran to the shed in the rain. The calves bleated, Ma … ma … I wanted to bleat it back at them. Their sucking mouths leached my fingers white. It would be horrid to be a calf and taken from your mother, but I was taken from mine. I hadn’t known and might have been sent to live with strangers or in an orphanage — then I wouldn’t have had Mum and Dad.

  “Hi, Luggage Tag,” Harry called as he chased a heifer around the yard.

  I ignored him. The luggage tag on a suitcase was the last bit of packing after the case was closed: the youngest of the family, the afterthought.

  Calves bleated and slobbered over my gumboots as they drank milk from buckets. I sloshed through mud the colour of chicory coffee and planned a letter to Ruby. Why hadn’t she kept me? She could have, but I knew in my heart that unmarried women didn’t usually keep their babies. Was I an Australian or a New Zealander? And who was my father? I didn’t mind Dad being my father, but who was my birth father? What did he look like? What coloured eyes and hair did he have? Was he an actor like Ruby? What sort of speaking voice did my father have? Slow and drawly? Was he quick and smart — or dull and boring? Handsome or ugly? Who was my father? Who was he?

  Chapter Five

  AFTER TEA, DAD AND HARRY WENT TO CHECK THE HERD for cows calving. Sitting in Dad’s place at the table, I started my letter. At the other end, Mum ironed tablecloths and shirts.

  “Give Ruby our love,” she said.

  I bent closer over the writing pad. I was not going to send their love. This was strictly my letter and I had lots of questions to be answered.

  Dear Ruby,

  I couldn’t call her Mum; it didn’t feel right. Even if Mum hadn’t given birth to me, I didn’t want to call Mum Pearl, or anything else but Mum.

  Mum and Dad have told me you are my mother and Mum is my aunt. This feels queer to me and I can’t stop feeling you are still my aunt if you know what I mean?

  It was difficult to explain. Mum was always there and Ruby visited once a year.

  Why didn’t you keep me? Who is my father? I know he was already married. I want to know his name.

  Would he like me? Did he know about me?

  I want to write to him and if you have his address I would like it. Does he know I was born? He should be told now if he doesn’t know. What does he look like and what colour are his eyes?

  I blotted the writing and dipped the nib of the pen in the ink bottle.

  “Do I have brothers and sisters?”

  Mum plonked the iron down hard on a farm shirt. “I don’t know. We never met your natural father.”

  She was fibbing. Her face flushed, then went expressionless like when she met people she didn’t approve of. I would have bet my ten shilling note that Mum and Dad knew a lot about my father.

  Do I have brothers and sisters? It w
ould be good to know that.

  It would be better than good — it would be exciting. Would they like me? Would I look like them? I might pronounce “e” differently to them.

  I hope you don’t feel awful as I did when I was told you are my mother. At times I wish I didn’t know because there is a lot to think about. Mum and Dad told me at afternoon tea. Half the herd have calved and we are very busy. Harry goes back to camp at the end of the week.

  I am,

  Yours Faithfully,

  Love, Helen Forbes.

  I wrote my name because I couldn’t write your daughter. I didn’t feel it. I blotted the writing again, addressed an envelope, stamped it, put my letter inside, licked the gum on the envelope flap and sealed it.

  Dad and Harry took off their oilskins in the back porch.

  “Mabel had a sturdy bull calf. We’ll keep it,” Dad said, sinking into his chair with a sigh. “Like Winston, it’s black. A true Hereford.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “By George I’m weary tonight.”

  “No fate worse than death for this bull calf, eh, sister cousin?” Harry teased. Mum frowned. She didn’t like Harry joking about my adoption. I threw two un-ironed tea towels at him. Harry didn’t pretend like Mum that everything was normal. My life had turned like a kaleidoscope. What was normal before appeared skewed. Dad patted my shoulder when he passed me, and Mum worked on as though the chore of telling me about my true parents could be tidied away and not spoken of again.

  I might go on eating, talking, being Helen, but inside I felt as though I was on an ice floe in the Antarctic, or suspended in air, like the men coming down on the hay-making grab from a high haystack. In the mirror I looked at my arms, legs, face. They hadn’t changed but inside me I didn’t know who I was. Who am I? I asked the girl staring back from the mirror. My parents were not my parents, but an aunt and uncle; my once brother and sister were really cousins yet they still felt like my family. It was as bad as that song on the radio George Formby sang, strumming his tinny ukulele, of a family so mixed up someone was his own grandpa.

  “Don’t tell Barbara, Mr Moore, or anyone, about Ruby and your birth.” Mum’s eyes bored into mine, impressing the seriousness of it until I felt wobbly inside. “Your birth is a very personal matter, Helen. Tell a single person and it will go around the district.”

  Riding Ginger to school, I told him of Ruby and my upside-down life. “It’s the same, Ginger, but it’s not.”

  Ginger’s ears went wide and straight up.

  “Everything has changed, it feels funny.”

  Ginger whinnied, shook his head and chewed his bit.

  I lay along his neck. His mane needed brushing and smelt of sweat. “You are my only constant, Ginger.” I hoped Ginger knew what that meant. It was in The New Zealand Women’s Weekly and sounded noble, like something Helen of Troy would say.

  Barbara wasn’t at school. I longed to tell her my news, but she didn’t come, and though Mum had said not to tell her, I just had to. Barbara would understand how I was feeling, because she lived with an aunt and uncle instead of her mother.

  Barbara’s aunt came at playtime in her grubby cowshed frock and gumboots. She talked to Mr Moore and Miss Cristal. Playtime went on for ages. A weak sun shone as I turned and turned my end of the skipping rope. Mary Smithson turned the other end and both Primer and Standard girls skipped until they were puffed. Still the bell didn’t go. I played hopscotch with the others and wondered what Aunt was saying and when Barbara was coming back.

  When we were finally back in the classroom, I saw Barbara’s inkwell had gone and I lifted her desk lid. Her desk was empty.

  “Barbara has moved to Auckland,” Mr Moore said.

  I felt my mouth open.

  “Last night … er … she was collected. Barbara’s aunt and uncle couldn’t keep her any longer. They are too busy now it’s spring.”

  “We never said goodbye.” My face felt hot.

  Mr Moore rustled some papers together. “Yes. Well, Barbara’s leaving will be a blow for you, Helen. Perhaps she will write to you.”

  “Did her aunt leave her new address?”

  “She does not know her new address.”

  Mr Moore set an algebra equation on the board. Bob Brown passed over a note:

  The No-Party girl has gone no-where.

  He sniggered under his breath. The Wormy boys had called her that every day. She had ignored them and, though it must have hurt her, she just shrugged. Had she wanted to leave Te Miro because of the non-party? She never spoke of her disappointment or embarrassment, but to me her empty desk and seat gaped like a missing tooth. Our plan of going to high school together vanished, and now that I was the only girl in Standard Six, there was no one to confide in. I didn’t feel close to Mary Smithson who was two years younger than me.

  During the afternoon, while Mr Moore and the others played rounders, I went to Miss Cristal’s room to help Primers Two and Three read. Connie Brown was a slow reader and together we pronounced words phonetically. As we read, I wondered where Barbara was now. With her mother? Perhaps walking up Queen Street, saying, “This beats farm life.” Going into a milkbar for ice-cream. I had never seen a milkbar but Barbara knew all the flavours of ice-creams, milkshakes, brands of chocolate and lollies.

  Miss Cristal took over Connie’s reading and I helped Primer One draw crayon pictures of farm scenes. Would I ever see Barbara again? Not unless I could get her address. I wanted to bawl, but of course I couldn’t. I had a family which felt like a true family, even though it wasn’t mine. I supposed I was lucky, not like a refugee in films: homeless and alone, trudging along a road with thousands of other people.

  At home-time, the sun shone without warmth, and water lay in the paddocks. Ginger plodded and though I dug my heels hard into his sides he wouldn’t pick up speed. In books people said, “Walk on,” to a horse with a carriage, and the horse would take off smartly. I could say, “Walk on,” to Ginger all day, but his pace wouldn’t alter.

  Barbara had gone as quick as a puff of wind. I no longer needed to hide my feelings from her about the non-party fiasco. But when the Japs came, who would I have to join the partisans with? She had loved Ahmed and missed him as much as I did. I still wondered who had stolen him. The apples were finished until next year. What else might the thief steal?

  “Write to me, Barbara,” I said aloud to the wind. Those words might fly on the air and jog her to write to me.

  Harry was getting the cows in and Mum and Dad were drinking tea.

  I threw my school bag on the form. “Barbara has left school, left Te Miro.”

  Mum raised her eyebrows. “Has she gone back to her mother?”

  “I don’t know where she has gone. She talked once of having a granny.”

  Dad pursed his lips together. “Foster children often call their carers by relatives’ names.

  “Not only foster children!” It came out of my mouth like a rifle shot, though I hadn’t meant to say my thoughts aloud.

  Mum jumped up from the table and ran into her bedroom.

  Dad looked stern. “Lenny, Lenny,” he said. “Don’t make a meal of your adoption, or make a drama of it. You’re our daughter. Pearl is upset that you know of it before you’re fully grown, and she’s upset with Harry that he pushed us to tell you.”

  “I’m not making a drama of it!” Dad was being unfair. “It feels funny, very queer, that I’m your daughter, but not.”

  Dad poured tea into Mum’s tea cup. “I know, girl,” he growled. “We’ve given our youth to caring for and raising you and Jess and Harry. And that was natural and right, so do not think badly of us.” He looked me in the eye. “Okay?”

  I felt uncomfortable. Dad was rarely direct or stern with me. My cheeks went hot. I shook my head, yes.

  “And what Ruby is thinking, I wouldn’t care to guess. We should have told you as a toddler. I said then that you’d have accepted your adoption as normal, but Pearl insisted we do what the doctor advised.” He handed
me the cupful of tea. “Take this to Mum.”

  Mum was brushing her hair so savagely I thought the old wooden brush would break. I put the cup of tea on the dressing table and we eyed each other in the mirror. I was slightly taller than Mum and didn’t look like her.

  “If you want, you can call us Pearl and Henry.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes, yes, Helen. At the time, we tried to do the right thing for you and Ruby,” she sniffed. “But now, with you so shocked …”

  “Tell me the truth. About my father.”

  “He had two girls. I don’t know their names. They would be grown up now.”

  I was suddenly thrilled. I knew my heart couldn’t jump, but it felt as though it had leapt.

  “I’ve got half-sisters!”

  Mum took a sip of tea. “We never saw his photograph. Ruby said he was the love of her life.”

  “I hope she replies soon to my letter!”

  “So do I, Helen.”

  Mum still wrote to Jess on Sunday nights but Jess hadn’t answered Mum’s letters or phoned. Mum and Dad knew she had graduated and they had not been asked to the ceremony. Harry said Mum looked expectant, then sad, each time she opened the mailbox and there was no letter from Jess.

  Mum decided to phone her and we waited, unmoving, as she put through a toll call to the Nurse’s Home. An off-duty nurse answered and went to find Jess but she was not in her room and the nurse said she did not know whether Jess was on duty or not.

  “Go to Hamilton and see her,” Harry said.

  “We haven’t enough petrol coupons to travel to Hamilton,” Dad said. “With you going back to camp, it’s too late. If one of us went by train we wouldn’t be back in time for milking.”

  “I’ll stop home from school. I’ll help milk,” I said.

  Mum shook her head. “Jess will come home in her own good time.”

  “Sometimes,” Harry sighed as I backed the Ford out, “Mum and Dad are as slow to move as Ginger.”

  I drove down the road to the Smithson’s gateway.