by Joy Rhoades
He nodded again, this time more slowly.
The headlights of Mrs Pommer’s car appeared on the dot of six, flickering through the trees, up out of the crossing. There was no sign of Grimes. Kate wasn’t surprised; he hadn’t wanted Harry at the school in the first place. She just hoped he hadn’t given Harry a thrashing for the lecturette.
Mrs Pommer got her formidable self out of her Humber and came across to the verandah. Even in the half-light, Kate knew Bomber’s lips were pursed and she felt ten years old again, late for school on an uncooperative Ben.
They sat on the verandah, Mrs Pommer lowering herself into a chair.
‘Should we wait, Mrs Dowd? For Harold’s uncle?’
Kate had to think who Harold was. ‘Let’s go ahead. Mr Grimes is probably still out on the run.’
‘I’ll begin by saying that Harold is quite a clever boy. When he puts his mind to it, he can do well, surprisingly well, in maths and botany especially.’
‘In botany?’
‘Very good at his native plants, is Harold. Someone called Daisy taught him. A relative?’
‘No,’ was all Kate said.
‘The point is, he can apply himself. He could even try for an apprenticeship in the railways if he works hard. But he’s taken a wrong path. A dangerous path.’
Bomber reached into her handbag and handed Kate a grubby piece of paper. It had three scrawled lines on it.
No one knows but there was darkies in the Grate war who fort alot. But they cant march in Anzac day. I rekkon thats not fair dinkum. They shod march cos they fort.
‘Harold has four years left at school, until he’s fifteen. But he must follow the rules. Not write nonsense about the blacks.’ Her task done, Bomber stood up. ‘You will tell Mr Grimes?’
Kate nodded.
As she walked back to the car, Kate called after her. ‘Watch out for roos. They’re bad on the road out, after the grid.’
She wondered where this would all come out as the car’s tail-lights dipped into the crossing. Grimes surprised her when he strode out of the dark and stopped on the dead lawn beneath her. Had he waited for Bomber to leave?
‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Mrs D. Bottinella says ya told him he can keep that bloody bike.’
The bike? Not school? ‘I told Vittorio I would talk to you about the bike, not that he could keep it. What do you think?’
‘It’s a bloody bad idea. He could do a runner.’
Kate frowned. Make off on a bike? With nineteen miles to the nearest real town, and four-hundred-odd to Sydney?
‘Y’can’t be tellin the men what they can and can’t do. Got that?’ He turned to go.
‘Mrs Pommer was here, Mr Grimes. From the school.’
‘I told Harry he’s not goin to school. Enough’s enough. He’ll work here on Amiens with me now.’
Kate, open-mouthed, watched the blue of his shirt disappear into the gloom.
The following afternoon, Harry did not come to Kate, and as the hours passed she knew Grimes had done it, kept him home from school. When the truck passed by at about four, she went onto the verandah to check. Harry was there, all right, in the truck cab.
Grimes brought the truck to a stop, and Luca jumped to the ground to come into the garden. Harry didn’t look at Kate, even when she came to the fence; he kept his eyes straight ahead as the truck moved off again.
Kate asked Luca, ‘Did Harry go out with the men into the paddocks for the day?’
‘Sì,’ Luca said. ‘Grimes say no school now. This is true?’
Kate shrugged, frowning.
‘You tell professor? Signora Bomber?’
Kate laughed. ‘It’s Pommer, not Bomber. And no, not yet.’
‘And your sapphire, Signora. You find her?’
Kate shook her head.
‘Ah.’
They worked to extend the last garden bed closer to the back fence. Luca did the heavy work, driving a fork into what was left of the lawn at the edge of the bed, lifting chunks of earth and roots off onto a pile. He banged the fork’s prongs flat against a round clump of soil, packed hard by the drought, broke it up and started again, driving the fork into the dead lawn edge. She caught herself staring. He was good to watch, his body almost black from the sun and sinewed from his work. A controlled power drove each stroke.
‘Grazie, Signora.’
She looked away before his gaze could meet hers. ‘What for?’ she said, hitting a lump with her own fork. It shattered, and she half-dragged, half-raked the loose soil across to the new bed.
‘For this yarn today, for Harry, for his bicicletta. To Vittorio …’
Kate grinned at Luca saying ‘yarn’ for the first time and shrugged. ‘Did Harry say anything today to you about school?’
‘Niente a nessuno,’ he said, hitting a clump of earth hard to break it up. ‘He say nothing.’
Kate sighed. ‘I read they caught Mussolini in the north. Are you glad?’
He snorted, an unhappy laugh. ‘Sì, Signora.’
‘Why did you join up? To fight for him?’
‘No, no.’ He made a revolver with his index finger and thumb and held it to his head. ‘I must go. You know?’
Kate shook her head. It was hard to imagine. ‘Your village? Grosio. Is it small like Longhope?’
Luca shrugged. ‘Small? Sì. But not like Longhope. Grosio è bellissimo.’
‘Longhope’s not beautiful?’
‘No. She is ugly.’ He said it without feeling; it was a fact.
Kate laughed. It was true; apart from the creek and the willows on it, there wasn’t much that was pretty about Longhope.
‘You miss home very much?’
‘Sì.’ He said it with feeling, a long sound, and then listed things on his fingers, the fork handle against his hip again. ‘My father. This family.’ He smiled suddenly, that half-grin. ‘Food also. Taleggio. Is cheese. This wine, pasta.’
‘Pasta. The stringy stuff Vittorio hangs on the fences to dry?’
‘Sì.’
She pulled at a mat of grass roots and thought about these men so far from home. ‘What’s worst? About being here?’
He shrugged. ‘My old work, maybe she go now. No more work.’
‘You were a stable-hand at home?’
‘Sì. With horses of Count. Many horses.’
‘Were you a stockman? Mustering?’
Luca laughed. ‘No, Signora. Lombardy, she is famous for the beautiful horses. For Il Duce, for kings.’
Kate was impressed. ‘What did you do?’
‘I work at la scuderia. The place for horse babies. They sell.’
‘You like horses and that work?’
‘I like work, sì. But free. Not a prisoner.’ He broke open a clump of earth with the fork prongs. ‘You know the horse work, the muster here?’ He pronounced it ‘m’star’. ‘That – that is good work. For this I am a man. Not the prisoner.’
‘But otherwise?’
‘I am prisoner. This prison? No bars, Signora.’ As he drove the fork prongs into the dry earth, she remembered he’d said this to her before.
‘You want to go home.’ Her heart fell, and she worried that she cared at all, and so much.
‘Sì. The home.’ He stopped, his hands resting on the fork handle in front of him. A shadow crossed his face and he looked sombre. ‘What is left?’
Kate swallowed and spoke again. ‘You know, after my mother died, it was difficult.’ She made a fist inside her glove and brought it down on a clod of earth. ‘But Dad needed me, needs me even more now. And it’s good. To be needed by your family. You have that too.’
‘Sì,’ he said. It was muffled, as if he had wiped a hand across his nose. ‘This brother …’ Luca began, his voice soft.
Kate stood up. She took her glove off and put her hand on his on the top of the fork, his tanned knuckles warm and rough under her fingers. Eventually, he took a breath and exhaled slowly. ‘My brother, he go. From August. Eight months now. Where he is?’<
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Kate left her fingers on his. Luca took her hand, squeezed it, and put it back at her side. Again she felt that urge to hold him, pull him close to her. When he stepped away, she felt a surge of disappointment and relief.
He shook his head. ‘You are my friend, Signora. More? Bad. Very bad. For you.’
‘Bad for us,’ Kate corrected and they stood for a long moment, looking at each other.
They went back to work, breaking earth until the sky over them turned orange and pink and was filled with the swooping dots of black bats.
In bed that night, Kate lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night all around her but thinking only of Luca, grateful and sad in equal measure for his strength of character.
The next evening Grimes turned up on time for another Bomber-commanded meeting. He walked across the flat as the headlights of her car came up out of the crossing. It occurred to Kate she’d best ask Daisy to warn her if her father emerged.
‘Dais?’ Kate called. When there was no reply, she went into the laundry and found her sitting down – Daisy, who couldn’t be talked into a rest.
‘Are you all right, Dais? Are you sick?’
The girl got to her feet. ‘Nuh, Missus.’ She sounded almost annoyed.
How odd. Kate felt a bit cross with Daisy. ‘Can you let me know if you hear Dad coming out of the office? Bomber’s coming.’
‘Orright, Missus.’
Maybe she was just tired, not annoyed? Kate went back onto the verandah as Mrs Pommer came over from the gate. For a big lady, she moved fast and with purpose. As she settled into a cane chair, Grimes leaned himself against a verandah upright, his arms crossed over his chest.
‘Harold must come to school, Mr Grimes,’ Mrs Pommer said.
‘No offence, Mrs P, but I don’t take orders from you, not from no woman,’ he said.
‘It’s the law.’ Bomber’s voice was strong, capable of carrying across a playground or a paddock.
‘What you gunna do? Get Wingnut after me?’ Grimes laughed, shaking his head. Bomber stood up so fast she startled Kate. She went right up to Grimes, and he dropped his arms to his sides, like a schoolboy in trouble.
‘Now listen here, Mister Grimes.’ Bomber poked him in the chest with a chubby finger. ‘Constable Withers is indeed aware of my visit here tonight. And I will get him onto you if Harold is not at school bright and early tomorrow morning. Do you understand me?’ She leaned into him.
For once, Grimes had no answer.
‘Good evening, Mrs Dowd. Mr Grimes.’ Bomber left, pounding across the dead lawn.
Grimes found his voice. ‘Struth. The woman’s a battle-axe.’
Kate took it to be a good sign that he hadn’t just walked off.
‘Maybe Harry could go to school for a few more days? Until Mrs P calms down,’ she suggested. ‘I could even take him in? We go to town tomorrow to cash the wages.’
Grimes just shook his head.
Kate kept an eye out early the next morning from the kitchen window.
‘What you lookin for, Missus?’ Daisy asked, a broom in her hands.
‘Harry. I want to see if he goes to school,’ Kate said, her eyes still. Daisy came to stand right beside her, and she was soft against Kate’s bony hip. Daisy had gone womanly all of a sudden.
‘Look. Good. There he is.’ At the top of the rise was Harry heading off on Ben.
In town that morning, Kate went first to the bank, arriving as it opened. She could see Emma was in place, at her desk. Luckily, there was no sign of Addison.
The young teller smiled at her. He was one of the Wilson boys but everyone said he was clever, so he must be a ring-in.
‘I’d like to cash this please. Our wages cheque,’ she said as if to prove she wasn’t frittering it away on dresses and the Women’s Weekly. She was withdrawing a little extra too, to pay a bill. She was glad when the Wilson boy pushed the envelope of cash across to her under the grille.
As she left, Kate gave Emma a quick nod. No need to publicise they were friends.
She walked two doors down from the bank to Nettiford’s, the haberdashery.
‘Can I get you something, Mrs Dowd?’ Irene Nettiford appraised Kate coolly, her palms on the counter, her long arms spread wide. Kate had not been in for months, too afraid to buy anything with money already overdue to them.
‘I’ve come to settle our account,’ she said.
The woman’s face broke into a smile. ‘I’ll get Sid.’
Her husband appeared moments later, wiping scone from the corner of his mouth. He was as short and round as his wife was tall and thin.
‘I hope cash is all right?’ Kate said.
‘Happy with anything, Mrs Dowd,’ he replied, his eyes on her handbag.
‘You have bonbons!’ Three small boxes of Pascall fruit bonbons sat on the counter. Kate had not seen them since before the war. Her father had always bought a small box of them for her when she was small, on his weekly trip to town. She remembered, as a little girl, squealing with joy as he came up the homestead steps. While she searched through his pockets, he’d wriggle and squirm, denying he had any, until she found them.
She hesitated, knowing they’d be expensive, then reached for one box, and her rations cards.
‘I’ll pay for this now too.’ She counted out the money. ‘I’m sorry about it being late.’
‘Paid now.’ He smiled as he rang the money into the till. Kate left while the goodwill held and ignored the seersucker tablecloths in the window.
She was a bit along the street when someone called her from behind.
‘Kate.’ It was Elizabeth Fleming. ‘So glad to catch you.’
‘Hullo. Everything all right?’
‘All well. John’s busy, of course. But I wanted a word with you. To make sure you know. John says I shouldn’t interfere, but I felt it my duty.’
‘Know what?’
‘They’re all the same, you know. You mustn’t feel bad about Daisy.’
‘Daisy?’
‘She’s expecting, apparently.’
Kate’s mouth fell open.
‘You didn’t know? My girl, Kay, heard it straight from her.’
‘I suspected,’ Kate fibbed.
‘That’s what I told John,’ Elizabeth prattled on. ‘Kate’d never keep the girl on the place if she knew, I said. But it’s such a bore to have to train another one. She’ll have to go back to the Home anyhow, till the baby’s born and given up.’
‘Yes,’ Kate said, trying to take it in. ‘Back to the Home.’
‘Heaven only knows who the father is. I mean, she won’t know, will she?’
It was almost certainly Ed. And if it were him, Kate would need to keep it quiet. She hated herself but she couldn’t afford to lose him. What a galah he was. More than that, it was bloody unbelievable.
‘Good luck with it all, Kate dear.’ Elizabeth squeezed her arm. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her against the nip of the autumn breeze.
Kate watched her go, hoping it wasn’t true. She already knew it would be hard to do her work and Daisy’s. Would the Board even give her another girl, after this? Then she caught herself and began to think of poor Daisy, pregnant at fourteen. The baby would be taken from her for adoption. Kate had to talk to her.
CHAPTER 24
A prudent woolgrower guards against the least contamination of his clip and of all varieties, through urine stain, torn wool bales, errant bailing twine or even a tool, mislaid by a careless shed hand.
THE WOOLGROWER’S COMPANION, 1906
‘You want more meat, Dad?’ Kate asked, seeing his lunch plate empty. He shook his head. She’d eaten next to nothing, pre-occupied with thoughts of Daisy. ‘Cup of tea?’
He frowned, shaking his head again. ‘I’m looking for it, ya know.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The sapphire.’
She put the plates down. ‘You’ll give it to me if you find it, won’t you, Dad? You promise?’
He g
ot up and left her for the office. She took a breath and went into the kitchen with the plates. Daisy was nowhere to be seen, though she had already made the tea, and the pot and cups sat on a tray on the table. Kate tidied up the lunch things, waiting for Daisy to reappear. Then she heard the laundry door go as Daisy came in from the clothes line.
‘Can you pop in here, please?’ Kate said, hating herself.
Daisy came round the corner of the laundry door, the sun-faded wicker washing basket in her hands, a mound of dry white sheets and towels in it. She put the basket on the end of the kitchen table and reached for a towel to fold. Her hands were shaking.
Kate swallowed. ‘Daisy. I must ask you about something, something serious. Are you expecting?’
‘Spectin, Missus?’ Daisy’s hands stilled.
Kate’s voice was soft. ‘Are you having a baby?’
The girl’s face crumpled, and her hands dropped to rest on the mound of washing, the towel still in her fingers.
‘Was it Ed?’
Tears fell as Daisy shook her head. But Kate didn’t believe her – it had to be Ed. He was the only one who was keen. She tried again. Maybe Daisy had been forced? Kate thought of the awful bruises.
‘Was it a POW? Or one of the stockmen?’
Daisy kept her eyes still on the floor.
‘Who was it, Daisy?’
She didn’t look up.
‘Please tell me.’
The girl’s head shook, ever so slightly.
She was protecting Ed. Protecting him from being sacked. She inhaled deeply. ‘You’ll have to go back to the Home.’
The noise that came from Daisy was not a sob but a strangled cry. Kate looked away and forced herself on, trying hard not to show her sorrow for the girl. ‘You need to pack your things, and I … I’ll take you late this afternoon.’
Daisy nodded. She picked up the basket and went into the laundry. Kate could hear her shaking and folding the clean sheets, ready for ironing. Kate went to her room and closed the door. She sat on the floor and put her head in her hands.
That afternoon after school, Kate told Harry that Daisy was going back.