by Joy Rhoades
‘The man’s as rough as bags,’ Jack said, smiling. He headed into the kitchen, and Kate followed. Automatically, she set about the very last of the cleaning up, feeling the sapphire pressing into her from her pocket. She had to tell him about the stone.
‘Jack …’
‘You ready to hit the frog and toad, mate?’ Biggs’s voice from the verandah. ‘I’ll get the empty into the truck.’
‘You orright by yourself with that keg?’ Jack replied.
‘You’re pullin my leg. I carry empty bloody kegs every day of the week, mate.’
She had not realised Jack was leaving with Biggs. He would not spend his last night with her.
Jack headed to their bedroom. ‘What’d you say, Kate?’ he called.
‘I …’ she said, but to an empty kitchen. A few minutes later he was back with his Army duffel bag. He set the bag next to the door and smiled lazily at her. He’d had a few. She told herself she didn’t care.
‘Jack —’
‘Don’t worry about taking me into town. You’re not much of a driver; we both know that. Biggsy said he’d give me a lift to the station first thing tomorrow. We’re gunna get on the grog tonight.’
Now Kate was mad. ‘Good old Biggsy.’
‘Settle down. It’s not his fault you’re in this mess.’ There was silence in the kitchen. ‘Anyhow, I forgot t’ask. Is your old man’s will sorted out?’
‘What? Yes. Emma told me today. The bank has it.’
‘All to you? Or to us both? That’d save us the trouble of a transfer, if he did.’
Kate was suddenly grateful to her father. ‘Everything went to me. Joint tenants, or something, so it was automatic, apparently, when he died.’
He frowned. ‘I suppose there’s no point in getting it transferred to me if we’re losing the lot anyhow. Can’t wait to see the back of the place, now.’
It occurred to her that Jack wanted to go, wanted to leave the district at any cost. She put her hand in her pocket and touched the stone. ‘But what if I …? What if I found the sapphire?’ she said.
‘You won’t. And I’d keep it quiet if you did. It’d set us up nicely somewhere else. We’re not stayin here now. That’s for sure.’
Kate took her hand out of her pocket. ‘I don’t want to leave, Jack.’
‘Bloody hell, Kate. Not again. You’ve got no flaming choice.’ He shook his head and glanced again out through the gauze of the kitchen door towards Biggsy’s truck. ‘Look, I don’t want to have a blue with you. Not now.’ He came to her and enfolded her in his arms.
‘We’ll be orright,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘The next few weeks’ll be rough, but you go off to my family in Perth before the bank comes in. Ruddy creditors’ll leave you alone there.’
She opened her mouth to object. He kissed her instead and she kissed him back, angry and sad, ashamed of him and of herself. He kissed her forehead and she felt the cleft of his chin against her.
He pulled away and squatted by his duffel bag to extract an envelope. ‘Here’s some cash for the train ticket and the address of my folks in Perth. Then I’ll send for you, once I’m settled up north. Won’t be for a bit, mind. They say I’m gunna be training troops till the cows come home, for the occupation.’ He held out the envelope to her. When she wouldn’t take it, he dropped it on the table between them.
‘Hooroo, Kate.’ He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and went out. The gauze door banged behind him.
That night Kate slept fitfully, waking to check the sapphire, which she’d tucked into her pillowcase. When she woke at about two in the morning, she could not go back to sleep, and she lay, clutching the stone. The smell of Jack in her bed – his sweat and their lovemaking – made it worse.
She pushed the blankets back, swung her legs over the side of her bed, put her feet on the cold floor and into her slippers. She set the stone on her dressing table, took her pillow for comfort and, hugging it in her arms, looked through the French windows. A half-moon seeped from the bank of clouds that had come in from the west, and threw a weak light across Amiens. She could make out the spikes of the myalls along the creek bed, the hills beyond and even some dots of sheep, bright on grey hills. And the moon itself, just a sliver, shone from within the travelling clouds. This was a beautiful night for her father to be on the hillside. She might save Amiens now that she had the stone. She wished he’d known. Might she have saved him? If she’d found the sapphire sooner? She wanted to think so, but in her heart, she knew.
She went back to bed but still she couldn’t sleep, conscious of being by herself, no father, no Daisy, no Jack. The house seemed very big, and her thoughts went to Luca, not half a mile away, taking in the same air, under the same sky. She wondered if he were sleeping and smiled at the thought of him. The sapphire kept creeping back into her head, that and the two long days before she could try to give Addison the stone.
CHAPTER 35
Come lambing, the prudent woolgrower, when alerted, provides an especially close attention to a ewe in difficulty.
THE WOOLGROWER’S COMPANION, 1906
The next morning, Kate was glad of the kookaburras in the trees around the homestead. Conscious of the quiet of the house all around her, she bustled about the kitchen making tea. A movement in the garden caught her eye. She went to the door, and smiled at Luca, legs astride, bent from his waist to pull at the weeds at the foot of the bean trellis. She could tell him about the sapphire.
‘It’s Saturday,’ she called out. He was often only in the garden during the week.
He straightened up. ‘Sì. Orright, Signora?’
That’s why he was there. To see how she was. She felt a rush of gratitude as he bent back to his work.
‘Yes. I’m all right. Really. Tea?’ she said.
He waggled his head, the way he did when he was thinking. ‘Sì, sì.’
She took two mugs out. Above her, that kookaburra was at it again with its long, demented call from the eucalypt tree.
‘She laugh,’ Luca said, taking his tea from her. ‘Crazy laugh.’
‘They always sound drunk or mad to me.’
Luca startled her by copying the call. With quick staccato yelps he sang along with the bird. ‘Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh. Aah-aah-aah-aah.’
Kate laughed and it felt odd. She hadn’t laughed since her father died. The bird’s call went on. Luca tried again, only louder, his voice deeper and slower. This time, the bird fell silent.
‘She’s listening,’ Kate teased him. ‘She’s keen on you.’
Luca smiled at her. ‘Maybe,’ he said and Kate looked away, feeling her face grow hot. She sipped her tea.
‘I found it,’ she said. ‘The sapphire.’
‘No. This is true?’ He looked at her intently.
‘Yesterday. It was in the bower, the bird’s bower.’
‘Aaaah.’ He nodded, smiling. ‘This is good place for hide. Now you sell her?’
‘I’ll give it to Addison on Monday.’
‘This is very good, Signora. Much, much good for you.’
Monday morning, at nine o’clock sharp, Kate sat herself in the office and set the sapphire on the empty desk in front of her. She picked up the telephone and Barrel put her through to the bank.
Emma answered.
‘Emma! It’s Kate. Kate Dowd. I want to make an appointment to see Mr Addison today. About it. I have it. I found it,’ she said, hoping Emma would understand.
But there was a pause.
‘Emma?’
‘I’m here. Can you hold on a second?’
Kate heard muffled voices, and then a man’s voice – Addison? – saying no, absolutely not. Then there was silence. Kate inhaled. He must still be mad about the wake. Damn.
‘Mrs Dowd?’ Emma said.
Mrs Dowd? ‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry but Mr Addison is booked up.’
‘It doesn’t have to be today. Tomorrow’s fine.’
‘No, well, you see … It’s all this week, actually.’ E
mma’s voice sounded odd.
‘He’s away?’
‘Er … not exactly.’
Kate was quiet for a moment. Was he refusing to see her?
‘Next week?’
‘I don’t believe so. I’m sorry. I must go now, Mrs Dowd. Good day.’
Addison must have been standing over her. Kate put the receiver back in its cradle. Bugger and damn, as her father would have said.
She didn’t give up. Late that day, she rang the bank again.
‘They won’t answer now, dearie,’ Barrel said down the line. ‘They’re balancing their books for the week.’ She should know. Barrel had been a Wilson before she was married and one of her nephews worked for Addison.
‘Can we try? Please?’
The number rang on.
‘I told you, dearie.’ Kate could sense Barrel’s pursed lips.
Finally, someone picked up the call. ‘Yes?’ Addison’s voice was clear on the line. ‘The bank is closed. Who is this?’
‘It’s me, Mr Addison. Kate Dowd. I’ve found the sapphire.’ Party line, or no party line, she had to tell him, stop him serving his notices to take Amiens.
‘The bank is closed, Mrs Dowd. Good day.’
‘But … I have it.’
‘The bank only accepts cash.’
‘Oh. But —’
‘Good day, Mrs Dowd.’
‘Wait! I … I could go to Sydney and sell it for you.’
‘To Sydney?’
‘I can. I will. The Wednesday train?’ It was the first one.
There was another pause.
‘Best of luck in Sydney, Mrs Dowd. Good day.’ He hung up.
Kate stared at the telephone. Had he forgiven her? He must have; he’d wished her luck, for heaven’s sake. So he would hold off serving his dratted notices. She would sell the sapphire in Sydney and then the noose round her neck would be loosened.
As it turned out, there were no seats left on the Wednesday train: it was ‘reduced carriages’ schedule that day. Kate almost cried. She had to be content with booking for the Saturday train. With lambing on, at least the days went by quickly. It wasn’t until Thursday afternoon, as Kate walked towards the homestead tired and dirty from lambing, that she started to think seriously about her Sydney trip. It occurred to her, even weary as she was, she was almost happy. She’d found the sapphire, it seemed that Addison would hold off on his bank notices while she went to Sydney to sell it, and today only the lambs and one ewe had died on her, the ewe messily.
Kate loved newborn lambs. They were wet and slimy and covered in gunk, but a good clean from the rasp of the ewe’s tongue, and then they were struggling to their feet. They’d feed and feed, and bleat and bleat. She loved it when they’d start to play, gambolling, ridiculous leaps and jumps and hops, with sheer pleasure to be alive. Her father had loved lambs too, chuckling at their gymnastics. Thinking of her father brought back a rush of grief.
At the homestead steps, she took her boots off and carried them in her hands, taking the rest of her filthy self along the verandah towards the bathroom for a wash. When she came round the corner, Mick Maguire was standing by the back door, his arms full with bread, mail and the paper. It was mail day. She was losing all track of time.
‘I take it that’s not your blood, Mrs D?’
Kate looked down at her clothes. What was not muddy was dark red with drying blood, from her coat to her trousers. Only her socks were clean.
‘No.’ She managed a smile. ‘Not mine.’
He followed her into the kitchen and she washed up as best she could in the laundry.
Peng stood up from her position on the kitchen chair, her head poking above the table. Maguire stroked her. ‘You’re a sook, old Peng,’ he said, then turned to Kate.
‘I got a coupla letters for your Eye-tie fellas. Captain Rook asked me to give em to yez.’ He pushed two letters across the table, again stampless with just the Red Cross emblem like a postmark.
He cleared his throat and put another envelope on the table in front of her. The return address said Rural State Bank of New South Wales, 202 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, New South Wales. ‘Special delivery for ya. Ya gotta sign near Receipt, eh.’ Maguire jabbed at the spot on the page.
She couldn’t understand. Addison had as good as blessed her trip to Sydney. Why would he serve the notices?
‘Ya gotta sign, eh,’ Maguire said again, clearing his throat.
There was nothing for it. She signed, slowly, carefully, willing her hand not to shake. Maguire folded the signed paper and put it in his shirt pocket. He gathered his things and left. No yarning today.
A breeze rattled through the Californian pine. Kate shivered. She was watching his truck drive away when Harry appeared.
He slung his school case on the floor. ‘Can I’ve a scone?’
‘School all right?’
‘Yeah. S’orright,’ he said with a mouthful. ‘They’re not as good, ya know.’
‘What?’
‘Your scones are orright but Daisy’s are better. She’s a good cooker. She’s workin in the kitchens at the Home now, is what I hear. And about to pop, too, eh.’
‘Harry. Don’t say that,’ Kate chided. She felt the weight of her guilt. Poor Daisy. On her feet all day in a hot kitchen? With the baby due?
‘What’s that then?’ Harry asked, nudging the bank letter. Kate exhaled, and used a bread knife to open the envelope, careful not to tear the heavy page inside.
It was headed NOTICE OF DEMAND AND DEFAULT.
CHAPTER 36
Mother Earth seems curiously predisposed against the lamb. Maternal desertion, the elements and predators all work to snuff the life from a newborn lamb ere it has begun.
THE WOOLGROWER’S COMPANION, 1906
Kate read it, trying to make sense of the words. There was overdue mortgage interest, and that was almost exactly £1,000, and a number for the cancelled overdraft. The total due and payable, they gave as £6,052. Bloody hell. It was still a big figure to see typed on the page, but it made sense, if she took the cattle money into account. The last bits were very clear: failure to pay within seven days and if unpaid, enforcement proceedings to be brought with a view to obtaining possession on or before 12 October 1945.
On or before. Two weeks and one day. Jesus. Why was Addison doing this? When he knew she’d found the sapphire.
She was interrupted by the sound of a car. It came, its lights on in the approaching dusk. Emma. Thank goodness: she might know something.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Emma called as she crossed the dead lawn. ‘I didn’t want to use the party line.’
‘No, no, thank you. But what’s he doing? I spoke to Addison on Monday and he as good as told me to go to Sydney to sell the sapphire, you see. I thought he had to have cash. That’s what I don’t understand. If he agreed on Monday, why serve the notices on me today?’
‘Did he really agree?’ Emma asked. ‘Or did he just say nothing?’
Kate thought back. ‘You’re right.’
‘He wants you away. If you’d gone to Sydney, it’d be easier for him.’
Kate gasped. ‘He lied to me.’
‘Good as, yes. He’ll come in then, y’see. As soon as you go away. He’ll claim you’ve “abandoned” the property so the bank’s security is at risk. Assets in jeopardy bucket.’
‘The man’s a snake!’ Kate spat out the word.
Emma smiled and squeezed Kate’s arm. ‘Don’t go to Sydney, whatever you do.’
‘What will I do?’
‘You’ll think of something,’ Emma said, but her words sounded hollow.
As the red tail-lights of Emma’s car dipped into the gully, Luca appeared at the gate.
‘All right, Signora?’ he said as Kate came down the verandah steps.
‘Not really. That was Emma from the bank. Addison wants me off the place in Sydney so he can come in. Put locks on the gates.’ Kate sat down on the steps. ‘He won’t accept the sapphire itself, so I have to get to Syd
ney to sell it, but I can’t leave Amiens or Addison will pounce.’
‘You must buy her in Sydney?’
‘Sell, yes. I have to sell it in Sydney. The sapphire buyers here know I’m in trouble. They’d give me nothing for it. And it’s so big, I doubt they’d have the money anyway.’
Luca moved along the garden beds, pulling out weeds, entwining tendrils back into the trellis. ‘Meg can do her, no? She go to Sydney for her brother. He come there soon.’
‘Meg’s going to Sydney? How do you know?’
‘She say me.’
The low hum of cicadas was the only sound in the dusk sky, and Kate felt a familiar pang of hurt. She was too tired to give herself a lecture on how inappropriate it was for her, a married lady, to be jealous of a POW’s feeling for a single girl. Even if it wasn’t right that they should be flirting in the first place. Still, it ate at her, that Luca might be keen on Meg.
‘Meg, she buy for you,’ Luca said again. His tone implied he’d solved the problem.
‘Sell,’ Kate said, eventually. ‘Sell, not buy.’
‘Sell, sì,’ Luca said.
Early on Saturday morning, Kate walked wearily across the frost-white ground of the early morning, towards the men in the yards. All available hands were lambing.
Even in her weariness, Kate was thinking about the bank. Meg was taking the sapphire with her to Sydney on the train today, and, just as Luca had said, she’d be back on Wednesday with a cheque for Kate. Kate would take the money straight to the bank, well before Addison was officially due to come in on 12 October. She had taken every precaution, even asking Meg to have Mr McGintey make the cheque out to the bank, which would save weeks. Now she just had to wait. In the waiting, though, her grief had found her again. The rhythm of work had helped her through the first days after the funeral, but now she was tired first thing, even when she woke. She had one big task ahead, though. She’d ask Mr Grimes to meet her on Monday morning at the homestead. She had to tell him to follow her orders now that her father was gone. She knew he would not take it well, and that worried her.