‘What are you two talking about?’ Dave asked, moving to stand beside Harold.
‘The Jacksons. You’ve heard the rumours,’ Harold said softly. ‘Julie’s grandmother was a German. The government are on to those sorts. Her father’s got to report to the coppers once a week.’
‘What for?’ Dave asked.
‘Possibility of spying.’ Harold lowered his voice. ‘Covert activities, my father says.’
Dave eyes widened. ‘Gosh.’
Thaddeus scoffed. ‘What? Out here? What the hell’s bells do you think they’d be spying on? How fast the grass grows?’
Dave waited for Harold to answer.
Harold gave Thaddeus a hard stare. ‘Have you forgotten how Fritz stabbed those women and babies in 1915? Anyway, we’re better off without their sort in the district, and apparently Cummins has already made an offer for the property. He wants to increase his flock.’
Dave tugged at his brother’s arm. ‘Do you think the Jacksons are spies, Thaddeus?’
Thaddeus rolled his eyes and lowered his voice so Harold couldn’t hear him. ‘No, Dave, I don’t. The war’s overseas, not here in Banyan. You remember that and don’t listen to any of that spying rubbish.’
Thaddeus watched as Dave walked away, his thoughts quickly returning to Harold’s comments regarding Corally. He consoled himself with thoughts of Harold’s parents. He didn’t think they would be pleased about their only son outing with the daughter of a washer-woman and a rabbit-trapper, especially with Mr Lawrence head of the local chamber of commerce. Across the crowd Thaddeus watched as Corally and Julie linked arms. The two girls were giggling and when Julie whispered in her friend’s ear, Corally gave a loud laugh.
‘Who wants to play?’ Corally asked the crowd surrounding the circle, as Julie joined the onlookers. ‘It’s keepsies.’ Peering at the swirly just won, she dropped it into the pouch at her waist as two ten-year-olds argued over who would challenge next.
‘H-hello, C-corally.’ Having walked free of the circle, Luther approached. ‘I th-think you d-dropped th-this.’ Holding out the oxblood, he sat the marble in Corally’s palm.
Corally gave a wry smile and tilted her head. ‘It’s not mine.’
Her voice reminded Luther of treacle. ‘Y-you k-keep it.’ Up close Corally was all sun-browned skin and blue-green eyes. Having seen the sea in picture books, he reckoned Corally was as close as he would ever get to the ocean. He took a breath. ‘H-how you b-been th-then?’
Corally swatted irritably at a fly. ‘Good, and you?’
‘G-good, real g-good,’ Luther enthused. ‘How are your f-folks?’
‘You know, the same. We went aways a while when me grandmother fell ill.’
‘How’s y-your g-grandmother n-now?’
Corally began to dig around in her marbles pouch. ‘Dead.’ Tilting her head to one side, she pointed at the sheathed tomahawk on Luther’s belt. ‘Would you really use that on Snob Evans?’
‘M-maybe.’ He smiled. ‘How’d you kn-know?’
Corally gave a dimpled grin. ‘I saw you two fighting outside the blacksmith’s and then you took off, lickety-split.’ She brushed her palms together. ‘You know, I’d like to see Snob get what’s coming to him. He called me a rabbit-sniffer on account of the fact my pa’s a trapper.’
Luther absorbed this piece of information like a dry rag in a basin of water. He took a breath. ‘Do you want t-to see th-the b-bearded l-lady?’
‘Why not?’ Corally glanced around the ring. As there were no immediate challenges, she told the assembled throng that she was taking a break.
Julie Jackson began to walk towards them and Luther knew he had scant time to get Corally away before the Jackson girl ruined everything. Grabbing Corally’s hand, Luther dragged her from the marbles ring, past the sheep pavilion and into the throng of sideshow alley. Just to be certain they were not being followed they detoured around the wood-chopping competitors and backtracked before barging through the queue for the shooting gallery.
Thaddeus watched as Luther and Corally disappeared into the mass of people. Had he been mistaken? Did Luther have Corally by the hand? He mentally reworked the picture in his mind: his younger brother had actually taken Corally by the hand and she had followed.
‘You better talk to Luther.’ Harold followed Thaddeus’s gaze and adjusted the waistband of his trousers. ‘I don’t want anyone getting their noses outta joint.’
‘Outta joint?’ Thaddeus repeated. This was the third year they had stood shoulder to shoulder at the marbles ring. In the past they had shared everything – fishing rods, rifles . . . Heck, they had even built a billy-cart together, and crashed it together. Now here was Harold, his supposed mate, laying down the law to him about a girl, and not just any girl: Corally Shaw.
‘Well, yeah, the sooner everyone knows that I’ve got my eye on Corally the better.’
Thaddeus wasn’t sure why he punched Harold on the nose. Maybe it was because of the way he was talking, like somebody’s parent, or perhaps he was angry that his younger brother had more nerve than the both of them. The end result was that his flesh cracked Harold’s and his best friend staggered backwards.
Thaddeus was rubbing his knuckles, forming the words for an apology and beginning to laugh at the stupidity of his actions, when he saw Harold’s face.
Thaddeus woke up on the ground.
Luther still had Corally’s hand in his as they bypassed the carousel and arrived at the bearded lady’s tent. ‘W-what are you d-doing?’ he asked as she broke free of his grasp and ran to the rear of the tent.
‘My dad calls it being thrifty,’ she winked. ‘Now, if they catch us, we’ll go our separate ways, right?’ Hobbled horses were feeding in the brittle grass. Through the paling fence a line of parked drays and disgruntled horses waited for the day’s end.
This wasn’t quite how Luther had imagined things. He had saved a little money so they could walk right into that tent, hand in hand, in front of God and everyone, but now they were sneaking in the back. Of course, Luther hadn’t planned what was going to happen after they were seated in the front row of the bearded lady’s tent – it was the getting-there part that mattered. All Luther knew was that he wasn’t going to be like every other boy in the district. They might all lose to her at marbles, but he would win where it counted.
Falling to her knees, Corally lifted a loose tent flap. ‘Okay,’ she whispered, ‘this is right near the end benches where the light isn’t so good. Stay close.’
They scuttled in under the bottom of the tent and crawled beneath a bench. Voluminous skirts and trousers blocked their view, while above them the audience members whispered to each other.
‘How awful. How could a woman look like that?’
‘I don’t know, love.’
‘Well, I don’t think it’s real.’
‘Of course it’s real. I paid good money to see this. They’d hardly troop all the way up here to show something that wasn’t real.’
Corally and Luther locked eyes and smothered their giggles. Behind them the tiered seating rose gradually to disappear into the darkened rear of the tent. ‘We could wriggle backwards,’ Corally whispered, her feet hitting a tent pole as she tried to move. ‘I can’t see.’
Luther smelled burned toffee and manure and sweat, but most of all he smelled the sweet scent of Corally Shaw. He squirmed in the dirt and squeezed up tightly against her, raising a finger to his lips in warning. His hip bone nestled against hers and the warmth from her leg ran the length of his. It was a strange sensation.
‘But I can’t see anything,’ Corally complained.
In a flash his lips were on her gritty cheek. Luther kept the warmth of her skin beneath his for what seemed like long seconds, before slowly pulling away. In the half-light he could just make out Corally’s profile. The curve of her cheek was flushed pink. He hadn’t
planned to kiss her, hadn’t even thought about it. But being with Corally was akin to what he imagined beating Harold at fishing would be like. It was unexpected and exciting, and being by her side made him feel good. This was a prize that could not be forgotten at the end of the day. ‘Y-you don’t have t-to w-worry about th-that Snob Evans anymore,’ he whispered as they crawled from the tent. ‘W-when are you c-coming b-back t-to t-town?’
Once outside Corally brushed her clothes free of dirt. ‘We moved to the outskirts of Banyan, next to the cemetery, on account of me father’s rheumatism. He’s figuring to work at the lumberyard.’
‘Well th-then, I’ll be seeing you,’ Luther replied.
Corally shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Thaddeus flinched as the doctor probed the bridge of his nose.
‘Broken, I’m afraid, my boy,’ he confirmed, wedging plugs of material up each nostril. ‘Damn annoying injury. I hope you managed to get one on your opponent.’
‘It was his best mate, Harold Lawrence, that did it,’ Dave explained from where he sat on a bench inside the tent.
‘Well, tell your father I’ll be sending Mr Lawrence an account, Thaddeus.’ The doctor wiped congealed blood from Thaddeus’s face and wrung a wash cloth out in a basin of water. ‘It’ll be sore for a bit. Best you rest in here until it’s time to go home.’
‘Does it look bad?’ Thaddeus asked, his voice thick and halting.
Dave winced. His brother’s nose was bulbous and bloody. ‘Why did Harold punch you?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Thaddeus replied, trying unsuccessfully to brush dried blood from his shirt.
‘You know, after he hit you he just walked away? He didn’t even look over his shoulder.’
Thaddeus gingerly touched the tip of his nose. ‘Where did Luther and Corally go?’
‘Dunno,’ Dave shrugged. Having caught sight of Miss Waites, he had been sorely disappointed when he had found her talking to Rodger. The station hand, all shiny like a new shilling coin, had offered the governess his arm, and together they had walked towards one of the pavilions.
Thaddeus got to his feet a little unsteadily and straightened his jacket. His nose felt as if it were at the back of his head. ‘Father will have me if I go out looking like –’
Both boys looked at each other.
‘The fleece competition!’ Dave yelled.
They rushed from the tent, running in the direction of the wool pavilion, Thaddeus’s nose throbbing with every step as they dodged adults, children, dogs and a man on horseback. As they reached the pavilion a burst of applause greeted them. The two boys exchanged worried glances and slipped inside.
Dave’s mouth made a wide o as Thaddeus craned his neck to see past the burly man in front of him.
‘Cummins got it,’ Thaddeus revealed.
At the opposite end of the pavilion, surrounded by wooden fleece bins, stood their ashen-faced father. Their mother was greeting neighbours, her face a pale mask.
‘Did we get anything?’ Dave asked.
Thaddeus winced, the action sending ripples of pain through his head. ‘Does it matter? We didn’t win. And I can’t see Luther anywhere.’
The crowd began to break up. About twenty men clustered around Horatio Cummins. The winner of the Champion Fleece was talking loudly, his booming voice swiftly answering questions about breeding and flystrike and yield as if he were standing in a pulpit.
‘Hell’s bells,’ Thaddeus mumbled, as he stepped aside to let people pass. The thoroughfare cleared in front of him. ‘Well, come on, Dave.’ His younger brother took a step backwards. Thaddeus grabbed him firmly by the arm. ‘Come on.’
Their parents, backs erect, made a deliberate point of circumnavigating Cummins’s well-wishers. They skirted the display bins dividing the length of the room, quickly making their way towards the pavilion’s entrance. Thaddeus thought that G.W. could have swept the pavilion floor clean, such was the ferocity of his gaze.
‘Where have you been?’ their mother snapped, manoeuvring them away from the doorway. Her eyes widened when she looked directly at her eldest son. ‘And what on earth happened to you?’
Thaddeus noted the thick worm of a vein throbbing in his father’s neck.
‘The holy ghost, look at you.’
‘Lower your voice, G.W.,’ their mother replied softly.
Cummins’s admirers turned in their direction.
‘Not only do you not appear when I specifically asked you boys to be present, but you, Thaddeus, behave like some, some guttersnipe and end up in a fight.’
Spittle flew through the air to land on Thaddeus’s face. He didn’t dare wipe it off. He stepped backwards and was immediately stopped by the pavilion wall, his hand coming to rest on a fleece, lanolin greasing his palm.
‘It wasn’t his fault, Father. Harold did it,’ Dave interrupted, not sure if stepping into the argument was a wise thing.
‘It was nothing,’ Thaddeus explained.
‘Nothing! You have a bloodied nose, your shirt is ruined – and you’re telling me it’s nothing. People don’t fight over nothing. Gentlemen don’t fight at all.’
‘It was Harold?’ A shadow of disappointment crossed Lily’s features.
Dave understood Thaddeus’s problem. Harold was his best friend; how could he blame him? Yet if he didn’t, Dave dreaded to think what the punishment might be.
‘Harold did that?’ Their father pushed his hat back off his forehead. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t remember,’ Thaddeus mumbled.
His mother laid a cool hand on his skin. ‘Dreadful, just dreadful.’ She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘G.W., there is a time and a place to address this issue, and it is not here. We must load the piano and get Thaddeus home. Heavens, we have Miss Bantam and her companion arriving in a matter of days.’ Their mother rested her arm over their father’s and spoke pointedly to the boys. ‘Your father’s fleece won second place. We are very pleased.’
G.W.’s tight-lipped grimace suggested otherwise. Thaddeus held out his hand and reluctantly they shook.
‘Yes, congratulations, Father,’ Dave added.
‘You were meant to be here too; instead you were standing ringside while your brother was hurt.’ He stuck a finger in Dave’s chest. ‘You have no excuse.’
‘Come now, not in public.’ Their mother dabbed a handkerchief at a streak of dried blood on Thaddeus’s cheek. ‘We have a piano to load.’
Thaddeus’s nose was red and bulging and the swelling seemed to be extending across his cheekbones. Combined with the blood-sodden wads of cotton stuck up each nostril and the dried spots splattering his shirt, he looked a mess. As they walked through the crowd in search of Luther, Dave noticed women whispering on their passing. A few men nodded as if in shared pain, while some of the local kids stopped their skylarking and blatantly stared. Dave straightened his shoulders and kept in step with his brother.
‘Of course, it was bound to happen,’ G.W. said stiffly. ‘You can’t expect any better from tradespeople. They are much like Cummins,’ he continued. ‘Who is he to lecture the assembled crowd on sheep breeding? Well, I suppose we can’t expect much better from the likes of him.’
‘Yes, dear,’ their mother soothed.
Luther tailed Snob Evans for a good twenty minutes. It wasn’t difficult to remain out of sight, for the crowds, although beginning to dwindle, were still thick enough for concealment. He bided his time, waiting for Snob to begin walking to the far end of the showground on his way home. Only feet from the entrance gate, children would be bobbing for apples. There were four barrels in a row filled with water, and beyond stood a number of gnarly-trunked trees and the fence encircling the grounds. It was the perfect spot for a fight.
Snob was engrossed at the shooting gallery, having talked his way into a free second shot. As Luther waited by the Banyan Show Soc
iety office he caught a glimpse of Thaddeus and Dave through the crowd. A few minutes more, then he would go to the wool pavilion. As his resolve wavered, he thought of Corally. He wasn’t sure what came next where girls were concerned, however a kiss was a fine start. He pondered the feel of her skin beneath his lips, fixing on their conversation at the marbles ring.
‘I’d like to see Snob get what’s coming to him . . . He called me a rabbit-sniffer on account of the fact my pa’s a trapper.’
Luther kept his hand near the tomahawk clipped to his belt and trailed Snob Evans as he left the shooting gallery. He caught up with him near the apple-bobbers. A row of six-year-olds, wet-faced and laughing, were trying unsuccessfully to grab at the floating fruit with their teeth.
‘Hey, S-snob.’
Snob Evans swivelled on his heels. ‘Well, if it isn’t b-bush b-boy b-bandicoot. I see you’ve still got the tomahawk that Daddy gave you.’ Rolling up his sleeves he lifted his fists. ‘Come on, I feel like giving you another hiding. Come on,’ he beckoned.
This time a round of fisticuffs wasn’t enough for Luther.
‘What are you going to do, cut my f-f-f-finger off, b-b-bandicoot?’ Snob’s lips stretched into a semblance of a smile.
‘You p-put your finger on th-the fence and I’ll ch-chop it.’
Snob laughed. ‘You’ll chop it, will you, b-b-bandicoot? Come on, boy, every time we have a bit of a scuffle your brother suddenly appears to save you. No, you won’t chop my finger off because you’re afraid and you can’t fight. You’re just like that older brother of yours. You know his best mate clobbered him one this afternoon? He ended up in the medical tent with a busted nose, and that runty young brother of yours was there to hold his hand.’
‘L-liar,’ Luther accused.
‘I dare you to cut my finger off. I dare you.’ Snob held up his hand, extended his forefinger and rested it atop the paling fence.
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