‘You must,’ said her mother. ‘The Japanese would have informed us if he was a prisoner of war – like they did about Snowy.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Ellie argued. ‘There are thousands of prisoners in the camps, records must be in a mess.’ She pulled away from her aunt and leaned against the verandah railings. Staring out over Warratah’s home pastures, she tried to come to terms with yet another unknown as she clung to the belief he’d return. For it was all she had to keep her going.
*
The outback blossomed as the rains continued to refresh the parched earth. Wild flowers appeared in a blanket of riotous colour across the plains, grass waved in ripples and rivers and billabongs were invaded by duck and bush turkeys. The cattle grew sleek and fat and the number of calves born in the following years meant the account books for Warratah and Jarrah were in the black for the first time since the depression.
The Japanese aggression in the Pacific gradually waned in the face of Allied resistance, but in the western desert the position remained critical. Tobruk fell and the Australian Ninth, was moved from Syria to reinforce the Allies. In October 1942 they played a vital part in General Montgomery’s decisive breakthrough at El Alamein. The surrender of all Axis troops in North Africa came in May 1943.
Ellie put her energy into the daily round of work and gave herself little time to think – for it lowered her spirits – and as month followed month and a year passed since the priest’s visit, she became ever more adept at keeping her darkest thoughts at bay. There had still been no news of Joe. Yet despite Aurelia’s almost desperate attempts to make her see she was fooling herself, Ellie stubbornly remained hopeful.
Jack and Mickey wrote regularly, but there was no chance for visits home as they were fighting in the Malayan Peninsular. There were a few, scattered letters from Seamus and some from Charlie which Ellie included in the letters she still wrote to Joe. She had to believe he might get to read them – for if she didn’t, she would betray his memory – and deny the song she could still hear.
The news from England re-assured them that the old people were alive and well and coming to terms with sharing their home with a hundred injured soldiers and airmen. Apart from the night bombing raids and the blackouts, it was rationing that was causing hardship for the elderly couple and the women of Warratah felt a pang of guilt. For it was easy to shoot duck and rabbit here. Easy to fish for yellow bellies in the rivers or dig yabbies from the muddy creeks so they could be served up with Wang Lee’s fresh vegetables.
The fences between Warratah and Jarrah had been taken down shortly after Mickey left and the grasslands became a sea of green that stretched beyond the horizon. Mickey’s bulls strengthened Warratah’s blood-stock and their yearly drove to the beef market at Longreach had netted handsome profits which Aurelia invested in new machinery and repairs to both homesteads.
Ellie learned how to keep the account books and found she had a natural flare for figures – perhaps something she’d inherited from her father – but she also had a keen eye for a good investment. Under Aurelia’s guidance she had soon put together an impressive portfolio which encompassed holdings in the flourishing steel works, sugar refineries, mines and construction companies that had sprung up during the war years. ‘We won’t always have the rain,’ she said to Aurelia that August morning of 1944. ‘And I never want you to come so close to losing everything again. These investments should see us through and when the war’s over we’ll rearrange the portfolio to take advantage of the postwar boom that’s bound to come.’
Ellie smiled brightly. It had become a habit lately, and where it had once been forced, it now seemed quite natural. ‘The tide’s turning,’ she said as she closed the portfolio. ‘Japanese resistance has collapsed in New Guinea and MacArthur’s moving his headquarters there. All they’ve got to do is flush the Japs out of the islands and the boys can come home.’
Aurelia remained silent as she stacked the account books and put them beside the pile of letters waiting for Wilf and his mail plane.
Ellie sighed as she stared out of the window. Aunt Aurelia had stopped voicing her opinions on the war and Joe’s disappearance long ago and somehow her silence only served to enforce the truth. Joe had now been missing for two years and hope for his return had finally died. She no longer waited tensely for the mail plane – no longer believed in miracles.
*
Aurelia had remained awake through the night. Now, as she disconnected the two-way radio she began to pace. The doctor’s visit, coupled with Leanne’s assurance they could cope should have reassured her, but she was frustrated not to be there when she was needed. She had two choices. She could take her ute and drive over to Jarrah – or stay here and worry herself to death. Ramming her hands into her pockets she glared out at the rain. Dawn was struggling to surface on the far horizon and the day promised more bad weather.
The blasted weather was against her as well as her age, she thought crossly. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have thought twice about driving in heavy rain. A time when she’d spent the night out in all weathers. Yet she knew that to rush across two hundred miles of dirt track at her age was stupid. She’d lived long enough to know she could break down, get caught in a flash flood or overturn the ute – then what kind of help would she be? The last thing the girls needed was an old fool making a nuisance of herself.
She turned from the window and walked across the hall into the lounge. The fire was still burning brightly, but the heat didn’t seem to touch her. The chill of winter was in her bones – the chill of acceptance that she was no longer the same woman. Age was cruel, she thought as she rested a gnarled hand on the mantelpiece and glared into the flames. What was the use of it? It made you weak and incapable of the things you’d once done without thinking – made you a burden. Perhaps humans should be put down like an old horse when it got too long in the tooth to work?
‘Now you’re just getting maudlin,’ she snapped. She reached for her pipe, realised she was out of tobacco and swore. Kelly had taught her well, and when she’d vented her spleen she blushed and even looked furtively over her shoulder. ‘Good grief,’ she muttered. ‘I hadn’t realised I knew so many awful words.’
She stomped out of the room, crossed the hall and went into her bedroom. Rifling around in one of the drawers she found another pouch of tobacco and filled her pipe. Once a pleasant fug filled the room, she sat on the bed and was soon lost in thought. Here she was, bemoaning her inability to do anything but sit at home and wait by the telephone, while poor Ellie was fighting delirium on Jarrah and the girls were fretting. ‘Selfish old bat,’ she muttered around the pipe stem.
She looked around the room that was so different to the one at the old homestead. The paintwork was clean and fresh, the curtains crisp. Soft watercolours were hung on the pale green walls and the bed was covered with a cream satin spread. It was peaceful and welcoming, the furniture painted white and uncluttered by anything more than a vase of flowers or a piece of porcelain, the polished floor enhanced by the three apricot coloured rugs. Ellie was a superb home-maker – and so tidy.
Aurelia struggled off the bed and pulled the cover straight. She’d never really found housework appealing and had avoided it for most of her life – what was the point of it when it had to be done all over again the next day? She was turning towards the door when she caught sight of her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Her mother stared back at her, grim-faced, white haired and sturdy.
Aurelia grunted and hurried out of the room. The night seemed full of ghosts, and like Scrooge she could see the past, the present and the future – and she didn’t like it one bit. And yet, she thought as she returned to the fireside chair in the lounge, what was the alternative? There is a time to live and a time to die and I’ve had a good innings. Not like some.
As the rain thundered on the iron roof and rattled against the windows, Aurelia sank back into the chair and stared up at the ceiling. There would be no sleep for what
was left of the night. The memories were coming back to haunt her. Memories of the long dead – memories of those who’d never had the chance to live a full life’s span.
*
The homestead at Jarrah was a mellow bluestone building that sprawled beneath the shelter of wattle trees and blue gums. The outbuildings and the yard were silent in the sweltering heat as Alicia sat on the verandah in the shade. Mickey’s last letter was on the table beside her. It had been read so many times the paper was frayed, the creases almost torn through.
With a sigh she tapped a cigarette on the table and lit it. His letters had been almost impersonal to begin with, and as the years passed it was as if he found it easier to discuss their common interests rather than touch on his deepest thoughts and hopes for the future – it was as if he was afraid to commit them to paper – and for that she had been relieved. Alicia had kept him up with news of the stations, the cattle, Aurelia and Ellie, and he in turn had tried to convey the excitement and fear that kept the adrenaline flowing each time his squadron went out on a raid.
It was an odd relationship, she thought as she sat there staring off into the distance where Aurelia and Ellie were waiting with the horse and cart. A relationship that blossomed despite their differences – but one which could never have been more than friendship. For Mickey longed for the war to end so he could pick up the threads of his life again and Alicia knew she could never be a part of that life. Her threads were of a different hue and calibre, waiting for her back in England.
She brought her thoughts to order and eyed her nails ruefully, remembering how they’d once been long and polished. Yet it no longer seemed to matter. The things she’d regarded as important before the war seemed so silly now, and she’d surprised herself as well as the others by the way she’d fallen so easily into the order of things on Warratah and Jarrah.
Ellie had shown her the way, of course, she admitted silently. That tough little girl who worked from dawn to dusk. The child who’d grown into a woman; a capable, intelligent woman who had learned so much more from Aurelia than she ever would have done from her.
She smoked her cigarette, deep in thought. She would be returning to England alone, she realised. For Ellie who would never be happy away from this land she loved with such a passion. Would never leave the one place where she still felt the spirit of her Joe so keenly. If only I could have found a love like that, she thought sadly. An all-consuming love that never faded despite the time and distance that had been put between them. Ellie’s first love was always with her and, although Joe was dead, the love would always remain alive and real.
Yet the sadness of her daughter’s situation hadn’t escaped her. Alicia realised Ellie would never find another man to take Joe’s place. Her daughter would remain barren on this great sprawl of land in the middle of nowhere. She would dry up and grow old like Aurelia and that wasn’t the future she would have liked for Ellie. Perhaps such a deep, all invasive love should be avoided? The fleeting attraction more appealing than something that would overshadow one’s life?
Alicia thought about the men she’d met and the lovers she’d discarded. Her life might have been fractured and unfulfilling, but surely anything was better than the pain Ellie was going through? Her gaze drifted across to Ellie who sat so calmly at the reins of the big horse. The bridges had been built between them, and although Alicia realised she could never be the mother Ellie wanted or needed, they had become friends. Their friendship one that only women could understand. Women thrown together in adversity, the ties that bound them tighter and longer-lasting than any other.
She stretched, easing her back and shoulders. They’d all had little sleep since the telegram arrived a week before and she was tense as she waited for the sound of the plane’s approach to Jarrah. For today would bring a different cargo in the mail, and once again the war raging in the outside world would make its mark on the people of the outback.
*
Ellie was sitting on the buckboard as she watched the skies. The rain had brought a freshness to the earth and the blue heavens looked cleanly washed with their fluffy white clouds. She could hear the cackle of a kookaburra in the distance and see a mob of roos foraging in the long grass beneath the stand of gidgee. This was all she needed now, she realised. With Joe gone, her life’s path was set and she would never leave this wonderful place that echoed of the man she still loved. For it was home.
With a heavy heart she heard the drone of the plane and stilled the horse as it began to dance between the traces. The beauty of the day was marred by this home-coming, the darker clouds of war brought nearer as the plane hovered over the runway and finally touched down. The three women rode out to meet the plane. They remained silent, each with their own thoughts as the gentle plod of the horses and the creak of the wagon enhanced the sadness of this short journey.
Wilf climbed down, his expression solemn as he helped the priest alight. The women stood and waited. They could all see the coffin in the dimness of the cabin, the bright stars of the Southern Cross on the Australian flag gleaming dully in the half-light.
Then a figure emerged from the gloom into the doorway. A figure dressed in the khaki uniform of the Australian Army with the glint of medals on his breast. A man whose face was in shadow as he bent to pass through the low opening and missed his footing.
Wilf and the priest reached quickly to break his fall.
Ellie’s heart drummed, her breath caught in her throat. Ignoring the murmurs of concern she tried to believe what she was seeing. ‘Joe!’ It was a shriek of pure joy – an outpouring of all the heartache and desperate hope she’d been storing away over the years. She dropped from the wagon. Pulled away from Aurelia’s cautioning hand. Rushed towards him, pushing the priest aside in her desperation to hold him again.
He took off his hat. ‘Sorry, Ellie,’ he said quietly.
The disappointment was a dagger thrust. It took her breath. Brought her to a juddering halt. Froze all coherent thought. Then the truth washed over her. Miracles didn’t happen. Not now. Not ever. ‘Charlie?’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’
He shouldered off the priest’s hand and leaned against the side of the plane, his legs trembling, the breath coming in shallow gasps as sweat glistened on his ashen face. ‘Caught a bit of trouble in North Africa,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Army sent me home with me mate here.’
Ellie tried to pull her emotions into some kind of order. She burned with shame as she looked from Charlie to the coffin. Trembled from the rush of joy that had so swiftly been dowsed by the cold reality that it wasn’t Joe who had come home. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ she began. ‘I thought…’
He shook his head. ‘No worries. I shouldn’t have bothered you.’ He winced as he struggled to remain standing. ‘Wilf will take me back after the funeral,’ he rasped.
Ellie’s steely resolve took over. ‘No he won’t,’ she said. ‘Come on, Charlie. Let’s get you in the wagon before you pass out on us.’ The women took charge and as Ellie held his arm, she felt the tremor that ran through him and noticed the ghastly pallor of his face where the sweat rolled and splashed on his collar. His jacket was undone, showing a glimmer of heavy strapping around his midriff, and his left arm was in a sling. The war was over for Charlie, she realised, just as it was for the poor boy in the coffin – but what a terrible price they’d both had to pay.
‘We have to get him up to the house,’ she muttered as she helped lift him into the back of the wagon. ‘The funeral can wait for a while.’
Charlie opened his eyes, his pallor ghastly. ‘No,’ he said forcefully. ‘Got to see to me mate first. Me and Seamus have been together right from the start,’ he muttered. ‘Bought it in the same barrage. I promised I’d bring him home – see him right.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes as if those few words had bankrupted him of strength. ‘He’s been waiting long enough.’
Ellie dragged a horse blanket from under the wagon seat and made it into a pillow, her anxious ga
ze trawling over his battered, wasted body. The emotional turmoil was churning again. Relief it wasn’t Joe in such a pitiful state. Sharp grief that she would never have the chance to tend Joe’s wounds – help to heal him, or take care of him.
Charlie slumped against the side of the wagon, eyes closed, breath ragged. His eyelids were pale and veined with blue, the fair lashes feathering his wan cheeks. She touched his face, shocked at how cold he was.
He caught her wrist and held it, his cheek nestled in the palm of her hand. ‘You have no idea how good it is to feel a woman’s touch again,’ he whispered hoarsely. He opened his eyes and she found herself staring into dark blue depths of pain and bewilderment, but before she could speak he’d let her go, his eyes closing as if he was ashamed of what she’d see hidden there.
Tears were imminent as she turned to help load the coffin in beside Charlie. Her hands trembled as she rearranged the flag that was draped over the polished wooden box and carefully placed the hat with the jaunty cockade on top. This was all the hideous proof she needed of what was going on in the world outside Warratah and the grief for these two young men almost too much to bear. It suddenly became very important to keep Charlie alive.
*
Aurelia and her sister exchanged glances as they rode flank on either side of the wagon. They were still in shock from Charlie’s unexpected appearance and Ellie’s reaction. Yet Aurelia hoped the awful day would finally make her niece face reality. Hoped she could now begin to mourn and release the pain she’d so obviously been holding back. Yet darker possibilities had dawned as Ellie slapped the reins and they headed for the little cemetery at the back of Jarrah homestead. Charlie was Joe’s twin – the other half of the man Ellie still loved with a passion – what effect would his home-coming have on her niece? What harm would it do?
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