Burning Fields

by Alli Sinclair

  Chapter 6

  The next day, Rosie leant against the railing of the verandah, staring at the vast expanse of Tulpil in the midafternoon light. Cane fields stretched as far as the eye could see, the lush mountainous backdrop an artist’s dream. When Rosie had been away and moments of homesickness had threatened to swamp her, she’d closed her eyes and been transported from the concrete of Brisbane to the beauty of Tulpil. She’d imagined herself walking through the fields, cane towering above, gently swaying in the cool breeze, frogs croaking and birds singing in the distance, the scent of damp soil around her.

  “Rosie!”

  She looked up to find Sefa, one of her father’s workers, who’d been with them for countless seasons.

  “What’s wrong?” Sefa rarely came up to the house.

  “Where’s Mr. Stanton?” he asked.

  “I thought he was… What’s happened?” She left the shade to go down the stairs and into the bright sunlight.

  “There’s been an injury.”

  “Oh no.” She followed Sefa, whose large feet pounded the earth, taking them along the slope and toward the large tin shed. A group of workers had gathered in a circle and Rosie pushed through the jostling and noisy throng. A multitude of languages flew around as she broke free then skidded to a halt.

  At the center of the circle was Jeks from Latvia, a recent arrival on the farm. He towered above Loto, from Fiji, who had worked tirelessly for her family for years. Loto clutched his side and glowered up at Jeks, who stood over him while the crowd around them grew rowdier. The second Jeks saw Rosie he flicked something above the head of the crowd and it landed off to the side. Another Latvian raced over and retrieved the object. He bolted out of view.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded as her gaze travelled from one man to the next.

  “It was an accident,” said Loto, who wouldn’t meet her eyes. He tried to stand but winced and collapsed on the dirt. That’s when she noticed the blood oozing between his fingers.

  “Get me clean cloths, now!”

  The crowd fell silent and a couple of young men scampered off to the small room at the side of the shed where they kept emergency medical supplies. Her helpers were back in seconds and she quickly grabbed the cloths, drowned them in antiseptic and applied pressure. Loto winced.

  Heavy footfalls pounded across the ground and she looked up to find her father and Bartel sprinting toward her, Sefa in tow. Her father knelt beside her, then moved her hand away so he could apply pressure on Loto’s wound. “I’ve got this now.”

  “But—”

  “Call the doctor. Tell him we’re on the way,” her father said forcefully.

  She ran up to the house, glancing over her shoulder at the group of men quickly slipping away. Jeks was in a corner, standing with crossed arms as he spoke to Bartel. Jeks’s expression was one of nonchalance. If it was an accident, surely he would show more remorse. And what had he thrown away when she first got there? A weapon?

  “Rosie! The doctor!”

  Blinking rapidly, she grabbed the screen door and raced down the hallway to the phone. Lorraine on the exchange picked up and quickly connected her with Dr. Wilkinson. Within minutes, she and her father were speeding into town with Loto slumped against Rosie, his body covered in sweat as he muttered in his native language. She pressed the blood-soaked cloths firmly against his wound and, as the tires sped along dusty roads, she prayed they weren’t too late.

  * * * *

  Rosie stirred the vegetable soup then dipped a spoon in to give it a taste test. “Perfect.”

  She dished out a large serving into a bowl on the tray ready to take to Loto, who was now stitched up and recovering in the worker’s barracks. She picked up the tray and turned to find her father standing in the doorway. Since arriving back at the house, he’d spent the best part of two hours interviewing the men about what had happened.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  Her father took off his hat and shook his head. His face and arms were streaked in dirt and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week.

  “Do you want some soup?”

  “Thank you, yes.” Her father sat down heavily at the wooden table and she gave him the bowl meant for Loto. She’d give Loto more time to sleep off the painkillers and she’d serve up a fresh one for him shortly.

  “That was some nasty business,” her father said as he spooned in large chunks of vegetables and broth. He smiled. “This is your best to date.”

  “Thanks.” Rosie sat opposite him.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I yelled at you before.”

  “You were right to do so. Every minute counted and I didn’t act as quickly as I should have.”

  “You shouldn’t have been involved,” he said.

  “Sefa came looking for me when he couldn’t find you or Bartel.” She sat back. What did he expect her to do? Nothing? “Where were you?”

  “Sorting out a matter and I needed Bartel with me.” His spoon hit the bottom of the empty bowl. “This is why I don’t want you involved with the business. Men will be men and no woman should be in a position to witness such outbursts. What if you’d been caught in the scuffle?”

  “I would have found a way to protect myself. Besides, there are workers like Sefa who would look out for me. I’m not some pathetic little daisy that needs to be taken care of every minute of every day.”

  Her father rested his elbows on the table. His left arm shook, like he couldn’t keep it still. “We’re never going to agree on this, are we?”

  Rosie shook her head sadly. “I don’t think so.”

  “When are you returning to Brisbane?”

  “Why are you so desperate to send me away from Tulpil?”

  Her father looked at his shaking arm and moved it to rest on his leg.

  “Look, Rosie, we love having you here. We’ve missed you. But we have a system here that works. And I don’t need to tell you how hard farm life is. Brisbane is a chance for you to relieve yourself of the heartache of life on the land.”

  “So why have you stuck with it all these years?”

  “It’s all I know. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do, but I never had the opportunity to experience another kind of life. You do now.”

  When she looked at her father, she saw an unexpected depth of sadness. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “Dad—”

  “I do not want a repeat of what happened between me and Alex.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The argument.” He looked away and concentrated on the trees outside.

  After Alex had signed up with the RAAF, it had been a painful goodbye at the train station. Her father had been adamant that another son of his would not go to war, but Alex had been hell-bent on doing his duty for king and country. An ex-naval officer from the Great War, their father knew what atrocities his second son would face and no amount of pleading would change Alex’s mind. The goodbye between her brother and father had been fraught with tension, angry words and regret. Rosie and her mother had tried to diffuse the situation but to no avail. Since then, her father had lived with the guilt.

  “Let’s try and find a compromise, Dad.”

  A knock at the kitchen door interrupted them and a ripple of relief went through her. She rushed over and found Sefa standing on the steps, his expression one of apprehension.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes, but Loto, he…he is awake and you asked me to tell you.”

  “Is he hungry?”

  Sefa nodded.

  She broke into a wide smile. “Well, that is good news. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Sefa took off down the stairs and Rosie heard the kitchen chair scrape against the boards. Her father had a fresh bowl in his hands
and walked over to the simmering pot of soup. “I will take it.”

  “I don’t mind.” She grabbed the tray and he placed the bowl on it but the contents spilt. Rosie grabbed a tea towel and mopped it up.

  “I do not want a daughter of mine down at the worker’s barracks.”

  “I walk past there every day!” It was nigh impossible to keep the frustration out of her voice. “You can’t protect me forever. Besides, what do you think will happen?”

  “I don’t like the way some of the new men look at you.”

  Rosie had grown up on Tulpil surrounded by men and had never felt like the object of their fantasies. There was no way she would tell her father about what happened in Brisbane now. Rinsing the tea towel and hanging it on the rack, she said, “I am the boss’s daughter and they wouldn’t be game to say or do anything that would upset you. Besides, shouldn’t you trust your workers?”

  “They are men, and men are…” He frowned. “You’re not going down there.”

  “John!”

  The front screen door slammed as Bartel hurried down the hallway. He entered the kitchen, his face red, sweat pouring off him as his small round eyes darted around the room. “Oh, hello, Rosie.”

  “Hello, Bartel,” she said, grateful for the interruption.

  “You have news?” her father asked.

  “Not what you want, I’m afraid.”

  “Bloody hell.” His fist met the table. “Let’s fix this for once and for all.”

  Her father grabbed his hat and stormed down the hallway, Bartel in tow.

  “What about Loto’s soup?” she called out but her father and Bartel had already disappeared down the steps and into the car. They took off down the driveway at a cracking pace and Rosie stared at the steaming bowl.

  She picked up the tray. “No point in it getting cold.”

  * * * *

  Sefa pushed open the door to the room Loto shared with three other men. Loto’s roommates were a few bungalows away, loudly playing cards and doing whatever the men did during the evening. He lay on the cot, his eyes closed. Rosie crept over to his bed and whispered, “I’ve brought you something to eat.”

  He blinked rapidly, as if taking a moment to realize where he was. “Miss Rosie, you should not be here.”

  “This is what I said,” Sefa raised an eyebrow at her. “Mr. Stanton will not be happy.”

  “He doesn’t need to know anything.” She indicated that Sefa should help Loto to a sitting position. He did so and she gently placed the tray on Loto’s lap, careful not to knock his freshly bandaged wound. “Do you need some help?”

  Loto shook his head, his eyes fixed on the soup. “Thank you for your kindness. I do not deserve it.”

  “You are a good person and a devoted worker.” She stepped back. “You’ve never got in to a fight before, so why now?”

  “It was not a fight.”

  Rosie tilted her head to the side, a silent interrogation skill she’d learnt from her mother.

  Loto concentrated on the soup, eating slowly.

  Sefa cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should accompany you back to the house.”

  Rosie held up her finger. “Loto, I hope in time you’ll tell me what happened. Or, if you don’t feel comfortable discussing it with me, then please, tell my father or Bartel.”

  He looked up; his lips twisted awkwardly. “It was an accident.”

  Pushing aside his obvious lie, she asked, “Was this a hierarchy thing?”

  Loto looked at Sefa and they both shook their heads. Sefa stepped forward. “Rosie, please—”

  “No matter what it was, I will make sure your medical bills are paid for.” She had no idea how, but she’d figure it out some way.

  “Mr. Stanton said he would pay,” said Loto, his expression one of humbleness.

  “He did?” Rosie’s view of her father warmed and she began to question if she’d been too harsh on him. Maybe…

  “Rosie, it is best if you leave now.” Sefa glanced at the doorway.

  She listened for the arrival of a car but didn’t hear anything other than laughter from the men in the distance. She had no idea where Jeks was, but she suspected he was with his fellow countrymen and steering clear of the rest of the workers.

  “Loto, I realize neither of you want to cause any trouble, but could this have been a race issue?”

  “There was no fight—”

  “Loto, please.” She resisted placing her hands on her hips for fear of coming across as a school ma’am.

  “Yes.” He bowed his head.

  Sefa gave his friend a frosty look.

  “I did wonder.” Rosie took a deep breath.

  Loto’s large eyes held fear when he looked up at her. “Will you tell Mr. Stanton?”

  “I need to, yes, but don’t worry, this won’t affect your position here.” She hoped with all her heart it wouldn’t, but she had a duty to her father to let him know what the issue had been. Her suspicions had been proven correct and it had to be nipped in the bud before it blew up and created havoc. Rosie walked toward the door then turned back and asked, “What was it about?”

  “He called me a Kanaka and said I should have been shipped back with all the others.”

  It was beyond her how a recently arrived Baltic knew about the ridiculous law the Australian government had put in place forty-odd years ago. Although it was before her time, Rosie had heard about the government’s decision to deport indentured Pacific Islanders—known as Kanakas—so Australia could implement the White Australia Policy. She was horrified that anyone would think such a law was a good thing but, unfortunately, there were many who had agreed with this move. Loto’s father, along with Sefa’s, had been among the few Pacific Islanders who had escaped deportation and remained on Tulpil, thanks to Rosie’s grandfather. For someone like Jeks to say something so insulting, it was no wonder the normally passive Loto had found himself in a fight. She just wished it hadn’t been with a knife.

  The sound of a car speeding along the gravel caught her attention and her heart raced. Damn.

  “Loto, rest up and don’t worry. It will all be fine,” Rosie said.

  If only she fully believed it.

  * * * *

  Rosie’s father strode up and down the verandah, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He hadn’t spoken a word in what felt like forever. The normal chatter of the men had ceased for the night as most had retired drunk or exhausted, or both. Off in the distance, the bright lights of the Conti residence shone through the darkness.

  “Dad…”

  He held up his hand and drew his brows together, continuing with his pacing. Eventually he stopped, rested his hands on the rail and stared into the distance, away from the direction of the Conti farm. Rosie hated feeling like a naughty schoolgirl waiting for the principal’s verdict about her punishment.

  Turning to face her, he let out a long, sad sigh. “I cannot begin to tell you how angry I am.”

  “But I found out what the fight was about. Now you can address the issue.”

  He gripped the railing. “That’s not the point at all. You deliberately defied me after we had spoken about why I didn’t want you down in the worker’s barracks.”

  “I was only there for a few minutes. Nothing happened.” What did he think would transpire? That some worker she’d known for years would suddenly fall in lust with her and want to have his way? How ridiculous.

  His frown grew deeper. “You tell me you want to stay at Tulpil and work for me, yet you go against my wishes.”

  He had a valid point—and it hurt. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Sorry is not good enough. If I had actually been thinking about saying yes to you staying and working here, I certainly would have changed my mind after today.”

  “But I got the answer…” She let the sentence fall away wh
en she noticed her father sway and the thin film of sweat on his forehead. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  “Yes, I am fine. Listen, Rosie, I know your heart is in the right place,” he said slowly, “but you are dealing with men here. Men who work the land and who often have sordid or tragic histories. The fields are no place for a woman.” He pushed himself away from the rail. “I’m checking on Loto.”

  “Perhaps if you let him sleep a bit longer then…” She took in his intense stare and closed her mouth.

  “I’m not going to question him right now. I just want to check on his wound and make sure he’s comfortable.” Her father shook his head. “I do have a heart.”

  “I know.” Rosie studied her dusty boots. Looking up, she asked, “Where were you and Bartel?”

  Her father’s back stiffened. “It’s all sorted now. Nothing you need to worry about.”

  Her father turned and walked down the steps. Rosie rested her elbows on the rails, her gaze fixed on the Conti’s house in the distance. She wished she had the courage to go and visit Tomas.

  A moan followed by a heavy thump on the gravel drew her attention to where her father was.

  He lay crumpled in the dark.

  “Dad!” She ran down the stairs and dropped on her knees where he lay face-down. With all her strength, she rolled him onto his side, her heart racing, adrenalin pumping.

  She shook his shoulder but no response. “Dad!”

  Placing her hand under his nose, she checked for any sign of breathing. A faint breath touched her skin.

  She shook his shoulder again. “Open your eyes. Please!”

  A low groan left his lips but his eyelids remained closed.

  “Dad.” She leant in close and stroked his forehead.

  No reaction.

  “Help!”

  Silence.

  “Help!” Her throat burnt from screaming and she prayed her voice would carry in the still evening.

  A moment later, a door squeaked open and footsteps pounded up the path toward her.

  Chapter 7

  1943—Palermo, Sicily

  Tomas’s nerves were set on edge as he traipsed up the last hill to their destination. Images of the terrified young soldier haunted him, even though he tried to cancel them out by conjuring up happy visions of prewar family vacations on the coast in Cefalù. Those carefree and peaceful holidays felt like a lifetime away and far, far removed from the war-torn country he still loved with all his heart. He missed his family. He missed his old life. He missed the country he’d grown up in.