by Anna Jacobs
‘I’m so glad to see you, you’ve no idea. Come in, come in!’ She tried to tug him inside, but he held back.
‘How’s Irene? Will she – want to see me?’
She stared at him, then smiled and nodded as if he’d confirmed something. ‘Aaah. I guessed how things stood when I saw your letters. Regular as clockwork you wrote. Not like my cousin Gil, that, I thought.’
‘Shh.’ He looked anxiously over her shoulder, not wanting Irene to be embarrassed by this teasing.
‘It’s all right. She’s feeding one of the babies.’
‘Babies?’
‘Yes. She had twins. Little girls. The prettiest things and healthy too, the nurse says, even if they are a bit small.’
‘Twins.’ He couldn’t move for a moment or two out of shock, then smiled. ‘That’s a turn-up for the books, isn’t it?’
Nelly nodded, her face more serious now. ‘Though how Irene’s going to manage with two of them to care for, I don’t know. I don’t mind her not paying me any rent, but I can’t afford to feed them and I haven’t the time to watch them for her.’
He lowered his voice. ‘I asked her to marry me before, but it was too soon after her loss. Do you think I should ask her again?’
Nelly pursed her lips. ‘Let’s see how she greets you first. That’ll tell me a lot.’
‘I thought she’d have written to tell me her news.’
‘She’s been too busy to write and anyway, one man’s twins is a lot to saddle another man with, don’t you think?’
His throat felt thick with emotion. ‘If they’re hers, I’d welcome them any time.’
Nelly gave him an extra hug for that, then led him inside, calling out, ‘Look who’s come to see us!’
Irene was sitting in a chair, holding a sleeping infant who, to judge by the dribble of white at the corner of its mouth, had just finished feeding. When she saw who the visitor was, her face lit up. ‘Gil!’
Just to hear his name spoken by her in such a warm, welcoming tone gave him hope. ‘I had to come to Freo to get the rest of my things—’ he began, then stopped and said, ‘No, I didn’t. I’ll not lie to you, now or ever. I came to see you, to make sure you were all right.’
Nelly looked from one to the other, then winked conspiratorially at her cousin and nodded encouragement. ‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea, Gil, then make up a bed for you in our Jimmy’s room. You are staying for a day or two, aren’t you?’
He nodded, but his attention was on Irene. He walked across the room and knelt beside her, reaching out to touch the soft skin of the infant’s cheek. ‘She’s beautiful. What have you called her?’
‘This one is Jenny and the other’s Mary.’
‘Lovely names. Is the other as pretty as this one?’
‘I think so.’
He looked at her across the top of the baby’s head. ‘Most important to me is: are you all right? Really all right?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m recovering quickly, they tell me.’ She smiled again. ‘Australia seems to agree with me.’
‘Did you know it was twins?’
‘Towards the end, the midwife said it might be. Told me to eat for three.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She hesitated, her eyes searching his face as if she was unsure of herself.
‘What is it, Irene? You know you can tell me anything. My feelings haven’t changed.’
She nodded then her eyes went from one infant to the other. ‘I realise that, but I didn’t know if it was fair. To you, I mean. Two babies. It’s a lot to ask a man to take on.’
‘If you knew how I’d longed for children, you’d not say that. Oh, Irene, I was going to tread so carefully, wait to be sure of your feelings, but I can’t. I want to marry you, and the sooner the better. Am I asking too much?’
Her smile was tender and luminous. ‘No, Gil. I’m the one who’s doing that. But if you’re sure . . .’
‘You’ll marry me?’
She nodded.
He let out a yell of triumph and pulled her into a hug, baby and all, then plonked a kiss on the baby’s head.
The noise brought Nelly running into the room. ‘What’s the matter?’
He stood up and waltzed his cousin round the room, then into the hallway and back. ‘She’s going to marry me!’
Both women were laughing and crying at the same time, but soon stopped when the baby on Irene’s lap, disturbed by the noise, started to cry gustily, setting her twin off crying too.
‘They always do that,’ Irene said. ‘If one cries, so does the other.’ She looked at Gil. ‘You’re sure?’
‘It’s my heart’s desire.’ He didn’t ask if she loved him, didn’t dare. It was enough that she wanted to marry him, needed him, would be bringing him the family he’d ached for. ‘Let’s get married quickly then you can come back to Northcliffe with me. I’ll get a special licence or whatever you have to do.’
She looked surprised, then nodded. ‘I’d like that. I’ve imposed on Nelly for long enough.’ She turned to the other woman. ‘I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done.’
‘I was glad to help you. Especially now it turns out we’re going to be cousins.’
Gil wept briefly when he went out to the lavatory, understanding absolutely at that moment why women wept when they were happy.
Andrew went through all the agonies of hell in the hours he had to wait to see whether his family was safe. The wind turned again, not much but enough to drive the bush fire away from the rest of the farms.
He helped light small fires that would run towards the main one and leave a strip of burned-out vegetation to prevent the fire if the wind changed direction yet again. But every minute or two he would gaze in the direction of the main fire, hear its roar as it moved along, see its hungry red mouth swallowing everything in its path.
As soon as he could, he moved forward, but there were still things burning between him and his family, charred trees could drop limbs, logs flare into life again and hot embers on the ground burn through a man’s shoes.
People stopped to lay one hand on his shoulder as they passed, not saying anything – what was there to say till they knew? But it showed they cared and that warmed his heart.
He was aware of an acrid taste in his mouth, men coughing from the smoke, small jobs to be done. But his main attention was on the fire. It had passed. It was dying down. How soon could he cross that piece of ground?
One of the women insisted he have something to eat. He wasn’t hungry but it was easier to do as she asked and swallow what she thrust into his hand. And anyway, he didn’t know what he’d be facing, had better keep up his strength.
Later, he had no idea how much time later, Pete came to stand beside him. ‘I reckon another hour and we can go through. But you’re to stay behind me, Andrew, no going ahead on your own. And we’ll follow the track, even if it’s longer, because it’ll have less burning stuff on it.’
He nodded. ‘An hour.’
It was the longest hour of his life. For most of it he paced to and fro, leaving the work to the other men now, unable to do anything but watch and wait.
‘We’ll give it a try now.’
Andrew stared at Pete, unable to take in the sense of the words for a minute or two, then realised it was time to find out if Norah and the children were still alive. He couldn’t hold back a deep sobbing breath as he followed Pete and didn’t care who heard him.
It was hot still. Smoke curled up from the remains of trees, silver ashes floated through the air together with blackened specks of soot, while charcoaled wood crunched underfoot. Trousers that were dirty already took on a coat of black dust.
Let them be alive, Andrew prayed over and over as he walked slowly forward behind Pete. Please, God, let them be alive.
‘I think it’s passed, Mum.’ Jack took hold of her arm to stop her going to fetch yet another bucket of water.
Norah stared at him, feeling stupid with stress and fatigue, then h
is words sank in and she looked round.
Yes, the main fire had passed, but with it had gone months of Andrew’s work. The humpy was still standing, but no other building on the farm had escaped the blaze. Black, twisted skeletons of the various sheds and the larger cowshed and dairy, sagged in mute testimony to the power of the fire.
She turned slowly round, looking at one after another. Destroyed. Several months’ hard work destroyed in just an hour or two.
When Norah stopped turning, Janie came to press against her on one side, Ned on the other and Jack stood beside Janie, his arm round his little sister’s shoulders. No one said anything for a while, then Norah spoke. ‘We’re alive. Whatever else we’ve lost, we’re all safe. Your father must be worried sick, though.’ It took her a minute to recognise her own voice, so croaky was it.
She hugged them one by one. ‘You did well, worked so hard. I’m proud of you.’
‘I thought we’d have to go and lie in the stream,’ Jack said.
She looked down at herself and at them, blackened faces, mouths shockingly pink against the dirty skin of cheeks and chin, ashes and cinder ash smeared across their faces and clothes. ‘Eh, we look a right old mess, don’t we?’
That drew a smile from them.
No use changing their clothes, she thought. They’d only get dirty again. ‘We’d better fetch the animals some water before we do anything else. Their throats must be sore from the smoke.’
So they busied themselves tending the stock, moving lethargically to and from the well now that the worst was past. She shooed the pigs out of her garden, where they’d been feasting happily on her young plants, but did it gently, not really angry at them.
The animals didn’t go far away from the circle of unburnt earth round the house, though, and she didn’t even think of trying to lead the children away from the farm.
Let Andrew come to them.
And let him come soon.
She felt shaky now that the danger had passed. She’d worked like a fiend to cast water over everything in sight, taking turns with Jack to haul it up from the well. Now, her arms were aching and weak and just for a minute she needed to lean on her husband.
How long before he could get through to them?
Only then did she realise he might have been hurt by the fire and her breath caught in her throat at the utter horror of that idea.
She didn’t think she could bear it if she lost him now.
Andrew walked along the track, choosing his footing carefully, but not really taking in the destruction to each side of him. He would willingly lose everything he possessed in the world as long as he could keep his family safe.
When they got near the entrance to his property, he moved to the front of the group, leading the way on to his land. His house came into view at the top of the slope. It was a poor thing, but it had stood against the fire storm and surely that was – yes, it was a group of people.
He began to run forward, heedless of where he put his feet and only when Pete yanked him to the left did he realise he’d nearly fallen headlong over a log that was still burning.
Muttering thanks, he went on more sensibly, but his eyes were raking the figures, counting and recounting them. Four. One woman and three children. Four. All of them safe.
Thank you, God!
Breaking into a run up the last part of the slope he ran towards them, trying to gather them all into his arms at once, sobbing unashamedly. ‘I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost you.’ He kissed them one after the other, then kissed them again for good measure.
It was several minutes before they could stop weeping for joy and speak sensibly.
The other men stood a little way off, exchanging smiles, studying the desolation that had been a farm, and waiting.
As she found her voice again, Norah explained how they’d managed, giving praise to the children.
He told her of his agonising wait to get through to her.
The other men came nearer.
‘Can you manage tonight?’ one of them asked. ‘If not, the wife says you’re welcome to come to our place.’
‘I’ve not even looked inside the humpy,’ Norah said, her voice still shaking, her arm still linked very tightly in her husband’s.
‘Let’s do it now,’ he said.
So the five of them walked inside, nodding as they saw that things were untouched. Everything was covered in soot and ash, the whole place reeked of burning, but that could be dealt with.
‘Do you want to stay here tonight or go to a neighbour’s?’ he asked.
‘Stay here,’ she and Jack said at the same time, then smiled at one another.
‘Be it ever so humble . . .’ Andrew murmured. ‘That’s how I feel too. I want to stay here.’
He went back to the door to look at his burned outbuildings. ‘So it’s all to do again. Will this land never let us settle in peace?’
‘We can do it,’ Norah said from beside him. ‘We’ll all help you.’
‘We weren’t insured against fire. I don’t think anyone is here.’
‘But we have a home and our land. All the animals are safe. We can do it.’
He nodded, but there was a bitter twist to his mouth. He’d worked so hard.
Gil and Irene arrived in Pemberton too late in the day to travel on to Northcliffe, especially with two tiny babies to care for. He found lodgings and arranged transport for themselves and a pile of trunks and boxes the following morning, then sat down to watch his new wife feed their daughters.
When it came to supplementing their mother’s milk with a bottle of baby milk, he took one of the twins, taking care not to hurt Jenny’s soft skin with his rough fingers, but rejoicing in the sight of her sucking vigorously on the rubber teat.
‘There aren’t many men who’d do that,’ Irene said as she performed the same service for Mary.
‘There aren’t many men who’ve longed for children as I have. And anyway, twins are different.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope you’re not regretting what we did yesterday, Mrs Matthews.’
‘Never. But I had to wait, to grieve for poor Freddie, to be certain I cared for you enough. You do understand, don’t you?’
He nodded. She’d said this a few times. ‘Of course I understand. Stop worrying.’
‘Worriting, we say in Lancashire.’
‘Whatever you call it, you’re not to do it.’
The driver of the truck Gil had hired turned up at six o’clock in the morning. He took his hat off as he came into the kitchen, where they were feeding the babies.
‘Do you still want to go?’
Gil looked at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean? Why shouldn’t we want to go there?’
‘I heard last night that they’d had a bush fire through that group yesterday. Bad one. It destroyed some of the buildings and if the wind hadn’t turned it, everything would’ve gone up in smoke.’
Gil stiffened. ‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘No. Miracle, that. One family was trapped on the farm and folk were anxious about them for a while, but they did the sensible thing and stayed put near their well, the fellow told me.’
Gil looked at Irene. ‘If there’s been a fire through the group, it’ll be no place for you and the babies.’ He saw her open her mouth to protest and repeated firmly, ‘They haven’t got good lungs like we have, too young yet and it’ll reek of smoke. It’s not safe for them, Irene.’
Their landlady, who’d been listening and exclaiming, said at once, ‘You can stay on here, Mrs Matthews. Your husband’s right. You have to be careful with babies that young.’
Gil could see how disappointed Irene was, but she looked down at Mary, covered by a shawl as she fed from the breast, and nodded slowly.
‘I’ll take most of our things and come back for you as soon as it’s safe.’
The landlady took over the second baby and the bottle. ‘I’ll look after them, don’t you worry, Mr Matthews.’
As he got ready, he prayed it wouldn’t
be too bad. Buildings had been lost, his companion had said. Which buildings. Not his friend Andrew’s, surely?
And . . . not his own. Please, not his home, just when he’d got it halfway decent and was bringing his new family to live there!
24
In the morning, Norah woke to find Andrew already up. Flinging on her clothes, she went out to look for him, pausing in the doorway, not wanting to rush too hastily into a private moment. She knew how upset he was by their losses, how hard he was trying to put a brave face on it.
She was upset too, but so relieved that no one had been hurt, that the pain about the waste of all their months of hard work didn’t yet seem quite real.
The animals had stayed near the house during the night. Now, the cows and pigs were drinking from her wash tubs, which Andrew must have filled with water because their wooden drinking troughs had been destroyed with everything else. The poor creatures’ hides were dirty with ashes and soot, and she could see a few burns from flying debris. Otherwise, they too had survived.
So not everything was lost.
Andrew was standing fifty paces away with his back to her, next to what had been the dairy. His hands were clenched into fists and he was motionless, staring at the twisted, charred frame which had been a sturdy wooden shed yesterday, built by his own hands. She remembered him calling her to come and see it when he’d finished, the pride in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes.
She began to walk towards him, but he didn’t turn, though he must have heard her coming because her feet made crunching noises on half-burned twigs.
A quick glance showed her he had tears in his eyes and she looked quickly away from his face. She couldn’t think what to do but hug him, so she did, not a woman’s hug for her lover, more a mother’s hug for her hurt child. He didn’t put his arms round her immediately then, with an inarticulate noise, he gathered her to him and buried his face in her hair.
‘We’re all alive,’ she said quietly. ‘Keep fast hold of that thought, my love.’