by Rosalie Ham
Robert joined the farmers and workers and Phoeba waited on the loading dock for Henrietta. Shiny red farmers arrived in wagons, work carts, sulkies and carriages with their wives and families, pressed, scrubbed and smiling. The itinerants wandered across from the outcrop and gathered under a tree near the sheepyards, where they would have their own dance. The women from the thresher team, their hair brushed, their faces scrubbed, stood with their weathered husbands in a group. Mrs Flynn and Freckle arrived in their cumbersome supply cart. He wore a clean shirt buttoned all the way up to his chin, and gallantly offered his mother his arm to escort her to the shed.
The homestead glowed in the sunset and the wide front-door stood open. But no figures moved inside and spider-grass skeletons gathered against the hedge. The feeling Phoeba had had earlier, that this was a culmination of some sort, crept over her again. She sensed this would be the last Overton dance for a very long time and felt a desolation worming through her bones. In her mind’s eye she saw the French windows boarded up, sheep sheltering on the veranda, the arbour collapsed under a tangle of blackberry bush. She heard the kitchen screen door thudding on its hinges.
‘Hey!’ Henrietta ran towards her, her forehead white where her hat had sat too long in summer. Dear Henri, in her clean brown skirt and her plain white shirt, running like a boy through the sheepyards, climbing the fence when everyone else politely ambled the long way around. Her desolate feeling left her and she felt warm seeing her cheerful friend again. They would dance. It was a happy time.
They found a seat together inside on a hay bale close to the piano. The floor had been swept and washed, bales placed about the walls for seating, and behind them, straw had been spread for sleepy children. A long trestle table was stacked with punch and sandwiches, cakes and sweets, all covered by netting.
‘I’m going to dance with Rudolph tonight,’ said Phoeba.
‘He’s very nice, Phoeba. He stacked wood for me the other day and told me I was the best wood-chopper he’d seen. But there’s something elusive about him.’ Henrietta thought for a moment. ‘Don’t you want to be a vigneron?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you married Hadley, you’d get me too.’
‘I had hoped, Henri, that if I did or didn’t marry anyone you’d still be my dearest friend.’
‘You want everything, Phoeba,’ Henrietta said.
Lilith passed and said, ‘Well if it isn’t the frowsy sisters.’
Henrietta watched her circle the shed, her shoulders back, thrusting out her bosom to show off her blouse. ‘It’s a shame,’ said Henrietta. ‘She’s actually quite a nice girl, but she’s spoilt, and she’s about to fall.’
‘Hopefully, she’ll fall on her feet,’ said Phoeba, and told Henrietta about catching Lilith with Marius at the outcrop. Henrietta wasn’t surprised.
‘Lilith always wanted to play weddings when we were kids,’ said Henrietta, ‘but you never know, Phoeba, Marius might do the right thing.’
‘I bet as far as Mrs Overton is concerned Lilith is the wrong thing altogether.’
‘He seems an honest sort, and being honest can never be wrong,’ said Henrietta.
Maude arrived on the vicar’s arm and Hadley followed, looking quite sober and important, a brand new pipe between his teeth. Gradually the shed filled with dancers.
Henrietta took Phoeba’s hand, squeezed it and whispered: ‘I’ve come to a decision, Phoeba. I’m running away tonight. I’m going home with Hadley. Mother will have a conniption but if she begs me to come back, I’ll make a stand. If it all goes really wrong I’ll get a job in Melbourne.’
‘Henri, there are no jobs!’
‘I know what you mean about having half a life, about marrying my brother being a compromise. And Phoeba, I want to be free too.’ Mrs Flynn rolled proudly past wearing a new frock, still creased from where it had been folded in its brown paper parcel. ‘Mrs Flynn has a perfect life,’ said Henrietta, watching her.
‘Yes.’
The vicar took up a spot at the centre of the dance floor, clapping his hands, his belly jumping. The crowd hushed and the vicar informed them that a plum cake – which Mrs Crupp had kindly donated – was to be raffled to raise funds to line the church ceiling. Then he asked them to bow their heads.
‘Let us pray for relief in this time of scarcity, Cast thy burden upon the Lord: And he shall nourish thee …’
That was as far as he got as the lamplighter turned the lamps down and the floor started to fill. Aunt Margaret and Ashley were first up along with Freckle and his mother, Lilith and the farrier. Hadley swept Phoeba onto the dance floor as the pianist sat on the piano stool. She adjusted her spectacles, struck a chord and the other musicians – fiddle, an accordion, a jew’s harp and a concertina – arranged themselves to tune their instruments. The vicar made a bee-line for Henrietta, who quickly grabbed the tarboy and carried him to the floor. The vicar turned abruptly to Maude, who declined, saying a polka would make her fruit water repeat, and Mrs Titterton said her bunion was playing up. He made his way to the refreshment table instead.
The band struck up and the dancers moved off as if they’d practised together all through winter and spring. Lilith swung in circles with the farrier, then a stockman took her and the farrier took Phoeba from Hadley for a quadrille. But there were no spare partners, so Hadley fought his way through the galloping dancers to the edge of the dance floor, where Mrs Flynn clapped her hand on his shoulder. He turned to see her broad, two-tooth smile and away they went.
During the second bracket the atmosphere was ardent and joyous, the floorboards bouncing and the flames in the kerosene lamps blinking. The dignitaries – Marius and Mr and Mrs Guston Overton – had arrived.
Rudolph wasn’t with them and Phoeba couldn’t see him anywhere. But it didn’t matter. She was dancing with Henrietta, rollicking around the shed like a couple of boys while Maude watched grim-faced with anger.
Hadley abandoned Mrs Flynn and approached the Overtons, but the pipe between his teeth turned upside-down and ash fell onto the hay-scattered floorboards. Hadley tap-danced to smother them, slapping ash from his coat.
It was very early for anyone to be making a spectacle of themselves but Henrietta and Phoeba didn’t care. They bounced on, Ashley and Mrs Flynn, her fat red curls springing round her bouncing breasts, joining them – leaping high and clapping like frolicking barmaids.
It was then that Lilith lost her footing. The vicar, earnest, red and sweating, jogged her past Aunt Margaret, who was kicking her feet and singing along, and she tripped, flipping over the hay bales and landing on her back with her shoes and petticoats in the air. Maude struggled to her feet and concealed the spectacle from the onlookers with her bulk. The vicar fetched punch. The dance ended, and Henrietta stepped away from Phoeba with a wink and a grin. Rudolph Steel was at Phoeba’s side.
‘I don’t normally dance so I hope you’ll understand my feet.’
She wiped her damp palms discreetly on her skirt and felt his hand on her waist. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘How’s Spot?’ he asked.
‘Much happier,’ she said, but it came out in gusts as she paced in circles. She had to concentrate; he wasn’t a practised dancer. It was like dancing with her father – you just had to go where he pushed you and keep your feet tucked in. The fiddle whipped into a sharp reel and Rudolph grimaced at her and they laughed, shuffling about the floor and ducking and weaving to avoid collisions. She wanted him to take her to the far end where it was quiet, but Hadley was there, watching.
‘I like your blue dress,’ he said. ‘It’s becoming.’
‘Thank you.’ She felt his breath on her hair as Marius danced past with Lilith. Such a pretty couple.
‘What do you think will come of Marius and Lilith?’
Rudolph held onto her even though the music had stopped. ‘She has a lot to offer someone in his position.’
‘Like what?’ said Phoeba.
‘Constancy, affectio
n, security …’
The pianist struck up and Rudolph waltzed her, the room behind him circling. She felt safe, as if there was no one else there – what did he mean, ‘security’?
‘But what about Mr and Mrs Overton?’
He shrugged. ‘In these times people have to adjust their expectations.’
She sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her, but she felt so good dancing to lovely music in the warm shed that she didn’t pursue it.
‘I mean,’ he said, ‘wealth isn’t necessarily a secure thing; a friend and loving partner is – to most people.’
They found themselves dancing in a corner and Rudolph concentrated on shuffling them out again. She wished they could stay on their own and just dance in very small circles.
‘To most people?’ she asked, looking him in the eye, but he looked over her shoulder and wound her around and around. She thought about Mr and Mrs Overton who didn’t love each other. Her mother had married her father for security and neither of them appeared to like anything about the other. Widow Pearson had married for prestige. Mr Titterton had married for company, home comforts and perhaps land. Her aunt was no longer lonely and poor but smitten, glowing and enslaved to her strange, new romantic love. And there was something in Rudolph’s past, thought Phoeba, a sadness that made him restless, something that sent him away from England. She wanted to know what, or who, it was that made him wary of a loving partner. Maybe Henrietta was right. Perhaps Mrs Flynn was the happiest person they knew.
The music began to wind down and Rudolph danced her towards the refreshment table.
‘Your feet are doing well,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Phoeba.’
Everybody seemed to get whatever they wanted. Lilith would get what she wanted. Phoeba would get what she wanted, in time. Why not marry and have children and have everything else as well – the grapes, the farm, a life.
‘I’ve enjoyed this dance,’ he said. ‘I don’t normally risk it.’
‘People get married for lots of reasons, don’t they?’ she said, following her own train of thought and wanting him to stay and talk to her – keep his hand on her waist.
‘They do.’
The music was slowing to a shuffle.
‘I could only marry someone who let me do as I please,’ she said, boldly, ‘and I would let him do as he pleased.’
‘Naturally,’ he said, at they stopped moving. ‘It’s only right and fair.’
She sighed, relieved. At last someone, a man, who thought like her. Henrietta would be impressed.
‘Phoeba, would you like a drink?’ It was Hadley, standing with a glass of punch in each hand.
‘Thanks, Hadley, but I can get one myself.’ It came more sharply than she’d intended and Hadley flinched, just a little, but enough for Rudolph to step back. He let her hand go and said, ‘It’s been a pleasure.’ She watched him wind his way through the crowd, felt cool air on her empty hand.
‘Why is it, Hadley, that everywhere I turn you’re there?’
‘You’re my friend, Phoeba, and tonight there’s danger around. I’ve told Henrietta, and the fire truck is full. Just keep your wits about you.’
She had no idea what he was talking about and she wasn’t interested. She was furious, wanted to cry, didn’t want to be protected. The shearers had gone, the itinerants were outside, there was no danger. The only person she had offended was Lilith, and Lilith didn’t matter.
‘Hadley, let me be!’ she said icily, and picked up her hem. She marched across the dance floor towards the loading dock and the summer night, trembling inside, cross and disappointed, and longing to dance with Rudolph again. Was that it? Was it over for the night? Four dances?
The caller announced a barn-dance: it was the one dance she always started with Hadley. They’d had a game when they were little to see if they could get back to one another before the music ended.
Freckle was sitting on the edge of the loading dock watching the crops glow silver under the full moon. She sat down next to him, and swung her legs to the music as the dancers behind them shifted across the dull floor. Under the tree, the itinerants danced too, one two three kick, back two three kick, swing, slide, slide, under, turn and onto the next …
‘Smells like rain,’ said Freckle.
Phoeba looked up. The stars had vanished and the full moon shone through clouds like a lantern behind ruched muslin. But Phoeba wanted to know about Hadley’s ‘danger’. Was Overton in trouble? And did Freckle know anything about Rudolph?
‘Tell me, Freckle, is Mr Overton in trouble?’
‘Everyone’s in trouble, missus,’ he said, his forehead twisted in worry. He stood up. ‘I’d keep my ears and eyes open tonight.’
She followed him. ‘It’s the itinerants, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve done everything I can,’ he said and held his cup out to Mrs Overton, who stood stiffly behind the refreshment table. She was only in attendance because the staff had been let go.
‘How are ya’, Missus?’ said Freckle brightly, dipping his cup into the punch bowl himself.
‘Good evening, Freckle,’ said Mrs Overton. She held the ladle between two fingers but didn’t seem to know what to do with it.
Phoeba had never heard the word ‘Freckle’ said so fluently. Then Mrs Overton recognised Phoeba.
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘how lovely to see you recovered from your accident. I have vanishing cream. You must come and see me. It will make the redness go. Come tomorrow after church?’
‘Of course.’
Suddenly, Mrs Titterton was beside Phoeba, and Lilith was there too, nudging Phoeba aside and holding her cup out to Mrs Overton. Here they are, thought Phoeba, the competitors.
Mrs Overton picked up the ladle again, turned it over in her hand then passed it to Lilith.
‘Please help yourself to refreshments,’ she said.
Maude leaned close to Mrs Titterton. ‘Have you been to tea since you moved to Overton?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ said Mrs Titterton, her voice like fizzing acid. ‘You’d think she’d have better manners. But then they say she arranged for Marius to marryAgnes for her money. They say he didn’t love his wife, say he went on a holiday after she died.’
Lilith’s blue eyes narrowed and her lip curled. ‘That’s a vicious lie, Widow Poison.’
‘I am Mrs Titterton now and they say—’
‘They? Who are they? I think you are they. Marius loved Agnes when she was alive.’
Mrs Overton put her hand to her cameos, and Maude started flapping her handkerchief furiously; guests were beginning to stare.
Mrs Titterton began to swoon, falling towards Henrietta, who caught her mother by the upper arm and held her. Hadley picked up an empty cup for punch but Lilith pushed it away. ‘Marius did everything he could to save them.’
Mrs Titterton rallied, hissing, ‘I suppose Marius Overton told you that on one of the occasions you met him at the outcrop?’
Mrs Overton’s eyebrows raised and she placed three fingers on the table, steadying herself. Maude gasped; Phoeba steadied her. It wasn’t meant to be this brutal – a revelation like this might ruin everything.
Ashley rubbed his hands and said, ‘Montagues and Capulets!’ The vicar put down his plate of sandwiches: ‘Ladies, please …’ but Lilith turned to Mrs Overton. ‘The Widow’s got no right to repeat lies.’ Mrs Overton closed her eyes, put her fingers to her temples.
Mrs Titterton made a squeak as if she’d sat on a frog. ‘Everyone knows what you two get up to at that outcrop!’
The farmers and workers standing around murmured and nodded and Mrs Flynn said, ‘Oopsy-daisy.’
‘Mr Titterton only married you for your farm,’ continued Lilith.
Henrietta held her mother – she was buckling and gasping for air but she still managed a comeback. ‘You can talk, gold digger. You’re a common strumpet.’
‘We are in love!’ cried Lilith, and the crowd was silenced.
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br /> Mrs Overton calmly lifted her hems, stepped away from the refreshment table and marched towards her son. The crowd shuffled along behind her. Margaret led Maude outside where she leaned forward as much as she could in her stiff corset and retched. Her punch and cream cake splattered the spokes of someone’s buggy.
Hadley and Henrietta grabbed an arm each and dragged their mother away, the toes of her shoes leaving two sharp lines in the lanolin-soaked floorboards. The vicar picked up his plate of sandwiches.
The first sprinkle on the iron roof didn’t register. People were still stunned in the wake of the spat. Then, from outside, low shouts filtered in. Raindrops crackled across the roof and the shed filled with the smell of wetted dust. As if someone had dropped a tiger among them, people fled to the doors. The rain gathered tempo pushed by a long, slow rumble that rolled up and over the outcrop from the shore and across the plain. The shed started to ring like the inside of a piano. The drops got fatter, pounding in sweeping sheets across the roof, and a breezy chill swelled. Drops slashed against the walls and the noise grew and grew.
‘The grapes,’ said Phoeba, and beside her Freckle said, ‘The crops.’
In the doorway to the loading dock, Marius and Guston stood looking out at the water. It was pooling in dry depressions and small rivulets ran in wheel ruts.
Phoeba went from group to group looking for Rudolph. She couldn’t find him, then pushed through the swinging gate into the pens behind the shearing stands and down in the far back corner she saw him, leaning in a doorway, one hand on his hip. A lightning flash cracked like a fizzing Catherine wheel and lit him.
She went to him and without even looking his arm reached out and gathered her in. She nestled against him while outside the dry season broke and it ruined everything. Another lightning bolt lit the landscape and they saw the silver figures of men fleeing across the plain, like flickering daguerreotypes.