Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Ernest…’ Junie began hesitantly. ‘Ernest wants to announce the engagement at the dance.’

  ‘Well, that’s wonderful dear.’

  ‘No. No, it isn’t.’

  Lily studied her daughter’s face. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘I didn’t change it – I never wanted to marry him. I…don’t want to now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lily felt her world slip a little. ‘But you said you wanted to marry him only last month –’

  ‘I knew it was what you wanted to hear.’

  Lily stared down at her hands. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Mum, how much money do we owe him?’

  ‘I’m not sure…I mean, your father –’

  ‘Hundreds? Thousands?’

  ‘I don’t know…the house…the house has a mortgage, I think…and Ernest takes care of all the wages these days so…’ Lily frowned, trying to remember what Henry had told her. Not much, she realised now.

  ‘But how can you not know something like that?’ Junie sounded exasperated and Lily felt ashamed. Once she would have known: she’d run this house like a well-oiled machine just as Henry and the boys had run the land. But that was before the war.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ It was all she could manage as the rain came again and she brushed at it, wishing she was far stronger than this, like she used to be. ‘But whatever it is, I’m sure your father can work something out with the bank.’ She tried to sound like her old self for Junie’s sake but she was confused and her lungs were tight. ‘If you don’t want to marry him…yes, we could ask the bank… Ernest might know what to do. Oh dear.’

  The cursed rain was falling harder now. Then Junie was taking her hands.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum. I’ll talk to Dad. I’m sure everything will be fine.’

  ‘But Ernest –’

  ‘We just had a bit of a tiff today, about the debt and all,’ Junie assured her and Lily hoped she was telling the truth.

  ‘Are you sure…you seemed…?’

  ‘Truly,’ Junie said. ‘Please Mum, don’t worry about it. I just had a case of cold feet I think.’

  Lily felt her breathing return to normal, relieved that more rainclouds were held at bay for now.

  ‘Well, that can happen to the best of us.’

  The wireless echoed up the stairs. Bing Crosby was singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ and Lily felt every word as Junie’s lovely face turned to hers.

  ‘We’ll have to start saving some coupons for the wedding,’ she said, lifting one of her daughter’s curls away from her cheek. ‘You can wear your grandmother’s pearl comb – now, where did I put that? Maybe it’s in the attic near…’ Her voice faltered.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t go up there looking for it, just yet.

  ‘That sounds like a nice idea, Mum,’ Junie said as Lily rose to leave.

  ‘So beautiful,’ she murmured as she went, little knowing her daughter stared at the door for a long while afterwards, wondering if that was a curse.

  Three

  Junie dared not turn on the light, igniting the kerosene lamp instead before scanning the shelves and cupboards, heart thudding. Her father’s office had become Ernest’s domain of late and she dreaded the idea of him finding her here, snooping around. In my own home, she thought with resentment. She cast the feeling aside; there was no time for it now. Ernest often turned up here after dinner to go through the books, probably preferring to do so away from his prying mother. The last thing Junie wanted was to be discovered trying to find out the truth about her family’s debt – the situation was humiliating enough.

  Junie searched through the book-laden shelves, disappointed to note many of her much-loved novels and encyclopaedias had been replaced by Ernest’s university notes and texts. His framed graduation photo had been set front and centre and she was tempted to let it have an unfortunate accident. Then she noticed a photo of her three brothers in uniform behind it and drew it forwards, tracing their faces. She wished they were here to fix things.

  But there was no time for wishing. Junie was a practical girl at heart; if things were up to her, then she would simply have to get on with it.

  She paused, exasperated by the lack of progress, then moved across to go through each drawer of her father’s timber desk, her favourite piece of furniture in the house with its hidden panels and compartments. It had been a forbidden zone when they were children but Junie and her brothers hadn’t been able to resist its mysteries and she blessed their disobedience now as she continued investigating.

  Junie seethed at the evidence of Ernest’s full occupation of the great desk which spoke of his unpleasant, fastidious self: an expensive shoe brush; a silver cigarette case; photos of him with his boorish friends on hunting trips. She could only imagine what her brothers would have to say about it.

  The deeper drawers were filled with pages and pages of legal documentation, neatly bound and ordered, tying local families into the Farthingtons’ debt and service. Junie held a page up to the lamp, trying to decipher some of the complex language. In due consequence and notwithstanding, this notice of understanding and intent and this claim of right by the lender henceforth commits and binds Mr Alfred Langron…Junie scanned the strict terms that followed in disbelief, knowing full well the uneducated farmer involved would have little idea of just how damning a contract he had signed.

  File after file revealed much of the same until she ran out of drawers and secrets and was left frowning. It had to be here somewhere. Junie knew Ernest would prize the power he held over her family above all others because it secured him this very farm and her own self into the bargain. A legal possession in human form, caught and chained with no choices left. No control.

  Something sparked in the tunnels of her mind. Chains. Of course!

  Junie reached under the desk, feeling her way along to the middle where she found a small button and pressed it. There was a click then a timber panel lowered itself on chains to reveal a slender box. A box that held a single ledger. She drew it out, relieved to have found it but apprehensive as she traced the Wallace name on the front. How much was she worth?

  ‘Looking for some bedtime reading, are we?’

  Junie jumped, her eyes blinking in the sudden light and her skin prickling at the sight of Ernest leaning against the doorway.

  ‘Yes,’ Junie said, trying to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible. ‘A bit heavy looking, I’m afraid, but I’ll get through.’ She tapped at the book as she rose to hide her shaking fingers.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘stay and have a nightcap with me. We have much to discuss, you and I.’

  She waited, hating to stay, but knowing this conversation needed to happen now that she’d been caught. Perhaps this was a good thing. Perhaps it was time to reveal their cards – to see who was bluffing and who held the highest hand.

  Ernest poured then sat in one of the two armchairs by the hearth, gesturing to the other with her drink. It seemed appropriate that an unlit fireplace would sit between them for this conversation. No heat, no heart.

  She took her seat, accepting the drink and sipping at it. Her first whisky with him – actually her first whisky with anyone. It burnt her mouth and she was quite shocked by the horrible taste.

  ‘I see you know your way around your father’s desk,’ he said, nodding at the ledger which sat in her lap.

  ‘Yes, although I found its contents somewhat changed.’

  Ernest examined his glass. ‘You know he isn’t up to it any more, Junie.’

  She couldn’t deny it, especially considering Henry was asleep upstairs as they spoke, passed out and beyond sense.

  ‘Why do you want to know what they owe?’

  ‘I want to know how to pay it.’

  Ernest gave a derisive laugh. ‘You can’t possibly imagine –’

  ‘Try me,’ she said and he looked at her with a combination of amusement and annoyance.

  ‘Turn to the last page. You’ll see the running total as of this morning
.’

  He waited as she did so and Junie stared at the numbers in shock. They sat in a long cruel line of condemning ink and she felt the sudden need to be sick. All hope fled in their presence. All dreaming destroyed.

  ‘But how?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, we are in the middle of a war and it costs a lot of money to run cattle at the best of times. Besides, the year isn’t out yet and we haven’t gone to market. There’s grain and hands – and what else can I say? Your father had lost control of things, Junie – wrote cheques to anyone who asked.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘You were overstocked and overstaffed.’

  ‘Letting good staff go was a mistake –’

  ‘What do you know about it?’

  ‘I know Rory Riley tried to warn Dad. He tried to help –’

  ‘Rory Riley is a drunk. I’m managing to get things back under control very nicely without him, as you would see if you looked at the whole picture. Mind you, there’s a long road ahead – the Farthington money will be financing this farm for a good while yet.’ He remained calm because he knew he had her. The money was piled in the centre between them and Junie had no way to match it. His cards were winning.

  ‘My brothers…’ But she lost her words. Even those experienced farmers wouldn’t be able to overcome this.

  ‘Would see I’ve done everything I can. Surely you can see that too, my dear?’ he said, leaning towards her.

  She shook her head, disbelief blurring the wretched sums before her. ‘It’s – it’s so much more than I imagined.’

  Ernest smiled. ‘Not really. Not when something is worth the price.’

  Tears began to fall then, despite her every effort to stay them, and he reached for her hand.

  ‘I know you don’t want to marry me, Junie. I know you think I am forcing you to do this but I am doing what’s best for everyone, your parents and brothers included. Mother won’t understand at first but she will come around when the grandchildren arrive. And what choice do you have other than to marry into money now? How many rich men are knocking on your door?’

  She went to answer but the image of Michael flashed through her mind and she realised it was pointless. She didn’t want anyone else, so what did it matter which man she chose? Hers would be a life of loneliness regardless.

  ‘I…could earn money…’

  ‘You’d never earn this money in a lifetime, especially as a woman. No profession would pay it.’

  It was true. Even combining her potential earnings with the best wages Michael could hope to achieve, it was an impossible amount to find.

  ‘Well, there is one profession – but that’s what I’m doing anyway, isn’t it?’ she said, suddenly rebellious as she yanked her hand away.

  His face turned hard. ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘What would you call it then?’

  ‘Quite the opposite. You’re marrying a wealthy man and you will assume the role of a privileged woman in society. I’m offering you every woman’s dream, Junie.’

  Watching him closely, this man she had known her whole life, she knew he believed that. He truly thought he was offering her the greatest opportunity in the world: to be his wife.

  ‘Mrs Ernest Farthington,’ she said in disbelief.

  ‘I’ll make you proud to say it, you’ll see.’ He said it with arrogance, like he was raising the stakes while holding all the aces.

  She stared at the ledger, wishing it would disappear. Then another thought dawned.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said quietly, following her every expression. ‘I’m not offering you marriage just so you can divorce me later, Junie. There will be documents to sign, watertight ones, to ensure the farm goes to me if you do. And all monies owing would have to be paid back, among other things.’

  Junie knew the likelihood of her ever having that kind of money was remote at best. The trap shut tight. ‘I just don’t understand why,’ she whispered, ‘why me?’

  He touched her face, making her flinch, and Earnest sent her the slightest of frowns. ‘Because you’re like a beautiful wild brumby and I’m going to turn you into a racehorse.’

  It was a decision, long-made and without question, and she felt the scope of his ambition defeat her.

  Ernest stood and finished his drink and then, with a curt nod, he was gone. Not a word of love because there was none. He would get his pound of flesh and she would protect those she loved by letting him.

  The book fell to the ashes as she rose and walked slowly from the room where once her father held reign. Ernest’s victory was an immovable fact now.

  Cast cold and final onto the grate.

  Four

  ‘God, I’m as thirsty as a dog with two tongues,’ Katie Burgess said, tipping champagne into their glasses behind a pot plant in St Bede’s Parish Hall. Junie’s best friend had picked up quite her fair share of colourful language working as a barmaid at her father’s pub, to her mother’s chagrin. She’d also picked up a fondness for having a tipple or two, on the sly, of course. ‘Here. Quick – while the pigeon isn’t looking.’ Katie thrust the extra champagne glass into Junie’s hand and they turned to the wall and drank in one go, hiding the evidence in the foliage before moving away and nodding at people politely.

  ‘You’ll go straight to hell one day, Burgess,’ Junie said, deciding that champagne was far preferable to whisky. It was the third time Katie had snuck her some and she was pretty confident it wouldn’t be the last.

  ‘Even Jesus drank wine, Genie-Junie,’ Katie replied.

  Junie giggled, despite her mood. ‘Stop calling me that.’

  ‘You look exactly like her. I think you could alert the press and people would believe Miss Tierney is living in Braidwood. Especially tonight.’ Katie flicked her eyes at Junie’s pink silk dress, still incredulous. ‘You should negotiate your terms with Ernest now. Tell him if he wants to marry a movie star, you have a few conditions.’

  ‘One: no legal marriage.’

  ‘Two: you get all his dosh,’ Katie added, getting them each a slice of cake and taking up position near the stage, ready to dance when the band began.

  ‘Three: the pigeon is sent to Timbuctoo.’

  ‘Four: Michael Riley gets to kiss the bride.’

  ‘Shh, Dorn and Beryl might overhear,’ Junie hissed, looking out for Michael’s sisters, who were two of their closest friends.

  ‘Five: Michael Riley gets the wedding night honours.’

  Junie choked on her cake and a piece flew out of her mouth and straight onto Constance Farthington’s expensive white sleeve. Constance flicked it off disdainfully, glaring at Junie.

  ‘Good evening, Katie. I hope you aren’t overindulging in the refreshments before the dancing begins,’ Constance said stiffly.

  Katie gave her a cake-filled grin in response. ‘Certainly am, Mrs Farthington.’

  Constance’s face was a mask of disapproval that melted as she saw Ernest approach, missing the small pigeon noise Katie made in the background.

  ‘There you are, Ernest! Father Holloway has asked you to make a speech.’

  ‘Done up like a dog’s dinner tonight,’ mumbled Katie in Junie’s ear, forcing her to stifle another giggle. He certainly was, with hair so slick it looked set to slide off his scalp.

  ‘Yes, Mother, I know. All ready, are we, Junie?’ Ernest spoke like a man conducting a minor bank transaction rather than one who was about to announce his own engagement. Constance looked perplexed and Junie felt it was almost worth the horrible business of getting engaged to Ernest just to see the look of outrage that was about to dawn on his snobby mother’s face. That smug little thought died as Ernest took to the shallow timber stage and the Colonel tapped his glass, silencing the hall.

  Junie felt her despair rise and looked across to the door, praying that Michael would arrive, then praying he wouldn’t. As hopeless as it all was, she still wanted him to see her in this dress. To dance with him, just this once, on the night she became engaged to someone else.


  Michael was late – far later than he had intended – and he adjusted his new jacket nervously, the khaki stiff and uncomfortable after years of moleskins and flannel.

  He’d debated this decision to see them all one last time before he left: his parents might dob him in and stop him from going. It would have been wiser to enlist in Sydney but the trip to Orange to deliver stock had proved fateful. By the time he’d stumbled out of the pub with Jake and Cliffy, his two droving mates, the temptation to join up with them had been too great. One in, all in.

  His favourite stock horse, Barney, led him on through the night, up the near-empty main street, past the pub and the post office to turn at the cenotaph towards the hall. The monument was silver in the half light and Michael tipped his hat to the Anzac statue which seemed to speak to him as he passed.

  Say your goodbyes, lad. Hope to God they aren’t your last.

  That I will, he promised the stone soldier. Whatever this night held there was one goodbye he was bloody sure he would make – and he’d be sealing it with a kiss if he could.

  And, with war on his horizon, Michael figured Ernest Farthington could stick his objections to that where the sun don’t shine.

  Ernest cleared his throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’

  Junie tensed and Katie squeezed her hand briefly as the room quietened to a whisper. So this was it. No last-minute reprieve. No Michael arriving on his faithful steed to cry out his objection, profess his love and steal her away from this wretched fate.

  Ernest welcomed the most important people, thanked the organisers and said all the right things in his best politician’s voice. Half the town were scornful, she knew, but some of the clergy and quite a few of the ladies on the committee seemed impressed with the town’s budding politician. Ernest seemed to swell beneath the approving murmurs and applause and Junie glimpsed what the future held as his wife – spending her days sitting in the shadow of his ego.

  She looked at her parents, standing alongside, and wanted to feel resentful, but only pity remained. Lily held on tightly to Henry, dreamy and vague in her grief. Henry Wallace just looked old and, as he met his daughter’s gaze, somewhat ashamed. She comforted that shame as best she could by sending him a smile, nearly crying herself as she watched his eyes fill.