Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  Henry leant over and spoke in her ear. ‘You don’t have to do this if it isn’t what you want, love.’

  The last-minute offer of reprieve was genuine, she knew, despite the devastating position they were in. But there, in her father’s eyes, lay a spirit shattered by sorrow. He could no longer care for himself, let alone his family, not because he didn’t love, but because he had loved too much. She wished she could tell him the truth, hide in his shoulder and ask him to make it all go away, like she used to when the thunder frightened her as a child. But those shoulders were slumped now and it was she who had to protect him from the storm.

  Right then she knew she was doing the only thing she could do. She had to protect these broken, cherished people and she had to give her brothers a home to return to. They deserved that much.

  It’s what Frankie would have wanted.

  Michael tethered Barney and walked to the hall’s doors, opening them just in time to see Junie walk on stage to stand next to Ernest. The first thing he thought was that she had never looked lovelier: she had a dress on that made her look like a movie star, emphasising a figure he had only imagined until now, and her face was so filled with compassion as she looked at her parents he wanted to push through the crowd just to hold her. But Ernest was holding her now; his hand was around that silky waist, the other brushing her hair casually off her shoulder. Like he owned her. Michael felt a terrible wave of jealousy crash through his being.

  ‘And so it is with great pleasure,’ Ernest said, ‘that I announce my engagement to Miss Junie Wallace.’

  Junie’s smile was fixed amid the applause, faltering slightly as Constance slammed her way out of the side doors in undisguised fury, silencing the hall in her wake. It was then Junie’s eyes found Michael’s and for a second he saw her heart in there, regret burning in their depths.

  ‘Michael,’ she said, and the crowd followed her gaze to him. Ernest noticed him too, looking at his uniform with surprise then satisfaction. Then Michael’s parents and sisters rushed over and he lost sight of Junie as people began shaking his hand. His mother was arguing, telling him they wouldn’t let him go and his father was drunk, lost as to what to do, save tell his wife they’d talk about it when they got home. His sisters were crying and the Colonel was slapping Michael on the back, stating he was a credit to his country. That he and Ernest would be heroes together now.

  Then the band played ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and the whole absurd scene became too much.

  The cold air embraced him as he went back to his horse, ignoring the calls and confusion behind him. His mother, his father, his sisters, this town; Junie and the goddam Farthingtons. A stiff breeze swept across the park as he galloped past the statue and out into the night.

  ‘I didn’t say my goodbyes,’ he told the Anzac that stared sightlessly into the night. ‘But God knows, for some, they would have been my last.’

  Five

  Mavis gazed out at the glorious heavens – she had called many country towns home since she’d married Rory Riley, but the night sky was more brilliant here than anywhere else they had lived. Seas of constellations, brilliant diamond planets and the occasional shooting star invited her wonder and awe but she wouldn’t give it to them. Not when another son was going to war. And not when he could still be stopped.

  ‘You’ll catch yer death,’ Rory warned, swaying slightly as he approached her. He was drunk, but not as drunk as usual. ‘Here.’ He took off his coat and placed it on her shoulders, something he’d not done for many years, and she looked at him in mild surprise. She’d have been touched if she wasn’t so angry – with him, with Michael.

  ‘I’m angry with God,’ she finished the thought out loud.

  ‘I’ve been angry with Him for some time,’ Rory admitted.

  They watched the sky together as the moon began to rise over the hill, a brilliant, slowly revealing globe to grace the beautiful night.

  ‘I want you to do something.’ She said it firmly, no trepidation for a change. She was too heartsick for that.

  ‘I know you do.’ Rory lit a cigarette and she breathed it in. It was sweet against the cold night air and it seemed to comfort him, making her half-wish she smoked herself.

  ‘It’s only been a week. You could go to Sydney. Tell them his real age. Or you could let me go.’

  Rory shook his head. ‘We have to let him be the man he wants to be. You know we’d never stop him now – he’d still find a way. I did when I was his age.’

  Mavis knew that was true but would never agree – even if they had to hunt Michael down a hundred times, she’d still try to stop him from going to war.

  Rory dragged on his cigarette and the orange light illuminated the sad resignation of his features. ‘You know, I could see it coming. I could tell he liked that Wallace girl and with that bastard Farthington having his way…’ He threw his butt on the ground in disgust. ‘Anyway, I’m heading into town for a nightcap.’

  She watched him leave, disappointed to see the familiar hunch return to his back. The shadow of the man she married was fading into this beautiful, hopeless night and she nearly called after him but then she saw him reach into his pocket and take out his hip flask. She hunched over then too, hugging her arms about herself to stem the loneliness that rose at that simple act.

  Raising her eyes to look at the sky once more, she watched a shooting star blaze then fade and knew that was all she’d witnessed tonight; a brief glimpse of her husband and now he was gone once more.

  And without Rory’s support her Michael was well gone too.

  Junie tugged at the collar of her dress. She hated the scratchy material but she’d outgrown all her others. The only other good dress she owned that fitted was the one she wore last Saturday night and she figured the St Bede’s parishioners wouldn’t take kindly to the pink silk making an appearance at Sunday Mass. She smiled a little to herself at the idea then sank back into her brooding, leaning against the stone wall in the sun, around the corner and away from well-wishers and critical eyes.

  ‘Come on Genie-Junie,’ Katie said, finding her. ‘Cheer up a bit, for Pete’s sake! You’ve just come out of church – didn’t you pray for a miracle?’

  ‘I don’t think praying is going to get me out of this.’

  ‘Well, if we have to sell you off to the pigeon’s son we can at least let you leave the nest in style. Beryl, Dorn!’ Katie ushered the Riley girls over. ‘Snakes alive, you look as mopey as this one.’

  ‘Hi Junie,’ Dorn mumbled and Beryl gave her a brief hug.

  ‘Come on, come on, enough of all that,’ Katie said, flapping her hands. ‘I’ve got an idea to cheer everyone up.’

  ‘With another brother run off to war? Good luck there,’ Beryl replied, looking slightly hopeful just the same. Katie Burgess was an expert at fun.

  ‘How many times have I told you? The secret to life is having something to look forward to.’

  ‘Three words for you: Mrs Ernest Farthington,’ Junie said.

  ‘Not yet, you’re not,’ Katie told her. ‘Listen up. You know how men are always so secretive about bachelor parties?’

  ‘Don’t tell me we are having a bridal shower tea with the pigeon. I couldn’t take it,’ Beryl protested, groaning.

  ‘I said cheer everyone up, not torture them.’ Katie dropped her voice. ‘Remember I told you my uncle has a little shack down by the ocean near Sydney?’

  ‘Burning Palms, isn’t it?’ Dorn asked, and they all nodded. None of them had forgotten that exotic-sounding name.

  ‘That’s the one. I’ve been working on Dad to let us go there for a bit of a holiday when they go on their next fishing trip –’

  ‘But how would we be able to go to Sydney? I have to work,’ Beryl said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Dorn. Both sisters were cleaners at the hospital and they all knew the Rileys needed their modest incomes, especially now.

  ‘Minor details!’ Katie dismissed the objection. ‘Uncle Ernie and Dad will be going up to the
city for one of the nights which leaves the place all to ourselves. Soo-o,’ she drew the word out dramatically, ‘how would you girls feel about a spinster party?’

  Dorn screwed up her nose. ‘Ugh! Spinster. I hate that term.’

  ‘How about the bride’s funeral?’ said Junie with a sigh.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what we bloody well call it,’ Katie said, exasperated, ‘the point is that we get to go on an actual holiday by the seaside and I’ve got a few things planned, special party things. Really do this in style, if you know what I mean.’ She opened her handbag to reveal a bottle of champagne and grinned widely.

  The others exchanged glances. Katie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

  ‘Style, you say,’ Beryl said.

  ‘We could call it the Hollywood Holiday,’ Katie suggested.

  There was a pause as they all looked to Junie, who rewarded them slowly with her best Gene Tierney smile.

  ‘Roll out the red carpet.’

  Mavis didn’t know what Katie Burgess was up to this time but she couldn’t help but feel a little warmed to see the girls excited about something after the worry their brother had caused them this past week. All the whispering was beginning to wear thin though.

  ‘All right, what’s going on with you two? I saw you plotting with that Katie over something after Mass.’

  ‘Nothing really,’ Dorn said, by far the worse liar of the two. Beryl nudged her and Mavis waited, resting the potato she’d been peeling on the bench.

  ‘Out with it,’ she said.

  Dorn looked uncomfortable and Mavis pinned her with the raising of an eyebrow.

  ‘Just an…idea Katie had. To cheer us all up.’ Dorn was cracking under the pressure of that eyebrow and Beryl nudged her again.

  Mavis switched her scrutiny. ‘Beryl?’

  Her eldest daughter gave a little guilty jump and Mavis was a little intrigued despite herself. ‘It’s just…uh, you know how Bob Burgess has a brother who lives in Sydney? Well he has this holiday house down on the coast.’

  ‘House, is it?’ Mavis well knew the makeshift destination they were referring to.

  ‘Well, shack, I suppose. But Katie has invited us…she’s going with Junie.’

  ‘It’s the Hollywood Holiday!’ Dorn burst out.

  Mavis now had both eyebrows up.

  Beryl quickly went into persuasion mode, pushing Dorn slightly behind her. ‘That’s just a bit of a joke name we came up with. It’s actually perfectly sedate, Mum. Mr Burgess will be there the whole time, well except one night, and Katie’s uncle and aunt –’

  ‘I wouldn’t imagine an aunt of Katie Burgess would want to go to a fishing shack with her husband and brother-in-law.’

  ‘Well, perhaps not. But we do!’ The normally reserved little Dorn couldn’t seem to contain herself and Mavis had to hide a smile as Beryl made wild eyes at her sister.

  ‘Hmm…I’m not sure your father would approve. Besides, what about getting time off work? Have you given any thought to that?’ Mavis was inclined to let them go even as she said it.

  ‘We’ve got it all worked out. We’ll work extra shifts the next few weeks. Matron said we could help her sort out the kitchen cupboards. Plus we can go in Mr Burgess’s car – there’s plenty of room,’ Beryl said. ‘We’ve organised Gladys Woods and Iris Corby to cover our shifts on Monday and Dot McKenzie will do Tuesday night…’

  She continued her sales campaign but Mavis had stopped listening. A humming had begun in her ears at the sight of a car coming over the rise and down the dirt drive.

  ‘…and then Gladys can do Wednesday but not Thursday…’

  It was a black car. A very familiar one, with two figures inside.

  Beryl’s voice faded as Mavis moved slowly to the window, touching the pane as if to stop the vision of the approaching tyres disturbing the dust.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’

  Mavis had no voice. It had been replaced by a choking fear that heated her heart, her insides. She shook her head. ‘No.’

  It was Dorn who opened the door to let the priest and the postmaster in as Mavis fell into a chair.

  ‘Is Rory in, Mrs Riley?’ Father Holloway had his sombre tone on. The one he used for funerals.

  Mavis couldn’t reply, still unable to speak past the fear.

  ‘He’s – he’s gone over to the Langrons’ for work,’ Beryl said, staring at the telegram in the postmaster’s hand and slowly sitting next to her mother.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s a problem, I’m afraid.’ The postmaster frowned at the telegram worriedly then over at the priest. ‘This telegram is clearly addressed to Mr Rory Riley. I can’t legally give it to anyone else.’

  Father Holloway looked taken aback. ‘Surely under the circumstances –’

  ‘We don’t know the circumstances, though, do we?’ The postmaster was trying to whisper and Mavis looked at him in desperation.

  ‘Give it to me – please,’ she managed to say. The only thing possibly worse than the telegram’s existence was not knowing its contents.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ the postmaster said, shaking his head. ‘You will have to send for Mr Riley.’

  They all stared at him, varying degrees of disbelief, worry and anger sweeping the room. Everyone knew what it could contain.

  ‘My son…my son is fighting overseas…’

  ‘I understand, Mrs Riley, and I’m sorry.’ He didn’t look sorry.

  He looked like the cruellest fool in the world and she wondered if she could seize the telegram from him, but he was a big man and he held it tight.

  Father Holloway cleared his throat and Mavis placed her hope in him as he spoke in a reasoning tone, his funeral voice modified, she noted with faint hope.

  ‘Mrs Riley can’t be expected to wait at a time like this. I know you are new to the area, Mr Curtis, but I can vouch for this lady that her husband would certainly want her to open it in his stead. They are my parishioners, as you know.’

  Still the man didn’t budge.

  ‘Mr Curtis, is it?’ Beryl said, her face as sweet and charming as she could make it. ‘Perhaps you would like a cup of tea as we sit and read the contents together? Might make us all feel a little more prepared.’

  Mr Curtis looked tempted but shook his head yet again. ‘It is addressed to the master of the house.’

  Mavis began to cry in silent streams and Dorn moved forwards to hold her shoulders.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Beryl said, grabbing her coat and running out the door but not before casting the postmaster the most scathing look Mavis had ever seen. His face was red and he looked uncomfortable but he didn’t move the hand that held the fate of her maternal heart.

  There was no more discussion now, the only voice that of a distant currawong as Mavis closed her eyes against the wait.

  Rory was chopping wood when he spied Beryl riding across the field on Barney, reminding him he had to return the damn beast to Farthington when he got the chance. Michael had left him at the train station with a note and Rory cursed its short, angry contents yet again. Damn women and damn the war.

  Beryl was riding awfully fast and he paused to watch, the axe slipping from his hand as he saw her expression.

  ‘You have…to come home…telegram…’ she panted. ‘Mum needs you.’

  The Rileys borrowed a second horse that day and no-one asked for it back for weeks to come.

  Amazing grace!

  How sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me!

  I once was lost

  But now am found

  Was blind but now

  I see

  The singer delivered the last note and all that remained was the rain. It pattered against the red, blue and gold of the stained glass and Junie stared at the saints who were frozen there, promising them all that God would take care of them in the next life. But not so much in this one it seems, she thought bitterly, as Mavis was helped to her feet by an ashen-faced, sober Rory.

  No casket, no flowe
rs, no burial. Just black dresses and his mother’s choking tears. David James Riley had only been in town a few short months when he joined up, so none of them really knew him all that well. But Junie knew that pain. It was written in the lines of grief on her mother’s face and etched deep into her father’s soul. She pitied Beryl and Dorn as they followed their parents down the aisle, grieving one brother and fearing for the other. It will never leave you, she wanted to warn them. And things will never be quite the same. But of course she would say quite the opposite, as people do.

  The rabbit sat still within her mind. It knew there was no point running today. There was no answer to death, save faith.

  Rory watched as she stood outside, this time under a leaden dawn sky, her breath misting in the early cold. When would that woman ever remember her coat?

  He went out to join her, draping his own about her shoulders as he’d taken to doing of late. Mavis ignored him and he couldn’t say he blamed her – he’d woken up on the floor and didn’t remember how he’d got home last night.

  ‘Should come inside, love, looks like rain.’

  She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have let the girls go,’ he said.

  Mavis shook her head. ‘No, there’s not much happiness in this life. They should grab it while they can.’

  Rory nodded, lighting a cigarette. ‘Aye, that’s true enough.’ Funny how his father’s brogue made an appearance every now and then, especially when he was pensive. Mavis used to laugh at it.

  They watched the clouds roll by in heavy grey, allowing them torn glimpses of daybreak.

  ‘We’ve not been alone for twenty-three years,’ she said. Rory felt the truth of it keenly. He hadn’t noticed how much he valued the noise and rhythm of their home until now. It was as if death had settled its ash upon everything they’d ever loved.