by Nunn, Judy
‘What employment have you offered Pavi, dearest?’ she asked, as if professing a passing interest rather than questioning any choice he may have made. Although undoubtedly the queen of Elianne, she knew better than to attempt any say in the affairs of the estate. She did hope, however, that Jim did not intend Pavi to work as a cane-cutter or field labourer. Pavi was after all an educated man.
Big Jim’s laugh was one of eminent satisfaction. He was delighted his wife was so pleased with her gift as had been his intention, but he was pleased too with his acquisition. ‘Why, Pavi shall have one of the most important jobs to hand, my dear. A skill in animal husbandry such as he possesses is not to be wasted. Your friend Pavi Salet shall be in charge of the stables.’
Such a position was certainly of major importance. The Clydesdales that hauled the loaded cane wagons to the mill, usually in teams of four, were of inestimable value, and the maintenance of their health and equipment was imperative to the daily operation of the estate throughout the hectic months of the crushing season.
‘Ah, how he will love that,’ Ellie clapped her hands together delightedly, ‘and he will treat the horses with such care. They will become family to him, Jim, just you wait and see.’
‘Yes, I do believe they will,’ her husband replied drily. ‘He said he’s looking forward to making their acquaintance and getting to know each one personally. According to Pavi every horse has a distinctly different personality. I must confess I had never thought of working animals in that manner.’
Ellie laughed; she could just hear Pavi’s voice. ‘Could we give him the title of Stable Master?’ she asked, hoping as she did so that such a suggestion would not appear too presumptuous on her part.
It didn’t. ‘If that will make you happy,’ he said.
She looked gratefully up at him. ‘You have made me happier than you can imagine, dearest.’
‘That is my aim, Ellie.’ He lowered his huge frame onto the sofa beside her, taking care not to jar her as he sat. ‘It is always my aim to make you happy. You do know that, don’t you? I desire only to please you.’
‘Yes, I know.’ How could she fail to recognise his desire to please her? He was building her a glorious house with the best materials available, all painstakingly transported across the river by barge. He presented her with endless gifts: bonnets and gowns and gloves of fine lace, all imported from Europe and all meaning little to her. All but the books, of course: he imported books for her too, and the books meant the world. And now, clearly aware of her loneliness, he had even imported a friend for her.
‘I know you desire to please me, Jim,’ she said, and smiled as she delivered the lie, ‘and you do please me, dearest, of course you do.’
Does he believe me? she wondered. Of course he did, she could see it in his eyes. He had bought her as he bought everything else and not for one minute did he doubt her gratitude and devotion, which was presumably part of the purchase price. But how could he believe that he pleased her? How could he please her when he was physically incapable of tenderness? I can never be happy while I remain your possession, Jim, she thought, can’t you see that? I am a chattel in your bed, and out of your bed I am ‘the jewel in your crown’ as you so proudly call me. That is not love.
There were times when Ellie felt sorry for her husband. Big Jim loved her certainly, but in the only way of which he was capable – and it was not a love she could return. Not yet, although she lived in hope for the future.
The answer, she had decided, lay in family. Our love will grow through our children, she told herself, and, much as she welcomed the respite from sexual congress her pregnancy granted, she determined to encourage his advances after the birth. She would give him many children and over time the joy of family would lead to a different sort of love, a love they could share. Already Jim was obsessed with his son, who was barely one year old.
As if reading her thoughts Big Jim placed his hand on the small mound of her belly, his outstretched fingers covering its entire circumference. The gesture was made with care, but the sheer size and power of the hand lent an image that was daunting. ‘A brother for Edward,’ he said. He was overjoyed that she had conceived so remarkably quickly after her first child; it was surely a sign of their sexual compatibility. ‘Oh Ellie, what a pair our boys shall be.’
She very much hoped for a girl herself, but she didn’t say so.
The reunion between Ellie and Pavi was somewhat restrained at first, at least on Pavi’s side. He and his wife Mela were both self-conscious in the presence of Big Jim.
‘Hello, Mrs Ellie.’ Pavi felt most odd calling Elianne ‘Mrs Ellie’, but Big Jim had explained that this was the workers’ term for the Boss’s wife.
‘Ellie insists upon it,’ he’d said when he’d picked the young family up at the punt landing, where passengers and vehicles were ferried to and from Bundaberg on the southern side of the river. ‘She likes to maintain a friendly connection with the workers. But of course you know Ellie,’ he’d added with surprising familiarity. ‘Beautiful though she is, there are no airs and graces about my wife.’
Pavi had been most surprised to find James Durham waiting with a horse and dray to transport him and Mela and the baby to the plantation. The labour recruitment agent, who had clearly been obeying instructions from some higher source, had accompanied them on the train journey from the port into the township of Bundaberg and had personally seen them aboard the punt, which had been surprising enough, but having crossed the river Pavi expected to be met by a fellow worker. Furthermore, the casual manner of his employer upon greeting them had been astounding – James Durham might well have been greeting an old friend.
Pavi had not been the only one taken aback. Two men who’d travelled with a horse and buggy aboard the punt had tipped their hats to Big Jim upon alighting, but as the horse had taken off at a trot down the road they’d exchanged querying looks. There’d been looks shared too among the small team of Kanaka labourers working on the maintenance of the punt landing, shoring up its sides. It was not customary for workers to be collected by the Boss. The most taken aback of all, however, had been Pavi’s young wife, who had stood dumbstruck upon the unexpected sight of James Durham. Mela, a personable young woman and one not in the least timid with those she knew, had always found the huge white man a frightening figure.
‘Mela,’ Big Jim had said heartily after shaking Pavi by the hand, ‘welcome, welcome, and who is this fine little fellow?’ He’d gestured at the baby she dandled in her arms, but Mela had said nothing, apparently rendered speechless.
‘This is Malou, sir.’ Pavi had made the reply on behalf of his wife.
‘Now now, Pavi, we’ll have none of that “sir” business,’ Big Jim had said, ‘just “Boss” will do – all my workers call me Boss, we don’t stand on ceremony here. Come along, boy, sling your things in the back and I’ll show you your new home.’
James Durham’s motive in affording Pavi Salet preferential treatment was twofold. Chiefly his aim was to please his wife, who was waiting to greet her old friend at the cottage that had been assigned him near the stables. But there was a further reason for Big Jim’s personal show of interest. Pavi’s skill with horses and the position of employment he was to undertake at Elianne placed him well above the normal status of Kanaka labourer certainly, but propriety needed to be observed nonetheless, and Big Jim intended to make the situation clear from the outset. He had elected to collect Pavi himself simply in order to have a chat. He had not arrived in a buggy – buggies and coaches were reserved for guests. Drays were sent out to collect workers and supplies.
It was early afternoon and the estate was a two-hour drive away, during which Mela and her baby were to sit in the back with the luggage while Pavi would sit up front beside the Boss, as was appropriate.
Relieved to be distanced from the big white man she feared, Mela leant back against the side of the dray and offered her breast to her hungry baby. She would enjoy this sightseeing trip through the can
e fields of her new country.
‘My wife is waiting to greet you, Pavi,’ Big Jim said as he flicked the reins and the mare moved off. ‘Given the friendship the two of you have shared, I decided to collect you myself in order to offer you my personal welcome.’
‘Thank you, Boss. That is most kind.’ Pavi had by now become distracted by the looks he was receiving from the islander workers, who were openly staring at him.
‘They’re mine,’ Big Jim said, noting the cause of Pavi’s distraction, and at a click of his fingers the men immediately returned to their work. ‘I hire and lend out my Kanakas during the slack season,’ he explained. ‘Civic work, neighbour’s requests, whatever needs to be done. Have to keep them employed: idleness breeds trouble.’
During the drive, Big Jim outlined Pavi’s specific duties. He was to be responsible not only for the grooming and health care of the animals, but for the maintenance of the stables, harnesses and equipment, together with the ordering of supplies and the mixing of the feed.
‘Yes, Boss,’ Pavi said. He was familiar with such duties, having served in a similar capacity, although on a lesser scale, at André Desmarais’s copra plantation.
Big Jim then proceeded to describe life in general at the estate. ‘I run a tight ship,’ he said. ‘I demand discipline, but I’m good to my Kanakas. I’m good to all my workers. They respect me for it. And of course they love Ellie,’ he added, and then he’d gone on to explain his wife’s insistence upon being called Mrs Ellie by all.
‘My wife is a friend to everyone, and everyone loves her dearly. I sometimes feel we’re like parents to our workers,’ he said with an indulgent smile, ‘I am the strict disciplinarian and Ellie the maternal influence. I think you will be very happy with us here, Pavi. We are a family at Elianne.’
By the time the dray had pulled up outside the little cottage near the stables, Pavi had received the message loud and clear. The warmth of his reception had carried with it distinctly readable undertones. He was being welcomed indeed, for which he was grateful, but he was to know his place at all times. He had expected no less.
Now however, as he stood before his childhood friend, it seemed strange to think that her name belonged to this vast estate. It seemed stranger still to be calling her ‘Mrs Ellie’.
Ellie also found it strange, but she too knew the rules. Her husband’s authority was never to be undermined and she was respectful of the fact. Big Jim was rightly feared by those who disobeyed him, but he was far more just in the treatment of his workers than her father had ever been.
‘Hello, Pavi,’ she said and she offered her hand. They shook. Then she turned to Mela. ‘Welcome, Mela, it is so lovely to have you here.’
Mela gave a respectful nod. At the Desmarais plantation she had never been shy in Ellie’s company, they had been friends, but now, inhibited by the giant presence of her new master, she had no idea how she should respond.
Ellie responded for her. She embraced both Mela and her child, very gently, taking care not to wake the baby, who was by now fast asleep in his mother’s arms. ‘And this must be Malou,’ she whispered as she softly stroked the little brown cheek.
‘Yes,’ Mela said, ‘this is our boy.’
‘He’s beautiful.’ Ellie turned to Pavi. They had exchanged letters; he had written to her of his son. ‘He is beautiful, your boy,’ she said.
Unable to disguise his pride, Pavi gave the slightest smile and Ellie could resist no longer. She embraced him warmly. ‘Oh Pavi, it is so good to see you.’
Pavi did not return the embrace but stood woodenly, frozen to the spot, his eyes darting to the Boss. Mela too glanced at James Durham, fearful of his reaction.
But Big Jim looked benignly on, delighting in his wife’s ability to cross all borders while still retaining her regal air. As a true queen should, he thought proudly.
‘It is so good to see all of you.’ Aware of Pavi’s discomfort, Ellie shared her affection with the family in general. ‘And Malou is so much bigger than I had expected.’
‘He is nearly one year of age, Mrs Ellie.’ Mela smiled broadly, pleased by her reception and no longer inhibited.
‘Indeed? So is my Edward.’ Ellie returned the young woman’s smile. ‘They will be excellent playmates for each other. We must introduce them –’
‘Mrs Ellie will show you around the cottage,’ Big Jim interrupted; he had no interest in the women’s talk of babies, ‘and I shall meet you at the stables in one hour, Pavi. This will leave daylight enough for you to become acquainted with your new workplace,’ he raised an eyebrow as he glanced at his wife, ‘and also with your new equine friends.’
Ellie laughed, feeling a rush of affection; Big Jim rarely made humorous remarks.
‘Thank you, Boss.’ Pavi didn’t get the joke.
The little wooden cottage, with front windows that looked out towards the stables on the opposite side of the dirt road, was simple but attractive. Two steps led up to a verandah, and the front door opened into a narrow central passage with doors either side leading to two small bedrooms on the left and a modest living room on the right. The door at the end of the passage led out the back where, separated by an open walkway in case of fire, was a kitchen with a stove.
Basic though the cottage was, to Mela it seemed a palace. She had never lived in a wooden house before, the sort that white people lived in, and she had never before had her own stove. Both her childhood and married homes had been thatched huts and she had cooked meals out in the open on a campfire. She had worked in a white man’s house certainly, André Desmarais’s house had been far grander than this, and she had cooked on a white man’s stove, but her own home and her own stove? Why even the cottage of her husband’s father, which she had often visited before she and Pavi had married and moved into their hut, had been no better than this.
The house was modestly but adequately furnished, and the cupboards well stocked with the fresh food supplies Ellie had ordered in. They would want for nothing over the next several days, she told them, and tomorrow she would show Mela around the estate.
‘While Pavi is working, you and I shall go for a walk with our babies, Mela,’ she said when, the tour of the house over, they stood chatting in the living room. ‘There is a butchery close by where meat is delivered directly from the slaughter yards, and it is barely a fifteen-minute walk to the dairy where milk and cheese may be purchased. There is a sizeable vegetable garden there too, run by Old Willie, a Solomon Islander who works at the dairy. He has set up quite a lucrative business selling his produce, although many workers like to grow their own.’
‘We shall grow our own,’ Mela announced, and she sat in the small seat by the windows shushing the baby, who had started to cry. A real vegetable garden, she thought, not just taro and yams as she had grown back home, but a proper vegetable garden with beans and corn and tomatoes. She couldn’t wait.
‘It is very kind of you to look after us so well, Mrs Ellie,’ Pavi said.
‘Why would I not wish to look after my dearest friend?’
As their eyes met, Pavi nodded acknowledgement of their past friendship, but even in the absence of Big Jim his reticence was evident. The wall is still there, she thought. Perhaps the wall will always be there. The possibility saddened her.
‘We both know the rules by which we must abide, Pavi,’ she said, ‘and it is correct we should do so, but when we are alone, call me Ellie. Please call me Ellie.’
Her voice and her eyes begged him, and for the first time since his arrival Pavi felt himself relax in her presence. He had been unsure how to behave now that she was a great lady. But the answer was clear. Elianne needed a friend.
‘Does it feel strange to you that your name now belongs to a vast estate?’ he asked. ‘It feels very strange to me.’
She smiled, thankful to have broken through the barrier. ‘I have grown so accustomed to it that I no longer think of myself as Elianne,’ she said. ‘The naming of the estate is an honour my husband has besto
wed upon me and it would be thankless on my part not to accept such a tribute. Besides,’ she added meaningfully, ‘you of all people would know that I very much like being called Ellie.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I would know.’
An unspoken moment passed between them as each was visited by the image of Ellie’s mother, who had coined the nickname. Pavi too had loved Beatrice Desmarais. She had changed his life. His education was due purely to the intervention of the Englishwoman who had treated him like a son.
They were distracted by the baby’s cries, which had now become demanding. Malou was hungry.
Mela slipped her cotton dress from her shoulders and offered the child her breast, Malou grabbing at it greedily as she fed the nipple into his mouth.
Ellie averted her eyes. She was accustomed to seeing native women squatting in the fields or by their huts suckling their young, but here right beside her in a respectable sitting room? She found the sight confronting. Breast-feeding her own child was the most private affair to which no one was witness. It’s indecent, she thought. Mela should have retired to the bedroom.
Then, with the image of her mother still freshly in her mind, Ellie heard Beatrice’s voice. She is behaving as nature intended she should, Ellie. Never look down on our native friends, my darling, there is much we can learn from them. How was it, she wondered, that a middle-class Englishwoman like her mother had come to develop such views? But then how was it that such a woman had chosen to marry a French rogue and run off to the Pacific islands? Beatrice Desmarais had been no ordinary Englishwoman.
Ellie glanced at Pavi, wondering if under the circumstances he too found Mela’s conduct unseemly, but far from being embarrassed Pavi was gazing at his wife and son with infinite tenderness.