Elianne

by Nunn, Judy

  Margaret Tatham was considered by many the social doyen of Bundaberg; the several women with her at the table on the verandah laughed as they followed her gaze. Across the expanse of landscaped lawn and garden, their husbands were gathered with a number of others having pre-luncheon drinks and the conversation was clearly of the most intense nature.

  Seated beside Margaret, Ellie dredged up a smile, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. What, she wondered, would Jim think if he could hear himself so belittled by these empty-headed women? Jim of course would not care in the least, but somehow she did. She thought it disloyal of women to deride their husbands. She wished as always that she could join in the men’s conversation, which was bound to be interesting. Particularly today, for she knew of the business involved.

  While the wives chatted on, Ellie continued to watch their men. Jim and Cedric Tatham were in discussion with Frederic Buss, the sugar producer and highly successful entrepreneur who had helped initiate, among his many other enterprises, the Bundaberg Distilling Company. With them were several of the major mill owners who also served as directors of the company. Jim had confessed to her his lost opportunity in not joining forces with the well-established sugar-mill owners who had formed the company five years previously. He’d agreed with them at the time that a distillery could well prove profitable and that it would certainly solve the problem of what to do with the volume of molasses waste left after the sugar’s extraction, but his own mill had been in a younger stage of development and he’d not had the finance available for further investment. Things were very different these days. A great deal had changed over the past five years. Elianne was now a highly productive mill and the Bundaberg Distillery, after only two years of rum production, was showing a profit. Expansion was the word on everyone’s lips. Expansion was the reason behind Cedric Tatham’s garden party.

  As Ellie distractedly watched the men, she didn’t realise that she herself was being watched, and at close quarters.

  Margaret Tatham leant in to her. ‘We’re prattling on rather, aren’t we?’ she murmured in Ellie’s ear.

  Ellie gave a guilty start. Had she seemed rude? She must have. ‘I’m so sorry –’ she started to reply, but Margaret continued, her voice still a murmur.

  ‘We’re all pretending to be jolly because we don’t know what to say to you.’

  Ellie looked into the matronly face of her hostess. It was a face whose expression she had always seen as superficial, yet now in the woman’s eyes was such compassion and depth of understanding she found she could not look away.

  ‘I hope you will forgive my intrusion, Ellie,’ the older woman said quietly, ‘but I wish to offer you my deepest sympathy. Oh my dear, how my heart does go out to you.’ Margaret Tatham had suffered the loss of two children in the earlier years of her marriage, one at birth and the other at three years of age. She remembered the dreadful months afterwards and was very sad to see another woman in the throes of that grief.

  Ellie couldn’t help herself. Confronted by such naked sincerity, she could not stop tears springing to her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely: she must not cry here.

  The chatter around the table had gradually died down. Margaret’s words had not been audible to the others, but her communication had been quite clear and the women were now looking at Ellie, each of them kindly, each concerned.

  ‘We were so saddened to hear the news, Ellie,’ one said. She was younger than her companions. Her name was Elizabeth. She had given birth to a stillborn three years previously.

  ‘If there is anything we can do . . .’ said another.

  The tears suddenly flowed freely, Ellie stemming them as best she could with the linen handkerchief Margaret handed her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘you’re very kind, thank you.’ Caring though the women were, she wished they would stop; she wished the subject of Beatrice had not arisen. ‘Oh dear, I’m making a spectacle of myself,’ she said with a nervous glance in her husband’s direction. Jim would certainly not approve of her weeping in public. She made as if to rise from the table, but Margaret took her hand preventing her.

  ‘You’re not making a spectacle of yourself at all, my dear.’ Margaret had noticed the apprehensive look Ellie had cast at her husband. ‘You are among friends.’ Another nervous look, she now noted: Big Jim Durham was clearly insensitive to the extent of his wife’s suffering. The poor girl has been marooned out there on that remote plantation with no one to turn to, Margaret thought.

  ‘Sometimes men are best ignored, Ellie,’ she said firmly. ‘Sometimes women need the support of other women. A number of us have been through similar tragedies, my dear, and it does one good to talk.’

  Ellie found the next five or ten minutes difficult to believe. With the women’s encouragement she openly spoke of Beatrice and her grief, even recounting the shocking morning when she discovered her daughter’s body. She did not weep as she talked, but felt rather a great sense of relief. She was no longer alone. These women understood.

  Margaret was glad that she’d brought up the topic. She’d wondered whether she should, but it pleased her now to see young Ellie Durham unburden herself so freely. ‘You have a little boy, do you not?’ she asked when she sensed the time was right to move on.

  ‘Yes, Edward.’ Ellie was amazed to hear herself laugh. ‘He is over eighteen months old now, extremely active, extremely tiring and a huge distraction, I must say.’

  The conversation then turned to children in general, the women comparing notes about their various offspring. Husbands came into play also, as they talked about the ordeal of having brought up a family while their men forged careers in an often hostile new world. The women told funny stories, making light of their past adversity, laughing together, and as they did, Ellie wondered how she could have so misjudged them. These were pioneer women, women who had experienced hardships she had never known. She felt guilty, and chastised herself for having presumed them superficial. It was I who was superficial, she thought. The fault was in me, not them.

  A male voice broke through the women’s chatter. ‘It would seem, my dear, that members of the staff are getting restless.’ Margaret looked up from the table to find her husband standing opposite her, Big Jim Durham by his side. ‘And I for one,’ Cedric said, ‘am starving.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Margaret turned to peer at the verandah’s open doors, where the housemaid stood awaiting the order that luncheon be served. ‘How remiss of me,’ she said merrily, once more in her social role of hostess. ‘We were having such a lovely chat I quite forgot the time. Do please call people to table, Cedric dear.’ She gave a wave to the housemaid, who disappeared to alert the kitchen staff.

  ‘Women and their gossip,’ Cedric muttered in an audible aside to Big Jim before obediently setting off to carry out his wife’s instructions.

  But this had not been gossip at all, Ellie thought as she rose and accepted her husband’s arm. This had been support of the finest kind.

  ‘I noticed you in deep conversation with Margaret,’ Big Jim said approvingly as they sauntered across the lawn towards the marquee. ‘You appear to have struck up quite a friendship with her.’

  ‘Yes, I believe I have.’

  ‘Excellent, I’m delighted. Surprised also, I must admit. I had the feeling that you considered her shallow.’

  ‘I did. I was wrong.’

  ‘How very perceptive of you, Ellie,’ Big Jim halted to look at her with newfound respect, ‘an excellent observation on your part, my dear.’ He checked that no one was within hearing distance and lowered his voice. ‘For all her social airs and affectation, Margaret is a highly astute businesswoman. She is in actuality the power behind the throne. The fact is little known, but Cedric doesn’t make a move without her.’ Big Jim secretly despised Cedric Tatham for his weakness in allowing his wife so much say in his affairs, but there was no denying the woman’s acumen.

  ‘A personal relationship between the two of you will work well in o
ur favour,’ he said as they continued on their way to the marquee. ‘Margaret Tatham is a powerful woman.’

  Ellie made no response. She felt no need to do so. But she thought how generous and how loyal it was of Margaret to play the giddy hostess while her husband received the credit for astute business decisions that were actually hers. What a great deal I have learnt today, Ellie thought.

  Several hours later, when the garden party had come to an end and they were taking their leave, Big Jim was delighted to witness further evidence of the bond that appeared to have developed between his wife and Margaret Tatham.

  ‘I have a small gift for you, Ellie,’ Margaret said as they stood on the front verandah looking down on the main drive, waiting for the stablehand to arrive with the horse and buggy.

  Upon her signal, a housemaid who was standing nearby came forwards and presented Ellie with a loosely wrapped brown paper parcel.

  Ellie pulled the paper aside to reveal a mantel clock. It was an extremely attractive piece made of cherry wood with a brass-fitted face and a separate dial that counted seconds.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said, overwhelmed and more than a little mystified. Why would Margaret Tatham wish to present her with a gift?

  ‘It’s an Ansonia, made in New York,’ Margaret said. ‘I had it set aside when the delivery arrived two months ago.’ Among his many and varied business undertakings Cedric Tatham imported a line of fine goods and furnishings. ‘I was hoping I would see you before too long,’ she said meaningfully, ‘and I am so glad that I have.’

  A gift to welcome me back into society, Ellie realised. ‘How very kind of you, Margaret,’ she said.

  ‘It will go perfectly with the rosewood mantel Jim has bought for your new home.’ Margaret gave a light laugh. ‘I visited the warehouse myself just to be sure and the match is superb.’ Big Jim had purchased a number of furnishings, which were currently in storage awaiting delivery to the new house that was his pride and joy. ‘Cedric tells me the house is nearing completion, Jim,’ she said turning to him. ‘You will be making the move shortly, I take it?’

  ‘We will indeed. I hope to move us into Elianne House within the month.’

  ‘Excellent.’ She turned back to Ellie. ‘A new clock to mark time in a new home and a new life,’ she said gaily. ‘How apt.’

  As the stable hand arrived with the horse and buggy, Margaret kissed Ellie goodbye. ‘Always remember, my dear,’ she said quietly enough for the others not to catch her words above the clatter of hooves and the rattle of harness, ‘we women can be a source of great strength to each other. I am here should you ever be in need.’

  ‘I will remember,’ Ellie replied. Then as they parted she said, ‘Thank you, Margaret. Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon and for my beautiful gift.’ Her eyes spoke of a great deal more. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Big Jim was immensely pleased, but also bewildered. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to so impress the woman,’ he said as they drove out of the main gates and into the street, ‘but she’s certainly taken a liking to you. What in heaven’s name possessed her to give you the clock?’

  ‘She’s kind, that’s all. It’s a housewarming present.’

  The garden party signalled a turning point for Ellie. Less than one month later they moved into Elianne House and not long after that she discovered she was pregnant. She had suspected she might be, but had hardly dared hope and had said not a word for fear of being proven wrong. Now, overjoyed by the doctor’s confirmation of her condition, the clock that sat on the rosewood mantel acquired an even greater significance. ‘A new clock to mark time in a new home and a new life,’ Margaret had said. The words were prophetic. To Ellie the clock now marked time with the new life growing inside her.

  She gave birth in November. The child was a boy and they called him Bartholomew.

  ‘Bartholomew James Durham,’ Big Jim said. He held the tiny bundle of his son in his massive hands and offered him up like a toast to the gods, admiring the flawless features that peered from the blanket. The child was perfect in every way. He leant down to kiss his wife on the forehead. ‘Oh my dearest love, you have made me so happy, so happy and so proud.’

  Ellie was glad. She had hoped, more perhaps to spite him than anything, that the child might be a girl, but she was glad now to have given birth to a boy. No child should be born of spite. Her next baby would be a girl, she told herself, and if not, then the one after that, or the one after that. She planned to have many babies.

  As it turned out, however, such plans were not meant to be. Following the delivery of her third son two years later, Ellie haemorrhaged badly. George William Durham was born healthy, but his birth very nearly cost the life of his mother. During her slow recuperation Ellie learnt the dreadful news.

  ‘The severe haemorrhage you suffered has had repercussions, Mrs Durham,’ Alfred Benson explained. ‘You are on the road to recovery, I am happy to report, but you will be unable to breastfeed for some time.’ Then after a pause he added, ‘And the long-term prognosis is bleak, I must warn you. We are unsure of the reasons for it, but after haemorrhaging such as yours a woman invariably ceases to ovulate. I am sorry to inform you, but I fear your child-bearing days are likely to be over.’

  Ellie was devastated. If the doctor proved right, not only was she to be denied the large family she had planned, but even more heartbreaking, she was to be deprived of the little girl she had always longed for.

  Big Jim comforted her as best he could and in the only way he knew how.

  ‘You have three healthy sons, my dear,’ he said time and again. ‘Who could ask for more?’ He was perfectly happy.

  But her husband’s happiness was not enough for Ellie. Memories of Beatrice and her sweet little damaged face surfaced bringing with them the reflection upon what might have been. Ellie knew that for the sake of her children, and most particularly her newborn, she must fight back the thoughts that plagued her, but in her still-weakened physical state it was difficult.

  ‘We can share little Sera, Mrs Ellie,’ Mela said. ‘You can be number two mother to my Sera as she grows; she will like very much to have two mothers.’

  Mela had given birth to a daughter the previous year. She and Pavi had named the child Sera after his mother.

  ‘That is very kind of you, Mela,’ Ellie said, wondering as she always did at Mela’s intuitive powers. She had said nothing at all of her thoughts, yet her friend had sensed the deep-seated source of her unhappiness.

  ‘In my village children grow up with many parents,’ Mela said, ‘aunties and uncles and grandparents who look after them when their mother and father are working. It is good for the children. It is good for the parents too.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it is.’ Ellie smiled. ‘Thank you, Mela.’

  Over time, little Sera did very much fill a place in Ellie’s heart. All of the children did. They gave meaning to her very existence. As the years passed and her monthly cycles failed to return she resigned herself to the fact that the doctor’s prognosis had been correct, but she refused to feel defeated. She was after all surrounded by children, her own and the Salets’. Edward and Malou had been inseparable from the outset, as close as brothers. Now her two younger sons and Sera grew together like siblings completing a rowdy gang of five, Sera, needless to say, an incorrigible tomboy.

  Ellie encouraged the children to socialise from a very early age; a potpourri of races co-existed at Elianne and she considered it healthy they should mingle and learn from others. She and Mela and the children attended the community gatherings at the hall that Big Jim had built for his workers. The concerts, the kiddies’ parties, the church services on Sundays – they joined in everything, becoming a genuine part of the family that was Elianne. Indeed Mrs Ellie and her mixed brood were much loved by both the workers and their families. As they wandered the estate, passing the rows of married men’s cottages and the wooden tin-roofed barracks of the white workers and the thatched huts of the Kanakas, they were
enthusiastically greeted by all.

  When the children had grown to a manageable age, Ellie decided to further broaden their horizons and, with Margaret Tatham’s encouragement, she decided also to make a bid for her own independence.

  ‘You would like to do what?’ Big Jim was flabbergasted by his wife’s request.

  ‘I should like to drive into town,’ she repeated firmly. ‘I am extremely capable with a horse and buggy, as you well know.’

  ‘It’s unthinkable. I will not allow it.’

  ‘But I have seen other women on occasions driving their children into town.’

  ‘The wives of farmers,’ he said dismissively. ‘The mistress of Elianne does no such thing.’

  ‘Please Jim.’ Her eyes beseeched him. ‘Please grant me this one favour – it is important to me.’

  He could see she was begging, but he couldn’t comprehend why. ‘Is it so important, my dear?’ he asked. ‘I am quite happy to drive you into town. What purpose is served by your driving yourself?’

  ‘The purpose of independence . . .’ She took his hand in a further bid for understanding. ‘I want to be more self-sufficient, dearest. A little less cosseted perhaps,’ she said, struggling to express herself, ‘a little less reliant –’

  ‘I see.’ It appeared she had not expressed herself at all well. ‘I was not aware that you felt cosseted,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Oh Jim,’ she smiled, exasperated, ‘do not take offence. Of course I am cosseted. You know full well that you spoil and indulge me shamelessly. All I ask is that you grant me a little independence now and then.’

  He relaxed, no longer offended, but still confused. ‘I would be happy to oblige if I could, Ellie, but you must surely see that it would be most irresponsible of me to allow you to drive into town unaccompanied.’

  ‘I would not be unaccompanied, dear,’ she was quick to reassure him, ‘that was never my intention. Mela would be with me. The children too,’ she added, ‘all five of them.’

  He was once again flabbergasted. ‘The children?’