We That Are Left

by Lisa Bigelow

  Dulcie laughed. ‘Only over the shower. When Joy goes first and uses all the hot water. Then I get a bit cranky.’

  ‘What will you do when the war’s over? Do you want to stay on the land? Maybe at your parents’ place?’

  ‘I’d love to, but I doubt they’d let me. Farm work is only good enough for their daughter during wartime, just like Princess Elizabeth. No. My options will be go home, get married and have babies, or go to university, get married and have babies. I’m just glad I’ve had the chance to do this for a while. I hate the war but I don’t want to go home yet. Does that sound awful?’

  ‘No, I understand what you’re saying about the opportunities for women. The chance to have more independence, to learn new skills. I won’t write anything that makes you sound bad. What about you, Joy? Any thoughts about later?’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty keen to stay here. Alice has asked me to stay on and I think I might, at least until some of the local blokes come home. They’ll get the jobs of course. Us girls’ll have to make way so they can earn a living where they want. I s’pose my options’ll be the same as Dulcie’s: get married and have bubs. But with any luck I’ll find a farm boy.’

  ‘What will you do, Grace?’ Dulcie asked. ‘I guess you’ll have to make way too. Give up work when you get married. Have you got someone?’

  ‘He’s in Changi. I don’t know when he’ll be back, but we’re planning to get married afterwards.’

  ‘Well there you are then,’ Joy said. ‘Enjoy your job while it lasts. We’ll all be chained to the kitchen sink before we know it.’

  Grace watched the women work as though they hadn’t a care. Of course she wanted Phil back home immediately, and wanted to be his wife. But why did she have to give up work? Couldn’t she do something part-time? Maybe a couple of stories a week when the babies were old enough for a nurse or a babysitter? Certainly when they went to school, otherwise she’d be twiddling her thumbs, all her training going to waste. But it was selfish to think this way, to think about how she could hang on to her job when poor Phil was in the jungle somewhere missing his leg; sick, fevered, miserable. The war had to end right now so he could come home, so all the men could. What did it matter if they took all the jobs?

  ‘Sometimes it feels like the war’s going to go on forever,’ Joy said as she twisted two pieces of wire together with pliers.

  ‘My father wrote that it’s supposed to be over by Christmas,’ Dulcie said. ‘Then we can all get back to normal life.’

  ‘Yeah, but what if it don’t end?’ Joy asked. ‘How long are we supposed to go on like this? How long do you wait for yer feller, Grace—five years, ten years? How long do you wait to have kids?’

  Grace stared at the bleached horizon. She’d been too preoccupied with her work to let these questions take shape. She wanted to get married, to have children, but time would run out eventually. Phil wouldn’t expect her to wait forever, would he? And what if she waited for him to come home then found out he didn’t love her anymore, or found that she no longer loved him? She remembered how she’d felt when she held Jemima on her lap. At what point would she need to see if she had other options?

  CHAPTER 30

  * * *

  December 1943

  Dear Mae and Katie,

  WISHING YOU A JOYOUS CHRISTMAS FILLED WITH MANY BLESSINGS!

  We are all so excited about your visit next week. The boys are counting sleeps and they’ve already chosen which cakes they want me to bake! We will be at the station to meet your train. Have a wonderful Christmas and we’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.

  All our love,

  Alice, Josh, Jeremy and Jemima

  Heat shimmer rose from bleached wheat fields, the slightest breeze setting off a sea of ripples, stretching to the horizon. The sky too seemed bleached, with just the palest hint of blue; cloudless, empty apart from a few galahs scouting for grain. The train jolted and shuddered to a halt at Willaura railway station, the only building visible as far as Mae could see, apart from two towering wheat silos.

  Despite the heat, Alice looked fresh in a yellow cotton dress and straw hat as she and the children waved frantically from the gravel. The conductor heaved Mae and Katie’s cases onto the platform then helped them down the steps. Katie hid behind Mae’s skirt as the women hugged. Jemima mirrored Katie’s actions, stepping behind Alice but peeping around, as though she was playing peekaboo. She was the image of her mother with light-brown curls and energy to burn; it looked like she didn’t know how to stand still.

  ‘Welcome to Willaura,’ said Josh, sounding very grown up.

  Mae and Alice laughed as Katie stared at Josh, her mouth gaping at the boy dressed in moleskins and a battered felt hat. He was starting second grade soon but to Katie he probably already looked like a grown man.

  Katie nodded but stayed silent.

  Josh and Jeremy lifted the cases and followed the women to the boot of the car, then the four children piled into the back seat of the battered old Holden.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve finally made it,’ Alice said, sliding behind the steering wheel.

  Mae eased herself onto the passenger end of the bench seat, feeling several springs push into her thigh. ‘Yes, it’s been too long.’

  Alice guided the car from under a ghost gum and onto the deserted highway.

  ‘How far is your house?’ Mae asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘About forty-five minutes if there’s no stock on the road.’

  ‘I had no idea. It’s so kind of you to come all this way to meet us.’

  Alice laughed. ‘Nonsense, Mae. To us it’s just down the road a bit. Anything under an hour is like a walk to the milk bar for you town folk.’

  ‘Well, I’m still very grateful.’

  Alice turned her head and smiled warmly. ‘I hope you brought a party frock. We’re off to a dance tonight.’

  ‘Oh, Alice, it’s been such a long trip. You go. I’ll mind the children.’

  ‘Not on your life. One of my Land Army girls is babysitting so you and I can have some fun.’

  Fine lines had formed around Alice’s eyes and there were more freckles and sunspots than Mae remembered, but she still recognised her friend’s expression; she was determined. As a good house guest Mae supposed she had to make the best of it, but she also knew she’d do little more than prop up a wall.

  ‘How are Et and your uncles?’ Alice asked.

  ‘They’re slowing down a bit. Et complains that everything in her body either creaks or hurts or both.’

  ‘Well, it’s good that you’re able to do more in the shop now. She’d be glad of the help.’

  ‘There’s a bit more to it than that. Et’s retiring at Easter, so I’ll be taking over the business, putting my own stamp on things.’

  ‘Mae, that’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you. Will you be changing anything? Selling children’s clothes?’

  ‘I don’t want to make big changes to begin with, but I’m thinking about how I might expand the business after the war ends. When people have more money to spend and we can get our hands on better fabrics, I’d like to do a little more tailoring for men and special occasion dressmaking for women, along with selling the ready-to-wear.’

  ‘That sounds like a huge job. You’ll have to get some help, won’t you? Any ideas?’

  ‘We’ll have to see who’s around then. Hopefully the war won’t drag on much longer.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ Alice echoed.

  They spent the rest of the drive chatting easily about Harry’s family, and the farms they were passing. It seemed like hardly any time had passed when Alice turned the car off the highway and onto a rutted driveway lined with poplars. The children bounced on the back seat, bleating like sheep, and Alice ordered everyone to close their windows against the dust.

  From a distance, the farmhouse looked majestic, its dark verandahs and striped corrugated-iron roof appearing solidly moored in a tiny patch of lush green garden. But the mirage faded on closer insp
ection. As they drew nearer Mae noticed that paint peeled from the gutters, the roofing iron was rusted and the front lawn resembled the threadbare elbow of a second-hand woollen coat.

  The car had barely stopped before the children leaped out and ran up the stairs, Katie with them, leaving the women to carry the luggage to the guest bedroom. Mae’s head hummed with the screech of cicadas. She looked out the window at a stand of dead hydrangeas and a dried-out birdbath, with the hills of the Grampians off in the distance.

  ‘I often use this as my sewing room,’ Alice said, picking a couple of threads off the windowsill.

  ‘I should feel right at home then,’ Mae said, surveying the saggy double bed covered in a faded brown chenille bedspread. A wooden wardrobe with a full-length mirrored panel between the doors stood beside a dressing table and chair stained the same dark colour. The room would have suited a nun.

  Alice hoisted Mae and Katie’s suitcases onto the bed.

  ‘Katie can sleep with Jemima—unless you want her to stay with you?’

  ‘No—of course not,’ Mae stammered, not having shared a bed with anyone other than Harry. ‘I’m sure she’d love to sleep in Jemima’s room.’

  ‘And we won’t wake her when we get home,’ Alice said.

  ‘Are you sure we can’t just stay here to see in the New Year? I’ve brought nothing to wear to a dance.’

  ‘Mae Parker, I don’t believe you for a second. You always have the perfect outfit for every occasion. Besides, I’ve already told my friends you’re coming.’

  Mae glanced around the crowded hall and wiped her palms on the back of her brown linen skirt. Standing beside an electric fan, she watched as Alice moved from the arms of one man to the next, whirling around the room. A man in a checked shirt with dark sweat stains under his arms danced Alice to the edge of the room, ceremoniously kissed her hand, then turned and walked towards Mae, grinning so widely she could see his yellow molars.

  ‘Gidday. Me name’s Mal,’ he said. ‘Al reckons you’re a real good dancer, real light on your feet. Wanna take a turn around the hall?’

  Mae pressed her back against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. The smell of beer and cigarettes on his clothes and breath made her stomach churn, reminding her why she always crossed a road rather than walking past a public bar.

  ‘Thank you, but I’m a little tired,’ she said, even as Et’s words rang in her ears: Never refuse a dance. You don’t know if it will be your last offer!

  ‘Nonsense, it’ll perk you right up.’

  Mae frantically scanned the crowd, hoping for rescue, but there was no sign of Alice. She looked at Mal again and gave him a thin smile. ‘All right then, but I’m not sure that I’ll be much good; I’m a bit rusty.’

  Mal led her into the crowd of dancers. Mae saw Alice threading through the crowd in the arms of a tall, dark-haired man. ‘Hello, Mal,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t trample Mae’s feet.’

  The band struck up a waltz, and Mal took Mae in his arms, allowing plenty of space between them. His step was surprisingly sure as he led her confidently around the hall.

  ‘You’re very good, Mal,’ Mae said.

  ‘I used to dance every Saturday night with the missus before she passed on. She loved “The Blue Danube”,’ he said, humming along, eyes bright.

  Mae settled into the rhythm, surprised at how easily her legs remembered the steps. She hadn’t danced since before Harry left—not even with her uncles. It hadn’t been a conscious decision not to dance; she’d just never thought she’d enjoy it with anyone but Harry. She didn’t like small talk, and she hated the idea of being so close to another man. At church socials and dinner dances she’d always kept herself busy in the kitchen.

  Alice and her partner were by Mae’s side when the tune finished.

  ‘Mae, I’d like you to meet my neighbour, John. I told him you were visiting and he wanted to meet you. Johnny, why don’t you dance with Mae?’ said Alice, who nodded at Mal as they swapped partners.

  Johnny grinned at Mae. ‘That friend of yours is wearing me out.’

  ‘I find that very difficult to believe,’ Mae said, inspecting his scrubbed but weathered face; his dark green eyes, slightly bulbous nose and high forehead looked vaguely familiar. Mae tried to recall if she had met him before, perhaps somewhere with Jim and Alice?

  The band began a fast reel, the fiddle player’s bow flying across his strings. Johnny seized her and took off in a crazy polka, legs and feet stomping and thrashing. Mae tried to keep her feet out of the way and her body upright as he bowled through the other dancers. Laughter and shouting egged him on.

  ‘Go, Johnny.’

  ‘That’s it—faster, lad.’

  Mae was surprised to feel him slowing, then he grabbed her elbows and started to spin. At first she thought she might trip, but he had a firm hold on her and they were pivoting on the spot, right foot planted and left pushing and flicking up behind the knee. The room blurred as they whirled, everything losing its shape as colours and lights streamed past. Expecting to feel ill, Mae was surprised to feel thrilled instead, tilting her head back and laughing. Closing her eyes, her attention found the sound of the fiddle. It sounded just like something Harry played when they went to his mother’s; something Irish or Scottish. He’d get wound up and play faster and faster too, stamping his foot in time, laughing as the music swept him away.

  Johnny twirled Mae faster and faster, then she felt her ankle buckle and her partner tighten his grip on her as she lurched to the side.

  ‘Whoa there,’ he called, as though she were a bolting horse.

  The people around them clapped and cheered, unaware of the pain shooting up her leg. Mae gulped air, trying to catch her breath, as Johnny guided her to a chair near the door.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, concern in his voice, his smiling face serious now.

  ‘I’ve just turned my ankle a bit,’ Mae said. ‘I’ll be right in a minute.’

  ‘We should get some ice on it,’ he said, heading for the kitchen before she could answer.

  Mae winced as she changed position and strained to see Alice through the crowd. No sign. She watched as Johnny crossed the floor, towering over everyone in the hall, his shoulders so broad that it was easy to imagine him hauling heavy wheat bags as easily as feather pillows. Like Alice, he knew everyone, and nodded greetings left and right. There would have been at least two hundred people in the hall, all of them like members of a big, happy family. She couldn’t see a single glum face among the crowd.

  Johnny returned with a cold towel and two glasses of punch. ‘Wrap the towel around your ankle for a minute,’ he instructed. ‘It helps the footy players when they go down.’ He handed her a glass and clinked it with his own. ‘To family,’ he said.

  Mae stared at him, trying and failing again to work out why he seemed so familiar.

  ‘You really have no idea who I am, do you?’ He laughed. ‘John Wilkinson,’ he said with a slight bow. ‘Your cousin.’

  Mae searched his expression for a hint of mirth. ‘You’re not related to…’

  ‘Yep. Tom Wilkinson was my father. He died last year.’

  After what had happened between Et and Johnny’s father, Mae wasn’t sure how she should treat him; friend or foe? Of course, she realised now where she knew him from: Et’s photo of Tom. Albert had said Tom’s son was the spitting image of his father, and he wasn’t kidding.

  ‘It’s a bit of a shock, meeting you this way,’ Mae said, hesitating over her words. ‘Does Alice know we’re related?’

  ‘She mentioned last week that you were visiting. Before that she’d only ever used your married name; told me about your family and the “racing uncles”, as she put it; gave me a bit of a briefing on you. I realised who you probably were but I didn’t want to say anything till I was sure.’

  Mae recalled the look of grief that had darkened her aunt’s expression when she told Mae the story, of how her cousin had stayed with the family while he was at u
niversity, then wooed her and eventually asked her to marry him. They’d planned to confess their relationship to their families and move to Queensland to live as husband and wife. But Pearl Atkinson had seen them holding hands one night on the train and told the entire neighbourhood. A huge kerfuffle followed and Tom went home to wait out the scandal. They wrote letters for a while, but he never returned, marrying a local girl when his parents threatened to disinherit him. Et still wore the gold ring he’d given her.

  ‘I met your uncles at the racetrack a couple of years ago. Did they mention it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, they did,’ Mae said, remembering the day clearly.

  ‘I didn’t even know we had cousins in the city,’ Johnny said, smiling at Alice as she glided past. ‘You could have knocked me over with a feather.’

  ‘I see,’ Mae said warily.

  ‘They seemed a bit upset that day at the races, but I’d like to meet them again, especially now my dad’s gone.’

  ‘Did your father ever tell you why he lost touch with my family?’ Mae asked, wondering how much she should say.

  Her cousin shrugged. ‘He said something about a difference over some family property.’

  ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’

  Johnny leaned close and whispered in her ear, ‘I’d certainly like to know more about my beautiful cousin and her mysterious family.’

  The hairs on the back of Mae’s neck quivered. She shifted away.

  ‘What are you two looking so serious about?’ Alice asked, flopping onto the seat beside Johnny.

  ‘Mae was just catching me up on Melbourne news.’

  ‘There’s not a lot to tell,’ Mae said, feeling a stab of pain in her ankle. She looked down and saw it was swelling over the top of her shoe.

  ‘Are you all right, Mae?’

  ‘I’m fine, it’s nothing,’ Mae said. ‘I might go and get some air.’ She stood slowly and limped over to the doorway, where she leaned against the wall. There was no cool breeze, just a cloud of cigarette smoke.