“It’s tough to say who takes it harder,” he continued, “the children or their mothers.”
Leonora turned. Alex’s back was to her, his elbow raised as he sipped his tea.
“Of course, they’ll all get over it sooner or later. At least at the orphanage, they’ll be with their own kind. Not sure what they’ll do with that one with the white eye, though. You know who I mean, don’t you? The retarded one? Well, I suppose there are institutions for those types. Poor girl will probably never see the light of day again.”
Leonora’s chest stung. “What are you talking about, Alex?”
“I’m talking about the Aborigines, of course.” Alex spun in his chair, shook his head sadly. “Of course, once you’re gone, there is no way they can continue to live here. In fact, I should probably call the Deacon to set up their removal. Better get it done with now.”
Leonora’s blood turned to ice and her hands went numb, her throat tightening with the noose. Alex continued to ponder, looked at the ceiling. “Once the children are gone, we’ll have to disperse the rest of them. The men will be too lost in their grief to work, could even cause trouble. Sheriff will have to bring some extra men in to evict them. Could get ugly. Police don’t care for the blacks, you know.” His tongue clicked behind his teeth. “I’m sure it would be their pleasure to pluck a few off.”
“You can’t be that cruel,” she croaked.
“Me?” He covered his heart, feigning hurt. “My hands are tied, darling. You’re the one choosing this, not me.” Alex turned back to his tea. “Such a shame. I don’t know how you’ll be able to live with the guilt.”
Leonora’s limbs began to shake and she clutched the banister with a white hand. “I won’t let you do it.” Her voice rose even as tears burned the corners of her eyes.
He slapped his knee and laughed. “And how do you plan to do that, darling?”
“The m-m-men,” she stuttered, “the roustabouts, the managers, will stop it.”
Alex reached into his jacket and pulled out the revolver, rubbed the bright silver, peeked with one eye into the barrel. “Doubt they’re that stupid.”
Leonora remembered the day he pointed that gun at his prized thoroughbred. And she knew, knew down to her marrow, what Alex would do if confronted. The freedom left, disintegrated into the mist of hate and cruelty. “I’ll stay,” she murmured.
Alex held a mocking hand around his ear. “What’s that?”
She swallowed and closed her eyes. “I said, I’ll stay.”
Alex leaned in, scrunched his forehead. “Still can’t hear you.”
The tears clawed at her throat and she ate them one at a time, then answered loud and broken, “I said . . . I’ll stay.”
“I knew you’d come around.” He clapped his hands merrily. “Just a lovers’ spat then? You really shouldn’t take things so seriously, my dear. Throwing around such a nasty word like ‘divorce’ is in such poor taste—a married woman’s tantrum. Tsk-tsk.”
Alex stood up and strode triumphantly to her side. He kissed her drawn cheek, his lips curled in a satisfied smirk. “Don’t worry, darling. I forgive you.”
James worked on the shutter that hung crooked on the back of the barn. A presence disturbed and tilted the air behind him. He turned around, hammer still raised, a nail poking out between his teeth when he saw her. Leonora’s face was pale and streaked with tears.
James spit out the nail and lowered the hammer to the ground. “What’s wrong, Leo?”
“Take me somewhere,” she whimpered. “Anywhere. Please!” she cried just above a whisper. “Just take me away from here.”
James watched her face for only a moment, felt the weight of her pain in his chest just for a moment, before he went to the barn and rode out on his horse. He reached a hand down and pulled Leonora up behind him. Her small, soft fingers gripped his hips and burned through his shirt. James kicked the horse and took off past the barn, past the riding ring off to the eastern paddocks. The house disappeared quickly, only the rabbit-proof fence stretched beside them.
A great heat spread through his body. Heat from the sun above, heat from the horse below and then the white heat that burned behind him and shot down his legs as hers lined his, the heat of her breath at his neck. And then there was the red heat of seeing her pain, of wanting to crush whatever had caused it.
They rode in silence for several miles until they entered an area of tall grass that reached to the horse’s belly and bent against their feet. Beyond the grass grew the white ghost gums whose tilting bony limbs hung over a large, kidney-shaped pond. James pulled the horse to a stop and Leonora jumped down and walked to the edge of the water, so still it reflected nearly black with shade. She sat on a patch of soft grass, pulled her arms around her knees and stared straight.
James tied the horse, then slowly sat down next to Leonora. He looked past the trees and squinted at the sun filtered between their tiny leaves. A cockatoo shuffled down a limb and then back in a sidestep dance. The silence pumped oxygen to the red fire and James clenched his fists under folded arms. “Did he hurt you?”
Leonora bit her lip and shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. It took her a long while to answer. “No.”
James stretched his fingers, let the blood run through the joints again. “Tell me what happened.”
Her lips parted, the words of Alex’s threat ready to spill to the only ears that would care. But that was the problem. James would care. He would step in, confront Alex. The silver of Alex’s gun burned in her memory.
James leaned closer and repeated, “Don’t you want to tell me what’s wrong, Leo?”
Her chin crumpled. “No.” The word was more breath than voice. Then she twisted her body away from him, her spine bent forward like a willow, and sobbed in long, painful waves. Her body wracked as she tried to muffle the cries.
James reached for her before he knew he was going to and pulled her to his chest. The sound of her sadness released and she buried her head under his chin. Her fingers grabbed the seam of his shirt and squeezed it and he held her shoulders tighter. Silken hair rubbed against his neck and he closed his eyes. Her tears wet his shirt, warmed his chest. Each cry ripped into him and he held the shaking shoulders with spread fingers.
Slowly, the sobbing abated and her breathing calmed. Leonora pulled away from him, looked up at his face as if she hadn’t seen him before and slid from his arms. Her face was pink with streaked tears and her eyes were wet and shone big and green and reflected the land around them. Leonora rubbed her palms against her cheeks, turned away. “I’m sorry.”
Inhaling with effort, she glanced at him. “You must think I’m ridiculous. Crying out here like a child.” She made a poor attempt at a smile. “I shouldn’t have dragged you away from your work. I’m sorry.” Leonora looked at the horse and sniffled. “I’m all right now. The men are probably waiting for you.”
His arms were cold without her. And, as if settling in for a long stay, he lay on his side, propped up on an elbow and fiddled with the grass. “As pretty as the stockmen are”—he grinned—“I prefer my present company.”
Leonora smiled shyly and her face regained some of its original color. For a moment, their eyes met and a wave of heat crept through his body as her pure and sweet beauty nearly stopped his breath. He turned his gaze to the wide grass. “What happened, Leo?”
A long exhale blew from her mouth and the sadness returned. She shook her head. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no . . . I don’t know . . . like there’s no goodness in the world. Like everyone’s gone mad.” Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes grew lost. “I keep looking for it. Reach for it. And then it’s gone, falls through my fingers.” She laughed then. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
James plucked a blade of grass, rubbed the textured ribbing of the veins. “Yes, you are.”
Leonora bent her head down to rest on her folded arms and looked sideways at him, her face open and searching.
“What?” he asked with narr
owed eyes.
“Except for you.” A sincere amazement held her face. “You’ve always been good.”
An image of Shamus bleeding at his feet sliced through his thoughts. “A lot of time has passed, Leo.” His face darkened. “I might not be as good as you give me credit for.”
Her hand reached and settled on his, the warmth of her palm spreading to his wrist. James dropped the blade of grass. “If there is one truth in this world,” she said strong and clear, “it’s that you are a good man.”
James stared at the smooth, perfect hand on top of his large one. The shiny, ovaled nails touched his skin gingerly. A small white line ran along her index finger. He tried to focus on it, on anything besides the hot blood pumping under her touch. “How did you get that scar on your finger?” he asked with effort.
She snatched her hand, tucked it into the folds of her arms. Her body rocked.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Leo.” James tried to read her face. “It’s hardly noticeable. Really. I just never saw it before.”
Slowly, she untucked her hand and stared at the scar, traced the outline of it with her nail. Then her fingers floated to her throat, fumbled with the collar, found the first button, played with it for a minute and then unclasped it. Nimbly, her fingers slid to the next button and plucked it open. She stared ahead as she moved down the line.
James swallowed. He watched the skin appear between the open fabric: the pale, pink skin of her neck; the crevice at the base of her throat that glistened lightly; the beginning of a crease that would lead to her breasts. He knew he should turn away, but his attention stuck as he watched her fingers, her skin, helplessly.
Leonora reached inside her dress and pulled out a necklace. She caressed the chain and inched down to the small pendent. Then she pulled it forward and held it out.
He tore his eyes from her skin and picked up the pendent. The gold chain was as thin as thread and led down to a white oval stone. James clicked his teeth. “Hate to disappoint you, but I think your jeweler sold you a bum gem.”
Leonora watched his face intently, almost urgently. “Don’t you recognize it?”
He turned his focus to the simple rock again and then everything shifted and his whole body softened. “You kept it?” he asked.
She nodded happily, her eyes sparkling. “I never forgot you, James.” Then she corrected herself, “How good you are.”
James returned the chain to her dress. His finger touched the skin below her throat and slid down the warm flesh as he let the chain drop from his hand. Her breathing quickened with the touch and her eyes flitted away.
Leonora picked up the stone and looked at it once more. “After I was adopted,” she began, “the Fairfields burned everything I had—my suitcase, my clothes, even my shoes. I didn’t have much. But this . . .” She dangled the stone and her face fell with emotion. “This stone meant more to me than anything in the world.”
She tucked the necklace into the dress. “As soon as I got the chance, I dug through the hot ashes. The nest and feathers burned up, but I found the stone. That’s how I got the scar.” Her face was timid. “The jeweler thought I was crazy when I wanted to set it in gold.”
They sat quietly together, looking out over the water, their faces comfortable with memories. James stood up. “Wait here. I want to show you something.”
He went to the saddlebag of his horse, pulled out a book. He looked at the cover for a moment and then handed it to her.
She tilted her head skeptically. “You’re trying to convert me now?”
“Open it.”
She opened the worn, dented Bible and stared at the handwriting, cocked her head.
“It’s my mother’s,” he said cautiously. “Her diary.”
Leonora’s mouth fell open. “That’s why you carried it with you all the time. And here I thought you were planning to join the priesthood.”
James laughed. Then he stilled and looked at the book sitting easily and naturally in her hands, felt good that she held it. “You’re the first person I ever showed it to.”
Leonora closed the book, rubbed her hand over the cover tenderly, noticed the charred edges, decided to not ask about the source. She handed it back to him. “Thanks for trusting me.”
The sun, now bright pink, waved from the treetops as its descent began. The strong late-afternoon rays reflected off the ghost gums, turning the white bark to a canvas splashed with orange and pink. The water only held light; the leaves and limbs and sky submerged within the painted lines. As the height of the sky turned from orange to pink to lilac, Leonora knew the last moments of her time with James ticked away, the sun pulling her mood back down. Slowly, she turned to James and watched his profile—his brown hair trimmed short and neat around his ear and edged straight at his neck; the long, strong throat and the wide shoulders that curved down to his muscular arms. He turned to meet her gaze.
“I should be getting back,” she said quietly.
“You don’t have to, Leo,” he said just above a whisper, his eyes steady and serious. “Not if you don’t want to.”
She nodded and stood from the ground, his eyes tracking her movements. “Yes, I do.”
James rose and followed her to the horse. Leonora leaned her back against the soft leather of the saddle and placed her head against the mare’s neck, enjoying the warmth. James moved closer and patted the horse’s nose. The mare nestled affectionately against his palm.
James adjusted the horse’s bridle. The space between Leonora’s body and his vibrated, throbbed. She gazed at his face while he worked, the lines and features, the way his eyes held everything in them until they were full and deep. He looked at her then and let his hands fall idle by his sides. A silent urgency grew to his face and made her heart leap in her chest. His eyes were taking her in, absorbing every ounce of her, and she couldn’t turn away. He looked past her for a moment, gave a measured exhale and slowly leaned toward her.
Leonora’s breath caught—pure feeling wiped away any thoughts. In an instant, she leaned in and met his body, raised her face to his. But the thought came too slow, the realization that he was only returning the book to the saddlebag, was too far tucked in the peripheral to compete and it was too late to stop. Leonora placed her lips softly and hungrily against his just as the thought caught up with icy clarity—he wasn’t going to kiss her. And his lips were straight and unmoving below hers, stiff and unresponsive.
Her body chilled, mortified, the embarrassment wild and sharp. Leonora’s lips opened, fell back from his in horror. Her eyes clamped shut as she pulled back, prayed she’d disappear. “Oh, my God,” she choked. She covered her face with her hands. Her stomach and legs weak from shame. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “I’m such a fool. I thought . . .”
“Look at me, Leo,” he ordered.
“No. No. Oh, God.” She shook her head frantically. “You must hate me!”
He grabbed her wrists and pried them from her face. “Look at me, Leo!”
In humble defeat, she unglued her eyelids, hoping to disappear before she saw his face twisted in disgust. But his face held no disgust, only longing. And then he was kissing her. His lips full and alive, warm and pressing.
James released the grip on her wrist and brought his hands to her face, holding her skin with his fingertips and cradling her jaw in his palms. Her skin faded into his skin, her lips absorbed into his lips and the world fell into another place far away from where they stood. She reached her arms around the broad back and slid her hands down the length of his spine. And the breathing grew and the movement of their lips quickened. Falling. Falling. She drifted into his body and flowed into the warmth of his curve and her body grew limp, but his strong arm was unyielding around her waist and held her to him, kept her from falling.
Panting replaced breathing. His lips were in her hair, at her neck, in the collar of her dress. And she kissed his eyes and his temples and his cheeks, clutched his hips with clawed fingers. His strong thighs pressed agai
nst her and the horse shifted behind her back and moved forward. Leonora stumbled and the kiss broke in two. Through the haze, the outer world sorted its particles, solidified and settled. The land, the sun, the air, rushed in too quickly.
“I should g-g-go,” she stammered, disoriented.
James blinked, then nodded. She turned to the only horse, then turned back to James with silent questioning. “Take her,” he whispered.
“It’s a long walk,” she breathed.
“Just take her.” James awoke from his stupor, placed his hand on the saddle. “Leo . . .”
Leonora would not look at him but pleaded hoarsely, “I’ve got to go.” His gaze heated her back as she kicked the horse to a gallop.
As the wind whipped across Leonora’s skin her mind held on to the look of his face, her fingers could still feel the tight knit fabric of his shirt, her back still burned with the pressure of his arms laced around her body. Nerves mixed with heat and anxiety swirled and burned her stomach. And then the horse ring rose into view and the metal roof of the homestead peeked over the horizon as if only a minute had passed in riding. The windows of the big house were now lit and bright against the twilight.
Leonora rushed to put the horse in the barn, then held the dress above her knees as she bounded up the steps to the verandah and entered the house quietly. Alex’s office door was closed, a stream of light leaked from the bottom and she sighed with relief. As she reached the bottom of the staircase she winced at the sound of the door opened from the hall.
“There you are!” Alex leaned against the door, his arms folded at his chest. “I was getting worried. Thought I’d have to send out a search party.”
“Why?” she asked coldly. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”
“True.” He turned back to his office. “Very true. Good night, darling. Sleep well.”
Leonora leaned over the steps of the verandah and clipped roses into her basket, cringed at the sound of the horses returning from the hunt. Alex rode up first, a dead kangaroo dragging behind the horse, a trail of blood drying in the matching red dust. Behind him rode Russell, who held the reins of the third horse, its saddle empty. Alex dismounted, looking refreshed and full of spirit. “Ah, nothing like a good hunt to get the blood pumping.” He untied the kangaroo legs from the ropes and dropped it to the ground, its lifeless body landing with a dusty thud. “See the size of this boomer! Kicking to the very end.”
Daughter of Australia Page 34