“Hi, Tom.” She laughed. James watched her approach, his forehead smoothing before he lowered his gaze.
“You clean up nice.” Tom winked. He leaned his arms casually over the wooden fence. “Course, you can even make soot look pretty.”
Leonora smiled and handed him the telegram. “This just came for you.”
“Whoa-e-e!” Tom took the letter and looked at the address. “From Mum. Boys must be back!” He tore into the envelope, his pupils dancing over the words. But then the dance stopped. Tom’s eyes stilled and his lips parted. The paper remained glued to his fingers while his arms fell limp by his sides. The air shifted and grew with the heat and the silence. Leonora’s hand inched to her stomach.
James let go of the horse, neared Tom. “What is it?”
Tom raised his head, looked through him without blinking. He closed his mouth.
“Which one?” James’s voice was low and soft with knowing.
“Both.” Tom’s eyes blinked quickly now, his face immobile and puzzled. “The Flu.” He shook his head and his upper lip rose in sudden disgust. “They were comin’ home.” The puzzlement grew. “The Flu. The gawddamn Spanish Flu?”
Tom dropped the telegram and clutched his scalp with his fingers. “They were comin’ home,” he mumbled.
James stepped another foot forward. “Tom . . .”
But Tom stepped backwards, his hands still holding his head. “They were comin’ home!” He shook his head with his fists. “I can’t talk. I can’t . . .” He stumbled away, stumbled past the barn and kicked up dust as his bent figure ran past the big house.
James stooped and picked up the telegram, rubbed off the dirt and read it. His face was ashen, his jaw like stone.
Leonora covered her mouth as hot, blotted tears fell freely from under her eyelids. “I’m so sorry, James,” she whispered. They were his brothers, too.
“We need to go back,” James said slowly as he stared at the telegram. “For the funeral.” James closed his eyes. “Poor Mrs. Shelby,” he hushed.
“I’m coming with you.”
His eyes flashed to her face. “No.”
She touched his arm gently, then pulled it away. “Tom’s mother still has five children and a house to care for, James.” Leonora wiped her tears away with her sleeve. “I’ll cook and clean, take care of the little ones. Poor woman’s deep in grief, James. She’ll need the help. Besides that, we can bring the car, leave first thing in the morning.”
James watched her with heavy, weak eyes. “It’s not a good idea, Leo.”
“Why not?”
His gaze flitted to her lips. “You know why.”
“I’ll stay out of your way, James. I promise,” she pleaded, thought of Tom’s stricken face. “I just . . . I just want to help.”
“Alex will never let you go.”
“He won’t have a choice.”
“No.” Alex did not look up from his papers strewn across the desk.
“Tom’s mother is going to need the help,” Leonora insisted.
“They can bring Meredith or Clare then.”
“Alex.” Leonora leaned over his desk, made him look at her. “They saved my life. Probably saved yours, too. It’s the least we can do. Besides, it’s only for a few days. Until the funeral is over.”
Alex rifled through his papers, half-listening. “I’m not sending my wife out to the wheat fields like hired help.”
The framed picture of Alex standing with his thoroughbreds leaned importantly on his desk. “Aren’t you heading to some horse race today?” she asked shortly.
Alex huffed, “Some horse race, she says!” He put down the papers and raised his brows. “It’s only the Melbourne Cup, darling.”
“Well, I’m coming with you.”
He laughed. “Oh no, you’re not.”
“Look, Alex. I’m not staying here alone. Especially after what happened in Coolgardie. I’m either going to help Mrs. Shelby or coming with you to the race. It’s your choice.”
Alex tapped his fingers on the desk. With each tap, Leonora knew he was thinking of the Melbourne women, of the parties, of the endless betting, of the freedom from his wife. “All right. Do your charity work.”
Tom placed half the luggage in the passenger seat of the Model T; the other bag he placed in the trunk with food from the pantry. Tom turned to Leonora and finally broke his silence. “Mind if I drive?” He rubbed his temple sullenly. “Just can’t sit an’ think,” he explained. “Don’t want to think about anything but drivin’.”
Leonora handed him the keys and sat in the backseat. James slid in next to her, his face clean shaven and fresh. The light scent of soap mingled with his skin, filled the air between them and made her light-headed. The seat grew warm with his strong body. She felt him against her flesh, felt him without touching him.
The car left the big house in the dust, left the gates behind—one, two, three, four, five. The road stretched in a line that seemed headed toward infinity. The wind blew against Leonora’s hair, blew the tiny wisps around her face like the tickle of fingertips. The engine rumbled but had no effect on the quiet of the interior. Each mind ran its own thought or memory or worry or hope and so the car was full with floating, mute chatter. A cluster of emus watched the car pass, their long necks and scrawny haired heads perplexed at the strange, loud beast.
James’s arm stretched languidly across the top of the seat, his hand only inches from her head. When the road hit a rocky patch, her hair grazed his fingers, the mere touch resonating down her arms and the backs of her legs. She thought how easy it would be to rest her head against his shoulder, to feel the ridges of his chest beneath her cheek, hear the soothing sound of his breathing as it rose and fell.
The hours zipped by along the route. The sun pressed against her eyelids until they were more at ease closed than open. Between the hum of the car and the push of the midday heat, her eyes fell sleepy and dreams entered softly through the minutes, dreams with kisses and moving hands and pressing bodies. Leonora’s lips parted with a deep sigh, the noise waking herself from a sleep she hadn’t even known she had fallen into. She blinked, slightly dazed. James was grinning at her, an odd look on his face. “Must have been a good dream,” he said. “You’ve been smiling this whole time.”
Leonora blushed to the tips of her ears and turned to the window. The bush scrub thickened, the trees more frequent. Long grass began to spread in golden threads.
“This starts the Wheatbelt.” James pointed. “Next is Southern Cross and then we have another few hours till we’re home.” He leaned forward and placed his arms on the seat top in front. “Want me to take over, Tom?”
Tom shook his head, didn’t utter a word.
Another few hours on the road and Tom straightened. His hands moved from the sides of the steering wheel to the top. “Almost there,” James told her. “That fence marks Shelby land.”
Butterflies woke in Leonora’s stomach and she held her hand against the flutter. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. She was entering a sliver of James’s past, a world that had not been open to her. Perhaps he wanted it that way.
They turned a curve. Dogs rushed from nowhere, sped with tongues flapping between barks. They barreled at the moving car, turned and chased it, nipping at the wheels. Then the squat house rose into view—simple and homey. Red roses climbed the verandah posts and reached for the edge of the steel roof. Five red heads popped up in the window.
Tom parked the car and got out. The dogs whimpered and yelped, jumped to lick his face, clawing his shirt in the process. James and Leonora got out next. The dogs sniffed her curiously and then searched on hind legs for her face.
The screen door on the verandah slammed open and a flood of little girls in red pigtails ran and shouted in different volumes, “They’re here! They’re here!”
The girls flew at them as the dogs had. Tom crouched down with his arms wide and the girls piled upon him, knocking him on his bottom with hugs. Laughing and dusty, the
girls abandoned him and flew to James. In a flash, he scooped up two girls at a time, squeezing and twirling them in his arms.
The screen door slammed again, slower this time. A tall woman, majestic in posture and topped with thickly piled hair, stepped to the drive. James set the girls on the ground. The children quieted and turned their gaze to their feet. The woman’s face was strong, but the lines of the lips drooped, her body rigid. She nodded formally at the men. “Tom. James.”
Tom rose to his full height and stared at his mother. “Hey, Mum.”
Mrs. Shelby nodded—kept nodding. Her lips twitched. Tom went to her then, wrapped his sunburned arms around her shoulders. And in that moment, the woman’s frame crumpled against his and he held her. Their faces were hidden. A silence grew to the children and they did not shuffle their feet; the dogs lowered ears and wound in tails.
Son and mother held each other for less than a minute before Mrs. Shelby pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her face composed and a hint of a smile broke from the white lips. “I’m glad you’re here, boys.” The woman’s gaze turned to Leonora.
“Mum,” Tom began. “This is Mrs. Harrington. Leonora.”
Leonora brought her belly of swarming wings as she approached the woman. She held out her hand. “Mrs. Shelby, I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
The woman did not take the hand and turned away, looked at Tom. “Why’s she here?”
Tom cleared his throat. “To help, Mum. Give you a break.”
Mrs. Shelby’s eyes sparked. “Since when have I needed help? Does it look like I can’t take care of my own family?”
A hurt pause filled the space. “That’s enough, Mum,” Tom said firmly. “She’s a fine woman. You know we have the funeral in Perth. Someone’s got t’stay with the girls.”
Mrs. Shelby dismissed the words, dismissed Leonora with a turn of her back. “Got supper on the stove. You boys probably starvin’.” She turned to the children and shouted as she walked to the house, “Come on, girls; clean up! Get the table set. Boys are hungry.”
Leonora dropped her head. The butterflies in her stomach died, settled heavy as lead. James came up beside her.
“You were right,” she said, nearly mute. “I shouldn’t have come.”
He placed a finger under her chin and gently raised her face. “I’m glad you did.”
She turned away, but he held her shoulders softly. “She’ll warm up. I promise.” He slid his hands down her arms. “She’s sick with grief, Leo.”
“I know.” She swallowed. “I know.”
The family sat around the long rectangular table while Mrs. Shelby made the rounds between kitchen and dining room bringing in steaming bread, stew and buttered beans—all offers of help sternly scoffed. Two empty seats leaned against the center leaf—a shrine all eyes tried to avoid.
The children stared with open wonder at the new woman at the table. Gracie sat at the edge of her seat, and when her mother returned to the kitchen for more food the girl snuck around the chairs and squeezed between Leonora and James. She pulled at his sleeve and lowered her voice. “Can I ask her somepin, Jamesie?” The twins were nine now but still coveted their pet name for him.
James nodded at the child with a half smile. “She won’t bite,” he promised.
Gracie turned to Leonora with eyes full of secret curiosity. “Are you a princess?” she whispered.
Leonora bent down with eyes equally curious and whispered back, “No. Are you?” The young girl giggled, her eyes bright and pure.
Leonora looked over Gracie’s head to James and grinned. “Jamesie?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Watch it, princess.”
Mrs. Shelby came to the table with butter. She looked at James, then at Leonora and then back at James. “Gracie!” Mrs. Shelby scolded. “Get back to your seat!”
A hush fell over the table as forks moved tentatively from plates to mouths. Tom broke the silence, “Gawd, I missed your cookin’, Mum!”
“Look half-starved!” she huffed. “Both of you. Aren’t they feeding you over there?” Mrs. Shelby cast a hard look at Leonora.
“Just workin’ hard, Mum.” Tom tried to soothe. “We’re eatin’ just fine.” He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and leaned back rubbing his stomach. He touched the top of one of the empty seats next to him, stared at the wood for a while and then patted it with his hand as if it were a shoulder. “What time we gotta leave tomorrow?” Tom asked quietly.
“First thing, before daylight,” said Mrs. Shelby. “Train leaves at seven.”
“Tom,” Leonora ventured. “Please use the car. I won’t need it.”
“Thanks.” Tom nodded. “It’s a good idea. Save us some time.”
“Train is just fine.” Mrs. Shelby’s cheeks reddened as she stabbed her fork into the meat. “Shelbys never needed charity and don’t need it now. A car!” she grunted. “Won’t have our family putting on airs.”
“That’s enough, Mum!” Tom slammed his fist on the table, the girls jumping under his sudden temper. “This ain’t like you.”
Leonora rose, felt ill. “I’ll start cleaning up,” she muttered.
“No, you sit!” Tom ordered. “You got no right bein’ rude to our guest, Mum. The Harringtons have been good as gold to James an’ me. I nearly bled t’death from a bullock’s horn an’ she fixed me up better than any doc in the county. We got a good job there, Mum. Already paid off the taxes ’cause of it. This ain’t like you. An’ I don’t like talkin’ to you like this, Mum. I don’t. But you owe this woman an apology.”
Leonora wilted, wanted to slink under the table. “It’s all right, Tom.”
“No, it’s not,” said Mrs. Shelby weakly. “Tommie’s right.” She blinked at Leonora as if finally seeing her. “Like I got a thorn in my side that’s twistin’. Pain makin’ me so mad, I can’t think straight.” Her fingers fluttered to her cheeks, bounced as if she didn’t recognize her own skin. “I just got to bury my boys. You see? Can’t think straight. Got that thorn twistin’ an’ pokin’ me.” Her voice dropped. “Won’t stop till I bury my boys.”
Leonora covered her mouth with her napkin and nodded, tried to hold back the tears. She placed the cloth down. “May I help you in the kitchen?” she asked.
The woman took a long breath and stood. “I’d like the help. Thank you.”
The Shelby home was just that—a home. Small, cut dashes lined the door frame to the library, marking the many heights of many children over many years; scuffs centered the wood floors from endless walking and running feet; worn, mismatched dishes lined the cupboards. Food, enough for an army, overflowed from the pantry and larder. Laughter and voices and stories papered the walls and the very home; the very depth of the place embraced the body with a sincere warmth. This was where James had spent much of his childhood, and as Leonora let her fingertips caress the patched upholstery and the dusty leather bindings of the books and silken hair of the children she felt a heavy, sweet gratitude that James had known such a life.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Shelby cleared the last of the dishes from the table. James and Tom sat with cups of coffee, looking refreshed and well fed. Mrs. Shelby greeted from the sink without looking back, “Mornin’. There’s coffee and eggs if you like.” Then the woman turned with a slight smile. “You sleep all right? That bed isn’t the best.”
“Haven’t slept that well in a long, long time,” Leonora answered.
“Mum’s snorin’ didn’t keep you up?” Tom teased. “Thought the roof was gonna cave in.”
Mrs. Shelby reached over and delivered a slap to his head.
“Ouch!” Tom winced. “Told you not t’beat me in front of company.”
Mrs. Shelby shot him a look but couldn’t disguise her humor. She turned to James. “Sure the girls aren’t gonna be too much for you, son?”
“Sure. Besides, I got the princess here to help me.” He winked at Leonora.
“Aren’t you going?” she asked him in surprise.
James shook his head, his brows low. Mrs. Shelby saw the expression on his face. “You’re family, James. You know that. Got just as much right t’be there as we do.”
“I know that,” said James with a nod. “Still think it’s best if I stay here. I’ll check in with the sharecroppers, take care of the animals. Besides, I miss the girls.”
Tom and Mrs. Shelby left soon after in the ebbing dawn. “We’ll be back tomorrow!” Tom shouted over the engine. “Try an’ stay outta trouble till then!”
Leonora and James watched from the verandah as the blue exhaust diffused. “Glad they took the car,” noted James. “Mrs. Shelby deserves to ride in style once in her life.”
“Fair dinkum.” Leonora nodded.
James laughed. “You’re sounding more like an Aussie every day, Leo.”
She smiled mischievously and rolled up her sleeves. “Enough of this bloody yabber, mate. This ’ouse won’t clean itself, eh?” She returned to the kitchen with the warmth of James’s grin on her back.
Little eyes lined the edge of the kitchen’s door frame and watched her cook. Leonora played their game and pretended she couldn’t see them. She scraped the eggs in the cast-iron skillet, the underside golden brown with butter. The bacon and sausage patties spit and left dark spots along the black stove, then hissed with greater fury as she flipped them over. And in this simple work she found Heaven. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her food or her pans or her children.
Leonora scooped the food onto the set plates and the children snuck out like rabbits in a freshly tilled garden. She looked up in surprise. “Where did you all come from?”
The little girls bounced to their seats and set upon their food. Elbows and prodding eyes jabbed at Rachael, the oldest and, apparently, the designated speaker. Rachael shushed the children and addressed maturely, “Mrs. Harrington, did Mum an’ Tom leave?”
“They did. First thing.” She smiled. “And please call me Leonora.”
Daughter of Australia Page 38