The eyes slithered to their big sister again. “I’m Rachael. The oldest.”
“And how old are you, Rachael?”
“Fourteen.”
“A woman, then?”
The girl stretched her neck out proudly. “Nearly.”
“Well, I’ll be counting on your help then, Rachael. We women need to stick together.”
A light beamed from the girl’s face. “Gracie an’ Charlotte,” Rachael ordered as her eyes flitted to Leonora for approval, “please keep your elbows off the table when you’re eatin’. An’ Sarah an’ Annie, stop fidgeting!”
James entered the kitchen then, his arms loaded with rough-cut wood, the muscles in his forearms still active and formed from chopping. “Don’t think there’s a prettier group of ladies in all of Australia than right here,” he said. The girls giggled as he stacked the wood near the stove.
James peeked over Leonora’s shoulder, his skin smelling of fresh eucalyptus. She nearly dropped the fork in the hot grease. “Want to sit with the girls?” he asked. “I’ll clean up.”
“No, you go. They’ve missed you.” Leonora looked into the handsome face, let her gaze trail down his neck to the open collar of his shirt. She cleared her throat and turned back to the pan. “Are you hungry?”
“I am. Woke up so early, feels like it’s lunchtime already.” James sat down with the girls, their faces open in affection.
“James,” Rachael asked, “is it true you an’ Tom went drovin’?”
“It is.” He reached for his fork. “Two hundred thousand head.”
The girls stopped eating. “See any snakes?”
“Run into any bushrangers?”
“Abos sneak up on you?”
James finished chewing. “Yes. Yes. And no.” He shot Charlotte a look. “Don’t listen to those kids at school. Aborigines aren’t out to hurt anybody. You know better than that.”
“What kind of snakes?”
“Couple of taipans. A gwardar. Nearly stepped on a death adder coming out of my tent one morning.”
“They bite you?”
“Wouldn’t be here if they had.”
“And rangers? Real-life bushrangers?”
James nodded, finished his food and brought the plate up to the sink. “Three of them. Had guns and masks and everything.”
“Are you joking?” Leonora asked stiffly.
“Not at all.” James pushed up his sleeves and began washing the plate with circular, casual movements. “To be expected.”
“What you do?” asked Sarah breathlessly.
“An old trick Tom learned from your dad. Start running around yelling and shouting so much the cattle start stomping in circles. Rangers get scared and confused. Horses get too frightened to control. Crooks end up thinking there’s more of us than there are, so they’re off.”
Crikey, the children mouthed in unison.
“All right, girls.” James laughed and clapped his hands to break their trance. “Bring up those dishes and get dressed.”
Leonora joined James at the sink, dried the dishes as he washed them. “Was that true about the bushrangers?” she asked.
“Mostly. Except for the end.” James chuckled softly as he scrubbed the hot water in the greasy pan. “Tom stripped down naked and started chasing the poor bastards like a lunatic. Probably would have shot him if they hadn’t started laughing so hard. Anyway, Tom brought out the bourbon and they all had a good drink.”
“Naked?” She laughed.
“Bare-ass naked. All night.” James raised his eyebrows. “Nearly left with the bushrangers myself just so I didn’t have to look at his white bum. Pale as a full ugly moon, that one.”
Leonora pressed her soapy wrist to her mouth and laughed until her side hurt. James bent with his own quiet laughter, then scooted her away from the sink with his hip and scolded her with a grin, “Compose yourself, woman!”
While James met with the neighbors out in the far paddocks, Leonora spent the day indoors with the chores. She made the beds, smoothing out the sheets in careful strokes. She dusted the bookshelves and piano, ran the duster around and over the furniture, the feathered end whipping around like a weasel. She washed the girls’ dresses and pressed them with the copper, her face reddening from the steam. And she knew the foolishness of her joy in the work, but it was true joy and she wished silently with each broom stroke and hiss of the iron that this was her life.
Later in the day, she peeled the carrots and turnips and potatoes and watched out the window. James ran in the field with Gracie on his back, the other girls chasing at his heels. Then, when they caught him, he put down the girl and picked up another, ran again. Finally, he lay on his back exhausted even as the girls pulled at his arms and legs to get him moving. Leonora stopped peeling and laughed until tears wet her cheeks. James pretended he was asleep, lulled the girls into a sulking impatience and then jumped up, chased them into a screaming frenzy. And Leonora watched, slowly now, her laughter calmed, her smile even, and once again she wished, with more sadness than before, that this was her life.
That evening, the moon was high. Dinner was over. Little bellies were full again; faces were washed; a few mouths yawned above nightgowns. James lay on the couch, the girls piled on his lap as he read The Magic Pudding. One by one, he carried the sleeping children up to bed. When he returned to the kitchen, the house was quiet for the first time. Nature now had the space to enter and the rhythmic drone of crickets and chirr of frogs grew from beyond the screens.
James leaned against the wall and watched Leonora put the clean dishes back on the paper-lined shelves. She turned to him and met his smile. His long, strong body was loose and relaxed and brought her heart throbbing.
“You’re really good with them,” Leonora told him, her face soft. “You’ll make a good father someday.”
“Think so?”
“I do.”
“I love kids. Want fifty of them,” he said shyly.
“Fifty? Guess that explains why you’re not married!” she teased.
“Certainly doesn’t help,” he agreed. James stretched his back against the wall and rubbed his right shoulder absently. His eyes rested on hers and it was too easy to hold the look, as easy and comfortable as breathing.
The heat moved from the stove to her face. “I should probably turn in.”
“Not yet. You’ve been cooped up in here all day.” He inched close, took her hand. “You’re coming with me, young lady.” The touch of his large hand covering and holding hers was stupefying and she followed him without thought or words—only the feeling of his palm against her palm and his fingers interlaced between her fingers and the heat that throbbed up her wrist all the way to her shoulder.
They walked out to the screened verandah and then to the summer night. The warm air wrapped around her skin, felt cool compared to the trapped heat of the house.
Slowly and with prolonged effort, James dropped her hand, but they walked close. Occasionally, their arms would brush. In the balmy air, the crickets and frogs and the strange and shrill call of the curlews grew in volume and engulfed them in a vibration of sound.
Leonora’s hand was awkward without his and she stretched out her fingers as if they were numb. “Where was your house?” she asked finally. “The O’Reilly property.”
In the blue dark, his features muted with varying expressions and his face was soft with shadows. “About eight miles that way.” He pointed with his chin.
“May I see it?”
“No,” he answered with stern quickness. “Burned down. Place was hardly a shack.” James grew quiet for a moment and glanced at her worried face. “Tess—she was my aunt,” he explained softly. “She was a good woman, a great woman, actually. Huge heart. After she died, everything just fell apart. Not many good memories from over that way.”
“What was your uncle like?”
“Shamus?” James sighed. “Like I said, not many good memories from over that way.”
They crested
a tiny hill and James shook off whatever ghost was chasing him. “Close your eyes!” he ordered. She clamped her eyes shut as commanded.
James took her shoulders in his hands. “Now, lie down.” Leonora’s eyes popped open.
“Trust me.”
She closed her eyes again, fidgeting nervously. “What about snakes?”
He laughed. “No snakes, I promise.”
He helped her to the ground, cradling her head until it lay cushioned in thick grass. The sounds of the crickets leveled with her ears, seemed to rise from her body. She felt the heat of his length as he lay down, her pulse quickening with the proximity. “Now, open your eyes,” he said.
She gripped the grass with her nails, a sudden vertigo rushing over her. The endless night sky seemed to surround from every side. There was no ground to be seen, no edge to the universe as she lay embraced in its enormity—an orb of midnight blue dotted with pinholes of brightness. The infinite magnitude above and around her made her gasp. “It’s like I’m floating in space.”
“Amazing, isn’t it? Makes you feel tiny and large all at the same time.” His tone grew gentle. “Seems like the stars are shining extra bright. Like they’re showing off for you.”
The words melted, nothing completely real anymore. Together they lay side by side, each out of view of the other, their bodies eclipsed by the halo of night. She breathed out in a long sigh and relaxed into the ground. The side of her hand brushed against his—the delicate touch sending an electric charge through her limbs.
Leonora did not move her hand away. With the lightest of touches, James slid his hand closer and placed his hand atop hers. Her breathing stopped as his fingertips whispered over her knuckles and etched the curves of her slender fingers. Her whole body tingled, each minuscule movement amplified through her fingers, then her arm, before radiating through her whole body. She stared at the stars, but her focus did not leave the feeling of his hand across her flesh.
Leonora turned her hand over and their palms pressed hard. She touched the soft and firm spots of his hand, felt the full tenderness of his long fingers as they intertwined. She thought of his hands on the rest of her body—the strong hands, the tender touches, the agility of his body against hers. Her face flushed. If he turned to her now and kissed her, she would give herself to him gratefully. She was tired of fighting.
James turned his head and looked at her profile. His face glowed like porcelain in the moonlight. The stars reflected off his pupils and she drowned in them, the vertigo returning as she fell into the pure pools.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
The words swept over her with sadness. He really did think she was beautiful, maybe even loved her, and it hurt like embraced grief. Her longing for him was an almost physical pain and she waited for him to pull her to his body—wanted him to make love to her, here, now, forever. She parted her lips and squeezed his hand—the only signal she had the strength to show.
His breathing quickened and his face shadowed with restraint. He closed his eyes, fought as metal against a magnetic pull and forced his concentration back at the stars. “We should go.”
James stood and pulled her to her feet, then let go of her hand. Her mouth opened with disappointment and her stomach sank. He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he turned back to the house. “The girls are light sleepers.”
James lay on the library couch and slammed the book closed, dropped it with a thud onto the floor. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and flung his arm across his forehead.
She ain’t your wife, Tom’s voice echoed in his head.
James opened and closed his fist. He tried to recall the sensation of her fingers laced between his and he tried to forget it all at the same time. He didn’t know what he was doing. One minute he could stay away from her; the next minute he was reaching for her, touching her. But the wanting never stopped and it pricked him like sharp hunger pains.
Seeing her with the Shelbys made it worse. She was happy. The simple joy glowed from her skin. At the stove, he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. At the sink, he wanted to lean her against the counter, lift her around his hips. Wanting her. Waiting. A kiss, an embrace, a caress—mere tastes that only increased the craving.
In a few days, Leonora would be back with Alex, her husband. They would share a bedroom again—share their bodies again. And he would be left with the memory of her rose perfume, the softness of her hands and the reality that she was not his, the reality that he was nothing more than a distraction.
James ran his fingers through his hair, let the brown strands remain tousled and spiked. He thought about her body lying next to his under the stars, remembered her profile as it angled in the moonlight, sending a subtle light down her smooth forehead. He melted into the memory of her slender, perfect nose and the smiling lips. Those lips!
At that moment, under the night expanse, he had almost taken her in his arms, almost let his body meld against her body until they became one, almost let the urges swallow him blind. He had wanted to make love to her. There. On hard, cold ground, he wanted to make love to her. Under the black blanket of night, surrounded by the sounds of the night, he wanted to touch her—all of her—and bring their own noise and movement and pleasure to the night and send their own vibrations into the earth.
She ain’t your wife.
Leonora was asleep down the hall—three doors down. Three. Only a few walls and a door separated them and he could feel her breathing against his neck, feel her hair across his chest, feel her smile stretch across his skin. A few steps down the hall, a turn of the knob, and he could be in her bedroom. He could pull back the covers and slide in next to her and find her lips, find her hands searching and her body willing. Only three doors down. His legs tingled for movement, slid to the edge of the couch; his back wanted to rise.
She ain’t your wife. With a frustrated, audible grunt, James thrashed onto his stomach and wrapped the pillow around the back of his head, clasped his hands in a lock around his ears.
She ain’t your wife, mate.
“I know!” James shouted into the sofa, the sound muffled and lost within the cushions.
Upon their return, Tom and Mrs. Shelby shed the raw grief of the previous days and settled into mourning. The weight of the funeral no longer hung on their shoulders. Mrs. Shelby buried her sons; Tom buried his brothers. Life moved forward again, be it slowly and thick with gray.
No one wanted to sit within the confines of the house or walk past the two empty chairs that had been moved to the side of the dining room, so Mrs. Shelby packed a picnic and they all set out beyond the golden wheat to a placid lake nestled at the far end of the property. The day was hot and dry and bright. The ground filled with flowers and butterflies, the sky cloudless and pale blue. James carried Charlotte on his shoulders, her fingers covering his eyes now and then in play, sending him into blind staggers and protests.
Tom walked backwards, the sun against his back. “Where you say the dance is, Mum?”
“Tessler’s,” Mrs. Shelby answered. “Whole county will be there.” Tom turned back and faced the sun, his shoulders slumped.
“Should leave after supper,” Mrs. Shelby directed.
“You know I ain’t goin’, Mum.” Tom plodded sullenly. “Wouldn’t be right.”
“Hell it’s not! Nothin’ you like more than a good dance!” Mrs. Shelby scolded. “Been workin’ too hard, Tommie. You need a break. Be good for you.”
“Really?” Tom turned around tentatively. “You wouldn’t be sore?”
“Sore? I’d be thankin’ the good Lord to have an ounce of peace without your yabberin’!” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re goin’ to that dance even if I got to drag you there myself!” She pointed at James and Leonora. “You’re all goin’. Hear me?”
Tom smiled from one ear to the next, ran at his mother and kissed her hard. Mrs. Shelby wiped her hand across her cheek. “Gawd, hope you’re a better kisser than that with the ladies
!”
Tom was a different man now—looked at the sun like he saw it. He stepped back and put an easy arm over Leonora’s shoulder. “Ever been to a barn dance?”
“Can’t say I have.” She thought about James and Tom dancing with all the pretty country girls. “But I’ll stay back and help with the house. You don’t need me tagging along.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Shelby said. Then she leaned into Leonora’s ear. “Besides, somebody needs t’look after him. Can see that look in his eye. He’s drunk on grog and women already.”
“Heard that!” Tom shouted. He poked James in the ribs. “But she ain’t lyin’!”
The lake came into full view. Mrs. Shelby laid the blanket onto the thick grass, spread out the food baskets.
“Can we go for a bogey now, Mum?” the girls hollered.
“Long as you stay close to the boys.” Mrs. Shelby held up a blanket as the girls changed into their suits. Tom and James stripped off their shirts and socks and boots and piled their clothes on a smooth boulder.
“Coming in for a swim?” James asked Leonora with a grin.
She shook her head, tried to keep her eyes from drowning in his chest and stomach muscles. “I didn’t bring a suit.”
He winked playfully. “All the more reason.” She blushed and threw an apricot at him.
“Last one in is a sheep’s arse!” Tom shouted.
“Tommie, watch that mouth!” Mrs. Shelby scolded, but the men were already off toward the water, the girls screaming to catch up.
The two women sat under the shade of the wide, warm pepper tree and gathered their skirts under their legs. They watched the boys play tag with the little girls, feigning leg spasms and slow feet so the girls could knock them to the ground. Then, with a series of big and small splashes, they all plopped into the lake.
“You have a wonderful family, Mrs. Shelby.” Leonora stroked a grass blade wistfully.
“Thank you. They’re a good bunch,” she said with visible pride. “That Tommie’ll be the death of me, though.” She chuckled. “He don’t think much past what’s sittin’ right in front of him whether it’s a beer, a woman or a fist. Just like his father, that one. Always has been.” Her eyes twinkled, then grew distant. “Tommie’s always seemed like a fleetin’ wind.”
Daughter of Australia Page 39