Liberty

by McWatters, Nikki;

  When we arrived at the O’Neal cottage it was shrouded in darkness. We lit two torches, searching the cottage and yard thoroughly.

  Annie O’Neal was not there.

  When our timetables allowed it, Agnes and I met up for lunch beneath the big Moreton Bay fig. This magnificent tree sat in the middle of the grassy area near the space that was called ‘The Forum’, and underneath it our friendship was becoming more solid over the weeks as we opened up to each other.

  ‘That must have been so hard for you,’ Agnes said, putting her hand on my knee.

  I could feel the heaviness tug at my jaw, sagging with a grief that regularly crept up on me when I least expected it.

  ‘Yeah, it really was … is,’ I whispered, sniffing to hold off the tears.

  ‘My mum drives me out of my mind sometimes but I can’t imagine life without her,’ Agnes said wistfully. ‘She’s a stern sort of Scottish woman. No nonsense. But I know she’s a softy deep inside.’

  And then I did begin to cry, soft panting sobs that I tried to contain, unsuccessfully. Agnes shuffled around next to me and put her arm around my shoulders.

  ‘It’s good to have a cry,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know how you and your family coped.’

  ‘The whole town rallied around us when she died in the car accident,’ I told her. ‘Everyone was so nice, baking for us, helping out on the farm. All except that bastard.’

  Agnes squeezed me tight.

  ‘Walter Leary,’ I said, wiping my eyes, feeling the stab in my chest as I said his name. ‘I don’t know why he bothers me so much. He’s the town bully. Fronted up to my brother, Murray, you know, at school the day after the funeral and made some crack about how cheap our mum’s casket was. The Learys are filthy rich. And Murray decked him and because the Learys basically own the town, it was Murray who got suspended and after that he never went back to school.’ I started crying again and blubbered out a soggy apology for raving about my misery.

  ‘It’s been years now but that still gets me.’ I sniffed. ‘That someone could be so hateful. Sometimes I wish Murray had hit him harder. Is that wrong?’

  ‘No, Fi,’ Agnes said, rocking me slowly. ‘That’s understandable. Hell, I don’t even know him and I want to punch him.’

  ‘He’s a rich lout but at least my brother beats him in the local pie-eating competitions, hey?’ I laughed, wiping the tears away. ‘And I miss Mum but, you know, I still feel her. Like she’s a part of me. Like she’s inside me.’

  ‘So how is your brother about it all now? Clearly he and the Leary boy aren’t friends.’

  ‘God, no!’ I said. ‘They haven’t spoken since the incident at school. And that’s hard in a small town, but I heard Walter’s been drafted and is probably in Vietnam right now. My brother’s never been the same since, you know, since Mum went? It kind of extinguished his light while it kind of fired up mine. Murray wanted to be a doctor, but after the accident the loss of Mum broke his heart and he gave up on his dreams. Dad’s been so much more protective of me since then. I think that’s why he didn’t want me going to uni. Moving away. He’s terrified of something happening to me.’

  I watched the kids congregating on the lawns around the Forum. The activists were gathering over by the walkway to start their meetings and I could see Barton in the middle of the group, gesticulating with his hands, being the centre of attention, which he seemed to like enormously.

  ‘I think he’s kind of cute,’ Agnes said, as we sat watching Barton and his fan club.

  Talk of Mum had made me lose my appetite, so I picked at the cucumber and mayo sandwich that I’d taken from the dining room table back at the boarding house.

  Barton tested his megaphone and all the students, who were lazing around in the sun, shielded their eyes and glanced casually his way while they ate and smoked and talked among themselves.

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said, nibbling on a small slice of cucumber. ‘He’s a bit intense. All this talk about Vietnam. It’s a bit much sometimes.’

  ‘These guys are making a good point, though,’ Agnes said. ‘If you were a boy, would you like someone to pull your birth date out of a barrel and tell you that you have to go to some random dangerous place to kill people and possibly get killed yourself? Not me! No way!’

  ‘But there’s such a thing as patriotism,’ I lobbed back. ‘You know. If your country asks you to do something.’

  ‘Kill people? What sort of country asks that of its young men?’

  ‘Um … pretty much all of them, I reckon.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. America does it. Australia’s the US’s little brother, isn’t it?’

  ‘And we mindlessly do what they tell us? It’s not even our war.’

  I laughed at Agnes as she pulled the little angry frowning face that she did when I disagreed with her. Her slight Scottish accent always became more pronounced when she got enthusiastic about something.

  ‘Crikey. You sound just like them,’ I told her with a smile. ‘Why don’t you go and grab a megaphone and get up there like those peace-loving hippies and tell everyone to make love not war.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Agnes said, looking toward Barton again. ‘I still think he’s sexy.’

  ‘What’s his friend’s name?’ I asked. ‘The blond with the ridiculous dress sense. He looks interesting. And he’s always giving you the eye.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘He’s clearly got good taste. He’s new this year, I think. Transferred up from Sydney or Melbourne. He’s kind of like a pilot fish to Barton’s shark, hey?’

  We both laughed at the analogy.

  ‘I thought you knew them well.’

  ‘No.’ She laughed explosively, her green eyes popping at me. ‘Gosh no! That day I was just walking to campus and they offered me a ride. No! I’d never spoken to them before and I haven’t since. I was pretty chuffed that the big man on campus, Barton McLeod, had given me a lift in his VW.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, nodding. ‘The blond – you don’t even know his name?’

  ‘Nup,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go and ask him? I dare you. I’ll give you a dollar note if you do it.’

  ‘They’re final-year Law students. I couldn’t. I’m just a fresher. They hate us.’ I smiled but I was watching the blond guy sitting on the grass beneath a gum tree, reading a textbook. There was no one else sitting with him.

  ‘Two dollars.’ Agnes laughed. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ I giggled back. ‘That I just walk up and say, “Hey, what’s your name?” Why would I do that? I did kind of meet him on my first day, I suppose. But I don’t want him to think I’m interested in him because I am totally not!’

  ‘Just ask him a law question,’ Agnes said, winking at me as she slopped her juice over her blouse. ‘Go and tell him you’re looking for a tutor. And you only get the two dollars if you get his name.’

  ‘I might just make it up.’ I laughed back. ‘How would you know?’

  ‘Oh, I’d find out.’ She smirked. ‘Let’s guess. I think he looks like a Jeff. If either of us gets it right, the other shouts us both to the pictures. I want to see Bonnie and Clyde with that hunky Warren Beatty.’

  ‘Fine! It’s a deal, dare accepted,’ I said, standing up, brushing the twigs and dirt from my new jeans. ‘I’ll guess that his name is … Brian. And I’m holding you to the two-dollar bet.’

  I closed in like a lioness on a gazelle and stood above him, looking relaxed but feeling nervous.

  ‘Hey there,’ I said.

  He looked up at me, bored and faintly disappointed.

  ‘Yes?’ he said in an impatient voice. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I met you on day one of term,’ I said, my confidence fizzing out of me.

  ‘Did you? I don’t remember.’

  The rude fellow turned back to his book, ignoring me for a mom
ent. He gave a sigh of exasperation and looked back up at me, slamming his book shut.

  ‘And? What?’

  I shuffled awkwardly in the dirt with my sandals. Everything about the way this guy behaved pointed toward him being a real jerk.

  ‘I’m doing first-year Law,’ I said. ‘And I wondered if you knew how I could go about getting a tutor. Is there somewhere you can put your name down or should I ask at—’

  ‘Do I look like an information desk?’ he said, glaring at me.

  ‘Um, no.’ I squirmed.

  ‘What’s this about an information desk?’ said a deep voice and Barton McLeod appeared.

  I felt a bit intimidated by Barton. I’d watched him speak and he was an amazing orator. Everyone loved him and thought he was awesome. Lots of kids and even lecturers reckoned he’d be the prime minister of Australia one day. He was like the campus rockstar. I looked back to the walkway, which had become something of a protest stage during lunchtime, to see that another young man with impressive mutton chop sideburns had taken the megaphone and was shouting about Aboriginal land rights. People were always so angry at university. They had this message of peace and love but when they talked and delivered their sermons they sounded like they wanted to do the exact opposite.

  ‘I was just asking about some tutoring in Law …’ I said, everything coming out in staccato.

  ‘I know you!’ Barton said, almost triumphantly. ‘You’re that fiery fresher from the first day of term. You still don’t look like a lawyer but I like the jeans. They’re groovy. Nice to see you’ve joined the twentieth century.’

  ‘You do sound like a lawyer when you’re up there pontificating,’ I said. ‘But you still don’t look much like one. I think it’s the hair.’

  As soon as I said it I wanted to put my sandalled foot into my mouth. I felt myself blushing with embarrassment.

  ‘Nah.’ He laughed dismissively. ‘The days of clean-cut lawyers are over. You still reckon you’re going to be a barrister?’

  ‘That’s the plan,’ I said. ‘Anyway, don’t worry about the tutoring. I’ll ask one of my lecturers. I was just … you know … wondering.’

  Barton put a hand up on the trunk of the tree above my head and leaned toward me. It almost felt as if he was flirting with me.

  ‘I could tutor you but I just don’t have the time, what with all my extra-curricular commitments. But frankly, and I’m being honest here, to take that next step to become a barrister means you’ve got to have total dedication and how are you going to do that once you’re married and have kids?’

  ‘Who says I want to get married and have kids?’ I said, glaring at him.

  ‘Sounds like you should join the feminist brigade,’ the blond guy said so derisively that it made my toes curl.

  ‘You seem pretty into change and activism,’ I said, my anger growing. ‘Is there something wrong with feminists? I’ve heard you rallying about nuclear disarmament and racism and all manner of isms. Surely feminism is just as deserving. Don’t you like feminists? Why not?’

  ‘Apart from the short hair and hairy legs? They’re okay.’ He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t date one though. Not my bag.’

  ‘Shut up, mate.’ Barton clipped the blond guy’s head with his hand. ‘He’s just messing with you. How are you adjusting to university life?’

  ‘It’s pretty cool, lots of work,’ I said, twisting my head around his arm to see if the blond guy had his name on the front of his textbook because that was the whole point of me being there, not to get into a feminist debate with the campus king. I needed to find out the jerk’s name and get out of there.

  ‘My name’s Fiona,’ I said. It sounded a bit forward but I was fishing for the blond guy’s name.

  ‘I’m Barton. But it seems you already knew that.’

  The blond remained silent and disinterested.

  ‘And this is Jeff,’ Barton added, ruffling his mate’s fair hair.

  I shot a look over to Agnes and pulled a scrunchy face. She smiled sweetly back.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘Nice chatting and all but, yeah, see you around.’

  ‘See you, Fiona the feminist.’ Barton winked as he took off his spectacles and cleaned them on his t-shirt.

  Completely self-conscious, I walked back to Agnes sensing Barton’s eyes on my back. My face was warm and my pulse was racing. Barton made me feel flustered or angry. I wasn’t sure which. He definitely had charisma. I really could imagine him as a prime minister one day, but presumably only after someone twisted his arm and gave him a haircut because Australia was certainly not ready for a prime minister who looked like John Lennon.

  ‘Nice one, Agnes,’ I teased her. ‘So you already knew his name was Jeff. Very funny. There. I found out. You owe me two dollars but I am not shouting you to the pictures because—’

  ‘Hey Fiona?’ I turned to see Barton calling to me through his cupped hands. ‘You and your friend should come along on Sunday night to the Foco Club. All the cool cats will be there.’

  I gave him an off-hand wave, not sure exactly what that meant.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Agnes said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down beside her. ‘The Foco Club is, like, where it’s at! Did Barton McLeod just invite us to the Foco Club? Us? You and me? It’s just opened and it’s the bomb.’

  ‘Um, settle down.’ I laughed. ‘I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it as a date. Just a hey everyone’s going there and we should check it out.’

  ‘My mother has strictly forbidden me from going there,’ Agnes said. ‘It’s totally notorious. But as my parents are away in Townsville this weekend, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. It’s upstairs in the Trades Hall in the city. It’s the happening place to be!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said warily. ‘I’m nearly out of this term’s allowance and there’d be the tram fare and all that.’

  ‘And I think you have to join to get in.’

  ‘Join what?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe just the club itself or the Socialist group or something.’

  ‘Socialist as in Communist?’ I asked, opening my eyes wide and feel a tingle of apprehension, remembering all my father’s warnings.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ she answered. ‘Instead of going to the pictures. This is way more exciting than Bonnie and Clyde. My shout for making you go and ask that Jeff what his name was. But it gave me a good laugh.’

  I was wondering whether my new friend, Agnes McDonald, was going to be a bad influence. The guilt was pumping through my bloodstream but I was really quite excited by the idea. And torn. If I went along and if my father ever found out, he would drag me back to Bandaroo Flats in a flash and have me baking sponge cakes for the Country Women’s Association until some shearer offered me a ring and a farm. The thrill of doing something forbidden was very tempting. I looked across at Barton who was now chatting to another group of young women, all of whom were gazing at him adoringly. I felt a tingle of something that I couldn’t quite figure out.

  ‘What the heck.’ I laughed at Agnes. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s be rebels!’

  ‘Yeah.’ Agnes hooted, clapping her hands. ‘You only live once!’

  With a sudden beat of sadness, I thought about how true that was. My mother hadn’t even been granted a full life. It had been cut short. And in that time so many opportunities had been closed to her because she was a woman in the wrong era. I wanted to have the experiences that she had not had. I wanted to say ‘yes’ when I was offered new opportunities. I wanted to open up my future, not close it down.

  Barton McLeod represented everything that my father was afraid of for me and everything I wanted for myself. ‘Sunday night at the Foco Club, hey?’

  ‘Right on, Fi!’ We high-fived each other, then lay back on the grass and stared at the canopy of the fig tree overhead. I daydreamed about my long and precious convers
ations with my mum and I could almost hear her telling me to grab everything with both hands and to never be afraid to listen to my heart and to do what felt right.

  On Friday afternoon, I was in the kitchen making Papa and me some turnip soup for supper. In the two days since Colin and I had returned from the forest, I had kept my head down, staying at home, waiting for and dreading the return of Lagoy from France. I was grateful to my cousin Aimee for keeping our secret. We’d returned her horse to her and she’d looked at the two of us and given me a knowing wink. ‘You’re looking much chirpier after your spell in the forest,’ she’d smirked. ‘The air must have agreed with you, Jeanne.’

  My father was not an old man but he was stooped and wizened before his time. Although he was so frail, he had been my strength. Since the visit from Lagoy he was much quieter and slept for even more of the day than usual; the turn of events with the Lieutenant had shocked him. I think the realisation that he could not protect me had taken the little self-esteem he had left and ground it to dust.

  The sound of bells woke him. ‘What is this? What is this?’ he muttered, trying to sit up, his thin arms and gnarled fingers tangling in his summer blanket.

  Suddenly shouts and cries came from the streets and laneways outside and I felt a leap of nerves. The huge bell in the town square was ringing.

  ‘What’s going on, Jeanne?’ my father asked, confused. ‘What’s all this noise?’

  ‘Papa,’ I said patiently. ‘Don’t you remember? Charles the Bold of Burgundy is headed for Beauvais and I am thinking that this uproar is because his army has been sighted.’

  ‘There is nothing here to stop them from taking over,’ he said nervously, his aching fingers kneading themselves in agitation. ‘Surely Balagny will surrender peacefully. It’s the only thing to do.’

  ‘I know he is of a mind to,’ I said, remembering the Captain’s first comments upon learning of the threat. ‘But the people on the street are loyal to the King and they will want to defend their homes.’