On the same stairs that Emily had negotiated a moment before, Doctor Robert Anderson gazed at his wife. He was torn between the passionate need to dash across the lawn and embrace the woman he loved, and a peaceful contented feeling. His eyes poured over her perfect image, the scene almost abstract in its potency.
He decided to savour the moment. Robert stood and watched as Emily turned in a slow and intoxicating circle. Her face caught the last rays of a dying but resplendent sun, as her hypnotic dance to the gods of marriage was halted by the sight of her husband.
‘It didn’t take long for you to find me,’ said Emily, her hands clasped behind her back, one shoulder turned towards Robert, while her face—tilted slightly down—remained further adrift. Eye contact was made with a seductive shift of her dark eyes.
‘Couldn’t bear to be without you,’ replied Robert dramatically. His smile showed to the surrounding trees—still in the calm air—that he was truly besotted by the lady almost ten years his junior.
‘Come and join your wife for a dance, before our guests send out a search party.’
Robert walked towards his wife and then jogged the final steps to take her outstretched hand. He allowed her to twirl sedately before he placed his hand around her slender waist. They began a close and intimate sway that was now watched by a small crowd of women detached from the reception, each with a tissue raised to their eyes. Robert and Emily Anderson, with eyes only for each other, were oblivious to their presence.
***
The ground that surrounded the rose bushes was hard and compacted. It made it difficult for Alice to extract the weeds from around the base of the thorny plants that she had put so much work into of late. It was January, so Alice had begun work early; she hoped to finish before the summer sun rose high in the sky and made work unbearable. The sound of a motorcar was a welcome distraction from her chore, and from her thoughts about the letter she had received in the lead-up to the wedding. Alice removed her gloves, stood, and then walked to the side of the house. Her spirits lifted immediately when she realised it was Emily who stepped out of the cream coloured vehicle.
‘Hello, dear,’ said Alice warmly, ‘I didn’t expect to see you the day after your wedding.’
‘I wanted to come out and thank you for all the work you did,’ replied Emily. She walked towards Alice, radiant and full of energy. ‘Robert and I have been up before the sun; walked along the river, had breakfast, read the paper. You’re gardening I see.’
Alice gave a resigned shrug with a forced smile. The gesture said, without trying to dampen the mood, what else would a widowed lady do? But she pushed any negative thoughts aside. ‘I see you still have use of that lovely car you used in the wedding,’ said Alice cheerily, ‘I love that colour.’
‘Yes… well, Robert has been a bit of a devil,’ said Emily. She made an effort to sound offended. ‘It’s mine.’
‘Oh, my goodness M, it is lovely.’
‘A new Holden 48-215, something or other,’ explained Emily. She babbled like she was a teenager. ‘I said to Robert: when do we take this car back, and he said—rather cheekily I might add—“why would you take it back, don’t you like it?” I was so angry Alice.’
Alice turned to smile at Emily. She remembered the little girl who would often try to pull the wool over her eyes, and was glad that some things hadn’t changed.
‘Robert said people call it the FX, but I couldn’t tell you what that means.’
‘It really is beautiful, M; you’ll be the talk of the town. Well, you already are; now they will just be jealous. Come inside and have a quick cuppa with your old Aunty.’
‘Lead the way, Aunty,’ replied Emily. As she followed, Emily suddenly realised that the years had made her loved aunt or stepmother older than she should be. The death of her adored husband Norman had taken a part of her that could never be replaced. Her caring and loving nature was still to the fore, but certain energies that had withered over time. Her body had become fuller, and flecks of grey in her hair were now streaks.
They entered the house through the annex and moved into the kitchen. Emily took a seat at the table and noticed a letter, opened and propped against a vase. Emily did not want to seem rude, so she looked away quickly, but Alice had seen her inquisitive expression, and instead of saying something, she turned to the stove.
‘It was such a memorable day, M,’ remarked Alice, still at the stove. ‘So much happiness, it was truly wonderful.’
‘It was, wasn’t it, but to tell you the truth, Aunt Alice, it was all a bit of a blur.’
‘I bet it was,’ replied Alice. She turned from the stove and laughed. Emily smiled at the sight. ‘Forgive me Emily, but I had to laugh. I just remembered your brother. He was walking around with this concerned look on his face all night… he looked—’ Alice began to laugh again, which made Emily chuckle harder. ‘He looked like he was tallying the bill every time someone placed a morsel of food in their mouth. It was so funny.’
Emily laughed heartily, while she imitated her older brother, ‘He is different. Maybe we should hide the bill from him.’
‘Maybe… but we shouldn’t tease,’ said Alice feeling guilty.
‘Yes we should, Aunty, he deserves it.’
‘So, when are you off on your honeymoon to the coast, dear?’
‘Wednesday; I know it is not the convention, but the Doctor filling in for Robert doesn’t arrive until Tuesday, so he will be working tomorrow.’
‘Do you have to work, dear?’
‘No, Mr Atkins has been so good,’ replied Emily with genuine appreciation, ‘not only did he allow me time off before the wedding, but he has given me another full two weeks, with pay!’ added Emily.
Alice tilted her head slightly, like she had said a prayer in thanks of good people. ‘He is a good man, that Arthur Atkins. I have told you, haven’t I,’ continued Alice, ‘how good he was to you and your brother—to us.’
Emily reached over and placed a hand on her Auntie’s arm. She knew the word ‘us’ had such a different emotional meaning for the two women.
‘I miss Uncle Norm very much,’ said Emily with tenderness, while tears welled in her eyes, ‘so I cannot begin to know how you feel.’
Alice retrieved a tissue from her apron pocket and dabbed her own eyes, moist with memories and the ache of loss. ‘It’s no easier now than it was then, dear, the pain I mean. Just more spaced apart; I still look for him at times, and then depending on my mood or the circumstance, I smile or cry.’ Alice lifted her cup and sipped the strong brew, before she placed it back on its saucer gently—respectfully—while she thought of her husband. ‘After Norman was killed, Arthur wrote me a most thoughtful and comforting letter. It was some relief to know Norman didn’t suffer.’
‘We were all so proud of him Alice… very proud.’
Alice looked at the beautiful young lady in front of her—the image of her mother—and she was reminded of why people battled on after tragedy. Family; it was family, in any form that kept you going, and she felt blessed, even when besieged, that she had the will and the want to keep her family together and functioning. ‘He loved you very much, Emily, very much.’ Alice glanced at the envelope against the vase and decided to confide in her niece. She reached to her right and picked up the envelope to stare at it momentarily. ‘I received this letter last week,’ said Alice in a measured voice.
Emily smiled at Alice, but didn’t speak, confused as to what serious business the envelope might contain. The recently married woman—instinctively—knew it was of that nature, and not general correspondence.
‘My brother died two weeks ago,’ said Alice bluntly.
Emily leaned forward with her eyebrows narrowed. She tried to understand what her Aunty had just said, but her mind was clouded by unfamiliarity made strong by isolation and the lack of reference to a subject willed into disassociation.
‘My brother Frank, passed away alone,’ Alice sobbed deeply and then held a tissue to her nose, ‘and in
prison and…’
Emily leapt from her chair to hug Alice, as she cried uncontrollably. She held her Aunty tightly but did not speak. She felt ill-equipped to source the appropriate words to soothe and calm. The verbalising of Frank’s name had a strange effect on Emily; it was like the discovery of a chest that revealed incriminating documents a family thought destroyed.
Alice cried for a considerable time. Her emotion revealed itself as having as much to do with shame as it had to do with grief or regret; shame in the evil of Frank’s act, shame in the disowning of a sibling; regret and resentment for events that conspired to destroy a family.
Alice’s sobs began to fade as Emily left for the bathroom and returned with fresh tissue paper.
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Alice… ‘and sorry for my outburst.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ replied Emily, concerned for her Aunt. ‘Why did you keep this to yourself until now?’
‘I didn’t want to disrupt the organising of the wedding.’ replied Alice, surprised at her own reasoning. ‘I suppose that seems a bit ridiculous, but to be perfectly honest, M, the reality of it didn’t really strike me until just now, when I said it out loud—to you.’
‘When is the funeral?’ asked Emily.
‘Done,’ replied Alice. She looked down at her apron.
‘What!’
‘He was buried within the grounds of the prison the day after he was pronounced dead—complications after he contracted pneumonia.’
‘Can they do that,’ exclaimed Emily, ‘surely not, I…’
‘M,’ said Alice with a raised hand that was meant to placate.
‘Sorry, I just…’
‘Want to help,’ interjected Alice. ‘I know you do and I appreciate it, but I am under no illusions about the unspeakable act my brother committed. The effect it had on innocent people, and where that placed him in the eyes of the authorities.’ Alice stood to walk to the stove and retrieve the kettle from the hotplate. She returned to the table, and poured a little hot water into their half empty cups to freshen the cooled tea. ‘I remember telling you that your Uncle Frank was in jail when you were young, maybe eleven. You had asked me who he was when looking at a photo.’
‘I remember.’
‘And, probably wrongly, I brushed over it… but how do you tell a little girl of the crime Frank had committed? And then, in shame, I moved on. Well actually, I am not sure if I am ashamed of moving on, or ashamed of him—perhaps a little of both.’
‘The University library maintains an extensive archive of newspapers,’ said Emily as respectfully as she could.
‘So, you know the details,’ replied Alice, ‘what a fool to think I could hide something from you Emily.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Ten, I think. That is what is so strange for me, M, and perhaps a reason why I acted the way I did when I received the news. Because… in many ways, it is like I never had a brother called Frank or Archie. Though both were different, and for different reasons, neither of them was spoken of. Archie was first missing and then maybe a prisoner. We didn’t… well, my parents didn’t know. She was never the same, my mother. Over time—through pain of loss—Archie wasn’t mentioned, and Frank… what is there to say that you don’t know?’
Typical of her personality, Emily asked what she didn’t know: ‘Do you remember him?’
‘Apart from the two photos I possess of him, yes, in glimpses. Or more like I see a figure at play, while I follow him around. He was five years older than me. With Archie it was different, I have fewer memories of him but he shines like a light in my mind—a hero.’ Alice glanced around the room, and then gave her attention back to Emily. She needed to talk. The heavily weighted memories were too much. ‘There were times when I would speak to your mother about my family, and it is from those chats that I have some knowledge of who they were.’ Alice was lulled into silence for a moment by her recollections.
For a confident young woman, Emily was suddenly nervous; she had spoken to her Aunt before about her family, and she had relished every conversation, but this seemed different, it had sprung out of nowhere, and she felt willing but unprepared. The randomness of her visit now seemed fated.
‘I have told you before, M, how your mother practically raised me, even before we moved to Denman Hill. My mother Grace was a loving mother, kind and calm; they were great friends, Ruth and my mum, great friends—your mother told me that often.’ Alice stood up and walked over to a shelf beside the kitchen window. She took a photo framed in silver from it. ‘But… she changed, I was told, on the day the telegram came about Archie being missing in action.’
Emily turned to take the photo of her Aunt as she walked behind her. She held the picture of Grace Miller in both hands and studied it closely, even though she had seen it many times before.
‘And when Frank was arrested,’ continued Alice, ‘it was the last straw, so to speak. She collapsed outside the courthouse and was taken to hospital. Eventually she returned home, but it was your mother who cared for me.’ Alice sniffed, and thought to share something else with Emily, something about her mother’s passing, but she decided against it.
Emily went to speak, but stopped, and then squinted as she drew a breath. ‘From what you have told me over the years,’ said Emily, ‘you always said that you remembered your father as a big, strong man, who worked hard and loved his children,’
‘Yes, he was, but again, my memories have faded, and I relied on your mother to pass on stories, but I still have visions of him that I cling to.’
‘Why then… or how… was Frank so different? How did he become the person who did what he did?’ continued Emily.
‘There was the one night that your mother said stood out beyond all others and gave her the clearest indication to Frank’s state of mind. He had been injured by an explosion; this is well before the Lion’s Gate, and taken to hospital. My parents were shocked and worried, naturally, but not as much as when a detective had asked to question Frank after he had recovered. My parents, Ruth told me, were convinced that he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, but the detective had his suspicions.
‘For one reason or another, after they had got nowhere with Frank themselves, he asked your mum to talk to him—see if he would loosen up.’ Alice took one last mouthful of tea and emptied the cup. Emily left hers, and continued to gaze at her aunt. ‘I will never forget,’ said Alice, ‘when your mother relayed this story to me, how sad she was. She maintained that she felt that Frank was a normal kid, who, through vulnerability and circumstances, got mixed up with the wrong people. But that night at the police station she saw something that chilled her to the bone. It intimidated her like nothing had before, and she knew—right then—that he was gone.’
‘Gone?’ said Emily.
‘The person she looked at, the boy she knew, had vanished, replaced by someone she did not want to be around. Your mother wasn’t prone to making silly statements Emily. She was an intelligent woman, and I suppose after I heard her speak of my brother, and knowing what he did, I never felt the desire to visit him. Your father did—once—and I never heard him utter his name after that, never.’
‘I can understand that, I think,’ replied Emily, ‘It would be awkward to say the very least.’
‘He blamed Frank… apart from everything he had done, for destroying your grandmother’s health. It was your mother’s opinion that it was the war, not just Frank, but everything. “The war changed everything,” she would say, and I believe she was right.’
Emily paused before she asked her next question, both to compose herself, and to admire the courage and determination that Alice had shown through unimaginable hardship. ‘What are your memories of my father?’
‘When I was a child?’
Emily shrugged; she did not want to commit to a definite answer. She would be happy to hear anything about the parent she had no recollection of.
Alice noticed the look of longing in her niece’s eye, a sad look; fo
r while Alice had experienced loss at a young age, she, at the very least had some memory of her mother and father—Emily had nothing except a notion.
‘Clarence was ten years older than me, always caring in nature from what I remember, talkative and happy.’ Alice breathed deeply and looked across to see Emily eyes, wet with tears, attentive as anyone could be, so she made a decision to focus on positive memories. ‘My most vivid recollection of your father from my time in Balmain was the day he brought your mother home for the first time. I have told you this story many times before,’ smiled Alice, ‘but allow me to tell it again, as it is my most cherished childhood memory, apart from their wedding day.’
Alice was happy to move away from discussing Frank, and told Emily every detail she could recall of the happy young couple. The stories—as they always did—became stories about Ruth, and Alice was unable and unwilling to hide her admiration for Emily’s mother.
‘Can I ask you another question Aunty?’
‘Of course,’ replied Alice, ‘after what we have discussed, I don’t think any topic would be considered intrusive.’
Both ladies laughed; they revelled in the relationship that they had developed. The closeness and honesty was met with compassion and, above all, humour.’
‘Are you happy here at Avondale?, asked Emily.
‘Now that Norman is dead, you mean.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I have managed for almost eight years now,’ replied Alice. She stood to clear the tea cups, a little bristled but not angry, more surprised by the question and her niece’s perception.
‘The house looks wonderful,’ replied Emily quickly, ‘and of course you have… managed, that’s not what I mean. Are you happy living here—by yourself?’ Emily re-asked the question with her familiar directness.
Alice looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, which was not what Emily intended, so she spoke again before Alice could answer. ‘I am sorry, Aunty, forget I asked, I just had a thought the other day that maybe… and it is really none of my business,’ continued Emily apologetically, ‘that it might be nice for you to be around Judith and the children. She could probably do with the help, now she has three.’
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