Before the Storm

by Morrissey, Di

  ‘Then go ahead, Kathryn. Get it off your chest.’ Heather folded her arms and rested her head on the backrest.

  ‘I adored my father. I suppose little girls always do. Especially after my mother died. I was nine years old when she passed away. I know it must have been a struggle for him on his own. It didn’t occur to me that, unlike most of my school friends, we seemed to have no relatives, or none that we ever saw or talked about. I remember only once a visit from a woman whom my father spoke to in a whisper and with sideways glances at me before he shook his head vehemently. He almost pushed her out the door, slamming it, then called me to him. He held me so tightly it frightened me as I could barely breathe. I had no idea then who she was and she never appeared again. Now I think she may have been a relative – maybe an aunt – who wanted me to live with her.’

  Kathryn was looking ahead but seeing the past. She was there, as if it were yesterday.

  ‘I realised much later that our reduced circumstances had come about because my father no longer had any money. I couldn’t understand why; after all, he was a successful accountant. Dad used to be very smartly dressed but eventually he started to look unkempt. He was going to the local hotel more and more and I began to resent being left alone at home,’ she said. ‘I was upset when he announced he was taking me out of the school I loved to go to the local state school, away from all my friends.’

  Ellie leaned forward and smiled at the elderly woman, urging her to keep talking.

  ‘The bottom fell out of my world one morning when I was fifteen and the police knocked at the door of our flat to arrest my father. It appeared that my father had been embezzling funds from the firm where he worked on a very large scale over many years. He had been using the money to cover his gambling debts for years. The police took him away.

  ‘I lived with a kind neighbour, Mrs Olsen, who took me in for a few months while I finished school. While I was with her, my father’s trial for embezzlement came to court. Mrs Olsen took me to the courthouse in my school uniform and she dressed up with a hat and gloves like she was going to church. I was so fearful, so embarrassed, so scared, so ashamed. My photograph was in the newspaper and then everyone knew. Mrs Olsen was also photographed and mistaken for my mother, which shocked her and her friends so much that she decided to move away.

  ‘I was saved by an old friend of my father, who offered me a job as a filing clerk in his firm and arranged for me to move to a boarding house in Camberwell. At night I studied shorthand and typing. I worked hard and became very proficient and reliable at my job. My boss let my father know where I was and that I was doing well. But I couldn’t bring myself to answer my father’s letters from jail as I was so angry and ashamed.

  ‘Eventually I was promoted. I grew to like city life. I found my independence and made many friends. But the stigma of what my father had done still haunted me. I was sure that one day my family history would be revealed.’

  ‘And then you met Boyd,’ Heather said softly.

  ‘Yes. I never believed someone like Boyd O’Neill would ever cross my path, let alone take an interest in me. Fall in love with me. And I with him.’

  ‘Did you ever tell him about your past?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘I was torn, at first, about whether to tell him or not. It was wartime still; people did rash things they might not have done in peacetime. I began to think, who would ever reveal my secret? I dared to dream. But I needed to know that I was safe. That my secret would never be found out.’

  ‘What did you do?’ prompted Heather.

  ‘One weekend I went to the jail to see my father. I didn’t recognise him, he looked so ill. His first words to me were, “It took you long enough.” He said he’d written to me but the letters were never answered. He was bitter. Angry. Hurt. I couldn’t blame him. I should have answered his letters. He said he hoped I was making a decent life away from him. I wanted to cry and shout that I had to, I had no choice. But I had managed, and without his help.

  ‘He gradually simmered down. Maybe he thought this was an opportunity to make contact again, when in fact for me it was the opposite. I told him I was planning to marry a respectable, well-to-do man who knew nothing about my past.’

  Kathryn paused. Both Ellie and Heather were watching her closely, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘He didn’t react, didn’t show that he was happy for me. There was just a stillness as he looked at me, as if it would be the last time. Which it was.

  ‘Then he said, “Tell him. Tell this man about me. Or you will live with a lie and a shadow all your life. Never keep a secret, Kathy. It will be either the biggest gesture of trust and love you can show him, or he will turn his back and reject you. Either way, doubt is removed. I kept my gambling obsession a secret and look where it got me.”’

  There was a weighty silence in the room. Ellie noticed that the elderly woman had gripped her hands tightly together.

  Kathryn drew a breath. ‘And so I told Boyd. I told him that my father was a notorious embezzler who’d used the funds to support his gambling habit, and that I had been abandoned when he went to jail. This was not a play for sympathy, but a simple fact. I never wanted to deceive Boyd.

  ‘Boyd looked at me and simply said, “You didn’t deceive me. Now I know everything about you.” He said he was proud of me for making a successful life for myself after all that had happened to me, but mostly he was proud of me for being honest with him. And he opened his arms, and said, “It doesn’t make me love you less, it makes me love you even more!”’

  Ellie let out her breath, closing her eyes a moment. When she opened them, Kathryn was staring steadily at her. ‘Never keep a secret, Ellie,’ she said softly. ‘You not only deceive others, but you deceive yourself.’

  Heather gave a low whistle. ‘No wonder you kept to yourself when Boyd first brought you to Craigmore. All that curiosity and scrutiny from the locals must have been hell for you.’

  Kathryn gave a small smile. ‘Yes. It was. I kept to myself but I found beauty and a haven in my garden. I still felt I was living a lie and someone would find out about my father; the stigma of such things was very strong in those days, you know. I worried more for Boyd’s reputation than my own, as I loved him so very much. And then we had Seamus. It was a difficult birth and the doctors told us I couldn’t have any more children. I told you that, I know, but now you know the reason I was so afraid to mingle with people.’

  ‘And your father?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘After Seamus was born Boyd suggested I write to my father and send him a photo of his grandson. Which I did.’

  ‘What did you write to him?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘I put the photograph in a card and thought and thought. In the end I just wrote, “This is your grandson Seamus . . . No secrets.”

  ‘My father died in jail but I still worried about his sordid past coming to light one day. As I told you before, I didn’t make friends until I started to play golf; nor

  was I able to be myself. But when I found some courage, I started to change the way I thought, and to my surprise I began to like myself. And I met you, Heather dear. You didn’t ask questions or pry. You made me laugh. You have been the best of best friends anyone could have.’

  Ellie felt tears spring to her eyes. These were not two elderly women, wrinkled and worn, living with ailments and afflictions. These were vibrant, beautiful souls who shared a bond that was perhaps even stronger than family, stronger than anything they’d planned; the unity of friendship.

  Kathryn looked at Ellie. ‘No secrets. That’s the secret.’

  There was silence in the room for a heartbeat or two. Then Heather broke the spell, rubbing her knees and saying, ‘Well. The driver will be here to collect the painting soon.’

  Kathryn straightened up and held out her hand to Ellie, who reached over, helping her to her feet.

  ‘Heather, de
ar. I’m going to rip the sheet off that damned painting. And if I don’t like it, I’m going to get Ellie to burn it in the back garden,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Excellent idea.’ Heather grinned, pushing herself to her feet.

  ‘Wait, wait, I have to take a photo of this,’ said Ellie. ‘Of you two crazy ladies!’

  She turned the camera on, adjusting the focus as the two women, arm in arm, moved to the tall easel.

  ‘After you, m’dear,’ said Heather with a slight bow and a wide smile.

  Kathryn dropped her arm from Heather’s and reached forward, and then with an elegant sweep, she pulled off the covering sheet.

  Ellie had the camera glued to her eye, taking shot after shot, moving to catch their expressions. She stood beside the easel, focusing on their faces as the portrait was revealed, zooming in on Kathryn’s face as the older woman saw the work for the first time.

  The painting showed the gentle face of an elderly woman, at peace with herself, the lines of her life etched deep. And in the shadow behind her shone the same face but that of a shy young woman, her eyes full of love and sadness, shadowed by a secret. But in the clear eyes of her older self, her steady warm gaze reached out to touch those who stood before the painting.

  ‘It’s honest, Heather. I like that. You know me,’ said Kathryn softly.

  ‘No, I didn’t really know you, till now. Now I understand what it is I’ve done.’

  ‘It’s . . . unbelievable. It’s stunning. It’s captured . . .

  everything,’ said Ellie, unable to see though the camera’s eyepiece for tears.

  ‘It’s so, so special. Thank you, Heather,’ said Kathryn simply.

  ‘I didn’t know what I was painting,’ said Heather softly. ‘But it’s there, isn’t it? The truth.’

  Ellie looked at the two women. ‘Kathyrn, as you know, I’ve written your story for the front page of the next issue of the paper, which will be coming out tomorrow before your party and the grand unveiling,’ she said. ‘Unless you tell me otherwise, we’ll be including a photo of your finished portrait.’

  Ellie watched Kathryn and Heather share a conspiratorial smile, then Kathryn just had time for a tiny wink and a nod to Ellie before there was a rap at the door.

  ‘Oh, Ellie, for goodness’ sake throw the sheet over the darn thing and say nothing,’ said Kathryn as Heather went to the door.

  ‘All right all right, I’m coming,’ she called out as the knocking came again. ‘I’m an old woman, keep your hair on.’

  While Heather was answering the door, Ellie gently spoke to the elderly woman.

  ‘Kathryn, the story I’ve written shows the important place you hold in Storm Harbour today, as you have for decades. Things like setting up the creche for the children of the area and the Botanic Gardens,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to write about your personal story too?’

  Kathryn turned to her and smiled.

  ‘Thank you for asking, dear girl. Many journalists would not be that courteous and would print what they wanted.’ She paused, shook her head and said at last, ‘I should talk to my grandchildren about it first. I’d like them to hear it all from me and I can answer their questions. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Ellie said. She wanted to talk more about Kathryn’s past, but she knew the man would be in any minute to collect the painting.

  Ellie gently hugged the women goodbye as the driver fussed over the wrapping of the painting in a doona to be transported in a small truck to Craigmore. Then she drove back to the office.

  ‘How’d you go with the portrait picture?’ asked Patrick as she came through the door.

  ‘Success. It’s stunning. Kathryn decided she wanted to see it before the unveiling and whipped the sheet off. It was an act of defiance – as if to say, to hell with Susan. It was a sight to see; those two women are amazing.’

  ‘Good. I’m keen to see it. Heather wasn’t an Archibald finalist for nothing, you know. Can you please give the camera to Jon now? He’ll work on the images.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Poppy, there’s more to Kathryn’s story. It was a revelation. She just told Heather and me about a secret she’s been sitting on.’

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean exactly?’

  ‘You know how we were wondering about her background when we first spoke about writing Kathryn’s story? Her family history?’

  Patrick nodded. ‘Yes indeed. I’m listening. You have my attention.’

  Ellie quickly sketched for him the painful story Kathryn had shared.

  Patrick leaned back in his chair. ‘The poor girl. Boyd was a good man. And a lucky one. They were so in love. What a brave woman, to risk her marriage for the sake of the truth. It explains a lot.’

  ‘I feel sorry that she felt she had to hide her history,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Times have changed. Or have they?’ Patrick said, and looked at Ellie. ‘Secrets. They always come out in the end. And it’s for the best that they do.’

  Ellie blinked, feeling the weight of words unsaid in Patrick’s gaze. She glanced quickly away. ‘Poppy, I asked Kathryn about adding this into the article. She felt better having shared it, but she wants to be the one to tell her family about it. So we can’t print it. Is that okay?’

  ‘I’m pleased you asked her. After all, it’s up to Kathryn to choose to tell the world or not. It’s her business. We are not a scandal sheet. Meredith wanted her story out there. Kathryn trusts us to respect her request. I knew there was a shadow in her life. It seems she’s let it go now, and good for her. We shall celebrate her birthday for the milestone it is. For her and for this town.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘It’s a special feeling to have someone put their trust in you, as Kathryn did today,’ she said softly.

  ‘Certainly is, kiddo,’ Patrick said. ‘Right, I’ll sign off on the layout once Jon and the designer are ready.’

  As Ellie rose and left Patrick’s little office, she heard him say to Sam, who was sitting under his desk, ‘We’re getting on, old boy. And still the world is full of surprises.’

  A little while later, after Ellie had settled herself at her desk with a mug of tea, Patrick walked out into the main office, Sam at his heels.

  ‘I just checked the forecast for Kathryn’s party tomorrow night,’ he said, pushing back his hat and staring out the window. ‘It looks like we’re in for a storm.’

  11

  Friday morning was always busy around town, but today there was heightened activity, a tension, thought Ellie, as warnings about the approaching storm circulated. It was threatening to be a severe one; even though it wasn’t due to hit until that evening, the sky was already overcast and the wind was picking up.

  Patrick stayed home to ‘batten down the hatches’, and as Ellie bought her morning coffee, she saw shopkeepers along the street moving signs and furniture indoors.

  ‘It can be bad if it comes in from the south. We’re damned lucky those early settlers planted the cypress and Norfolk Island pines to protect the town,’ Maggie told her when Ellie came into the office and described the scene.

  ‘I hope it will be okay driving out to Craigmore this evening. It would be a pity if the storm washes out Kathryn’s birthday,’ said Ellie.

  ‘The forecast says it’s due to hit around 10 pm, so you should be okay,’ said Maggie. ‘Perhaps try to get away early, though. Patrick doesn’t usually stay at these things very long, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, once the formalities are over we’ll head home. My friend Mike is driving here tomorrow. Hope the storm’s cleared by then.’

  ‘I’ve been re-reading your story on Kathryn,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s really lovely and I’m sure she’ll like it. The headline says it all, really – “Town doyenne Kathryn O’Neill celebrates 95 years of generosity”.’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie, that means so much to me.’ Ellie smiled. ‘The
town needs to know a little more about her so they can get to know the real Kathryn O’Neill. After all, her Botanic Gardens are a big attraction here.’

  Ellie’s feature article on Kathryn was on the front page alongside a beautiful photo of Kathryn’s portrait. The article ran over to page two, which also, as Jon had suggested, had an old photo of Kathryn and Boyd on their wedding day.

  As the day wound to a close, Ellie decided to go home early with Sam to get ready for the party. When they got there, Sam paused on the verandah, sniffing the air with his ears back, not liking what he knew was coming.

  ‘You’d better hunker down somewhere safe while we’re out tonight, Sammy,’ Ellie said, giving the old dog a quick pat. ‘We won’t be gone long but I’ll have to lock you inside.’

  As she slipped into a soft apple-green dress, Ellie realised she hadn’t dressed up for weeks. She’d had her long hair trimmed and she swept it up onto her head with one of her grandmother’s tortoiseshell combs, which she’d found in a drawer in the her grandmother’s sewing room.

  Ellie and Patrick had wondered what to give Kathryn on this special occasion, because, as Patrick said, ‘She doesn’t need a thing.’ Finally, he’d come up with an idea they’d agreed was perfect. He’d had a specially printed and retouched blow-up made of the page in The Storm Harbour Chronicle that had featured a photo of the newlywed couple with the caption, Mr and Mrs Boyd O’Neill welcomed home, which he’d had mounted in a simple silver frame.

  Once she was dressed and had done her make-up, Ellie wrapped the present in tissue and crimson paper with a silver ribbon.

  Patrick came home muttering about going out on a night like this, but nonetheless when he ‘turned out for inspection’, as he put it, Ellie had to applaud his choice of a midnight-blue velvet jacket and polka-dot tie with a crisp new white fine linen shirt. His best boots were polished and he, too, had had a haircut. He took pride in showing her that he was wearing the woven leather belt with his initials on it that Ellie and her parents had given him years ago.