by Lilly Mirren
She understood in that moment what Nan had described in her journal. The chemistry between them shook her and left her feeling depleted, yet exhilarated. He was like a mystery and yet something so familiar. Like coming home and embarking on an adventure all at once.
When he pulled back, she missed his lips on hers. Her eyes blinked open and she found him watching, the corners of his mouth crinkled in a half-smile.
“Are you going to apologise again?” he asked.
She spluttered. “But you kissed me.”
He laughed. “Well, I’m not sorry.”
He looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She nestled into his side, resting her head on his chest. And while the rain fell, they talked about the past, the future, their hopes and dreams, and soon it felt like she’d known him all her life.
23
September 1943
Bathurst
Edie strode toward the lambing pen, a bucket of water sloshing against her leg and dripping into the top of her gumboot where she’d tucked her pants leg, wetting her stockings.
She set down the bucket and studied the lambing ewes. The sun was rising, throwing orange and yellow light over everything, and making the ewes look like a cluster of golden cotton balls, their thick winter coats overgrown and framing long, white faces with puffs of wool.
Pink snouts sniffed the air, no doubt hoping she had something for them to eat. Two pink ears stood out on either side of the ewes’ heads, flicking away flies and listening to hear what it was she had to say. Then, when she didn’t speak or give them food, they lost interest and focused instead on lipping at the scraps of hay scattered over the hard ground.
“I think we’re going to see at least three lambs tonight,” said Mother, coming up behind her with a shepherd’s crook in one hand and a coil of rope in the other.
Edie nodded.
“We can watch them in shifts,” continued Mother.
“I’ve got nothing else to do,” replied Edie.
“Mumma, mumma,” Keith’s sweet voice brought smiles to both their faces.
Edie found him seated on a picnic blanket beside the garden that wrapped around the front of the house. He waved chubby arms in their direction, a smile between his rosy cheeks.
“Hello, little one,” replied Mother, waving a hand in his direction. “We’ll be having brekky soon, my darling. What a good little boy you are.”
Edie swallowed back a retort. Mother had never spoken to her that way. But what good would it do for her to say anything? Mother made daily sacrifices to raise Keith as her child. She’d told everyone in the neighbourhood, all their family and friends, that Keith was the son of a dear friend who’d died during childbirth and whose family all lived far away. Most believed her because Diana Watson was a woman of her word. Though some suspected the truth. A secret like that was hard to hide in a small town like Bathurst. Still, so far, they’d gone along with the ruse, at least to Mother’s face. Edie had heard the whispers behind her back whenever she went to town alone and knew the cause of the gossip. Still, what did she care? He was theirs — hers and Charlie’s — and he was healthy. That was what mattered.
Edie was grateful, had to be grateful. She had no other option than to swallow her own desires, dreams and wants, because Keith was all that mattered now. And this was what was best for him. He wouldn’t be accepted if people knew, rather than suspected, the truth. She couldn’t do that to him.
To those around them, Keith had appeared, it seemed, out of nowhere. Everyone in Bathurst was well aware of Frank Watson’s strict rules when it came to his daughter, and most thought little of the fact that he’d kept her at home for seven full months, hardly seeing another soul. If they’d found it strange, they kept the thought to themselves.
Everyone had their own fair share of troubles in these uncertain times and didn’t feel the need to go borrowing it elsewhere. Those who’d visited the farm during her pregnancy, or had heard the gossip, had plenty of their own concerns to deal with. The war had caused the small town’s occupants to pull together, putting any grievances or judgements aside, united in their fear of losing loved ones abroad, or of being unable to feed those who’d remained behind.
“I’ll make breakfast, if you’ll take the first shift,” said Mother.
While Mother took Keith inside, Edie set to work, checking each of the ewes to see if any looked ready to birth. By the time she was done, she’d found three in the early stages of delivery, but nowhere near ready to push. She had time before she’d be needed and there was something else on her mind.
She hadn’t heard from Charlie in four months. The letter she’d received then had been dated two months earlier. Which meant that she didn’t know anything about where he was, or what he was doing, if he was still alive, from the past six months of war.
The last thing she heard was that Charlie was flying with the Royal Australian Air Force in the Mediterranean Theatre as part of the Desert Air Force offensive. She didn’t know for sure what any of that meant, but Father said he was likely flying over Italy, but he didn’t expect they’d be posted there much longer. Father had furlough two weeks earlier and he’d said they were bringing many of the boys home, in preparation for the Japanese attack that could come any day.
Darwin had already come under attack, he told them. He’d read it in an old issue of The Sydney Morning Herald he’d borrowed from another militia man. Even Sydney was shelled, he’d told them. The militia had been hustled out of bed to respond but found that none of the shells fired from the Japanese submarine had exploded.
“They got as close as the Macquarie Lighthouse,” he said. And Mother had pressed her hands to her forehead as if in prayer.
Edie was glad no one was hurt. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better knowing the Japanese fleet had made their way so far south. The last they’d heard from Bobby, he was stationed in Guadalcanal fighting back the Japanese assault there. She saw the look in her parents’ eyes when they spoke of it and knew how much they fretted over what might come should the Japanese invade Australia.
Since then, Father told them he’d taken to watching Movietone newsreels whenever he could buy a ticket to a local cinema. Edie hadn’t been to town in so long she hadn’t had the chance to see the newsreels herself, and Mother said she had no desire to fill her head with such nonsense. So, the two of them remained on the farm, relatively oblivious to what was going on in the rest of the world, but Edie was anxious all the same since Charlie, Bobby, and Father were out there, in the midst of it all.
She stuck her head inside the front door of the house, not wanting to remove her boots.
“Mother?”
Mother replied from upstairs. “I’m changing Keith’s nappy.”
“I thought I might ride into town and visit the Jacksons. Perhaps they’ve had a letter from Charlie,” she shouted.
There was no response. She could picture her mother’s stoic expression, disapproving of the idea but unwilling to cause conflict. She didn’t care, she was going now whether Mother wished it or not. Since Keith’s birth, helped along by the capable Mrs. May Hobbes from the next farm over, slowly but surely Edie had begun doing whatever she wanted, throwing off the desire to please as the war worked to strip her, and everyone she knew, of hope.
Now, she shouted if the situation called for it. She sat with her knees apart while eating her midday sandwich. She sang at the top of her lungs in her bedroom, at least when Keith wasn’t sleeping. And she’d secretly begun teaching herself how to drive the truck, when Mother wasn’t paying attention.
She’d found the keys on the kitchen table one day. After eyeing them for a full minute, she’d shoved them into her pants pocket and hurried to the shed. When she climbed in and figured out how to get it running, she’d almost squealed in delight before remembering to keep it down. She didn’t want Mother to know what she was up to, at least not until she’d managed to navigate the long driveway on her own.
Her tong
ue stuck out the side of her mouth, she ground the stick until she found the right gear, let out the clutch, and pressed down hard on the accelerator. The first time she did it she’d bumped and shuddered halfway down the drive before the truck sighed and gave up completely. It’d taken every last ounce of patience to figure her way back up the hill so she could park the vehicle behind the shed where it stayed. Mother had been visiting a neighbour on foot, and hadn’t missed the keys, since Edie put them back right where she’d found them.
Edie wiped her palms down the front of her trousers and smiled. No more working the farm in skirts and Mary Janes. No more tiptoeing around. She’d saddle Eliza and ride to town in pants to see the Jacksons and watch a newsreel if she wanted, and no one would stop her.
Monique Jackson was smaller than Edie remembered. Her shoulders were more rounded, her arms thinner, and there were streaks of grey in her thick, black hair that hadn’t been there two years earlier.
“Would you like a biscuit with your tea?” she asked, poking her head around the kitchen wall to smile at Edie. Tension seemed to pull her shoulders high.
Edie nodded. “Yes please, that sounds perfect.”
“I see you rode your horse,” continued Mrs. Jackson, carrying a tray with a teapot and plate of biscuits to where Edie was seated at the small, dark timber dining table. “Will she be okay, do you think? Or can I get her something?”
“She’s fine. It’s not far. And I’ll be heading right back home again as soon as I leave here.” The Jacksons didn’t own horses and had turned their stables into a carport. They’d embraced the modern age and were one of the few families in town who owned a sleek, black car.
Mrs. Jackson tugged off her apron and hung it over the back of her chair before sitting across from Edie. “It’s so lovely to see you, Edie. I was beginning to wonder what’d happened to you. How are you?” She furrowed her brow as though she wanted to say more but the words had gotten stuck in her throat.
Edie coughed. What could she say without being dishonest?
“I’m well.”
“And your… little brother?”
Edie’s cheeks flamed. “Keith is growing quickly, thank you. He’s a cheeky little monkey.”
Mrs. Jackson smiled quickly. “That is good to hear. I’d love to see him sometime.”
Edie nodded. “I’m sure Mother would love to catch up with you.”
“You must all be missing Bobby, and your father, of course.”
Edie took a sip of the hot tea, then set the white china cup with a pink rose pattern back in the saucer before answering. “Yes, we miss them a lot. Especially now it’s lambing season.”
Mrs. Jackson’s eyes widened. “Indeed. Will you and your mother manage that alone?”
“We don’t have much of a choice.”
“And how is your mother?”
Edie was dying to ask the one question she’d ridden into town for. Where was Charlie? Had they heard from him? But she knew her best chance at getting an answer was to push through the small talk that made her skin itch.
“She’s very well, thank you. And Mr. Jackson?”
“Business is slower than usual, but that’s to be expected of course.” Mrs. Jackson held the teacup to her lips and drank, her eyes fixed on Edie’s face.
Edie sucked in a slow breath. “Actually, the reason I came was to see if you’d heard from Charlie.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he wrote to me some months ago, but I haven’t heard anything lately…”
“He wrote to you?” Mrs. Jackson’s lower lip quivered.
Edie had always wondered how much Charlie’s parents knew about their relationship. Her questions about Keith suggested she knew more than she was willing to admit.
“Have you heard anything? Anything at all?” asked Edie, leaning forward in her chair.
She squeezed the table edge between her fingers, her knuckles whitening.
Mrs. Jackson’s face fell, and Edie wondered why she hadn’t noticed the dark circles beneath the older woman’s eyes before that moment. Mrs. Jackson stood stiffly and walked to the kitchen hutch on the other side of the small, dark room. She opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope, then held it to her chest.
“We received this telegram only a few days ago.”
Edie leapt to her feet, her heart beating like thunder in her ears. “What? What is it? What’s happened.” She rushed to Mrs. Jackson and reached for her hands. “Tell me.”
Tears pooled in the corners of Mrs. Jackson’s eyes. “They say he’s been shot down over Crete or The Gulf of Tunis. Missing in action — that’s what it says. He’s missing. They don’t know where he is, he’s been missing since July.”
Missing.
The word rang in Edie’s ears, over and over. Missing. Charlie was lost. Somewhere in North Africa, thousands of miles away from her and Keith, he was dead, injured, alone. And there was no way for her to know which, or when or how it’d happened. If only she’d been able to see him one last time, for him to meet Keith and them to hold each other.
“Is that all it says?” she asked.
Mrs. Jackson nodded. “I’m sorry, my dear. I know the two of you were friendly…”
“We were engaged,” murmured Edie, her eyes glazed. “We’d be married now if he hadn’t left.”
Mrs. Jackson’s hand pressed to her mouth.
Edie stumbled back to the table and slumped into her chair. “Thank you for telling me.”
Mrs. Jackson nodded.
“Please let me know if you hear anything else.”
Mrs. Jackson crossed the room and rested a hand on Edie’s shoulder. “Of course, my dear. Of course I will.”
As she rode Eliza home, she thought about everything Mrs. Jackson had said. About Keith, the lambs, and the farm. It was all too much, she couldn’t deal with it, nor could Mother really, not with Keith to care for. It wasn’t fair. Charlie could be lying dead somewhere, might have been dead for months, and she hadn’t known about it.
Back at the farm, there was a truck parked in front of the house. Mr. Ken Hobbes stood on the front steps speaking with Mother, while she held Keith in her arms, a white cloth slung over her shoulder.
“Edie, darling, Mr. Hobbes has come to help us with the lambing. Isn’t that kind of him?”
Edie smiled as Eliza clip-clopped by. “That is very kind, thank you Mr. Hobbes.”
It was then the idea formed in her mind. She mulled it over while she fed the ewes and checked on their progress. Then again as she inspected the peaches to see how they were progressing and watered the trees. All day long she laboured, and all day long she thought and planned.
Over tea that night, she spoke up. “Mother, I think we should ask Mr. Hobbes to come and help on a more permanent basis. He could run the farm and take a portion of the proceeds. We can’t do it alone and besides I think I’m going to stay with Mima in Sydney for a while.”
Mother’s brow furrowed. “Sydney?”
“Yes, she wrote in her last letter that they’re desperate for more nurses, and I think I could do well there.”
Mother nodded. “I suppose that’s true. Although, Keith and I would miss you.”
“Maybe you should move into town to stay with Aunty Estelle and Uncle Don for a while. Mr. Hobbes could take over the farm while Father is away.”
Mother’s lips pursed. “That is a thought. It would be good to see more of Estelle, and if you leave there isn’t much reason for Keith and me to stay out here all alone.”
“So, it’s settled then.” Edie’s mind was made up, she was going to Sydney. There was nothing to keep her in Bathurst any longer. Keith didn’t need her, he had Mother. Charlie was missing, perhaps dead. The thought settled a stone in her gut and pricked at her throat, catching her voice. If his parents heard anything different, they’d promised to pass on the message — something they could still do no matter where she lived. And if he was wounded and returned to Australia, maybe she’d find him if she was nursi
ng at the Army hospital.
“I’ll have to speak with Estelle, but I’m sure she won’t mind. She’s mentioned the idea herself a time or two since your Father left, but I didn’t want to unsettle you,” said Mother in a clear voice.
She could see her mother warming to the idea with each moment that passed. She’d go to Sydney and see Mima. After that, she had no idea how she’d deal with everything, but it was movement, a way to keep going forward, it gave her something else to focus on and that was what she needed right now; a distraction from the pain of not knowing.
24
November 1995
Cabarita Beach
“Bruno wants us out of the inn today,” said Reeda, “so I’ve booked a flight to Sydney. I’ll be back in two days. Do you think you can handle things while I’m gone?” Reeda sat at the dining table, elbows resting on the white, embroidered tablecloth.
Kate flipped the slices of bacon in the pan beside the eggs, sunny side up. “Piece of cake,” she said with a grin.
“Don’t forget, if they deliver the floor rugs, leave them rolled up against the wall. We’ve got to get the floors sanded and stained before we can put down rugs.”
“I know, don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control,” replied Kate with a wink.
“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?” asked Reeda, her brow furrowed.
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know… maybe because you have control issues.”
Reeda cocked her head to one side. “Very funny. But seriously, call me if you need anything. I’ll be home most of the day today, so you should be able to reach me. I have to pop into the office and get a few things done tomorrow, but today I’ll be home with Duncan. He’s got an entire day with no surgeries scheduled since he was supposed to be attending a conference in Singapore, but I convinced him to stay home to spend time with me instead.”
“He’s such a romantic.”
Reeda smiled, but Kate couldn’t help noticing the way her sister fingered the edge of the tablecloth, as her foot tapped a fast-paced rhythm on the floor.