Dave looked like one of their boys when they were in trouble. ‘I said he was luckier than us. He still has the cottage and’ll get a brand-new house with all the mod cons while we’re stuck with this draughty place that’s way too small and no money to rebuild the old house.’
‘Oh.’ Annie understood.
‘Soon as I saw his face I realised what an idiot I was.’ He shook his head. ‘Of course he’d rather have Peter than a new house.’
‘He said that?’
‘He didn’t need to.’
‘Right.’ Annie turned back to the sink. There wasn’t anything she could add. He’d done wrong. He was sorry. ‘I guess Jack and Judith won’t be coming to the party then.’
‘Sorry, darl. I know how much it means to you.’
‘It’s not just for me, it’s for everyone. We all need cheering up.’ She turned back towards him. ‘You know what I was thinking? Live music would be good. Do you think Mark might play some guitar, give us a song or two?’
‘I don’t think so. He left Melbourne to get away from all that.’
‘Yeah, but he has to get back to his own life at some point.’
‘I guess. But until then I’m glad of his help. Doesn’t look like Ben will be coming back.’
‘No?’ Ben was their permanent worker, up until the fire. Like so many others he’d moved up to town and was building houses. Construction was booming given so many homes had burnt to the ground. There was talk of having to bring builders over from New Zealand.
Dave shook his head. ‘He’s got more work than he can handle and it’ll be going on for a while.’
‘Well, we should hire someone else who knows about orchards. When is Mark going back to Melbourne?’
‘He can’t leave, you know that.’
‘Surely he’s still not hoping his wife’ll come back? Not here to the orchard?’
Dave stood up and walked over to her. ‘Come on, Annie. You know why he’s still here.’
Annie shook off his hand that rested on her shoulder and began peeling another potato. ‘I was thinking I might invite my parents to the party.’
Dave rocked back on his heels. ‘Your parents?’
‘I’m sure they tried to call, after the fire and everything. They would’ve been worried. But the lines were down for so long. They would’ve wanted to know we were safe.’
Dave’s voice was cautious. ‘Even after what they said to you last time you saw them?’
Annie continued peeling the potato, gouging into it to remove an eye. She still remembered the look on her father’s face when she’d told him she was pregnant. Annie had never seen such viciousness or hatred. The words he spoke were spiteful things, full of loathing. He’d insisted she leave his house that minute. She’d had no time to pack – all her clothes, jewellery and books were left behind. Later she’d tried calling her mother, but she would never come to the phone. One day the housekeeper told Annie her mother insisted she had no daughter, that she was dead to her now. But still Annie held out hope. ‘Water under the bridge.’ Annie’s laugh was little more than a grunt. ‘If only there was. This drought!’
‘Darl, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’ll get your hopes up …’
‘I wrote to them, you know. About Angela.’
‘I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t.’ Dave’s voice was strained.
‘Just because they’ve never written back in the past.’ Annie had written to them after the birth of every one of her sons. She’d sent them Christmas cards every year. They’d never responded. ‘But a granddaughter. How could they resist?’ Annie found a large blemish on the potato and picked up a paring knife to cut it away.
Dave sighed. ‘I didn’t see a letter from them.’
‘I just thought, now especially, they’d want to visit. You know, to see how we’re getting on after the fires and meet their granddaughter. Once they see Angela, they’ll fall in love with her. I know they will.’
‘Oh, darling.’ Gently Dave removed the small knife and the mangled potato from her hands. He turned Annie to face him and put his arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry they never wrote back. I’m sorry for all the hurt they caused. But I don’t think anything’s going to change that.’
‘A girl. A beautiful, perfect baby girl.’ Annie’s voice trembled.
‘I know, my darling. I know.’ Dave’s body was strong, a safe harbour. Annie felt herself letting go, dissolving into him. Only then did the tears fall.
15
Late May 1967
Catherine
‘Come on, Mum. You’ve got those beautiful dresses from the Women’s Auxiliary. Either one of them would be just the thing for Annie’s party.’
‘How can you think of going to a party?’ Her mother closed the bedroom door firmly, leaving Catherine on the outside, as usual. Her mother had only recently started attending church again, but even then never stayed for the morning tea afterwards. Mostly she huddled in her bedroom, where there was no view of the orchard or the ruins of the family home. Now the weather was closing in, Catherine had bought some yarn and suggested they knit together during the cold evenings, hoping to find a way to connect, but her mother refused. The magazines Catherine gave her went unread, the latest news from Cygnet ignored. Everything Catherine tried ended in the same way, with her being shut out.
Catherine retreated to the kitchen. Her father sat at the table, frowning at piles of receipts, bills and forms. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll come to the party tonight, Dad.’
‘After what Dave said?’ her father growled. ‘Not likely.’
Catherine wasn’t surprised. Dave’s comment had been out of character, but still hurtful. She sat down beside her father. ‘What are you doing?’ Now the harvest was over, Catherine wanted to get up to speed with everything in the orchard, including the paperwork.
‘Insurance will cover the fences, sheds and machinery.’ Her father pointed his pen at a sheaf of invoices. ‘But there are a lot of other outlays. The Fire Victim’s Welfare Organisation helped me apply for money from the Governor’s Fire Relief Fund. And I can try the Returned Servicemen’s League fund too, being a member and all. Then there’s Apex and the Lions Club. Makes a lot of forms to fill out.’
‘And what about these?’ Catherine indicated a separate pile of papers.
‘They’re bills I can’t pay. Orchard expenses. Usually the harvest would cover them but …’ He spread his hands out on the table. ‘Thankfully the government is taking care of them.’
‘So, how are we looking? The orchard, I mean.’
The phone rang. Her father rose to answer it. ‘Catherine, it’s for you. It’s your beau.’
Catherine felt herself redden. She pulled a face at her dad and took the receiver from his grasp. At least his harmless teasing brought a rare smile to his face. He gave her a wink before joining her mother in their bedroom, giving Catherine a semblance of privacy.
‘Hi, Tim,’ she said, her face still flushed.
‘Hello, Angel. You’d better save every dance for me tonight at this party.’
Catherine smiled. Tim had been vague about whether he’d be able to make it tonight or not. ‘You can come?’
‘Might be a bit late, but yeah.’
A flutter of excitement stirred in her stomach. She’d been worried she’d feel awkward at the party. Annie would be hectic, making sure everyone had a good time, and Dave busy manning the bar and drinking with his mates. But now Tim would be there. She wouldn’t be a wallflower after all. She said goodbye with a smile.
Her father came back into the kitchen. ‘Tim’s going to the party tonight then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. He’ll take care of you.’ He sat down at the table. ‘We haven’t seen so much of him lately.’ He left the inference hanging in the air.
Catherine chewed her bottom lip. Over the past months Tim’s visits had dropped away. The lure of the surf had proved too strong. Instead he had invited h
er along with him to the wild beaches he loved. He’d hoped she’d be like the other girlfriends, waiting on the shore, admiring their men doing battle with the waves. She’d gone a few times, but sitting on the beach doing nothing seemed a waste of time when there was so much to do in the orchard. He’d also hoped she’d be like the other girlfriends in other ways. She knew what went on behind the dunes or in the cars, but the thought of it made her uncomfortable. She liked kissing Tim, but as soon as his hands started straying she would squirm away. She’d been brought up knowing that kind of thing before marriage was a sin, and as much as she liked Tim and as much as he kept insisting she was his angel, love had never been mentioned, let alone marriage. Sometimes she wondered if she was hopelessly old-fashioned; the world was changing so fast, but here in the valley it was if time stood still.
Annie, as always, had been her sounding board. ‘Sex, with the right person, is wonderful.’ Annie’s eyes had misted over, making Catherine fidget with embarrassment. ‘If you’re worried about ending up like me, you could go on the Pill,’ she’d suggested. ‘You’d have to go to Hobart to find a doctor willing to prescribe it to an unmarried woman. It’s expensive and I’ve heard the side effects can be bad, but for peace of mind it might be worth it. The question is, is Tim the right person?’
It was a question Catherine hadn’t been able to answer. She knew how enamoured Annie and Dave were with each other, even after all their years together. She wanted a love like that. Would she ever find it with Tim? So far, he’d been patient, but she wondered how much longer it would last. On the weekends when he didn’t come down to the valley he always made sure he called her on Sunday night when STD calls were cheap. He’d tell her stories about the sea and she’d chat about the orchard, her parents, the valley and the packing shed. She’d even told him about Charlie, their lunches together and the games they played, but Tim had become sullen. She never mentioned Charlie again.
‘Is he still working at the school?’ her father asked.
‘Yeah.’ Tim had told her he’d rather be with her, or surfing, but he needed the money. Plus the job helped keep him fit for surfing.
‘And what about you? They’ve been very generous, giving you all this time off, but isn’t it time you went back?’
Catherine held her breath. She’d been dreading this conversation. ‘I’m not going back.’
Her father’s face froze in a frown.
‘I resigned.’
‘What?’
‘I couldn’t stay in Hobart, not after the fire. I need to be here. I have to help you get the orchard up and running, now that Peter …’
‘Catherine.’ Her father spoke slowly. ‘You know there’s no money in this orchard. There won’t be for years. The insurance will help get us through, but even so, we mightn’t survive.’
‘I can chip in. I’ve saved the money Annie paid me.’
‘Packing’s a job wives do for a bit of extra shopping money. It’ll never replace a teaching wage.’
‘But I can be more use here than in Hobart. There’s so much to do.’
‘Men’s work.’
‘We can’t afford to hire a man and we don’t need to. I can do most of it. I’ve spent years hoeing around the trees. I can prune and graft. And help with the spraying and ploughing.’
Her father pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. ‘Peter told me you planned to take on the orchard if he became a vet.’
Now it came. The accusations. She’d been wrong to hope his argument with Peter had been forgotten or put aside in favour of more pressing problems. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
Her father’s face closed in, dark with anger. ‘What was it like then? You pit my own son against me, and after he’s gone you throw in your teaching job, come back to the orchard and expect to take over the place?’
Catherine gasped with the shock of his words. How could he think of her in such a way? Tears pricked her eyes but she refused to cry. She took a breath and tried to slow her racing heart. Being a vet might have been Peter’s idea, but her parents couldn’t forgive her for supporting him in his dream. It was easier for them to blame her than Peter. She was the difficult daughter who wouldn’t get married and have children, who had the crazy idea of running the orchard one day just because she was the oldest child. And Peter? He was the perfect son and always would be. Even so, it wasn’t all her fault. ‘He tried to talk to you about it but—’
‘It was never going to happen.’ Her father shut down her protestations. ‘You made it worse by giving him false hope. Filling his head with pipe dreams. Telling him you’d run this place and he could be a vet. As if either of those things were going to happen. He knew he’d take over the orchard from me, like I did from my father and he did from my grandfather. Do you really think you can take Peter’s place?’
‘No, Dad. Never. But let me help. Please.’
‘You really want to help?’
She nodded, desperate for both him and her mother to forgive her. There’d been too much pain, for all of them.
‘It’ll be years before the orchard is productive. In the meantime we need some form of income. The best thing you can do is to go back to teaching. You can work in the orchard during holidays and weekends but that’s it.’
Disappointment dropped like a stone. She’d hoped she and her father would work side by side to bring the orchard back to life, but clearly it wasn’t what he wanted. A heaviness enveloped her. ‘It’ll be tough finding a teaching job at this time of year. I can start looking but there mightn’t be anything until next year. In the meantime, I can help you rework the trees.’ Catherine was determined to keep her promise to Peter. The orchard would be heaven again, no matter what it took.
His expression softened but was still stern. ‘A good government job. There’s security there. Not like the land. That’s where you’re the best use to the orchard – teaching.’
His meaning was clear. Her money was good enough to keep the orchard running, but she was not good enough to run it.
The packing shed was jumping by the time Catherine arrived. Annie hadn’t been able to hire a band but she’d come up with a brilliant solution – a jukebox filled not only with the latest hits, but singles from the fifties too, catering for all age groups. Kids, mums and dads laughed while attempting their own versions of the twist. Soft drinks and cans of Cascade beer nestled in tubs of ice and the supper table was laden with plates of sandwiches, homemade biscuits and slices. Two of Annie’s boys, along with a couple of boys around their own age, sidled up to the food and filled their pocket with biscuits. ‘Hey,’ Annie yelled. ‘I saw that. Leave the food alone.’ The boys ran out of the shed with their haul, laughing.
‘Great party,’ Catherine said to her friend.
Annie beamed, Angela on her hip. ‘Isn’t it? So many people have turned up. We all need a bit of fun after what we’ve been through.’
‘Sure do.’ She was glad of the distraction of a party after the conversation with her father. Catherine watched the dancing crowd. Annie was right, most of them had suffered some form of hardship.
‘What’s your poison?’ Dave was standing by the tubs of cold drinks.
‘I’ll have a creaming soda.’ It was for the kids but she was in the mood for something fizzy.
‘Whatever the lady desires.’ He fished out a bottle of soft drink, flipping off the lid with a bottle opener.
Catherine bobbed her head in thanks and took a stroll around the shed. It was astounding what a few streamers, balloons and coloured lights could do. The boxes and pallets had been cleared out, along with Dave’s precious forklift. Wooden bulk bins served as tables and apple boxes as stools. The grader still dominated the space, but no one was paying it any attention tonight. The smell of cigarette smoke and perfume was strong but the underlying scent of apples persisted. Catherine stood near the far wall, comfortable in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be on her own for long. The other women’s faces would turn towards her in envy once T
im was by her side. A handsome stranger was always cause for interest.
Close by, a group of women sat huddled on upturned apple boxes, drinking and laughing. Catherine recognised some of them from the packing shed. She should have put in an effort to make friends during the harvest, but she’d been too sad at first, then spent every lunch break with Charlie. Now she wasn’t sure whether to approach them or not.
‘Cat.’ The decision was made for her with the arrival of an enthusiastic young boy. He was so different from when they’d first met with his solemn face, his serious brown eyes, and his determined struggle to say her name. When she’d suggested he call her Cat, she’d taken herself by surprise. Her little brother had been a quiet, solemn child too. He’d had trouble pronouncing her name and called her Cat. Peter was the only one allowed to, until Charlie.
‘Little Mouse.’ She squatted down to his level, easy to do when she was wearing her packing shed clothes of shorts or dungarees, not so much in a dress with a hemline above the knee. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘I had a fizzy drink.’
‘I have one too.’ Catherine lifted her bottle of creaming soda.
‘There he is.’ Mark stood above her, smiling. ‘I had to chase this little scamp clear across the room. Soon as he saw you there was no stopping him.’
‘Are you hungry? Let’s get a sandwich before Annie’s boys eat them all.’ Catherine stood, taking one of Charlie’s hands while Mark took the other. Before they could make it to the supper table Charlie broke away to join the dancers. He jigged up and down on the spot, beaming.
‘He’s a tad excited,’ Catherine said with a laugh.
‘I think he has the right idea.’ Mark took the soft drink from her hand, placing it on a nearby apple bin. ‘Shall we join him?’ He gestured in the direction of the makeshift dance floor.
Catherine hesitated. Surely Tim hadn’t been serious when he’d asked her to save every dance for him? With a twinkle in his eye, Mark stood next to Charlie and jigged along with him. They looked adorable together. She joined them and her earlier disappointment began to lift. Spending time with Charlie, and Mark, gave her a sense of lightness that was becoming increasingly familiar. The Rascals, the Rolling Stones and the Supremes came and went on the jukebox as Charlie insisted they keep dancing. When ‘Yellow Submarine’ started to play, he yelped with excitement. ‘My favourite.’
The Last of the Apple Blossom Page 10