The Last of the Apple Blossom

by Mary-Lou Stephens

  Today was Sunday, her one day off. Sometimes she drove to the church in Cygnet, but this morning she wouldn’t be part of the congregation. Mark had called last night. He and Charlie had crossed Bass Strait safely and were on the way to Launceston. By now they’d be heading towards the valley, to her.

  They’d be hungry after the long drive, and Charlie had always loved scones, so she’d baked some fresh this morning. They nestled under a clean tea towel in her basket along with a pot of clotted cream, a box of tea, a bottle of milk and a jar of her mother’s homemade blackberry jam. Her mother would never visit her at the cottage. It reminded her of those hard months after the fire, when the grief was too raw to bear. But sometimes she’d go with Catherine to pick blackberries growing wild along the fence lines. The thorny bushes were considered a pest, prolific and hard to destroy, but no one could deny the deliciousness of the berries. Her mother was still subdued, barely the woman Catherine remembered from before the fire, and hardly left the house. Catherine was grateful that, once in a while, she’d join her and they’d walk in the fresh air together.

  Catherine’s pace quickened as she crossed the dirt road and made her way through the Pearsons’ orchard towards the pickers’ hut. It felt good to stretch her legs and use some of the pent-up energy humming through her body. She’d admitted to Mark that she was nervous. ‘It’ll be just like old times,’ he’d said. But it wouldn’t. So much had changed. Mark and she were finally free to be together. Tim was long gone. She didn’t miss him, but she was grateful. He’d been a caring and generous lover, teaching her about her body and the pleasure it gave. One day she would share that pleasure with Mark.

  The hut came into view through the trees, the wood greyed with age and the corrugated iron roof faded to a patchy red. Her heart soared, imagining Mark stepping through the door with Charlie pushing past to fly down the wooden steps towards her. But the door remained closed, the curtains drawn. It would be dusty in there and in need of a good airing.

  After making the hut as hospitable as possible and laying out the scones and jam, Catherine turned her attention to the fireplace. With some encouragement and the addition of more kindling, finally the fire burnt brightly in the hearth, dispelling the winter chill from the hut. It was too cold to sit outside on the porch but even so Catherine placed the old rickety chairs out there, just as they were before Mark had left. She wanted everything to feel as familiar as possible. Catherine heard the sound of an engine, a low throaty burble. Mark’s new car. Charlie said it looked like a bee, bright yellow with black stripes, but roared like a lion. Catherine peered down the rutted track, hoping the car wasn’t too low slung or it would never get up the driveway. The car eased along the track, coming to a stop in front of the hut.

  Mark jumped out and beamed at her. ‘Hi, honey, I’m home.’

  The hammering in her chest threatened to burst it wide open. Mark was here and he was hers. She drank in his eyes, his face, his body. The beard made him look older, but he was still the handsome man she’d fallen for.

  ‘Cat!’ Charlie pushed open the heavy car door and clambered out. He was taller and his face a little longer, losing the chubby cheeks she remembered so well.

  Catherine ran down to meet them, longing to feel Mark’s arms around her, but it was Charlie who was at her side first. ‘Charlie. How’s my little mouse?’

  He hesitated.

  Had she said the wrong thing? Was he too old for childish games? She tried a different tack, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘I’ve missed you so much. We’ve got a lot to catch up on. I bet you could thrash me at gin rummy these days.’

  Charlie’s face changed and he burrowed into her arms. ‘I missed you too,’ he said, his voice muffled.

  Catherine hugged him tight, overjoyed. She felt Mark’s hand touch her shoulder. ‘Can I join in?’

  Catherine had planned to look stunning and composed, dressed in her new tight v-neck jumper and flares. She’d wanted to show him she was as good as any of those city girls. Instead her face was probably a mess, with mascara running and her nose red from the cold. It didn’t matter. The look in Mark’s eyes was enough to dispel any lingering doubts of how he felt about her. Charlie nestled into her side as Mark’s strong arms encircled them both. She breathed them in with a shuddering sigh. This is what she’d yearned for and now, after so long, it was happening.

  Charlie was the first to break away. ‘I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?’

  ‘I made scones, just for you.’

  ‘Yay.’ Charlie raced up the steps and disappeared into the hut.

  Mark took her hand. It was smoother than she remembered, except for the calluses on his fingertips. She stroked them gently. ‘Someone’s been playing a lot of guitar.’

  ‘From east to west, and north to south. But that’s done with now. I think you might be interested in how smooth my lips are though. Unlike my fingers, they haven’t had a lot of use at all.’

  Catherine lowered her eyes to take in those lips. ‘I’ve never kissed a man with a beard.’ The energy fizzed through her body, little sparks igniting every nerve.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ His voice was husky as he pulled her towards him, and his body warm as she pressed against him. Mark lifted her head to meet his lips.

  ‘Stop all that yucky kissing stuff.’ Charlie was on the porch, waving a scone at them. ‘Come and have scones.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘The way to a man’s heart.’

  ‘You already have my heart. It’s never wavered.’

  She touched his lips with her fingers. ‘So smooth,’ she said. ‘And all mine.’

  Catherine took in the bright yellow car with fancy black stripes. It was certainly going to turn heads in Cygnet. ‘Charlie’s right, it does look like a bee.’

  Mark pretended to frown. ‘I think it looks more like a tiger.’

  ‘Of course, I see that now.’ She snuggled close to the warmth of his body. She never wanted to stop touching him, if only to be sure he was actually here. ‘What kind of car is it?’

  ‘HG Monaro. A GTS 350 V8. Came out last year.’ Mark spoke with a pride she found fondly amusing. ‘Driving down from Launceston today was the first time I could really let her rip. What a blast.’

  ‘How nice for you and HG. I hope you’ll be very happy together for many years.’

  ‘I think we’re all going to be very happy together.’ He bent to kiss her.

  ‘Scones.’ Charlie’s voice was insistent. ‘Please.’

  Reluctantly they broke away but their hands remained enfolded in each other’s as they walked inside.

  Charlie proved just how hungry he was by scoffing down three scones, topped with jam and cream. Catherine only nibbled at hers – her appetite for food had been replaced with a hunger for Mark’s touch. ‘Is the band really okay with you coming back to the valley?’ she asked. ‘With all your success I would’ve thought they’d want you to stay in Melbourne.’

  Mark finished his scone and licked a smudge of jam from the side of his mouth. ‘They’re more than okay, stoked actually. Our manager said it was a masterful stroke of publicity.’ He put his plate down on the apple box serving as a side table.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘“Long Road Home” is a massive hit, and now here’s the man who wrote it living what the song is about. I’ve come home to the simple life and the woman I love. Go-Set did a whole feature on it and our album went skyrocketing back to number one.’

  ‘But don’t they want another album? Another tour?’ Catherine couldn’t suppress the worry in her voice. Now he was back she never wanted him to leave again.

  Mark leant forward, his knees touching hers. ‘Here’s the thing. The hardest part about being in a band is being in a band. You spend all your time together; gigging, recording, touring. It can start to bum you out. With these guys, all of us are old enough to know how quickly a good thing can go bad. We’re going to take it easy, do the odd gig, maybe some festivals, but after this
tour we all knew we needed a long break.’ He stroked her fingers, sending sparks through her body. ‘A really long break.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Charlie, wiping jam and crumbs from his mouth. ‘Like me and Granny and Grandpa. We like hanging out together but sometimes it gets boring.’

  ‘I’m sure they love you very much.’ Catherine knew Lara’s parents doted on Charlie. Mark had been grateful to have such enthusiastic babysitters, especially when he was on tour. Before Lara’s death they’d been confused and saddened by their daughter’s behaviour. Mark had told her that Lara had shut them out of her life in the months before they came to the valley. Her death had left them shattered, but having Charlie around had eased their pain somewhat.

  ‘They’re pretty cool, but not about my frogs.’

  ‘You still like frogs?’ Catherine glimpsed the young boy she used to know.

  ‘Hard to find in Melbourne. Can I go down to the creek and look for tadpoles?’

  ‘We might have to wait until spring,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s a bit cold for tadpoles at the moment. But we can still go and try.’

  ‘Now?’ Charlie jumped off his stool, sending crumbs flying, and raced for the door.

  Mark smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry. He’s been cooped up in the car for so long. I think he needs to let some of that energy out.’ He stood, offering his hand to Catherine.

  ‘I know how he feels,’ Catherine said softly, blushing at the inference of her words. She took Mark’s hand to stand, leaning close against him. In his eyes she saw a desire that matched her own.

  ‘There will be a time,’ he whispered, his voice low and throaty. He traced her jawline with his fingers. ‘Soon.’

  ‘Come on,’ Charlie said, struggling into his parka.

  Catherine kissed Mark lightly on the lips. ‘I’m going to hold you to that.’

  Charlie returned to school in Cygnet and, almost as if he’d never been away, quickly became a country kid again, with scabbed knees and muddy gumboots. Mark began work in the orchard with Dave, living the country life he’d sung about. It had only been a few days, but Catherine could hardly bear to be apart from him. At night her sleep was restless, dreaming of his touch. Her days were distracted. When Mark turned up at the cottage without Charlie the following Sunday afternoon, she was overcome with relief and a delicious sense of anticipation.

  ‘Dave offered to take Charlie fishing with his boys.’ Mark chuckled. ‘I think he might’ve guessed we wanted some time alone.’

  Catherine pulled him inside, hungry for the taste of his lips. ‘The whole afternoon and you’re all mine.’ They fell onto the couch laughing and kissing, finally free to explore each other’s mouths and bodies. Catherine tugged at Mark’s jacket as the desire hummed through her. She wanted his skin against hers, his hands on her body, and the hunger she had for him quenched.

  ‘Whoa,’ Mark said, through her kisses. ‘Let’s slow this down, just a little.’

  Catherine stopped, confused. ‘Why? I’m not … well, you know.’ Before he’d returned to the valley, she’d told Mark about Tim. Even though it would have broken her heart if he’d changed his mind about coming back, she wanted him to know the truth while there was still time. His reassurance had been a balm. But he did admit to hoping he’d be the only man she wanted from now on. It was a promise she was happy to give.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong.’ He cradled her face in his hands. ‘I want this as much as you. But there’s something I need to do first.’

  Catherine watched him as he rummaged in the pocket of his jacket. ‘Ah, here it is.’

  He went down on one knee in front of her, holding a small velvet box.

  Catherine pressed her hands against her chest. She hadn’t imagined this might happen so soon. They’d talked about love and being together, but never marriage.

  Mark smiled into her eyes. ‘Catherine Turner. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?’ He opened the box and inside was a delicate ring studded with tiny sapphires encircling a diamond that threw out prisms of light.

  She couldn’t answer. Words had deserted her. Instead she lowered her head and extended the fingers of her left hand.

  Mark slipped the ring on her finger.

  She stared at her hand, silent and awestruck.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, gently touching her arm.

  ‘I never expected … I didn’t think …’ She looked at his face, the laugh lines round his eyes, the dark beard surrounding his lips. This was the man she loved, and he wanted her to be his wife. She sighed with a deep happiness. ‘We’re going to get married.’

  ‘Yes, we are.’ Mark joined her on the couch. ‘So, shall we take up from where we stopped? I believe you were tearing my clothes off.’

  ‘Yes, but not here.’ She led him to the bedroom, kicking off her boots and socks as she went. He followed suit and they stood, barefoot, pressed against each other, their kiss deep and urgent. She felt a familiar hardness press against her leg. Playfully, she pushed him onto the bed, following him down. They lay beside each other gazing into each other’s eyes for a moment. She drank in the reality of Mark here, in her bed, then his lips were on hers, his tongue hot in her mouth and the passion flared again.

  Wrapping her legs around him, she rolled him over on to his back, grateful for the lessons she’d learnt from Tim. She straddled his body and leant over to kiss him, her hair falling loose around her cheeks. Mark reached up, pulled her jumper off over her head, and began unbuttoning her blouse. Slowly his fingers worked their way down, brushing against her skin and sending delicious shivers through her body. She closed her eyes, relishing the sensation, and delighting in the knowledge of what was to come. They had waited so long.

  Catherine let her blouse fall from her shoulders and reached back to unclasp her bra, watching Mark’s expression when he saw her naked breasts. His eyes darkened with desire.

  ‘My beautiful Catherine,’ he whispered and raised himself up to kiss her lips, her throat, her breasts.

  She rolled away and stood beside the bed. Shimmying out of her jeans and panties she stood completely naked in front of him. Catherine enjoyed the sense of power she had in her nakedness, quite the opposite of what she’d been taught by the Church and society. She might well be a temptress here in the orchard surrounded by apples, the fruit of knowledge, but there was nothing evil here, nothing to be ashamed of, just her and Mark and their love.

  Mark groaned and reached for her.

  ‘Let me undress you,’ she said. She leant over and pulled his jumper off along with his T-shirt, then slowly, with a knowing smile on her face, she unzipped his jeans and tugged them down over his hips.

  ‘I want to kiss you, now,’ he said, his voice low and thick.

  Catherine removed his last piece of clothing and let her eyes wander over his body, strong and lithe, with a smattering of dark hair leading down to the place she longed to touch. ‘Where would you like to kiss me?’ she asked.

  ‘Everywhere.’ He pulled her to him and pressed his body against her. His fingers and lips explored her body, then his tongue traced a line over her stomach and down between her legs. Her body pulsed with a need so deep it made her moan. She reached for him. As he moved inside her she dissolved into a state both familiar and strange. The world she knew slipped away and there was no going back. She was light, she was energy, she was everything. And then she was nothing. Drifting like a feather on the breeze. Later Catherine lay her head against his chest and swayed with the rise and fall of his breath. She was home.

  33

  August 1971

  Catherine

  ‘So, Mark’s back, then.’

  It was a clear, still morning. The mist had burnt off early, leaving the pale sky cloudless and bright. But the cold was always there, turning toes and fingers numb. Catherine and her father were pruning in the lower block and had paused for a warming cuppa from the thermos.

  ‘That’s right.’ Catherine stopped herself from adding, No thanks to you.<
br />
  ‘You know what everybody’s talking about?’

  Catherine said nothing. No doubt the gossips were indulging in their usual tittle-tattle.

  ‘That car.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘Hardly suitable. What was he thinking?’

  ‘Not that he’d be coming back to Wattle Grove.’ Her words had a bite to them she couldn’t hide. She was willing to work with her father, but his betrayal still hurt. In time she’d forgive him, but sometimes the anger rose unbidden.

  ‘I only did what any father would. You can’t blame me for trying to protect you.’

  Catherine buried her response by taking a sip of tea. Her father had admitted what he’d done, but had never apologised for it. In his mind his actions were justified. It was a fight she wasn’t going to win. Her victory came in being with Mark.

  ‘He’s asked me to marry him.’ She watched the expression on her father’s face change from righteous to worried.

  ‘What answer did you give?’

  Catherine took off her work glove, displaying her left hand and the ring that sparkled there. ‘I said yes.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘That’s it? I thought “congratulations” might be more appropriate.’

  ‘In my day a young man asked the father’s permission first. Everything’s changing so fast, and not always for the better.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Dad.’ Catherine threw the last of her tea on the ground and put her glove back on. ‘I’m going to work on the trees in the second row.’ She needed some distance.

  ‘Are you certain, about him? The rumours—’