The Last of the Apple Blossom

by Mary-Lou Stephens

  ‘Hello, darling. Did you have a nice day at school?’ When Angela had started going to school Annie had reluctantly begun to let go. She’d had to, especially when Angela formed friendships with her classmates. It was natural that her daughter would want to spend time with girls her own age, surrounded as she was by brothers who never wanted to play with dolls or teddies. It had been a wrench at first, but Annie was pleased to see Angela blossom into a popular young girl.

  ‘Yes, Mummy. I wrote a composition about birds.’

  ‘How wonderful. Now run into the kitchen and get some chocolate cake before the boys eat it all.’

  ‘Yummy.’ Off she scampered, her long dark plaits bouncing on her slender shoulders.

  Michael, her oldest, was last in. He always kept an eye on his brothers and especially his little sister, making sure they arrived home safely. Michael was growing into a fine young man, aware of his responsibilities and never shirking from them.

  ‘Mum. The orchard.’ His face was dark with concern. ‘Is this really the only way?’

  ‘I know it’s hard, but it’s for the best.’

  ‘That’s my future being torn to shreds out there.’ There was no belligerence in his voice, only pained confusion.

  ‘There’s no future there. Not for any of us.’

  ‘Catherine’s not bulldozing her orchard.’

  Annie swallowed her sigh. Catherine and Mark were idiots for paying Jack Turner as much as they had for the orchard. They’d have got it for half the price if they’d waited. Land prices were falling fast. Still, the money had come from nowhere, so it was fitting it was going nowhere. Royalties from songs? Who’d ever heard of such a thing? Not that it had done Mark any good. Catherine still wouldn’t marry him. She’d insisted on his half of the money being a loan. She wanted to own the orchard outright and run it her way. How she would pay Mark back, God only knew. He and Charlie were living in the Turners’ old cottage now, while Catherine rattled around in her parents’ place. They all seemed happy with the arrangement. Catherine and Mark asked if Charlie could hang out with her boys from time to time. Annie was in no doubt as to what they got up to when Charlie wasn’t around to interrupt them.

  ‘They were lucky with their Red Delicious, Michael. Right apple at the right time. It’s impossible to judge these things. You just don’t know when you decide on a variety whether it’s going to be popular down the track. The market changes so quickly. And some of our trees were planted by your grandfather. They’re old and expensive to work.’

  Michael jammed his hands in his pockets. ‘Can I talk to you for a second?’

  ‘Your brothers are in the kitchen eating all the cake. Are you sure you don’t want to join them?’

  ‘Nah, that’s a good thing. It means we won’t be interrupted.’

  Annie cocked her head in curiosity, followed Michael into the lounge room and sat beside him on the couch.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Mum. I’m nearly sixteen and old enough to leave school now.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve still got five months to get your Leaving Certificate.’

  ‘What good’s a Leaving Certificate if I’m not doing matric? And what good’s matric if I’m not going to uni?’

  Annie had always hoped her children could go on to better things, but until this year wasn’t sure if it would ever be possible. ‘You could go to university, if you wanted to, now there are no fees.’ The Labor Government had made all tertiary education free. Her parents had always been Liberal Party supporters and Dave naturally voted for the Country Party, but Annie had been one of many to back Gough Whitlam with his promises of free education and health care.

  ‘Oh, Mum. I’m not cut out for uni. I’ve always been better with my hands than with books. I always thought I’d take over the orchard but now …’ He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘There are jobs going at the new trout farm in Huonville. I could bring in some money for the family. I mean, things are going to be tougher than ever, right?’

  Annie and Dave had always tried to keep their financial worries away from the kids and clearly had failed. But this? Michael going out to work to put food on the table? She couldn’t bear it. ‘No, darling. The government is giving us money to grub out the trees. Once we’ve paid Jim, there’ll still be plenty left over. We have plans. Other crops, maybe hops or tomatoes, even berries.’ They’d also thought about more cattle but the prices were so low right now. ‘We’ll get through this. What we need from you at the moment is to stay at school, get your Leaving Certificate and then think about what you want. Okay?’

  Michael looked uncertain. ‘Well, what I really want is to be a mechanic. Me and my friends have been talking about getting apprenticeships and studying at the Tech in Hobart. It’s free to go there too.’

  ‘Oh?’ Another thing to blame Mark for. Michael had always been good with engines but after Mark had turned up in that ridiculous yellow thing, he’d become besotted with cars. Mark had encouraged him to poke around under the hood with him until the hailstorm had destroyed it and Mark bought a much more practical ute, but the damage was already done. Michael talked of nothing but cars for months. ‘It would mean moving to Hobart.’

  ‘I could look after myself. One less mouth to feed.’

  ‘And you eat a lot.’ Annie laughed when all she wanted to do was cry.

  ‘There’s nothing for us in the valley now. My friends and me, I mean. We’re talking about getting a house together in Hobart, somewhere cheap.’

  So this was it. Her first-born spreading his wings and leaving home. Memories of Michael as a baby, a toddler and a cheeky six-year-old made her heart ache. They’d all thought he’d take over the orchard one day, but soon there’d be no orchard. What remained for him here except hard work with no certainty of reward? A relentless grinding slog that ended in heartbreak.

  ‘Mum?’

  Annie contemplated her son. He would leave the valley. So many would, the young first. Maybe, one day, she and Dave would drive away and never look back. Families were already packing up and moving to Hobart or the mainland hoping for greener pastures. ‘We’ll talk about it when your father gets home.’ She smiled. ‘Now go get some cake.’

  He left her sitting alone in the gathering gloom. In a moment she’d ask one of the boys to make the fire. The sun would be setting soon, as it did so early on these winter afternoons. The kitchen would be warmer, with the remnant heat of the oven and all her children bustling around the table, but she didn’t want to join them, not yet. She finally allowed a tear to escape. Dave would see the sense in it. He’d want Michael to follow his dream. All Annie had to offer was love and chocolate cake. Once it had been enough. She sat listening to the grind and clash of the bulldozer while the darkness drew in around her.

  44

  July 1974

  Catherine

  Judith Turner had soundly rejected the idea of having a fireplace when their new house was built, unable to bear the smell of burning wood. Catherine huddled by the oil heater her father had so proudly installed instead.

  ‘Efficient and economic,’ he’d said at the time.

  That was before oil prices had surged and heating oil became hard to come by. On these bitterly cold mornings Catherine sorely missed her grandmother’s old wood stove. She wondered if Mark had mastered the art of keeping it burning all night so that he and Charlie awoke to a toasty warm cottage. She reached down to scratch Mickey behind the ears – he’d settled in a warm spot after a long night of ratting. He’d adjusted to the move, but Catherine wasn’t so sure she had. This house was less draughty than the cottage and the hot water system certainly more effective, but it was still her parents’ house. Most of the furniture had remained behind, with her mother keen for a fresh start in Hobart. Catherine had left the main bedroom exactly as it was, preferring to sleep in her old room. There was one thing she’d changed. Her mother had raised an eyebrow on a recent visit when she’d seen the double bed in Catherine’s room.

  She
wrapped her hands around the mug of tea, remembering a few days ago when she and Mark had ended up in that bed. They were supposed to be going through the yearly budget, but their hands had brushed up against each other, which led to lips and mouths and fingers touching and exploring. It had been a pleasurable distraction from the reality of the numbers, most of them written in red. He was coming over again this morning and they had to concentrate this time, even though the task was disheartening. The shipping line had recently announced a 25 per cent increase in freight rates for the Tasmanian run and as a result everything was more expensive. The Red Delicious were keeping the orchard afloat, barely. They needed to find new markets for the other varieties. Even with thousands of trees being grubbed out in the valley, the competition was still fierce and the apple industry in disarray. It was heartbreaking to see the ruin of Dave and Annie’s orchard, the mangled heaps of broken trees amid the churned-up mud left by the bulldozer. But it was a solution she might have to confront herself when it was costing money to keep her unprofitable varieties in the ground.

  The small amount of relief teaching available at the school helped with expenses, but she was loath to go back to full-time teaching even if there was a position. This was her orchard and she was determined to keep it that way. She was grateful for Mark’s help and for his tireless work in the orchard. ‘Just keeping an eye on my investment,’ he’d say with a mischievous smile, and sometimes she wasn’t sure if he meant the orchard or her. The cottage was certainly a more pleasant home for him and Charlie than the pickers’ hut, and for now he seemed satisfied. There’d been no more mention of marriage. She did love him but was still finding her way in this ever-changing world, and marriage, she felt, would be one thing too many. She kept his ring though, safe in its box, tucked in the top drawer of her dressing table. To give it back would feel too final, and the one thing she was sure of was that she wanted Mark and Charlie in her life. The thought of living without them was unbearable.

  A knock on the back door roused her from her thoughts. ‘Paper delivery, ma’am.’ Mark smiled as she opened the door and offered her the morning copy of The Mercury. ‘While I was in Cygnet I dropped into the bakery. Couldn’t help myself.’ In his other hand he held a white paper bag. ‘Neenish tarts.’

  ‘My favourite.’ The rich iced tarts were her guilty pleasure. Her mother used to make them, but Catherine had never mastered the art of getting the pastry, buttercream filling and two-tone icing just right. ‘Come in and I’ll make a fresh pot of tea. I’ve got us set up in the lounge room next to the heater.’

  ‘Didn’t think it could get any colder and yet here we are.’ Mark took off his boots, leaving them at the back door, and padded after Catherine. ‘The frost shows no sign of melting this morning.’

  Catherine glanced through the newspaper while the kettle boiled. ‘Politicians are giving themselves another pay rise, I see.’

  ‘It’s hardly news, it happens so often.’

  Catherine huffed in frustration. ‘Half their luck.’

  ‘Yeah, but would you want to be a pollie?’ Mark opened a cupboard and took out two plates. He knew his way around the kitchen. He’d even cooked dinner for Catherine a couple of times, and more than bangers and mash.

  ‘No. But there are plenty of crackers in it.’

  ‘I think you’d have to be crackers. I’d much rather be a neenish tart.’ Mark grinned as he placed two tarts on each of the plates.

  ‘Two each?’ Catherine was delighted.

  ‘I thought we’d need some sustenance to get through the paperwork. Besides, I want to sweeten you up.’

  Catherine poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot. ‘Hmmm. Is this to do with your possible solution?’ Mark had hinted at something that might ease the financial strain.

  ‘Let’s go sit by the heater. It’s freezing in here.’ Mark gathered the plates and slung a couple of empty mugs from his fingers. ‘After you.’

  When they’d settled close to the heater, Mark flicked through the orchard ledger. ‘Not looking too promising, is it?’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘What?’ He looked genuinely startled.

  ‘Lending me your half of the money. There are so many other things you could’ve done with it.’

  Mark reached for her hand. ‘“Cathy’s Song” would never have existed without you. I can’t think of anything more fitting for the royalties than buying the land you love. You know how I feel about you, and Charlie’s the happiest he’s ever been. I have no regrets at all.’ He smiled, his weatherworn face showing laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘I’m here for the long haul. Which brings me to the idea.’

  ‘Your solution?’

  ‘Not so much a solution as a possible way of helping out.’

  Catherine put her mug down on the coffee table beside the damning accounts. ‘I’m listening.’

  Mark pressed his lips together, appearing to be thinking carefully about his next words. ‘The upper block is the hardest to work because of the degree of the slope.’

  Her heart sank. If he was going to suggest applying to the Tree Pull Scheme and grubbing out the trees, did he actually think she hadn’t considered it? The soil was the poorest up there behind the cottage. It cost more to fertilise, more in sprays because the trees weren’t as resilient, and it was trickier to pick the apples.

  ‘Well, I have some friends who’d like to lease it.’

  ‘Lease the upper block?’ Catherine was astounded. ‘Whatever for?’ The block was only a couple of acres, way too small to make a living.

  ‘They’re in Melbourne and want to make a change, like I did. They have a dream of living on the land, growing their own food, being close to nature. They were thinking of Nimbin, but decided they’d rather move here after I’d raved about how beautiful it is. Izzy sold her house in Fitzroy and land here is so cheap at the moment.’

  Catherine winced. They’d paid too much for the orchard but Mark had never complained.

  ‘I suggested they rent first to get a feel for it, you know, to find out whether it’s really for them. Leaving the city for the country is a big change, and a massive challenge.’ He chuckled. ‘I know that from experience.’

  ‘Izzy. Your old roadie, right?’ Catherine had been fascinated when Mark had told her about Izzy, a woman doing what was usually a man’s job. She’d felt a camaraderie with her even though they’d never met. Now, it seemed they might.

  ‘Yeah. Great chick. You’ll love her. She’s capable and a real hard worker, but this whole move to the country thing was Stardust’s idea. She’s lived on a couple of communes. Got some interesting ideas about growing food and wants to try them here. And Izzy would do anything for her.’

  ‘Stardust?’

  Mark shrugged. ‘It’s a name she felt drawn to. Probably from the Joni Mitchell song.’

  ‘You said they were a couple. They’re both women?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mark said slowly, concern in his eyes. ‘Is it a problem?’

  Catherine had never met any homosexuals. Most of them lived in cities, which she could understand. You’d want a lot of support if you were fighting a battle like theirs. Would it be a problem having lesbians living on the property? Her father would have a fit, but it wasn’t his land any more. ‘No, not at all,’ she said. ‘But it might be for Izzy and Stardust. Cygnet is a small town. I can’t imagine they’ll be readily accepted.’

  ‘Small-minded people will always have small minds. Their kind will die out eventually. The world’s changing all the time. Faster and faster.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Catherine wasn’t so sure. This wasn’t Sydney or Melbourne; this was a small town on an island at the bottom of the world. Attitudes were passed down through the generations.

  ‘Haven’t you noticed the changes? Even here?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Yes, but not for the better.’ Cygnet was like a ghost town. So many people had left the area. Properties up for sale that’d never sell, houses for rent that no one
wanted to live in, and clearing sales every weekend with owners desperate to get some money any way they could. The orchards that weren’t being ripped out were simply abandoned and left to grow wild. ‘Why on earth would anyone want to move here?’

  Mark leant closer. ‘Because it’s beautiful. The air is pure, the water is clear. It’s unspoilt. The fact that land and houses are cheap is also real attractive to certain people.’

  ‘The hippies.’ She’d seen them in town during the summer with their Indian gear and their bare feet. Deb at the Four Square supermarket had told her they’d bought some land along Nicholls Rivulet way. They were living there in their cars and vans, building some kind of shack. ‘They’re a rum lot,’ Deb had said. ‘But they seem quite nice. They only ever buy rice and beans, but at least they’re spending money.’

  Not everyone was so kind. ‘They look untidy,’ Mrs Smith had said at the hardware store. ‘And no shoes. How can you work without shoes?’

  ‘You can’t,’ her husband had answered. ‘That mob’s useless. They don’t do anything. Not like us; we’re used to work and plenty of it. Those layabouts wouldn’t know what work was if it hit them on the head.’

  Catherine thought if the hippies were making a go of it up in the back blocks they’d certainly know about work. It wouldn’t be an easy life.

  ‘Yeah, the hippies. And Stardust is proud to call herself one. Izzy?’ Mark shrugged. ‘Not so much. But they say opposites attract and it sure is the case with those two.’