The Last of the Apple Blossom

by Mary-Lou Stephens

  When there was a lull Mark poured them a cup of tea from the thermos and gently kissed her cheek. She smiled up at him, her eyes still bearing a trace of sadness. He handed Charlie the smaller thermos full of hot Milo. ‘Did you check out Izzy and Stardust’s stall?’

  ‘Yeah. They’ve just about sold out of pies already,’ Charlie said. ‘And they gave me a little apple tart.’

  ‘Even those hunza pies sell well,’ Catherine added. ‘Brown rice in a pie. Very odd.’

  ‘Tastes all right, though,’ Mark said with a smile.

  ‘Hmm.’ Catherine sounded dubious. ‘And their apples are a bit scabby and russeted, but their customers don’t seem to mind.’

  Mark always enjoyed strolling through the stalls when he had the chance. He’d say hi to Izzy and Stardust’s friends behind tables laden with home-grown vegetables, leatherwork and pottery plus the homespun jumpers, scarves and beanies that always reminded him of lumpy porridge. There was a camaraderie among the stall holders. They’d swap goods, exchange tips, and take care of each other’s stalls if the need arose. The market was like its own little village, built from scratch every Saturday morning and then packed away until the following week. Sometimes, when the rain and wind made the hours drag and Charlie was bored and irritable, the market was less appealing. Mark would find himself longing for his warm, dry armchair at home. Even so, he looked forward to Saturdays with a sense of anticipation.

  ‘Do you have any Ladies in the Snow? They’re so hard to find these days.’ A woman peered at the piles of apples on the table and the boxes underneath.

  ‘They’re my favourite too,’ Catherine said. ‘My dad had to restructure the orchard and most of them went, but I made him keep a few in the home orchard. They sell out very quickly though. I might have to plant some more.’

  ‘Oh, so you’ve sold out?’

  ‘Afraid so. But give me your name.’ Catherine pulled out a notepad from next to the cashbox. ‘I’ll have a few next week and can keep them aside for you if you’d like.’

  ‘That would be wonderful.’

  ‘In the meantime the Cox’s Orange Pippins are very good at the moment.’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll take a kilo.’

  Mark loved watching Catherine with the customers. She was always welcoming and warm. The three of them were a good team. Word was spreading about their stall and he wouldn’t be surprised if they made $200 again this week.

  At one o’clock, as the market was closing, the bargain hunters came around, hovering like crows hoping to score some cheap apples. Mark was happy to give them the smaller and marked apples for half price. The way he saw it, everybody was a winner as it meant less lugging for him. On the drive home they listened to the radio and sang along to their favourite songs. So many of them were about love. Mark snuck a glance at Catherine, her mouth wide and smiling, singing enthusiastically. She loved him. She hadn’t told him, but he knew. When he and Charlie had arrived at the house with their meagre possessions in a couple of suitcases, she’d shown Charlie to the spare room and Mark to her old room. ‘It was your one condition,’ she’d reminded him with a grin. It made sense to have his room next to Charlie’s, and during the nights when he found himself in Catherine’s bed he was grateful to have his son’s room a little further away. He treasured the nights he was with her, not only for their lovemaking, but also for the luxury of holding her as she fell asleep. It was then that he felt most at peace. When Catherine’s mother came to visit, more to see Charlie than her own daughter, Mark suspected, he was grateful to have a room of his own. Judith would always do a little snooping, keeping tabs on what her daughter and almost son-in-law were doing. Catherine’s father had pulled him aside on one of the rare occasions he visited.

  ‘When are you going to make an honest woman of my daughter?’ he’d asked, his eyes stern and his mouth a thin line.

  ‘She is already, Jack. Living an honest life and making an honest living. If you’re talking about marriage, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but the decision isn’t mine to make.’

  Jack had never asked again. Mark wondered if Catherine would ever marry him, but the longer they lived together in their strange but workable situation, the less important it felt. They were happy. Why push her into something and ruin it all?

  As soon as they got home, Charlie rushed off to play with Greg and Scott over at Annie’s place. They were building yet another fort in the bush and Charlie’s carpentry skills were much in demand. Mark unpacked the ute and headed for the kitchen. The cashbox sat on the table and Catherine was counting the notes, mostly the browns and greens of one and two dollar notes but there were some purple fives and a few blue tens as well.

  ‘Another good day’s takings,’ she said, tipping the cashbox up to empty the coins onto the table. ‘Charlie will have fun counting all this later.’

  ‘It’s really making a difference, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s helping.’ She chewed her bottom lip. ‘But it’s still not enough.’

  He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat beside her. ‘There is something else that’ll ease the burden a little.’

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. ‘Another of your famous solutions?’

  ‘Yep.’ Despite her doubts he’d been right about Izzy and Stardust and about the Salamanca Market. ‘Izzy and Stardust would like to buy the upper block.’ He paused, waiting for an objection from Catherine. It was her family’s land and had been for generations. Leasing was one thing but selling was another altogether. Catherine remained silent so he pressed on. ‘They’re willing to pay above the going rate. They love it here. The trees, the view and the dam.’ He smiled at the memory of the time they’d all gone skinny dipping. ‘They want to build their dream home right here.’

  Mark waited, but she remained silent. He let the silence stretch out, giving her time to think it through.

  Catherine took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘If I pull those trees the government will pay us $350 an acre. I checked because I honestly thought Izzy and Stardust were going to ruin them. But they haven’t. The trees aren’t in as good a condition as I’d like, but their offbeat methods seem to be working, to a point. And if I pulled them what would I do with the land? Cattle, tomatoes and potatoes like Annie and Dave? That’s not exactly working out for them. I grew up with trees. I like trees. They’re rooted in the earth but they reach to the sky.’ She snorted. ‘Good Lord, I’m starting to sound like Stardust.’

  ‘You like her and Izzy, don’t you?’

  ‘Much to my surprise, I really do. Stardust is completely wacky, but she’s also very loveable, and both of them are such hard workers. I respect that. I couldn’t sell my land—’ Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. ‘I couldn’t sell my land to just anybody. Not to people I didn’t know.’ She took a breath. ‘But I could sell it to them. They’ll have to pay more than the government would though. Even if I bulldozed the trees, the land would still be mine. If we can agree on a price then, yes, the land is theirs.’

  Mark moved closer, engulfing her in his arms. ‘I know this is hard but it’ll all work out.’

  ‘It’s been hard for so long. I’d really like it to be just a little bit easier.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, nestling deeper into his arms. And for now, that was enough.

  48

  August 1975

  Catherine

  Catherine read down her list of pros and cons. So far the first column was lengthy and compelling. It had been another disastrous year for Golden Delicious. A massive oversupply meant prices had plunged yet again. If it wasn’t for the Salamanca Market they’d have had to tip most of the crop. The results for Sturmers were even more appalling, which was a shame because they were a sturdy variety and easy to grow. Freight rates to Europe were going through the roof so it had actually cost them more to send their Cleopatras to Norway and the Democrats to Germany than they’d made on the sale. The Red Delicious we
re still doing well in Asia, and the Granny Smiths were holding their own.

  She eased the crick in her neck and looked out at the endless rain. If Mark didn’t get home soon he mightn’t be able to get through. Word was some of the roads in Huonville were going under. The weather made pruning miserable work, with cold water running down the back of her neck and up her sleeves, not to mention the mud up to the top of her gumboots. When she was working near Izzy and Stardust’s block she’d keep check on the changes they’d made in the year since they’d arrived. Sometimes she envied the grass and clover growing like a luscious green carpet around the trees. The thick clinging mud wouldn’t be a problem in their orchard. It was too early to tell how it was affecting the trees, but Catherine had looked into grassing down her own orchard and Stardust was right, it was becoming popular. Maybe it was time to invest in some grass seed rather than a new disc for the plough. The rain had been relentless for weeks. If it didn’t ease up she was worried about an infestation of black spot; the fungus multiplied like crazy in damp conditions. There were other issues concerning her – electricity tariffs were way up meaning cold storage costs would rise, and interstate freight had jumped another 40 per cent. The apple industry wasn’t the only one doing it tough. The newspapers were reporting unemployment rates as high as they’d been during the Depression.

  Catherine picked up the letter from the Ag Department that had arrived the previous week. She’d read it at least ten times and could quote it verbatim without having to look at the words printed there in black and white. The government was extending the Tree Pull Scheme. Already more than two-thirds of Tasmanian apple and pear growers had applied for assistance. Others had tried to keep going and were struggling, as she was, but had finally been forced to give up. She glanced down at the balance sheet of the orchard ledger. Even with the extra income from the Salamanca Market, some varieties were definitely dragging them under. The obvious answer was to take advantage of the government’s offer and grub out some trees. What would her father say? Catherine slammed the ledger shut. It didn’t matter what he thought or said. The orchard was hers now, and always would be.

  The sound of Mark’s ute pulling into the driveway and the rumble of another larger vehicle drew Catherine away from her lists and budgets.

  ‘Come round to the back door,’ Mark called out to the driver of the truck. ‘It’s a flat entrance through there.’

  Catherine peered out the kitchen window. Mark had been mysterious about his reason for a trip up to Hobart today. Two burly men jumped out of the truck’s cabin, opened up the back, and locked a ramp into place.

  Mark bustled in, water dripping off his hair, nose and clothes. ‘What a day.’ His kiss and the chill of his skin made her shiver. ‘Sorry about letting the cold in but I’ve got to keep the back door propped open for a bit.’

  ‘What on earth is in the truck?’

  He gave her one of those smiles that made her bones weaken. ‘You’ll see.’

  The men wrestled a large object down the ramp. It was covered in a blanket so Catherine couldn’t be certain, but it looked suspiciously like a piano. With Mark’s help the men manoeuvred it through the back door and, with some grunting and muttering, managed to edge it down the short hallway and into the lounge room.

  ‘Where do you want it, mate?’ One of the men, wet with rain and sweat, stood hands on hips surveying the room.

  ‘What do you think, darling?’ Mark’s face was flushed from exertion and excitement. ‘If we move this side table it would fit up against this wall.’

  ‘A piano?’ Catherine stared at the object. With all the trouble they were having trying to stay afloat, Mark had bought a piano?

  ‘Second-hand and a real bargain. I couldn’t resist.’ He removed the blanket to reveal the lovely mahogany instrument. His eyes gleamed as he opened the lid to display the black and white keys just waiting for someone’s touch.

  The delivery man cleared his throat. ‘So, along this wall then?’

  ‘Catherine? What do you think?’

  She wasn’t sure what to think. Mark was usually as frugal as she was, but a piano was a pure extravagance. She wanted to say as much but instead pressed her lips together. They’d wait until the delivery men had gone to talk about it. ‘Sure.’

  After the truck had disappeared back into the rain, Mark sat at the piano and played a few bars of ‘After the Gold Rush’.

  ‘It needs tuning,’ Catherine said, aware of the sharpness in her voice as well as the piano.

  Mark stopped, his fingers hovering over the keys. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I’ve been looking at our budget.’

  ‘I thought it’d be a wonderful surprise. I know how much you love playing. We could have sing-a-longs, you on piano, me on guitar and I bet Charlie would be a natural on drums. I was thinking of buying him a set for his birthday. Just a small one.’

  She thought Charlie would probably prefer a colour TV, but there was no way they could afford one. Catherine sat beside him on the piano stool.

  ‘He has a great sense of rhythm. Maybe bass guitar.’ Mark played a few more chords. ‘You’re right, it does need tuning.’

  Catherine placed a hand on his. The notes fell away. ‘Our budget. It doesn’t look good.’

  ‘It was really cheap. The delivery cost more than the piano. I paid for it with my latest royalty cheque, and I’ll get it tuned as well.’

  Catherine couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought anything for herself. Any money she earned from relief teaching and the royalties that still dribbled in for ‘Cathy’s Song’ went straight into supporting the orchard and their living costs. Mark had hoped another of his songs might have been picked up after his success with Glen Carter, but he’d been right, getting a song placed was like winning the lottery. Not that it would have made any difference to the orchard. Catherine would never accept his money as anything other than another loan and she was stretched to make repayments to him as it was. It was strange, though, how after each one of those payments something they desperately needed would turn up. The tractor would mysteriously have two new tyres, a local man would spend a day ‘helping out with a few bits and pieces around the joint’, or Mark would have found an ‘amazing deal’ on sprays or fertilisers. None of those costs ever came out of the orchard budget. Catherine had stopped questioning it because all she got from Mark was wide-eyed innocence and flippant explanations. He’d distract her with kisses and change the subject. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly and she laced her fingers through his. ‘It’s a beautiful piano.’

  She turned her face up to his and they kissed with a passion that kindled sensations low down in her body. ‘And we’ll make beautiful music together,’ he murmured.

  Catherine pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. ‘How about now?’ She didn’t want to think about freight charges or electricity bills. She craved his naked skin next to hers, ecstasy and oblivion. She stood and took his hand, leading him towards the bedroom. They fell onto the bed, pulling off clothes, each hungry for the taste and touch of the other. The sheets were cold with the clamminess of endless days of rain, but his body was wonderfully warm and his mouth hot. Mark’s kisses traced lines of fire across her breasts and down her stomach. The glow between her legs grew in heat and intensity, sparking through her body. She moaned and pulled him up towards her, pushing hard against him as he thrust into her with the urgency she craved. He met her with an energy and intensity of his own, bearing down upon her with a combination of strength and lightness. He called her name and his body rippled beneath her fingers, then sighed and softened. Cradling her face with his hands, he kissed her lips, her nose and her eyelids, then held her tightly against the length of his body.

  They lay together as little undulations of pleasure pulsed through her body. Mark pulled the blankets up to keep the cold away and she snuggled into his warmth. ‘Beautiful Catherine. Beautiful music,’ he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

>   Slowly her body calmed and stilled. Her heartbeat steadied and the reality of the afternoon eked its way back into her consciousness. They needed to discuss her decision to apply for the Tree Pull Scheme and go through the budget together to see if there was anything she’d missed. There was dinner to cook and before she could do that she had to go out in the rain and pull some potatoes and carrots from the vegetable garden.

  ‘Where have you gone?’ Mark propped himself up on an elbow and looked into her eyes. ‘You were here with me and now you’ve disappeared into a world of worry.’

  ‘Just a few things on my mind.’

  ‘I’ll make a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’ She watched as he dressed, the muscles in his back moving with ease under his skin as he pulled on a T-shirt and jumper. She’d never regretted asking him to move into the house. They might never marry. The idea was getting further and further away, like a small boat drifting away on the tide. She was reminded of the Joni Mitchell song about not needing a piece of paper to stay together. What would a wedding certificate give them that they didn’t already have?

  In the kitchen the window was fogged up with condensation from the recently boiled kettle. Mark had put out mugs, milk and sugar along with the chocolate coconut slice she’d baked yesterday. He sat down opposite her to pour the tea. ‘So, you really do like the piano?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s beautiful. And I have missed playing.’

  Mark put pieces of the slice onto plates, avoiding her gaze. ‘Have you given any more thought to giving Angela piano lessons? She’d be old enough now.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Catherine hadn’t been considering lessons at all. She and Annie had never discussed it. Was he referring to a comment made years ago, before Lara was mistakenly declared dead? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

  ‘Eight years old is a good age, don’t you think?’