Eventually her mother shrugged in a bored and elegant way. ‘Your father left a sizeable inheritance. If you hadn’t been cut out of our wills, a third of the inheritance, including this house, would have gone to you.’ She pierced Annie with a sharp look. ‘Instead it will go to Angela.’
Annie’s heart beat faster and her hands grew clammy. If there was ever a time to stand up to her mother, it was now, no matter how hard it was. ‘No.’
‘As I said, Anne, you were written out of both mine and your father’s wills. I am being more than generous.’
‘I have six children, not one.’ Annie clasped her hands tighter to stop them from shaking.
‘That’s hardly my fault.’
‘Dave and I have a business plan which will ensure the future for your grandsons as well as your granddaughter. We need financial backing.’ Annie pushed on despite the look of disbelief on her mother’s face. ‘All I’m asking for is my share of the inheritance, or Angela’s share if you prefer, in advance.’ Annie swallowed the bile that was rising in her throat. She was doing the equivalent of selling her precious child, her beautiful Angela, to Cynthia. She was appalled at her own behaviour but couldn’t deny there was a part of her that felt as though a sleek ocean liner had pulled up beside the stricken raft she and her family were desperately clinging to. Would the liner stop or would it sail past, leaving her tossed in its wake? And which of those two options did she actually want?
Cynthia raised a hand to her throat in mock horror. ‘Why on earth would I consider backing you financially? In what way could I expect a better result than the apple orchard has brought you? Why would I squander Angela’s inheritance?’
‘Because it’s my inheritance, it’s also my sons’ and your granddaughter’s. If it makes you feel better, consider it a loan.’
‘No, Anne. It will never happen.’
So, the ocean liner had sailed right on by. There was no lifeline. She closed her eyes against the confusing mix of dread and relief. Angela would stay with her, where she belonged. She and Dave would have to find their own way through their troubles, although she had no idea how. Annie stood. She hadn’t forgotten where the kitchen was. Many was the night she and her brothers had been banished to eat their tea there when her parents had company. She’d collect her daughter, grab some afternoon tea for herself, and they would leave and never return. She got as far as the door.
‘Stop.’ Her mother’s voice was low and firm, but there was a hint of a plea in that one word. A lifeline after all. Annie reached for the doorframe to steady herself. Was she really capable of relinquishing her daughter in order to save her family?
50
March 1976
Catherine
Angela usually made her own way to the house for her piano lessons, but today Annie was with her. Her face was drawn and puffy. Lack of sleep or tears, Catherine thought. Maybe both.
‘I’m not staying,’ Annie said, almost apologetically. ‘But I wanted to walk over with Angela. It’s so rare we get time together, just the two of us.’ Annie was clasping Angela’s hand and showed no signs of letting go.
‘It’s always good to see you. Sure you won’t come in for a cuppa?’
‘Not now. I’d like to catch up though. Later this afternoon, if you can. Alone.’ Annie’s voice sounded constricted, as if she had something caught in her throat.
‘Sure. I’ll send Mark out on an errand.’
‘No, don’t do that. Don’t say anything to him. Not yet.’ Annie wouldn’t meet Catherine’s eyes. ‘Let’s meet somewhere private.’
‘Where?’
‘The pickers’ hut. No one’s been there for years.’
‘The hut?’ How strange it would be, to go back there. Catherine wondered if there was anything left in the place, apart from memories. ‘Okay. I’ll walk back with Angela after her lesson and meet you there.’
‘Thanks. Now, I’ll let you two get to it.’ Annie hugged her daughter with a strange intensity before letting her go. ‘See you soon, my darling.’
Catherine led Angela into the lounge room, her head whirling. Annie had been on edge and distracted. What was wrong? She’d find out in little more than an hour.
‘Hi, Angela,’ Mark said, from the kitchen. During her lessons he pretended to read the paper, but always positioned himself so he could see the two of them from where he sat.
‘Hello, Uncle Mark.’
It had been tricky when Angela first started coming for lessons. Mark had been stilted, and Angela shy. But once it was decided that Catherine and Mark could take the place of Annie’s estranged family in a way, as an honorary aunt and uncle, their relationship settled into an easy pattern.
Angela took her place at the piano stool as Catherine pulled up a chair beside her. She caught sight of Mark peeking over the top of his newspaper. He warmed her heart in so many ways, and his secret but unwavering devotion to his daughter was one of them. Angela placed her fingers on the keys and began to play the latest piece she’d been practising. The confidence of her technique, her natural aptitude for mood and dynamics, and her extraordinary ear were always a source of wonder to Catherine. Angela was gifted, there was no doubt.
After the lesson, the three of them enjoyed their afternoon tea in the kitchen. While Angela and Mark chattered happily about what she’d got up to at school and the books she was reading, Catherine sipped her tea in silence. She’d made butterfly cakes for Angela today, and as much as she enjoyed watching her tuck into them, her mind was elsewhere. What did Annie want to talk to her about? And why had she looked so wretched?
Annie was already at the pickers’ hut when Catherine arrived, pacing nervously on the small porch. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ she said. ‘I’m at my wit’s end.’
Catherine gave her friend a comforting hug. ‘Shall we go inside?’
‘I’d rather stay out here in the fresh air. I need to think.’
‘I’ll get us something to sit on.’ Catherine brought out the old chairs, amazed they were still in one piece, and settled herself and Annie. Her thoughts were running in circles. Were Dave and Annie in marital trouble? Was one of the boys in strife? Or was the bank going to foreclose? She knew they were having financial difficulties.
Annie twisted a handkerchief in her hands as she sat on the edge of the chair, nervously tapping her foot. ‘It’s about Angela.’
A cold sensation hit Catherine in the stomach. ‘Is it Lara? Does she want her back?’
Annie shook her head, keeping her eyes downcast. ‘It’s my mother.’
‘What about her?’ She knew about the letter and its brutal announcement of Annie’s father’s death. Before then, Catherine had thought Annie might have exaggerated her descriptions of her mother, but the letter had confirmed them all.
‘I went to see her.’
‘And what happened?’ Catherine had wanted to advise against going, but had held her tongue. She’d seen the light of hope in Annie’s eyes and feared for her. Now, it seemed she was right.
‘She wants Angela.’
‘Pardon?’
‘And the truth is, she’s right. I can’t offer the things she can.’ Annie spoke quickly, her words almost garbled. ‘Angela is extraordinary. You’ve been amazed at how fast she picked up the piano. She’s always top of her class and reading books way above her age group. She has an endless curiosity and sometimes I wonder if her golden eyes can see things others can’t.’
‘She’s very talented, I agree. But what does that have to do with your mother?’
Annie took a shuddering breath. ‘She wants Angela to live with her during the week. She’s already enrolled her in a private school in Hobart. And you should see the bedroom she’s decked out for her, all in various shades of pink, with a four-poster bed fit for a princess and an enormous doll’s house taller than Angela.’
Catherine was flabbergasted. Without warning, Annie’s mother had demanded her way back into Annie’s life only to take away her beloved child. And she�
�d been so sure of her victory she’d already put all the mechanisms in place. The woman truly was everything Annie had told her, and more. ‘And you’re considering this?’
Annie met her eyes for the first time. Catherine saw desperation and heartache there. ‘If Angela lives with her, she’ll lend us the money we need.’
‘Oh.’ Catherine’s heart sank. She thought she knew how hard things were for Annie and Dave, but they must be much worse if Annie was even considering this.
‘I have to send her lawyer a copy of the business plan, but Dave and I know it’s sound. We’ve looked at every angle, cost analysis, budgets, markets, and projections for worst- and best-case scenarios. The bank won’t touch us, not with our level of debt. I hate that we’ve ended up here, but my mother is our only hope.’
‘And she’ll definitely lend you the money?’
‘She didn’t bat an eyelid when I told her the amount. She’s made it a priority. My mother wants Angela at the new school as soon as possible. They won’t hold her place forever.’
‘And Dave? What does he think?’
Annie’s shoulders slumped as she looked out over the paddock where apple trees used to grow. It was filled with rows of shrubby potato bushes that brought even lower returns than apples. ‘We’ve been going in circles. Her money means a new start, a business we know will work, and security for us and our boys. But the price?’ Annie pressed the handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing away tears. ‘That’s why I needed to see you. For another point of view.’
Catherine felt a surge of anger at Annie’s mother. Ultimately the decision would be Annie’s and all Catherine could do was help her clarify the possible outcomes. ‘You say Angela will stay with your mother during the week. If you go through with this, will she come home on weekends?’
‘For the time being, but my mother has plans.’
‘No. You have to tell her it’s non-negotiable. Angela spends every weekend with you. What about school holidays?’
‘Some of the time with us and some with her. She wants Angela to have the kind of cultural experiences she can’t get here.’
Catherine couldn’t fault the idea. If she’d been able to experience more of the world she would have jumped at the chance. ‘Tell her for the May and September school holidays Angela will spend the entire time with you. The summer break is longer, half and half would work.’
‘I wish I was as strong as you. I don’t know if I can stand up to her. I think I used up all my reserves getting this far.’
‘You are strong, Annie.’ Catherine grasped her friend’s hands in her own. ‘You’ve survived through bushfire and hail, through the worst economic disaster this valley has seen, and you’ve been a tower of strength all the way through for your family. You can do this. You have to, if you decide to go ahead with it. Otherwise your mother might take complete control of Angela’s life.’
Annie’s face collapsed in anguish. ‘Oh God, how can I think of delivering Angela into that house, knowing what awaits her?’
‘You grew up in that house and you turned out all right. Angela’s had nine good years with you and Dave. She already knows who she is. She’s strong, like you. But how does she feel about living with her grandmother?’
‘She was intimidated; who wouldn’t be? But she liked the housekeeper, Mrs Parkes, and she loved the bedroom. And the doll. You should see it. It walks and talks! There’s a lovely piano she’s allowed to play. And my mother is going to find a new piano teacher for her as soon as possible.’ Annie looked quickly at Catherine. ‘I’m sorry you won’t be able to teach her any more.’
Catherine’s thoughts went back to earlier this afternoon, sitting in the kitchen with Angela and Mark. He was an important factor in this fraught equation. He loved his time with Angela and they’d grown close. It would break his heart to be separated from his daughter again. Whatever Annie chose to do, Mark would need to find a way to maintain contact. If Angela came down every weekend, perhaps she and Mark could drive her back to Hobart and stop along the way to play at a park and eat butterfly cakes. But for now, her attention was on Annie and her agonising decision. ‘And what about you? You were always so afraid of losing her and now …’
‘She’s growing up. Becoming more independent all the time. I’ve got better at letting go over the years. I’ve had to, with school and her friends.’ Annie sighed. ‘You’re right. She knows her own mind. I think if anyone could survive in that house, it would be her.’
‘But how do you feel about not seeing her every day?’
‘I’ll miss her terribly, I know. That’s why this is so hard.’ The tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid of losing her, but I’m also afraid of losing everything else.’
‘You will never lose her. This will always be her home.’
Annie closed her eyes for moment. ‘And if I don’t go through with this, she may not have a home any more.’ There was a note of certainty in her voice that wasn’t there before. It was subtle but Catherine could hear it through the tears. Annie had made her decision.
51
July 1976
Catherine
The vault of the sky stretched up forever. It was one of those rare but beautiful winter days without a cloud when the sun reached into every hollow and nook, lighting up the water, the hills, the trees and the paddocks with a sense of hope after weeks of sleet and bitter southerlies. Catherine was pruning around the grafts on the mature trees to get rid of shoots from the old varieties. ‘You did us proud once,’ she murmured as she snipped. ‘But your time is over; now you must make way for the new.’ She heard herself and laughed. Stardust was exacting an influence on her in more ways than one. Catherine had already grassed-down her orchard and now she was talking to the trees. What next? The hessian collars Stardust used to trap the codling moth larvae? That woman would do anything to avoid spraying, preferring to spend hours wrapping and unwrapping the hessian from the trunks and giving the larvae that harboured there to her chickens. Catherine was loath to admit it, but the technique was working. She shook her head. Who else but Stardust would invest that level of time and effort when spraying was so much easier? Stardust still sprayed, but she didn’t use any of the chemicals most orchardists used, preferring natural solutions of lime, copper and winter oil. Whenever she borrowed the crawler she’d thoroughly clean out the sprayer before filling it with her own concoctions. ‘The sprays you use,’ she’d said to Catherine one day while cleaning the tank, ‘are not good for the trees and they’re very bad for you.’
Her words had reminded Catherine of a story an old friend of her father’s had told them. It had been a dreadful year for looper grub and the spray to eradicate them was particularly nasty. The old orchardist was sick of the blackbirds eating his raspberries so he put one drop of this spray inside a raspberry and left it for the birds. A blackbird ate it and dropped dead on the spot. Along came a crow, ate the blackbird and it too dropped dead. ‘And we all know,’ the old man had laughed, ‘it takes a lot to kill a crow.’ Catherine had been wary of the spray ever since and wore an old rain jacket, sou’wester and gloves to stop the spray drift from settling on her skin. Her father had never taken any such precautions and he was still hale and hearty, working in the job he’d wanted, leaning on a shovel for the Hobart Council. But Stardust’s words had resonated with Catherine and she’d revised her spray schedule to use less toxic alternatives where she could.
Catherine’s orchard would never look like Stardust’s though, where weeds and herbs grew in tangles of spider webs around the trees. Stardust reassured her that the spiders were good predators, feeding on codling moths, mites, aphids and scale. She also encouraged ladybirds and earwigs, lacewings and predatory wasps to keep the pests at bay. The chickens helped, and the sheep ate fallen apples, which also stopped the pest breeding cycle. But Catherine preferred a neat, freshly mown orchard. She was delighted not to have to battle the mud or dust every time she went into the orchard, but Stardust’s jungle was a step too far.
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br /> The sun warmed the back of her neck and shoulders, easing the knot of tension that always hit when she was pruning. She glanced at her watch. Izzy and Stardust had asked her to drop in this afternoon, and now was as good a time as any. She walked through the open paddock separating their properties. The ridges where the ground had been hilled up to help the apple trees with drainage were still evident. Catherine thought of these ridges as the ghosts of her trees. Not that she had any regrets. It had been tough to grub out half her trees but she’d made the right decision. The remains of the stumps were heaped into piles. Izzy was gradually working her way through them, chainsawing them into firewood to feed the wood oven, the fire pit and the open fire in their new home. Izzy also burnt them down to piles of grey ash to spread around the trees and on their abundant vegetable garden. ‘Great source of potassium,’ Izzy had said. ‘Makes the plants jump out of the ground.’
Catherine climbed through the fence that kept the sheep out of her orchard and made her way up to their house. It always made her smile when the oddly shaped little home came into view through the trees. It was very much a hand-made house with its mismatched windows, high pointed gables and large verandah, but it suited Izzy and Stardust perfectly. Catherine had got to know some of their friends who’d helped with the build. Though their appearance was odd, with their choice of clothing and unkempt hair, she genuinely liked and admired them. Cygnet would be a ghost town without their presence. Most of them were hewing a life for themselves out of the rough bush blocks further down the river and up in the hills where land was dirt cheap. It’d be a tough life.
The Last of the Apple Blossom Page 35