by Darry Fraser
Wiping her eyes, closing her mouth, Loretta glanced around her, as if trying to find something else to say. When she finally did, it was with a whimper. ‘But I have to go back tomorrow. You have to agree—’
‘Then there’s very little time to be together this visit,’ Lily cut in, exasperated. ‘My last word on the matter is that you’re all welcome here at home whenever it suits you to visit, but you’ll be courteous to Judah if you can’t be anything else.’
Loretta stood up. Her chin had puckered. ‘If I can’t change your mind, Cassandra and I will walk into town to take lodgings for the night.’
Lily’s heart dropped again, thudding against her ribs. ‘You know you don’t have to do that,’ she said, keeping the panic from rising. ‘There’s room here for both of you.’
‘I can’t bear what you’re going to do.’ Loretta’s face crumpled. ‘You’re choosing him over us, over our father.’ She turned and fled the room.
Lily followed, torn. No, no, no. She wasn’t being disloyal to her children, or to Stan. During his illness, they’d never discussed her remarrying, but surely as he loved her, he’d have wanted her to be happy? She wouldn’t be disloyal to herself, either. Her children, adults now, could not dictate how she’d live her life. She’d given everything for them in the past, but she would not give this.
When had her daughter become so terrified of losing her? Perhaps she’d been too young to send to the city to work, though God alone knows how hard it was to prevent her. When her older brothers had received their uncle’s bequest, there was no stopping her going as well. Even at sixteen she’d been determined, and had threatened to run away.
In the hallway, Lily watched her daughter pick up her friend’s hat and gloves from the tallboy and tuck them under her arm. ‘My dear girl.’
Loretta pulled on her own pair and donned her hat. ‘I’ll still write, Mother,’ she said and pressed her wet cheek quickly against Lily’s before she marched to the front door and onto the verandah.
Cassandra took her hat and gloves. ‘Good day, Mrs Hartman,’ she said. ‘I was pleased to meet you.’ Her glance was brief as she took the steps off the verandah and began to walk.
Loretta followed but stopped on the bottom step, twisting her handkerchief. Lily, leaning on a post, was weary with a new grief she couldn’t name. One last try. ‘If you marry your beau and make a life with him like I did with your father, think about what it might be like to lose that love and companionship and end up alone, yet knowing you have so much more to give.’
Loretta set her mouth, then head down, strode past Cassandra, who skipped along to keep up with her.
Lily rubbed her eyes. Was it enough, or would she never see her daughter, or her sons, again? Surely, she would. Surely, it would be all right.
Loretta stopped and turned. She called out, her voice teary. ‘I hope it’s a happy wedding day, Mama.’ Then she ran back, leaping the steps two at a time and hugged Lily fiercely.
Lily wrapped her up and rocked a little, her daughter’s tears on her neck. Loretta let her go, rushed down the steps again and ran to catch her friend. Sagging against the verandah post, waving as Loretta turned one last time, she smiled away the quiet despair. It would be all right. It would.
Fifty-Two
Zeke met the kids at the gate. Giff shook his head sadly. ‘No letter, Pa,’ he said. He’d check the mail in town every day after school before coming home. Gracie looked at her father with sympathy. Jonty had no clue, he was already nearly asleep bareback on Milo.
Zeke reached up and took him off the horse, settled him on his shoulder.
No letter. There’d only been one from Elsa in the seven weeks since she’d left, written maybe two weeks after they’d have got back to Robe, and although he knew he needed patience, he didn’t feel he had enough of it.
Dearest Ezekiel—his heart had soared—we arrived home safe and sore, and glad to be home.
Should that have worried him? He’d read the last words of that line over and over. She’d written of the farm and that it had been pilfered in their absence, of the bakery that was in a neglected state, but how Rosie had soon re-opened it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Elsa was also working at the bakery, so it seemed she had gainful employment. She might not want to leave that.
She continued, telling him of her excitement of the election day coming in the weeks ahead.
‘… the candidates, Mr Ash, Mr Handyside, Mr Smeaton and Mr Barker. Forgive me not saying for which party, or for whom I will cast my vote.’
And to add to the complexity of it, the women would also be among voters who would answer a referendum, a first for the country. Her tenacity, her determination to vote made him feel proud for her. No wonder—it was a fierce part of who she was. How could he possibly have tried to deny her, even with the knowledge that he might well lose her to her home colony.
‘… I am well, dear Ezekiel, and my thoughts are constantly with you and your children.’ He took a deep breath at that. ‘For now, all I have are these written words, but know that they are sent with deep affection.’
His heart was still soaring when he headed inside with Jonty. He put the boy down to sleep for a while.
Jude was winding vinegar-soaked bandages around one of his hands. He held it up. ‘Fencing. I hadn’t realised how soft I’d got until pulling wire through posts,’ he said, and took a look at Zeke. ‘No new letter, I take it?’
Zeke shook his head. ‘Mrs Hartman not coming today?’
‘Her daughter was at her house when we got back from the graves. I think Lily’s anxious about that.’ He held out his hand and Zeke tied off a bandage. ‘She believes her kids are not impressed by her remarrying.’
‘And?’
‘I didn’t stay, I’ll let them sort it out. I have confidence in my wife-to-be.’ Jude inspected the bandage.
‘So she’s still remarrying?’ Zeke asked, wide-eyed.
‘Aye, she is. Without a doubt. I know it, and don’t sound daft. We have it planned for next week.’
‘Jude, family can be persuasive.’
His brother nodded. It was clear Jude had thought of the possibility that Lily might be talked out of their decision. ‘They can. As I said, I have confidence.’
If nothing else, he was stoic.
‘Ah, well then, a wedding.’ Zeke reached into a cupboard and brought out a rum pot and two snifters. ‘We’ll enjoy that.’ He poured.
Jude lifted his in salute. ‘Nebo would have enjoyed it too.’
‘He would have.’ Zeke leaned over his glass. Nebo. He felt a pain in his heart. My brother.
‘He was a good lad, deep down, our brother,’ Jude said. ‘Silly bugger.’
‘Sad bugger,’ Zeke said.
‘Aye. I miss him.’
‘We all do.’
In silence, they sat until the kids had finished their chores.
The next day at the gate, Gracie and Giff were running alongside a slow trotting Milo, and Jonty, high on the horse, was gleefully waving an envelope in his hand. ‘Pa, Pa, it’s from Ma Goody,’ he cried.
Gracie yelled at him. ‘Miss Goody.’
Zeke closed his eyes a moment. That boy.
None of them could wait. They jogged to the house. Chores waited, tea waited and the four of them huddled around the table while Zeke read the letter. Then he had to read it again, before deciding which of the parts of the letter to read aloud.
‘… so I hope everyone is well. We are well here, and think often of you all …’
Jonty was very pleased. ‘She thinkin’ of me.’
‘Of all of us,’ Gracie said, leaning over her father’s shoulder, and he edged the letter away from her eyes.
‘… not many animals on the farm. The fences are in need of mending …’
‘I could mend her fences,’ Giff said, and looked expectantly at his father.
‘… and so I still work at the bakery. Speaking of my sister, Rosie is not as good as Gracie at managing m
y hair …’
Gracie preened. ‘She means I was good at it, Pa.’
Zeke smiled at her, remembering Elsa’s hair in his own hands.
The letter went on, but the children were satisfied with their mentions and their interest waned quickly. Zeke folded the letter and tucked it in his pocket. He would study the rest of it at his leisure, when he could pore over her pages—the many pages—detailing her life.
From then on, her letters arrived every few days, causing much excitement and chatter after school. Again, he would read the children the mention Elsa made of each of them, then he’d put the letter into his pocket and wait until he could savour reading and re-reading for an hour or so in the quiet of the evening.
Some letters were only a page. He wondered if she’d been tired when her hand penned those missives. And when he set down to reply, he made sure to ask. He tried to reply to each separate letter and didn’t succeed but always made sure he answered all her questions in a long letter back to her.
Over the weeks he noticed that hers began to slow. Maybe she had truly overworked herself. He wondered if mail might have been going astray, but that didn’t seem likely. Gifford had also noticed the lack of regular mail from Miss Goody. The boy would shake his head ruefully when he’d come home after school.
Then at last, Giff had been successful on his mission. The last one received mentioned the results after the election. Elsa had written about the local polls, and about how they returned a resounding ‘no’ to the first of the three questions of the referendum: should any changes be made to the free and secular education for state schools? She listed the other questions, but he was impatient to read more personal news.
Satisfied that she was well, and happy, in reply he’d quickly written a short letter to tell her of his own visit to the polling booth, returning home to more work. He’d wondered if he’d hear news of a visit from her soon. He didn’t ask. She knew how he felt. But he did tell her of Jonty’s growing impatience, of Gracie’s careful tending of her mother, Maisie’s brush, readying for Elsa’s return. He promised Elsa a new brush—maybe Gracie needed to have her mother’s brush all to herself. He wrote of Judah and Lily marrying.
It was now nearly the end of May, three weeks after that last letter and as autumn drew to a close, winter advanced more boldly by the hour. The letters from Elsa had stopped. Zeke wrote, and wrote again, and waited.
On a cold day at the end of June, the afternoon sun bright in a pale sky, Giff greeted him with a wave and a big toothy grin. Gracie, laughing and singing, skipped alongside Milo and Jonty, rugged up on the faithful horse, flapped two letters, and cried, ‘We got two, and this one’s from her. It’s from Ma.’
Zeke rubbed his face and pocketed the other letter; he didn’t recognise the writing on it and put it out of his mind. He slipped Elsa’s letter inside his shirt. After so long, would it be bad news? He’d have to read it all through first before imparting anything to his kids.
As they all clamoured around the table in the cosy kitchen room, the oven chugging out happy warmth, he took a ragged breath, reading quickly. Zeke couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe what she’d written.
‘Come on, Pa. What does she say?’ Gracie asked, peering over his shoulder. ‘Pa.’
He snapped out of his shock. ‘She says that she’s well, that her sister is well.’ Newspaper cuttings drifted to the floor. Giff picked them up, squinted to read them. ‘And that she sends everyone her best wishes and hopes you’ve all been very good.’
‘We have,’ Giff and Gracie said.
‘When she comin’ home?’ Jonty.
Zeke was greedy for time alone. ‘And now it’s time for chores,’ he said to his kids, distracted. ‘Jonty, eggs. Gracie, fruit. Giff, the dogs, and give them a run.’ He grumbled at their groaning protests. ‘Go on, hurry it up.’ When the kids had gone, he sat and stared at the letter.
While Jude continued working to fix his place, he’d gone to live at Lily’s now that they were husband and wife. Zeke was on his own with Elsa’s news. ‘And so, Ezekiel, my love, forgive me for my tardiness, but I don’t know how to use the right words for this …’
He read and re-read as a pulse beat strongly in his neck.
‘I must look out for my sister …’ and ‘… don’t want my words to be misconstrued as “unseemly” when I speak of what was between us—do you remember when I used that word before? It seems so long ago …’
He thought of her wild head of hair, and Gracie struggling to contain it. Of how he’d taken over from his daughter and been completely entranced, his hands working the plait—nothing unseemly about it. Thought of her grit, her honesty, her need to be independent in her thinking. Her love of family, and of the land.
‘I cannot see another solution. It appears the only way.’
How could it be so?
‘If there were another way for me, for Rosie, I wouldn’t be writing any such thing.’
He’d had hope, but now … He hadn’t realised how badly it would hurt, until now, not to have her. Never to have her with him. His heart thudded, his temples hurt. He held his head in his hands and breathed.
‘You must put me out of your mind, and trust that this is the best thing to do.
‘With my love and deepest affection, Elsa.’
Fifty-Three
Close to tears again, Elsa tried hard not to think of what Ezekiel might’ve felt when her last letter landed in his hands. There’d been no answer from him but what else should she expect—she’d broken her own heart, so what must her letter have done to him?
Rosie had reached out and gripped her hand in both of hers. At first Elsa thought her sister had been about to show some heart. ‘It’s for the best, Elsa,’ she’d said. ‘For me,’ she added matter-of-fact. ‘No one must know the baby’s real father, not only of the disgrace for me, but also for the child if it were to be known.’ Rosie wanted Elsa to look at her, had tried to move into her line of sight, but Elsa pulled her hand away. Always about Rosie. ‘And you do know we couldn’t survive without you, don’t you?’ Elsa only nodded. Still more nervous, Rosie had asked, ‘You won’t leave, will you?’
Trying to muster a smile, glancing at Rosie over her shoulder, Elsa had said brightly, ‘Of course not.’
The mornings had been the hardest of all, getting up in the wee small hours and toiling in the bakery with nothing but the roar of the heating ovens to break the silence in her head and heart. In those hours, thoughts of life at Casterton with Ezekiel and the children crowded in over the top of the dough proving for bread, over the dried fruit plumping for the buns, over the spreading of jam in thick swathes … (One thing had happily occurred—her buns no longer looked like cowpats.) Then she’d go upstairs and try to stay awake to get Rosie up and about, with tea, and something to entice her to eat.
Her sister had lately begun to feel better for she woke ready to chatter, ready to give orders and finally ready to do a little work. That was a good thing, because Elsa’s steps had begun to slow, and life appeared only burdensome. When the day was done, Elsa would climb to her room above the bakery and sink into the mattress, exhausted. What hope had ever looked like for a future with Ezekiel was well extinguished, and her sorrow couldn’t be relieved under the heavy curtain of fatigue. Her last thoughts before sleep were that she really had to lift her spirits. She wasn’t a maudlin person.
One day not long ago, Rosie had been in the bakery surveying the baskets of fragrant breads and the pastries in their display cabinets. ‘You have developed a knack for this, Elsa, but oh dear, I do wish you’d look after yourself better. Whatever will the customers think?’
Elsa smoothed wayward locks back to her haphazardly put together bun. ‘In that case, perhaps if you’re feeling well enough, you’d look after the shop while I have a sleep for an hour or so.’
‘Yes, all right, but do it after lunchtime. I have to go down the street myself this morning.’ She looked very healthy and stood there protective
ly cupping her belly. She’d taken to doing that when she thought no one was looking. It was a good thing for her to be happy about her coming baby.
Rosie had returned and Elsa had taken a nap. Her sister had let her sleep for an hour in the afternoon each couple of days since then.
Today was the day they’d leave the farm behind; no more talk of working the land. Elsa had only been able to visit the farm from time to time anyway since arriving back, and now the land had been leased to a farmer from the next section. Elsa took it in her stride; she’d continue to live with Rosie in the small residence over the bakery.
She’d woken to Rosie holding her hand.
‘Is everything all right?’ Elsa struggled to sit, groggy with sleep.
‘I realised I’ve never said thank you for all you do, Elsa.’
Peering at her sister, Elsa wondered if she was feeling unwell. She swung her stockinged feet to the floor and reached for her work boots. She’d head for the farm with Peppin and the cart for one last time. ‘I’m sure you have, Rosie.’
‘You must know that I never meant to hurt you, even though my situation might have caused that.’
Was her sister becoming soft? Well, that wouldn’t hurt.
Rosie had gripped her hand again. ‘I’ve been a selfish and shrill woman all my life. Oh, I’ve certainly heard myself lately, don’t worry, but I realise how happy this baby makes me. I am aware, though, that my happiness is at the expense of yours, and for that I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you—haven’t yet heard from Mr Jones.’ She’d looked very worried still, even furtive, but that was Rosie.