by Lily Hammond
Ruth sighed, and touched the girl again, turning them back towards the house. She needed to be walking for this.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said, still sighing. ‘It’s not talked about, and it’s frowned over when it’s seen.’
Eliza leaned towards Ruth, drawing the words in, turning them over in her mind. She lifted her hand in a question. Why?
Ruth shook her head and decided to skip over the whole issue of why. It was too tiring, and she wanted to get back to the coolness of the house, to the dimness of her bedroom. She thought she might lie down for half an hour. Fatigue pulled at her limbs, at her mind.
‘It’s called lesbianism,’ she said boldly, and louder than she’d intended. A quick glance around showed no one on the street to have heard. ‘Those of us who love like this live to the outside as friends or housemates, but our love is as strong and lasting as any other.’
Eliza nodded and patted Ruth’s arm. Like you and Maxine, she said inside her head.
Ruth didn’t know what else to say. Those were the bald facts already. ‘Instead of lying with a man, with a husband, we make love with another woman. It is natural that way, for those of us who are lesbians.’ Her mouth was dry again and she yearned for a glass of cold water and the cool softness of her pillow. They were almost at the house and she led them back up the driveway, almost glad she didn’t have to ask Eliza if she had any questions. At the back door she could hear the shouts of the other women in the house and she turned to look at Eliza.
‘I don’t know if you have questions,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we can talk about it later, if you have, and you can make me understand.’ She touched her forehead. ‘I’ve a headache, so I’m going to go and lie down for a while.’
Eliza let her go, looking after her retreating form and feeling the sadness from her that she’d recognised before. For a moment, she wondered what the cause of it was, and then her brow cleared, and a smile returned to her face as she walked back through the house and outside to the clotheslines and the pile of sheets and dresses to hang.
Each clothespin she slid onto the line held a new word for her. Lesbian. Love. Desire. She pegged up the last item.
Lover.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It seemed to her that it had been far too many days before she could visit again. Clemency pulled the Model A to a stop in Maxine and Ruth’s driveway and got out, glancing up at the sky that had clouded over two days ago and still brooded overhead, threatening rain. The rooftop on the motor was up and snapped securely into position.
She stood in front of the house for a moment, rubbing her arms, not from the cold but because they were covered in nervous goosebumps. When she swallowed, her throat clicked dryly. On a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the familiar entranceway.
Clemency didn’t think she could call out – her voice would advance out of her mouth in only an ungainly croak, so she put her head around the kitchen door, looking for Maxine or Ruth.
Or Eliza.
Ruth was there on her own, sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea and an open cookbook in front of her. She looked up, saw Clemency there and knew that things were well and truly travelling down their own track. She touched a finger to her cup and found it was cold. She looked across at the visitor.
‘Hello Clemency. Come in – I haven’t seen you in a while,’ she said, mustering up a smile, and not sure whether to be glad Maxine wasn’t home, or whether she wished she was.
She’d told Maxine about her conversation with Eliza, of the news that Eliza had perfectly recognised the attraction Ruth had so haltingly described to her because she felt it also. They had been sitting under the tree by the garden, in Maxine’s favourite spot, as the day drew to a close around them.
‘So, that’s it, then,’ Maxine had said, leaning back in her seat and reaching for her pipe. She frowned as she tamped tobacco into the bowl and searched around her pockets for the box of matches.
Ruth didn’t answer. Because Maxine was right. She felt the weight of the twilight gathering around her and thought that everything from now was probably coloured with a sort of inevitability.
Clemency would see what was clearly on Eliza’s face now and be unable to help herself from making overtures. Which Eliza, who walked around hungry for experience, for the whole world, would not resist. And Maxine would growl and snarl about it, prophesying doom for the hapless pair. Which would come true, when Clemency tired of the girl who couldn’t speak, and as for Eliza? What would happen to her?
‘It won’t work out between them, you know,’ Maxine said, breathing smoke out into the evening air.
Ruth shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, trying to ward off fate.
‘Of course it won’t – you’ve seen Clemency with women before.’ Maxine huffed in more smoke.
Ruth had. She and Maxine had been having varieties of this conversation for years.
‘She tires of them because none of them keep her interested up here,’ Maxine said, tapping her head. ‘A warm and willing body in the bed is all very lovely until you feel like getting up again and actually doing something.’ She put an arm around Ruth’s shoulders. Not everyone was as lucky as she had been to find the right combination of everything in a mate. So far, Clemency had not.
In the kitchen, Clemency smiled down at Ruth. ‘I’ve been busy at the studio,’ she said. ‘And interviewing prospective photographers to take it over.’ That elicited a sigh.
‘It didn’t go well, I take it?’ Ruth patted the tabletop in front of a chair. ‘Take a seat and I’ll get you a cup of tea.’
‘Stay where you are,’ Clemency replied. ‘I can get it. I’ve had three good applicants, one of whom was even female.’
Ruth widened her eyes. ‘My,’ she said. ‘Even female.’ She smiled despite herself. ‘You make it sound as though it is some sort of affliction.’
Clemency fetched a cup and saucer down from the cupboard, knowing her way around the kitchen as well as she knew where everything was in her own. She poured the strong tea into her cup and sat down. ‘Not an affliction at all.’ Clemency looked down at her cup. ‘In point of fact, she was a very capable, attractive woman. Of the three, I’m inclined to give her the job,’ she said.
‘Then what is the issue?’ Ruth asked. She picked up her own cup and sipped. ‘I would have thought this was cause for celebration.’
Clemency gave a wincing shake of the head. ‘It’s Libby Armstrong.’
Ruth sifted through the files in her head but couldn’t place the name. ‘She sounds familiar,’ she said. ‘Why does she sound familiar?’
‘She is from Christchurch. Regina and Hetty know her.’ Clemency shifted uncomfortably on her chair. ‘In fact, she comes not only with a half-decent portfolio, but a letter of introduction directly from Regina and Hetty.’
The news raised Ruth’s eyebrows and she put down her cup of tea, looking over at Clemency. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘That’s…’ She searched fruitlessly for the right word. ‘Interesting. Isn’t it?
‘Mmm,’ Clemency said, non-committal, thinking not about Libby Armstrong’s photographic portfolio, but the letter she’d presented, recommending her for quite another position indeed. A potential partner for Clemency, not just in her business, but in her personal life, or so Regina seemed to suggest in her letter of introduction. Clemency licked her lips, wondering if Maxine had written to them. She shook her head minutely. That was farfetched, that Regina and Hetty would have dispatched Libby Armstrong simply for the purpose of introduction to Clemency. Libby herself had said she wanted the challenge of the position, and that was her purpose of coming down to Dunedin to apply.
When Clemency had suggested that Libby could open her own studio in Christchurch, Libby had smiled and looked her straight in the eye. She had a grandmother down here she wished to be close to. And Clemency’s business was ready-built, with a superior clientele.
‘How did it go, talking to her then,’
Ruth asked, watching Clemency’s face. ‘What is she like?’
Clemency cleared her throat. ‘We passed the interview very pleasantly,’ she said. ‘We spoke for near on two hours about photography. She has a wide interest and some talent in the medium.’ Clemency could hear herself becoming more formal the more she spoke, the words sticky in her mouth. She cursed herself inwardly and cleared her throat.
Ruth eyed her with a sideways glance. ‘So she’s a good photographer, then?’
‘Yes,’ Clemency said. ‘She is. Very strong at studio work in particular.’
‘So, you’ll be giving her the job, then, unless the other candidates were better?’
‘They weren’t.’ Clemency took a mouthful of tea. ‘I imagine I will give her the position. She has ambition enough to do it justice.’
Ruth nodded, her mind ticking over the news. ‘You’ll have to get all of us together,’ she said. ‘Maxine will want to meet this Libby Armstrong.’ She shrugged a shoulder. ‘You know I’d invite the both of you to a dinner here, but we’ve such a houseful.’
Clemency nodded.
Ruth looked at her some more and lowered her voice. ‘Did you find her attractive?’ she asked with frank curiosity. It simply wasn’t often that they came across another woman of their kind.
The question made Clemency nervous, and she put the cup down and touched her hair, distracted. She thought of Libby Armstrong’s blonde good looks and the saliva in her mouth dried up. She took a gulp of tea.
But Ruth was waiting for her to answer so she drew in a breath. ‘She’s very attractive,’ she said. ‘Tall, nice teeth.’
‘Nice teeth?’ Ruth wanted to laugh but didn’t have the heart. Poor Clemency looked red-faced with embarrassment. But she couldn’t tell whether it was because there had been an attraction, or there hadn’t. ‘Well,’ she said instead. ‘A woman can always use a nice set of teeth.’
‘Smile, I meant,’ Clemency said. ‘She has a nice smile.’
‘That’s even better, then,’ Ruth said, still keeping her voice low. ‘Did you feel any…connection…with her?’
Clemency looked away and bit at her lip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last, swinging her gaze back to Ruth. ‘I enjoyed discussing business with her.’
‘Hmm. Well, that’s a start, I suppose.’ Ruth sat up in her chair and sighed. ‘Organise a dinner, won’t you though? Maxine will be thrilled. You’ve missed her, by the way – she’s gone to a meeting. More food parcels being organised for the needy.’
Clemency relaxed a fraction. ‘It’s not Maxine I’ve come to see,’ she said, and looked around. ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked. ‘It’s very quiet here.’
Ruth sat back and stretched. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it? Maxine is out at a meeting and I think a couple of the women are pottering about the place. The children are either napping or playing quietly for once. You’ve come at a rare moment of peace.’
Clemency grinned into her teacup. ‘Come on, Ruth. You love it,’ she said.
Ruth shrugged. ‘I do,’ she agreed. ‘But a quieter day is always welcome.’
Clemency nodded and sipped at the tea. She thought about Maxine confiding in her that Ruth longed for a baby, but she didn’t know how to bring the subject up. She took another sip and wondered what she could possibly say anyway. What was there to be said? Maxine couldn’t father a child, no matter how she wished she might.
‘So,’ Ruth said. ‘Who have you come to see?’ If not Maxine, then Ruth knew full well who it was. ‘Eliza?’
Clemency put down the cup and looked steadily at Ruth. ‘Eliza,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
Ruth nodded but didn’t say anything. That morning, she’d made a series of telephone calls, at Maxine’s suggestion. She took a sip of tea as the silence stretched out between them, not, she thought, that Clemency seemed to notice. Clemency was staring broodingly into the distance between them.
There hadn’t been any vacancies for Eliza at the main hospital laundry. Ruth had called the matron at Seacliff Lunatic Asylum, and that had been a dismal conversation. She winced at the memory of it – the matron had thought she was telephoning to arrange residency for Eliza. When it became clear Ruth was asking for a job for Eliza, the woman was still puzzled. But she can’t speak or read or write, she’d said. She belongs in the patient’s wards, not the laundry.
Ruth had hung up the receiver very carefully, as though it would spill something nasty onto her if she didn’t.
She’d made the other call last. Because the hospital was in Greymouth. Her chest had been tight, constricted, as she’d asked the operator to put her through.
She cleared her throat now, setting down the cup of tea and trying to sound casual.
‘We’ve found Eliza a job,’ she said.
Clemency blinked and looked at her. ‘A job?’ she repeated.
‘Yes. She has awfully good references. It still took a little finagling, but I managed to get her a very good placement. Even a place to live.’
Clemency’s green eyes stared at her.
‘But she lives here,’ Clemency said.
‘This is only a temporary place for all of our ladies. We’ve had two move out just this week.’
There was silence for a long moment.
‘That is good news then,’ Clemency said at last. ‘Where?’
Ruth tried to smile. ‘Greymouth.’
‘Greymouth!’ Clemency pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, shaking her head. ‘But Greymouth is so far away. It’s on the other side of the country.’
‘It’s only a train trip to Christchurch then another across the Pass to the West Coast. Certainly not a hardship.’
Clemency shook her head again, agitation making her grip the back of her chair while she stared at Ruth. ‘She doesn’t know anyone there,’ she said.
‘She doesn’t know anyone here,’ Ruth told her.
‘She knows us.’
‘She would get to know others there – and have a good job, which took quite some talking to secure for her. I also organised a boarding position for her in a home in which I know she will be safe and well cared for. Mrs Pearson looks after her girls extremely well. Eliza will be perfectly all right.’ Ruth swallowed.
Clemency closed her eyes and stood. ‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘I see.’
Ruth did not ask what it was that Clemency saw.
‘Where is she, do you know?’
The words squeezed out from Ruth’s throat and she wondered in dismay what she and Maxine might have done. ‘I think she might be in the sitting room with some of the others.’
Clemency couldn’t bring herself to look at Ruth. ‘Just tell me one thing,’ she said, turning at the doorway to aim the question in Ruth’s direction. ‘Was this Maxine’s idea?’
Ruth was silent and Clemency inclined her head.
‘I think your silence answers my question perfectly well.’ Clemency turned on her heel and walked through the house to the sitting room in a frenzy of feeling. The sitting room door was closed, and she was glad. She stood there in the hallway, breathing deeply, trying to get a hold on her anger.
‘Damn you, Maxine,’ she hissed under her breath, fists clenched. Then she spun around and strode back to the kitchen.
Ruth was at the sink washing the cups. Her shoulders were slumped and she felt rotten. But it was too late now.
‘‘When is she supposed to take up this position?’ Clemency asked, her voice hard, the words coming out clipped and furious.
Ruth turned around, her hands wet from the sink. ‘The start of the week.’
‘Next week?’
Ruth inclined her head in assent. ‘It’s a good job, Clemency. A good opportunity. She needs something like this.’ Ruth lifted her eyebrows. ‘And you know it. We can’t just keep her forever. She’s a grown woman who needs to work – wants to work.’ She drew in a breath. ‘It was Eliza herself who came to me for help finding a job. She wants to work, Clemency.’
Clemency stared at Ruth. ‘Eliza asked you to find a job for her?’
‘Yes. And before you go and say she can’t talk so how could she have – she has perfectly good ways of making herself understood.’
Her face falling, Clemency nodded and turned again. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She does.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sitting room door swung wide, and Eliza looked toward it. Clemency appeared in the doorway and Eliza’s heart leaped. She dropped her needle to the fabric in her lap and placed her hand on her chest. Her heart galloped underneath her ribs.
Clemency looked straight at her, and Eliza felt the world opening up to her when she looked into those deep green eyes. She gazed into them, unblinking, seeking all the secrets that lay in there, the stories of mermaids and life deep underwater, and the stories of people captured on photographic paper, whose images still sang their siren songs. Eliza held her breath, waiting for Clemency to say something to her.
Clemency dropped her eyes, unsettled, strangely nervous under Eliza’s direct gaze. She winced a smile at the other women in the room.
‘Hello ladies,’ she said to the four women who had stopped what they were doing to look towards her, eyes round, brows raised. She was suddenly all too aware that this was a departure from her normal behaviour. She’d never popped into the sitting room like this, where Maxine and Ruth’s guests came to relax when they had the spare time.
‘Ah,’ she said, and cleared her throat, glancing quickly back at Eliza sitting apart from the others in an armchair under the window, her eyes glowing, skin luminous in the pearly grey light. Clemency wished she had her camera on her right now. The photograph would be perfect.
‘There you are, Eliza,’ she said instead. ‘Might I have a quick word?’ It was too much to enter the room, where the air was warm and thick from the group of women in their armchairs, knitting on their laps as they chatted and listened to the wireless. She withdrew and waited in the hallway, where she leaned against the wall, head tipped back, eyes half-closed.
