The Shearer's Wife

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying, lad, you shouldn’t be taking her on the road with you. I don’t know where you’re going next, but she should be in a house, letting those two bubs settle into their skin. Babies take a bit to settle down.’

  ‘Got a few, have you?’

  The barman stood up tall and proud, with a large smile on his face. ‘I’ve got seven. Three boys and four girls.’

  ‘Good Catholics, then?’ Ian asked. ‘Just like my family.’

  Kiz and Muzza howled with laughter.

  ‘Maybe they haven’t got a TV!’

  ‘You can take the piss all you want,’ the barman said, ‘but there’s nothing better than looking at a child and seeing your own eyes reflected back at you. And as they grow up, they bring a lot of joy and laughter to the place. My eldest, now he’s in year seven at school and he comes in here after he’s finished and helps me wash the glasses and get ready for the evening. It’s our time together. Teaching him a work ethic, but he’s also hanging out with his old man and I get to hear everything that’s going on in his world. And you know what that makes me?’

  ‘A mug,’ Muzza said, waving his empty glass around. ‘One more round, Pop.’

  The barman pulled the first pint and put it on the bar, then selected a second glass.

  ‘Not a mug. A privileged man.’

  Through hazy thoughts, Ian wondered if he would ever have a relationship like that with his son. He hadn’t with his own father. They’d been close enough, but not best mates like some of the boys at school.

  He’d been closer to his granddad, Alroy.

  Alroy Kelly been a wild-looking man—tall and strong, with flame-red hair. He didn’t know why, but Ian had always remembered his rough hands running over his own red head when he was little, saying Alroy was a good name for a red-haired child. And now Ian had an Alroy he could be close to, if Rose would let him.

  ‘A privileged man?’ Muzza scoffed. ‘Sounds like a lot of mollycoddling to me. What happened to tossing them out into the sheep yards and making them work?’

  The barman smiled. ‘If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of sheep yards in a pub, and my boy works, it’s just that he’s spending time with me when he does.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Ian suddenly said. ‘To be able to teach my young man a few things. My granddad did that for me and I remember how much I enjoyed that time with him.’ ‘There you go,’ the barman nodded. ‘You’ve got a sensible head on your shoulders. Children never ask to be born and so we have a responsibility to give them the best life we can.’ He nodded with a smile.

  Kiz turned to Ian. ‘You gone soft in the head or something?’

  Ian looked down at his empty glass. ‘Nah, must be needing another drink.’ He brushed off Kiz’s comments. Geez, it was hard to be a masculine shearer and have a family. He was beginning to realise that his two mates were always going to put the family down, but he loved these two blokes almost as much as his sweet Rose. Could you love kids you’d never spent any time with yet? he wondered. Probably not, so maybe that’s why he hadn’t felt anything except horror when he’d walked into that house.

  ‘There’s no denying the baby stage is hard,’ Ian’s new friend told him.

  ‘Let’s change the bloody subject!’ Kiz said, taking another drink. ‘We don’t care about any of this shit.’

  ‘What stage is nice?’ Ian asked.

  ‘My favourite? About twelve months. They’re beginning to walk and interact with things around them. Not so reliant on mum and they recognise you with a big smile. There’s other good stages, but I always like that one. They’re starting to become their own little person. Like I said, when they’re really young, they take a bit to settle down.’

  ‘There you go, Paddy,’ Muzza said, slapping Ian’s shoulder. ‘Head off, live the good life and turn back up again in twelve months. I reckon that’s the best plan I’ve heard!’

  ‘Boys, I’m sorry to cut you short, but you’re going to have to finish up now. Closing time.’

  ‘Mate, you didn’t give us the last-drinks call.’

  ‘Reckon you’ve all had enough, don’t you? And you.’ He pointed at Ian. ‘You’d be best to leave them if you’re going to another shearing shed. Only a father without a conscience would take babes on the road. Now be off with you all.’

  Ian climbed into bed beside Rose. He wanted to put his arm around her and pull her to him, but he couldn’t forget her sitting in the chair with a child at her breast.

  She was breathing evenly, as she did when she slept, and the house was blessedly quiet.

  ‘Rose,’ he whispered. ‘Sweet Rosie?’

  Nothing.

  He put his arm over her hip and pulled her to him.

  She felt different. Soft rolls of flesh under his hands, as he explored her body. He couldn’t bring himself to go higher, and he could feel she was wearing a bra anyway.

  Rose muttered something and pushed his hand away.

  ‘Come on, Rose, I’m going tomorrow,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again.’

  Rose rolled towards him. ‘I can’t yet, Ian.’

  ‘What do you mean you can’t?’

  ‘The doctor told me I can’t for six weeks. It’s only been five.’

  ‘Five, six, won’t make any difference.’ He put his hands back on her waist and tried to slip them lower.

  ‘No.’ She pushed his hands away. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Well, suck me, then. I won’t have to go anywhere near you. Or did the doctor say you can’t do that too?’ The drink was making him mean and he knew it, but he was so close to her and his body had responded the way it always did when he was near her, wanting her.

  ‘No, Ian. The babies are due to be fed in an hour, I really need to sleep so I can get up for them. You’ve got no idea how tiring this all is. Please let me go back to sleep. And you stink like beer.’ She rolled away and curled up on her side of the bed.

  Ian frowned. ‘Why are you feeding them in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Because they’re hungry. They don’t have three meals a day, you know. Like a lamb, they need to feed lots and often. You would’ve known that if you’d been here.’

  Ian sat up. ‘Are you going to go on about that again?’

  ‘You never came!’ she cried. ‘I almost died and you never came to see us!’ Rose pulled the blankets around her tightly and shifted further away from him.

  ‘I was earning money for us.’

  ‘You were staying where it was safe. I thought I meant something to you, but I mustn’t.’ Her voice broke.

  He wordlessly tried to put his arms over her, but she wouldn’t let him.

  ‘I … I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘You know I love you. I’ve told you.’

  ‘But you didn’t come.’

  ‘Geez.’ Ian got out of bed and started to pace the floor. ‘What do you want from me? I was out there trying to earn a living for us and you’ve got your knickers in a twist ’cause I didn’t turn up at the hospital. I know you’ve had a hard time of it, but you’re better now.’

  Rose was quiet, and Ian was sure her tears had stopped. Thank goodness for that. He didn’t like it when women cried. He remembered his grandmother used to do it all the time, when Alroy came home and she found out he’d spent the shopping money on the trots.

  ‘I love you, sweet Rosie,’ Ian said, hoping she was listening. ‘I really do. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you and the bubs. I guess I thought it was better to stay where I was.’ He sat down on her side of the bed and put his hand on her waist again. This time she didn’t pull away.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t come with me? I’d like it if you did.’ He felt Rose shake her head.

  ‘No, Ian. I’m not strong enough to go with you. I’m still recovering and the doctor said I should rest as much as I can.’

  ‘What do you do during the day?’

  ‘The whole day is take
n up with nappies and feeding and washing! And that’s the real truth of it.’

  The silence stretched out into the darkness.

  From the back room, there was a little noise, like a snuffle, then a loud, high-pitched wail.

  ‘There we go,’ Rose said. ‘He’s a little early tonight. Your son is always the hungriest of the two.’ She pushed the bed covers back and got up.

  ‘Alroy.’

  ‘Yes, Alroy.’

  ‘Do you like that name?’

  ‘I do. Alroy and Bridget. Lovely.’

  The wailing increased and Rose started out the door.

  ‘You’re really not coming?’ Ian asked as she disappeared down the hall.

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  Letting out a sigh, Ian got back into his side of the bed and pulled up the covers. He was on his own. The feeling was strange and exhilarating at the same time. And sad. Very sad.

  The crying stopped and Ian imagined Rose sitting in the chair with Alroy at her breast.

  ‘My sweet Rosie won’t be alongside me,’ he muttered, trying to get comfortable in the soft bed. ‘I’ll send money to you when I can.’ His eyes flicked shut.

  Chapter 17

  1981

  Rose put the iron down and went to check on the twins. They were in their cots—one each now. It had turned out that Bridget didn’t like sharing, and she’d kept kicking and biting Alroy when he was next to her.

  Both children were asleep, and Rose let out a thankful sigh. It had been a long, hard twelve months, but Dr Hooper said she and the kids were finally on the other side. She had found more energy as the months passed, even as the kids needed more from her with every day that went by.

  Rose reached into the cot and stroked Bridget’s ginger hair, then turned to do the same with Alroy. She watched him stretch and withdrew her hand. It was easier not to wake the babies, as much as all she wanted to do was pick them up and cuddle them, feel their soft cheeks against hers, feel love from them, rather than the emptiness and loneliness that came to her every evening when she sat down to have dinner alone and then crawled into the empty bed.

  Surely, he’ll be home soon, she thought. The last letter had been brief on details: Sweet Rosie, I’m heading your way. Hopefully, I won’t take too long, but I have one small shed on the way to you. How are the bubs? How are you?

  The trouble was, his letters had no return address, so she had no way to answer. The last letter had reached her three weeks after the post date; Ian could turn up at any time.

  Sneaking out of the room, hoping she hadn’t woken Alroy, she went back to work.

  The few dollars that Ian had sent early on hadn’t amounted to enough to pay the power and water, let alone feed the children and her, and it had arrived haphazardly, never to be relied on, so she had sought other income.

  Evie had suggested she take in ironing, which she had; ten dollars per basket. She managed to get about ten baskets done a week. Then the cleaning of the two churches came up. Fifty dollars a week, which seemed like a fortune to Rose. A fortune, yes, but no matter how she scrimped and saved, there never seemed to be much left at the end of every week.

  But she managed. Over the year, she’d found cheap fabric and bought a second-hand sewing machine. Sewing while the children were asleep, she made curtains and clothes for them and herself. She’d relied on the church op shop for things she couldn’t make, like the sipper cups and children’s utensils, and occasionally Evie brought her a packet of flower seeds.

  Rose was happiest when her fingers were deep in the dark, rich soil of her garden. She loved pottering while the children rolled on the lawn and gurgled to her; grateful to not only have a solid base but to Evie for providing one.

  Her little family didn’t go out much; Rose found it difficult with the two babies together, so she usually waited until Evie was available to look after one of them and Rose would take the other with her for a quick dash to the shop or to clean the churches.

  Every night, as she said her prayers, she asked God to keep Ian safe, to bring him home to her. And she thanked God for Evie. She wouldn’t have coped without Evie.

  Folding the pair of shorts she’d just ironed, she placed them in the basket and picked up a shirt. Glancing at the clock, she realised there was only half an hour before Mrs Foster came to pick up the ironing; she’d have to get a wriggle on and hope the kids didn’t wake up early.

  She sprayed starch onto the collar, then pushed the iron over the shirt, sending a whoosh of steam into her face. Ironing was therapeutic to Rose, and she often got through a whole basket without realising she’d finished. As she worked she would plan what flowers she would plant next, in which spot, daydreaming about Ian sitting on the lawn, underneath the tree, playing with the kids and then snuggling up in bed with her while the children slept.

  Rose grabbed a coathanger for the shirt. Two more items to go and she was done.

  Alroy made a cooing sound, and Rose knew he was awake. He would be okay in his cot for a while, playing with the activity centre Evie had bought. The telephone dial and the bell were Alroy’s favourite parts, while Bridget liked the mirror on hers. She kept trying to eat her reflection.

  Rose finished the ironing and put the basket on the kitchen table ready for Mrs Foster, then went to peer into the kids’ room.

  Just as she’d suspected, Alroy was sitting in front of his activity centre, hitting the ball, which was spinning in a blur of yellow and blue. Rose leaned against the door and watched him, a smile on her face. The likeness between Alroy and Ian was uncanny—down to their lop-sided smile and their eyes. Bridget looked more like Rose—finer features and a cute button nose. But they both had fiery red hair and occasionally the temper to match.

  A knock sounded on the front door and Rose pushed herself away to answer it. Mrs Foster was always on time.

  On the way past the kitchen, she picked up the basket, propping it on her hip, and pulled the door open, a smile on her face.

  Mrs Foster wasn’t there.

  Ian was—with a large grin on his face and his arms outstretched.

  ‘Hello, my sweet Rosie! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’

  Rose opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. Finally, after all this time, here he was … and a feeling of resentment flared throughout her body, taking her by surprise.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ Ian asked, leaning forward to kiss her.

  ‘You’re back,’ she managed.

  ‘In the flesh. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ He gave her a quizzical look. ‘What have you got there?’ He indicated the basket.

  ‘Oh.’ Rose looked down as if she had forgotten she was holding it. ‘Ironing. For Mrs Foster.’

  ‘You’ve taken in ironing?’

  ‘Yes.’ She stood back so Ian could come inside. ‘I had to. There wasn’t enough money.’

  ‘That’s all about to change, my love.’ Ian bounced into the room and folded her into his arms. ‘Ah, my sweet Rosie, how I’ve missed you.’ Letting her go, he asked, ‘Now, where’s my boy?’

  Rose pointed to the end bedroom and followed as Ian went in.

  ‘Hello, mo stór,’ Ian said softly.

  Rose watched as he looked down into the cot and a smile spread across his face. ‘My, my, aren’t you a good-looking young man. Must take after your father!’ He reached down and touched Alroy’s fist, and the boy screwed up his face as if he were about to scream.

  Rose swooped in and picked him up, holding her fingers to her lips. ‘Don’t wake up Bridget,’ she whispered. Beckoning Ian out of the room, she went into the garden and put Alroy on the lawn.

  Outside, the soft breeze calmed Rose and she smiled at Ian. ‘It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘And I have missed you.’ He gathered her into his arms again and kissed the top of her head.

  ‘How long are you here for?’

  ‘Long enough to pack you all up and take you with me. I’ve got a shed over out on the Nullarbor. A
big one! Nearly two months’ worth and I’m on my way there now. Thought I’d pick you up and we could keep going across to Perth once I’m done there. Get some more work on the way, then head north. I’ve heard there’re big sheds up there. Ones that aren’t having the same problems as out near Broken Hill—better conditions.’ His face darkened. ‘Those bloody cockies over in New South Wales, they’re trying to stuff things up for us. Bringing other shearers out from New Zealand. They’ve got different gear to us—wider combs so they’re shearing more sheep than we can.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Rose asked, sitting on the grass next to Alroy.

  ‘Well, our combs and cutters are ’bout this wide.’ He held out his thumb and pointer finger to show the width. ‘And theirs are like this.’ He widened his fingers about half an inch. ‘When they’re shearing they cover more of the sheep and get the wool off faster than we can with our combs. Upsets the whole shed; the rousies and classers aren’t getting paid as much either because the sheds are finishing sooner. It’s a debacle.’ Ian frowned. ‘Let’s not talk about that. Tell me, how are you and the kids? Isn’t he a little beauty?’ Hooking his hands under Alroy’s arms, he pulled him onto his lap and bounced him up and down.

  ‘Alroy usually cries when anyone he doesn’t know picks him up,’ Rose said.

  ‘He knows his dad when he sees him, don’t you, young man?’

  Cooing, Alroy reached up to touch Ian’s face, putting his hands on his lips. Ian made a smacking sound and Rose looked away.

  The old resentment flooded through her again. She’d been here, with the kids, scrimping and saving for a year—and he turns up, unannounced, telling her they’re leaving.

  ‘I don’t want to go to Western Australia,’ she blurted out. ‘I’m happy here. I’ve made a home for these two and we’re settled, Ian. I’ve got friends who help out when I need a break. If you want to go, then do, but please don’t ask me to. The thought of travelling from shed to shed with these two is too much.’ She looked up and saw the look of surprise on his face. ‘Honestly, you haven’t been here, so you don’t know how much work goes into having babies. The washing and feeding and sleeping.’ Rose looked at him in despair. ‘Please don’t ask me to go,’ she repeated, twisting her wedding ring.