A Bitter Harvest

by Peter Yeldham

  Eva-Maria told him not to be such an idiot and to be on his way; it would not be a nice welcome to his wife, leaving her to wait for him at the coach station in Tanunda, while he prattled on with such nonsense.

  Watching him drive down to the bridge and cross the creek, turning the pony and trap southward, Eva-Maria knew he would gladly have driven all the way to Adelaide, to collect her, but Elizabeth had written to say it would be easier and more comfortable for the children if she transferred to the coach, and he met her in Tanunda.

  Eva-Maria went inside to clean, and found there was little to do. It was all bright and shining. There were fresh sheets on the bed, and Stefan’s washing was ironed and put away. He must have been busy all night to have the place looking like this. Each day he’d been working from dawn to sunset in the vineyard, and toiling to keep the vines moist with the heavy yoke of his watering system, for the harvest was barely a month away, and the hot winds and lack of rain and what they were calling the great drought in the eastern states had begun to affect even their own fertile valley.

  She ran a mop over the kitchen floor, although there was little need, and wondered about her friend Elizabeth, and how six months of comfort and luxury might have altered her. It was to have been two, at most three months, but somehow with each letter from her there had been a new reason to stay; some business difficulty for her father, then her mother pleading for her to remain with the children a little longer, and finally, just as Stefan was making plans for a family Christmas, the opportunity to be a guest at the ceremony to proclaim Federation. It had hurt and upset Stefan, she knew that, yet she understood how Elizabeth must have felt.

  There would only be one day like that in all their lifetimes.

  How wonderful to have been there at the heart of it. To have actually been among the invited on the official platform.

  Eva-Maria only had one concern, that after the different living style, after the opulence and great events of New Year’s Day, and all the excitement of that city to the east she had heard so much about, Elizabeth might feel deprived or disappointed in her return to this modest house and their small vineyard. It would be a difficult transition. She hoped not too much had happened to make it impossible. Her friends were few, and very dear to her.

  She tried to thrust aside the disquiet she had felt all day, telling herself not to be such a fool. A few months apart. Would it be difficult for her and Gerd? She thought not, but then they had never been apart, nor was one of them the child of wealthy parents.

  Stop it, she told herself, and decided to scrub the kitchen table, although it was already cleaned to perfection.

  Stefan hugged and kissed Elizabeth, exclaimed over how much Carl had grown as he cuddled him, then shook hands with Sigrid and kissed baby Maria, before he realised.

  ‘Where’s Heinrich?’

  He looked around him, began to move towards the coach to look inside as he saw the nervous glance exchanged between Elizabeth and Sigrid. It caused him to stop and ask again, this time with alarm. ‘Where’s Heinrich?’

  Elizabeth came to take his arm.

  ‘Sigrid will look after the others while I’ll explain.’

  ‘For God’s sake — explain what? Where is he?’

  As his voice rose, a passing couple gave them a curious glance. ‘Sigrid,’ Elizabeth said, trying to appear calm, ‘will you take Carl and Maria into the shade?’

  Sigrid, carrying Maria, took Carl by the hand. They went to wait on the cool verandah of the Australische Zeitung’s office.

  ‘Where is he?’ Stefan could scarcely control his voice. ‘What in Christ’s name have you done?’

  ‘He’s in Sydney.’

  ‘You left him behind?’

  ‘Just for a few weeks.’

  ‘You’re insane!’

  ‘Stefan, don’t shout. Just give me a chance to explain.’

  ‘I’m waiting for you to explain.’

  ‘I can do it more easily if you’ll calm down.’

  ‘I’m calm,’ he said through clenched teeth.

  Elizabeth had never seen him angry like this. She knew it was going to be worse than she had imagined.

  It had been a reckless, impulsive decision; she had admitted it to herself ever since. She had been swayed by the emotion of the day. The exhilaration, the plaudits and admiration of her father’s friends, and as he whispered, some of his enemies; a place of honour among the prominent guests, all this excitement had stimulated her in a way she had never before experienced.

  It was hardly surprising. She was not yet twenty-two years old, but the Prime Minister-elect had bowed and called her an ornament to the occasion. She had been eagerly sought out by an impressed army captain, the aide-de-camp to the governor-general, who had asked her to be his guest at a garden party, and refused to believe she was a wife and the mother of three small children. Even her father’s former friend and now political foe, James North, had complimented her on her elegance. She had come back to her parents’ house in a state of dangerous euphoria, her head turned by elation and full of dreams.

  Her mother’s anguish had profoundly distressed her. The pain and sadness, after all the rapture of the day, had been almost more than she could bear. She had finally pleaded tiredness, and hurried upstairs to her room hearing the words over again: I know you’re going to break my heart, Elizabeth. You can’t help it, but you’re going to do it — all over again.

  She had sat there for a long time. Remembering so many things. Her own childhood, her natural affinity with her father, her preference for him and the feeling of unease with her mother, who never seemed comfortable in their house with all the servants. She thought of the way Heinrich ran to embrace his grandmother, as if there was no one else so important to him. How he sat and intently watched her face while she read stories to him, smiling when she smiled, responding to each inflection of her voice. Her mother enlivening the childish tales, dramatising, mimicking animals and putting on accents, making him laugh aloud. Enchanting him. This woman who had rarely, if ever, read her a single story when she was young. Who, perhaps, had felt unwelcome, or unwanted. She thought of the way her small son and her mother talked together so naturally, how she spoke to him as if he was an adult, and he responded, and they seemed to have a language all their own.

  It might have been an hour, she was hardly aware of time, before she went downstairs again. Her mother was sitting by the window, the room was almost dark, lit only by a small lamp. She went and sat on the floor alongside her wheelchair, leaned against the legs covered by a rug, and told her Heinrich could stay with her a while longer. Her mother had tried to thank her with tears streaming down her cheeks. By the next morning, however, Elizabeth began to realise she had made a serious mistake. But it was not one she could rectify, at least not without causing further pain. Her mother’s radiant pleasure, Heinrich’s complete and happy acceptance that he would remain a few weeks more with Grandmama — how could she sit there at the breakfast table and tell them it had been a hasty and foolish agreement? The result of an unsettling and stirring day.

  On the train home, she had become increasingly nervous.

  Despite the luxury of their first-class sleeping compartment, she had hated every moment of the journey, wishing she could reverse her decision, or that there had been time to write to Stefan and prepare him. And now, he was waiting for her to explain. Whatever she said, she knew it would upset him.

  ‘My mother pleaded for him to stay just a while longer. And Heinrich wanted to stay with her.’

  ‘Heinrich is four years old. Do four-year-olds make decisions like this?’

  ‘No. I made the decision. Please, Stefan, try to understand how much it meant to her.’

  But he couldn’t, and they both knew it.

  ‘My father will visit us, and bring him back, the moment the Federal elections are over.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Stefan said, and started to stow the suitcases into the pony and trap. He turned and looked at her.

/>   ‘I missed his birthday. I made him a present,’ he added bitterly, as if this was reason for further anger.

  ‘What did you make him?’

  He did not answer. Instead he walked to where Sigrid and the children were waiting outside the newspaper office. He picked up Carl and brought him back, with a worried Sigrid following. They climbed aboard, and began the long, unhappy journey home.

  A group of children were playing near the pond. Hannah sat on a park bench, watching their antics while she read the latest copy of the Bulletin. There was a cartoon by Norman Lindsay that made her smile. ‘One people, one destiny’ it was captioned, and depicted a policeman carting two drunks to gaol, much the worse for wear after the inaugural celebrations. She lowered the magazine, as she saw the two figures approaching; one tall, the other diminutive. They paused near her, and Hannah smiled and nodded as if he was a casual acquaintance. William doffed his hat politely.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Patterson,’ she nodded, and became aware of an alert pair of eyes watching this exchange. ‘Hello,’ the small boy said.

  ‘Hello,’ Hannah answered him.

  ‘Is this your grandfather?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded.

  ‘And are you taking him for a walk?’

  ‘Yes,’ the boy answered. ‘My name is Henry.’ Hannah showed her surprise.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘It is now. Grandpa said so.’

  She refrained from a glance at William, and smiled instead at the earnest face of the boy.

  ‘Did he? Well, I’m pleased to meet you — Henry.’ William gave him a bag with scraps of bread.

  ‘Off you go, old chap. Feed the ducks. Say goodbye to the nice lady.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said politely.

  ‘Goodbye, Henry,’ she answered, and watched him scamper off towards the pond, scattering bread for the best fed ducks in town.

  ‘Does your daughter know?’

  William had been about to follow his grandson. Now he paused to ask, ‘Know what?’

  ‘That her son is no longer Heinrich?’

  ‘No grandson of mine’s going to be stuck with a German name,’ he said firmly. ‘Germans are unpopular. They picked the wrong side in the Boer War. We don’t like their damned Kaiser.’

  ‘Willie, dear,’ she was unable to prevent a smile, ‘don’t make a speech to me. Tell Elizabeth.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied, ‘I intend to.’

  He doffed his hat and moved off. She watched him with affection and slight concern, as he joined the boy and they fed the ducks, then walked away, the child running to keep up with his brisk strides until William realised, stopped and reached down — and they continued more sedately, hand in hand.

  Eva-Maria knew. She sensed it. She had scrubbed and cleaned the spotless house, and as she saw their pony and trap crossing the creek she could feel trouble. Gerhardt had walked from their farm earlier and Eva-Maria joined him.

  ‘We won’t stay,’ she said. ‘Won’t stay? Are you serious?’

  ‘Very serious.’

  ‘Why won’t we stay? I want to talk to Elizabeth, to hear about what it was like on Federation day — and see the kinder.’

  ‘Later, Gerd. Another time.’

  ‘But they’re our friends. We can’t leave without seeing the children, and saying welcome.’

  ‘Of course we can’t. But we’ll say welcome, then leave them to themselves for today.’

  She loved him dearly, but sometimes he was so slow. There was another word. Elizabeth could tell her, but this was not a time to ask. Then she remembered. Obtuse. He was sometimes obtuse.

  When they pulled up at the house, Gerhardt called a welcome, and lifted Elizabeth down from the trap. He kissed her, then put out his arms for Carl and baby Maria. He hugged them both. ‘Thank God you’re home. Stefan’s been so depressed. You can’t imagine how bad-tempered he’s been …’ He stopped and looked around, his good-natured face puzzled. ‘Where’s Heinrich?’ Stefan jumped off the cart, and unloaded the suitcases.

  ‘You tell him,’ he said coldly to Elizabeth, and carried the luggage into the house, leaving behind him a threatening silence.

  Obtuse. Eva-Maria shook her head at her husband, and came to embrace her closest friend. ‘Welcome home.’

  Elizabeth kissed her. She seemed close to tears.

  ‘He’s staying a little while longer with my parents,’ was all she said, but it was enough for Eva-Maria to imagine the agitation this had caused Stefan. Although it had never been discussed in great detail, she knew of his hostility towards his father-in-law. The best thing she could do was take Gerd, and leave them to solve this for themselves.

  ‘Come tomorrow for dinner, yes?’

  ‘Thanks. It’s lovely to see you both.’

  She looked so absurdly young, Eva-Maria thought, like a school girl in trouble. She badly wanted to help, so this homecoming would not be spoiled.

  ‘He’s missed you desperately.’ She had to be quick, Stefan was coming back. ‘Gerd’s right. He’s been on edge — different.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘No laughs. Not many smiles. I think he was afraid.’

  ‘Of what?’ There was only just time for Eva-Maria to answer, as he emerged from the house.

  ‘That you might not come back.’

  She steered Gerhardt to the pony and trap, waved farewell to them as if it was a normal visit, and nudged him to drive away.

  Supper had been silent. After Sigrid washed the plates, then went to her own room, Stefan sat morosely on the front verandah, while Elizabeth dried the last of the dishes. It was, she reflected wryly, a task she had not done for six months. She hung up the tea towel, placed two glasses and a bottle of their best wine on a tray, and took it outside. She lit the lantern. He watched her in silence.

  ‘Lovely night,’ she said. ‘So tranquil.’ When there was no reply forthcoming, she continued, ‘I’ve missed nights like this.’ She picked up the corkscrew and opened the wine. ‘Will you pour, or shall I?’

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ Stefan said, and made as if to rise. ‘Don’t be so bloody juvenile.’

  ‘Me?’ He appeared surprised by her sudden anger, as if considering this his emotional domain — being the injured party.

  ‘You. He’ll be well looked after. He loves her.’

  ‘You were tricked into this, by that father of yours.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. That isn’t true. And stop being so angry.’

  ‘I am angry.’

  ‘That’s more than obvious.’

  ‘It wasn’t right — you shouldn’t have allowed it without consulting me.’

  ‘That wasn’t possible, since you weren’t there.’

  She poured the wine. Two glasses. Raised her own, and appeared seemingly oblivious that he ignored his.

  ‘Prosit,’ she said. ‘Welcome home, Lizzie. So good to have you back.’ She sipped and nodded approval. ‘Or didn’t you miss me?’

  ‘Of course I missed you.’

  ‘Is it true what Gerd says? You were depressed?’

  ‘Sometimes Gerhardt talks too much.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Why?’

  There was a pause. He picked up his glass, and sipped. It was some moments before he spoke.

  ‘It must have been very luxurious?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Servants to make the bed, and clean and cook for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He spoiled you, I suppose?’

  ‘If you mean my father — yes, he did.’

  ‘Tried to persuade you to stay?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Made you his guest at the Federation ceremony?’

  ‘You know he did.’

  ‘I expect there were many rich young men to admire you?’

  ‘Heaps.’

  ‘Bastards.’

  ‘They may have been,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask.
But I still want an answer from you. Why were you depressed? Eva-Maria said you were on edge. No laughs. Not many smiles.’

  ‘Everybody in this place talks too much.’

  ‘They’re our friends. They’re concerned. If I saw Gerhardt behaving like an idiot, I’d try to help.’

  ‘I am not,’ he said heatedly, ‘behaving like an idiot. I had good reason to be depressed. I knew that bloody father of yours would do everything he could, use all his money and influence to show you what you’d thrown away. What you could have again, just by a nod of your head. Taking you to Parliament, to the theatre; to expensive restaurants. Don’t tell me he didn’t do those things.’

  ‘Of course he did. I wrote and told you.’

  ‘And made me feel very…’ he fumbled for a word, and not able to find a substitute, had to use the one he wanted to avoid, ‘…very afraid.’

  ‘That I’d stay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You fool,’ she said affectionately, and felt a debt of gratitude to Eva-Maria for her insight.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘A galah, I’d call you. There must be a German name for it.’

  ‘Lots,’ Stefan said, ‘if it means what I think it does.’

  ‘Why on earth would I stay? Of course Papa would have made it easy. And it was all wonderfully exciting, especially January the first. I’m glad I was there. I wouldn’t have missed it. But you have to know I missed you, too — so very much. Some nights I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you.’

  ‘Truly?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you have any nights like that?’

  ‘All the time. Months of them.’

  ‘Then can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘It’s more important, this one. Why are we out here, arguing and drinking wine? Why aren’t you undressing me, picking me up and carrying me to bed?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Stefan said, gazing at her. ‘I am a galah. Also a Schwachsinniger. A dummkopf. But first I will carry you inside, and then undress you. And afterwards you must undress me.’ Elizabeth smiled, and felt a wave of desire and anticipation, as he lifted her and kissed her, then carried her inside the house.