Frankie and Patrick took over watching her for a few hours, giving both her and Aggie a rest before the journey, but soon it was time for them to leave with Barney and for Ivy to pack up and say goodbye. It was heart-wrenching to say farewell to the girls and Fiona. Aggie had already tearfully done so but now it was Ivy’s turn and the enormity of what this woman had done for her hung heavily in the air as Fiona stood in the water, her hands around her daughters. They were crying softly, their faces buried in their mother’s skirts, but somehow Fiona still found time to mother Ivy one last time too.
‘It’s getting very hot,’ she said, glancing up at the sun. ‘Make sure you don’t overheat and stay below deck.’
‘You must be hot yourself,’ Ivy said, looking at Fiona’s too-warm dress that strained at her belly.
‘I’ll put on my mended cotton one in a moment.’
Ivy nodded, supposing she only had very few. ‘Here,’ she said, handing over an envelope, having secured what money she could from her sisters and Patrick to give to Fiona and help her as best she could. ‘It isn’t much but just in way of thanks.’
Fiona shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly …’
‘Yes, you can and you will. Take it, Fiona, please. I owe you … I owe my life, I dare say.’ Tears rolled down both their faces and Fiona nodded.
‘God be with you, Ivy. And bless you for this.’
‘I’ll send more and I’ll come back and visit, I promise.’
‘No. Don’t come back here, Ivy. It’s not a place for someone like you.’
It wasn’t a place for someone like Fiona and her daughters either but the words would only cause pain if spoken aloud.
‘Goodbye,’ she said simply instead.
Aggie was already below deck and, with Frankie and Patrick now gone, there was nothing for it but for Fiona to make her way back to the shack with the girls – three lone figures headed towards a broken-down dwelling, looking to lead broken-down lives.
Ivy dragged her gaze away and went downstairs. Aggie had already dozed off again in the chair and Ivy looked at her fondly, then around at the cabin that had seen so much over the past few days. She ran her hand across the bunk bed where she’d feared for her life more than once. A life she’d never take for granted again. It was then she noticed a dress in the corner, Fiona’s, and she picked it up. Dresses were precious commodities up here, as Ivy had just witnessed, and Riley’s sister had been generous to lend it to her. It would have to be returned for she’d need it soon enough.
Ivy went upstairs and looked over to Riley, who was busy drawing up the anchor. That would take a few minutes so rather than disturb him she carefully climbed over the side and made her way to shore. It was exerting but she had enough strength for this, she felt, especially considering how much Fiona had done for her. The twins were checking for eggs over at the coop and didn’t notice her either so she could just slip in.
‘Hello?’ Ivy said, pushing open the door. ‘Sorry, Fiona, I forgot I still had this—’ but the words were halted by the sight before her. Fiona was getting changed, her back bare as she gingerly pulled the dress away, and Ivy stared in shock at the black-and-blue bruises across it. Fiona had turned at the sound but too late to cover herself and her eyes flew to Ivy’s in terror.
‘Fiona …?’ Ivy said, looking in horror as she glimpsed bruises across her pregnant stomach and breasts too.
Fiona drew up her dress slowly with shaking fingers and her chin trembled as she spoke.
‘Don’t tell Riley.’
‘But … but I …’
‘Don’t tell Riley, Ivy, please,’ she pleaded, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. ‘He’ll kill him.’
Riley’s voice sounded, traced with worry as he called Ivy’s name.
‘If George dies and Riley goes to gaol we’ll have nothing at all and the twins could well starve,’ Fiona whispered. ‘This is a better fate than that.’
‘Ivy,’ Riley called.
‘Go,’ Fiona said. ‘Go and forget you ever saw.’
Ivy backed away, stumbling in shock across the rocky beach as Riley jumped over the boat’s side.
‘What are you doing over there?’ he said as he quickly approached. ‘You’re not well enough for that, for God’s sake.’ he said, coming to pick her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she’d done so many times now, burying her face against the warm comfort of him, as he gently got her back on board.
It was all she could do not to weep and beg him to fetch Fiona and the girls too but his sister stood at the doorway watching, her stance rigid with fear, and Ivy knew that it wasn’t her choice to make.
And so the boat drew away, leaving Fiona to her wretched life. To her version of a better fate.
Part Four
Empty arms
Twenty-Four
Sydney University, March 1902
We want the right to vote.
We want the right to vote.
The refrain rang out across the university campus as they set off as one towards the city centre, only a few hundred strong but more would follow and join in until their numbers hopefully swelled to the point that office workers and passers-by would take notice. Certainly their voices were loud enough to draw attention and the vehemence of the impassioned women who marched made Ivy feel simultaneously impressed and intimidated. It was wonderful to be here, doing something for the Cause for the first time, but a bit frightening too. These women meant business and there was volatility in the air.
Frankie was in her element, of course, striding along with Aggie, and the three sisters held a placard that read ‘Australia needs a mother’. It had been Barney’s idea, surprisingly, and Ivy found the sentiment a simple and beautiful one, if bittersweet for poor Aggie. She carried it proudly though, chanting loudly with Frankie and the others, a smile on her lips as she looked across at Ivy. Their own mother, Harriet, was on Ivy’s other side, holding her arm protectively, still hovering over her youngest daughter even though she’d been home these past two months and had long recovered.
Yet that was a mother’s lot: to worry and protect, and sometimes love to the point of self-sacrifice or suffering. Ivy knew it to be true now, sadly. This country needed womankind to have a voice, like one all-encompassing maternal figure. It needed that power so that they could change the way things were, for people like Fiona and her daughters. For them all.
She raised her chin high as they walked, chanting loudly too, before noticing Patrick waving from a classroom window as they passed. Nick Johnson and Greg King were there too, and they cheered the women on and clapped, which warmed Ivy’s heart. There was hope in the support of these young men, a unification of the sexes that was their best chance to win the vote, and surely that would be soon. For every day counted to Ivy, now that she understood how precious being healthy and safe truly was, and how soul-destroying it was to live otherwise.
On and on they marched until they reached Town Hall where one woman stood upon the top step and read a fresh report aloud. Vida Goldstein was in America and had recently become the first Australian to visit the White House and meet the president in the Oval Room. It was remarkable and inspirational and Ivy hung on every word along with the rest of the crowd as the news sailed over George Street, history unfolding.
‘The president is reported to have jumped up when Vida entered and he shook her hand with great enthusiasm saying: “I’m delighted to meet you. You’re from Australia. I’m delighted to hear that”.’ She paused as spontaneous applause broke out before continuing. ‘The president went on speak highly of the Australian people and how much he’d admired those he’d met during the Spanish-American war but said he was just as impressed by the fighting spirit of Australian women.’ This received a great reaction from the crowd and the woman had to hold her hand up for a while to calm them down, although she was smiling too.
‘Apparently the president is sympathetic to the Cause and very impressed with the inroads we have made. We are about to
be the first in the world to have women able to stand for parliament and we’re also poised for that next great leap: the female vote. His exact words to Vida were “I’ve got my eye on you down there in Australia”.’
The crowd exploded with enthusiastic cheers and a band struck up the tune that had become their anthem.
Daughters of freedom, the truth marches on,
Yield not the battle till ye have won!
Ivy sang along with the rest, tears in her eyes as she linked arms with her sisters and mother. Please God, let it hurry and come to pass, but until then let her new plan to do what she could for Fiona and the girls find success that weekend. They may well be only three of the countless subjugated women who lived in that male-dominated river world, but they were three she knew. And helping them was one step Ivy could take towards a life that mattered.
Patrick had been impatient to see Ivy but when her whole family turned up at the restaurant for lunch after the rally it made him reconsider what he’d been planning to say. He’d been hoping to arrange the perfect romantic evening for Saturday night but it would be rather tricky with her sisters and mother listening in, and now her father and Robert were arriving too. Why not just invite the entire cricket team as well, he silently lamented, shaking his head as Nick and Greg did, indeed, walk in.
‘Thought you were headed back home,’ Patrick said.
‘Ivy just saw us on the way to the train and invited us along,’ Nick said, appearing very pleased about that.
‘Well, this makes a party of things,’ Frankie said, looking around at the widening throng.
‘With everyone in town on the same day we decided to make this lunch a surprise for your birthday. A bit belated, but still,’ Ivy said, smiling up at Frankie happily as she took her seat. No-one had felt much like celebrating another birthday so soon after the catastrophe of Ivy’s picnic but her family had obviously made the spontaneous decision that today was the day. Patrick couldn’t really begrudge her that as Frankie gaped at them all, obviously stunned.
‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ Ivy said, giggling at her sister’s response.
‘I … I just, well, yes. How bloody marvellous!’ she said with a wide grin.
A few other restaurant patrons gasped and muttered, a table of stuffy-looking gentleman drinking whisky nearby looking over at her in disdain.
‘I say.’
‘Not in public dear,’ her mother muttered, but Nick and Greg just chuckled and Patrick had become so used to her impropriety by now it certainly didn’t offend him, although he was glad his parents weren’t here. The Merriweather family was becoming a hard sell to them these days as potential in-laws as it was.
Nick took a seat near Frankie, beating a disappointed-looking Greg. Frankie had been a hot topic of discussion between the two on the recent interstate cricket tour, irritatingly so at times. Patrick knew both of them were keener than ever to gain her favour. She really did look very fetching as she took off her hat, Patrick had to admit, strands of blonde hair escaping from their pins and falling about her flushed, pretty face. She caught him staring and he felt immediately self-conscious, drawing his attention firmly back to where it should be: Ivy.
She looked gorgeous as well, of course, resplendent in a blue dress and green hat with sapphire satin ribbon about the rim.
‘Blue and green today?’ he queried as she took off her hat too and laid it aside, her red curls brilliant against the bright hue of the dress.
‘Yes,’ she said, brushing her hair back and touching the faint scar that lay at her temple lightly. ‘I thought … well, I thought I’d wear the colours of the river.’
She didn’t elaborate further but he could hazard a few guesses at the connection. Ivy had seen far more than he would have ever wished on her up there but, he supposed, in a way, having more of a conscience towards the poorer classes was a good lesson to learn. It had certainly affected him far more than he ever would have expected. Still, he didn’t want to focus on such things today. He simply wanted to enjoy spending time with her and basking in her lovely, gentle personality. There’d been enough drama to last them all an age.
‘You look very pretty,’ he told her and her dimpled smile was quite a reward.
‘So, tell me about the march,’ Albert said as drinks were ordered and menus passed around. ‘I was a bit too late to catch the end, unfortunately.’
‘That Vida Goldstein,’ Harriet said, ‘honestly, if we ever have a female prime minister it really should be her.’
Nick made the unfortunate mistake of laughing, earning raised eyebrows from Frankie.
‘Disagree, do you?’
‘Oh, er … not at all. I just thought it was a joke.’
‘And why would you think that?’ Harriet asked.
‘Well, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I believe women should have the vote and all but I think one of you ever becoming prime minister is … unlikely.’
‘Unlikely, perhaps, impossible, most certainly not,’ Harriet told him and a few of the men at the table nearby audibly scoffed. Patrick groaned. It seemed this lunch was destined to have at least a few dramas, after all.
‘I think perhaps I might have the beef,’ Patrick said, intervening as smoothly as he could and the conversation was steered to the menu for the time being, although he suspected it would be short-lived. Sure enough it returned to Vida and her remarkable successes in America by the time the food arrived.
‘Just imagine that: the very first Australian invited to the White House and it’s a woman,’ Greg said. ‘Who would ever have thought such a thing.’ Frankie opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off quickly, obviously recognising his mistake. ‘Not that it’s unimaginable … I mean it’s great. Good on her,’ he finished rather lamely and Ivy smiled over at him.
‘Yes, good on her, indeed,’ she said kindly and Patrick’s heart swelled at how sweet she always was.
‘I should think so,’ Frankie said. ‘It isn’t every day that the President of the United States says he has his eye on the remarkable work of Australian women to one of our finest ambassadors – and in person no less, all the way on the other side of the world.’
‘I don’t think he actually said “remarkable work” but yes, it is amazing how he’s recognised our efforts and singled her out,’ Aggie said.
‘It is remarkable,’ Nick said. Frankie smiled at him for that comment and so he continued on, encouraged. ‘A pity she’ll have to give it all away when she marries.’
Patrick would have kicked him under the table if he could have reached but he was forced to try to fix that inflammatory comment with words instead.
‘Completely unfair,’ he agreed. ‘Although perhaps she won’t choose to marry. I’ve heard it said she’s turned down several offers in favour of her work for the Cause.’
‘She shouldn’t have to marry or give her work away if she did. It’s a disgusting state of affairs,’ Frankie blustered. There were more glares and mutterings from the next table at her strident words.
‘But surely …’ Greg began. ‘Oh, I suppose I’m just going to say the wrong thing again here, but if women all stop getting married and having children then that’s an end to society. Actually, an end to the whole human race … isn’t it?’
‘Humph,’ Frankie said but Ivy was kind once more.
‘I don’t think most women don’t want marriage and children, just a few choose not to, which is up to them, I’d say. The majority of us still want to have families and homes so I don’t think the human race is doomed quite yet.’ Her father looked impressed at her short speech and her mother and Aggie were nodding with approval, but Frankie harrumphed again.
‘I bloody won’t be,’ she asserted in a loud voice. ‘Just let a man try to tell me what to do the rest of my days.’
Nick looked at her, shocked and crestfallen. ‘You mean … you’ll never even consider it?’
‘Not in a million years,’ she stated firmly.
‘Just as well,’ mut
tered one of the men at the table nearby and Nick turned towards him immediately.
‘I beg your pardon?’
The man looked over at Frankie with disdain as he held his whisky aloft. ‘I’m afraid, madam, you overestimate your charms if you think gentlemen would be lining up to marry a mannish bluestocking such as yourself.’
The other men at his table laughed but Nick stood up. ‘How dare you address her so?’
‘I dare as I please because I’m a gentleman myself and I have an obligation to protect our way of life,’ he said loftily. ‘I dread to think what would happen if harridans such as this young woman here were given any real power.’
‘Harridan …?’ Ivy gasped. The rest of the men in their party stood as one as the waiter lurked nervously by, but Patrick found himself moving in front of the offensive man first, and his blood was up.
‘I think you owe this young lady an apology,’ he said, heart racing hard in fury.
‘Lady?’ he scoffed. ‘You use that word loosely.’
Patrick’s fist curled but Frankie took over.
‘And you, sir, are no gentleman.’ She stood too, jaw raised in fury. ‘In what terrible ways do you suppose we would alter your way of life if we were given the vote and held sway?’
The restaurant had stilled now and men and women alike watched the exchange. Patrick still itched to punch the arrogant man in the nose but Frankie was handling things with far more cool so he restrained himself and watched her go.
‘You’d have us give away all the simple pleasures, for a start,’ the man began, still slouched in his chair and nodding at his whisky.
‘Not all feminists are interested in temperance,’ she replied, lifting her own glass of wine. ‘If an individual can hold their drink I see no harm in it. Go on, what else?’ Frankie had him pinned with her flashing blue eyes and Patrick almost pitied the man now.
He shrugged. ‘You’d disturb the natural order of things and take women out of the home. Infants can’t care for themselves.’
Sisters of Freedom Page 19
