Jessica

by Bryce Courtenay

  Jessica stands still in the morning sunlight, unable to comprehend what her mother has just told her. She can hear the water running over stones in the creek and the soft phlurrrrr of air escaping from the pony’s nostrils. Somewhere she hears the carolling of a magpie and the sound of cicadas stinging the air. The sun feels warm on her cheek.

  ‘His heart gave in, just after tea last night,’ Hester now says. ‘He’d want you at his funeral, Jessica. You can’t let him down.’

  ‘No!’ Jessica says slowly. ‘No, Mother, I won’t come.’ To Jessica’s astonishment, Hester starts to cry. Jessica has rarely seen her mother in tears before. ‘But you must, Jessie,’ she weeps. ‘You’re in charge now, darling. Meg and I can’t cope with the selection.’ She looks up despairingly. ‘The bank had been to see Joe! We’ll all be ruined!’ Hester sniffs. ‘We can’t manage without you, my dear.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Jessica can’t believe she’s said it.

  ‘What?’ Hester asks, looking down at her tearfully.

  ‘Mother, as soon as Meg’s child is born you’re going over to Riverview homestead. You and Meg will be Jake — you couldn’t give a bugger about the selection.’ Hester does not deny this. Instead, she wipes her eyes on her handkerchief and sighs deeply. ‘Jessica, the bank will foreclose on the property now your father’s dead, unless you come and we convince them you can take over. Your father always intended for you to have the selection. If we can only hang on until Meg’s baby is born I’m sure, what with the war and the security of Meg being Mrs Jack Thomas, they’ll let you extend the overdraft.’ Hester now looks appealingly at Jessica, wiping her eyes again and sighing. ‘I know you think I haven’t been a good mother, that I’ve always favoured your sister, and in some respects that’s true. But I know it would be Joe’s dearest wish that you and your child be safe and secure. He would have wanted you to have the property. And when we leave for Riverview, it will all be yours. You must come to the funeral, so folk can see you are well again.’

  ‘Again? What, that I’m not mad?’ Jessica now says, trying hard not to show the triumph in her voice. She would dearly like to refuse her mother, but she knows Hester’s right — she must take care of her child. If the property can be saved it will be Joey’s future. She has thought long and hard about the small section of riverfront they possess, and although it’s not much — this creek and a hundred yards of river — both could be used for irrigation, although Joe would never listen to her. ‘What about my baby?’ she now asks.

  Hester pulls back slightly, aware that Jessica could be persuaded to come to Joe’s funeral. She knows better than to appear contrite. ‘Your father was right, these things pass with time. Now that Meg’s married to Jack and will soon have a child to give him when he comes back from the war, I dare say we’ll manage to cope, to live with the shame you’ve caused.’

  ‘You mean if me and my son stay away from Riverview? Well, don’t you worry, Mother, we will,’ Jessica says bitterly.

  ‘Please, Jessica? Bring your baby and come with me now. There is much to be done.’ It is the same old Hester, back in control.

  Jessica thinks hard. ‘Mother,’ she announces, ‘I want a piece of paper to say Joe’s left the place to me and my baby.’

  ‘Yes, of course, my dear,’ Hester smiles, ‘as soon as we get home.’

  ‘No, now!’ Jessica says. ‘I’ve got pen and paper.’ Hester hesitates. ‘Really, we must hurry, dear. Can’t it wait?’ she says trying to soothe Jessica.

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Jessica counters. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa while you write it out.’

  Jessica makes Hester sit at the table and brings her a pen and ink and a sheet of paper, both of which have been supplied by Joe.

  Jessica wants to crawl away on her own and bawl her heart out for Joe, but she doesn’t want her dry-eyed mother to have the satisfaction of seeing her grieve.

  PROPERTY SETTLEMENT

  With concern to the last will and testament of Joseph Karl Bergman, deceased on 25 December 1914.

  I, Hester Bergman, wife of the late Joseph Karl Bergman, believe myself to be the sole beneficiary of all my husband’s worldly goods, property and possessions, which consist of his selection, as well as all that stands upon it, including his livestock. I hereby, in the presence of witnesses, agree that such property as comes into my possession as a consequence of my husband’s death I freely pass over to my daughter, Jessica Margaret Bergman. I also promise to make no further claims on such property at a future date and agree in the event of Jessica’s death that the property shall become the sole possession of her child, Joey Bergman.

  Signed: Hester Maude Bergman Witnesses:

  Hester looks up from the small table where she has been writing. ‘Meg can witness it when we get home.’ ‘I don’t think she’s allowed,’ Jessica says. ‘Besides, Joe says you always get two independent witnesses.’

  ‘The Reverend Mathews, then,’ Hester suggests. ‘He can sign it after the funeral.’

  ‘Wait,’ Jessica says and walks out of the little hut and stands on the bank of the creek. She brings her fingers to her lips and whistles and a few moments later Mary appears, emerging from the bush. ‘Mary, come on over!’ Jessica shouts.

  Hester is more than surprised to see the Aboriginal woman. There is barely room for the three of them and Hester sniffs as Jessica introduces her to Mary Simpson. ‘Pleased, I’m sure,’ she says with her lips pursed, but refuses to accept Mary’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Hello, missus,’ Mary says, smiling, ignoring the snub. ‘Nice baby, eh?’

  ‘Mary, can you write your name?’ Jessica now asks. Mary nods, not speaking but still smiling. It is plain she’s not intimidated by Hester.

  ‘Where does she sign?’ Jessica asks her mother. Hester silently points to a place under her own signature and hands the pen to Jessica, who dips the pen into the ink-pot and gives it to Mary. Hester shifts out of the way to make room for Mary to sign and she is forced to sit on the bed where Jessica’s baby sleeps contentedly. She looks down at the sleeping infant. ‘He’s a fine boy,’ she says, trying to smile.

  Mary writes her name carefully and Jessica sees that the letters are well formed and all sloped in a nice copperplate script. Mary notices her looking and grins. ‘It’s them Lutherans,’ she explains, ‘the buggers teach us how to write our names so we can sign for gubberment rations.’

  Joe’s funeral is to take place two days later at St Stephen’s. Meg and Hester spend most of the time baking for the wake to be held in the church hall afterwards. Jessica, who is determined not to show her grief for Joe’s passing, lasts until they arrive at the homestead and she goes to the back of the house, to the sleep-out where her father lies, dressed in his Sunday suit with his arms folded, his big hands clasped over his chest.

  It is his hair that finally causes her to break down. Despite being married to Joe for twenty-two years, Hester has parted his hair on the wrong side. It is such a little thing, yet it says everything about their relationship, and Jessica weeps for her father — for Joe the foreigner who never quite got the hang of his new land, who’d come from the green grass of Denmark to the black soil plains of south-western New South Wales. Stubborn, silent Joe, who tried so hard but never had any luck. She weeps for more than an hour and then rises, thinking she must go to her baby. It is then that she remembers Joe’s curious promise to bring his medicine box over to the tin hut.

  Jessica goes to the familiar box and opens the top drawer. It seems the same as ever — the horsehair and the stitching needles, a packet of safety razor blades and a small pair of pliers for pulling the needle through a beast’s stubborn skin, everything neatly in its place. She opens the second little drawer and inside are two letters addressed to her in Jack’s handwriting.

  It is at this moment that she hears Meg’s voice shouting for her to come quickly because the baby is crying, and she hurriedly co
nceals the letters in the pocket of her pinny. Jessica goes into the kitchen, where a worried Meg is trying to soothe the baby.

  ‘He’s probably hungry,’ Jessica says, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She takes the baby into her bedroom and, closing the door, allows him to nuzzle at her breast. His hungry little mouth clasps around her nipple and begins to suck furiously and Jessica is suddenly aware that her milk has arrived. Not much, but young Joey seems to know the difference and now pulls frantically at her swollen nipple.

  ‘Oh Joey, I love you so much,’ Jessica sobs. ‘Joe would have loved you so.’

  Jessica then takes the two letters out of her pinny and looks at the date on the stamps, to see which is the first. One carries an Australian stamp and the other is Egyptian. She tears open the first and begins to read.

  S.S. Star of Victoria 28 October 1914

  My dearest Jessie,

  We are away at last but not yet bound for England as the convoy has to assemble in the King George Sound at Albany in Western Australia. They don’t tell us much so there isn’t much more I can say. We have been joined by the New Zealanders.

  I am writing this on board ship. Lots of the men have been seasick but, touch wood, I’ve been okay.

  The horses are coming on another ship, the Clan MacCorquodale, and I worry about them, although they are stout horses and should be right.

  About your sister, Meg. It has all been a terrible mistake and I want to say sorry to you. I am very ashamed of what happened and that I made her pregnant. She is my wife now so I can’t say anything more. But you know how I feel in my heart about you and I always will. There is only one Tea Leaf and I shall take her into the war with me. If you can manage to write could you send me a photograph of yourself.

  I beg you to forgive me, Jessie.

  Your loving friend,

  Jack.

  Jessica tearfully folds the first letter and then, pumping her left breast the way Mary has shown her, she is surprised to see a spray of milk issue from the nipple. Her breast is sore and tight and it is an immediate relief when she puts Joey onto it. She waits until he is suckling contentedly before she opens the. second letter.

  Cpl. J. Thomas — No LHNSW 8760

  Mena Camp — Egypt 10 December 1914

  My dearest Jessica,

  I hope you received my last letter. And now for the news. Instead of going to England we were off-loaded in the Port of Alexandria in Egypt. We then went by train to Cairo and marched to a place called Mena where the pyramids are. And guess what? Near the pyramids is a whole stand of eucalypt! Imagine that, a bit of Australia waiting to welcome us. They are bigger than I expected — I mean the pyramids. We climbed the Great Pyramid to put our names on one of the higher blocks and, you wouldn’t credit it, there were names there of soldiers from the Napoleonic Wars who’d done the same. Just imagine that.

  We arrived here to find that the British High Command hadn’t sent us enough tents — only about half of what was needed and it will take two weeks for the others to arrive. So some of us bivouac in the open, with our horses. It’s a bit like being out on a run at home, and the lads from the country don’t seem to mind as we’re used to sleeping under the stars. The horses are in good shape. I quite like the desert, it reminds me a bit of home, which means it reminds me of you.

  They don’t tell us much, but the rumour is that we’re going to be trained here and then sent on to Europe to fight. But another rumour says Turkey is going to join the Germans and we’ll stay here and guard the Suez Canal. I hope the first and not the second, eh?

  Please write to me, Jessie. Have you had a photograph taken yet? I don’t want to forget your dear, sweet face.

  I know you will not show this letter to your sister, and you’ll think me cruel, but will you tell me when she has the baby? I will write then and do my duty by her.

  I am well and think constantly of my little Tea Leaf. Please write to me!

  Yours lovingly,

  Jack.

  Jessica cries softly. She has lost Jack to Meg in marriage but she hasn’t lost his heart. She vows he will always stay in her own heart, the only man she’ll ever love, no matter what. Jessica looks down at her child sucking away for all he’s worth. ‘We’re not alone, Joey. Jack loves me, and he’ll love you too when he gets back, you’ll see,’ she promises softly.

  On the day of the funeral Hester persuades Jessica to leave her baby with Meg, though, at first, Jessica is reluctant to do so.

  ‘Why can’t I take my baby?’ she asks.

  Hester is uncharacteristically patient with her. ‘Jessica, you know why. People have come to think things about you. We must show them that you are well.’ ‘What things? That I’m mad?’

  Hester sighs. ‘We’ve discussed it before, child, at the tin hut.’

  ‘I don’t have to go,’ Jessica says defiantly. ‘I’ve said goodbye to Father my own way.’

  ‘Yes you do, dear,’ Hester insists, ‘if only to show people that you are well. Besides, Reverend Mathews has to witness the paper, the deeds to the land, remember?’ Hester has a sudden inspiration. ‘If the bank is going to let us carry on, they’ll have to know you’re well again, that the silly rumours are baseless. They won’t let you have the place otherwise.’ Hester smiles. ‘Who better than the vicar to vouch for you?’

  ‘We could do it after — after the funeral. The vicar could come here.’

  ‘My dear, people must see you there. See you being your normal old self, know that the rumours about your health are quite untrue.’ Hester purses her lips and pulls her head back. ‘But if they see you with a baby!’ She pauses, then continues, ‘Well! All the tongues will be wagging, won’t they? And you know what they’ll all be thinking.’

  ‘But they’re gunna know sooner or later!’ Jessica protests. ‘We can’t keep my baby hidden forever.’

  Hester is suddenly stern-faced. ‘Jessica, it’s your father’s funeral. We won’t make a mockery of it. Surely you can understand that much, child? This is simply not the time to show your baby.’ Then, as if to mollify her youngest daughter, she adds in a softer tone, ‘With Meg so far gone, it’s not seemly for her to be seen in public, so it will be easy to explain her absence. We’ll simply tell folk she’s feeling a bit poorly, what with her pregnancy and your father’s death, and they’ll understand immediately. She can look after Joey for you.’

  Jessica cannot deny that Meg is capable of caring for her baby. Since she’s returned to the homestead, Meg has done a complete about turn and has taken every opportunity to hold the infant and care for him. At first a little apprehensive, she now dotes on Jessica’s child. Despite the sadness of Joe’s death, Meg has been cheerful and busy and ever so helpful, asking to look after Joey whenever she’s given the least opportunity.

  And so, finally, Jessica agrees to accompany her mother alone to the funeral.

  Despite his silent and often morose character, Joe was popular in the district and there is a big turn-out at the funeral. Hardly a person present cannot testify to some past kindness received from him. They greet Jessica with surprise and delight, for most of them associate her with Joe and are pleased to see her again, offering her their condolences almost as often as they address them to Hester.

  Hester has ordered the plainest pine casket from Coffin Nail, the Italian carpenter turned funeral director, knowing Joe wouldn’t want the fuss or the waste of money. Five of the local shearers and Mike Malloy, the foreman at Riverview shearing shed, carry his coffin into the church. The congregation sing ‘Abide With Me’, which they like a lot and sing with gusto as they all know the tune. This is followed by ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, another favourite and now grown even more popular because of the war. Hester’s heart pounds briefly as she recalls Joe humming the tune after they’d done in old Mrs Baker. In both hymns the verger proves a tremendous success, thumping away at the ageing organ w
ith great enthusiasm.

  The vicar then gives his eulogy to the dearly departed.

  He’s done his research well and the congregation are soon nodding their heads, quietly agreeing that folk didn’t come any better than Joe Bergman.

  The organ starts up again, this time sonorous and funereal in its tone, and the coffin-bearers lead the way out of the church to the small fenced graveyard at the side of St Stephen’s.

  Joe is going to join Mrs Baker, the little congregation’s most recent contribution to the heavenly hosts. This is also the resting place of Ada, Winifred and Gwen Thomas, who lie in their Chinese-silk-lined, now handleless, fake mahogany coffins, with their names carved on the lid, just in case St Peter doesn’t know who they are when they arrive at the gates of Paradise. It is at the graveside that the vicar waits to begin the famous ‘dust to dust’ and ‘ashes to ashes’ part of the funeral oration. Jessica smiles quietly to herself, remembering how Joe once remarked, after a funeral they’d attended, that God must have been speaking specifically about the black soil country when he made up that dust to dust and ashes to ashes bit. ‘That’s the whole flamin’ story o’ the plains, everything turns to dust or bloody ashes.’

  ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,’ Jessica now hears the Reverend Mathews pronounce in his most pontifical style. But then he suddenly departs from the known text. Instead, he stops and spreads his arms wide in a benevolent gesture, looking at the people gathered around the graveside.