‘Don’t you give straight answers anymore?’ Eleanor probed.
‘Don’t you respect a person’s right to privacy?’ countered Lesley.
‘I would have thought you’d have had enough of that, cooped up in a convent all this time.’
‘Running away, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
Eleanor ran fingers through stringy hair, wondering if the dust of the bush would ever wash out.
‘I’m not like you, Eleanor. I never was. I was only ever good at two things, nursing and loving Marcus. I wasn’t made for anything else.’
‘Now look who’s being dramatic,’ Eleanor replied softly.
‘I didn’t come back to argue.’ Lesley walked ahead towards a bench, barely shaded from the morning sun by an old gum tree. ‘Actually I didn’t want to come back at all. But the work we do at the hospice is important. We’re always short of money for food and medicine. Coming home was my way of contributing to the convent’s needs.’
So there was the truth of it. Georgia wanted her eldest child home and the stranger provided a reason for her services. The monetary contribution to the convent was further incentive. ‘I’m sure Mum thought that bringing you home would help.’
Lesley stretched her legs out in the sun as she sat down, and appeared to think on this. ‘It’s not the place for me to heal, if that’s what everyone hoped. If it had been, I would have come home sooner.’
‘Why not?’
‘River Run isn’t important to me, Eleanor, and quite honestly I can’t say if it ever was. As a childhood home, yes, but I’ve never had the attachment to this place that Mum has, that Robbie probably will have. I can appreciate the land for what it is, for what it’s given us, and I am in awe of Mum’s family. They were absolute pioneers. But that’s where it ends. But you, you look comfortable here.’ She gave a shy smile. ‘The last time I saw you at the convent you were in your cream twin-set and pearls. Now look at you with your leather boots and long-sleeved shirt. I bet you go out with the men and they probably don’t mind having you tag along.’
Eleanor joined her older sister on the bench seat. ‘It’s more than that, isn’t it? Are you well now, Lesley, have you …?’
Lesley patted Eleanor’s hand. ‘Have I recovered? Have I got over Marcus?’ She wore a plain blue house-dress that she began crumpling between her fingers. Her hands began to shake, ever so slightly. ‘Have you ever been in love?’
Eleanor thought of Dante, of the young men in her life prior to his arrival. ‘I thought I was once, but it didn’t work out.’
‘Maybe you were lucky. Maybe it’s better not to know that one great love. It can make the rest of our life pale into insignificance and then, when you lose it …’
‘I don’t understand that kind of love. A love that hurts.’
‘I believe that the great loves always do.’ Lesley gave a weak laugh. ‘They blind you and annoy you, and by its very nature such a passion constrains and pressurises. Such a love doesn’t work for many. Such a love doesn’t leave space or time for anything else. But for some, for me, it is everything, was everything,’ she corrected. ‘There was never anyone else. There never could be and I know it was the same for Marcus.’ A wind rose, rustling the branches of the trees around them. ‘I didn’t set out to feel that way and I’m sure Marcus didn’t either. It simply was. And it’s an extraordinary feeling, Eleanor. It’s all-encompassing.’
‘Wouldn’t Marcus want you to let go, to move on?’ Eleanor asked hopefully.
‘He’s here, you know, Eleanor. From the moment that I arrived yesterday I remembered everything. Everything I’d tried to forget.’ Lesley squeezed her sister’s fingers, the lightest of touches. ‘I still expect him to walk around the corner of the house, up the stairs, into the dining room, across this very lawn. You probably don’t remember but we were shearing when he died.’
‘I remember,’ Eleanor lied. ‘Would you like to go down to the shed later?’
‘I’ve spent five years grieving, five years trying to forget him, but I never did.’ Beyond the garden, something drew Lesley’s attention. She leant forward, almost with anticipation, and then just as quickly relaxed back against the hard planks of the bench. ‘I’m tired after last night. I might sleep in your room during the day if that’s alright?’
Eleanor assured Lesley that she didn’t have to nurse the stranger. That she would stay with the patient if it was required. ‘Hang on, why my room?’ And then she realised. ‘Marcus. He slept in your room, didn’t he? Without Mum knowing.’
For the first time Lesley brightened, albeit briefly. ‘I couldn’t bear it. To lie there in the dark on that same bed. In this heat. I’d imagine him breathing, his arm on mine, his lips on mine. We spoke of so many things, Elly. We’d stare up at the covering of Granny’s four-poster bed and talk of our life together. Marcus said he’d paint stars on the canopy for me so that the heavens were always twinkling while I slept. My own Southern Cross. I can still smell him sometimes, he smelt of hope, of goodness. Then afterwards, when he came back, he was already gone. I tried to bring him back. I asked him to come back to me. But he couldn’t. They’d already taken him. He was already gone.
‘They took him from me in the jungle. I knew it then, and I know it now, but still I can’t forget. Can’t let go.’ She began to sob. ‘That morning when I went looking for him, and found him … Eleanor, help me. I can’t get past it.’ Lesley fell to the grass in a heap and began to sob. ‘People keep telling me to be brave, to move on, but they don’t understand, no-one understands.’
Rex was running towards them, dropping the bucket of freshly made sausages so that they spread out across the grass, pale and limp.
‘What don’t we understand, Lesley?’ Eleanor pleaded. ‘Tell me?’
Lesley gasped. ‘He left a note, Elly. Marcus left a note.’ She reached for Eleanor’s hands. ‘He knew he wouldn’t be able to lead a normal life because of the injuries, because of what they’d done to him. And he didn’t want to burden me, Elly.’ She sobbed. ‘He didn’t want to be a millstone, an obligation. Marcus killed himself so that I could be free.’
Stunned, Eleanor sat on the ground beside her sister.
Rex arrived. Ignoring Eleanor’s protests, the old man lifted Lesley up as if she were a feather, carrying her across to the shade of a tree and placing her gently on the ground. ‘Look at her, Eleanor. What are you doing sitting her out in the sun? She’s been locked up with a bunch of nuns for years. She’ll be burnt to the bone not wearing a hat.’ Rex patted Lesley’s face with a filthy handkerchief as she sobbed. ‘Let it all out, little Lesley, let it all out.’
Gradually the weeping eased and Lesley leant back against the tree. ‘You have to let him go, girl.’ Rex patted her arm. ‘He wouldn’t want you to keep pining for him.’ Lesley closed her eyes. ‘How about I get Mrs Howell to make you some tea?’
‘You always liked her tea,’ Eleanor encouraged.
‘No, no tea,’ she said quietly, wiping her eyes as her breath steadied. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Eleanor. Don’t tell Mum. Please, promise me, Rex. I won’t be here for long. I never intended to stay long.’ She gave them a weak smile. ‘A donation from River Run is not something to be ignored. I’ll go for a walk. Clear my thoughts. Alone.’ Rex helped her stand and they watched as Lesley moved slowly through the garden and out the back gate.
‘Cripes,’ Rex scratched his chin, the jowly skin of his neck wiggling, ‘she ain’t any better at all, is she?’
‘Maybe, maybe once she spends a few days here.’ But Eleanor knew Rex was right. Lesley should never have come home. Now that Eleanor knew the truth of Marcus’s suicide, she could only imagine the guilt and despair Lesley felt, the utter sadness.
Rex walked back to the spilled sausages and, picking them up, dropped the slimy mass back into the bucket. ‘Covered in dirt,’ he muttered, looking in the direction of the kitchen. ‘The old battle-axe will have my guts for garters.’
Behind him, Lesley c
ould be seen near the row of trees where the working dogs were chained. They barked on her approach. ‘She must have put on a good show at the convent for them to let her out.’ Rex straightened his back, bucket in hand.
‘I think she probably felt safe there,’ Eleanor answered, ‘but being back here reminds her of Marcus. We’ll keep it to ourselves just for a day or so, as she asked.’
Rex poked at the sausages. ‘If you reckon it’s the right thing to do.’
‘She needs to know she can rely on us, Rex, don’t you think?’
‘Maybe you’re right, girl, I don’t know. On your say so I’ll agree to it, but if it happens again, if she collapses like that, I’d have to tell your mother.’
‘I understand, and I agree. Thanks, Rex.’
‘Well, I’m glad someone does, cause I don’t understand nothing. Nothing at all.’ He scratched under his arm. ‘Goddamn blood month, no moon, the goddamn stranger. It’s all no good, no good. I was right sorry when I heard the young fella was being sent away to be schooled, but now I’m not so sure. Probably a good thing I reckon, a real good thing. All of this started with the shooting and ain’t no good come of none of it since. No sir, nothing at all. The boy’s an albatross, shoots an innocent man, gets Billy and Lomax fired and now your sister’s here and she shouldn’t be. All cause of him. Because of Robbie. Maybe it would be better if the boy never came back.’
Eleanor knew Rex carried a soft spot for Lesley but she was still surprised by the ferocity of Rex’s words. ‘Don’t say that, Rex. He’s just a kid.’
‘I’m just a-saying, girl. Family all over the papers. None of you showing up for church last Sunday.’
‘But we couldn’t go,’ Eleanor’s eyes were beginning to moisten, ‘none of us could. The police came and then the doctor. You know that, Rex.’
‘I’m just saying. There’s always been River Run family at Mass. Always.’ He looked skyward. ‘Goddamn it all, we ain’t never had such troubles since your father died. ’Bout the same time it was too, now I think on it.’
‘No it wasn’t, Rex,’ argued Eleanor. ‘Dad died in the spring.’
‘Yes it was, girl. Same time all right. Around the dark of the moon.’ He stomped towards the kitchen, his wiry body supported by bowed legs. At the kitchen door he flung the flyscreen open, dropped the bucket on the landing and hollered for Mrs Howell.
The housekeeper appeared, waved to Eleanor, the gesture urgent. On joining the older woman and Rex, Eleanor was smartly rebuked for wandering around outside. The Winslows were leaving and it had been decided that they would give Robbie a lift into the village and put him on the train.
‘What, now?’ asked Eleanor. ‘But he’s not meant to leave until –’
‘Easier for everyone,’ the housekeeper shared, ‘that’s what Mr Webber said. Doesn’t want your mother all upset by waving the lad off at the railway station. And Robbie was very sad last night when I took him back to his room, so it’s probably for the best.’
The distant whining of a dog’s low, mournful sound developed into a howl.
‘Mr Webber’s sister will put Robbie up for a few days before he goes into school. Now stop talking or you’ll miss him, Eleanor. They’re about to leave.’
Chapter Thirty-four
‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ Colin stated sharply. ‘Where’s your sister?’
Eleanor took in the scene before her: Keith Winslow sitting inside the gleaming Studebaker, Robbie enveloped in his mother’s arms and Margaret Winslow standing nonchalantly to one side, studying Colin. The woman was wearing an expensive fuchsia-coloured Dior travelling outfit, and as Eleanor studied her she recalled the wanton movements of a woman fondling her own body.
On noticing Eleanor, Robbie broke away from his mother’s embrace and ran to her. Georgia fumbled with a handkerchief.
‘Lesley’s gone for a walk,’ Eleanor finally answered her stepfather, her eyes wet with tears. Robbie, beyond speech, hugged her tightly. ‘It’ll be fine, fine, I promise,’ she told her half-brother. Eleanor looked suspiciously at her uncle while he spoke to the Winslow woman. Leaning forward, his hand touching Margaret’s hip, he kissed her on the lips and squeezed the woman’s buttocks. Georgia, caught up in the emotion of the moment, didn’t notice but Eleanor did. She saw her uncle’s hand lingering on Margaret’s backside. And Margaret saw Eleanor watching.
‘Eleanor,’ Margaret drawled, as if only just seeing her, ‘I must say goodbye.’ She left Colin, meandering across the gravel drive as if there were all the time in the world, high heels crunching the pebbles. ‘Now, young Robbie,’ she ruffled his hair, ‘off you go and give your mother another hug.’
Reluctantly, Robbie let go of Eleanor, as Georgia called to her son.
‘Goodbye, my dear.’ Margaret took Eleanor by the hand. Her grip was warm, confident. ‘It’s really been the most interesting of visits. I know both of us have learnt a thing or two, about each other, about how the world works.’ Her grasp remained firm. ‘And we certainly wouldn’t like that fragile Webber veneer to be cracked by an out-of-wedlock relationship with an immigrant or,’ she finally released Eleanor’s hand, ‘a moment mistaken between two old family friends. Would we?’
Blackmail! The woman was actually warning Eleanor, should she choose to cause trouble.
From her handbag Mrs Winslow took a packet of cigarettes, tapped one out and lit it. Exhaling, she picked a shred of tobacco from the tip of her tongue. The cigarette was ringed by red lipstick. ‘Here, take these. I think you’re going to need them.’
In Eleanor’s hand was the packet of Lucky Strike tailor-mades. She smiled, her nerves tingling. ‘And did you leave the garden shed tidy last night, Mrs Winslow?’
‘Time to go, Robbie.’ Colin opened the front passenger door.
For once, Margaret Winslow was speechless. Turning abruptly, she walked to the waiting car, where she kissed her host on both cheeks, twittering something about it being the European way, and then a length of bare leg was slowly drawn within the vehicle’s interior.
‘What about Lesley?’ Georgia asked Colin, her hands on her son’s shoulders.
‘They have to leave now if they’re going to make the train in time, and besides Lesley can see him at school,’ he replied. ‘Come on, Robbie. Get in the car please.’
The smell of gasoline hung in the air. The fumes coming from the exhaust were a grey-black. Robbie looked to Eleanor, pleaded with his eyes, but Georgia was settling him on the back seat and then the door was closed.
‘I’ll write,’ she mouthed, but it wasn’t enough. Eleanor saw it in his eyes as he looked at her through the rear window. She ran to the car, leant inside the window. ‘I’ve been to boarding school too, Robbie. Don’t forget that. I know what it feels like.’
‘My pup,’ he gulped.
‘I’ll look after him, and Garnet, I promise.’
He spat in his palm and Eleanor did the same. They shook, confirming the solemn promise.
Rex arrived out of breath, in time to take in the last sight of the young boy, a small hand pressed against the rear window. Eleanor watched the departing vehicle with mixed feelings, before noticing that her mother was silently weeping. Colin went to Georgia’s side and tried to take her hand. She shook him off and disappeared into the house, leaving him alone on the veranda. Her stepfather lingered only briefly before walking back down the stairs and around the side of the homestead.
‘She’ll be walking the boundary like a cow that’s been weaned of its calf,’ Rex stated, referring to Eleanor’s mother, ‘you’ll see.’ He kicked at the ground where cigarette butts were scattered across the gravel drive. ‘Them Winslows must have slaves, eh?’ He began to pick up the cigarette stubs, cupping the butts in the palm of his hand. ‘Wanted me to polish his Studebaker, he did. Offered me a fiver for my troubles. I said no.’ His eyes were dark as he faced Eleanor. ‘I’m just saying. We’ve got jackeroos for that. Anyway, the weather ain’t improved none. Be a real scorcher I reckon. You
best go find that sister of yours before she gets herself sunstruck.’ But they didn’t move, waiting until the noise of the vehicle faded with distance.
From around the corner of the house the cattle-pup ran, short legs pumping, dragging a length of chain. Bluey ran straight and true, past the thorny rose bushes and the trickling fountain, trailing the dust left by the departing vehicle.
Rex coughed and spat on the ground. ‘I’ll go fetch the young fella’s dog.’
Eleanor was sure she heard the word ‘albatross’ as the old gardener limped away.
Chapter Thirty-five
‘Your brother’s gone?’
‘Yes, he’s gone.’ Eleanor made a fuss of checking the container storing fresh bandages.
The patient was sitting up in bed, reading a copy of The Pastoral Review and Grazier’s Record. He looked over the top of the magazine with its distinctive map of Australia positioned next to the title, and Established 1891 displayed prominently on the cover above a large-framed Merino ram. ‘Australia’s major concern should be the preservation and improvement of its soils,’ he read, ‘and this should be the watch-word of every man occupying the land.’ He placed the magazine on the bedcover. ‘The writer’s got a point. Half your farm will blow away on the next wind if you don’t get rain soon, and this heat. I don’t know how any of you live out here.’
‘This isn’t a farm, it’s a sheep station.’ He wore a close-fitting white t-shirt that contrasted sharply against the brown of his face and arms. ‘Your accent sounds American, but there’s something foreign in your voice as well.’
He rested his head against the wall. ‘Have you known many Americans?’
‘No.’
‘Would you like to?’ he enticed, patting the white sheet.
Eleanor ignored his lighthearted banter. ‘You’re obviously much improved, managing to lift your arm to put that on.’
River Run Page 26
