by Anna Jacobs
Andrew smiled. ‘Yes. So I’ve found out. I’m a lucky man.’
The doctor came out with Irene beside him, giving bad news out of hearing of the patient again, Gil guessed.
‘There’s nothing I can do for him, I’m afraid, Mrs Dawson. If you can get liquids into him, that’ll help. But it’s in God’s hands. Pneumonia is – unpredictable.’
She nodded and went inside again.
The doctor looked at Gil. ‘Do you need a ride anywhere?’
‘No. I’ll stay and look after their cows.’
When the doctor’s little car had chugged away he turned to Andrew, ‘You go back and do your milking. I’ll see to things here. They can call out if they need my help with Freddie.’
‘He’s been a lot quieter for the past hour or two.’
As the day passed, Gil did what was necessary for the animals, kept the kitchen fire stoked up, chopped up some firewood for Irene. When darkness fell again, he went inside and insisted the women take turns to eat something.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Irene said, ‘though I’d love a cup of tea.’
‘Pam’s brought some soup across,’ he said.
‘Good.’ Norah looked at her friend. ‘You’ll have a bowl of that, Irene, and no arguing. You have to eat. Stay with her, Gil, and I’ll get some for all of us.’
He nodded and took her place by the bed, watching Irene as often as the sick man. From time to time she looked across at him and gave a faint smile, but for the most part, her attention was on her husband.
The hours passed slowly and it seemed to him that Freddie grew weaker.
Another night fell, a fine one this time, with stars twinkling in the sky. They’d taken it in turns to sleep for an hour or two, but now they were all gathered in the humpy, trying to ease the coughing fits, to persuade him to drink, to keep him covered.
But for all their efforts he was growing weaker.
As dawn was breaking, the sick man opened his eyes, looked at his wife and rasped, ‘You’ll be – better off – without me.’
‘Don’t say that! Try to get better.’
He looked beyond her to where grey light was showing through the gable. ‘Don’t – want to. Had enough.’
Within minutes his breaths stopped.
Gil had just come back in. He hesitated in the doorway, then turned and went to set some water on to boil. The man had just given up. He’d not have done that if he had a wife like Irene, not to mention a child on the way.
Irene was holding Freddie’s hand and had closed her eyes for a few seconds, because they were burning with tiredness and lack of sleep. She didn’t realise he’d stopped breathing till Norah reached out to touch her.
‘He’s gone, love.’
Even before she opened her eyes, she realised how quiet it was without the tortured sound of his breathing. She looked down at her husband’s still face on the pillow and reached out to close his eyes gently. In death he looked like the old Freddie again. No scowl or sulky look, just a peacefully sleeping face. She was glad about that. It was how she wanted to remember him.
‘He was young and healthy.’ She reached out to stroke his cheek. ‘How could he have died so quickly?’
‘They do sometimes with pneumonia, and the strongest seem as vulnerable as the weakest. I’ve seen it before. Shall I lay him out for you, Irene?’
‘We’ll do it together.’
Later that day Gil and Andrew brought round a coffin they’d pieced together hastily from green wood, sawn into rough planks by the men in their group.
Gil watched Irene, but to his relief she was holding up well. Too well? Would she collapse afterwards? Bereaved people sometimes did once they’d buried their dead.
He couldn’t help wondering what she was going to do now. Would she leave Australia and go back to England? How would he bear that?
They took the dead man to Pemberton, because there was still no cemetery in Northcliffe. There they obtained the death certificate, a mere formality given that the doctor had seen Freddie before he died, and made the necessary arrangements.
The following morning, the poor young man was buried, prayed over by a cleric who’d never met him and attended only by his wife, Norah and Gil.
Inevitably it brought back memories of Mabel and comrades who’d been killed during the war. Well, at least Freddie had left the baby as a lasting legacy. Poor Mabel hadn’t even managed that.
When it was over, they waited for Irene to lead the way back to the truck. She stood looking down at the coffin, but neither of them hurried her.
It was a dry-eyed woman who eventually turned to them and said in a calm, cool voice, ‘Can we go home now, please?’
‘Of course.’
Norah went to link arms with her and the two women walked slowly back to the truck, with Gil trailing behind them. Irene turned just once to look back at the man who was already filling in the hole.
It wasn’t till they got back to the block that she began to weep, not loudly but in a soft, despairing way.
‘Do I have to leave the block straight away?’ she asked Gil as he supported her into the house. ‘I don’t have anywhere to go yet, can’t seem to think what to do.’
‘No, of course you don’t have to leave.’ But he knew the Board had rules about this sort of thing and would expect to have the block back quite quickly, not to mention stopping payment of Freddie’s wages.
Well, to hell with them. It was Irene who mattered most. He’d delay writing to inform them for a few days, that’s what he’d do.
The two women went inside and Gil turned to Andrew, who’d walked across the cleared land to join them. ‘I’d better get back to work again, I suppose. I’ll see to her stock.’
It was all he could do for her. And at least it would mean he’d see her every day, be able to watch over her.
19
It was two days before Irene managed to pull herself together. Gil didn’t intrude on her grief. He went to milk the cows for her every morning and evening, lit the fire for her every morning in the sorry excuse for a kitchen lean-to that Freddie had cobbled together, and made sure her water buckets were full.
On the second day he talked to Andrew, putting his thoughts about Irene into words for the first time very hesitantly, afraid of a rebuff.
Andrew didn’t reply at once, but sat gazing into the fire they’d lit outside the humpy, since it was a clear night. ‘I’ll ask Norah. Women understand these things so much better than men do.’
Gil nodded his thanks. Somehow he hadn’t been able to speak to Norah himself.
Soon afterwards he took his leave, walking slowly and thoughtfully home to a nearly bare humpy and a cooking fire that hadn’t been lit for several days. It seemed even lonelier tonight.
Andrew found his wife in bed. ‘I need to talk to you, without the children overhearing. Do you think you could put on a coat and come outside? I can soon get the fire we sit round blazing up.’
‘Yes, of course. Is it something Gil said?’
‘Yes. It’s – rather delicate.’
She threw back the blanket and got out of bed again. ‘I can guess.’
‘You can?’
‘Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at her? If ever I saw a man in love, he’s one.’
When they were out by the blazing fire, they sat on the rough bench he’d made and he put his arm round her. After telling her what Gil had suggested, he waited patiently for her response.
‘It’s too soon, really, but I’ll talk to Irene tomorrow,’ she said at last. ‘I’m glad she let Janie sleep there tonight. I didn’t want her to be on her own. And I’ve told Janie not to wake her in the morning, but to let her sleep on.’
‘Janie’s seemed a bit more settled lately,’ he ventured.
There was another long silence then Norah sighed. ‘She’s quieter, but she’s so different from what she was like in England that I’m still worried about her.’
His breath caught in his throat. ‘Does tha
t make you sorry you accepted my offer?’
She raised the hand she was holding to her lips and kissed it. ‘No, love, never that. But I’m at my wits’ end as to what to do next to help her.’
‘She’ll settle down, given time.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
But it was Irene who most needed their help at the moment. Janie’s problems would keep.
The following morning Norah went across to Irene’s once the milking was over, meeting Gil on his way back from dealing with her friend’s cows.
‘Is she up?’
He nodded. ‘Only just, though. Your little lass is fussing over her.’
‘It’s a bit early to speak to her about your suggestion, really.’
‘I know. But the Board won’t let her stay here for more than a week or so. They see the land as belonging to the man, not the woman. I should have notified them of Freddie’s death immediately, can’t delay it much longer.’
‘I suppose not.’ She walked on to the humpy.
Janie and Irene were having breakfast at the rough table outside, just bowls of porridge and when Norah got close, she had to hide a smile as she saw how lumpy it was. Her daughter never managed to make good porridge, because her heart wasn’t in it.
She made small talk with Irene, waiting till Janie had finished eating and her friend had pushed a half-empty bowl to one side. ‘Get off home now, Janie love, and peel me some potatoes. Do more than usual, fill the big pan right up, and don’t forget to make sure they’re covered in water or they’ll go black. I’m going to make some potato cakes with the leftovers.’
Janie scowled. ‘I was going to stay and help Auntie Irene today.’
‘You can come back later. I need to talk to your auntie privately about something.’
‘It’s not fair. You’re always having secrets from me.’
Norah stiffened. ‘Secrets from you, indeed! Grown-ups have things to discuss that don’t concern children. I won’t put up with cheekiness.’
Janie bit her lip, then swung round and stamped off towards their own block. There was quite a path marked between the two farms now.
‘She’s been a big comfort to me,’ Irene said.
‘Good.’ Norah hesitated, unsure how to approach this. ‘Look, Gil’s asked me to speak to you. He has to notify the Board about Freddie and you won’t be able to stay here much longer than a week. Have you – um, thought about your future?’
Tears welled in Irene’s eyes. ‘I lay awake half the night worrying about what I’m going to do and I couldn’t think of anything. I suppose I’ll have to go and live in Perth, but the baby’s going to make it difficult to support myself later on, even if I get a job now.’ One of her hands went instinctively to settle on her stomach, where the baby was starting to show. She was sure she hadn’t been this big at this stage last time.
‘I’m glad I’m having it, though.’ She heaved a big sigh. ‘I suppose I should go home, only I haven’t got enough money.’
‘Do you want to go back to England? If you do, we’ll find the money for you, somehow, take up a collection. People are usually generous.’
Irene bowed her head, pleating the material of her skirt.
Norah didn’t say anything, giving her friend time to think out her answer. This was so important.
When Irene raised her head, she said simply, ‘No. I don’t really want to go back to England. I was ill every single winter with a bad chest, and the doctor told me to get away to a sunnier place, if I could. Since I’ve come here, I’ve felt well all the time, no wheezing, no gasping for breath, even in the cold weather. I’ve not felt this good since I was a child.’
‘So if you had a choice, you’d stay?’
Irene nodded.
‘Then you might like to consider Gil’s suggestion.’
‘Oh? What is it?’
‘He knows it’s early days, but he’d be happy to marry you and provide for the child. He’s always longed for children, only his first wife couldn’t give him any.’ She stopped, because Irene’s expression was so shocked.
‘Get married again! With Freddie only just buried? How could Gil ever think I’d do that?’
‘He knows it’s too early, but he has to speak to you now, because otherwise you’ll be leaving. He loves you, Irene. The way he looks at you – well, haven’t you noticed?’
‘I’ve noticed how kind he was, but I didn’t think about him in that way.’
‘He says he’d not touch you till you felt ready, if that’s what’s upsetting you.’
There was another silence, then Irene shook her head. ‘No. The whole idea of getting married so soon is wrong. What would people say?’
‘They’d say you were being sensible.’
‘Well, sensible or not, I can’t do it. Tell him thank you, but no. I’ll just – move up to Perth and find a job, manage somehow.’
To give Gil a bit more time, Norah risked saying, ‘I’m not telling him anything for you. You must give him your own answer.’
Irene looked at her in shock.
‘But I will tell you one thing. I married Andrew for convenience. When my father died, I lost my home and had to go into lodgings. And the thought of living in one room, answering to a landlady, seeing Janie go without – well, it upset me. So when the curate’s wife suggested I marry Andrew and come here, I had a good think and agreed to meet him.’ She could feel herself flushing as she added, ‘And I liked him, so I agreed to marry him and now – now we’ve grown to love one another. So it can work.’
‘That’s different.’
‘How?’
Irene looked down, biting her lip. ‘Your husband had been dead for a few years.’
‘I know, but women do what they must to provide for their children.’ Norah stood up. ‘I’ll tell Gil to come and see you. When would be convenient?’
‘Can’t you give him my answer? Please.’
‘No. He’s done you the honour of offering for your hand in marriage. The least you can do in return is think about it carefully and then speak to him yourself.’ She walked away before she interfered more than this and told Irene she’d be stupid to refuse such an offer.
You couldn’t make other people’s decisions for them, though sometimes you itched to do it.
Irene sat on at the table, letting the winter sunshine warm her face. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. This was the last thing she’d expected, the very last.
As if you could bury one husband, then marry another within the week! It was a shocking idea. The other groupies would be horrified.
She was horrified.
And yet . . . she was touched by his kindness.
Somewhere a kookaburra let out a trail of crazy laughter and she smiled in sympathy. They didn’t have a pretty call, but she loved to hear it. She loved the frogs that called at dusk, too, droning on and filling the early night with their harsh undertone of sound. Something moved and she turned slightly to look towards the uncleared bush. Kangaroos. One had a baby sticking out of its pouch.
Irene’s hand went to her own baby, which had been a source of great comfort to her over the past few days. It’d helped her stay strong because she was all the baby had now.
It could have more, though, it could have a father.
She clapped one hand to her mouth, though she’d not spoken the words aloud. She was shocked that she could even think like this, so went to start clearing out the humpy. But when she tried to go through Freddie’s clothes and possessions, she began weeping and couldn’t stop.
In the end, she lay down on his bed, pulled the blanket up over herself – the blanket which still smelled of him – and drifted into sleep.
She didn’t want to face any questions or make any decisions today. Couldn’t. Tomorrow would be time enough.
Gil worked himself hard, trying to keep his thoughts and hopes at bay. In vain. He kept seeing Irene’s wan face at the funeral. He shouldn’t have spoken so soon, he definitely shouldn’t.
When
he went in the evening to milk her cows, there was no sound from the humpy. He hesitated, then peeped through the half-open door and saw her lying on the bed, fast asleep. There were dark circles under her eyes and he ached to cherish her, hadn’t the right.
Would she even consider his offer?
Why should she? He was older than she was, never had been particularly good-looking, with his gingerish hair. The other young men he’d grown up with had always attracted women far more easily than he had.
Then had come the miracle of Mabel, who had loved him as much as he loved her.
He’d consider it a second miracle if Irene agreed to marry him.
After finishing the milking he trudged back to his own home. Home! It was a mess, a camp, a temporary resting place. How could he think of offering to bring her here?
Needing to keep busy, he lit a good fire, then mixed up a batch of damper and set it to cook in the embers. He opened a tin of corned beef and forked out chunks, not tasting it, just knowing his body needed feeding.
Then he lit a couple of lanterns because it was growing dark and he wanted to study the humpy inside and out. It wouldn’t take much to build on a kitchen. He’d collected a pile of poles from the small trees they’d felled, because poles came in useful for all sorts of things. He could make a start on a lean-to tonight. Why not?
When he heard someone approaching he swung round. Andrew. He didn’t say anything, just waited.
‘Norah says Irene needs time to think about it. She says not to bring it up until she does.’
Gil nodded.
‘Smells good.’ Andrew indicated the camp oven with one toe.
‘Damper. I’d offer you a piece, but it won’t be ready for a while yet.’
‘What are you doing, working so late?’
‘Making a start on a lean-to kitchen. Should have done it before. Been too busy helping you lot.’
‘Then it’s about time someone helped you.’ Andrew rolled up his sleeves.
They didn’t talk much, but they got a lot done.
When his friend had gone home, Gil cut himself a big chunk of damper and slathered it with jam. He ate it slowly and with relish, watching his billy boil and the tea in it brew till it was dark and strong. A full pint, that old billy made, perfect for a thirsty man. Good tea, too, especially if you put a couple of gum leaves in to give it additional flavour. He’d missed that sort of tea while he was overseas.
