The Sunnyvale Girls

by Fiona Palmer

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Charlie gestured for the men to follow him, and Maggie tagged along, pulling out of her mother’s grasp, knowing Phyllis wouldn’t want to cause a scene in front of the captain.

  Charlie led them past the bough shed to the tin hut they had recently built for their new workers. It was a little A-frame shed with a wooden door and floor. Maggie and Charlie both wished it could be their room, a way to get out of the cottage and have some privacy.

  ‘You’ll both be in here,’ Charlie said slowly and opened the door. Inside there were two steel-frame beds and a small table with a bowl for washing up and shaving. ‘I hope it will do?’

  They both nodded. ‘It fin,’ said Rocco.

  Maggie stifled a giggle but repeated it for him. ‘It is fine?’ she said slowly.

  ‘It is fine,’ Rocco said more clearly.

  She nodded her approval and they walked back to the truck. The officer was on the back of the truck and handed over some more lurid burgundy clothes to Giulio and Rocco.

  ‘I’ll be back with the canteen truck to resupply them with clothes and boots,’ he said, jumping down. ‘Until then, good luck.’ Mr Tweedie shook John’s hand again and got into the truck. ‘Don’t let them near the firearms,’ he added as he started the vehicle.

  ‘Why is that, Father?’ asked Charlie who’d spoken Maggie’s own thoughts.

  Mr Tweedie leant out the window. ‘They’re still prisoners and not to be trusted with weapons.’

  As the truck disappeared in a trail of dust, the family turned back to Rocco and Giulio, standing there in their odd-looking uniforms, with only the spare clothes in their hands and whatever was in their pockets.

  Maggie wondered what they must be thinking about this place, how different it must seem from their own homes. Did they have families they yearned for? Loved ones who were missing them in return?

  ‘Well, boys, if you work hard, then we’re all going to get on great,’ said John. By the blank looks on their faces, not even Rocco could keep up with what her father had said. ‘Put your clothes in your room,’ John said slowly, and pointed as he spoke. ‘Then we will show you around.’ He gestured to the farm.

  Phyllis was standing beside John with a pained expression, like the time Roo had dragged in a smelly dead fox. Maggie wondered how many other people around this area would greet the Italian prisoners so warily.

  John had to wave the prisoners off and eventually they headed to their little hut. They seemed unsure about leaving on their own. Was this the most freedom they’d had since being captured?

  ‘How much do they get paid, Father?’ Maggie asked curiously.

  ‘Fifteen pence per day. One day’s work will test them and then I’ll know what we’re dealing with.’

  Phyllis tutted and went back inside the cottage.

  ‘What do you think, Charlie?’ Maggie whispered to her brother. ‘Do you think they’re dangerous? I’ve heard all the talk at church every Sunday.’

  Charlie shrugged his good shoulder. ‘They seem harmless. They’re just men caught up in a war like our brothers. As Father said, time will tell. Here they come,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll show you the stables,’ said John, waving them towards the horses. Charlie walked beside him, the Italians a few steps behind.

  Maggie was just about to follow when her mother yelled out. ‘Inside, Margaret. I need help with the bread.’

  Maggie rolled her eyes. She always missed out on everything. As she watched the men walking away, something flitted in her stomach, something exciting and unusual. She was sure that the two new workers were about to make farm life on Sunnyvale just that little bit more exciting.

  4

  FLICK turned off the sander, pulled down her dust mask and surveyed her work. The jarrah boards didn’t look like much yet, but she knew when the finish went on they would be stunning. Then hopefully she was going to move in.

  ‘Hello? Flick?’

  Her belly lurched. Chad was here. She’d been so preoccupied with the floors and Nan’s letters that she’d momentarily forgotten about what she’d seen last night.

  ‘I’m in here,’ she shouted back.

  Chad walked into the room, his sandy blond hair kicking up at the ends and his blue eyes full of fun. ‘Hey, good-looking.’ He pulled her into his arms, oblivious to her rigid movements and missing smile. But that was Chad for you.

  Being tucked up in his arms, Flick relaxed instinctively. He smelt good, even with his blue cotton workshirt tainted with sheep.

  She hadn’t taken to him straight off. Sure, he had good looks, but he was loud and vivacious. He’d asked her out a few times but she’d always said no. Her track record with guys wasn’t so great, so she tried to pick wisely. But then one night at a party in Kulin she found herself sitting outside on an old couch with him under the stars. It was the most quiet and mellow she’d seen him. That night she’d uncovered a sweet guy, patient and interesting. They had talked farming and world issues. They had laughed and joked. Flick had seen the man behind the bubbly personality and she’d liked it. Chad had asked her out on a date again, only to the pub, but she’d accepted this time. It had been a great night, more talking and laughing. He’d shown more substance than she’d expected and when he’d asked her out again she accepted. They’d been dating now for nearly a year.

  Chad kissed her on the lips, and when Flick only half-heartedly responded, he pulled back, an eyebrow raised. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sort of. You?’

  ‘Slightly hung over.’ He pulled a face. ‘Missed you last night though.’

  ‘Really?’ It was Flick’s turn to raise her eyebrow. ‘I actually ended up going in to see you.’ She watched him carefully for a reaction, a sign of anything that might give him away.

  ‘Did you? I didn’t see you,’ he said, his voice even. ‘Mind you, I was blind drunk early on. I should have had more water after a big day in the yards but beer tasted better.’ He laughed.

  ‘Well, I saw you. You were wrapped around a pretty blonde with big —’ Flick rolled her hands out over her chest.

  ‘Mandy? She’s the Pommy barmaid at the pub. She cut my drinks off and took my keys.’

  ‘She was all over you outside the pub.’

  Chad cupped her face. ‘Aw, baby, are you jealous?’ He kissed her forehead. ‘She helped me home, that’s all. Not that I can really remember. She was just being nice.’ He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘You look so cute when you’re jealous.’ He kissed her nose and she felt the tension easing from her neck and shoulders. ‘Can I help you here? I have a few hours up my sleeve.’ Chad ran his fingers through her hair. He’d always been besotted by it.

  ‘You could help me clean this up, that would be great.’ She wasn’t sure why she’d jumped to the worst conclusion, and her gut unclenched as her fears washed away. She remembered the tender moments they’d had, lying snuggled up together in bed, chatting softly as he stroked her skin. He wasn’t a guy in an unhappy relationship. Assuming the worst was something of a habit for Flick. She put it down to the fact she’d never had a father, and the only male figure in her life had been her grandad, who had always seemed so angry with the world. Chad was more like Fella, such a ball of excitement – the exact opposite of her grandad. Maybe that’s why she was attracted to him. But sometimes that energy was hard to keep up with.

  ‘I’m all yours.’ Chad flashed her a smile and picked up the used sand pads. ‘Do you think I can hang around till lunch?’

  Flick laughed. Just like Jimmy, Chad was a sucker for a good feed. ‘You know Nan would love it.’ She reached for his face, brushing her thumb along the dark rings under his eyes. ‘So you hit it pretty hard last night, hey?’

  ‘Hmm, what can I say? Winning a premiership and being fairest and best is taking a toll. No one ever said it would be this hard,’ he teased.

  The local footy team was still celebrating after their hard-fought grand-final win. And Chad winning fairest and best had made him Mr Popular, wi
th everyone wanting to shout him a beer and chew his ear off about the game. She was proud of him, but she couldn’t keep up with the constant parties.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to not try so hard next year,’ she said with a smirk.

  Their clean-up lasted as long as it took Flick to tell Chad about the letters she’d found before he pulled her into his strong arms. Chad was solid, almost her height, and he could weave through a crowded football field like no other. Flick rested her head on his shoulder. It was nice to be loved.

  ‘Do you know what I’m thinking?’ he whispered as his hands roamed over her backside, drawing her closer to him.

  ‘I’m sure I could guess.’ Flick wasn’t really in the mood. She was covered in dust and worn out from the sander, but it could be days before she saw Chad again. ‘Let me show you the pantry,’ she said with a grin.

  Outside, Flick brushed the dust off her clothes and shook her head. She could see the particles falling from her hair in the bright sunlight. While she was bent over, Fella jumped up and his big tongue licked her face.

  ‘Ah, gross, Fella. Get down.’ She pushed him away and reached for Chad’s hand. Together they headed towards the main house.

  Twisted stumps of old roses indicated where an old garden bed had once been; the small fence had fallen down years ago. Flick had dug wells around the roses and started watering them again, and slowly they were showing signs of life. With a bit of TLC they would be big and bright and make this house welcoming.

  ‘I can’t wait to hear more about the letters and Rocco. I wonder why Nan never told us about their relationship.’ Flick used to pull out the old black and white photo albums and quiz her grandmother about the prisoners. Nan could have mentioned it then, surely?

  ‘Who knows? I think we even had a prisoner on our farm but from memory he only stayed a few months. I can’t remember why. I’ll have to ask Dad,’ said Chad.

  ‘Oh, great,’ Flick mumbled when she realised the farm ute was parked by the house. Mum was back for lunch. She gave Gypsy a pat before stepping up to the verandah and pulling off her boots.

  Familiar with the routine, Chad washed his hands in the laundry before Flick. They found the others in the dining room, eating cold meat and salad.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Nan. I just wanted to finish off the room I was in. I also have an extra.’

  Chad stepped forward with a beaming smile.

  ‘No worries, love, and hello, young man,’ said Maggie. ‘Funny how you always stop by around meal times.’ Maggie stood up to fetch another plate.

  ‘How could I resist, Maggie? You know I come for you too,’ he said with a wink.

  Maggie rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘Go on, sit.’

  ‘So, did you read the rest of the letters, Nan?’ Flick asked softly.

  Maggie nodded on her way back to the kitchen.

  ‘What letters?’ asked Toni, who’d been eating quietly next to Jimmy. If she’d been angry with the way Flick had run out this morning, she didn’t show it.

  ‘Didn’t Jimmy tell you?’

  Jimmy, the typical male, shrugged while stuffing a chunk of lamb into his mouth

  Toni was still waiting, her fork hanging in mid air.

  ‘I found a loose floorboard in the old house and underneath it was a tin full of letters for Nan from Rocco, the Italian prisoner who was here years ago.’

  Maggie waddled back in and put the plate and cutlery in front of Chad.

  ‘Is that true, Mum? What’s all that about?’

  ‘What else did he say, Nan?’ Flick persisted. There was nothing more romantic than love letters.

  Maggie took her time to sit back at the table. Only Jimmy was still eating, at least pretending to mind his own business.

  ‘I guess you won’t let up,’ Maggie said with a sigh. ‘Well, you know Rocco was on our farm for two years . . .’ A deep breath. ‘In that time we fell in love. But then the war ended and he was sent home.’

  ‘What? Why didn’t you ever tell me this? You and Rocco. Wow.’ Toni was stunned.

  ‘Nan, that’s not the end if he wrote to you,’ said Flick.

  Holding her hands together on the table, Maggie smiled. ‘He promised to write and to come back for me. But I didn’t get any letters and figured he’d moved on once he got home.’

  ‘Which isn’t true, because his letters are here!’ said Flick. ‘He did want to come back for you!’

  ‘I’m not keeping up,’ said Toni. Her eyes were like dinner plates.

  ‘Nan thinks her mum hid the letters so that Nan wouldn’t run off with a prisoner,’ said Flick. ‘She must have been so awful.’

  ‘It was a different time back then, Felicity.’ Maggie glanced at a black and white photo on the wall opposite of her father John on top of a huge horse called Contractor. The very horse Flick had named hers after.

  ‘It would have been frowned upon,’ said Toni.

  ‘Yes, very much. My mother would have died from the shame and embarrassment if it ever got out. We hid our love because I knew how my mother felt about the Italians. All she could see was her son’s killer. So if she found out they would have been sent back to camp. I was young and in love. I wanted to be with Rocco forever.’ She sighed. ‘I really thought he’d forgotten me.’

  ‘But he didn’t! The proof is there in the letters. He loved you too, Nan!’

  Maggie smiled briefly. ‘He never returned, though. Even if my mother hid the letters from me, she could never have kept him away, surely. I imagined him coming back and not letting anyone stand in his way.’ She was gazing at the opposite wall, not really focused on anything. ‘He never did come back for us.’ Maggie blinked a few times and then stood up. ‘Which was for the best, because life wouldn’t have turned out the way it did and I wouldn’t have married your grandfather. He was a good man. Now, I made a sponge cake. Would you all like some for sweets?’ She headed for the kitchen, not waiting for a reply.

  Flick was taking a while for her Nan’s words to sink in. Something had come out wrong. ‘Nan,’ she called out. ‘What do you mean he never came back for “us”?’

  The whole room fell silent. Even the wall clock seemed to miss a few ticks.

  ‘Mum?’ said Toni. Her face was ashen, her cutlery abandoned.

  Maggie didn’t come back out, nor did she reply.

  Flick and Toni leapt up at the same time, their chairs scraping against the floor. Jimmy and Chad were left sitting at the table eating slowly and shooting awkward glances across the room at each other.

  Flick and Toni found Maggie, a hand either side of the sink, her back slumped and head hanging. It took a moment for Flick to realise her shoulders were shaking. ‘Nan?’ She went over and caressed her shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

  Maggie shook her head.

  ‘Mum?’ Toni probed again. ‘What did you mean by “us”?’

  Slowly Maggie straightened her shoulders and wiped away some tears but she didn’t turn around. ‘You and me, Toni. He never came back for us.’ A shaky breath. ‘Rocco is your father,’ she whispered.

  Flick heard it and she was sure her mother had too, but the words were so faint and so hard to comprehend that she thought she must have imagined them.

  ‘What?’ they both said at once.

  Toni reached out and turned Maggie towards her. ‘Say that again?’

  Flick felt her heart lurch for her Nan. Never had Flick seen her this upset. Her face dripped with tears.

  ‘Rocco is your real father.’ This time her eyes rose up to meet her daughter’s, her head nodding.

  Toni stepped back as if she’d been slapped. ‘No.’ She bumped against the kitchen table and gripped on for dear life. ‘I don’t believe it.’ She pressed her fingers into her eyes as if it might take the pain away.

  ‘It’s true. I swear it.’

  ‘How could you keep this from me? My whole life – a lie!’

  Flick was unravelling fast. She hated seeing her Nan so upset but she’d also never seen her
mum this tattered. Who should she turn to first?

  Before Flick could make a decision Toni stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the back door hard enough to fracture the hinges. Maggie turned back to the sink as huge sobs wracked her body. And as Flick rubbed her Nan’s back gently, she finally realised what this meant – her grandfather wasn’t her biological grandfather, or her mum’s father.

  Yet again the men in her life had been taken away from her.

  Toni almost tripped over Fella in her haste to flee the house. She swore as she clung to the verandah post that stopped her skittling along the ground. Tears blurred her vision as she stomped her way to the shed and she roughly wiped them away. She needed to get to the bike, to ride it fast and to feel the wind against her face. She needed to blow away the turmoil in her mind.

  Toni wasn’t aware of starting the bike and didn’t think about where she was going as the fence posts flashed past. She just rode it hard, the wind squeezing the tears from her eyes.

  When she came to the end of the road she finally stopped. Turning off the bike she just sat there, thinking while the quiet of the land stretched out around her.

  She was fifty-three years old. Fifty-three years of thinking that Arthur was her father and that she was a Stewart. But if she wasn’t a Stewart, who the hell was she? She didn’t even know this man Rocco’s last name.

  As the tears dried up they were steadily replaced with anger. Maggie had helped her raise Flick, had always been there by her side, the one person she could rely on. Yet all the while she’d been keeping this massive secret from her, the biggest secret of all. How could she do that? For fifty-three years! There was a niggling sensation at the back of her mind, something about her being hypo­critical, but Toni pushed it away. She couldn’t think of that now.

  As the reality of it all finally seeped into her bones, other questions began to surface. Had Arthur known she wasn’t his? Could that be why they’d always locked horns? Was this what had made life hard, the difference between Arthur and herself? And who was this Rocco anyway? A man in a black and white photo. A name that popped up now and then alongside memories of the war or the old house. This shadowy figure – he was her father?