She came to an abrupt halt as they stared at her in confusion. Frightened, Rose grabbed her arms and shook her. ‘What are you saying, Isobel? What’s the matter? Why are you talking like this?’
Isobel’s face had lost all colour but she maintained an electric silence that sent shivers down their backs.
Rose shook her again, her voice icy with calm. ‘What did you mean, Isobel when you said it was never possible?’
She tore away from Rose and sought shelter at the far end of the verandah. They let her go, helpless in the face of her strength of feeling, confused and fearful of the things she was finding so hard to say. They watched as she folded her arms around her waist, and knew she was trying to bury some deep anguish that was threatening to break her.
‘There’s no easy way to tell you,’ she whispered finally. ‘No kind way to break your hearts.’ She looked back at them then, her eyes awash with tears, dark with pain.
John reached for Rose’s hand and grasped it tightly. He shivered as if the ghosts of his ancestors touched him. ‘What is it, Isobel? For God’s sake, tell us,’ he whispered fearfully.
‘There’s a curse on any union made between the Tanners and the Fullers.’
The words knifed through him as Rose gave a sharp little cry of anguish and stumbled against him. ‘No,’ he whispered in agony. ‘Please tell me this isn’t true? It can’t be. I’d have known. Puri daj would have told me.’
‘It was your precious puri daj who encouraged your mother to put the curse in place,’ Isobel spat. ‘And although I’ve always believed the whole thing to be nonsense, your turning up here, and this betrayal by your son and Muriel, has made me think again. The curse is all too real.’
‘My mother?’ he gasped. ‘What did she have to do with all this?’ John watched as Isobel turned away and knew she couldn’t face them. Couldn’t bear to see the anguish in their eyes. He had loved Rose so much, had searched for her across the world. Now everything he had ever known was being destroyed – and the pain was unbearable.
‘You’re lying,’ shouted Rose. ‘How would you know such a thing?’ The grip of John’s fingers was the only anchor to reality.
Isobel’s muffled voice seemed to be torn from her grieving depths. ‘John’s father had an affair with your mother, Rose. It was shortly after Davey’s accident, and John’s mother was dying of the lung infection she never shook off after giving birth to him. Max and your mother were planning to run away – she was expecting his child.’
Rose tore away from John and strode across the verandah. She slapped Isobel hard on the face. ‘Liar,’ she screamed. ‘It’s not true. It can’t be.’
Isobel stood there unflinching, the marks of Rose’s fingers livid on her cheek. ‘They were overheard planning their escape by John’s mother,’ she continued softly. ‘It was she who put the curse on any union between the two families. She who could never forgive Max’s betrayal and the dishonour he brought to her noble family. The dukkerin gave her blessing to that curse, but she didn’t have the power to lift it when she saw what was afoot between you and John.’
Rose had lost all colour. ‘You’re lying,’ she whispered. But the dread of belief was already in her eyes.
‘Max and your mother tried to forestall the curse by finishing their love affair. Your mother went back to Brendon who forgave her. He was willing to give the child his name, and protect Kathleen from scandal – but it wasn’t to be. The baby was born with terrible afflictions and died two days later. The curse was in place, the evidence clear for all to see.’
Silence fell as each thought of the dying woman and the terrible punishment she’d meted out to those who’d betrayed her and brought disgrace and shame to her tribe.
‘Your mother confided in my father before she left Wilmington. She’d always planned to go back to Ireland and leave you with us in the hope the curse would go with her and leave you unscathed. Papa wrote me a long letter just before he died, telling me everything. He left it to me to decide whether to tell you or not, and until now there was no need.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t believe in curses and gypsy warnings – thought the whole thing ridiculous nonsense. But after what’s happened here this morning, I fear it is all too real.’
Rose watched stony-faced as the tears ran down the reddened cheek. She was numb.
‘I didn’t tell you because I love you and think of you as a sister more than a friend,’ Isobel sobbed. ‘Why hurt you more after your mother left and never wrote again? Why reveal this terrible secret when John was on the other side of the world and you would probably never see one another? She reached out to Rose, fingers plucking at her sleeve. ‘I did what I thought was best. How was I to know what the future held?’
Rose crumpled. There was too much pain in all of them, and she loved Isobel too well not to forgive her her silence.
John looked up at the sky and saw the remnants of the stars still glittering as dawn broke. He felt a chill as he remembered his grandmother’s words from so long ago: ‘ “When Orion rules the skies and Gemini is split asunder – then you will know what the fates have in store for you should you ignore my warning”’ he murmured through the choking sobs. ‘Grandmother tried to warn me, but I refused to listen. But why didn’t she just tell me straight?’
Rose hugged her waist as if chilled to the bone. ‘Maybe she was frightened by the strength of your mother’s powers, ashamed she couldn’t take the curse back,’ she murmured.
‘I can’t believe she wouldn’t tell me. She knew how much I loved you. Knew I would stop at nothing to find you.’
Rose turned to him, her tears dry, pity for him in her eyes. ‘What we have to do now is find them before it’s too late,’ she said softly. ‘They cannot marry, John. The curse could destroy them and any children they might have.’
‘And if we don’t?’ He knew his face was grey, his eyes dull beneath the dark brows.
‘That is in the hands of fate,’ she said sadly. ‘But curse or not, Muriel will not be welcome here after what she’s done to her sister and her fiancé.’
*
There were sightings of the two runaways, but nothing that led to their being found, and it was with a mixture of sorrow and relief that Rose heard John and Tina had eventually returned to Adelaide.
Emily was inconsolable for months, drifting around the house and terraces like a wraith. Henry worked harder than ever, spending night after night poring over the accounts, refusing all advice, locking himself away in his misery. then, after the first year had passed, he and Emily found consolation in each other and were married in the little Lutheran church that had been built by Jacob’s Creek.
Another year passed and still no word from Muriel and Max. Clive made his annual visit to Adelaide with the vintage for the Europe-bound ships and returned with the news that he and John’s daughter, Teresa, were to be married the following summer.
Rose and Isobel’s friendship was stronger than ever and they greeted this news with relief and happiness. At last John and Rose would be united, if distantly – and she hoped it had made him happy. Yet there were other things on her mind – things that would affect them all.
The weather that year was perfect. The grapes were abundant as they clustered green on the vine waiting for the long warm days to swell and colour them, and Rose and Isobel were looking forward to a record harvest. It would mean hiring extra hands, but so far the rumours the English government would no longer be sending convicts to Australia had come to nothing and cheap labour was still plentiful. But if the convict runs ceased, then the farmers and vintners would see their stock prices rise to cover this unexpected outlay, and it would make it even harder to compete in the world markets.
Then the price of wool dropped without warning. The traditional bidding took place in Cornhill in London by the measure of a lit candle – when it had burned an inch, the bidding closed – and suddenly few voices bid for the wool, the wealth of the colony, and it went for so low a price, it was hardly worth the effo
rt of sending it. The impact was a disaster. It reverberated across the vast sheep runs and the laden bullock drays with their unwanted cargoes. Thousands of hopeful settlers were ruined. Banks failed, sheep were sold for sixpence and farmers despaired, giving away their runs and moving into the towns. Few could afford the price of a mug of beer, let alone a bottle of wine.
The vintners of the Barossa and the Hunter held their breath as they were besieged by gaunt-faced men begging for work. They realised that if the slump continued, the colony would soon be bankrupt. Yet, in one respect, the vintners were luckier than most, for they had wisely grown other crops like tobacco and hops and could store their wine and market it at a more propitious time. For unlike livestock, wine cost nothing to keep and in fact improved with age, but if the slump went on for too long, there were be no money to replant – no money to pay wages.
With every barrel and cask full and the cellars stocked from ceiling to floor, Isobel and Rose looked to their tobacco plantation and waited it out. The Governor of the colony was blamed for everything, as politicians always are, and there was much discussion of his methods of allotting land and reputed convict sympathies. Things got so bad even the drought and the following winter rainstorms appeared to be his fault. Rose and Isobel laughed at the ridiculous need for people to pin the blame on anyone but themselves or the Almighty.
The following winter saw the return of Max and Muriel. They arrived unannounced late one afternoon in a dust-smeared carriage that was pulled by a matching pair of chestnut mares. Isobel was away for a few days visiting friends. Rose heard the horses and peeked through the net curtains. Her fingers covered her mouth and her eyes widened. As Max helped a heavily expectant Muriel down from the carriage and guided her up the steps to the verandah, Rose could feel nothing but disgust for what they had done to Emily and Henry. She had no wish to speak to them. No wish to see them – but could hardly leave them for all the world to watch on her doorstep.
She snatched the door open, leaving the screen firmly between them. ‘What do you want?’ she asked coldly.
‘I wanted to see you, Mum,’ said Muriel softly. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’
‘I can see that,’ she snapped. ‘You aren’t welcome here after the trouble you caused.’
Muriel had the decency to blush, and Rose noticed how Max’s protective hand held her waist. ‘I know, and we’re both sorry, Mum. But it was the only way.’
‘It was not,’ she declared stoutly. ‘You caused your sister to have a breakdown and your fiancé shame. The gossip and rumours kept Isobel and me locked in this house for almost a year.
‘Father told us about the curse, but it was too late by then,’ said Max gruffly. ‘Despite it I have no regrets about marrying Muriel. As far as I’m concerned, all this nonsense about a curse is just so much Romany tosh.’
‘So you defy the laws of your Romany heritage?’ she demanded, anger rising at his arrogance. ‘Let’s pray that the child doesn’t carry the mark.’
‘Mum, please,’ begged Muriel. ‘If we could just come in and sit a while. We’ve travelled a long way and I’m very tired.’
‘There’s a hotel back in Tanunda,’ she said coldly. ‘You’re not welcome here.’
‘But we have nowhere else to go, Mum,’ she begged. ‘Max has been working as a manager on a vineyard in the west, but the new owners don’t need him. I wanted to be with my family when the baby comes … Please don’t turn us away.’
Rose saw the tears and the trembling lips and remembered how she’d felt when her own mother rejected her. She relented. ‘All right. Come in and rest,’ she said wearily. ‘But you can stay only a few days. I will not have Emily and Henry upset. They’re expecting their second child in a few weeks, and I don’t want either of them to see you.’
‘I wish she could forgive me,’ murmured Muriel as she took off her hat and gloves and sank into the soft upholstery of the parlour chair.
Rose looked down at her, and for the first time realised how difficult it must have been for her proud, rash daughter to have made this journey. ‘She will never forgive you, Muriel,’ she said softly. ‘You hurt her too badly. But if you’re willing, you can move out to the Hunter Valley and take over from Hans. He’s ready to retire and I need someone I can trust to run Coolabah Creek.’
Their faces lit up with excitement and hope. ‘Does this mean you’ll forgive me, Mum?’ breathed Muriel.
Rose’s heart ached for her. ‘You are my daughter and I will always love you. But I find it hard to forget what you did to the others. If you wish to take up the offer of Coolabah Creek, then consider it done. But don’t expect to heal the rift with your sister. It’s too deep.’
21
Sophie returned the long letter to the envelope, the tears drying on her face as the sky lightened and the magpies began to chortle. Poor Isobel, she thought. To have carried the burden of that secret for so long, only to have to expose it so cruelly. No wonder the rift was never healed.
She returned to the red lacquer box and sifted through the neatly bound papers, some of which were yellow with age. It was then that she finally understood the power Cordelia possessed to turn things around for Jacaranda Vines. This journey had been a homecoming for her grandmother, a chance to heal the damage done so long ago and rise phoenix-like from the ashes. Yet it had also been a rite of passage for Sophie – for now she had an inkling of the plan in Cordelia’s head. Understood why it had been necessary for her to come here.
She threw back the sheet and clambered out of bed. There was a vitality in her this morning that couldn’t be dulled by lack of sleep, and she was really looking forward to the board meeting.
But first it was the beginning of harvest. The reaping of what they had sown – and like this divided family, it was a chance to clear away the old and plant the new. A chance to begin again.
The kitchen was already humming with activity. Beatty was crashing pots and frying bacon as the men stood around drinking strong coffee. The talk was loud, high with expectancy and excitement as they watched the cavalcade of trucks and cars and motorbikes pass the house on the way to the terraces. The last of the pickers were arriving.
Gran was already ensconsed at the head of the table, a healthy plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of her, and as Sophie planted a kiss on the soft cheek, she received a sly wink. ‘Don’t look like you slept much. Something on your mind?’
Sophie grinned as she poured coffee and took her place at the table. ‘I was up all night reading the letters and going through the documents in that box. It’s good to understand the rift, and the background to our divided family, but I’m pleased things are changing. Those documents have given the whole argument over Jacaranda a new perspective. I’ll be spending tonight slaving over my computer to put a package together.’
A liver-spotted hand covered her fingers. ‘No need, darling. Wal and John Jay and I already have a “package” as you call it, in hand.’
‘What is it?’
Cordelia tapped her nose before tucking into her breakfast. ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she said enigmatically. ‘But there’s something far more important for you to put your mind to in the next few days – and I’m not just talking harvest, either.’ She nodded towards Jay who had just strolled sleepily into the room. ‘That young man’s in love with you, and if you can’t see that, then you’re blind. It’s about time you two sorted yourselves out. I can’t hang around forever, you know.’
Sophie blushed furiously with anger and embarrassment as silence fell in the kitchen and all eyes turned to her and Jay. If only Gran would learn to keep her opinions to herself, she thought despairingly. I will not be blackmailed. She dropped her chin and concentrated on her breakfast. But it might as well have been sawdust for all the taste it had. She was too aware of Jay’s presence. Too aware of him watching her from the other side of the table.
With breakfast over, the dirty plates stacked in the sink for later, the family moved out on to th
e verandah. Cordelia would ride with Wal in the covered buggy and keep a watchful eye on everything. Sophie hopped in the ute next to John Jay and Beatty, leaving the brothers and their wives to travel behind them in their own utilities and cars.
The cavalcade moved slowly along the dirt track, the dust rising from the wheels, masking their surroundings. Expectation was high. There was no sign of rain, the frosts had not come this winter, and although the heat shimmered and danced on the horizon, there were no signs of electric storms or sudden winds.
Far out on the northern side of the terraces stood a low building that squatted along a fold in the hills. The wooden walls and sloping corrugated roof encompassed the sleeping accommodation for those pickers who didn’t have their own campers or tents. The accommodation was mostly dormitories, with several rooms put aside for families. There was a kitchen, a row of shower cubicles and dunnies, and a large comfortably furnished room where they could watch television, read or play board games after their long day in the fields.
John Jay drove into the courtyard. Sophie noticed the vast barbecue pit off to one side and the benches and tables that had been set in the lee of the giant pepper tree. The pickers clustered in groups, drinking tea from thick white mugs and munching on the bread and sausages Beatty had brought up earlier.
They all seemed to know one another, Sophie realised as she heard the excited chatter of the woman as they renewed old friendships and caught up with the gossip. The men’s voices were a low rumble as they stood in their stained and much-worn moleskins, their boots showing the scars of many years’ labour. Checked shirts and sweat-stained Akubras seemed to be the uniform, even amongst the teenagers who were joining the group for the first time.
John Jay and his sons strode from one group to the next, laughing and chatting, greeting many of them as old friends – which they were, for Beatty had explained that Coolabah had a tradition of employing the same families year after year, and some of those here today were the third or even fourth generation of pickers.
Jacaranda Vines Page 35
