Tracing Invisible Threads

by C. Fonseca

  “I had a quick glance through the notes you wrote.” Eleanor pointed to the archive box. “So much activity went on back then.”

  “At first, it was a city of tents. Then came traders and general stores, blacksmiths, churches, and pubs.”

  “I read that there were also opium dens, brothels, and gambling houses.”

  Alexa nodded. “Men outnumbered women six to one in the goldfields. You can imagine with those figures and the harsh conditions…”

  “It wouldn’t have been a great place for a woman,” Eleanor finished the sentence.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to live here during those dangerous times.” Alexa shuddered at the thought.

  “Do you have to be back early tomorrow?” Eleanor suddenly asked.

  “Not really,” Alexa replied. “Don’t worry, we can head back soon after breakfast. I could have you home by lunchtime if you want.”

  Eleanor drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on top. “If the rain clears, I was hoping we’d search for the sites of the other slides. And then, maybe, you could show me around The Mill, in Castlemaine?”

  Alexa tilted her head to one side. She was surprised Eleanor remembered she loved rummaging around at the market. “Are you looking for something in particular? Old knitting patterns, model planes, or frilly petticoats? Last time I was there, I considered buying a three-person cane basket from an old hot-air balloon. I’d like to take you to the vintage bazaar. I’d like that a lot.”

  Eleanor’s cheeks coloured. She grabbed the empty mug and stared into it. For a woman with her worldliness, Alexa couldn’t fathom where her occasional bouts of shyness came from. Could it be that she was the cause of Eleanor’s nervousness?

  “Would you like some more hot chocolate?” Alexa asked brightly.

  Eleanor smiled and shook her head.

  “Actually, that’s a relief. We have a limited supply of milk, and I hoped to save the rest for our breakfast.” Alexa pushed herself out of the armchair and held out her hand to Eleanor. “Come on, help me in the kitchen.”

  Eleanor clasped Alexa’s outstretched hand, and she pulled her gently to her feet, neither of them breaking eye contact. With a surge of confidence, Alexa tugged until their bodies were just inches apart. She ran her other hand along Eleanor’s arm and tipped her chin up with her finger. Alexa brushed the faint smudge of chocolate from Eleanor’s top lip with her thumb, and when the corner of her mouth turned up, Alexa was convinced that she’d never seen such perfectly shaped lips before. It would be so easy to kiss her.

  Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she gulped in obvious surprise.

  “Chocolate,” Alexa said, now embarrassed by her impetuous move. She released Eleanor’s hand as if it had singed her palm and walked briskly towards the kitchen pantry. “How about a glass of wine? I have a bottle of local red—a rich peppery Syrah. Or I can offer you a beer or water?”

  “A glass of red would be nice, thanks,” Eleanor said, looking flustered.

  Alexa handed her the wine bottle and a corkscrew. She pointed to her mother’s well-stocked, antique, glass cabinet. “If you look after this, I’ll rustle up something to eat.”

  As Eleanor collected the glasses, Alexa emptied the contents from the cool box onto the kitchen bench, taking stock of the food inside to distract her mind from other thoughts. A loaf of thick-crusted sourdough bread, a jar of apple and fennel chutney, vine-ripened plum tomatoes, prosciutto, and a flask of freshly made ricotta. She could work with that, and reign in her libido while she was at it.

  “That’s the food you bought to take back to the city,” Eleanor said.

  Alexa shrugged. “Aren’t we lucky? Otherwise our supper would have been baked beans on Sao crackers.”

  Eleanor put her hand on her hip. “Have you been talking to my father? That’s my signature dish.”

  Alexa laughed. “I take it cooking’s not your strong point, then?”

  “Definitely not.”

  While Alexa gathered a few utensils—a grill pan, chef’s knife, and cutting board—out of the corner of her eye, she watched Eleanor twist the corkscrew firmly into the cork, wriggling it until it popped. She set the open bottle beside two glasses on the table and walked over to browse the bookshelf where Alexa displayed part of her mother’s horde of books. Alexa wondered if this was something else they had in common—a love of books.

  Eleanor ran her index finger over the spines of several titles, scanning the shelves from left to right. “You have a diverse selection in your library.”

  “Those are just some of the books Mum amassed on flora and fauna, gardening and floristry. Also a few on the goldfields and travel.” Alexa began dicing the tomatoes. “Most of her collection is at my loft, where I’ve had room to catalogue and properly shelve them. I guess that is over the top, but I am a librarian after all.”

  “You’re lucky to have so many books. That’s something I’ve missed, living out of a backpack.” Eleanor gasped and carefully lifted a hardback from the top shelf. “The Healing Land,” she read, turning to the front page. “I discovered this book before embarking on my first ever African assignment. Was your mother interested in the Kalahari Desert?” She turned to Alexa, and a scrap of paper slipped out of the open book and drifted to the floor. Alexa followed it with her eyes, wondering what was written on it, and Eleanor scooped it up quickly.

  “Yes, she went on holiday to a wilderness camp in Botswana.” Alexa put down her knife and peered at the book over Eleanor’s shoulder. “To the Selinda Reserve—”

  “In the Great Plains Conservation Park.”

  “That’s it.” Alexa swiped the scrap of paper out of Eleanor’s hand and took a closer look. “This is a really old article about the Melbourne Cup.” She pointed to the fine print. “And the winner was Peter Pan.”

  “I wonder why she kept it. Did she follow horse racing?” Eleanor asked curiously.

  “Her florist shop was always busy during the Spring Racing Carnival.” Alexa turned over the yellowed press clipping and squinted at the tiny print. She held it out to Eleanor. “I don’t have my glasses. Can you read what’s on the back?”

  Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “It’s a list of births, engagements, and deaths from November 1934. A very old newspaper; I assume from before your mother was born?”

  “Way before. Gran would have only been five years old. I don’t know where Mum got it or why she kept an article from 1934.” Alexa went back to the kitchen bench and resumed her task of preparing their meal while Eleanor continued to study the scrap of paper. “Mum was a bit of a collector of random information. You could barely see the door of her fridge, for all the snippets, notes, and drawings plastered over it.” Alexa reached below the sink for the breadboard. “But some of her books were second hand, so it’s also possible the clipping was left in there by its original owner.”

  “It could have been your mum’s,” Eleanor said. “Would you mind if I copy this? I’d be interested to know what newspaper it came from.”

  Alexa shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks, I’ll just grab my phone. Where did I leave my rucksack?” Eleanor looked around, grinned, and tapped the top of her head. “Oh, it’s near the blanket box. I’ll be right back.” Wearing Alexa’s overlarge felt slippers, she flip-flopped like a clown towards the sitting room.

  Alexa’s gaze followed Eleanor, and she sighed. Today, Eleanor had been so curious and enthusiastic about the goldfield’s region and history that Alexa had found herself more drawn to Eleanor than she’d been to anyone in a long time. Despite her views on long-term relationships, Alexa had felt the desire to kiss Eleanor growing inside of her all day, and she probably would have done it if Eleanor hadn’t looked so startled back in the sitting room.

  Alexa knew she hadn’t imagined Eleanor’s subtle gazes that lasted a little longer than no
rmal, or her flirtatious smiles. There was definitely a spark between them, and despite Eleanor’s earlier reaction, Alexa was keen to explore the possibilities. Who could blame her?

  A cosy log fire, a glass or two of red wine, a light supper. The pattering of rain like music on the tin roof. It was still early. Alexa felt the temperature rise in the kitchen just thinking of ways she could ignite those possibilities.

  Eleanor returned and stood under the lamp by the kitchen window, using her phone to scan the newspaper clipping. Alexa blinked out of her distracted daze, shaking off all thoughts of what might happen between her and Eleanor tonight.

  She placed the frying pan on the gas ring, added a slurp of oil, and tossed in the roughly chopped tomatoes with a little fresh garlic, salt, and pepper. She brushed both sides of thickly sliced sourdough with olive oil and placed them under the grill.

  “Something smells delicious.” Eleanor placed a glass of wine on the workbench beside Alexa. “I’m glad I got the chance to come here.”

  “Is that so?” Alexa laughed. “Even though it’s raining cats and dogs, the wind is howling through the forest, and you’re stuck overnight at the edge of the dark woods alone with me?”

  “Are you Goldilocks, and where are the three bears?” Eleanor beamed, dismissing Alexa’s ramble with a slight wave of her glass. “Yes, despite all that. Thank you, Alexa.”

  Alexa grinned, lifting her glass. “You’re welcome, Eleanor. Cheers.”

  Their glasses clinked together, and Eleanor swirled the wine around and raised it to her nose. “Spicy berries,” she said. “I gather the cottage belonged to your mother?”

  Alexa swiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Yes. Mum bought the property five years ago, before she retired.”

  “She didn’t have it long,” Eleanor said softly.

  “Only three years. She worked really hard restoring the cottage and creating the garden.” Alexa blinked away the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. “What do you think of this red?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. Sometimes it hurt to talk about her mother.

  Eleanor rested the rim of her glass on her lower lip and sipped tentatively. “Hmm…that is nice.” She ran her tongue over her top lip. “Are there still traces of gold in these parts?”

  “There must be. You still see people with their point and shoot detectors, but a lot of the land is privately owned or protected by Parks Victoria. The only digging I do here is weeding, cultivating, and planting.”

  “Even through the rain-streaked windows, I can see your garden has an abundance of plants and colours.” Eleanor walked back to peer outside. “What’s under that long shade-cloth structure?”

  Alexa flipped the sourdough under the grill and dragged the pan off the stove. She joined Eleanor by the window and stood as close to her as she dared. Her body seemed to gravitate towards Eleanor’s quite independently from her conscious thought. “A handful of heritage apples, plum trees, a peach, and two pears. The herbs, vegetables, and flowers closer to the cottage are protected inside a wire fence. Mum built the net enclosure to safeguard the fruit trees from the summer heat, and from the birds, rabbits, wallabies, and kangaroos.”

  “Wallabies and kangaroos?” Eleanor’s voice lifted playfully.

  “Yes, I often see them grazing and hopping inside the boundary of the property.”

  “We might see them tomorrow,” Eleanor said. “Hopefully I’ll get a proper look at the garden when it stops raining.”

  Alexa sighed wistfully. She gave Eleanor’s shoulder a gentle nudge and returned to the kitchen bench. “Mum loved this place.” She just wished her mother had had more time to enjoy the fruits of her labours.

  “Do you come here often?” Eleanor took another sip of her wine and followed Alexa back to the bench.

  “Whenever I can, but I have the loft in Abbotsford, and I don’t like being away from Granny for too long. Working a nine-day fortnight gives me a bit of freedom. Louise and Kelly keep an eye on the place for me.”

  “You’re lucky. You can enjoy all the benefits of city life as well as the peacefulness of the country.” Eleanor’s voice sounded a bit pensive.

  “I thought I was a die-hard city girl, but the cottage has changed my mind,” Alexa said. “What about you, Eleanor? You’ve led quite the nomadic life. Worked with notable magazines and organisations and received numerous accolades for your photographic work. What’s next for you? You must want to have a bit of a good time before you jet off on your next assignment.”

  The moment the words were out, Alexa saw the ‘door-slamming-closed’ look on Eleanor’s face. She pinched her lips together. What did I say?

  Eleanor’s eyes fluttered before opening wide to stare at Alexa. Alexa had seen that look of indecision and doubt flashing across Eleanor’s face when she’d been reluctant to part with the slides the day she’d brought them to the Library. Alexa immediately regretted her words. She hadn’t intended to trigger that response again.

  “I’m sorry. You’ve only just come home, haven’t you—to spend time with your father while he recuperates?”

  Eleanor just nodded.

  Alexa had conjured up a fun fling with Eleanor while they explored their shared interest in the slide collection, but Eleanor was more complicated than she’d first realised. It had been naïve of Alexa to even consider that this alluring, worldly woman would be a pushover. She walked across the room, picked up the wine bottle, and refilled Eleanor’s empty glass. “I’ll put together the bruschetta, and we can eat by the fire,” she said, reaching for the rest of the ingredients.

  “I’d like that. Want some help?”

  “Thanks, but it’s almost ready. Simple meal tonight.” Alexa smiled. Food and wine always improved the mood.

  “Considering the lunch we had, I can’t believe I’m hungry. What is it?”

  “Let’s just call it ‘stuff on toast.’ Or ‘a little imagination and whatever I had on hand on toast.’” Alexa was aware of Eleanor watching her, and her hand trembled as she piled the roasted tomato mixture onto toast with fresh ricotta and wafer-thin prosciutto before topping it with a little fresh rosemary.

  Eleanor looked at her with a smile. “For someone who’s travelled to places where they eat some strange ingredients, believe me, toast is my go-to food.” She leaned in to have a closer look. “This, on the other hand looks like a scrummy supper.”

  Alexa gave a little bow. “Okay, grab the wine bottle. Let’s eat.”

  * * *

  Eleanor leaned back in the armchair and gazed at Alexa through half-closed eyes. She’d been entertained by Alexa’s amusing stories about her work at the library and some of her unconventional colleagues. Eleanor looked forward to spending time with the Digital Imaging team and experiencing more of Alexa’s world.

  They’d stopped drinking halfway through the second bottle of wine, and now, reclined on the sofa, Alexa had her head supported on the padded armrest, and her fluffy red-socked feet were flung over the other end of the sofa. Her eyes were closed, but her fingers tapped against her thigh, as though she was preoccupied. Was Alexa feeling a little off balance? Even though they were two and a half metres apart, was she as unnerved by the almost sensuous intimacy of the softly lit scene, as Eleanor was?

  Outside, the storm had eased to a gentle rain, and the sound of it was soothing. Eleanor had enjoyed Alexa’s mild flirting, which had escalated since they’d arrived at the cottage; however, being the focus of Alexa’s attention also made her skittish.

  The fire crackled, a log popping loudly, and her eyes were drawn away from Alexa’s reposed figure to stare meditatively into the swirling flames. When she glanced back in Alexa’s direction, she found her watching her closely. She smiled sheepishly.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” Alexa asked in a gravelly voice and stretched lazily.

  How should Eleanor interpret tha
t? She didn’t know what to say. She looked back at the flames for inspiration. “Ah—.”

  Alexa swung her legs off the sofa and sat up. “Are you tired?”

  “Pleasantly tired,” Eleanor croaked. She pushed herself out of the chair and rubbed the muscles at the back of her neck. “I’ll just clean the glasses before…”

  “Don’t worry.” Alexa got to her feet and stepped across the rug to stand alarmingly close to her.

  Eleanor patted the sides of the pyjama pants, searching for pockets to bury her quivering hands in. No luck; no pockets.

  As she started to cross her arms, Alexa’s hand gently closed around her wrist. “The glasses can wait until morning.” She lifted their joined hands and gently placed them on Eleanor’s chest, over her heart. Her eyes had turned a darker shade of green, and her breath was warm against Eleanor’s face.

  Could Alexa feel the quickening thrum of her heartbeat? Eleanor took a calming breath. As though time had slowed, she watched Alexa lift one hand and place it lightly onto her shoulder.

  “Eleanor,” Alexa whispered, lengthening each syllable. She angled her head to one side, leaning forward until her soft lips caressed Eleanor’s.

  The tension between them had been building all day, and the gentle brush of Alexa’s lips came as sweet relief, but it wasn’t enough. With her cheeks flushing warm and getting hotter, Eleanor instinctively wound her arms around Alexa’s neck, filling her hands with silky hair. She covered Alexa’s mouth with hers, wanting to breathe her in, taste her, explore every inch of her mouth with her tongue. When Alexa stroked Eleanor’s tongue with a maddeningly sensual lick, a husky, helpless moan of need escaped Eleanor.

  Alexa slowly broke the kiss, giving them a chance to catch their breath. “Hmmm…”

  Eleanor buried her face in Alexa’s neck, and she moaned again when Alexa caught the lobe of her ear between her teeth.