Thursday's Child

by Sonya Hartnett

  I clamped my hands beneath me, wrestling for the words. ‘Audrey, who will look out for me, if you go to Mr Cable’s?’

  She smiled. ‘You’re eleven years old. You don’t need anyone looking out for you.’

  ‘But I feel as if I do.’

  ‘Devon will be here.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the same.’

  ‘Mam will take care of you.’

  I sagged and said nothing, heart-heavy. Her eyes left me and went to the window.

  ‘I want to go,’ she sighed. ‘I want to go somewhere Caffy wasn’t.’

  My blood fluttered. ‘Do you think about him?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I do.’ I shuffled closer on my knees. ‘I wasn’t watching. I wasn’t watching him, when he went down the well. But I thought he would be safe. I didn’t think anything bad could happen to him.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ She turned on her side and frowned at me. ‘Never think it was your fault, Harper. It was me – I’m to blame. Blame me, all right? I should have been holding his hand. I would give everything, if I could hold it now.’

  ‘But you had to talk to Izzy, remember? He was going to ask to marry you.’

  Audrey’s fingers twitched on the pillow. ‘Do you know what we talked about, after you and Caffy went off that day? Clouds. He kept talking about clouds. I was thinking, Why’s he telling me this airy-fairy? Who cares about clouds? It seemed mad, to me – I was wondering if he’d gone mad. And then I heard you yelling that Caffy had fallen down the well. I thought you were wrong because Caffy was right there, with me, and then I remembered he wasn’t. For a moment everything was strange. And then it was awful, and it hasn’t stopped being that way. Sometimes I can hardly breathe, I can’t fill my lungs. I can hear him crying and he won’t go quiet – but maybe he will, if I go to Mr Cable’s. Maybe I won’t be able to hear him, if I go a long way from here.’

  ‘But what about me?’ I slid my hand into hers and squeezed desperately. ‘I was watching Da kill a snake. Caffy was whimpering and I was ignoring him, I didn’t help him, and now I can’t ever help him, but I still remember his whimpering. So maybe I can come with you, if you go to Mr Cable’s?’

  ‘Harper …’

  ‘Please, Audrey! I don’t want to stay here by myself. Caffy isn’t here and Mam – she isn’t here – and I’ll be alone, if you go too.’

  She held my hand and looked a long time into my face. Then, ‘Go to bed,’ she told me. ‘Don’t worry.’

  I crawled away miserably and slept a wakeful, troubled night. But the next day, when Devon came in for lunch with cattle spikes shedding off him, Audrey set the soup on the table and said, ‘I’m not going to work for Mr Cable. Mam. Da.’

  ‘Now, Audrey –’

  ‘It’s decided, Da.’

  ‘We could use the money. And I feel we owe Mr Cable.’

  ‘Owe him what? What?’

  Audrey disregarded Devon. ‘I’m needed here. At least, for now.’

  ‘Let her do as she thinks best, Court.’

  I was grinning and couldn’t grin more fiercely when Mam said that, although I would have liked to. It was the sort of thing she might have said in the time before the shanty fell. It was like feeling the sun rub your nose after winter.

  ‘Good,’ said Devon. ‘I’ll go over and tell him this afternoon.’

  Da was sullen, saying nothing while Audrey filled his bowl. Rabbit in water is harsh on the nose and eye and Audrey chuckled as she scooped. ‘I don’t know where he got the idea I can cook,’ she laughed.

  ‘You’re doing your best with what you have.’

  ‘You are, Audrey.’

  I was gazing at her adoringly and she tucked back my hair. ‘Aren’t you tired of rabbit, Harper?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t mind.’

  Mam considered us – Devon, then Audrey, then me. I fidgeted under her inspection, chewing my lip and bringing my bowl closer, and the steam of the soup dampened my cheeks. Mam turned unexpectedly to Da. ‘Court,’ she said. ‘I know you’re fond of the cows but it’s time, now. The children will become ill if they don’t get something decent into them. If you can’t do it, Art Campbell said he would.’

  Da’s fist was bloodless around his spoon. ‘I’m telling you, Thora, it’d be doing a foolish thing. Things will get better and when they do, you’ll see that I’m right. You’ve no vision for the future, that’s the problem.’

  ‘Vandery Cable said to save them for a day such as this. Not for a future day – for this day.’

  Da ground his teeth. He glared at us and the room was soundless but for the thwack of a blowfly striking the ceiling. ‘Only one, Court,’ Mam said gently. ‘You can keep the other two.’

  ‘All right!’ he shouted, making us jump. ‘All right. Don’t blame me later, is all I ask. Don’t blame me, when things are not so bad.’

  We did not smile or say anything. That afternoon Devon rode over to Cable’s, but Da did not kill a cow. We waited, saying nothing, but he didn’t do it the next day or the next. So I pushed away my plate of rabbit and water, hoping that would make him hurry.

  I PUSHED AWAY MY plate and slouched. Everyone saw me do it but even Devon glanced aside. I sat with my eyes down, hardly daring to breathe. Afterwards, when I was clearing the table, Audrey said, ‘Scrape your plate out for the animals.’

  Outside the dogs crowded me, their whiskery faces eager and struggling to keep themselves civilised. They knew that arguing with one another meant losing food to somedog else and they stood like statues drooling while I emptied soup into their bowls; if any of them heard the knock at the door, none of them were about to waste time investigating. I went back inside to find two vinegar-faced travelling salesmen skulking by the wall. They had shoelaces and matches they were hawking. ‘Harper,’ said Mam, ‘do you need laces?’

  I shook my head dourly, keeping my eye on the travellers, edging my way nearer to Devon. All the men who came to our door were thin and tousled, some more gone to seed than others. Some had no dignity and would sniffle on seeing a family, bemoaning their long-lost own. Some joked and played tricks with cards and coins, and I liked those ones the best. The pair standing bow-spined in the kitchen were young and pungent, their suits wafting mildew. The elder had a rash flaming between his chin and coat collar; the younger one’s eyes rolled like oily marbles toward Audrey. They did not seem surprised when Mam told them she couldn’t buy, and the elder scratched his rash blandly. ‘We can give you a cup of tea,’ said Mam, pitying them.

  ‘Or port,’ offered Da. ‘We’ve a drop of that to spare.’

  ‘Tea will be dandy,’ said the elder, and they sat, all shins and elbows, when Da drew out the chairs. ‘Stretch to remember when last I had a sip of tea. Not since I left home, I reckon.’

  ‘Are you up from the city?’

  ‘Are, missus. Left the mother and sisters behind. The mother didn’t want us to go but we heard things weren’t so crook, away from the city. Finding, of course, there’s plenty who heard the same and how here’s as crook as anywhere. Roads out here, you’re wading through down-and-outs. It’s right, though, that the brother and I make our own way. The mother and the sisters will do better without two extra stomachs to feed.

  ‘There’s stomachs in this house,’ spoke Da, ‘that choose to go hungry. Rabbit isn’t good enough for them.’

  I scuttled sideways to where Audrey had filled the washing trough, and took up the sponge. ‘You’re brothers, then?’ asked Mam

  ‘Brothers, missus. Himself’s Christopher, I’m Ben.’

  I dipped a plate gingerly, holding it in my fingertips. The water was boiling and my face crunched at the prospect of being scorched – and caught the younger, Christopher, smirking at the sight. He and his brother were flat-faced scarecrows, their black hair cropped to a prickle on their scalps, their suits stiffened instead of softened with age. I turned my back on his vile leering. Devon asked, ‘What’s it like, then, in the city?’

  �
�Fearful. Mind you, there’s some you’ll see who aren’t feeling it at all. They’re the ones who say there’s work going everywhere for decent folk who aren’t lazy. Not true, though. There’s plenty of decent folk where we come from, and it’s fearful there.’

  ‘Fearful how?’

  The elder took his tea without slurping and leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell you what fearful is. Fearful is losing the job you’ve been doing since you left school at fourteen and walking the streets in search of employment, lining up with hundreds when a single vacancy comes up on a factory floor. Fearful’s coming home to hungry children, sending them off to soup kitchens for a bit of jam and a spud. Fearful is being tipped from your home because you can’t pay the rent. The family’s on the street then, sleeping in the gutter or holed-up in a floursack tent. Some well-to-do complains you’re an eyesore and the authorities burn your tent and move the lot of you on. Having your existence sapped away by constant want and woe, looking at your littlies and knowing the future holds nothing for them, losing all the respect and worthiness you ever had because something happened that had nothing to do with you – that’s what fearful is, in my opinion.’

  The younger one put in, as if it were the most pleasing thing, ‘They’re burning the fences. Say that.’

  ‘Hmph. People burn fences to stay warm.’

  ‘No fences.’ The younger nodded eerily. His brother took no notice, but clawed absently at his rash.

  ‘There’s the welfare though, isn’t there?’

  ‘The sustenance, if you can get it. They’re picky about who does – they might give it you once and never again, or maybe never at all. There’s ladies who decide if you’re desperate enough. If you ain’t desperate to their satisfaction, you get diddly. If your clothes are dirty or your floor needs mopping or the littlies are crawling with nits, you won’t be getting a penny. You’re not trying hard enough to stay decent, decide these ladies, so you’re not worthy of helping. Rumour is, though, that if you’re a friend of these ladies, the sustenance comes nice and regular.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous,’ said Devon. The elder nodded with weary knowingness.

  ‘Whole world’s gone ridiculous, I say. There’s stealing, there’s looting, there’s jealousies turning neighbour against neighbour. People wear rags, now. Newborns get left on doorsteps. Men stand outside pubs just to sniff the air – it’s as close as they can get to swallowing what’s inside.’

  ‘Won’t you have some port, then?’ said Da, reaching for the bottle.

  ‘No sir, thank you, the tea does us fine. The mother always told us, stay away from the plonk. Get a taste for that and ruin is not far away. Are you planning on going to the city, lad?’

  All of us looked alarmed at Devon, who shrugged. ‘Just asking.’

  ‘Stay here. Where we come from, there’s gangs of boys like yourself passing their lives on street corners, nothing to do with themselves, watching their youth fritter away. They stand about, chatting up the girls, spooking the passers-by. They’re bored and that brings out the bad elements among them, the theft and the gambling, but most of them are just harmless lads. The police knock them around regardless, arrest them for nothing, so they hate the police. Hate each other, too, and there’s fighting on the streets, the chains, the knives …’ He trailed off, staring into his cup morosely and shaking his bristly head. ‘No, that’s no life for a young man. It’s why I was determined to bring himself out here, with me. I won’t have him going the way of the larrikin.’

  It looked like the rescue had come too late, to me. Christopher sat like a razor bent to fit the chair, tense as some ill-fed fighting dog. His gaze zipped like a fly across the room, alighting on Audrey and skittering off again. ‘Say about the ladies,’ he croaked.

  ‘Himself wants me to tell you about the ladies. Things are different for them. Some have jobs because it’s cheaper to employ a female, you know? In factories and the like. Find many a young lady supporting her whole family, mother, father, the smaller ones. Proud and happy to be doing so, too. The oldest sister is that way, sews petticoats, admirable. Hurts her neck bending over the machine, but she’s fortunate compared to some. What some must do is a tragedy, and a fate I wouldn’t wish on any respectable female.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Hush, Harper.’

  The salesman nodded deeply, which made his rash flare. ‘Better she doesn’t understand. Things are fearful, like I say. But I’ll tell you what I think’s the worst thing, and it’s to do with the ladies. Some of them, the only way they can hold their heads high when they’ve got nothing, no money, no milk for the baby, no husband worth having – the only way they can show the neighbours that they’re still respectable people is to keep the house clean. The idea being, I suppose, that decent folk live in decent homes. And there’s women going demented trying to make the house spotless, women who start to see dirt everywhere, as if it’s got in under their eyes, women going slowly mad. The lucky ones get sent to hospital, but most of them aren’t lucky. Most of them die jabbering on the kitchen floor, killing themselves to show they’re upstanding. Dying for dirt in a dirty old world. It’s funny, in a way: something went askew on the other side of the globe and now our mothers are losing their minds.’

  The terrible Christopher gave a giggle. His brother darted a glance at him. ‘We should go,’ he decided suddenly. ‘We’re bringing sorrow into your home.’

  ‘There’s more tea in the pot …’

  ‘Thank you, no. We mustn’t get too settled, not with the road awaiting us. You’ve got a nice set-up, here. Fine house, and no doubt the odd animal or two?’

  ‘We have three Red Poll heifers,’ said Da, stately. ‘People don’t keep beef around here and they said I was a fool to have bought them – some of the doubters were sadly close to home. They reckoned you couldn’t keep cattle fed and healthy, not on this poor ground. I’ve done it, though, done it going on three years. It’s not easy, no: I’ve walked them ten miles, some days, for a mouthful of grass. It’s been a struggle, but they’re alive, and they’re thriving, and I reckon I might have started building up the herd soon, had not other people had other ideas. Sometimes you wonder why you bother doing anything, wasting your hopes and energies.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said the salesman. ‘Is that right.’

  ‘We also have two chickens,’ added Da.

  ‘Well, sir, you would be envied, where we come from. You’re lucky people, and deserving to be. Christopher and myself thank you for the hospitality. Long life and God’s blessings to you.’

  They gathered their matches and laces and, with lingering glances and mauling of throat, went out into the evening, leaving behind a cloud of staleness. I remember thinking how strange it was, that man calling us lucky. Had Caffy left no mark on us? What about our drifting Da, and our ghostly Mam? Or was it that some marks showed clearly but we were lucky anyway, because there was worse that could have happened? I went to bed with my empty stomach grumbling, feeling childish to have ever complained, but nonetheless insulted. We had had, I felt, misfortune to match the best of them.

  In the morning, the heifers and chickens were gone. You could see where the cows had been shepherded through a stretch of fence where the rails had been taken down. The chickens had been plucked from their roost as casual as apples from a tree. On the ground was a drift of harp-like feathers where their necks had been wrung. No one said it and there was never any proof but we knew, we simply knew that those two city boys had done it, that dainty-sipping older one and his half-baked younger brother. Devon saddled Champion and galloped around the district for days, asking if anyone had sighted a pair of scarecrows driving three mottled cows in front and a hen slung over a shoulder. Such a band should have been easy to track, but this one never was: the salesmen had taken our animals and just melted into the ground.

  When Devon came home on the fourth day of searching he unbuckled the horse’s saddle and dumped it on the ground before flopping on the veranda
and staring silently at the orange sky. All of us looked at him without speaking. We could hear finches chattering in the tussocks and the steady blowing of Champion.

  ‘Well, you tried, Devvy.’

  He didn’t answer, kept his eyes on the sky. Audrey returned to combing my hair.

  ‘The dogs,’ said Da. ‘They could have barked. We might have woken up if they had barked. Useless. I should shoot the lot of them, and serve them right.’

  ‘Leave them be,’ Mam told him dully. ‘Leave the dogs alone, Court. They’ve got the same as we have, now. Nothing but their beating hearts.’

  In the months that followed I used to ponder, now and then, over what the travellers had said about fearfulness and misery and how those things were entwined with money somehow, as if money is a seed that sprouts poison. I remembered the time when Da had trapped rabbits and sold the faultless pelts to the dealer and I wondered at how happy we must have been then, how rich we were made by the shillings he brought home. But sense told me shillings could not have made us wealthy, and I understood that we had always been poor. How young I must have been then, to have been happy anyway.

  I ate the soup that was put before me now. Devon was snaring the rabbits that went into it, to save on the shot. But the shot went missing anyway: Da pawned it, leaving only what was loaded in the rifle. He bought whisky with the money and I told Audrey, ‘You should pour it on the ground.’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice was calm – she never bothered getting angry any more.

  ‘It would serve him right.’

  ‘Pouring the whisky away won’t bring the shot back.’

  But me, I was angry all the time.

  Snaring never stopped as many as shooting did, regardless of whether you were chasing the pelts or the meat. We were always hungry, and Da caught a rasping cold. That winter I walked the surrounds inquiring after odd jobs to do and sometimes I’d be given a coin for stacking wood or plucking and gizzarding a chicken. These were things people could do themselves for nothing and finally Audrey commanded me to stay home, saying I was earning off compassion. Rose Murphy came around, one day, and asked why she hadn’t seen me flogging my talents at the door. I told her what Audrey had told me: ‘I was causing grief. I was making others share our trouble.’