by Lilly Mirren
“It’s too bad I’m only sixteen, they won’t let me enlist.” A muscle in his jaw clenched. “But if I could go, I’d sure let that Hitler know what we think of people like him.”
She pushed the handkerchief back into her pocket. “Well, I’m glad you’re too young. I wouldn’t want you to go.”
“You wouldn’t?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.
She shook her head, her cheeks warming even as she shivered.
He smiled, removed his jacket, and slipped it around her shoulders. “I hope we’ll be able to see each other again soon.”
Her heart thudded as blood rushed to her face. “I’d like that.”
10
August 1995
Cabarita Beach
It rained all morning long on the day of the funeral. Big fat raindrops pelted against the inn’s tin roof like a drumroll before an announcement. Kate stood on the verandah and stared out through the wattle bushes toward the beach. The cove was hidden from view, but when the rain stopped, she knew she’d be able to hear the steady roar and crash of the waves against the shore, as always.
The waves were reliable, constant, never ceasing. They remained unchanging through joy and sorrow, heartache, grief, and celebration, kept on crashing against the sand no matter what state her heart was in.
“Not a great day for a beach funeral service,” muttered Reeda, coming up beside her with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Kate.
“Thanks.”
Kate took the cup and held it to her lips, then sipped. The heat of it burned the tip of her tongue, then warmed a trail down her throat and into her stomach.
Bindi joined them. “I thought I might go for a run this morning,” she said.
Kate’s nose wrinkled. “Uh huh.”
“You may have to wade back.” Reeda chuckled before gulping a mouthful of coffee. “Ouch! Hot!” she sputtered, wiping drips of coffee from her T-shirt.
“I don’t know, it might be a good idea. We could work off some of our frustrations,” replied Kate.
“What frustrations could you possibly have?” grumbled Reeda, still dabbing at the stain on her shirt. “Perfect fiancé, fancy chef position at an amazing restaurant, and the same athletic figure you had when you were eighteen years old without having to work for it.”
Think again.
Was that really how Reeda saw her? All these years she’d felt as though she’d never measure up to Reeda’s impossible standards of perfection. It was why she never told her sister when things went wrong in her life, or if she was feeling low. It would’ve been another flaw to reveal how imperfect she was, how she’d never be like Reeda.
“Ha! My life perfect? Hardly. You’re the one who looks like a super model, with all your designer outfits and shiny hair that hangs perfectly straight down your toned back.”
Bindi shook her head. “You two were always so competitive. How about you both accept that each of you is amazing, beautiful, and talented, and that life isn’t a competition but a journey we take together. Huh? Do you think you can do that? At least for today…” Her voice broke and she set her coffee cup down on the floor by her feet, then laced an arm around each of her sisters, hugging them to her sides.
Kate couldn’t speak. Tears pricked her eyes. Her heart hurt to think that Reeda had so misunderstood her all these years. Perhaps she’d done the same to her sister.
“Okay, I can agree to that,” replied Reeda with a quiet nod.
“Good, let’s go for that run together,” Bindi said. “Then, we’ll just have time for a shower before the funeral.”
Kate cleared her throat. “Do we know how many people are coming?”
Bindi’s lips pursed. “I have no idea. I asked Mima about it, and she shrugged. Could be just us, or maybe some friends from town… it’s hard to say. It’s Monday after all, so most people are probably at work.”
They all changed into bike shorts, T-shirts, and joggers and headed out into the rain. The run was good for Kate. It’d been so long since she’d done much in the way of exercise, other than climbing the stairs to her unit when the lift was broken, she had to ask the others to stop three times while she caught her breath.
Still, it felt good to stretch out her legs and push her body to perform. By the time they got back, she’d made a resolution to do it more often. Or maybe take her bike out of the storage cage in the building’s shared garage, and ride the bike trails from Kangaroo Point, through Southbank and South Brisbane. She’d ridden them often enough when she first moved to Brisbane, but the busyness of her life had gotten in the way since. Maybe it was time to get back into some of her old habits.
She headed for the communal bathroom on the second floor and jumped into the shower ahead of Reeda, who complained loudly all the way up the stairs to the third-floor bathroom that it wasn’t fair since she’d called first dibs. The heat of the water thawed the cold of the rainy outdoors that’d seeped into her bones despite the exertion.
By the time she’d donned a long, black dress and combed her hair into a neat bun, she’d let her thoughts wander to Nan, and saying goodbye. As she finished applying makeup, she noticed red splotches on her neck. The rain had tempered the cool of the day, but there was still a chill wind and they’d likely get wet during the service. She threw on a black cardigan over the top of her dress, and a long, blue scarf that she wound around her neck.
Downstairs, people were already starting to arrive for the funeral. A fire roared in the hearth, pushing the cold, wet, weather back onto the verandahs. Some of the mourners dried themselves by its warmth, hands outstretched toward the leaping flames hidden behind a black grate. Many had brought casserole dishes, warm from the oven, or bunches of flowers. Kate, Reeda, and Bindi all warmed their faces with smiles and moved to greet each person as they walked through the inn’s front door, leaving umbrellas to drip dry on the verandah, propped up against the wall and railings.
The service was set to start at eleven. By ten forty-five the sitting room at the inn was full of mourners and the rain had stopped. Beams of sunlight peeked out from behind a black, voluminous cloud and crept over the dripping landscape. They hadn’t known how many to expect, but none of them were prepared for the dozens of faces that peered at them over cups of coffee and shot glances their way above plates piled high with the Anzac biscuits, slices of apple tea cake, and scones with jam and cream Mima and Kate had baked together the previous day.
“I hope I’m not late,” said a voice, startling her out of her worrying over whether they’d made enough food for the rapidly expanding group of mourners.
Kate looked up into Alex’s hazel eyes. He held a bouquet of waratah flowers toward her. They were bright red with soft greenery, and nothing holding them together but a piece of white string.
She smiled and took the flowers. “Wow, thank you. Where did you get these?”
He cocked his head to one side. “I have a greenhouse. It’s no big deal.”
“You have a greenhouse?”
He was full of surprises.
“I knew these were her favourites, since she gave me the seedlings when I first started working here. I hope you like them.” He was awkward, shifting from one foot to the other. His hair was combed to one side, slicked into place. He wore a black, button-down shirt with a pair of blue jeans and black leather boots that looked better suited to riding a Harley Davidson Hog than a horse.
“This is perfect. Thank you.” Kate’s throat closed over and she willed herself not to cry.
He nodded then manoeuvred his way through the crowd. She watched him go. The flowers were a simple gesture, but it’d touched her in a way she hadn’t expected.
When she turned away, she came face to face with a group of her own friends from Brisbane. She embraced them each with tears in her eyes. It felt good to have a little piece of home there with her for the day. They offered her their sympathies and several bunches of flowers which she added to the display.
The service began at eleven as
planned. The pastor of the local Baptist church, where Nan had attended since they first moved to Cabarita, officiated. He was an older man and seemed to know Nan well, sharing some heartfelt stories that made all three of the girls cry.
When it came time to give the eulogy, Reeda spoke first, then Kate and finally Bindi. Kate held back the tears until her turn was finished, then sobbed while Bindi spoke. By the time they’d all eaten and told everyone goodbye, each of their faces was red and streaked with tears and mascara. The inn looked as though it’d survived a cyclone, with the remaining food in scattered piles throughout the kitchen, on benches and tables. There were a few half-empty casserole dishes left on the floor.
Mima dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and lowered herself into a chair at the end of the long, ageing dining table with a grunt. “Well, that was beautiful. Edie would’ve loved it. The way you girls spoke was the sweetest thing, and then all three of you holding the urn and scattering her ashes… well, there wasn’t a dry eye anywhere on that beach.”
“I’m glad the rain stopped long enough for the service,” replied Kate, peering out through the windows. As soon as the service ended the downpour had resumed. Rain lashed against one side of the inn, thoroughly wetting the verandahs and windows, and pummelling the roof in a loud and steady rhythm.
“We don’t often get rain like this in August,” said Jack, breaking the silence he’d kept for most of the day. “All I can think is that the world is crying with us.” His silver hair was combed neatly to one side, missing his signature hat and the permanent impression it generally left on his head.
Kate’s throat ached and tears filled her eyes again. She’d thought they’d run dry by now. She patted Jack’s arm, while his reddened eyes stayed trained on the ground ahead of him.
Jack cleared his throat. “Well, I’d help you ladies clean up, but I’ve got to get the chores done. The animals will want to eat, rain or not.”
He found his hat on the coat rack, pushed it onto his head, waved quickly and stepped outside, tugging the collar of his knee-length oilskin coat up high around his ears.
“Emotions make him uncomfortable,” said Mima with a smile. “Well, not all emotions, but today — this is hard for him.”
“For all of us,” agreed Reeda, wiping her own eyes with a tissue.
“Let’s clean up, then go sit on the verandah and watch the rain,” suggested Bindi.
They got to work, tidying and cleaning until the place gleamed. Then they wandered out to the verandah with a pot of tea.
Kate slumped into a wicker chair, setting her feet on a footrest with a sigh. Her feet ached, her legs were tired, her head throbbed, and her hands were wrinkled by dish water.
She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head loll back. “I feel as though I’ve been run over by a truck.”
Bindi laughed. “Me too.” Then her face fell. “Does anyone else feel bad when they catch themselves laughing?”
Mima shook her head. “Oh pshaw, don’t worry about that. Your Nan loved to laugh more than anyone. She wanted you girls to be happy. I know that because she talked my ear off about it more times than I care to remember.”
Kate exchanged a smile with Reeda.
“Where was Davis today?” asked Reeda.
Kate inhaled a sharp breath as a pang went through her gut. She’d tried not to focus on the fact that her fiancé hadn’t made it to the funeral. She hadn’t heard the phone ring, although it was possible he’d tried to call, and she’d missed it with everything that was going on.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m going to call him in a little while. Maybe he got caught up with work, or something.”
“I’m sure he wanted to be here,” said Bindi, reaching out to rest a hand on Kate’s arm.
“Well, forget him. And forget Duncan too,” Reeda said. “He had surgeries scheduled that he couldn’t move, he said. I told him it was important to me, and he reminded me that his patients sometimes wait six months to see him, so it wouldn’t be fair to them.”
“What a selfish jerk he is,” quipped Bindi, winking an eye in Reeda’s direction.
Reeda laughed. “I know. Isn’t he?”
Kate thought Reeda’s laugh sounded forced and that her smile faded a little faster than it usually did. Or maybe she was imagining things.
“Well, let’s forget all about them, and talk about something else,” Kate suggested.
“Hear, hear,” replied Bindi, straightening in her chair, and crossing her legs in front of her on the seat.
“How long are you planning on sticking around?” Kate asked, her gaze travelling from Bindi’s face to Reeda’s and back again.
Bindi shifted in her seat. “I thought I might stay awhile. We still haven’t found Nan’s will, or figured out what to do with the inn…”
“Yeah, I’m not ready to go back to Sydney yet,” agreed Reeda. She swallowed. “Maybe after we find the will. If we sell, I might stick around to help get the place ready for buyers… either way, I’m needed here. What about you?”
Kate shrugged. “I thought I’d head home in a few days. But maybe you’re right. We should find the will first and make our decisions while we’re together. It’s hard to work things out over the phone. Face to face is better.”
Bindi’s shoulders relaxed and Reeda’s lips pulled tight. Kate was surprised both her sisters wanted to stay at the Waratah longer. Whenever they met up for Christmas or holidays at the inn, Reeda usually flew back to Sydney the first chance she got. She didn’t seem to be able to unplug from her business. For some reason, things were different now. Perhaps it was because Nan’s death had been so sudden, all of them needed time to mourn.
“I remember when your Nan was only fifteen years old and the two of us decided we were going to sneak out to meet up in the middle of the night.” Mima shared her thoughts, as she reached into the basket by her feet and picked up her knitting needles and yarn. Soon, the needles clacked between her fingers.
Kate leaned forward, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Really? I can’t imagine Nan doing anything like that.”
Mima laughed. “Oh, we got up to plenty of mischief, don’t you mind about that. Still, you’re right, it wasn’t like her. Edie was a good girl. She had strict parents, who brought her up to mind her manners, respect her elders and do what she was told. But then something happened in her teenage years that lit a fire in her gut. When I suggested to some of our friends we meet for a moonlit get together, I never imagined Edie would agree to come with us.”
Reeda’s eyes flashed and she rested her chin in one hand. “Nan the rebel.”
Mima nodded, her eyes on her knitting. “And you have to remember, Nan didn’t live in town like we did. Oh no, she lived two miles outside of town. Which meant, she’d have to ride, alone, through the countryside in the dead of night, all the way into Bathurst.”
Bindi shivered, and hugged herself, wrapping her arms around her jumper-clad body.
“That seems a bit crazy, even in this day and age,” said Kate. “I’m not sure I would’ve done that, and I didn’t have the strict parents she did.”
“She was so determined. If she decided she was gonna do something, there wasn’t anything or anyone who could convince her not to. Well, except maybe one, but that’s a different story for another time.”
Before Kate could interrupt, Mima went on. “She snuck out of the house after she was certain everyone else was asleep. She had a horse that she rode, and she competed in hack, show jumping, dressage, you name it. She was a keen horsewoman and loved that horse of hers. So, she saddled up and rode to town. And we had a great old time. We laid out on a picnic rug, about six of us, and gazed at the stars. We counted how many falling stars we could see, and we joked and laughed and talked about the future.” Mima sighed, her fingers stopped their hurried movements, and she stared off into the distance. “It was a wonderful night.”
“Were there any boys in this group?” asked Reeda with a smirk.
Mima grinned. “I’ll never tell.”
Kate giggled. “Oh… Mima, now we’re interested. You have to tell. Did Nan have a boyfriend?” Her thoughts wandered to the diary entry about Charlie Jackson. Could it have been him?
Mima’s eyes glazed over. “She always had one or two of the boys interested in her. She was a beautiful girl, our Edie. When it came time for her to go home, one of the boys decided it would be gallant of him to walk home with her. But she said no, it’d be much quicker with her riding on her own, and besides she’d suddenly realised how late it was. Her father was a farmer and she knew he’d be up before the sun. If she didn’t get moving, he’d catch her out of her bed, and then there’d be hell to pay.”
Mima stopped talking, her attention returned to her knitting, brow furrowed.
Kate exchanged a glance with Reeda. “So, what happened?”
Mima startled, as though her thoughts had been interrupted. “Oh my, I was in the middle of something… where was I?”
Kate and Reeda’s gazes met. How often was Mima forgetful? None of them knew since they weren’t around often enough. Maybe it was the stress of the day.
“You were talking about how Nan rode home alone in the dark, after a night out with friends,” replied Kate.
“Ah, yes. Well, she rode home as fast as that horse would carry her. Of course, I didn’t find out until the next week what’d happened, because we didn’t see each other. But she said she could see the sun rising behind her because it lit up the plains around her with a golden light that set her heart racing. She knew what she’d find when she got home, but she couldn’t stop. She had to keep going and hope against hope she’d be able to sneak by her father. Although with the horse to put away, she couldn’t say how that would happen.”
Bindi chewed on the end of one fingernail, her eyes wide. Kate imagined Nan galloping along the edge of a narrow, deserted road through seemingly endless fields of still, gold-tinged grasses.
“When she got home, she slipped off the animal’s back and crept around the outside of the house. She put the horse away in the stable, rubbed her down as quick as can be, stowed away the tack, and then tiptoed through the yard. She was almost there when she heard her father’s voice behind her, say, ‘Where have you been, my girl?’”
