Those Hamilton Sisters

by Averil Kenny

  ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I sent a reminder letter to your home address last week. Did that arrive?’

  The cassowary over his shoulder caught her eyes. Sonnet bit her tongue, lest she poke it. ‘Yes, I got it. You’re most thorough, thank you.’

  ‘I hope it will be useful. If not for you, someone else . . .’

  Sonnet extended a hand.

  He felt for his wallet, sliding out a paper note. ‘I actually had to get directions in town to the bookstore. Turns out you can’t ask the way to Hamilton’s Books without getting a local history lesson first.’

  ‘Didn’t take you long to stumble over the deadwood in town, after all.’

  ‘And I’m led to understand you also have two younger sisters.’

  Sonnet shook open a bag, harder than necessary. ‘Are you looking for new patients, Doctor?’

  ‘Seems I might have lost a patient a few minutes ago – may have to open my books to another.’

  She handed over his parcel. ‘If I can persuade anyone in particular to see a doctor, you’ll be the first one I call, Dr Fairley.’

  He smiled, hefting the bag under his arm, relief now plain to see. ‘It’s Jake, please.’

  Jake Fairley.

  She nodded tightly. ‘Thanks for coming, enjoy your book.’

  At the door he turned back, warmth in his smile.

  In lieu of returning it, in flagrant defiance of her resolve, she heard herself blurt: ‘Jake! Dr Fairley, I mean. Do you . . . Would you happen to do house calls?’

  *

  Sonnet was washing her plate and fork after dinner when the knock came. Standing on the dark porch, with a low, sultry moon at her back, was Fable.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘I wanted to come down and thank you.’

  ‘Thank me? For what?’

  ‘Dr Fairley came by Heartwood to see me this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘He sure mentions your name a lot.’

  Sonnet shrugged. ‘Man’s trying to pick up new patients; I found him one. I’m just glad you didn’t throw him out of the door. How did it go?’

  ‘He said everything’s progressing fine now. Baby’s healthy, I’m healthy. But it’s a big baby . . . might even come earlier than my dates.’

  ‘Yikes.’

  ‘He’s referring me to the midwives up at Cairns Base Hospital for the birth.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine so. None of the women here give birth in Noah.’

  ‘He’s going to do my antenatal appointments, so I don’t have to drive all the way up for every appointment. My booking-in appointment at the hospital is in two days.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Yeah . . . I guess . . ’ Fable regarded her belly, biting her lip. Sonnet stared at the strawberry part of her hair, waiting.

  ‘The thing is,’ Fable said, ‘I don’t want to go up there on my own. But I don’t want Olive and Gav to take me, either . . .’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ Sonnet volunteered unsmilingly.

  Fable’s eyes were wide. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, ’course I’ll take you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Fable said, voice small. ‘I’ll feel better, if you’re there. I know you’ll make me stand up for myself. Even if you don’t agree with me – you’ll make me stick up for myself.’

  Sonnet laughed, with gusto. ‘Sorry,’ she said, stilling her mouth, ‘but that’s pretty funny to hear.’

  Fable’s face gave nothing away.

  ‘Okay. Yes. I’ll make you stick up for yourself – no matter what anyone says about anything. Deal?’

  Fable nodded gratefully, but made no move to leave.

  Sonnet’s hands went to her hips. ‘Was there something else?’

  Fable stepped aside, and Sonnet saw the pile of bags behind her. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  Fable raised doe eyes.

  ‘But you can’t be serious.’

  Fable’s eyes widened further, a tremble at her lashes.

  ‘Well,’ Sonnet scowled, ‘I can see how you landed in your predicament in the first place – using eyes like that. Won’t work on me, though.’

  A smile moved behind Fable’s downturned lips.

  ‘Fine,’ Sonnet sighed. ‘Come in, then. But I’ve already eaten, you can cook your own dinner for two . . .’

  CHAPTER 37

  ENCIENTE

  Summer 1964

  B

  ut why, Sonnet yearned to ask, as her sister unpacked, humming, in the sunroom, would you choose querulous me over grovelling Olive? Olive would probably have anointed Fable’s feet with oil each evening if she’d stayed there.

  Awkwardly, they danced round Fable’s belly when passing in the narrow kitchen and hallway. Sonnet fumed in silence – how could Fable possibly prefer this tiny cottage to Heartwood’s sprawling rooms?

  As Fable fashioned a careful nest for all her paints and brushes, journals and sketchbooks, Sonnet boggled: Where exactly are you planning to put the damn baby?

  Who is he? Sonnet screamed soundlessly, at Fable’s back each time she drifted into one of her window-pressing turns of gripping sadness.

  If he hurt you, I swear I’ll smash a glass in his bloody face.

  She’d never had as many questions or wanted so badly to drag the answers out of Fable. She asked nothing. What was the point? Against Fable’s barricaded heart, she’d never prevail.

  They drove to Cairns through sweeping banana plantations and canefields as far as the eye could see, and past the sugar mill puffing white plumes into cumulus skies, like a cloud factory.

  Still she asked no questions. She sat with Fable in the waiting area at Cairns Base, between blossoming bellies and rotten toddlers, and she didn’t attempt to prep her sister on how to act or what to ask. Fable’s name was called, and Sonnet stayed resolutely seated. When her sister turned doubtfully back, Sonnet mouthed, ‘Good luck!’ then looked back at her New Idea magazine, flipping a page with feigned ennui.

  Afterwards, Sonnet didn’t ask how the appointment went; only what Fable might want for lunch. Then she took her shopping at the Bolands department store; an anonymous realm, far from Noah Vale eyes. Fable still looked over her shoulder in the baby aisles, though – and Sonnet pretended not to notice. She trailed after Fable, nodding blankly at the rompers and rattles picked out. Sonnet frothed behind her mild smile as she watched Fable hand wads of her Brisbane-earned notes over at the checkout. How are you going to afford to raise a child in Noah?

  Sonnet was silent once more on the ride home – no longer from resentful self-restraint, rather exhaustion on her sister’s behalf.

  They cruised back along Main Street and Fable slipped down in the passenger seat, pulling her baseball hat low, bags across her belly. Sonnet clenched the wheel. Whatever plans Fable had devised for the moment she was finally discovered home, and knocked up, they were not Sonnet’s to know, much less interfere with. She heard Fable’s violent inhalation at the sight of Delia Hull and Marg Johnstone crossing the road ahead, their coiffured French rolls leaning close. Sonnet let the women and indeed the moment pass without a single snide comment hurled Delia’s way.

  They were making their ascent to Heartwood when, unexpectedly, Fable spoke.

  ‘You know, Dr Fairley isn’t actually the first doctor I’ve seen.’

  Sonnet fought back a scream: I know nothing – nothing! ‘OK.’

  ‘I saw a doctor once in Sydney. About my bleeding.’

  Bleeding?!

  ‘I knew I was pregnant really quickly, because my boobs just wouldn’t stop growing. Plus I felt seedy all the time, and tired – so tired. But mostly it was these boobs.’ Fable ran hands over her chest in wonder. ‘It was like being sixteen all over again, as if my body had gone into a second puberty.’

  ‘And then you saw a doctor,’ Sonnet said, leaning to tidy her hair in the rear-view mirror, drilling her own reflection with a warning glare.

  ‘No, not for a whil
e. Because then I started bleeding, you see. I thought my period was coming, after all. But it was so heavy! I swear I filled a toilet bowl one day.’

  ‘Oh, Fabes.’

  ‘It wasn’t painful, though. And I didn’t have cramps. It just . . . didn’t stop. Every day, I bled. For days, and weeks, for nearly four months! Every town we visited, each state line we crossed, I was bleeding. Some days were bright red, other days it was old, brown blood. I thought I couldn’t possibly stay pregnant after all that bleeding. But I went to see a doctor in Sydney anyway, mainly because of the boobs. They still got bigger, despite my bleeding.

  ‘The doctor was really dismissive, and he talked so fast, right over the top of me, like he wasn’t even listening or I didn’t know what I was on about. It was so confusing. But he said I was definitely miscarrying, there was no baby anymore; it would stop soon. So I went back to my room, changed my pad, and I waited.’

  The plantation house rose regally before them. Olive’s new black Staffy, Tess, came scuttling towards the Holden. Olive herself appeared on the grand sweep of the veranda, foot worrying at her calf. Fable fell silent as she started gathering her bags.

  ‘I’ll help you with the stuff in the boot,’ Sonnet said.

  Fable shrugged, her face smoothing over once more.

  *

  They stood at the clothesline together, heat trickling down their backs, pegging white terry squares, muslin wraps and yellow singlets.

  ‘The bleeding eventually stopped,’ Fable said, words materialising out of nowhere, ‘but the fear didn’t. Even after my belly button popped out, and I started feeling those fish-like flurries inside – the quickening – still I was convinced it would all be over any moment. I was growing my baby in thin, fruitless soil, and any second it would fall right out of me.’

  Sonnet had two pegs between her lips – a useful gag. She flapped another nappy over the line, listening.

  ‘Once the baby started moving, my fear only intensified. It made me cry, and I begged it to stop moving so much. All I could think was: the poor little thing’s just trying to hold on, even as the earth is slipping away beneath her.’

  ‘Haa?’ Sonnet asked around pegs.

  Fable’s hands slid from breast to pubic bone. ‘I got bigger and bigger. Her kicks became stronger, all the time. She was fighting to stay – even if I just couldn’t believe I’d hold on to her.’

  Sonnet clucked, eyes filling.

  ‘But I had to give her a chance, Sonny. And the only one I believed she had was coming home. If I could just get her into the waters of Serpentine Creek, I told myself, it would bind us up. Then I could keep her.’

  Sonnet reached for Fable’s trembling shoulders.

  ‘I knew you’d be angry, Sonnet. I knew the hopes you’d always had for me. But I had to come home. She belongs here, too. If I could save her, I thought it would all be worth it; all the recrimination, all your disappointment in me. I had to come home.’

  Sonnet held Fable’s head against her throat, closing her eyes over tears hot as the sun above.

  ‘Once I got her into Serpentine Creek, only then did I start to believe it might be all right. See, she’s safe here. She grows so strong now – and she kicks harder and happier in the creek than at any other time.’

  ‘Probably just the cold water.’

  ‘No. She’s a Hamilton. She’s home.’

  *

  ‘What did Kate have?’ Fable asked, watching Sonnet paint her toenails for her after a foot scrub and massage.

  ‘A girl.’

  ‘What did she call her?’

  ‘Amber. After a book I sold her once.’ Oh, how Sonnet had laughed over that one.

  ‘And how’s it going for her?’

  ‘It goes at all times of night, she hardly gets a minute to bathe and her useless husband wants to have another one already.’

  ‘Did she have a christening or anything? With all the Hardys . . . and the cousins and everyone?’

  ‘Don’t have the faintest, Fabes – why don’t you phone and ask her about all the baby stuff?’

  ‘No! Don’t you dare tell her about me!’

  ‘It was just an idea. You know Kate – she’d love to talk your ear off.’

  Fable frowned at her pearly toes. ‘You messed up that toe.’

  ‘Those who can’t reach their own feet shouldn’t criticise those who can.’

  *

  They were washing up together at the sink: melamine weaning bowls and spoons mixed in among their grandmother’s ancient crockery.

  ‘Tell me again, why didn’t you want any bottles or dummies?’ Sonnet asked, turning a tiny fork over in her tea towel.

  ‘Because I’m going to breastfeed and I don’t want to confuse the baby with other nipples.’

  Sonnet had a flashing image of other women pushing their nipples into her niece’s mouth. ‘Babies can get confused about that?’

  ‘Are you reading any of the passages I’ve been marking out for you?’

  Sonnet glanced at the kitchen table – birth and baby book high-rises under rapid development – and cleared her throat. ‘It’s only my job to procure the books, isn’t it?’

  ‘You are the worst aunt she’s ever had.’

  ‘At least I know about her.’

  Fable surprised Sonnet with genuine laughter. ‘Right place, right time, that’s all.’

  ‘See, there you go, sweetie,’ Sonnet crooned, reaching to pat the belly pushing close to her own. ‘Aunty Sonnet is always right.’

  Day by day, in this way, the walls were coming down – and a whole new enclosure going up around the sisters, one built with tiny stacks of infant clothing, piles of fresh linen, hospital-stay suitcases mounted by the door; the daily growing amity which confounded their aunt, and younger sister.

  *

  They were carting mail-order parcels home from Heartwood together. Sonnet carried the largest, containing a new white wicker bassinet. They’d had to fight off Olive’s heirloom Hamilton cot first. ‘Hideously old-fashioned!’ was the shot with which Sonnet had finally won the battle, as Fable nodded apologetically at her elbow.

  ‘I don’t want you to be worried about what I’m spending, Son.’

  ‘I’m not. You have your share of Mama’s money. And your own savings. Plus, I’m sure you have . . . other things in the works.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that,’ Fable said, stopping.

  Sonnet turned, heaving the bassinet up, all ears.

  ‘I am still working. I have books I’ll be collaborating on in the near future, and I have my own dreams, still. You need to know I can work from here just as well as I can in faraway Brisbane. This is just like . . . an intermission.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yep. Okay.’

  *

  Dr Fairley, having been once more to see Fable, was striding back up the hill to Heartwood, leather bag under an arm. Sonnet watched from the bay window, her belly heavy and warm. Having Jake inside her domain – tall and brown and smelling, somehow, of green apples and zinc – had been comforting, intimate. She hadn’t wanted the low murmuring voices in Fable’s bedroom to cease, or the bedroom door to open, or Jake to ever leave.

  ‘Do you reckon he’ll make it home safely?’ Fable’s voice, at her shoulder. ‘Should you follow him, just to be sure?’

  The sarcasm startled a blush right out of Sonnet.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. He’s your doctor.’

  ‘Too bad, because I know that look.’

  ‘What look?’

  ‘The one on your face. I’ve felt it, too.’ When Sonnet didn’t answer, Fable pinched her waist. ‘Actually, I’m beginning to worry there are better doctors in town, but maybe you just picked the dishiest one.’

  ‘I never!’ Sonnet cried, turning indignantly. ‘We didn’t have a choice!’

  ‘Oh boy, do I know that look . . .’

  *

  They sat in heat-hampered silence on the lo
unge each night with matching topknots. Sweat sprang from their graceful Hamilton necks, running long beneath their shirts, gathering under their knees. The rainforest stirred restlessly. Geckos chased each other, clucking noisily, round the walls.

  Sonnet was pretending to read one of Fable’s books, but was really watching the way Fable’s hand stroked her baby unconsciously, unceasingly.

  On Fable’s lap, below the more important work of her belly, lay a sketch pad. Every time Fable picked up her pen, it went back to the same point – a dark full stop, bleeding into the page.

  As was their new pattern, Fable started talking without preamble.

  ‘It’s not his fault. It’s mine.’

  Sonnet strove to fill the gaps, leaping blindly: ‘Nonsense! It takes two to tango.’

  Fable sighed, and tried again. ‘No. This.’ She waved a hand around the cottage. ‘That I’m here, and your problem.’

  ‘You’re not a problem, Fabes. Not to me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have to deal with me crashing back in on your empty nest, asking you to help me go through with it, especially all this secrecy, if it wasn’t for my cowardice.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve never met a braver person.’

  Fable sank over her belly. ‘I’m not, you have no idea.’

  Silence reigned for an agonising minute.

  Sonnet meted out her words cautiously. ‘If he hurt you . . . if that’s what happened . . . I’ll wring his bloody neck.’

  ‘No. He didn’t hurt me.’

  Sonnet frowned.

  Fable drew a sob back into her chest. ‘I am hurting, though. More than I ever imagined possible.’

  Sonnet pressed her temple against her sister’s, summoning the attack dog back on its ever-shortening leash. Who, barked that beast of fury, who, who, who!

  When she glanced once more at Fable’s sketch pad, she saw it was not a full stop, but a comma.

  CHAPTER 38

  BUILD-UP

  H

  igh summer came on as a grill – blisteringly; all at once. The worst build-up Noah had seen in decades, everyone said down the street, as they panted air so thick with humidity it was like drowning in a sauna. It’s going to be a Big Wet, they promised each other. Clouds foamed high and black over the mountains, rumbling impotently; sunsets ran blood red; bats dropped dead from the sky; the rainforest screeched for its due.