Daughter of Australia (15 page)

Then such a sound! The Heavens released and erupted atop the house.
Slap, slap, slap—
thick coins dropping into an iron can—
slap, slap, slap
—till they blended together in one glorious note. And now chests sent out held air, and eyes closed in prayer and faces thawed into smiles disguised as frowns in heavy thankfulness.

A streak of lightning cracked out the window, the clap of thunder riding its heel. Cheers and tears released unabashed. They were no longer squatters or colonials, farmers or renters, Irish or English or German, preachers or drinkers, but people of the land. And the crowd hugged Mrs. Shelby for they all knew the significance and the clear face of the miracle—Mr. Shelby had no sooner entered the gates of Heaven than he broke open the clouds and sent rain to his land.

So began the freedom and joy of the green years—the sigh of the county—the slaps on the backs between neighbors and pulling up of waistbands that said,
We made it. It's gonna be orright.
So began wheat that grew green and pumped with veins no different from blood. And the wheat matured, browned and grew gold, blew in the breeze and rippled soft as calf fur.

James found freedom in the green years. He grew to love the wheat, the white and yellow everlasting blossoms, the delicate spider orchids, the cool riverbeds that gushed from hibernation, the pink galahs that sang from the trees—grew to love them as much as the sea.

Shamus hired an Aborigine to help in the fields, and while the work still consumed each day, there was time for freedom at the Shelby library, for campouts in the bush with the boys, horse races across the paddocks, swims in the deep creek beds. There was freedom for limbs to grow and muscles to thicken as boys grew into men.

In the green years, it was easy to overlook that which was not fresh and bright and blooming. It was easy to look past Tess's pallor and the dark circles that grew purple under her eyes and the smile that faced you and then winced as it turned from view. She made it easy to believe that the lines of pain stretching down her cheeks were only furrows of reflection. If one asked after her health or stared too long in examination, she would pull a sparkle to her eyes and tsk at such silliness. And a man becomes easily appeased, for he does not want to see the thorns hidden within his Eden. No worries when the ground is lush and the rain is full!

These were the green years when the ground cracked open and sprouted from every pore, a world teeming with life—even as Tess's started to slip away.

T
he clouds left Pittsburgh. The last drops of rain on Leonora's bedroom window evaporated with the emerging sun. The day would be dry of storms, but would remain damp.

Leonora sighed, turned her head on the pillow and faced the door, long auburn hair spilling around her shoulders. The adornments of the bedroom were the same as the day she filled her role as a Fairfield. Pink-blossomed wallpaper and chestnut bureaus had witnessed her growth from child to adult and yet she felt little changed beyond form. Her body had lengthened and slimmed; hips and breasts drew curves against her silhouette. By all accounts, she was a woman now. But her angled yet soft face implied a confidence and sophistication she did not feel.

Far away in the distance, an ambulance wailed. Her heart thumped. No one else in the house would hear the siren, a remote hum from the valley, but it caught her ear as a silent whistle would a dog's. The Fairfields were donating a wing to the hospital and she was to attend the dedication ceremony—a moment of freedom, a moment of release from the house she was nearly forbidden to leave. Her ears followed the waning trail of the siren until it whimpered and disappeared in the valley's muzzle. Her heart thumped again. If she was going to bring up her desire to attend nursing school, today would need to be the day.

“You're not wearing that!” Eleanor scolded when she saw Leonora coming down the stairs. “We're donating a wing, not taking the nurses to tea. Wear something patriotic.”

Leonora changed, met back at the stairs for the next round of editing.

Her aunt glanced at the dress. “That'll do.”

The black Rolls idled in the drive as the chauffeur held open the door. “Have you heard from Mr. Fairfield?” Eleanor asked as she bristled past the servant.

“No, ma'am.”

“He was supposed to come in yesterday.” She grimaced. “Just like him.” The door closed, the women settled into seats. “Your uncle's as stubborn as a badger. Every sane man is scrambling to get out of Europe and Owen is digging his toes in the bloody soil. Now I've got to do the whole ceremony myself.” Eleanor rubbed her long neck, stuck out her chin. “I've half a mind to change the locks. Let him stew in the stables for a bit.”

Leonora slanted against the door, tried not to attract more attention than necessary. She knew the anger would spill her way at any moment.

Mrs. Fairfield picked at the graying hair above her ears, tucking in strands that were already well tucked. “The
Post-Gazette
will be covering the story. Try not to clam up.” She waved her hand. “Don't say too much, of course. Just that we support our allies—the importance of doing our part—you understand?”

This was the opening Leonora was waiting for, but as she opened her mouth to speak her throat closed. She lowered her head in defeat. “Yes, ma'am.”

Eleanor scanned her. “You were going to say something. What was it?”

There was no escape. A blush rose to Leonora's face as she stammered to form a coherent word under her aunt's gaze. “I-I-I'm . . . I . . .”

“Speak, for God's sake!”

Anger suddenly eclipsed the fear and Leonora met her gaze, swallowed hard. “I want to go to nursing school.”

Eleanor laughed. “Yes, yes, Owen told me all about your little idea. He thought it as stupid as I did. We both had a good laugh actually.”

The slap was instant, a sting without touch. “That's not true.” The anger and disbelief swirled in her mind. “He said he supported my decision. He . . . he said he would think about it.”

“Have you learned nothing about my husband over these years, Leonora? Owen says whatever serves him at the moment. He would tell you the sky was green just to make you smile.” Then, under her breath, she murmured with a hint of jealousy, “Pathetic.

“Nursing school is out of the question. No woman with the Fairfield name will be working like a paid servant. A nurse is nothing more than a maid to a sick person.” Eleanor leaned forward to examine her reflection in the driver's mirror. “The answer is ‘no' and I expect never to hear it brought up again.”

Leonora held her tears at bay, forced them with sheer will to stay down. “But I'm nearly done with my studies. What would you have me do?”

“You'll marry into a good family and have lots of babies and happy memories!” she spit sarcastically. “Now enough of this chatter.” She shook her head like she had an itch and rubbed her throat. “We'll be at the hospital soon and you're all red and agitated. That's not the way to make a first impression, especially with the press.” The woman's fingers scratched at her throat again. “Of course, who's to say what sort of reception we'll get after you scorned Dr. Edwards. My God, Leonora, the man only asked you to dinner.”

Leonora turned to the window. The scorn was a polite refusal to the forty-year-old board director whose eyes never looked above her breasts.

Eleanor settled into her lace collar and relaxed. “Well, at any rate, the hospital is not the place to meet a husband. Trust me. Half the doctors will be shipped out soon and the ones who are left are too old or inept.”

The car descended into the city, the buildings dripping with varying levels of black and gray, a mirror of Leonora's heart. The conversation, the hope, was smashed. All that was left was the urge to cry, to disappear, to melt into nothing even as she was squaring her shoulders for the latest Fairfield function.

The driver pulled to the entrance of the hospital and helped the women out to the sidewalk to the awaiting swarm of businessmen and government officials turned out for the ceremony, not out of support for the new wing, as it was not as grand as some others, but out of fear of losing favor with a family such as the Fairfields through absence.

As the photographers set up tripods and held flashes high in the air, the men pushed comically against one another lest they get cut from the frame and have no record of attendance. They fought to shake Mrs. Fairfield's hand, to promise future social dates and gush what a lovely young woman her niece had become. Leonora nodded and smiled, shook hands, let the compliments and praise fade into the pitch of voices like a foreign language.

After the crowd dispersed and their vision speckled with camera flashes, the doctors escorted the women to the new wing, touring between aisles of steel beds, sheeted in white, half-opened in crisp triangles below propped pillows.

“The war should be over long before America sends a man.” Dr. Edwards spoke confidently to Leonora's bosom. “However, it's important to be prepared,” he continued to Mrs. Fairfield's neck. “Besides, the English hospitals are overflowing.”

“We must do everything we can to support our allies,” recited Mrs. Fairfield.

The reporter from the
Gazette
scribbled down every word but paused to look at Leonora. He was a little older than she, a thin pencil mustache above his lip. “And you, miss, is there anything you'd like to add?”

She lowered her head.

Mrs. Fairfield narrowed her eyes. “My
niece
was just mentioning how important it is for the younger generation to see beyond themselves to the higher good of the masses.”

“Ah,” said the reporter as he kept his eyes glued on Leonora. “So, philanthropy runs in the family. Do you plan on volunteering here at the hospital?”

Just then the cage door opened and bird wings flapped in her stomach. “Yes,” she almost shouted. The group stopped. Eleanor's eyes grew to saucers.

The wings flapped louder in Leonora's throat. “Yes. I'd like to volunteer—to work here. Anything to help.” The voice that came out shocked her with its boldness.

“Wonderful news,” said Dr. Edwards as he scanned her hips. “We'd be pleased to have you. We'll set you up with the Red Cross. When would you like to start?”

“Tomorrow.” The word tumbled out. Mrs. Fairfield closed her eyes for a moment, her jaw clenched and rigid below the high cheekbones.

The reporter wrote down every word, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. “Great way to round out the piece—one family making a difference in big and small ways.”

Leonora's aunt did not speak for the rest of the tour, only nodded politely at Dr. Edwards's directives. But Leonora could hardly contain her joy and looked upon the white walls, the linoleum floor and echoing halls as trails to freedom.

After lunch, the driver pulled the car to the sidewalk. The Fairfield ladies presented their hands for the round of cold lips and many thanks.

“We'll see you tomorrow, Leonora,” said Dr. Edwards with a wink.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Dr. Edwards closed the car door, shutting out the noise from the city and magnifying the space between Leonora and her aunt. Leonora kept her gaze cemented to the window as the car turned into the street, her aunt's eyes burning her skin.

“You must feel pretty proud of yourself,” Eleanor began, tugging at each finger until her gloves sat folded on her lap like a second pair of hands.

Leonora waited for the rug to be pulled.

“I admit, I didn't think you had initiative. I'm not sure whether I should be angry or proud.” The woman cocked her head, inspected her. “Of course, watching you stand up for yourself is a bit like watching a blind man cross the street. Pitiful, actually.”

The flutters died and the cage locked.

“However, I'm going to allow it.”

Leonora's head snapped up.

“I don't have to,” her aunt corrected. “I could easily find an excuse as to why you're needed at home. But I've decided not to fight you on this one.” She rolled her eyes. “Why you'd want to spend time in that place is beyond me, but that's neither here nor there.”

Leonora savored her fortune, tried to keep the excitement from showing, but her aunt saw it like blinking lights. “A note of warning, Leonora. I've indulged you this time. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, it will not end in your favor. I suggest you don't try to test me.

“Look at me.” Eleanor tapped her roughly on the knee. “You don't talk to anyone, understand? Do your work, roll bandages or whatever nonsensical job they have you do, and that's it. You'll need to make up your studies in the evening. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Mrs. Fairfield's fingers tapped on her purse as they passed the first gate to the estate drive. “Knowing you, you'll fall in love with some crippled soldier. Just like you try to save those mangy alley dogs.” Her disgust suddenly shifted and her body shot upright as if someone pulled her hair. She peered over the driver's shoulder. “Owen's home.”

Eleanor tossed her purse and coat to the maid and walked briskly toward clinking glasses in the library. Leonora took her time removing her coat before following.

“You're late!” her aunt scolded, the reprimand too clouded in relief to be terse. “We expected you yesterday.”

Owen Fairfield kissed his wife on the cheek while juggling a cigar in one hand and an amber drink in the other. “The time change, dear. Always takes me by surprise.”

She rolled her eyes. “Time change!” she huffed. “You're a man who lives by the world's clock. Nothing takes you by surprise.”

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Ah, I've missed you, my love.”

Just then Eleanor noticed the man leaning leisurely at the bar. She rubbed her hands down her hips. “I didn't realize we had a guest.” Leonora followed her aunt's gaze. Her breath caught.

The man stepped forward and Owen placed a hand to his shoulder. “Ladies, I'd like to introduce you to Alexander Harrington.”

Alex took Eleanor's hand and brought it to his lips, her eyebrows rising oddly. “Good evening, Mrs. Fairfield,” he greeted. The young man turned to Leonora, inched close, picked up her hand and kissed it, his lips lingering and soft against her knuckles, sending goose bumps across her arms and up her legs. “Hello, Leonora.” He dropped her hand and slid his eyes over her figure. “It's a true pleasure.”

Eleanor Fairfield watched the interaction with growing enthusiasm, her lips twitching into an inexperienced smile. Owen squeezed the young man's shoulder again and announced, “Alex has been managing our mine in Bombay.”

A maid brought white wine on a silver tray. Eleanor shoved a glass into Leonora's hand, prodded her to drink, then turned back to their guest. “And how are you finding India?”

“Hot.” Alex smiled, revealing rows of white, straight teeth. “Depending on the time of year, it can be wet or dry, but always hot.” He smirked, his lips well formed and sensual. “India's hard as she is beautiful. Not another place on the earth like it. Thanks to the British, I can still enjoy some normal comforts. Of course, everything's scarce with the war.”

“You won't be returning anytime soon, I hope?” Eleanor asked coyly.

“That's up to your husband.”

Eleanor dangled her glass between two long fingers, cocked her head. “How old are you, Mr. Harrington?”

“Twenty-seven.”

She ran her finger along the rim of the glass, the wine making her amused, her eyes skeptical.

Alex crossed his arms and returned the look, unflinching. “By your expression, Mrs. Fairfield, you're either impressed or troubled. I can't tell which.”

“Both, actually.” She smiled. “I'm impressed by your ambition. However, I'm disappointed in my husband.”

Owen raised his eyebrows against the accusation. “And what have I done?”

“To waste such a handsome and charming man in the pits of Bombay!”