Daughter of Australia (40 page)

“First thing, before daylight,” said Mrs. Shelby. “Train leaves at seven.”

“Tom,” Leonora ventured. “Please use the car. I won't need it.”

“Thanks.” Tom nodded. “It's a good idea. Save us some time.”

“Train is just fine.” Mrs. Shelby's cheeks reddened as she stabbed her fork into the meat. “Shelbys never needed charity and don't need it now. A car!” she grunted. “Won't have our family putting on airs.”

“That's enough, Mum!” Tom slammed his fist on the table, the girls jumping under his sudden temper. “This ain't like you.”

Leonora rose, felt ill. “I'll start cleaning up,” she muttered.

“No, you sit!” Tom ordered. “You got no right bein' rude to our guest, Mum. The Harringtons have been good as gold to James an' me. I nearly bled t'death from a bullock's horn an' she fixed me up better than any doc in the county. We got a good job there, Mum. Already paid off the taxes 'cause of it. This ain't like you. An' I don't like talkin' to you like this, Mum. I don't. But you owe this woman an apology.”

Leonora wilted, wanted to slink under the table. “It's all right, Tom.”

“No, it's not,” said Mrs. Shelby weakly. “Tommie's right.” She blinked at Leonora as if finally seeing her. “Like I got a thorn in my side that's twistin'. Pain makin' me so mad, I can't think straight.” Her fingers fluttered to her cheeks, bounced as if she didn't recognize her own skin. “I just got to bury my boys. You see? Can't think straight. Got that thorn twistin' an' pokin' me.” Her voice dropped. “Won't stop till I bury my boys.”

Leonora covered her mouth with her napkin and nodded, tried to hold back the tears. She placed the cloth down. “May I help you in the kitchen?” she asked.

The woman took a long breath and stood. “I'd like the help. Thank you.”

 

The Shelby home was just that—a home. Small, cut dashes lined the door frame to the library, marking the many heights of many children over many years; scuffs centered the wood floors from endless walking and running feet; worn, mismatched dishes lined the cupboards. Food, enough for an army, overflowed from the pantry and larder. Laughter and voices and stories papered the walls and the very home; the very depth of the place embraced the body with a sincere warmth. This was where James had spent much of his childhood, and as Leonora let her fingertips caress the patched upholstery and the dusty leather bindings of the books and silken hair of the children she felt a heavy, sweet gratitude that James had known such a life.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Shelby cleared the last of the dishes from the table. James and Tom sat with cups of coffee, looking refreshed and well fed. Mrs. Shelby greeted from the sink without looking back, “Mornin'. There's coffee and eggs if you like.” Then the woman turned with a slight smile. “You sleep all right? That bed isn't the best.”

“Haven't slept that well in a long, long time,” Leonora answered.

“Mum's snorin' didn't keep you up?” Tom teased. “Thought the roof was gonna cave in.”

Mrs. Shelby reached over and delivered a slap to his head.

“Ouch!” Tom winced. “Told you not t'beat me in front of company.”

Mrs. Shelby shot him a look but couldn't disguise her humor. She turned to James. “Sure the girls aren't gonna be too much for you, son?”

“Sure. Besides, I got the princess here to help me.” He winked at Leonora.

“Aren't you going?” she asked him in surprise.

James shook his head, his brows low. Mrs. Shelby saw the expression on his face. “You're family, James. You know that. Got just as much right t'be there as we do.”

“I know that,” said James with a nod. “Still think it's best if I stay here. I'll check in with the sharecroppers, take care of the animals. Besides, I miss the girls.”

Tom and Mrs. Shelby left soon after in the ebbing dawn. “We'll be back tomorrow!” Tom shouted over the engine. “Try an' stay outta trouble till then!”

Leonora and James watched from the verandah as the blue exhaust diffused. “Glad they took the car,” noted James. “Mrs. Shelby deserves to ride in style once in her life.”

“Fair dinkum.” Leonora nodded.

James laughed. “You're sounding more like an Aussie every day, Leo.”

She smiled mischievously and rolled up her sleeves. “Enough of this bloody yabber, mate. This 'ouse won't clean itself, eh?” She returned to the kitchen with the warmth of James's grin on her back.

 

Little eyes lined the edge of the kitchen's door frame and watched her cook. Leonora played their game and pretended she couldn't see them. She scraped the eggs in the cast-iron skillet, the underside golden brown with butter. The bacon and sausage patties spit and left dark spots along the black stove, then hissed with greater fury as she flipped them over. And in this simple work she found Heaven. It didn't matter that it wasn't her food or her pans or her children.

Leonora scooped the food onto the set plates and the children snuck out like rabbits in a freshly tilled garden. She looked up in surprise. “Where did you all come from?”

The little girls bounced to their seats and set upon their food. Elbows and prodding eyes jabbed at Rachael, the oldest and, apparently, the designated speaker. Rachael shushed the children and addressed maturely, “Mrs. Harrington, did Mum an' Tom leave?”

“They did. First thing.” She smiled. “And please call me Leonora.”

The eyes slithered to their big sister again. “I'm Rachael. The oldest.”

“And how old are you, Rachael?”

“Fourteen.”

“A woman, then?”

The girl stretched her neck out proudly. “Nearly.”

“Well, I'll be counting on your help then, Rachael. We women need to stick together.”

A light beamed from the girl's face. “Gracie an' Charlotte,” Rachael ordered as her eyes flitted to Leonora for approval, “please keep your elbows off the table when you're eatin'. An' Sarah an' Annie, stop fidgeting!”

James entered the kitchen then, his arms loaded with rough-cut wood, the muscles in his forearms still active and formed from chopping. “Don't think there's a prettier group of ladies in all of Australia than right here,” he said. The girls giggled as he stacked the wood near the stove.

James peeked over Leonora's shoulder, his skin smelling of fresh eucalyptus. She nearly dropped the fork in the hot grease. “Want to sit with the girls?” he asked. “I'll clean up.”

“No, you go. They've missed you.” Leonora looked into the handsome face, let her gaze trail down his neck to the open collar of his shirt. She cleared her throat and turned back to the pan. “Are you hungry?”

“I am. Woke up so early, feels like it's lunchtime already.” James sat down with the girls, their faces open in affection.

“James,” Rachael asked, “is it true you an' Tom went drovin'?”

“It is.” He reached for his fork. “Two hundred thousand head.”

The girls stopped eating. “See any snakes?”

“Run into any bushrangers?”

“Abos sneak up on you?”

James finished chewing. “Yes. Yes. And no.” He shot Charlotte a look. “Don't listen to those kids at school. Aborigines aren't out to hurt anybody. You know better than that.”

“What kind of snakes?”

“Couple of taipans. A gwardar. Nearly stepped on a death adder coming out of my tent one morning.”

“They bite you?”

“Wouldn't be here if they had.”

“And rangers? Real-life bushrangers?”

James nodded, finished his food and brought the plate up to the sink. “Three of them. Had guns and masks and everything.”

“Are you joking?” Leonora asked stiffly.

“Not at all.” James pushed up his sleeves and began washing the plate with circular, casual movements. “To be expected.”

“What you do?” asked Sarah breathlessly.

“An old trick Tom learned from your dad. Start running around yelling and shouting so much the cattle start stomping in circles. Rangers get scared and confused. Horses get too frightened to control. Crooks end up thinking there's more of us than there are, so they're off.”

Crikey,
the children mouthed in unison.

“All right, girls.” James laughed and clapped his hands to break their trance. “Bring up those dishes and get dressed.”

Leonora joined James at the sink, dried the dishes as he washed them. “Was that true about the bushrangers?” she asked.

“Mostly. Except for the end.” James chuckled softly as he scrubbed the hot water in the greasy pan. “Tom stripped down naked and started chasing the poor bastards like a lunatic. Probably would have shot him if they hadn't started laughing so hard. Anyway, Tom brought out the bourbon and they all had a good drink.”

“Naked?” She laughed.

“Bare-ass naked. All night.” James raised his eyebrows. “Nearly left with the bushrangers myself just so I didn't have to look at his white bum. Pale as a full ugly moon, that one.”

Leonora pressed her soapy wrist to her mouth and laughed until her side hurt. James bent with his own quiet laughter, then scooted her away from the sink with his hip and scolded her with a grin, “Compose yourself, woman!”

 

While James met with the neighbors out in the far paddocks, Leonora spent the day indoors with the chores. She made the beds, smoothing out the sheets in careful strokes. She dusted the bookshelves and piano, ran the duster around and over the furniture, the feathered end whipping around like a weasel. She washed the girls' dresses and pressed them with the copper, her face reddening from the steam. And she knew the foolishness of her joy in the work, but it was true joy and she wished silently with each broom stroke and hiss of the iron that this was her life.

Later in the day, she peeled the carrots and turnips and potatoes and watched out the window. James ran in the field with Gracie on his back, the other girls chasing at his heels. Then, when they caught him, he put down the girl and picked up another, ran again. Finally, he lay on his back exhausted even as the girls pulled at his arms and legs to get him moving. Leonora stopped peeling and laughed until tears wet her cheeks. James pretended he was asleep, lulled the girls into a sulking impatience and then jumped up, chased them into a screaming frenzy. And Leonora watched, slowly now, her laughter calmed, her smile even, and once again she wished, with more sadness than before, that this was her life.

That evening, the moon was high. Dinner was over. Little bellies were full again; faces were washed; a few mouths yawned above nightgowns. James lay on the couch, the girls piled on his lap as he read
The Magic Pudding
. One by one, he carried the sleeping children up to bed. When he returned to the kitchen, the house was quiet for the first time. Nature now had the space to enter and the rhythmic drone of crickets and chirr of frogs grew from beyond the screens.

James leaned against the wall and watched Leonora put the clean dishes back on the paper-lined shelves. She turned to him and met his smile. His long, strong body was loose and relaxed and brought her heart throbbing.

“You're really good with them,” Leonora told him, her face soft. “You'll make a good father someday.”

“Think so?”

“I do.”

“I love kids. Want fifty of them,” he said shyly.

“Fifty? Guess that explains why you're not married!” she teased.

“Certainly doesn't help,” he agreed. James stretched his back against the wall and rubbed his right shoulder absently. His eyes rested on hers and it was too easy to hold the look, as easy and comfortable as breathing.

The heat moved from the stove to her face. “I should probably turn in.”

“Not yet. You've been cooped up in here all day.” He inched close, took her hand. “You're coming with me, young lady.” The touch of his large hand covering and holding hers was stupefying and she followed him without thought or words—only the feeling of his palm against her palm and his fingers interlaced between her fingers and the heat that throbbed up her wrist all the way to her shoulder.

They walked out to the screened verandah and then to the summer night. The warm air wrapped around her skin, felt cool compared to the trapped heat of the house.

Slowly and with prolonged effort, James dropped her hand, but they walked close. Occasionally, their arms would brush. In the balmy air, the crickets and frogs and the strange and shrill call of the curlews grew in volume and engulfed them in a vibration of sound.

Leonora's hand was awkward without his and she stretched out her fingers as if they were numb. “Where was your house?” she asked finally. “The O'Reilly property.”

In the blue dark, his features muted with varying expressions and his face was soft with shadows. “About eight miles that way.” He pointed with his chin.

“May I see it?”

“No,” he answered with stern quickness. “Burned down. Place was hardly a shack.” James grew quiet for a moment and glanced at her worried face. “Tess—she was my aunt,” he explained softly. “She was a good woman, a great woman, actually. Huge heart. After she died, everything just fell apart. Not many good memories from over that way.”

“What was your uncle like?”

“Shamus?” James sighed. “Like I said, not many good memories from over that way.”

They crested a tiny hill and James shook off whatever ghost was chasing him. “Close your eyes!” he ordered. She clamped her eyes shut as commanded.