Summer at Mount Hope (10 page)

Suddenly there was a ruckus; the picnickers stood to see the fuss. The president of The Victorian Ploughmen's Association and three other gentlemen were marching two suffragettes to their buggy, gripping them by the elbows. They shoved the women up into their carriage, led them towards the driveway and let the horse go. The two women swung their buggy hard left, tearing straight across the ploughing field, their escorts hot on their tail. The buggy bounced alarmingly and the horse panicked, his head up racing. Pamphlets flew along in his wake while horse teams, bullocks, judges and competitors scattered before him. Spectators clapped, including Phoeba and Henrietta, who gave a long, loud whistle. The Widow Pearson lurched sideways at this, gasping, her complexion purple. But the daring suffragettes managed to circle the ploughing arena twice – and ruin it – before escaping.

‘Well,' said Phoeba, ‘that was worth a day out!'

Lilith said they needed to be doused with a bucket of cold sal volatile; Widow Pearson said it was a craze she hoped would disband, glaring at her daughter; Maude declared they'd ruin their families' reputations, ‘the way they make a spectacle of themselves'.

‘Henrietta does equal work with Hadley but she won't inherit the farm,' Phoeba pointed out and the Widow snapped, ‘That is none of your concern.'

‘And Mother,' said Henrietta, ‘how would you feel if you lost us because Dad divorced you?'

‘My husband died,' wailed the Widow and turned to tell the vicar all about her tragic life. But the vicar had left in search of better luncheon baskets.

‘Gone to Mrs Jessop,' said Aunt Margaret, patting Widow Pearson's hand. ‘Mrs Jessop has fresh cream.'

‘Ooops,' said Hadley, scratching at the dripped pickles on his new wool pants.

‘Our new washing machine will get the stain out,' said the Widow, triumphantly. ‘Did I mention, Mrs Crupp, that Hadley has ordered us a washing machine from Lassetters?'

‘They say,' sniffed Maude, ‘that those machines only wash as well as the person turning the handle.'

At three o'clock the produce tent filled with the babbling crowd. Henrietta and Phoeba stood with Hadley at the front. Patiently waiting on the podium were the judges from the Ploughmen's Association and Mr Titterton and Marius Overton. The vicar rolled up to the front uninvited and stood with the judges, his chins raised in anticipation. Marius spoke. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen' – the crowd hushed, the air of expectation rising – ‘the judges and I have inspected the furrows and reached our conclusion. But before I announce the winners, we will need someone suitable to present the awards.'

The vicar said, ‘Of course!' and stepped onto the podium, but as he did so, Marius looked down and extended his hand to Phoeba saying, ‘Miss Crupp?'

From nowhere, Lilith reached out and took Marius's hand. He had no option but to welcome her onto the platform. The vicar turned suddenly as if someone had called his name. Marius cleared his throat. ‘The winner in section one, single furrow plough, two-horse team is, Mr Hadley Pearson.'

Thank goodness, thought Phoeba. Hadley entered every year but this was the first time he had won.

Lilith presented him with a silver-plated ham-bone holder and matching marrow spoon with the aplomb of someone who'd officiated at ceremonies all her life. But it was Phoeba Hadley looked to, joy and triumph in his eyes.

The marquee had been dismantled and the bunting rolled away, The General returned to his comfortable enclosure under the shearing shed, the brass band was long gone and a child's cap blew along the plough ruts. Mr Titterton and Hadley rode back to Elm Grove between sweeping paddocks tinged with orange rays from the setting sun.

‘The General is a remarkable ram,' said Hadley. ‘He's thick through the heart and perhaps thirty pounds good wool on him, at a guess.'

They approached the intersection, Mr Titterton looking disapprovingly at the thistles and other weeds that grew thick along the boulder fences, spilling into the paddocks.

‘City people just don't know,' said Mr Titterton. ‘Raising hogs is the thing. Manageable animal, your hog, and big, lots of meat on 'em. People will always want bacon, but no good ever came from grapes. And sheep can be ruined in no time through scab or footrot.'

Hadley could have responded that good management would prevent these things but he was more concerned about the campfires that dotted the shadowy hill behind the Crupps' cottage: the workers, he thought. And no good would come of them if they couldn't get work.

That night at Elm Grove, the Pearsons and Mr Titterton settled around the dining-room table. Henrietta had baked rabbit and potatoes and she proudly placed the silver-plated ham-bone holder and matching marrow spoon in front of Hadley's place at the head of the table. But Hadley's mother turned to him. ‘Let Mr Titterton take the head of the table tonight, Hadley,' she said.

Hadley's jaw dropped and Henrietta began, ‘But mother—'

‘You take your usual place near the kitchen, Henrietta.'

Mr Titterton said grace and an icy silence settled in the room. Hadley found the food difficult to swallow and Henrietta slid most of her potatoes into her napkin and shoved it in her pocket.

Mr Titterton breathed on Hadley's silver-plated prize, whipping out his creased and slightly stiff handkerchief and polishing it.

‘I put in a good word for you,' he said, with a smirk to Hadley.

Widow Pearson smiled as if this was the greatest generosity, but Hadley looked destroyed.

‘You did?'

‘Think nothing of it,' said Mr Titterton, all graciousness, ‘and your furrows were among the best—'

‘They were the best,' said Henrietta, ‘truly, they were.'

‘Calm down, Henrietta,' snapped her mother.

Hadley put down his knife and pushed away his plate. He hadn't won fair and square. He wondered if everyone knew. ‘I've had a big day,' he said. ‘I think I'll—'

‘No, Hadley,' gasped his mother. ‘Mr Titterton has something else to say. Something important.' She fanned her face as if it might push the air towards her thin blue mouth.

Mr Titterton stood up, smoothed the shiny strands of hair on either side of his sparse middle part, and stretched one arm along the mantelpiece. He looked down at Hadley and smiled. Hadley didn't smile back; he focused his gaze on Mr Titterton's forehead, avoiding those dentures.

‘Son,' said Mr Titterton gravely, ‘your mother and I are to be married.' He lowered his mouth to touch Widow Pearson's hand as she reached out to him. ‘Your mother will join me at Overton.'

‘In the manager's house,' said the Widow happily. It took a second for the information to register.

Henrietta held her breath, wiping her palms on her apron. How embarrassing, she thought. What will people think? They'll share a bed.

Hadley stammered, ‘Congratulations,' but the implications of all this were circling, waving at him like enemy flags over the crest of a hill.

‘Thank you, Hadley, son.'

Widow Pearson pointed to the sideboard drawer where her precious house plans were kept. ‘And while we are at Overton Mr Titterton will have the new house built for us.'

‘To retire to,' interjected Mr Titterton, ‘although my days as stock overseer at Overton are not over yet.'

Henrietta sat very still, trying to take it all in, trying to grasp what was truly happening. Could it be that she would stay here, with Hadley? Could it be that her mother would have maids at Overton, that Henrietta would be free? She was breathless with anticipated joy.

‘Hadley, you must thank Mr Titterton for the recommendation too,' said her mother. ‘He secured your position at Overton for you.'

Hadley frowned: had he achieved nothing on his own?

Mr Titterton pointed to him with his pipe. ‘You must take advantage of your new career – travel, gain experience with all types of sheep in all conditions. In that way you can improve the land here at Elm Grove as you planned.' The enemy was marching down the hill; Mr Titterton would take over Hadley's inheritance, Hadley saw, while Hadley paid for the improvements to Elm Grove that Mr Titterton would supervise to his satisfaction in order that the property would support him comfortably until his death.

‘I will have a family,' said Mr Titterton, ‘something I've never had the privilege to enjoy.'

‘And,' thought Hadley, ‘you will have a property, and my cash flow while I wait until you die to inherit my own future.' Hadley moved his gaze to the dull fireplace, his heart pounding. What about his future? What about Phoeba? Their future? And then it occurred to him: she might marry him if his mother lived at Overton! And if she did, he could work at Overton, save, secure the farm, build his own new house. For Phoeba and for their children.

Beside him, Henrietta crossed all her fingers. Please let Hadley ask if I can stay at Elm Grove with him. Please let me stay and care for him, mind the house when he's away working.

‘Of course Henrietta will come with me,' said Widow Pearson and Henrietta felt something inside her sink. Everything was empty, pointless. She was to be maid to the overseer and his wife, her mother, in the manager's house.

Who would look after his sheep when he went away, Hadley wondered – and then he realised that was why Mr Titterton got him the job, was urging him to travel, to ‘gain experience'. Mr Titterton wanted Hadley out of the way. Mr Titterton wanted Elm Grove. Hadley stood up to face him. ‘I plan to marry soon too.'

Henrietta leapt up next to him. ‘And I might get married as well … one day.' She wasn't sure how that changed anything, but it felt good to say something.

Their mother leaned back against her chair back while Mr Titterton took his pipe from between his dentures and stared at Hadley, confused. ‘Who?'

‘I have an … understanding with Phoeba Crupp,' he said, his confidence waning.

‘He has,' nodded Henrietta.

‘Nice piece of land, Crupps'.' Mr Titterton put his pipe back in his mouth.

But the Widow exploded, ‘I won't have it!' Hadley winced. ‘It is obvious Phoeba Crupp is not sweet at all – she has straight hair!'

It occurred to Hadley to point out that his mother had straight hair but, given that she wasn't prone to sweetness, he thought better of it.

‘She is sweet,' said Henrietta, fiercely. ‘And she's sturdy and she's a good worker. Like me.' Then wished she hadn't said it: it made them sound like plough horses.

‘Pipe down!' hissed her mother. ‘She's pithy. Her sister is flighty. Her mother is a ridiculous town woman and she has a mad aunt.' She struggled for breath.

‘Dearest, I'm sure she'll mellow once she has children and family to consider,' said Mr Titterton patting her hand, ‘and the love of a husband.'

‘No husband will have her,' said the Widow Pearson. ‘She rides astride.'

Henrietta flinched. So did she when her mother wasn't looking. She crept to the kitchen and began to plunge the plates into hot soapy dishwater. Hadley followed her, absentmindedly rubbing a tea towel over the sudsy china and stacking it in the kitchen cupboard. ‘She hasn't said yes, yet,' he whispered.

‘Phoeba's not the only peach on the tree,' Henrietta whispered back gently.

‘But she's the peachiest.'

Hadley spent his last night at home lying in his old bed staring at his books about sheep, his albums of pressed leaves and grasses, his illustrated book of knots. On top of the bureau a tin globe caught the moonlight and the Pacific Ocean glowed dull blue. He must find a way to make it work, he hadn't waited so long to let it slip away. He would sink every last penny he earned into Elm Grove. At the season's conclusion at Overton he'd come home and move into his mother's room, change the house to suit a man with a job and a property, a future. He would take work close by, any kind of work – ploughing, harvesting, stacking grain sacks onto trains. Anything. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out the pamphlet: ‘Women are for equal rights with men and we are fighting for the same laws and advantages, the same pay for the same work.'

Phoeba would marry him and build a future with him, as partners. Equal.

In her narrow bed next door, Henrietta twirled the end of her plait around and around her fingers. She wanted to ride bareback and throw away her corset. She wanted to sow oats and shear sheep like German women in South Australia she'd read about. She wanted Hadley to marry Phoeba so they could all live together, happily. She didn't want to be a maid at Overton.

Her mother would be happy there, happy as the stock overseer's wife. She would live on and on – it would be years before Henrietta was free. Tears slid down her cheeks pooling in her ears, and her large body twitched with misery.

Sunday, January 7, 1894

I
t was very early on Sunday morning that Aunt Margaret sat up in bed, turned to Phoeba and said, ‘I heard creatures roaming in the night.' Her salt-and-pepper hair hung lank about her shoulders but her green eyes shone brightly in the morning sun.

‘That's Mother,' said Phoeba. ‘She gets hot in the night and goes out to stand in the front yard. She believes dangerous creatures sleep at night.' She threw back her sheet. It could also have been swaggies passing through, or shearers heading to Overton, she thought. The shearing would start the next day. She padded down the hall pulling on her dressing gown, vaguely conscious that something might not be right: the kitchen seemed strangely dark.

It took her a moment to comprehend that Spot was standing at the kitchen table, his smell crowding the small room. His rump in the doorway blocked the light and his nose rested on the table next to the saltcellar.

‘Good morning Spotty,' said Phoeba, gently. ‘What would you like, toast or porridge?'

He swung his head around to look out through the door and Phoeba placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his nose and backed him out, his sharp hoofs cracking against the floor. The screen door had been torn off and lay on the back porch; the chicken coop gate hung open, the chooks happily scratching and pecking away in the vegetable garden. Maggie was not waiting on her milking table, chewing her cud. Fear crawled up Phoeba's spine.