Summer at Mount Hope (26 page)

‘You hardly help us cavorting with you coxcomb popinjay friend, Margaret, and where is Lilith?' Maude smashed the top of her egg.

‘One could assume,' said Margaret, ‘that she was at the outcrop with her dalliance.'

‘He's coming,' said Lilith coming into the room with the pincushion for her mother to admire. ‘You'd better get up, Mother.'

‘If you'd held your tongue, Lilith, Mrs Overton might have been more amenable—'

‘You always think you know best, Phoeba.'

‘It's galling, Lilith,' said Maude, pressing her palms to her temples. ‘All these people think you are sullied.'

Lilith gazed back at her with blue eyes that were clear, constant and quite sincere. ‘You can expect a different life now, Mother. The front pew at church, the theatre, shopping in Melbourne—'

‘I think you're getting more than you expect, my dear,' said Maude, sucking the egg from her spoon.

‘And I think,' said Phoeba, ‘that we will all get a lot we didn't expect.'

Margaret and Ashley, Lilith and Marius, and Phoeba sat at the kitchen table in the humid silence. Maude marched down the passage and stood in the doorway – the back of her dress was unbuttoned and her powder was applied in dusty pink smudges.

She glared at the squatter's son.

‘You have ruined our reputation,' she said, but her livid resolve softened. She didn't want to scare him off.

‘I know we should have been open,' Marius began, ‘but it was so soon after Agnes died. My parents have come to terms with my … with Lilith now—'

‘You'll find Mr Crupp outside with what's left of his wretched grapes.' She turned on her heel and thumped down the passage. In the girls' bedroom, she clenched her fists, screwed her face in glee and whispered, ‘Thank you Lord.' Then she eased herself to the floor and reached under Phoeba's bed for the trousseau box.

‘That's the worst of it over, son,' said Ashley, slapping Marius's shoulder.

‘Are the grapes ruined?' said Marius.

‘Not all of them,' said Lilith, and Marius looked relieved.

Phoeba wanted to feel deliriously happy that Lilith was getting married and going away, but she couldn't be sure yet. What if Overton had gone broke?

‘We, that is Dad and I, planted the grapes,' she said, folding her arms, like Maude. ‘We've lost some and we've lost our feed crop. But we'll manage. One day I will run Mount Hope. I'll be a vigneron.'

‘I see,' said Marius, weakly, as Lilith dragged him down the passage.

‘My God,' whispered Aunt Margaret. ‘What a coup, Phoeba! Lilith is marrying the squatter from over the hill. You've got to hand it to her, haven't you?'

‘I'm not handing them anything,' said Phoeba. For Marius, ten acres of grapes meant he could establish an independent life, he could settle in the two-bedroom house his father had built before he married well and built a mansion. Mount Hope was the perfect place to start, in his own right, and succeed. Phoeba shook her head. It was an impossible thought.

Robert squinted at the thermometer nailed to the trellis post. It was 97 degrees, and rising. He was hot and the ventilation promised by the manufacturer of his pith hat was letting him down. Mopping his brow, he removed his waistcoat and noticed Marius Overton walking towards him with Lilith on his arm.

‘Good of you to come,' called Robert, ‘but there's nothing to be done. If I had a few more acres we could have made a profit this year. But it'll be a lean winter.' He gestured to the emptied outcrop. ‘They've gone. I could have used them to strip what's left of my feed crop.'

‘Yes,' said Marius. ‘I noticed their camp was deserted.'

‘This was my best crop of grapes to date, a beauty.'

Lilith kissed her father on the cheek and headed back up to the house.

‘Something's up,' said Robert. ‘I only ever get a peck on the cheek when she wants a solid gold safety pin or an embossed bamboo bracelet.' He shook his head at his grapes, squinted up to the sun. ‘It was no good last year, remember?'

Marius was watching Lilith walk back up to the house. Sweet, Lilith who snuggled into him and adored him just as he was. She was a girl who thought the front pew at the local church, a few fancy hats and a carriage ride through Melbourne were pinnacles of achievement. He could live up to her. She wouldn't ride him or needle him to conquer anything. He realised Mr Crupp was still talking to him.

‘A dust storm cut the buds to pieces, just one miserable gust of dust. Then in '91 it was frost, and now this! If it stays dry and warm we'll get a ton or two for the winery and a hogshead to drink.'

Marius glanced out to the bay twinkling under the sun. ‘You have water to reflect light, a sea breeze to dry the grapes, the gradient to drain, altitude, good soil—'

‘Heat in spring to stir the vines from their winter slumber.' Robert stopped. ‘Know a bit about grapes, do you?'

‘I've been reading a bit.'

‘How's your wheat crop?' said Robert,

‘Shot and sprung,' said Marius, and shuddered. ‘We'll nut something out …' He slid his hands into his pockets and made a small half-moon depression in the dirt with his boot. ‘There's another matter I must discuss,' he said, still looking at the ground. ‘Perhaps you've heard something?'

‘Heard what?' asked Robert, then something dawned on him. He thought of Lilith clinging to Marius's arm, the kiss on his cheek, some sort of cat-fight at the dance, Phoeba terse and preoccupied. Up on the veranda, the women stared at him, like a group in a photographer's studio. Maude's hands moved quickly, working some small white woollen thing with needles. That fop in the tartan suit, Ashley, gave him a thumbs-up and Phoeba had the looking glass trained on him. Even Spot and the ducks were peering at him from the dam paddock.

‘I feel the need for a glass of wine,' he said. ‘How about you?'

‘I'd like to marry your daughter, Lilith.'

Robert took his pith hat off and steadied himself against a trellis post, the words churning in his head. He thought he'd heard Marius Overton say that he wanted to marry Lilith.

‘I don't have any money, Marius. The bank lost most of it and I'm chipping away at what's left to keep us alive.' He jerked his head at the watching women. ‘They don't know about our financial strife; they just think I'm mean.'

‘I may have a little money of my own but I don't think money is everything. You have your land, sir, and a wonderful future in wine – and I'd like to help.'

‘You'd like to help me?'

Marius nodded. ‘There's a great future in wine.'

In his mind's eye, Robert saw a bounteous grain crop in the front paddock and the slope covered in neat vines all the way up to the outcrop. He put his hat back on his head and eyed the young man suspiciously.

‘You did say Lilith?'

‘Yes, sir.' He squeezed a vine leaf.

Robert clasped his hands behind his back, looked out at the sweep before him; this siding halfway between two important cities on a major train line, this bay between two sea ports that glittered on a day perfect for sailing; this land – a hopeful future for his daughters and the next generation. Marius a dilettante? Marius a ditherer? Robert pushed it from his mind – Marius had vision, Marius had capital. ‘I'm the last to know, aren't I?'

‘I'm sorry.'

Robert headed for the veranda then he stopped and turned. ‘Are you sure about Lilith? She's not the brightest sud in the wash bucket, but then I don't suppose she needs much savvy to fathom silk bandeaux and hat ospreys.'

‘On the contrary, I find her captivating—'

‘And I'd be careful with your cheque book.' Robert took his hat off again, scratched his bald patch. ‘As one man to another, I'm being honest. It'd be wrong to sell you a bolter or something that drops dead under you when you're under the impression you're getting a serviceable mare.' Now it was Marius who was speechless. ‘Right then,' said Robert and held out his hand. As he approached the veranda he was smiling from ear to ear; one less mouth to feed.

At Elm Grove, Hadley sat on a wooden chair in his sparse kitchen composing a pamphlet for his ram emasculator: ‘Improve the sheep of the Empire, prevent loss of blood, tetanus, septic poisoning, fly-strike and needless cruelty and suffering.'

He threw down his pencil. What was the point? It had all come to nothing. He had lost Phoeba to a ruddy Englishman who'd held her hands and danced her away in the Overton wool shed, his banker's palm on her strong, fine back, his smallest finger resting on the little ledge where her skirt came lightly off her blue bodice. It ached inside his chest. All he had left were his father's sheep and a failed dream to make something of them, of himself. He had a future without a wife … or even a farm if Mr Titterton had his way. Bother the rain that was bound to ruin Overton. Bother Steel with his thick, shiny moustache and his English wool suit, and bother Titterton in his two-storey house telling his dear sister how to do things she'd been doing forever and looking lustily at the new house plans. He'd probably fill the paddocks at Elm Grove with pigs.

‘He is a louche man,' Hadley said, his voice bouncing in the empty house. He wished his sister had run away and come home with him.

The vicar sped through the landscape between brown boulder fences and flattened yellow crops, now worthless. He slapped the reins over the bony rump of his trotting black mare and inhaled the aroma of humid hay cleansed by quenching rain. The air was rich with nature – curdling ditch water, ripe manure and fertile mud. ‘One day,' he assured himself, ‘I will be a rural dean.'

He waved to Mr Jessop who was loading a bag of grain – reaped from the bounteous crop the Lord had provided – onto the back of a wagon, stacked high with furniture. Mr Jessop ignored him. This was the second family the vicar had seen packing the contents of their house that morning. His smile fell – the Jessops' creamy Jersey cow was tied to the back of the wagon.

He stopped his horse outside the vestry door, climbed down backwards from his buggy, looped the reins through the wheel and went inside, leaving his thin, neglected horse staring wistfully at the shady fence where the congregation usually tethered its horses.

Wriggling his toes into his sanctuary slippers, he hummed, ‘Come, ye thankful people, come; Raise the song of harvesthome; All is safely gathered in …'

He scratched out a few words for a sermon thanking Him for ending the dry season. He smiled at Mrs Crupp's magnificent plum cake wrapped and tied with ribbon on top of the empty crosier cupboard. His grateful flock would buy lots of raffle tickets and the ceiling would be lined before the next blistering summer hit. He cleared his throat, raised his chins and made his entrance. Mrs Flynn smiled brightly from the back of the church and, right at the front, his three reverential Temperance worshippers leaned forward a little on their pew.

‘Where has everyone gone?'

‘Bankrupt,' said Mrs Flynn.

‘Oh,' he said, crestfallen, his flaccid neck lowering.

Outside, his horse leaned towards the shade; the reins tightened around the buggy spokes. The horse sighed and shifted back, lowering her head – the reins slackened. The mare shifted her weight forward again, then took a step back, stepped forward and back, forward and back. Finally, the reins unfurled and slid like heavy ribbons to the ground. The horse walked towards the shade.

At the end of the brief service the vicar emerged into the scalding sun to find his horse gone. He glanced up and down the siding, up to the intersection and he walked around the church. There was no sign of her, just the faint cloud of dust from the Temperance women's vanishing buggy. Shoving a chunk of Maude's cake into his mouth he sauntered towards the shop, where he asked for credit.

Mrs Flynn crossed her arms and shook her head. ‘Nobody gets a free ticket. It's against railroad rules.'

‘I only have the collection money – seven pence.'

She thought about Freckle, getting ready to leave home from fear of the vengeful itinerants whose plan he'd foiled. She thought of Mr Overton, his unpaid bill, the rain and the ruined crops.

‘Only sometimes some people get what they arst for in this world.'

The vicar's next hope was the guard on the train. Perhaps he would take seven pence and fruitcake.

The third wedding cake

Monday, February 5, 1894

O
n Monday, Phoeba woke and didn't know what to do. She waved Aunt Margaret and Ashley onto their train and went about her chores, not knowing if she should be happy, or relieved, or heartbroken. She tried airing her woes to Spot but it only brought them more to life. In frustration, she joined her mother – who was suddenly crocheting babies' booties – on the front veranda while watching down the lane to Bay View, waiting for the dull brown form of Freckle and his horse to appear.

Robert ambled down the passage with his pillow and pyjamas intent on claiming his bed back again but Maude had other ideas. ‘You make me too hot, Robert. Stay in the shed,' she declared.

‘Anything you say,' said Robert, then added mumbling, ‘anything for peace.'

Eventually, Freckle rode away from the shop, turned north to Overton and then, an hour or so later, appeared from the outcrop. Maude put aside her crocheting and went to the top step and Freckle handed her a plain blue envelope with a gold ‘O' on the front and waited, unusually forlorn.

‘We'll take one rabbit this week,' said Maude, ripping the envelope open.

‘I didn't bother with them today,' said Freckle, and his roan cob sniffed the petunias.

Maude read the note, the powdery pink planes of her face falling in small stages. Her eyebrows creased into a small furry M at the top of her nose. Wordlessly, she handed the page to Phoeba.

The note, written and signed by Guston Overton, stated that the ecclesiastical authorities had been telegraphed instructing the banns of marriage not be published and demanding that a marriage licence be sent by the Superintendent Registrar immediately. The vicar would formalise the union between Lilith Crupp and Marius at Overton the following Saturday.

There it was, but Phoeba felt flat as a millpond. Lilith had what she wanted: marriage and Marius. But what of Overton? No verdict had passed around the district, no swaggies were headed north for its harvest and the outcrop was as still as a photograph. It was eerie, like the sea before a cyclone.

‘There's no reply, Freckle,' said Maude, regally, lifting her skirts and turning away with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘Would you like a drink, Freckle?' asked Phoeba.

‘No.'

‘Cake?'

‘The cook at Overton gave me coffee and marzipan.'

The horse sighed and shifted its weight; its saddle creaked.

‘We know you didn't do anything wrong, Freckle.'

‘I dobbed.'

‘It was the right thing to do.'

‘Right for the rich squatter with his machines. Them other poor bastards didn't deserve the life they got, I don't reckon.'

He took his hat off and held it over his heart. His red curls were squashed flat on top and looped out in a gutter big enough for birds to bathe in. ‘I only got food for them. And only because they made me.'

‘We believe you.'

‘Not everybody does.' He put his hat back on. ‘So I think, missus, I have to go away.'

‘No, Freckle! Why?'

‘The itinerants, and the snake.'

‘Snake?'

Freckle nodded. ‘A red-bellied black snake. Fell out of a mail-bag.'

‘I see,' said Phoeba. ‘But the rain stopped the itinerants from lighting their fire.'

‘They know I dobbed. And I know they cleared out – but they could come back anytime and hang me.'

‘Where will you go?'

‘I got a job as an assistant guard. On the train,' he said, glumly.

‘Life's a funny thing, Freckle,' said Phoeba, and watched the cob lower its head, rip Maude's petunias from the ground and eat them.

By the time Phoeba got to the kitchen, Maude had the sewing machine out and all Robert's possessions were shoved under her bed again.

‘At last, I can change my surname from Crupp,' said Lilith, humming as she moved about the house plumping cushions and straightening doilies.

‘I'd have liked a big wedding, but I suppose a marriage is a marriage,' said Maude, spreading the contents of the trousseau on the floor.

‘We'll put a notice in the
Southern Sphere
, in the “Social Chronicle” section,' called Lilith.

‘Along with the Countess of Tankerville and the Governor,' said Phoeba. It was convenient that Maude could ignore the circumstances of the betrothal.

‘Right, Phoeba,' said Maude, rubbing her hands together. ‘We'll go to Flynn's and buy the ingredients for the cake.'

‘I'm more than happy to do that, Mother.'

‘And we must drive over and visit Mrs Titterton.'

‘Of course,' said Phoeba. At least she would see Henrietta and Rudolph. And she would find out what was happening with the crop, with the Overtons.

Maude wore her chocolate brown church dress, her best hat and her mother's pearls. Lilith wore her knife-pleated skirt and matching neck scarf. She pinned Maude's best bar brooch to her lapel and wore her most sumptuous hat. Spot behaved impeccably and as they passed through the majestic Overton gates and rounded the homestead, their proud mother sniffed. ‘You will be so happy here, Lilith.'

‘For heaven's sake, Mother, don't cry,' said Lilith, impatiently. ‘Mrs Tit will think you're afraid, or not up to it. And it's not dignified.'

‘Engaged one day,' said Phoeba, ‘and you're setting standards and issuing instructions the next.'

Lilith smiled.

Overton homestead looked very quiet, almost deserted, as they drove past towards the manager's house. Henrietta opened the door, her sleeves rolled up and her white apron stiff as paper.

Her skirt underneath was crushed and stained where she'd dried her hands. She looked at Maude, at Lilith, dressed as if they were going to a coronation. ‘What's happened?'

Mrs Titterton called from the front parlour, ‘This is hardly the time to come and make amends—'

‘We're not making amends,' trilled Maude and pushed past Henrietta.

Mrs Titterton crept slowly across the floor, strapped tight and extra gaseous. She seemed to be vaporising, day by day.

Phoeba held Henrietta in the entrance hall. ‘Where's Rudolph?'

Henrietta pointed to a window in the far corner of the homestead. It was closed, the curtains drawn. ‘The cook says he's gone to Melbourne.'

‘Will he be back?'

Henrietta nodded. ‘He only took a kitbag. But the crop is ruined.'

‘Ruined?'

‘Shsss,' said Henrietta, squeezing her shoulders gleefully together and smiling at the ceiling. ‘I might get to go home!'

A wave of panic washed over Phoeba and she felt her cheeks smart. In the parlour Maude boomed triumphantly, ‘We've come to inform you that there is to be a wedding. Lilith is getting married.'

‘Who's marrying you?' said Mrs Titterton, confused.

‘Why, a vicar of course,' said Lilith, haughtily.

‘No, you silly girl, who is to be your husband?'

‘She will be Mrs Marius Overton,' said Maude, and looked to the homestead through the parlour window. ‘It's wonderful for Phoeba; it increases her prospects considerably.'

Phoeba's mind was racing. She desperately wanted to talk to Marius, to Rudolph, to anyone who could tell her what was really going on.

‘We must get back,' said Lilith, fingering her bar brooch. She'd had her moment, no point wasting any more time with the overseer's wife.

‘We've another cake to make and ice,' said Maude.

Phoeba began, ‘But I wanted to—'

‘So much to do, Phoeba!' snapped Lilith.

That evening, Phoeba sat between her vines, listening to them rustle and sigh as they settled in the dusky air. She threw her head back and watched as silver-tipped clouds floated in the endless, azure space. Please, let her go to Overton. And let Rudolph save me.

Tuesday, February 6, 1894

P
hoeba read about grape growing; she did her chores. She made her cheese on Tuesday instead of Thursday, had the ironing done before morning tea and then weeded her depleted vegetable patch and turned the soil for her winter vegetables. She was mucking out Spot's stable and loading the wheelbarrow with manure when Lilith strolled past with Marius, heading for the outcrop, ‘Here comes your sweetheart, Phoeba.'

Her heart skipped a beat and she let the pitchfork fall, but it was only Hadley driving up the lane. On the wagon behind him was his single-blade plough. He had come to turn their fallow, as he did every year.

He tied the mare under the peppercorns next to Marius's horse and came wearily across the yard, carrying a homely bunch of geraniums and dahlias.

‘Hadley,' she said, feeling a pang of guilt and sorrow. She had made him feel so forlorn. ‘It's lovely to see you.'

He nodded, glumly, and reached for the handrail.

‘You needn't have brought your plough, Had,' said Lilith, gaily. ‘Marius will turn our fallow. He has a three-blade.'

Hadley's progress up the steps faltered, just a little, but he continued on.

‘Congratulations,' he said, handing her the flowers.

Lilith kissed his cheek and said, ‘Had, you're a dear. You'll come, won't you?'

‘Oh,' said Phoeba, thinking she'd prefer to have Lilith's wedding day with Rudolph. ‘I don't think the Overtons want—'

‘Rubbish,' said Lilith. ‘Hadley's my oldest friend too. And anyway, we won't all fit in the sulky.' She hummed her way down the hall in search of a vase.

‘You've heard nothing about Overton?' asked Phoeba.

‘No. I've been busy.'

‘Nothing at all?'

‘No, Phoeba. I have been busy,' he repeated pointedly.

‘I think Marius is marrying Lilith to get our vines because Overton is ruined,' she blurted, hoping Hadley would say it wasn't true.

‘I think the wool will fetch enough to keep Steel content,' said Hadley, reassuringly. She chose to believe him – for the time being.

He settled carefully on the wicker couch and said, ‘I know that I've lost you, Phoeba. I know that your heart belongs to Steel and I accept that you don't want to marry without your notion of love.' He pushed his spectacles a little further up his nose. ‘Your aunt seemed very happy, at least, and it's wonderful that Marius is going to do the right thing. They'll have each other … companionship.'

She sat next to him then and took his hand in hers. ‘You're very alone at Elm Grove, I know, but I have to stay now, Hadley, I'll have to help Dad.' He took his hand back. ‘Now, Had, my oldest friend. You're a fine man – and an excellent sheep expert – and you need to marry someone who'll support you – someone who wants to breed sheep.'

Hadley nodded at his lap. ‘I suppose I must say now that at least we still have each other, Phoeba, that we have always wanted each other to be happy, and that we will still care for each other, no matter what.'

‘No matter what,' she said, and meant it. She did love him so much, and probably would stand in front of a moving train for him.

He pushed a seed around his hat brim with his finger, her rejection of him swelling in the silence. She knew she was meant to say she was sorry but she wasn't. She was sure that she wanted to stay here, at Mount Hope, on the farm.

Abruptly, he stood to leave, reaching for the veranda post and swaying a little, as if the hurt had made him weak. Phoeba wanted to run to her bed and weep or scream with rage and frustration. It was all so tense. Please just let Lilith get married and go, she thought urgently. Let there be some sort of progress, some relationship for me and Rudolph. Let Hadley continue to be my dearest friend. Let things go back to the way they were just a few short weeks ago.

‘Hadley, I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you.' He stopped. ‘Please stay for tea with us, please. Marius is here.'

‘Very well,' he said, and she could see him push his unhappiness aside. He sat down next to her again and said proudly, ‘I have been busy. I've applied for jobs. I've even been to Geelong for an interview with a chap called Mr Williams.'

‘Hadley! Have you?' She was surprised, even a little shocked that he had been to Geelong and back without her knowing.

He looked at his hat on his knee. ‘I may get some sort of position, but manager is what I want. It's ambitious, I know.'

‘Now all we need is to see Henrietta right,' said Phoeba. ‘I think she's lonely at Overton.'

‘She is not alone there,' he said, and Phoeba sighed.

‘Come and help me set the table,' she said, standing up and offering him her hand.

Inside, they found Lilith had set the table and she was sitting Marius at the head – in Robert's spot. Robert arrived and pointed out the error and Marius went to the other end of the table, right near the heat of the stove.

Maude, feeling worse than ever before, staggered around the room dumping bread, butter and jam on the table and then shoved a plate of cold meat into the centre upsetting the saltcellar. Her face was red and greying wisps matted her damp hairline. Her eyes were puffy. She lowered herself onto her chair and said, weakly, ‘Forgive my appearance.' A new son-in-law might be a new son-in-law but she felt wretched.

Phoeba sliced bread and Lilith served a salad. It was only the third time Lilith had ever made a salad.

‘Tell us about your new job, Hadley,' said Phoeba.

Lilith laid a napkin across Marius's lap.

‘I haven't got it, Phoeba! I've only applied.'

Marius put down his knife and fork. ‘I may be able to help.'

‘It's a manager's job,' said Phoeba. ‘The property is up past the Murray …'

‘The drought,' said Marius, ‘difficult to get staff.'

‘At least he's not in the welfare lines,' said Phoeba.

‘They're very long,' said Hadley, shaking his head. ‘I saw women and children sleeping on the street in Geelong.'