Crossing the bridge, p.12
Crossing the Bridge, page 12
‘Walter and I have been talking non-stop about it. I spoke with Maggie today. She’s excited at the idea of bringing the girls and Lee here. Before this, she said she was thinking of moving to Adelaide. Since Mal’s always doing the Darwin to Adelaide drive, they might see each other more.’
She clasped her hands under her chin. ‘And what does Mal think about the idea?’
‘Haven’t talked with him, but I think he’d like it. If everything’s set up before he’s demobbed, he’d be more than happy. I do the hard yards. He reaps the benefit.’
‘Isn’t it always the way with family? But it’s important to have them around you.’ Glenn would return on Saturday. The sooner Glenn came home the sooner she would feel settled. After everything, her longing for her son burrowed deeper into her soul every moment she was separated from him.
‘I suppose it is.’
The lights went out and JB was silhouetted by the falling evening sky, the last of the sun’s rays making for a darkened crimson hue. She walked over to the sideboard drawer and grabbed two candles. ‘Silly electrics keep giving me trouble. I’m going to have to sort it out.’
‘Do you want me to have a look for you?’
Walking towards him, the cat darted under feet. She tripped over it, tumbling onto the carpeted floor. The animal hissed at her in the dark. The speed at which JB was at her side was like one of those superheroes Glenn was always on about.
He was not a big man but taller and bulkier than her, and in the darkness, a rock of a man who smelled of hay and wood. He helped her to standing. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes. Silly thing.’
‘What, you or the cat?’ Despite the darkness, Poppy sensed he wore a mischievous smile. He pulled out a silver lighter and picked up the candles from the floor.
‘A bit of both, I suspect.’ She laughed and stared at his face through the flame, her heart thumping so loud she was sure he could hear it. ‘Do you know electrical stuff as well?’
‘The basics. We had rough-and-ready electrics up in Darwin and lots of problems. I learned quite a lot over the years.’ His eyes sparkled, earnest and boyish.
‘Is there anything you can’t do, JB?’
‘I’m a jack-of-all-trades. Master of none.’
‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’ A sudden rush of heat washed over her. ‘You don’t have to help, JB. I don’t have any extra money to pay you. I don’t even have any fruity wisdom to share with you.’
He dissolved into a quiet laugh. ‘None needed. Where’s your fuse box?’
‘Down the hall near the bathroom.’
‘Let’s have a look. Bring the candle.’
She followed him, and his scent mingled with burning beeswax. Guilford farmhouse’s hallway was an L-shape, the second part a long corridor with doors to many of the home’s bedrooms. The fuse box was near the end close to another door that led to the outside and the path to the farmhand quarters.
He opened the box. ‘Ah, that’s your problem—busted fuse, but I suspect if it’s happening regularly, you probably have a short somewhere in the house. I see you have a spare here.’
‘I’m not sure why it keeps happening. I know you’re supposed to put that—’ she pointed to the spare fuse then to the meter board, ‘—on that. I should buy more spares.’
The lights flickered on and they stood close to one another. JB said, ‘All a short means is that electric current follows a path that’s usually the easiest one. When sometimes it’s not meant to follow that path, it takes a shortcut but it damages the path. A bit like a river in a torrent takes the path of least resistance but leaves a lot of fallen trees in its wake.’
‘I should probably know more about these things, shouldn’t I?’ Walter had tried to explain circuits to her, and she’d thought she understood, but listening to JB she’d already forgotten most of what Walter told her.
‘Not necessarily. I mean you have to know so many things, being a farmer.’
‘It was so much easier being a farmer’s wife.’ She laughed nervously and stared down at her dress. Oh, how much she liked him. But what could she do about it? There were so many other things weighing heavily on her. She pulled several wisps of her hair away from her face.
‘I better get on to the Waratah, I’ll be here until midnight otherwise. I’ll let you go back to your piano. But watch out for the cat.’
Poppy followed him down the hall and watched him leave through the French doors. She sat and started playing another tune, a lighter, sleepier one. One of Chopin’s ‘Nocturnes’. The notes circled her like a misty breath. The cat was back under her stool again and rubbing against her. What was her path of least resistance?
Chapter Thirteen
Poppy, Ronnie and Glenn travelled the road from Guilford Farm to the Steeles’ property at Casuarina Farm, north of Goyders Creek township. Dusk over the wheat-covered landscape was like a dream, and brought forth memories of Poppy’s first Christmas with Dan. They were happy, settled, in love and ready for a long, devoted life together. Or so she had thought.
At the gate of the farm’s long drive, many of the men of the district, those not called up or called away, gathered around the lone pine tree. Several of the men stood on ladders, hanging decorations and lights that would illuminate the tree in the country night sky.
‘I’m sure it’s grown another ten feet since I was last here.’ Ronnie rolled down the car window. ‘It’s even bigger than the old one.’
Glenn leaned over from the back seat. ‘The old one?’
‘Mr Steele planted one years before you were born. For his brother who died at Gallipoli. I must have been about five years old.’ Ronnie turned to Poppy. ‘What happened to the old one? I can’t remember.’
‘Lightning hit it and it fell over in the subsequent storm.’ Poppy stared up at the tree, more majestic than its predecessor. On the day they planted the new one, the Steeles had a picnic, and she had been six months pregnant.
They parked the car and Ronnie smoothed a hand over her silky maroon dress. ‘I hope this is appropriately festive. I do love a Christmas party.’
‘Is that a softening I hear in your voice?’ Ronnie had been quiet on her return, perhaps at being away from her new beau, but she hadn’t elaborated.
‘Ha, ha. And no. Don’t worry, dearest. I’ll be back to my usual acerbic self as soon as anyone from here talks to me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Poppy had dressed subtly for the occasion—a simple slip of a dress in pale blue that flowed from her waist. The trim of white embroidered flowers scattered on the bodice was a feature she’d sewn on herself. She’d pinned part of her hair up—the rest of her straw-coloured locks flowed in waves to her shoulders. But tonight, everything she normally loved about such an outfit was slightly off. The dress didn’t flow, catching in static on her slip, and the same static frizzed her hair.
‘Mum, there’s the others, can I ...’
She ran a hand over Glenn’s head. ‘Remember what I told you? Behave.’
‘I will!’ He ran towards several other children near a set of swings hanging from a large gum.
‘Would you look at that?’ Ronnie said. ‘Is Mrs Steele in competition with someone again?’
Poppy turned her head. She’d left the Steeles’ two hours ago after dropping off several of her hand-drawn bird postcards, and in that time the ladies of the Red Cross had added another layer of tinsel to the outside Christmas display. It assailed the senses with its bright glittery gaudiness.
But how could anyone begrudge the Steeles a loud celebration? Charlie Steele, their youngest son, had returned home. Not quite unscathed, having lost his leg, but safe and it was something better than the alternative of not coming home at all.
Inside the woolshed, Mr Steele greeted them. ‘Poppy, Ronnie! Welcome, so glad you could make it. Poppy, where is your young man?’
His question sent her into a moment of confusion. ‘Oh, Glenn, you mean?’
‘Did you think I was talking about someone else?’ He raised his bushy brows and smiled like a Cheshire cat.
‘He’s run off already.’ Poppy smiled at his wife. ‘Mrs Steele. You’ve done such a marvellous job.’
‘Thank you, love.’ Mrs Steele’s gaze rested on Ronnie. ‘You look lovely, dear. How is Melbourne? Not bought anyone special with you?’
Ronnie opened her mouth and Poppy elbowed her. ‘Far too busy for that, Mrs Steele.’
‘Oh, you career girls. I could never do what you do.’
‘And why would you?’ Ronnie held her palms up. ‘You have all of this.’
Poppy shot her a glance. Fortunately, the underlying sarcasm went over Mrs Steele’s head.
‘It’s so good to see so much merriment among young people. And wonderful to have my Charlie home.’
‘How is he?’ Ronnie asked.
Mrs Steele was tight-lipped. ‘He makes do. He has a wooden leg now. I think it’s wooden.’ She placed a hand on Poppy’s wrist. ‘Poppy, you’re looking so full of life. Walter is here.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out for him.’ She scanned the crowd, but she wasn’t looking for Walter. Would JB be here? She would like to dance with him if he asked.
‘He told us he was looking forward to spending time with you,’ Mrs Steele said. ‘It seems your dance card might fill fairly quickly. Paul Jennison was also asking if you were here.’
Poppy’s shoulders went rigid. Paul Jennison gave her goosebumps, but not the good kind.
Mrs Steele’s brow rose. ‘Perhaps we’ll have news in the new year?’
Poppy shifted, her shoes suddenly chafing her heels. ‘About what, Mrs Steele? The war?’
‘It would be nice to see you married again. Someone as good and stable as Dan. It can’t be easy doing all this alone. And you have such friends in the district.’
Poppy’s jaw clenched. Thankfully, Mrs Steele’s blatant attempts at alluding to an attachment between her and Walter ceased when she spotted CWA rival, Eleanora Ladbroke. ‘Excuse me, dears. You young people go dance. Come along, Arthur.’
Ronnie elbowed Poppy. ‘Was she talking about you and Walter?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ She had a sudden need to be elsewhere, especially if it was Paul Jennison looking to dance with her.
Edith and Nicholas Holby greeted Poppy and Ronnie, hugging and kissing them both. Since Maxine Guilford’s death, Edith had played surrogate mother, mostly to Ronnie, but Poppy too was always grateful for Edith’s attentions. ‘Where’s my darling boy?’
Poppy shrugged. ‘He’s off. Found some friends already.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I always worry about him spending so much time in Adelaide that he might forget his country friends.’ Poppy suspected that what Edith really meant was that if Glenn were to spend too much time in Violet’s company, he might turn out a snob. But Edith was always diplomatic when it came to Violet.
Nicholas, looking somewhat out of place without his police uniform, scratched at his neck. ‘This damn collar. Bloody itchy.’
Edith slapped his hand away. ‘One night, please, Nicholas.’
‘Well, if I’m going to be uncomfortable, come and dance with your husband.’
‘Now don’t go far.’ Edith waggled a finger at Poppy and Ronnie.
Ronnie gave a shrill laugh. ‘Where would we go, Edith?’
Poppy admired the Holby’s almost thirty-five years together. They still liked each other. Growing up in her aunt and uncle’s house their marriage seemed tied together by obligation. It was as if they tolerated each other rather than loved, her uncle often giving in to Violet’s demands as much as Poppy did. Her aunt was a shrew, and not a tamed one at that.
Across the room, JB and Charlie Steele drank from paper cups and the two men were laughing. JB hadn’t noticed her yet and in the time Poppy stood watching him and Charlie, Ronnie had disappeared and returned with two cups filled with punch. The merriment and volume of music increased.
‘I forgot the Steeles are teetotallers.’ She handed a cup to Poppy. ‘How disappointing. How can one be jolly when all you have is fruit juice?’
JB caught Poppy’s eye and prodded Charlie. The men wandered over to them.
Charlie adjusted his tie. ‘Evening.’
Ronnie nodded briefly to Charlie and looked away. One day she’d get the details from Ronnie about what it was between her and Charlie. But tonight, she wanted to relax as much as she could. For several days now, her senses had been like a coiled spring.
JB held a hand out towards her. ‘Seems a pity not to join the throng for a dance. Mrs Guilford, would you do me the honour?’
Ronnie nudged her. ‘Go on. He asked nicely. Consider yourself lucky. Women outnumber men here by about one to three. They’re either ancient, too young or damaged.’
Why was Ronnie always so rude? JB dropped his hand with a muted frown. Poppy hadn’t intended to refuse him and in this merry atmosphere no one could begrudge her a dance, even if it were with a farmhand and Walter’s employee. People gossiped about her and Walter, not her and JB. She shot Ronnie a disapproving glance. ‘Yes, I’ll dance with you.’
‘Be careful where you put your hands, JB. Less than an hour ago I witnessed Poppy dispatch a snake in the chook shed armed only with a shovel.’
JB shot Poppy an incredulous glance and laughed. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
A warm glow enveloped her as she took his hand. The sizeable crowd appeared to dissolve until it was only the two of them and the music. He slid his arm around her waist and Vera Lynn’s dulcet tones sang ‘You’ll Never Know’. JB’s scent was iron and earth. Under her hand, his injured shoulder corded with tension. She gave it a soft, intimate squeeze. He didn’t seem to mind.
She lost awareness of everyone around and after several minutes of silence between them and a change in song, Poppy relaxed into a simple sway in time with the music. ‘It’s a custom to converse while you dance. Especially for partners who are strangers.’
‘Are we strangers, Mrs Guilford?’ JB smirked. ‘Acquaintances, at least, yes?’
Poppy resisted the urge to babble. Her partiality for him burned bright inside her without need for meaningless chatter. ‘We’ve never danced together before. But we can be friends, not just acquaintances. Although, as a friend, I’d expect you to talk a little more.’
‘Friends then.’ He winked at her. ‘If you talk, boss, I’ll listen.’
‘Boss? If it’s just me talking, it’s hardly a conversation. You’ll tire of listening to my voice.’
Dimples appeared on his freshly-shaved cheeks. ‘I’d never tire of that.’
Poppy glanced at the couple next to her, conscious that maybe her flirting was audible to others and perhaps improper.
As if sensing her reticence, he nodded towards the neighbouring dancers. ‘If you’re worried, no one is paying attention to us or even giving us a second glance. You’re free to talk.’
‘You say that now. But as for never tiring of my chatter, ask me again at the end of the night after I’ve talked your ear off. I’m sure most men who are home from the front don’t want the endless prattle of women.’
‘I’ve been back for just over a year and it’s not true—it’s comforting. What man could resist a beautiful woman in a pretty dress talking his ear off? And that is a pretty dress you’re wearing.’
‘Thank you.’ A flush of heat passed over her. It appeared he enjoyed flirting as much as she did. ‘I made it myself.’
‘You’re a talented woman, Mrs Guilford. I’ve seen you on a horse a few times. You know how to hold the reins. Then there’s the stockyard sales, birthing cows like you do it every day, and cooking amazing meals—and you play the piano like an angel. Your husband would have been proud of everything you’ve done.’
For a teeny moment, she’d forgotten she was married. She didn’t want to talk about Dan. Even thinking about him sent a thrum through her body, as if there were vibrations under her feet. It was the underlying sense of him still present in all the surrounds that likely put her in a distracted mood. He was in the trees, in the faces of the surrounding people. He was even in Mrs Steele’s bloody tinsel. ‘I don’t know about proud. I do what I do because it needs to get done.’
‘You killed a snake less than an hour ago ...’
‘It was a brown snake, and had eaten half the girls’ eggs. Can’t have that.’
‘Don’t tell anyone, but Joseph ran screaming from Mr Sanderson’s barn after seeing a pair of brown snakes. He’d deny it, of course. You’re more competent than any other farmhand or farmer in the district. Did you know that?’
She scoffed. ‘What, Walter included? I doubt that.’
‘Your garden is the most ordered garden I’ve seen anywhere—you’d have the army weeping for such neatness. And your farm is tidier than Butcher’s Rest, not that it’s important to a bloke like me. But you had your crops sown before his were even started, so Joseph tells me.’
‘Organisation is important during sowing. The Land girls were invaluable, as were Mr Sanderson’s Clydesdales. Tractors will only get you so far. But it’s all down to luck.’
He squinted at her. ‘Who told you that you weren’t up to the task?’
She drew in a sharp breath and it was as if he saw right through her. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re one of the most competent people I’ve ever met. Who told you otherwise?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I’ve always been taught we shouldn’t blow our own horn.’ Lord knows Poppy had obsessed over her own flaws. According to Violet, they were many and varied. ‘Not that I have much to shout about.’
‘They’re wrong. You have lots.’
Poppy blinked; she didn’t know what to say to that. Walter and Ronnie had told her before she was everything she said she wasn’t, that she made the practical and the difficult look effortless. But having JB say it to her was different. ‘Not luck. Organised.’
‘If you say. I don’t think I’ve been organised in my entire life. Not even in the army. And they love organised.’ He swirled her around and her stomach lifted as if she were taking off on a fair ride. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you’re anything other than accomplished, Mrs Guilford.’
