Crossing the bridge, p.18
Crossing the Bridge, page 18
‘She must like me. I am Frank’s adopted father, after all.’ He stroked her flank. ‘Hey, Bessie?’
Poppy laughed, stood and grabbed Mister Peebs’s reins. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Alright. Let me help you mount.’
She refused his hand and sprang into the saddle. A loud squelching noise came from underneath the saddle blanket and Poppy gave another small laugh.
‘Mister Peebs, you’re gonna have to wait until we return to the farmhouse before we relieve you of your blanket.’
Poppy stroked the horse’s neck. ‘At least he’s behaving today.’
‘A night in the rain will do that,’ JB said, patting Mister Peebs’s muzzle. ‘I told you the boss would be happy to see you.’
The lower water level in the creek made it easy to cross. But debris from fallen branches and foliage strewn across the banks barred a simple path away from the bridge. Mister Peebs’s steps were heavy on the sodden ground, splashing mud up onto JB’s pants. ‘A longer journey back to Guilford farmhouse than it took to get here.’
‘I suspect the soft ground won’t make it easy.’
He shot the occasional glance her way. She fiddled with her shirtsleeves and looked anywhere else other than at him. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to put the events behind her. He hadn’t intended for a nightmare to end up that way, but the thrill of kissing her was hard to ignore. Hadn’t they given each other exactly what they wanted—what they both needed? He felt his body in tune with hers. He’d wanted her to lie alongside him, a warmth to help still the tremors in his body and the thoughts in his mind. The occasional night terrors that plagued him were as unpredictable as the rain. But acting as if it never happened might lead to relaxed conversation between them—but what should he say?
‘I hope the farmhouse fared better than the old homestead,’ Poppy said.
At least she could make small talk. He was never much good at it. ‘We should get onto the repairs for the old homestead roof soon. Water damage looked bad. But I suppose it depends on what damage we see on our return later.’
‘It’s had so many repairs in the past.’ She put her hand up on her brow and squinted into the horizon. ‘It looks like our absence has attracted some attention.’
People on horseback rode towards them. JB made out Walter’s distinct hat and Nicholas Holby’s police cap. On foot, Joseph, two uniformed constables and three Land girls walked in a line together.
‘Oh, my.’ Poppy looked down at JB and laughed. ‘Looks like we’ve caused a bit of a ruckus.’
Walter pulled his horse up next to Poppy. ‘Bloody hell, you two look a right picture.’
Nicholas, riding Lilith, pulled up on the other side of her. ‘Edith set off the alarm when you didn’t return, but we couldn’t come in search until dawn. Are you alright? What happened?’
‘We had a little trouble at the creek. We couldn’t cross back over.’ JB stared up at Poppy. ‘But we’re … good.’
‘Yes.’ A crimson flush flared on Poppy’s cheeks, her eyes like a blue dancing sky. ‘I’ve never seen the creek so full and I fell in. JB pulled me from it. I’m lucky he was with me; he saved my life.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Walter slapped JB’s shoulder from on high. ‘I always knew there was a hero in our midst.’
‘Hardly.’ JB twisted the rope leading Bessie, his feet shuffling under him. ‘I did what I had to.’
Nicholas chuckled. ‘Modest, too.’
‘It wasn’t a humble feat.’ Poppy stared straight at him. ‘It was heroic.’
JB had never thought himself a hero, not in any circumstance. But here she was ramping up the tension between them again, in a way that made his mind and heart race, and his lungs fill. The praise heaped on him had him halfway between confidence and humility.
The horses pulled ahead and JB joined Joseph’s side. ‘You look like shit, JB. Is that what really happened? Poppy fell in the creek and you pulled her out?’
‘Yeah. But what else was I going to do?’ He stared at Poppy’s silhouette, framed by the clearing sky, as she sat short in the saddle compared with Walter and Nicholas. He closed his eyes and fatigue crept into his arms and legs. ‘I’m exhausted.’
They travelled the remaining miles in silence. Having little conversation gave him space to think, and with it the ache in his shoulder increased. He thought of Lee, Maggie and the girls, about Jenny and how much she liked long walks. How after one such long walk he had kissed her and her father had caught them. He thought about the jungles of New Guinea and how impenetrable they were compared to the open space of the farm. Between those thoughts were flashes of Poppy, her reaction to his touch and how hard the thought of her made him. But no amount of heroics could solve her lost relationship. Dan sat heavily in her thoughts—otherwise, why call his name? Outshone by a dead husband. He was out of her league, that’s what the Yanks would say.
A light drizzle descended. The chimney stacks of Guilford farmhouse appeared along with the tall poplar trees along the drive. Several tree trunks lay on the ground. The scars at his shoulder itched and pulled under his shirt, the muscle underneath tightened again. One of the Land girls took the cows, and Joseph and the other girls began to clear debris. Walter helped Poppy down from the horse, and Edith Holby and Glenn ran to her.
‘Thank heavens you’re safe. When Lilith came back alone, I feared the worst.’ Edith embraced her and nodded to JB. ‘You’re probably both famished.’
‘Did you see the storm, Mum?’
‘We certainly did.’ Poppy slid from the horse onto the ground. ‘I hope the dogs weren’t spooked like the horses.’
‘Mabel should be fine.’ JB brushed a hand over Glenn’s head. ‘How’d you fare without your mum? How is Tailor?’
‘He was really upset.’ Glenn kicked at the dirt and averted his gaze. ‘I was fine. But the storm scared Tailor, and he had to sleep with me.’
Poppy laughed. ‘Is that right?’
‘No doubt as skittish as Mister Peebs. Tailor, I mean.’ JB winked at Poppy and glanced back to the road. A longing to touch her again pricked at him. What did she think of him? Would she think him forward and his conduct inappropriate even if she had kissed him first?
He walked over to Joseph, but Walter laid his hand on him. ‘No, lad. You and Poppy go inside. Edith will sort you for a meal and by the time we’re done out here we can go back to Butcher’s Rest and you can bathe and have a lie-down.’
JB would be grateful to fall into bed again, even without bathing, but perhaps food might revive him. Pulling Poppy from the river and the uncomfortable night that followed had taken all of his reserves. He hadn’t had a night like that since … well, since New Guinea. But that had been without the comfort of a beautiful woman. ‘I could do with a sit-down.’
‘Glad that you’re both in one piece.’ Nicholas tipped his hat, kissed Edith’s cheek and nodded to his constables. ‘Back to the station, boys.’
Walter tied up his horse and took Mister Peebs and Lilith back to the stables with Glenn. JB, his eyes gritty with dirt and his steps heavy, followed Edith and Poppy into the farmhouse’s kitchen. They sat at the table, inhabiting the same space without speaking.
Edith fussed around them. ‘Oh, I need some eggs.’
JB stood. ‘I’ll go, Mrs Holby.’
‘No, sit, relax. Have a cup of tea.’ Edith laid the cups in front of them, poured them tea and left the room.
Poppy placed milk and a hefty amount of sugar in her cup, took a sip and laid it back on her saucer. ‘JB, about last night.’
He folded his hands in front of him. ‘I was waiting for you to mention it. If now isn’t a good time, we can talk later.’
‘It was a moment, yes?’
‘It was my mistake. I took a liberty I shouldn’t have.’ He had wanted to hold her, kiss her, long before that night. He took the opportunity offered. Perhaps he shouldn’t have.
Her eyes went down to her lap. ‘Not a liberty. I was the one who kissed you. You’re not to blame.’
‘A lapse on both our parts, then.’ He was grateful she acknowledged his visible restraint.
‘Over the last six months, things have not been smooth for me. There’s a lot going on with the farm, with me and my life, and this is the first time in three years I’ve had Glenn to myself. You want to be a good father as much as I want to be an exemplary mother. Now is our time for that.’
She was right, but he couldn’t help letting out a sigh. ‘And that leaves no room for you and I?’
‘I don’t want to push you away, but there are things I need to sort out.’
‘Then let me help.’
She leaned over to touch his arm. ‘You can’t help me with this. There are just some things I have to do for myself. You have Lee, Maggie and the girls to worry about. I don’t want to add to that responsibility.’
His hand covered hers. ‘Time? Is that what you need?’
‘Something like that. You won’t tell anyone what happened, will you?’
‘No. It’s between us.’ JB was not one prone to telling tales, least of all about himself. ‘But this doesn’t preclude us from being friends, for now, and who knows ...’
Poppy turned her hand over until it was palm to palm with his. Soft and pliant as he remembered, and only a scattering of calluses singling her out as a farmer. He wanted to kiss her knuckles, tell her that he could be there for her.
‘Friends, yes, and who knows ...’ Her eyes flickered to the doorway and Edith who was muttering as she entered.
Their hands separated and he nodded. ‘Boss.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Three hundred and fifty pounds? How am I supposed to pay back that amount in five weeks? Money from the harvest won’t start filtering in until late March at the earliest.’ Poppy shook her head and glanced briefly to the bank’s vaulted ceiling inside Mr Treloar’s office. ‘Since last August I’ve kept to the repayments, paid extra even, and I’ve done everything the bank suggested. But now you’re asking me to reduce the loan amount to under five hundred pounds?’
‘Mrs Guilford, I know it might seem harsh. It’s a pre-emptive move by the bank.’ Mr Treloar shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand banking policies or the politics of it.’
‘Mr Treloar, I am not a fool. I understand perfectly well what the government is trying to do.’
Both his eyebrows rose to deep arches. ‘You do?’
‘The politicians haven’t been able to coerce the voters to subscribe to their idea of nationalisation. So instead, they wish to force it by securing our savings through legislation. Legislation that isn’t even law yet. Farmers here have fought hard for every cent they’ve clawed from the land and all in the service of doing it for the nation. But that’s not enough, is it? Might as well have just given us all a gun and let us fight.’
‘Now, Mrs Guilford, you’re being quite hysterical.’
Poppy gritted her teeth. He’d fallen back on the old adage that only women were hysterical. Men could have righteous anger. Men could shout at the injustices before them. But women? They had to smile, clasp their hands tightly in front of them, and champ at their bit.
‘You are not the only one affected. I expect more than a dozen families to do the same. And with far larger loans than Guilford Farm’s. Asking to reduce their loans to a far manageable amount is an easier task for some than others. You, Mrs Guilford, are in a privileged position.’
Privileged? She paused and took a breath, steadying her voice. ‘I understand. But the bank’s response? To punish its account holders who are doing the right thing? I don’t understand that.’
‘It’s not a punishment, not if you have the means.’
Poppy jiggled her leg. ‘You are talking about the old homestead.’
‘Exactly. It’s a perfect time to reconsider a sale. The storm damage alone is going to cost money.’ He stood and paced the room. ‘Consider this, Mrs Guilford: if you sell it, you can pay off not only the three hundred and fifty pounds, but the whole loan. You won’t need a guarantor; you won’t need to worry about further repayments. You could even go on a holiday.’
Ronnie and Glenn’s opposition and her own sense of nostalgia about the old homestead and what it meant to them had stopped her from progressing with any sale. It had been Dan and Ronnie’s home when their father returned from war. A soldier settler made good through hard times. It held fond memories of their brother John too. But there was no other way. And a holiday? How tempting would it be to escape her life, even for only a while?
Mr Treloar continued. ‘I’m not sure why you didn’t want to do it six months ago. You might have got a better price for it then.’
It had always been the obvious choice, but she lacked the resolve—as Violet told her about all number of Poppy’s issues—to decide without emotion. ‘How am I supposed to find a buyer in five weeks? It’s not as if the countryside is swarming with people looking to settle. And even if the war were to end tomorrow, it would be six months before men started returning.’
He tapped his fingers together. ‘I have someone on the sidelines who’s looking to purchase such a property.’
‘You do? Who?’
‘I can’t divulge that information. Not until I have confirmation that a sale will go ahead.’
But he’d been happy to divulge information about Walter’s and Poppy’s finances, hadn’t he? It could only be the Jennisons. ‘Can you give me a week to discuss this with Ronnie? She is part owner of Guilford Farm and she knows you’ve invited me here today. I must discuss it with her before I sign anything.’
He glanced at his calendar. ‘Friday today. Let’s say Wednesday. Gives you the weekend and a couple of days to get things in order.’
She shook Mr Treloar’s hand and left his office, her shoulders suddenly heavy with the prospects before her. Old Mrs Carney sat in a chair in the bank’s foyer and waved a brief hello. Was her farm another one affected? Her grandson had been serving in Sydney, and last time Poppy met him he rambled about coming back to the family farm. Poppy would get through this, but others wouldn’t.
In Market Street, sweat pooled under her arms and trickled between her breasts as she trudged from shop to shop buying groceries. Normally she would do it on a Saturday, but why waste the fuel? She paused outside the general store and looked at the window littered with several advertisements for local services. An idea struck her. The bell on the door tinkled as she entered.
‘Afternoon, Mrs Guilford. What brings you to town on a Friday?’ old Mr Jennison said. At least Paul and Alfie weren’t about.
‘I was wondering if I might put an advertisement in the window?’
‘An advertisement? For what?’
‘Piano lessons.’
‘Oh, that’s sounds lovely. I’ll get you a card.’
Poppy placed her parcels on the U-shaped counter as Mr Jennison disappeared out the back. She stared at the groceries in shelves that reached to the ceiling. It hadn’t changed in all the years she’d been here. The taint of tobacco, the same worn brown cabinets and overpriced sweets that stuck together in the jars when the weather was warm. A small part of the counter, currently strewn with paper, was dedicated to those wanting fuel rations or bull licences. She picked up a scrap. The price of fuel was almost twice what she had paid last fortnight.
Mr Jennison returned with a pen and a card. ‘Here you go.’
The scent of tobacco followed him like a train and she turned away from him to lean the card against the counter.
PIANO LESSONS
9/- per hour lesson
Please contact Mrs Penelope Guilford at Guilford Farm to discuss.
Limited places available — All abilities welcome
Telephone GF28
Mr Jennison’s shadow grew over her. He was not a small man and his stomach would enter the room well before he did. He picked up the card and brought it close to his face. ‘At that price, I might take up the piano myself, Mrs Guilford.’
She mouthed a listless thank you and stepped over the threshold and back out into the heat of the street.
Eleanora Ladbroke stepped out of the butchers at the same time. ‘Poppy, dear. Braving the heat, I see.’
‘Not much of a choice, I’m afraid, Mrs Ladbroke.’
Mrs Ladbroke wore a high-necked dress and her broad-brimmed hat shadowed her face. Her CWA president’s pin, the badge a perpetual reminder of her standing in the community, glistened.
‘Oh yes. I, for one, can’t wait for the cool weather to reach us, although that’s months away.’ She wiped her temple and gave Poppy an unnerving smile. ‘I didn’t have time to chat with you at the last CWA meeting. But did you have a nice Christmas and New Year? Are your aunt and uncle well? And Glenn, how’s his arm?’
The last few meetings Poppy had bowed out before anyone cornered her for conversation. She’d not been in the mood for small talk. ‘Everyone is well. Glenn had his cast off after the storm, and we had a lovely Christmas, thank you. I hope you bought the New Year in with some pleasantness too.’
‘I did. With my son Andrew and his family in Adelaide. So nice to have my eldest back.’ She bent forward and lowered her voice. ‘I saw you, you know.’
Poppy’s heart leapt to her throat. ‘You did?’
‘Oh, you needn’t worry, dear, everybody knows. Well, half the district does.’ She laid a hand on Poppy’s arm still laden with parcels. ‘I saw you both on Christmas Eve, shopping in Rundle Street. By the time I got through the crowds, you and Walter had scarpered.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘Walter?’
‘You needn’t hide it from me, dear. I won’t tell anyone you had a secret rendezvous in town. But everybody knows.’
‘But I—’
‘You couldn’t do better than Walter Butcher. What with so many unsuitable types out there.’
Everyone in town seemed to have an opinion on her and Walter. Poppy wanted to scratch at her skin as if she had an outbreak of hives. ‘Unsuitable, you say?’
