Beyond the crushing wave.., p.14
Beyond the Crushing Waves, page 14
He looked up and met her gaze, his eyes sparkling. “Wanna play chess?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know how.”
“I’ll teach you.”
She often thought it strange that a boy from a Home would know so many things she didn’t. She knew what a Home meant, that he didn’t have any parents. She at least had Mam. But Harry knew things like how to read, historical stories she’d never heard of before, and how to play chess. There was other stuff too, things that surprised her.
“Where’d you learn to play?”
He grinned. “One of my teachers at Barnardo’s taught me.”
“They had lessons?”
He shook his head. “Nope. He taught me in his free time.”
“When he didn’t have to?”
“That’s right. He read to me as well. Me and some of the other boys who loved to listen to stories — he read to us before we could read. Helped us learn to read. He could’ve been home with his own family if he had one. I never asked him about that. But he was a good teacher.”
He moved the chess pieces around as he spoke, sliding them across the board as the words tumbled out.
“I wish I’d had a nice teacher like that. Mam wouldn’t let me go to school. Said I had to stay home to care for Lottie.”
“Couldn’t Lottie go too?”
“Mam couldn’t afford for us both to go.”
“Never mind. I’ll teach you now.”
In one corner of the room, a group of four men dressed in black coats and tails began setting up instruments. One held an enormous instrument with strings running down the length of it. Another carried a violin—at least, that was what Mary thought it was. She’d seen a violin before. One day she, Lottie and Mam had caught the train to the centre of town at Christmas. Mam wanted to show the girls Big Ben, as she’d had a dram of whiskey and was feeling the yuletide fever, or so she called it. When they’d stepped off the train and climbed the stairs in the midst of a driving crowd, Mary ran into a man. He stood under the cover of the station doorway with falling snow as a backdrop and an instrument tucked beneath his chin. His black coat was buttoned tight around his thin frame. A scarf ran around his neck, covering his ears and chin, and his bright red nose was long and hooked beneath a set of round spectacles.
She remembered him still — everything about him. The way he looked, the scent of soap and cigar smoke that lingered around him. But most of all, she recalled the music that filled the air. Most passengers fanned around him, finding their way beyond and into the snowy street. But not Mary. She stood, stock still, to watch him play. The notes teased her senses and soothed her spirits. She wanted to stare, to spin and to laugh as his bow danced across the violin strings.
“What’s that?” she’d whispered.
Mam had pushed her behind the shoulder, making her stumble forward. “Just a violin. Keep moving—we’ll catch our death if we stay still in this weather.”
Harry cleared his throat. “You ready?”
She shook the fog of memories from her mind and focused her attention on the board in front of her. He taught her the names of each piece, what they could do, how they could move and what the ultimate aim of the game was. Checkmate. It reminded her of the way Mam could be when she’d finished the bottle of Scotch — one wrong move would put Mary and Lottie in the path of the switch that was never far out of Mam’s reach. It was a threat she knew well, and she’d learned how to survive in a world ruled by an unpredictable queen who might strike at any time.
Her mind spun in knots trying to work out how to play, but after a few quick matches, which she lost in spectacularly rapid succession, she began to understand what she might do differently to help the game last and for her not to lose quite so soon after it had begun.
A waiter attended their table with a tray of ice-cold lemonade. He handed a glass to Mary and one to Harry. Her glass contained a red-and-white-striped straw, along with several cubes of ice. She took a sip and let her eyes drift shut as her mouth delighted over the flavours — sour and sweet.
“Want to play again?” asked Harry, rearranging the chess pieces.
With a quick nod, she set down her glass.
“Can I ask you something?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Fine by me.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. None I know of.”
She inhaled a slow breath. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’d hate to be without Lottie.”
“It’s not so bad,” he replied. “I’ve got Davey.”
“That’s true. You’re lucky to have a good friend.”
“And there’s you.” He flashed her a smile.
“And me as well.”
He intrigued her, this gentle boy from a boys’ home. This orphan with the deep brown eyes full of compassion and sparkling with life. He wasn’t like the other boys on board — rowdy, uncouth, and ready to tease the girls in the group whenever they had the chance. Every day, he taught her new words from a book in the library and sat patiently as she sounded out a few more lines. Every day, they played together: board games, catch, hide and seek, or spot the whale. There was so much to do on board.
The weather was warmer now and they were all dressed in short sleeves. The girls wore skirts and the boys, shorts. The sailors had switched their uniforms from navy blue to white. Now that the days were fine, they’d spent every afternoon in the swimming pool. She wore a circular float around her waist that she clung to whenever her feet couldn’t reach the bottom. But she loved it—the cool water splashing against her skin, the baking sun overhead that warmed her hair, the way her skin had developed a healthy glow.
One hand rested on her lap, and the other found a place on her stomach. She massaged it gently, intrigued at the roundness. She was growing, filling out in ways she hadn’t before. Lottie too. Both of them had rosy, plump cheeks, and their clothing had grown firm around their shoulders and stomachs. Their weeks at the House and now on the Strathaird had given them a full feeling that was pleasant and safe. She smiled as she studied her sister’s face, creased in a frown as she considered her next move on the checkers board. Her skin glowed; her hair was no longer lank and frizzy, but soft and clean. She no longer coughed and her nose was dry. She seemed a different girl than the one she’d been.
The quartet of musicians in the corner struck up a song, spinning Mary’s head towards them. Her lips parted in delight as music filled the room.
When they’d had enough of chess the four children made their way out onto the promenade deck. Sunshine radiated bright across the deck, glancing off the white handrails that surrounded it. They wandered over to those rails and leaned against them to stare out over the brilliant blue water. Mary raised a hand to her forehead, squinting at the horizon.
“I wonder how far away that is.”
Harry’s nose wrinkled as he peered in the direction she pointed. “What?”
“The end of the world.”
He laughed. “It’s not the end of the world, only the horizon.”
“You don’t know for sure.”
“’Course I do. I’ve seen a globe. It’s round. The whole earth is like that. It spins slowly, and the horizon is all we can see, but there’s more beyond it.”
She tried to understand, but it seemed impossible that anything could balance beyond that distant line.
“Haven’t you seen a globe, or a map of the world?” he asked.
She shrugged, then spun in place to lean her back against the railing. “I don’t care.”
He swallowed and turned with a sigh to mimic her stance. “It’s not your fault.”
“Didn’t say it was.” She sniffed, raising her chin. “It’s silly anyway.”
He was silent then.
Betty and one of the sailors slipped out of a room nearby, laughing as they made their way to the railing. Betty leaned over the railing with a shout. The sailor stood close, his body matching her angle.
Betty flipped her shining hair over her shoulder and pouted in the sailor’s direction. He grazed the back of his hand down the length of her cheek.
Mary’s cheeks flushed with warmth, and she looked away. “What’s going on?” she muttered as she caught sight of one of the small girls from their cabin.
The girl was sobbing, pressed up against the wall. Her legs were tucked against her chest, hands connected around them. Mary hurried over to her, with Harry lagging behind. She squatted beside the girl and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Beth? Are you sick?”
Beth shook her small head, brown curls tumbling over her shoulders. “I miss my mam.”
At that moment, Lottie stepped through the nearby doorway, her gaze landing on Mary and Beth.
“I know you do,” soothed Mary, returning her attention to the little girl on the floor in front of her. “But everything is going to be right in the end. You’ll see.”
She sat beside the girl, back pressed to the wall, and took Beth’s hand in hers to squeeze it softly.
Beth sniffled. “I don’t wanna be here. I wanna go home.”
Lottie slid into the space on the other side of Beth, her eyes already red.
Words of comfort stuck in Mary’s throat. Soothing words, kind sayings, anything to help Beth through the pain she felt — but Mary couldn’t bring herself to say it. Nothing would help to ease the girl’s suffering. There was nothing to be done. They were in the middle of the ocean, halfway around the world. It wasn’t likely Beth would see her mam ever again. But of course, those weren’t the kinds of things Mary could or should say to the girl whose cheeks were streaked with the remnants of tears.
“I miss Mam too,” whispered Lottie, taking Beth’s other hand.
The three of them sat that way in silence for several long minutes. Harry squatted at a distance, counting the stones from his pocket and measuring the way they weighed down his slingshot.
Then Beth’s sniffles abated, and she ran off on chubby little legs to play with some of the other girls. Lottie shuffled closer to Mary, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder. Mary patted her cheek lovingly.
“I wish we could see her…just for a while, mind,” said Lottie.
Mary’s lips pursed. “I know.”
“Who will take care of us, do you think? You know…when we get there?”
Mary faced Lottie with a fierce intake of breath, her nostrils flaring. “I will. That’s who. I’m always going to take care of you.”
Lottie’s eyes glistened with tears.
Harry joined them then, shuffling feet moving him back and forth as his gaze darted from one face to the other. “You alright?”
Mary smiled. “We’re right as rain.”
Harry sat beside her, adjusting his cap so that it hung low over his eyes. He bent his knees up and rested his arms on them, juggling stones in one hand. “I miss my mother as well.”
“Where is she?” asked Lottie, squinting at him.
“She died.”
Mary’s throat constricted. Her words stuck there. Nothing to say, again.
“Do you think it’s going to be like this?” she rasped finally.
“What?” Harry’s brow furrowed.
“The place we’re headed…will it be like living on this ship? With the clothing, the meals, the bedrooms, people taking care of us and looking after our every need?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I hope so,” she added. “It’s like heaven.”
He smiled, a lopsided kind of smile that tugged at her heartstrings. “Heaven? But there are no angels.”
“I don’t mind that,” piped up Lottie, “as long as they keep serving ice cream for dessert.”
Harry and Mary burst into laughter. Soon Lottie joined them. They giggled together, clutching at each other for support as the hilarity took them over. And soon they’d forgotten about Beth’s tears, their missing mothers, and that ache in their chests whenever they thought of home.
II
Troops of straight-trunked gums,
Rolling hills of green;
The unrelenting heat drums,
Unravelling azure seams.
Australia, by Bronwen Whitley 2021
16
Current Day
Mia
The hospital room stinks of bleach and lemon-scented disinfectant, and I’ve had enough. We’re going home. Brody is three days old, and he’s sleeping wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon beside my rumpled bed. His swathe of straight black hair swirls onto his forehead down to the black crescents of his eyelashes against his pale cheeks. His lips have a tinge of purple to them, and I wonder if he’s cold. I tuck another blanket around him. Careful not to wake him, I move gently and slowly. He finally got to sleep at seven o’clock this morning, and I feel dead on my feet.
I’ve barely slept more than two hours together over the past three days. My entire body hurts, but there’s a euphoria keeping me going that I can’t explain. The problem is, that euphoria is coupled with a fairly intense onslaught of emotions just now. The book I’m reading tells me it’s to do with my milk coming in.
My breasts are full and tight—enormous, in fact. Brody’s little head is dwarfed by them when I feed him. I worry it’s too much for him. But the midwife assures me it’s perfectly natural and he’ll grow like a little trooper in no time at all. I keep the tears at bay with deep breathing and focusing on Brody’s adorable little face.
I’m excited to go home. My bed is calling my name. Along with the blackout curtains and the sounds of the ocean I often play on my clock radio to drown out any neighbourhood noise when I’m taking a daytime nap. The hospital is full of noises—the clacking of heels on tiles, the ding of the elevator, the comings and goings of midwives, breastfeeding specialists, physiotherapists, the tea lady. There’s always someone knocking on our shared door or poking their head through the curtains I’ve drawn shut around my bed in an attempt at some degree of privacy, and I feel as though my eyelids are permanently fixed open. It’s a torture I’m ready to put behind me, just as soon as my loving hubby walks through that door to take us home.
My half-packed bag is on the floor. I grunt with pain as I bend to pick it up and set it on the foot of the bed. I pack the few things scattered around the room into the bag — my nightgown, maternity clothes flung over a chair back, a book I ambitiously thought I might get the chance to read but whose pages are still new and crisp, a magazine I haven’t had any desire to flip through, a few sets of baby clothes gifted by friends who’ve visited us in the hospital over these past few days, a couple of burp cloths and blue teddy bear wraps.
There are three vases of flowers on the bedside tables either side of the bed. The largest is from Ben. He gifted it to me the day Brody was born, along with a white gold necklace with a white gold figure of a diamond-studded woman cradling a baby in her arms. My push present, he called it. I smile as I finger the necklace, then slip it around my neck and fix it in place.
Ben will have to help carry the flowers. Otherwise, I’m all packed and ready to go. I zip the suitcase shut, set it on the floor and open the curtains around the bed.
A woman knocks on the open door and walks towards me. She stops at my bed. “Mia Sato?”
I nod. “That’s me.”
She smiles, her brown eyes deep and soft. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail that bounces as she moves. “I’m Doctor Siwa. I’m a paediatrician, here to check on little Brody before you leave.”
“That’s great because we’re ready to get out of here.”
She chuckles. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Then you can leave and take this beautiful little bundle home with you.”
I sit on the bed and watch the doctor work. Brody’s not happy to be woken. His face is twisting into funny expressions, and he’s making an oh shape with his lips as he wriggles and waves his arms about. She’s taken off his wrap and is checking his heart rate and other things. But she’s taking longer to check his vitals than I thought she would, and she’s looking at his little puckered lips with their blue-purple tinge.
“I noticed his lips looked a little blue earlier, so I added another blanket,” I say.
She glances up at me and nods. “Good idea. They’re still a little blue, though, so I think we’re going to have to run a few more tests before I can let you go home.”
My heart skips a beat. More tests? That sounds ominously like she thinks there’s something seriously wrong.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I ask. I’m beating myself up already for not picking it up sooner. I’m not a specialist, but I know what to look for in newborns. But I’ve been so sleep deprived, I can barely put my thoughts into words.
She smiles, wraps Brody again and slips his medical clipboard back into place on the end of the crib. “I’m sure he’s fine. We like to be thorough before you go home. I’ll take him with me, and we’ll be back soon. Okay?”
“Okay, thanks, Doctor.”
She leaves and I wriggle onto my bed and lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, my heart fluttering against my rib cage. My head feels light and my breathing is shallow. I focus on breathing deeper. The last thing I need right now is for my poor, fatigued, overtaxed body to pass out from a panic attack. I have to stay focused, alert. There could be something wrong, and if there is, I’ve got to be ready to deal with that.
Ben strides through the door, a grin on his face and the brand-new car seat in one hand. “Sorry I’m a little late. The traffic was horrible this morning. I guess everyone in the entire city is headed to work and school all at the same time for some reason.”
He embraces me, kisses my cheek, then glances around. “Where’s Brody?”
I reach for his hand and take it in mine, holding on tight. “The doctor wanted to take him for some more tests before they’ll let us go home.”
