Beyond the crushing wave.., p.18
Beyond the Crushing Waves, page 18
He unbuckled his belt, and Mary took a step backwards. Her heart leapt into her throat as he removed the belt from the loops around his waist in one quick flick. She turned to run, but his gravelly voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Move one more inch and I’ll make sure your sister won’t be able to stand tomorrow.”
Mary spun to face him. “Don’t you touch my sister.”
He glowered with his lips pulled back into a snarl. “What did you say?”
She pushed Lottie behind her, blocking her sister from his wrath with her own thin frame. “I said, don’t touch her.”
His face turned a dark shade of red and one weathered claw clenched around Mary’s forearm. She released her hold on Lottie as he dragged her through the garden. The first slap of the belt strap against her thighs stung. The next forced a grunt from her lungs. Soon, the pain all melded into one long ache that she refused to acknowledge. She simply stood, bent over, while he landed blow after blow against the back of her bare legs.
Finally, he stopped, wheezing from the effort. She straightened and faced him, her eyes bright and clear, her mouth firmly shut. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him with as much disdain as she could muster. He seemed taken aback and unsure of how to respond as he tucked his belt through the loops on his pants.
“Now, you mind what you’re told and no more lazing about, or I’ll take it out on that sister of yours.” He puffed as he fastened the belt in place.
“Don’t touch my sister,” she said again. This time her voice was cold and low.
He startled, then his eyes narrowed. “Do you need another reminder of who’s in charge here?”
She stood tall and straight, unflinching under his gaze, her chin jutting out.
His breathing slowly returned to normal as he watched her. Then, with a brief nod at his own sense of victory, he spun on his heel and marched in the direction of the garage. Mary watched him go. The stinging on the backs of her legs made her gasp, although she wasn’t going to let him see how much he’d hurt her.
Lottie rushed to Mary’s side and threw her arms around her sister, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry.”
Mary patted Lottie’s head. “It’s fine, I’m not hurt. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have sat in the shade. You were only trying to help me. I’m sorry.”
She grasped both of Lottie’s cheeks gently between her hands and stared into her sister’s tear-filled blue eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right. See? Perfectly fine. I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around.”
She pulled Lottie to her chest and patted her back slowly, in a circular motion, as Lottie cried into Mary’s shirt. “Hush now, Lottie. We don’t want them to see us cry. We’re stronger than that.”
Lottie snuffled into Mary’s shirt, then pulled away, her tears already drying. “Yes, Mary. I’ll be strong, I promise.”
The knock-kneed girl wandered closer, eyeing Mary’s legs. “I told you to keep out of his way. You’ll need to put some iodine and a wet cloth on those legs of yours—he really gave you a walloping. Come on, I’ll take you back to the cottage.”
“But don’t we have to keep working?” asked Mary.
The girl shrugged. “I won’t tell anyone. Besides, Forrest will be upset if he sees those bruises, and Crew will make sure you get the blame for it somehow. Like I said, you don’t want to get into Crew’s line of sight, and if you cause him trouble with Forrest, that’s exactly what you’ll do. If you make an enemy of him now, you’ll regret it.”
Mary smiled. “Thanks, I think some salve would help. It burns…”
“I’m sure it does. Follow me.”
Mary and Lottie fell into step beside the girl, trotting to keep up with her long strides. “I’m Faith, by the way. I’m the head girl at Evelyne Cottage.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Mary and this is my sister Lottie.”
“I know,” replied Faith. “I really hope you two won’t cause me this much trouble every day.”
“No, we won’t,” promised Mary.
“Good to hear. You were impressive. No tears, not even a whimper.” Faith smiled at Mary.
“Thanks,” replied Mary. “Not my first time.”
Faith grinned. “I think you’ll fit in just fine around here. Although, try to stay out of Crew’s way. Most of them aren’t so bad apart from our cottage mother. Keep your head down when she’s around as well.”
“Thanks for the warning,” replied Mary.
Lottie had her thumb firmly stuck in her mouth as they walked and she’d fallen silent, the way she often did when she was upset. Mary hated that she couldn’t protect Lottie from all of this. But at least she’d managed to keep Crew’s attention on herself rather than the hiding he’d promised to Lottie. She wouldn’t have been able to control her rage if he’d thrashed Lottie the way he’d done to her.
Back at the cottage, Mary lay stomach down on her bunk while Faith found the first aid kit. It was comprised of a tin box with a few Band-Aids, a bandage, and some iodine. Faith applied the tincture, then wet a cloth which she lay on Mary’s legs. She waved goodbye and told them to get some rest and stay out of sight until the others returned that afternoon.
Lottie climbed into Mary’s bed and faced the wall, her thumb still in her mouth. Mary inched closer, wrapping her arms around her sister and holding her close. Lottie sniffled softly, but didn’t speak. Mary stroked her hair with one hand and blinked back her own tears, the pain intensifying as her adrenaline abated. She’d be bruised in the morning, but would have to hide that fact from the staff on site in case it caused trouble for Crew.
“It’s almost Christmas. Did you remember?” said Lottie all of a sudden. “I wonder what Mam is doing.”
Mary swallowed hard, then dashed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I forgot all about Christmas. But I suppose you’re right.”
“I wish we were home with Mam,” said Lottie, her voice full of tears.
“Best not to think about Christmas, or about Mam,” replied Mary, her throat aching. “But one day, I promise, I’ll give you the best Christmas of your life. We’ll have plum pudding and custard, turkey with gravy, and the biggest slice of ham you’ve ever seen.”
Lottie sighed. “Oh, I’m so hungry. I couldn’t eat that slop they served for breakfast. There were wee black creatures in it — did you see?”
Mary agreed. “Aye, weevils. I’m famished as well. So, let’s think about Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, like in that magazine picture I showed you last year. The one we saw on that stand outside Flannigans the day it snowed, and Mam forgot about us, and brought us nought for tea.”
“I remember,” replied Lottie. “It had a big ham on the front of the magazine, with apples baked in cinnamon.”
Mary’s stomach rumbled, and for a moment she forgot about the ache in her legs. “That’s right — when we celebrate Christmas one day, there will be crispy baked potatoes and slices of roast pheasant. Plus, a big ham with those cinnamon apples you saw. Just like in the magazine.”
“Oh, don’t. I’m going to faint of hunger,” complained Lottie with a giggle, one hand pressed to her stomach.
“Then we’ll follow it up with slices of custard pie, apple crumble, and ice cream.” Mary let her eyes drift shut as she imagined the delicacies all lined up on a table.
“And Mam will be there, as well as Grandma and Grandpa,” added Lottie with a sigh.
Mary’s stomach cramped. She didn’t want Mam to be there. Mam was the one who’d sent them away. She didn’t care to see Mam ever again. But she couldn’t say so to Lottie. Her sister still held out hope that Mam would follow them, would meet up with them and they could all begin their lives afresh together someday.
“Yes, we’ll be together. One big happy family,” agreed Mary. “You’ll see.”
21
Current Day
Mia
I’m sore in so many places, it’s become a sort of general malaise. But that’s okay because despite the aches and pains, I feel good. Really good. Like I could conquer the world, if only I could get some sleep.
Brody’s awake, but he’s happy enough lying on his back on a bunny rug on the floor. There’s a colourful mobile hanging over him, and he’s watching it carefully and pumping his arms and legs in a haphazard fashion every now and then.
He’s adorable and I’m falling more in love with him every day. I can’t get over his deep, dark eyes, his black hair, the cute little dimple in one cheek. He’s still skinny and lanky, but he’ll fill out in no time. I’ve already read all the books about the baby years — I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to pregnancy and parenting books.
I scoop him up gently and tuck him into his removable car seat. We’re going to visit Gramps. Gammy is still not up to it, so I promised her I’d check on him whenever I could. Ben is at the shops picking up groceries for the week, and Brody is more settled than usual. So, it’s the perfect time for me to try an outing on my own with Brody. Nerves flutter in my stomach, but I’m a capable, independent woman. I can do this. At least, I think I can. Other people seem to manage it all the time, anyway.
It takes me about half an hour to get everything we need packed into the nappy bag, Brody belted carefully into his seat and the seat snapped in place in the car. By that time, he’s screwing up his face in preparation for a massive meltdown because he’s hungry again. I’ve taken too long, and I have to start the entire feed, change, burp, sleep routine all over again, which means it’ll be after lunch before I’ll make it to see Gramps, if I do at all. And he’s always better in the morning. Plus, I promised Gammy. So, I decide that Brody can wait the ten minutes it takes to get to the nursing home and start up the car.
He screams the entire way there. It’s not so much that the screaming is loud, which it is, but there’s something about the tone of the scream that makes my spine tingle and my hands itch and my head go all nutty. I do my best to ignore it, changing the stations on the radio until I find something soothing and turning up the volume so he can hear it over the sound of his own voice. But he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He only wants to scream.
By the time we reach the nursing home, I’ve sweat through my maternity shirt and yoga pants. I can’t take the crying anymore. I have to do something about it. So, I pull into the parking lot and feed Brody in the car, leaving it running. He settles immediately, and I breathe a sigh of relief as the air-conditioning washes over my roasting body.
After a quick change and a burp over my shoulder, I strap him into the pram. It should only take two minutes, but it doesn’t because I’m not used to it yet and I only have one free hand. I heave it out of the car boot and my finger gets jammed in one of the joints, drawing blood. That makes me drop the pram on the road, and I’m now not sure if it’s upside down or the right way, or if I’ve just broken the darned thing. There are so many different parts, and knobs that could be levers, but that I soon realise aren’t when I press them.
The shop clerk showed me how to use it when I bought it, and it seemed so easy. Just a quick press of a button and pop, you have a wonderful pram with all these amazing features that are so very necessary for every new mum. But now, it’s a mass of metal and fabric, and every part of it looks the same as every other part until finally I press something and it’s the right button. The pram springs into shape and pinches the flesh on my thigh at the same time, making me yelp. My shout scares Brody, and he bursts into tears against my chest while I hop around the parking lot doing my best not to let my baby hear his first swear words at one week old.
When I push Brody in his pram through the automatic doors, I’m overwhelmed by an urge to cry with relief at having managed what I believe is probably a feat of human accomplishment worthy of some kind of medal. I also want to lay in my bed in a foetal position and cry. But that’s probably the hormones talking.
It only takes a few moments for me to compose myself, check in at the front desk, and head to Gramps’ room. He’s sitting in the garden just outside his sliding door. It’s a beautiful little rose garden with colourful flowers, dragonflies, and bees buzzing around as residents wander along a brick path, or sit in their wheelchairs, or doze on any number of chairs and park benches in the shade.
Gramps is staring into the distance, and when he sees me he gives me a big grin that lets me know he recognises me. It’s going to be a good visit with him.
“Well, hello there, Mia-Moo,” he says, kissing my cheek as I bend to hug him.
“Hey, Gramps. I brought Brody to see you.”
He peers into the pram, touching under Brody’s chin with his fingertip. “Well, how about that. What a handsome lad he’s going to be.”
“How are you feeling today, Gramps?”
He shrugs. “About as good as I can. I miss Gammy, and all of you. I don’t want to be here, you know. But that’s life, right?”
I squeeze onto the park bench beside him and wrap an arm around his narrow frame. He’s smaller than he used to be. He was a big, strong man in my youth. The kind of man who could do, build, or fix anything. I thought he was invincible. Now he’s shrivelled and hunched around the shoulders. It hurts to see him unhappy.
“I’m sorry, Gramps.”
“I know, love. Not your fault. But I miss the outdoors, the bush. I miss farming and gardening. Being around my family. Working. Ah, it’s no fun growing old, my dear. I don’t recommend it.”
“I didn’t know you were a farmer,” I say.
But he brushes my words away with a flick of the wrist. “Oh, well, it was a long time ago.”
“Did you live on a farm in England?”
“No, my mother was from a small beachside village. Of course, I didn’t live there though, since she moved to London before I was born.”
“You’ve never spoken much about your mum, Gramps. What was she like?”
His eyes gleam as he meets my gaze. “She was quite beautiful. Long brown hair that shone in the sunshine. Brown eyes that were like molasses. And she could sing. Oh, she had a wonderful voice. Her laugh was contagious too. We had a lot of fun together, she and I.”
I can’t help smiling as he talks, imagining him as a boy with his beautiful songstress of a mother, walking hand in hand by the beach. It’s a pretty picture.
“When did she die?” I ask, brushing a fly away from Gramps’ face.
His smile fades. “A long time ago. She was in England—I was here. I wish I’d spent more time with her before…well, never mind. None of us can change the past.”
His words hit home to me because I find myself often thinking that I should make more of an effort to spend time with my parents. No one lives forever, and I’ve hardly seen them in recent years. Usually only at Christmas, and maybe one other time during the year. Sometimes, not even then. We spent last Christmas with Ben’s family in Kyoto while Mum and Dad went to St Petersburg. They said it was the trip of a lifetime, but I can’t help wondering if they missed seeing family. Dad would never admit to it. He seems to take pride in not needing anyone, or at least that’s my impression.
“Well, she didn’t come to Australia, so I suppose I had to build my life here without her,” continued Gramps. “Life is strange — sometimes it’s cruel, sometimes it’s kind. But we never know which mistress it’ll be at any given time.”
“And you met Gammy on the ship, right? She told me about that.” I want to ask him more about Gammy, but when I look into his eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it. Did she kill someone, Gramps? That’s what I want to say. But this time with him is precious, so I’d rather get to know him some more and tell him how much he means to me. I don’t want to upset him. Besides, even thinking it — the words sound ridiculous in my thoughts, let alone saying them out loud.
“I met her before we left England. But it’s here we fell in love.”
My heart melts. They’ll share their sixtieth wedding anniversary next year. And yet he still talks about their courtship as though it’s fresh in his mind.
“How did you know she was the one?” I ask.
He smiles. “It wasn’t any one thing. We spent a lot of time together over many years, and I knew I couldn’t be without her. She was a strong, brave, and kind girl. She became a wonderful, loving and compassionate woman. But I didn’t know all that at the time. I only knew, I couldn’t face the idea of living without her. So, we got married.”
I adore hearing these stories. Especially told by Gramps, since he doesn’t often engage in deep conversation much with me anymore. The sun is shining, and noisy minors dart and call as they chase a crow from a tree in the garden while Brody is drifting off to sleep in his pram. And my heart is full of warmth.
“I wish Dad could see just how amazing you and Gammy are,” I say, my joy faltering.
Gramps pats my knee. “It’s okay, love. He’s got reason to be angry with us.”
“No one will tell me what it is. Why he’s so mad.”
“Well, when he was a kid, we were pretty distracted. I worked a lot to pay the bills and wasn’t home much. He and Gammy clashed. Especially when he was a teenager. He had an idea of how his life should look, the types of things he should be allowed to have or do, and your grandmother had a different perspective. Of course, they’re so alike that it often ended in fireworks.”
“What was he like as a teenager?” I’ve often mused over this question. My strait-laced father is the height of responsibility and maturity these days. It’s hard for me to imagine him being rebellious and wayward.
“He had his moments. But he was a good kid at heart. Still, there were hard times — he drank, got involved in drugs for a while. Oh, nothing too serious, but it meant he was angry, difficult and didn’t like being told what to do. Thank goodness, he made it through all of that. But it put a strain on our relationship. Gammy thought tough love would be the best approach, but now looking back I wonder if we did the right thing.”
