Gallipoli Street (7 page)

By the time she arrived at the general store Alice felt quite peaceful, all thoughts of Jack and Rose pushed from her mind and replaced instead with purchasing considerations. She had decided on pink ribbon to trim the new bonnets she was making for the orphanage girls, and some bright red and blue paint for George to finish off the train set he was making for the boys. The other little gifts would be gratefully received, but she was sure the train set would be the hit of the day. George had enjoyed building it, with some help from Pattie, who loved to tinker with tools and design all manner of contraptions down in the shed with her father. Alice smiled as she hitched the horse up outside the store. That girl really should have been born a boy.

Hannah Street was mostly empty save a few sleeping dogs, some older men discussing the contents of the paper outside the general store and the postmaster who waved at her from the stately post office entranceway. Walking gratefully out of the hot sun and into the shade of the store, she headed first towards the selection of ribbons.

‘Good morning, Mrs Murphy.'

Alice turned to see Rose Dwyer standing near the window, looking striking as usual in a white blouse and navy hobble skirt. So much for pushing the girl out of her mind, she sighed inwardly. ‘Good morning, Rose, how nice to see you,' she said, forcing a smile. ‘Doing some Christmas shopping?'

‘Yes, I want to buy Mother some new winter gloves,' Rose replied, turning to the shopkeeper. ‘Hilde, could you show me what you have in store?'

‘Got some nice summer ones just 'ere.' Hilde nodded at the counter hopefully, then grimaced as Rose shook her head. ‘Think there were a few winter pairs left over 'fore I put 'em away. I'll have t' look at what we have out back,' she added, not looking very keen to do so.

‘That would be lovely, thank you,' Rose replied.

‘Don't know what ya mum's gonna want 'em for in this heat, 'less she's stopped melting since I saw her last,' Hilde muttered under her breath, heading out to the back storeroom slowly, her large frame ponderous in her enormous apron.

Rose turned back to Alice. ‘Are you making a new bonnet?' she asked, nodding at the ribbons Alice was holding.

‘Yes, just choosing some trim for the Mercy girls.' Alice always preferred to call them that rather than ‘orphans', which sounded so cold and sad.

‘Actually I'm glad I saw you today,' Rose said. ‘I wanted to ask…well, I wondered if I might have your permission to help with the orphans. I'm sure you are very busy and I would so love to be of use. I mean, I assume there will be a celebration of sorts at the orphanage for Christmas?'

‘Actually, they attend celebrations elsewhere,' said Alice, feeling slightly embarrassed. She was hardly in a position to invite Rose to Greenshades, where their Christmas would take place.

‘Oh, I see,' Rose replied. ‘Well perhaps I could visit the orphanage with you and help in some way. I'm desperate to be involved, missing the children from my old parish as I do.' Her eyes filled with tears as she added, ‘Especially at this time of year, poor lambs.'

‘I didn't know you were involved with this kind of work, my dear,' Alice said, surprised. Rose didn't seem the type.

‘Oh well, one doesn't like to boast about doing God's bidding,' Rose said demurely. ‘I would love to be a comfort and help in some small way again. I do so love children. Look at me, I'm sorry. Being all sentimental and foolish.'

‘Just don't weep on me new ribbon there,' Hilde sniffed, having returned with a selection of the previous season's gloves. She eyed Rose with obvious suspicion, plonking the box on the counter. Alice studied Rose too, wondering at her motives.

‘Come with me on Sunday,' offered Alice, deciding to call her bluff. ‘Pattie and I visit every week with the O'Shays and I'm sure there will be plenty for you to do. No doubt the girls will enjoy the company.'

Rose's lips gave an almost imperceptible twitch before settling into a benign curve and she held out both her hands prettily to Alice's, thanking her warmly. Turning to leave she was halted by a loud ‘Ahem' from Hilde.

‘Oh Hilde, I do apologise. I think I've changed my mind about the gloves – I'll knit them myself instead.' She looked back at Alice and smiled again. ‘After all, handmade things mean so much more.' Hilde's mouth drew into one long, grim line as she closed up the box and took the gloves out to the back again, mumbling something about a certain ‘useless baggage' who ‘wouldn't know her backside from a knitting needle'. Alice had to stifle a giggle at that.

But all the way home in the buggy she puzzled over this new, unexpected side of the Dwyer girl.

On one hand, she found herself sharing Hilde's scepticism. There was something a bit too good to be true about Rose's pious behaviour, yet on the other hand Alice supposed the younger woman might truly just desire to be a good Christian. She thought about the reading from the previous Sunday's mass, translating the Latin in her mind:
Nolite iudicare ut non iudicemini:
Judge not lest ye be ju
dged
.

‘Did ya find whatcha were lookin' for?' Maude asked as she walked into the kitchen on her return home.

‘Perhaps,' Alice replied, lost in thought and missing the confused expression on Maude's face. She sat down to cut the bonnet trimming, reflecting that one comment by Rose was certainly true: handmade things did mean so much more, especially to the hands making them.

Waitara

Pattie thought the trip would never end. An hour in a chaise with Rose Dwyer and her own mother was torturous, not least because Pattie, who usually liked to handle the horse herself, had to let Alice take the reins today. She cursed herself again as she fidgeted with her bandaged hand, annoyed that she hadn't been more careful working on the train set with her father. As a result, she had a rather sore gash to contend with, which was nothing compared to the torture of sitting opposite Rose in a confined space for half an hour. Her only entertainment during the trip had been trying to decide which was worse, her mother's gullibility or Rose's lies. Surely her mother could see through the pathetic fabrications about the ‘poor souls' at St Bernard's, Rose's old parish orphanage in Melbourne.

Rose was appointing herself the heroine of every tale, describing how she had saved little Stan from drowning in the river, sewn Sally a dress with material bought with her own allowance (so the ‘poor darling' had something pretty to wear on her First Holy Communion Day), and how Father Colin O'Donnell had openly cried at the pulpit the final time they attended mass, devastated to see her leave.

‘He told me later he was most embarrassed, but he just couldn't seem to help himself,' she said with a dainty shrug.

‘It's a marvel he can get through mass each week then if he's so emotional,' Pattie remarked. ‘The Bible is hardly a comedy.'

‘Pattie!' said her mother.

‘And however does he cope with funerals?' Pattie went on, undeterred.

Rose darted a half-amused look her way then feigned an expression of sadness. ‘I suppose a priest's life is a lonely one. Losing a friend can't be easy, even for them.'

Pattie couldn't help herself. ‘I wasn't aware they were permitted lady friends.'

‘Pattie that is quite enough–' her mother began.

‘Oh, Mrs O'Shay, don't be concerned. Pattie is just teasing me,' Rose said. ‘She and I are becoming bosom friends.' Alice missed the mocking glance Rose threw at Pattie's flat chest as she took a deep breath, expanding her own, impressive bust.

Pattie seethed. How could Jack be so shallow as to parade about with this insufferable cow? She needed to say something to him before it got more serious, and judging by her mother's look of tentative approval today, it was going to have to be soon. The realisation made her slightly nervous. Jack had never been one to listen to advice, especially from his little sister.

She was saved from further thought as the orphanage finally came into view, a collection of dark brick buildings surrounded by bushland on the tallest hill in Waitara. The O'Shays had already arrived and, as she began to unload the eggs and apples they'd brought with them from the farm, she waved at Veronica. The latter waved back, pausing briefly in the game of hide and seek she was playing with the children in the garden.

Catherine was already in the kitchen organising a midday feast, a weekly treat of roast beef and potatoes followed by apple pies and cream, while the Sisters of Mercy enjoyed some quiet prayer. Pattie figured their mothers were in their element here. Sunday mass was well and good, but Catherine and Alice were practical women who believed in practising what was preached, and the two of them were a force to be reckoned with in that kitchen.

Catherine smiled to see Pattie come in with the supplies, then looked down at her bandaged right hand in consternation. ‘Oh Pattie, whatever have you done to yourself now?'

‘Runaway track, I'm afraid, Mrs O'Shay,' Pattie explained laconically.

‘Indeed?' Catherine raised an eyebrow. ‘Well I suppose that's a little better than blaming a runaway horse,' she said, taking the crate of apples and casting Veronica a look as she arrived in the doorway. Pattie could have sworn she saw Catherine hide a smile as she turned away.

While the children were eating lunch, Catherine took the girls aside and asked if they would go up to the work site nearby. The foreman was a family friend and had kept some leftover wood for the orphanage whose dark walls would become freezing in winter.

‘I'm not sure I can lift anything today,' Pattie apologised, holding up her bandaged right hand.

‘I'll go,' Rose volunteered, and Pattie stared at Veronica's dismayed expression, unable to help her.

‘I'm not sure…it may be a little too heavy for you, my dear, and I wouldn't want you to damage your pretty frock.' Catherine eyed Rose's soft yellow dress dubiously.

‘Oh, this old thing can stand getting dirty. I'm sure I can handle it, especially if it means warming these poor dears in winter,' Rose said sweetly, picking up her hat. Pattie pulled a face at Veronica, who couldn't seem to bring herself to smile back.

‘Shall we take the cart?'

Veronica stared straight ahead, gripping the seat as Rose failed to avoid yet another rut on the steep road. It was horribly hot. So hot the tree shadows up ahead were making water mirages on the track. They hadn't spoken a word the entire way and Veronica was mentally inventing and discarding conversational topics when, to her surprise, Rose spoke.

‘You seem nervous, Veronica. Would you feel better standing up, perhaps?'

‘I…I'm not sure I understand–'

‘I saw you,' Rose said in a matter-of-fact way. ‘It's no use trying to deny it. I watched the way you flaunted yourself in front of Jack on the road, and the way you tried to flirt with him at the dinner party too. He has no use for a child, Vera, so stop embarrassing yourself.'

‘Veronica.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘My name is Veronica,' Veronica ground out, feeling her anger build, ‘and I have no…interest in Jack Murphy, if that's what you're implying.'

‘The little girl has a temper. Well, well, well.' Rose raised an eyebrow. ‘He's going to ask my father for my hand soon, so it's just as well you have no “interest”, as you say, although I think you're lying.' She glanced at Veronica casually before adding, ‘Not that it matters. Jack is in love with me, as I'm sure you can plainly see. I'm just trying to save you from making a fool of yourself again.'

‘I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.' Veronica stared across towards the thickly forested hills, focusing on breathing normally to keep her voice light.

Rose sighed, shaking her head. ‘Just keep well away from Jack, Veronica. He's going to marry me and sticking pathetic little flowers in your hair won't change that. Do we understand each other?'

‘Oh, I understand you perfectly,' Veronica responded, unable to resist adding, ‘although I'm surprised you feel so threatened by a child like me.'

‘Not threatened, I'm just a realist. Even the bull will sniff at the calf.'

Veronica felt her heart thump hard in her chest and clamped her mouth shut, determined not to react. They drove along in a frosty silence until the workers finally came into sight. Seeing them approach, the foreman, John Parks, waved to them. Veronica waved back.

‘Here's a turn-up for the books! Hello there, Miss Rose.' He tipped his hat at Rose who flourished the reins to the seat and held out her hand to be helped down. Some of the workers nearby stopped and stared at her. ‘Mind y'step. Well, well, look at our young Veronica.' He smiled at her kindly. ‘How's your dad going? Hey.' He'd noticed the men watching them. ‘Don't just stand there gawking like frogs!' he yelled. ‘Get this wood on the cart for the ladies!'