Heart of Coal (15 page)

As they walk and chatter, arm in arm, Brennan wonders — but with little hope — whether his clever wife has remembered about the need to eat.

TWICE a week, once for Sunday lunch and again on any midweek afternoon with suitable weather, Rose goes to the Camp to visit Bella. On Sundays Brennan comes too, though for some reason he finds it uncomfortable. Rose is different there. Some underlying tension, which he can’t understand, thickens the air. Bella is delighted to see them. She always cooks something special, even though the effort clearly tires her. She exclaims at Rose’s robust good health, strokes the bulging belly with love, and never fails to give Brennan a sly wink, implying that they are partners in the success story of the baby. This annoys Brennan. Loving is a private thing between him and Rose, not to be shared in any way with Bella. And
if forced to discuss the matter he would have to admit that all is not perfect in that department. Several times, when Rose has been brimming with excitement and life (and love, you would have to think), Brennan has reached out to hug her, only to be shocked by her reaction. The laughing, lively face has set like concrete and she has pushed away his arms abruptly. With force. Mostly, now, he has learned to control himself, but sometimes the holding back drives him crazy.

On the visits to the log house Rose is often restless. She walks through the rooms, picking up small things, examining papers, smoothing bedclothes. In the kitchen she stacks away the food she has prepared for Bella for the coming week; is sharp if she discovers some of last week’s supply uneaten.

‘You are not eating, Bella! Here is the whole jar of meat paste untouched. And half of the cake!’

‘Oho, look at me!’ wheezes Bella. ‘And tell me am I eating or not!’ Indeed, she has grown fat and puffy, and now walks with great difficulty. ‘My gentlemen take good care of me, never you mind.’

Bella’s ‘gentlemen’ now include Will Scobie, who has taken up permanent residence in Rose’s old room. On Sundays Will is not at the log house but back at Burnett’s Face with his family, and Brennan is heartily glad of it. Rose and the little stablehand do not get on. Brennan had hoped that his cousin’s presence at the log house would calm Rose’s anxiety about her mother, that Will would bring regular news to Burnett’s Face on his frequent rides in that direction. News he brings, but Rose is never pleased to hear it from that quarter.

‘What does
he
know?’ she mutters, if Janet reports that Bella seems to be improving. Or ‘Tell him to leave her be!’ if the news is that Will has helped her outside to take the sun.

Once, only once, Brennan tackled her on the matter of her prejudice. They were sitting in their own little home, warm and peaceful, on either side of the coal range. Rose had read out a piece from an old newspaper that made him laugh — an account, bristling with hyperbole, of a new double bill playing down in Westport, performed by Pollard’s Lilliputian Opera Company.

‘Perhaps Will should try out for it,’ said Brennan with a grin. ‘He can imitate any voice you like, and pass himself for a young one.’

‘And good riddance to him,’ said Rose. ‘The weasel.’

‘Well, Rose, that’s uncalled for. My wee cousin is a good enough lad. Good to your mother, at least.’

Rose’s strong eyebrows lowered; she glared at Brennan from under them. ‘You’re so naïve, Brennan! Can’t you see he is worming his way into her affections?’

‘He genuinely likes her, surely? And vice-versa.’

‘More fool her! She is blind to his scheming ways.’

‘What schemes? Rose, it is you who is blind.’

‘He is hoping for some inheritance. Taking advantage. Oh, I am on to the little rat!’

Brennan was alarmed by her vehemence. But his own stubborn streak could not let the argument go. ‘Rose, Rose, what inheritance? You mother has little or no money. The house will be yours, everyone knows that. You are letting simple jealousy cloud your judgement.’

The slap of Rose’s open palms hitting the table cracked like gunshot. She pushed her heavy body upwards and lurched around to tower over Brennan. For a moment he thought she would hit him too. ‘I might have known,’ she shouted, ‘that you would take your family’s side against mine! What about loyalty to me?’

Brennan was shocked. He stood too, and reached out to hold
her. She flung his arms away as if she were pushing back an assailant, not a lover. They stood there, face to face, breathing hard. Brennan had no idea what to do next. Quarrels had not been part of their repertoire at all.

Suddenly Rose regained control. ‘Well,’ she said quietly, ‘that’s what I think.’ And sat down.

Brennan watched her for some time. Rose looked away, solid as granite. Waiting for what?

‘Shall I fill a kettle?’ asked Brennan at last, uncertain of what would come next.

Nothing came next. Rose nodded, smiling up at him, sunny and open as if the flare-up had never happened. They drank tea, read some more and went to bed.

Will Scobie was never mentioned again.

EVERY EVENING BELLA Rasmussen prays — to no deity in particular — that her health will hold up until the baby is born (and a little after, if possible). She can feel her body functions faltering, the slow creep of something shadowy and sad. There is no particular pain — no more than the usual — but a certain faint nausea. A heaviness, too — not just in her walking but in her spirit — that frightens her. She fears dying alone. Often these days she thinks of Con the Brake and wishes, without any hope at all, that he would come back. Sometimes, when Will is at home of an evening (not often) and the other gentlemen have gone to their rooms, she asks Will to fetch the fabulous carved whale’s tooth and together they make up stories of Con’s life. Narrow escapes from death, huge storms at sea, whales that run amok and smash the little whaling boats. Will loves these evenings and is as nimble as she at inventing miraculous adventures.

On one of these evenings the little jockey asks Bella if he might bring Beth down to see the treasure.

‘Beth?’ says Bella. ‘Is there some new arrival on the Hill I’ve not heard about?’

Will grins at her, cocky and proud. ‘That is Liza Hanratty, who is my sweetheart. She says if I can feckin’ change my name so can she. Liza is too common for my girl. To start with we tried Elizabeth but it wouldn’t catch on. Don’t you think Beth suits her, Mrs C? Her gentle spirit?’

Bella keeps her astonishment to herself. She knew this favourite boarder of hers had his eye on someone — but that lanky Liza Hanratty? She has always considered the girl a poor sort of fish, lacking any flavour in her spirit, either gentle or fierce. But Will clearly thinks otherwise, standing tall as he can in front of the fire, cheerful as a sparrow this evening in good dark suit and smart yellow waistcoat. These days Willie the Rat is a celebrated jockey on the Hill and at the Westport Jockey Club. His own horse, Black Knight, has won good money on the Coast. And there is talk of horse and rider making the trip to Sydney next season.

Will is waiting for his answer. ‘Can I bring Beth down then? She does love anything with a bit of artistry to it.’ He winks. ‘But you would have to keep our secret. It is not public knowledge. Nor won’t be till I have a big enough stash put away that her dad will not laugh.’ He clears his throat. ‘At so small a suitor.’

Bella sighs. Beth’s father Tom Hanratty laughs at very little these days. He seems to have lost the appetite for his businesses. Some of his regular customers have drifted over to Rusty McGill’s new saloon, where the atmosphere is more cheerful. Bella doubts whether a betrothal to a Scobie, and an undersized one at that, will be Tom or Totty Hanratty’s dream for their sole precious daughter.

She turns the glowing whale’s tooth in her hands, loving the
smooth silkiness. In the months since its arrival it has darkened in colour, taking oil from her own hands; the images have darkened too. She knows them all by heart. Sometimes she will sit by the fire for hours, holding the lovely rich thing, dreaming of her past life — the countries and oceans she herself has seen, and will never see again. Twenty-four years she has lived on the Hill. Bella knows she will never go down now, until they carry her in a coffin.

Will Scobie is watching her, head on one side. Understanding her thoughts, perhaps. She is grateful for his company, this chirpy cricket of a lad. He can always cheer up these empty days.

She hands the scrimshaw tooth to Will with a smile. ‘Well now, you can bring your Liza — your Beth — down to see it, but not yet. First I must introduce Rose to her father’s gift. Already I have waited longer than I should. Put it away now, Will.’

Will, dreaming no doubt of his sweetheart, carries the treasure in its box into his own room, not Bella’s. He climbs on a stool to hide it in his own wardrobe. This is a mistake he will later regret.

TWO days later Rose, very pregnant, and lacking any offer of transport, walks the two miles from Burnett’s Face to visit her mother. She arrives hot and heavy, to plump down on a chair, knees splayed like a man, head hanging down to drip sweat on the floor. She is all ungainly lumps and angles but still manages to exude — along with her usual rude good health — a glowing beauty that has more men than her husband dreaming of her. She arches her back to relieve the strain, then raises both arms to pull the mass of curls away from her raging face. The energy Rose brings into the room is palpable.

‘Oh, you wicked girl!’ cries Bella, delighted. ‘And you have carried down my groceries! You will bring on the baby before its time!’

‘It cannot come soon enough.’ Rose laughs and then clutches
her belly with a groan. ‘Oh, feel the wretch kick, Mama! Surely he wants to come out this minute. Come on, come on then!’ She drums with both hands at the bulge.

Bella screams at her to stop. ‘Rose, Rose, you are the wildest mother-to-be I have come across.’ But she is laughing too. ‘Now sit down this minute and be still. I have something to show you, and to tell you. No, no …’ as Rose goes to the kitchen to make tea, ‘no my sweetheart, come and sit here by me. I must get this off my chest as I have not been quite open with you.’

Rose, curious, sits while Bella tells her of the gift. When she hears it is from Con, the brake-man who people say was her real father, she is uneasy. ‘Why? What does he want? Mama, what are you hiding?’

Bella is in tears now. ‘I am a foolish old woman, my Rose. Con wanted nothing, I believe, except to give his daughter a part of himself. And perhaps to explain his way of life — his choice to go away. But I feared to lose you. I kept it secret because I thought you might be tempted to go too.’ Bella pauses to wipe her eyes.

Rose frowns. ‘But Mama, where would I go?’

‘You are not curious about the rest of the world?’

‘Curious, yes, but I can read about it without going. We have our books, our journals. Why would I leave Denniston?’

‘Oh, sweetheart, most people dream of leaving Denniston …’

Rose snorts. ‘Well, they are short-sighted and foolish. Enough of all that. Now, where is this treasure? Show me quick!’ She taps her mother lightly on the nose. ‘You should know me better than to think I would leave! What nonsense.’

Bella sighs. ‘Well, you are right, I should. But many would say that you are far too full of life and intelligence to waste it all up here. That you are bound to spread your wings.’

Rose laughs out loud. She struggles to her feet, then lumbers
around the room flapping her arms wildly. ‘Oh yes. The Denniston Rose, largest flightless bird in New Zealand!’ Her harsh cry is a good imitation of a kiwi’s call. ‘Let me at least waddle to my nest-egg, my treasure, but I fear that will be the extent of this bird’s travels!’

Bella smiles to see her. ‘It is in a wooden box. Hidden in my wardrobe.’

As Rose rummages among the crowded junk of Bella’s wardrobe, the old lady wipes her eyes again and marvels at the way all her ills and dark thoughts melt away when Rose is in the room. It is a talent, a gift this stepdaughter brings with her, to light up what is around her. Where does it come from?

Rose stands in the doorway. ‘Not in the wardrobe. Now think again — I am dying of curiosity. You see? I
am
curious!’

Bella thinks. ‘Well, I gave it to Will to put away not two days ago …’ Her voice falters. Oh, she could bite her tongue off!

A sound very like a growl comes from Rose. ‘Willie the Rat Scobie has seen it?’

Bella tries to cover her mistake. ‘Well, he brought it with the mail —’

‘And you opened it together?’

‘He was in the room, yes —’

‘And you showed it to him before to me?
My
gift?’

What can Bella do? They had been so at ease a moment ago. Now Rose stands in the doorway, hands on hips, head lowered like a bull ready to charge. Dark shadows have appeared under her eyes. Bella struggles to her feet and goes to her. Takes her hand gently and pats it as she would a small child. ‘Forgive me,’ she says quietly. ‘I am old and foolish sometimes.’ She knows better than to mention Will again. ‘I had no right to show it to another. It was wrong. But Rose, I was so excited to hear from Con who I thought dead; how could I think straight? You know I am impulsive.’ She does not
mention that she and Will have looked at the scrimshaw many times since. Bella touches her earrings, the light coquettish gesture of a much younger woman. ‘Also I am so used to being a widow. On the Hill I would rather stay that way. So I kept quiet about it all. Say you understand!’ She tries a small smile. ‘But Rose, wait till you see it! Oh, that wicked, dear man with his clever hands!’

Rose frowns, but allows herself to be placated, to be seated again on the settee while Bella searches. She hears only too well, though, that Bella goes into the room that once was Rose’s and is now Will’s; notes the assurance with which Bella opens drawers and cupboards. Rose drums her fingers on the arm of the settee. If she were not so hampered by the baby she carries she would run out of the house.

When Bella returns with the little box and places it in her hands Rose holds the thing without interest. She reads the note and snorts. ‘Father! He has never been that!’

Bella lowers herself to sit heavily beside Rose. She can’t resist reaching out to caress the leaping dolphins on the lid of the box. She wants the girl to treasure Con’s gift. Now she understands how foolish she has been to think Rose would answer some call to follow him. Rose is no adventurer. Bella herself has more of the wandering spirit, and yet here she has lived on the Hill year after year. Bella watches as Rose slowly lifts the ivory piece from its box. What a strange mixed spirit this stepdaughter possesses! So intense, so interested in everything, and yet so … stuck! So bound to this place. Bella has wondered more than once whether she herself is the cage that holds Rose. But surely there is more to it than that.

Rose lifts out the whale’s tooth and examines it. Her face is still stony. She says nothing. Then slowly she traces a finger over the little sailing ship. She holds the whale’s tooth closer to her face, screwing her eyes to see. Bella hands her the magnifier and smiles.
Rose’s moods never last long.

‘What is that strange thing?’ asks Rose.

‘A pineapple, I believe. Oh, it makes my mouth water to see it!’

‘Is it to eat, then?’

‘It is like heaven and all the angels in your mouth. I had a piece once in a lonely place, in the north of New South Wales. I wonder where Conrad saw one.’

‘And see this! Surely it is a Chinese temple!’

‘Or Japanese.’

‘How can he carve so fine? Oh, I would like to learn this.’

‘It is called scrimshaw. Sailors often do it to pass the time at sea. But I have never seen such small detail.’

Rose looks at this woman who has been the best and only mother she cares to remember. ‘What a lot you know, Mama. Don’t you miss all this …’ she strokes the carved images, ‘all these exotic places?’

‘Not really.’ But there is a tremble in Bella’s voice. It is Con she misses.

‘We could still arrange a visit to Westport. Maybe even a sea trip to Wellington? It’s not too late.’

‘It is and we both know it.’ Bella taps a swollen knee. ‘Even in Tom Hanratty’s best-sprung trap these poor old bones would rattle to pieces. After the first two bends. No, I will settle for Denniston. And a little Denniston grandchild.’

Rose stands and stretches. ‘Or at least a Burnett’s Face one.’

Bella thinks Rose is going to the kitchen for her basket. Her old ears have not heard that Will has returned and is in his room. She does hear, a little later, a cry of pain.

‘Are you all right?’ she calls, but Rose is back in the room smiling and humming, buttoning her coat across her belly.

‘Did you fall?’ asks Bella.

‘No, no. See?’ Rose holds her arms wide. ‘All safe and sound. A dog perhaps, fighting outside.’

Bella holds up the little box.

‘No,’ says Rose bending to kiss her, ‘keep it here safe for me. There is a power in it. For some. I am afraid Brennan might feel its pull.’