Daughter of Australia (35 page)

H
er mind was set, the action clear, as Leonora sat across from Alex at the breakfast table. Her nerves, for once, were stable with decision.

Meredith brought the scones, the jars of jam, refilled their tea, returned to the kitchen. Alex read the newspaper, his ankle resting easily on the knee of his other leg. The slight sipping of tea and the clink of china rose from the table. The grandfather clock in the sitting room clicked and the pendulum swung—
tick, tock, tick, tock
.

“I want a divorce.”

Alex looked past the paper blankly. “What did you say?”

“I want a divorce,” Leonora repeated, her voice calm and firm.

He continued to stare at her blankly. Neither moved; neither blinked.

Slowly, the corners of Alex's mouth lifted and he chuckled. He looked up at the ceiling and laughed louder as if hearing a good joke. “A divorce?” he chided. He picked the paper back up, shook it straight and chuckled into his cheeks. “A divorce, she says.”

“It's not a joke, Alex.”

“Yes it is.” He laughed. “Quite a good one.”

Leonora sat quietly and waited. Her tea rested untouched. She breathed without nerves, slowly in and out so her chest barely rose. And she waited.

Alex's eyes moved up and down the paper, darkening without focus. His lips tightened. “Is this about the blasted camp again?”

“No, it's everything. I'm leaving you, Alex.”

His nostrils flared. “You're too stupid to even know what you're saying!” he growled. “Divorce! By God, Leonora, I won't have you throwing around a word you don't even know the meaning of!”

“Alex,” she said slowly, her eyes sharp with clarity. “I want a divorce.”

“Enough of this nonsense!” He slammed the paper onto the table, sloshing tea over the saucers, any trace of amusement stamped out. “The answer's no!”

“It wasn't a question.”

“No?” he mocked. “Well, I have some for you, darling. Where do you plan to go? Back to America? Back to the loving arms of your aunt and uncle? Or, let me guess, you're planning to stay here in Australia, or maybe run off to Paris and get a nice view over the Seine?” He leaned forward, snarled, “I've got news for you,
darling:
you haven't got a penny to your name.”

“I'll get a job.”

“Huh! There's only one profession that could use you and you're not alive enough under the bedsheets for a repeat customer!”

She pulled all her nerves to fight the anger. “Then I'll write my uncle for the money.”

“You will do nothing of the sort!” Alex pounded his fist on the table. “You won't mention a word of this absurdity to anyone, least of all your uncle.”

She looked at her hands folded in her lap and a calm rose. For there was nothing Alex could say, nothing he could threaten, that would change her mind. “Why, Alex?” she asked with quiet bewilderment. “Why won't you let me go? I know you aren't faithful. It seems all I do is bring you anger and frustration. I'd think you would be glad for a divorce.”

A line of hurt pride or hurt heart tightened across his jaw. “You belong here, Leonora. With me.” True pain sagged his features for a moment before they turned fierce again. “Besides, I'm not going to ruin my name or your uncle's by bringing the shame of divorce to it. That's final.” He picked up the paper and blocked his face.

“I'm sorry, Alex.” Leonora sighed and stood straight from the table. “But my mind is made up. I'm going to meet with an attorney this week and sign the papers. You can have the money from my uncle's estate. I don't want it. I don't want any part of it.”

Alex was silent behind the paper and she waited for the next spurt of anger, but after several minutes his voice came out smooth. “So, I was wrong, then? I guess you have thought this through.”

“Yes.”

He folded the newspaper in half, pressed the crease tight with his fingers, then placed it on the table in a neat rectangle. He stroked the paper gently with his hand. “So, that's it then.” He looked up at her. “Your mind's made up. It's over.”

Leonora was stunned by the sudden shift. “Yes,” she said gently. “It is. I'm sorry, Alex.”

“All right.” Alex shrugged his shoulders, sighed with defeat. “I'll give you the divorce.”

Her mouth fell open and she waited for more, waited for more anger, more insults or struggle. When nothing came, she whispered, “Thank you, Alex.”

Leonora moved toward the stairs, the freedom shining ahead like a radiant beacon. Freedom. For the first time in her life, freedom.

“It really is a pity, though,” Alex's voice boomed from the table, heavy with concern. “All those poor children.”

Leonora stopped in mid-step, her hand cold on the banister.

“It's tough to say who takes it harder,” he continued, “the children or their mothers.”

Leonora turned. Alex's back was to her, his elbow raised as he sipped his tea.

“Of course, they'll all get over it sooner or later. At least at the orphanage, they'll be with their own kind. Not sure what they'll do with that one with the white eye, though. You know who I mean, don't you? The retarded one? Well, I suppose there are institutions for those types. Poor girl will probably never see the light of day again.”

Leonora's chest stung. “What are you talking about, Alex?”

“I'm talking about the Aborigines, of course.” Alex spun in his chair, shook his head sadly. “Of course, once you're gone, there is no way they can continue to live here. In fact, I should probably call the Deacon to set up their removal. Better get it done with now.”

Leonora's blood turned to ice and her hands went numb, her throat tightening with the noose. Alex continued to ponder, looked at the ceiling. “Once the children are gone, we'll have to disperse the rest of them. The men will be too lost in their grief to work, could even cause trouble. Sheriff will have to bring some extra men in to evict them. Could get ugly. Police don't care for the blacks, you know.” His tongue clicked behind his teeth. “I'm sure it would be their pleasure to pluck a few off.”

“You can't be that cruel,” she croaked.

“Me?” He covered his heart, feigning hurt. “My hands are tied, darling. You're the one choosing this, not me.” Alex turned back to his tea. “Such a shame. I don't know how you'll be able to live with the guilt.”

Leonora's limbs began to shake and she clutched the banister with a white hand. “I won't let you do it.” Her voice rose even as tears burned the corners of her eyes.

He slapped his knee and laughed. “And how do you plan to do that, darling?”

“The m-m-men,” she stuttered, “the roustabouts, the managers, will stop it.”

Alex reached into his jacket and pulled out the revolver, rubbed the bright silver, peeked with one eye into the barrel. “Doubt they're that stupid.”

Leonora remembered the day he pointed that gun at his prized thoroughbred. And she knew, knew down to her marrow, what Alex would do if confronted. The freedom left, disintegrated into the mist of hate and cruelty. “I'll stay,” she murmured.

Alex held a mocking hand around his ear. “What's that?”

She swallowed and closed her eyes. “I said, I'll stay.”

Alex leaned in, scrunched his forehead. “Still can't hear you.”

The tears clawed at her throat and she ate them one at a time, then answered loud and broken, “I said . . . I'll stay.”

“I knew you'd come around.” He clapped his hands merrily. “Just a lovers' spat then? You really shouldn't take things so seriously, my dear. Throwing around such a nasty word like ‘divorce' is in such poor taste—a married woman's tantrum.
Tsk-tsk
.”

Alex stood up and strode triumphantly to her side. He kissed her drawn cheek, his lips curled in a satisfied smirk. “Don't worry, darling. I forgive you.”

 

James worked on the shutter that hung crooked on the back of the barn. A presence disturbed and tilted the air behind him. He turned around, hammer still raised, a nail poking out between his teeth when he saw her. Leonora's face was pale and streaked with tears.

James spit out the nail and lowered the hammer to the ground. “What's wrong, Leo?”

“Take me somewhere,” she whimpered. “Anywhere. Please!” she cried just above a whisper. “Just take me away from here.”

James watched her face for only a moment, felt the weight of her pain in his chest just for a moment, before he went to the barn and rode out on his horse. He reached a hand down and pulled Leonora up behind him. Her small, soft fingers gripped his hips and burned through his shirt. James kicked the horse and took off past the barn, past the riding ring off to the eastern paddocks. The house disappeared quickly, only the rabbit-proof fence stretched beside them.

A great heat spread through his body. Heat from the sun above, heat from the horse below and then the white heat that burned behind him and shot down his legs as hers lined his, the heat of her breath at his neck. And then there was the red heat of seeing her pain, of wanting to crush whatever had caused it.

They rode in silence for several miles until they entered an area of tall grass that reached to the horse's belly and bent against their feet. Beyond the grass grew the white ghost gums whose tilting bony limbs hung over a large, kidney-shaped pond. James pulled the horse to a stop and Leonora jumped down and walked to the edge of the water, so still it reflected nearly black with shade. She sat on a patch of soft grass, pulled her arms around her knees and stared straight.

James tied the horse, then slowly sat down next to Leonora. He looked past the trees and squinted at the sun filtered between their tiny leaves. A cockatoo shuffled down a limb and then back in a sidestep dance. The silence pumped oxygen to the red fire and James clenched his fists under folded arms. “Did he hurt you?”

Leonora bit her lip and shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. It took her a long while to answer. “No.”

James stretched his fingers, let the blood run through the joints again. “Tell me what happened.”

Her lips parted, the words of Alex's threat ready to spill to the only ears that would care. But that was the problem. James would care. He would step in, confront Alex. The silver of Alex's gun burned in her memory.

James leaned closer and repeated, “Don't you want to tell me what's wrong, Leo?”

Her chin crumpled. “No.” The word was more breath than voice. Then she twisted her body away from him, her spine bent forward like a willow, and sobbed in long, painful waves. Her body wracked as she tried to muffle the cries.

James reached for her before he knew he was going to and pulled her to his chest. The sound of her sadness released and she buried her head under his chin. Her fingers grabbed the seam of his shirt and squeezed it and he held her shoulders tighter. Silken hair rubbed against his neck and he closed his eyes. Her tears wet his shirt, warmed his chest. Each cry ripped into him and he held the shaking shoulders with spread fingers.

Slowly, the sobbing abated and her breathing calmed. Leonora pulled away from him, looked up at his face as if she hadn't seen him before and slid from his arms. Her face was pink with streaked tears and her eyes were wet and shone big and green and reflected the land around them. Leonora rubbed her palms against her cheeks, turned away. “I'm sorry.”

Inhaling with effort, she glanced at him. “You must think I'm ridiculous. Crying out here like a child.” She made a poor attempt at a smile. “I shouldn't have dragged you away from your work. I'm sorry.” Leonora looked at the horse and sniffled. “I'm all right now. The men are probably waiting for you.”

His arms were cold without her. And, as if settling in for a long stay, he lay on his side, propped up on an elbow and fiddled with the grass. “As pretty as the stockmen are”—he grinned—“I prefer my present company.”

Leonora smiled shyly and her face regained some of its original color. For a moment, their eyes met and a wave of heat crept through his body as her pure and sweet beauty nearly stopped his breath. He turned his gaze to the wide grass. “What happened, Leo?”

A long exhale blew from her mouth and the sadness returned. She shook her head. “Sometimes it feels like there's no . . . I don't know . . . like there's no goodness in the world. Like everyone's gone mad.” Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes grew lost. “I keep looking for it. Reach for it. And then it's gone, falls through my fingers.” She laughed then. “I'm not making any sense, am I?”

James plucked a blade of grass, rubbed the textured ribbing of the veins. “Yes, you are.”

Leonora bent her head down to rest on her folded arms and looked sideways at him, her face open and searching.

“What?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“Except for you.” A sincere amazement held her face. “You've always been good.”

An image of Shamus bleeding at his feet sliced through his thoughts. “A lot of time has passed, Leo.” His face darkened. “I might not be as good as you give me credit for.”

Her hand reached and settled on his, the warmth of her palm spreading to his wrist. James dropped the blade of grass. “If there is one truth in this world,” she said strong and clear, “it's that you are a good man.”

James stared at the smooth, perfect hand on top of his large one. The shiny, ovaled nails touched his skin gingerly. A small white line ran along her index finger. He tried to focus on it, on anything besides the hot blood pumping under her touch. “How did you get that scar on your finger?” he asked with effort.