Salt Creek Read online

  With Papa so cold and distant, Addie looked for affection from me, lying on the sofa with her feet resting on my lap while I sewed, or sidling up to put her head on my shoulder while I cooked or sitting near the vegetable garden while I worked on it, and for the first time I was not wishing for Papa to look at me as he did her. I never liked her as well as I did then, when she was so frightened and in such need, which I cannot help thinking now was a poor reflection on my character. But I am almost become used to that.

  We fell into whispered conversations after putting the lamp out. We did not know exactly when to expect the baby. Mama had never spoken to us of such things. But by November we thought from Addie’s discomfort that it must be soon.

  ‘I am frightened, Hettie, I cannot help it. You will be with me, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. I won’t leave your side. I promise.’

  ‘I don’t know what frightens me more,’ she whispered. ‘Living or dying.’

  ‘Don’t, Addie. Please don’t say it.’

  There came the sound of her moving about and rearranging herself and her covers. ‘I cannot get comfortable. Oh, stop it.’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘It’s the baby moving. I don’t know what that is, knees or elbows. It is not peaceful. Mama was so calm.’ She was quiet for a minute or two, and then: ‘How was it for Mama? Was it fast when she went? Papa never said, but you can tell me now. I’m not a child and never will be again. She cannot tell me. I would like to know, to be ready.’

  ‘I don’t think you do.’

  ‘Please.’ And when I did not speak immediately, she said, ‘I do wish to know, as I wish her here.’

  Finally I said, ‘It was not so bad. She was in some pain but she became quiet at the end and thought herself in England with Grandmama, safe and warm. She remembered their house and farm and the waterlilies that grew in their pond.’

  ‘Did she speak of us?’

  ‘Yes. She did. Of course she did. She did not know how it would end, though, else I think she would have said more on that subject.’

  ‘How could I have been sleeping? I am the most unfeeling thing in the world. I should have known and woken.’

  ‘It was not only you who slept. Mama would have wished it so. What would you have done here? And there was no more room in the boat.’

  ‘Oh, Hester. If I live, I will lose my baby and already I know I will miss it. I know it. I’m not sure I can bear it.’ Her voice quavered at that.

  ‘Don’t think of it now, Addie,’ I said.

  The labour went well enough, better than Mama’s at any rate. I was glad to have Flora there during the worst parts when Addie was suffering most. She moved around, soft on her bare feet, and held Addie up when she wanted to be raised, and walked about the room with her, her arm circling Addie’s waist, as if she were the sister. She knew better than I what might help. The screams and cries did not appear to affect her. I could not stop shaking. There were no complications, thank fortune, and at the end the baby, a slippery wet scrap, a girl, slipped out in an easy rush and was nuzzling at Addie’s breast soon after. It was not so different from a cow or a sheep. Addie’s face and the baby’s as they gazed, falling into each other, were suffused with the purest wonderment, which I remembered in the moment that my own boy was born safe and never to be taken away, so that the pleasure of it was marked with the horror of what I helped Papa do to Addie and the baby.

  I did not know that then. It was hard to watch Addie and to know what was coming. What would the baby’s life be? Addie named her Grace, which even Papa thought was suitable. In all the time she had her Grace hardly left Addie’s side. Even Papa could not help sometimes smiling at the picture they made in the evening when he returned home – Addie was so doting and careful – but he checked his weakness and became grim again and sat in the parlour alone.

  Supper was finished, yet Papa continued to sit, his hands resting at either side of his plate, as I might rest my hand on the piano keys before playing or a dog its paws upon a floor while waiting. It was a sultry evening in January, and the night breezes just picking up along the lagoon came pouring through the open window and door. I began to gather the plates. Addie fanned first herself with a folded newspaper, and then Grace, who shut her eyes in startlement at the sudden rush of air.

  Without lifting his eyes from his plate Papa said, ‘I have found a position for you, Adelaide, at the Travellers Rest. In two weeks I will take you there and Flora will take over caring for the baby.’

  Addie groaned. ‘No,’ and she gathered Grace in so close that she gave a little cry. ‘No, Papa. You cannot make me. Not my girl. She’s only six weeks old. Please.’ She looked at him wildly. ‘We can find a story to explain her. Hester?’

  She was so earnest and stricken that my mind began to run. I had persuaded myself that Grace being with us would drift on and Papa would weaken and do nothing. I was not prepared. I said, ‘We could be caring for an orphaned child, Papa, could we not? There are enough deaths to explain it.’ It was true. I had seen a body on a tree platform while out riding the day before. Fred had seen others on his explorations. Some contagion spreading again.

  ‘Hester Finch,’ Papa’s voice rumbled. ‘I beseech you: do not encourage your sister in her foolishness. Do not be a fool yourself. I have been blinded enough by her and spoiled her and see what has happened. Look at the infant’ – he nodded but did not shift his gaze towards Grace – ‘and tell me who other than Adelaide might be her mother. One word, one whisper and we are ruined. Adelaide, this will give you time to forget, and the money will pay for Flora and—’

  ‘What? More sheep?’ she said. ‘They will die like all your sheep. Or rot, or be eaten, or run away.’ She stopped at the sight of Papa who held the arms of his chair, his face set like a flint.

  ‘You will obey me in this, Adelaide, as you have failed to obey me in all else.’

  ‘A little longer, Papa. Another month. Please,’ I said. ‘I will do the work in Addie’s stead. Send me.’

  Fred leaned away from us all into the back of his chair.

  ‘You will not. She will learn of the wages of sin,’ Papa said. He faced Addie. ‘You will not see her again, Adelaide. The mission will take her by and by as I have arranged with Reverend Taplin and will raise her up to be decent and find a suitable position for her in a God-fearing home. Her life will be of some use. I hope that they will succeed with her where I failed with you.’

  Fred occupied himself with his cutlery and with moving about the remains of his food. Noticing him now, I saw how completely he had separated himself from us all, and Addie especially of late. He must have been lonely with Tull gone and Albert away working. I no longer knew his thoughts, but observed that the work of his book continued in the little time he found at day’s end; he was dogged rather than joyous these days.

  ‘Fred, you tell Papa,’ I said. ‘One more month. What would the harm be?’

  He slid a glance at me and at Addie. ‘But won’t it be harder if you leave it longer?’

  ‘Fred,’ Addie wailed and began to sob and leapt up so that Grace woke and began to cry too. Addie buried her face in the baby’s neck and they wailed together.

  ‘It’s what I think. Don’t ask me if you don’t wish to hear it.’ He took his plate to the washbasin and placed it so it did not clatter. ‘A walk, I think, now that it has cooled.’ And he went outside.

  Addie would not talk of her future to me, or of leaving Grace, but went about for the next two days very quiet and acted as though Papa were not there – her old way of showing him (and Mama once) that he had displeased her. In the past, after bearing her disdain for some hours, Papa would have chucked her under the chin and said he was sorry he’d hurt her feelings and she would be merry again. But this time Papa did not yield to her temper, which frightened me before it began to frighten her. He was resolved to carry through his wishes and what he considered right to the end. It was the oddest thing to watch him behave as Addie did, aver
ting his gaze from her, neither smiling nor speaking at breakfast or supper, but revealing his displeasure by his stiff bearing and hard expression. It made me wonder if he had been to his father or mother what Addie was to him: most beloved of all, the greatest disappointment.

  On the third night Addie refused to come to supper, but sat in our room with Grace. After I had cleared away the dishes and set the kitchen to rights I went to see her, lying on her side on the bed, curled around Grace and dangling a bobbin above the baby’s head and smiling to see her eyes following it and her hands waving about at it, trying to touch it. Addie moved the bobbin into the path of her hands and when she bumped it, Addie cried, ‘Clever girl,’ and kissed her and Grace gave one of her gummy smiles. She was the bonniest baby and her skin still so fair, and if her hair was dark and curled, well what of it? No one would have known. Seeing them lying together occupied in the same amusement, I felt so for poor Addie; she was not much more than a child herself.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and rested my hand on Addie’s back, and stroked it. She stilled, as if she could not decide whether she wished to throw me off and berate me or encourage comfort to continue.

  ‘Come and sit with us, Addie. Please do,’ I said. ‘Ask Papa’s forgiveness.’

  ‘Forgiveness? I should ask for forgiveness? I think not, Hester. It is he who has wronged me. To take me from my baby? Who would do such a thing? He’s a monster. There is no feeling in him.’

  ‘Addie. Think. He is not a monster. Truly he is not unfeeling. You must apologise else there is no chance at all that he will do different. If you won’t do it for yourself, you must do it for Grace. At least make the attempt.’

  ‘He can wait until Judgement Day for me to say I am sorry. It will not come before then.’ But her voice at least had dropped, and she turned her head too, tucking her face against the baby. Grace rolled her head as far as she could and her legs began to thrash with the effort of trying to discover where Addie had gone or what new game they might be playing, but her mama’s face was hidden and her shoulders heaving and Grace set up a moan like that of a calf when calling for its mother. Addie reached a slow arm about Grace and rolled her into her side and undid her bodice to bare her breast and the baby settled, gulping and snuffling in the pleasure of comfort restored. I had such a strange feeling, watching them, wondering what it would be like to bring forth life and keep it alive from my own self. More than that: I wished for it; I envied Addie the closeness of it. I would not allow it though. I would not have a baby or that would be my life. There would be another and another and nothing left of my self; my life being decided for me.

  I left them, hoping that Addie would see the sense in my words, and went back to the dining room to do some sewing – that night finishing the new dress for Grace that I had been working on. Even if I would never see her wearing it, Papa would surely allow it to go with her when she left for the mission.

  The hall door opened and Addie rushed in and across the room as if the momentum of her desperation carried her, and flung herself at Papa’s feet, burying her face against his knees.

  From habit, he placed one of his hands on her head. I can see it so clear in my mind’s eye still, after all these years, pale and long-fingered and gentle against her dark curls.

  ‘Oh Papa, Papa. I am sorry, truly I am, only don’t do this thing, don’t make me please, I beg you.’ Her voice came out muffled against the cloth of his trousers. ‘I will learn my lesson, I will, Papa, you will see. Let me keep her.’

  He pushed her away from him, with the design to create distance rather than to hurt her, so that she had to rock back onto her heels to prevent herself falling. ‘Look at me please, Adelaide.’ She lifted her face, which was smeared and blotched with tears. ‘I see you are penitent and am glad of it. Remember this: that you believed your behaviour to be wrong, and in so many ways. But I will not change my mind. Do not expect it of me; do not hope; naught but disappointment can follow. You will pack a bag and next week we will ride to the Travellers Rest. The baby will be cared for, of that you may be sure. I am not cruel or wicked. It is for you that I follow this course. I would not leave you destitute, though others might. If you do not understand today, you will one day. I do not doubt it.’

  There was nothing to hope for now but that Mrs Martin at the Travellers Rest would show the kindness to Addie that she had once shown to me.

  I should not have been surprised by the events before Addie left. She had been fussing through her clothing for days, putting things aside and discarding them, and not taking as much as I thought she would need. ‘I must do it myself, mustn’t I? As Papa told me to,’ she said, shrill, when I asked if she needed help after supper one night, rolling a petticoat into a ball and rolling some more before stuffing it into a bag.

  Papa, passing by, said, ‘Leave her be, Hester.’

  Now I wonder if he knew what she was doing and did not want her to be disturbed in her plans, but to deal with events once they began to unfold. Perhaps the prospect of dispensing justice felt like an action that was clear and measurable, that it might allow him to think something of himself. (But I might be wrong in this. Memories are just the survivors of complete events and are not easy to interpret; in the recalling they can be used to create a story that is only partially true or not true at all. I have sometimes found it hard enough to know what is real even when events are unfolding around me.) Papa had foreseen what she might do where I had not for all the time I was with her. It didn’t seem right. He knew Addie better than I. Why was that?

  When I woke the morning before Addie was to leave, she was no longer in bed. I dressed and made my way through the house to the veranda and finally to the kitchen and did not pass her along the way. Fred was coming down the path with two pails of milk, and the cows were ambling away from the stable. There was no sign of Papa. Flora had stoked the fire in the kitchen stove, and was busying herself cutting bread and making tea and stirring porridge. Bobby was at her feet with Skipper and Sal curled against him.

  ‘Tea, Miss?’ Flora said.

  ‘Please,’ I said and she poured me a cup. I supposed that Addie was visiting the privy, or had gone to visit the shore, as she liked to do.

  Fred came in with the milk and set it at the end of the table. ‘Did you know?’ he said.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘About Addie of course.’ Then, seeing my blankness, ‘She’s run away. Left before daybreak taking Grace with her.’

  ‘Why aren’t you looking then? What are you thinking? Never mind breakfast. I’ll go myself.’

  ‘No need,’ he said. He pulled out a chair and sat, legs outstretched and hands in pockets. ‘Papa was expecting it. Flora has been watching for days.’

  My eyes met Flora’s; hers were fearful. Deliberately, she dipped a beaker of fresh milk and handed it to Bobby. Sal nosed at it and he pushed her snout away. She ladled some porridge into a bowl and brought it to Fred with a jug of cream.

  ‘Flora,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not her fault,’ Fred said. ‘Don’t go blaming her. Papa told her to, and what else could she do? She made sure of what Addie was doing and her direction and came back to find Papa. He’s gone to fetch her.’

  ‘She might do anything,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, or warn Addie?’

  ‘And leave her wandering alone?’

  ‘Did she take a horse?’

  ‘She did, but she can’t go fast with Grace. She’s not you, Hett. Papa will catch her soon enough. He’ll have it in hand. What good would come of it? Addie can’t run away and care for a baby on her own. Where would she live? How would she live? She has only herself to blame and yet she is surprised that hardship falls on her.’

  ‘Yes. Tull is gone and now Addie bears this on her own.’

  ‘What would he do? What could you expect of him?’

  ‘He might find employment. Papa could employ him. He is intelligent.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Fred said.

  ‘And trus
tworthy.’

  ‘I think one thing we have found is that he is not. I know him – at least I thought I knew him – better than any of us. The hours we spent together. And see? I knew nothing of his attachment to Addie, nor saw any sign of hers to him. Did you?’

  ‘No,’ I said, which was not true.

  ‘He asked about leasing a run, the cost of it. Perhaps that should have made me wonder.’ Fred shrugged. ‘As to accepting a marriage, Papa would never agree, so do not encourage Addie to think of it. He believes that crossbreeding creates weakness. Of course he is wrong, as Mr Darwin has shown, but Papa will not hear of it. Social ruin. It would be easier to be an animal. People have considerations that no animal does.’ He let his spoon fall and watched it subside into his porridge.

  ‘Eggs, Mister Fred?’ Flora asked.

  ‘None, thank you.’

  I was on the veranda when they returned: Addie stricken and wet-faced on her horse, trailing Papa. There was a red mark across her cheek and her eyes had become small with weeping. And poor Grace was in her arms. I ran to meet them and took Grace when Addie handed her down. Papa, dismounted, grabbed her by an arm and yanked her down. She landed awkwardly, half-sitting so that she appeared to be mired in the marsh of her skirts. ‘Papa!’ I said, and crouched at her side. She was like a small hot bird, heaving with sobs. Papa pushed his gaucho’s hat to the back of his head, and took Addie’s arm in his clenched hand and dragged her from me, heading for the stable. Addie pulled back, huffing out small sobs.

  I ran to catch them up, Grace screaming in earnest against me now, and her head battering my chest. ‘Papa,’ I said. ‘Enough. She will go.’