Hester holds her daughter in her arms for some time, fussing, patting her back, sharing her grief, for she feels the shock of Meg’s news almost as greatly as her daughter.
It has all finally come to an end. Hester’s plans to have Jack Thomas for her elder daughter have foundered. Ever since Meg was fourteen years old, they have had their eye on him, and everything that Meg has striven for is so that she will be the mistress of Riverview one day. Even when they thought Jack had been disinherited, Meg had found it difficult to think beyond this prospect. Now, after employing every device at their command, they have finally failed, defeated by nature.
After a while Hester pushes a sobbing Meg away. ‘Sit, dearest, I’ll make you a nice cuppa,’ she says gently. She is suddenly conscious of the porridge burning, so hastens back to the stove and stirs the pot quickly. She reaches for the kettle which sits on the back hob and pours a little water into the stiffening oatmeal, then uses what remains to make a pot of tea.
‘Oh God, it’s not fair,’ Meg cries, banging her fist on the kitchen table. ‘That little bitch has got pregnant and I can’t.’ Hester places a tin mug of hot, sweet tea in front of her daughter. ‘It’s not fair! It’s not fair!’ Meg howls. ‘Meg, shut up!’ Hester says. Meg looks up in alarm. ‘Mama?’
‘Shhh! Let me think,’ Hester says. ‘Bawling isn’t going to get us anywhere, girl. Go and wash your face.
Your father and Jessica will be back from the paddocks any moment to ge
t their breakfast. I want you smiling, you hear? Smiling and happy as though nothing has happened.’
‘Smiling? Mama, how can I?’
‘Meg, go now. If you can’t come out cheerful you must remain in your room.’
With Meg and Hester responding to Joe’s dark moods, breakfast is increasingly a silent affair. But this morning Meg, being a real little trouper, has rallied and they speak cheerily enough among themselves. Joe, as usual, says little and slops up his porridge, speaking only in monosyllables usually to demand the salt or more milk or butter.
Jessica, who has endured almost three weeks of being shunned, has reached a point when she thinks she must be going mad to be punished so. She has lost her confidence and jumps each time Joe grunts at her or her mother plonks a plate of food in front of her. She grows increasingly nervous at Meg’s sly smile and begins to think that her sister takes pleasure from her distress.
Jessica is frightened and lonely and her body seems to be changing. Her breasts have grown larger and her nipples are sore to the touch and have taken to weeping a clear fluid. Thankfully the queasiness and vomiting in the morning have ceased. But she has no one who can share her concerns or comfort her. Her mother has not given her a single word of advice.
Jessica is sure of one thing, though — they will not harm the life that is growing in her. She has never thought seriously that she might bear a child, but now she wants the infant she carries with every breath in her body.
After breakfast Jessica goes off to feed the pigs. Joe is about to leave when Hester asks him to stay and pours him a third cup of tea. She sends Meg away, then pours herself a second cup and sits beside her husband at the table.
‘Joe, Meg’s had her monthly. She’s not pregnant,’ Hester announces.
‘Well, thank Christ for that,’ Joe says, relieved.
‘It’s a great disappointment.’
‘Disappointment my arse. It’s justice.’ For the first time in two weeks, Joe smiles. ‘She’s had her comeuppance at bloody last!’
‘Joe, listen to me, there’s still a way.’
‘Bullshit! Maybe now Meg can be put to work, Gawd knows we need the money.’
‘Put to work?’ Hester says, alarmed. ‘Joe, Meg isn’t Jessica, she doesn’t know about sheep and cattle or how to do things about the place.’
‘Mike Malloy at the shearing shed says they’re putting up the telegraph at Yanco and they’re looking for a lass who can read and speak nice and who knows everyone. He says Meg could be just the ticket.’
‘She’ll do no such thing,’ Hester snorts. ‘Meg is a lady. I haven’t brought her up to work in the post office.’
Joe looks at Hester wearily. ‘I’ve been rejected at the shed, George Thomas has thrown me out. I’m beaten neck and crop, love. Jessie’s not earning neither — that’s two wages we’ve lost, good money too, the best we earn all year. We’ll lose the run if I can’t meet the bank payments.’ Joe covers his face with his hands. ‘Oh shit, things couldn’t be bloody worse.’
Hester has never seen him like this — never seen him cry. No sound comes from behind his hands and his shoulders shake. She can feel Joe’s terrible humiliation. He’s not talked about money before, though she knows they’ve come close enough to disaster several times in the past. Joe has somehow always managed to keep his worries to himself, to keep his pride intact and their little drought-struck island afloat in a sea of debt. ‘Joe, I’ve thought of a way.’
Joe looks up, his eyes angry. ‘What bloody way is that? Meg to give crochet lessons to the landed fucking gentry?’ ‘I don’t know, maybe a way to solve everything.’ Joe shrugs. ‘Hester, you know nothing about making a quid.’
‘Be that as it may, Joe Bergman, I know something about making plans.’
Joe says nothing, cupping his hands around the mug of tea in front of him and staring at the cross-grain in the timber of the table.
‘Joe, Jessica doesn’t know that Meg’s pregnant.’
‘Meg ain’t pregnant, you just said so.’