Hester looks up from the small table where she has been writing. ‘Meg can witness it when we get home.’ ‘I don’t think she’s allowed,’ Jessica says. ‘Besides, Joe says you always get two independent witnesses.’
‘The Reverend Mathews, then,’ Hester suggests. ‘He can sign it after the funeral.’
‘Wait,’ Jessica says and walks out of the little hut and stands on the bank of the creek. She brings her fingers to her lips and whistles and a few moments later Mary appears, emerging from the bush. ‘Mary, come on over!’ Jessica shouts.
Hester is more than surprised to see the Aboriginal woman. There is barely room for the three of them and Hester sniffs as Jessica introduces her to Mary Simpson. ‘Pleased, I’m sure,’ she says with her lips pursed, but refuses to accept Mary’s outstretched hand.
‘Hello, missus,’ Mary says, smiling, ignoring the snub. ‘Nice baby, eh?’
‘Mary, can you write your name?’ Jessica now asks. Mary nods, not speaking but still smiling. It is plain she’s not intimidated by Hester.
‘Where does she sign?’ Jessica asks her mother. Hester silently points to a place under her own signature and hands the pen to Jessica, who dips the pen into the ink-pot and gives it to Mary. Hester shifts out of the way to make room for Mary to sign and she is forced to sit on the bed where Jessica’s baby sleeps contentedly. She looks down at the sleeping infant. ‘He’s a fine boy,’ she says, trying to smile.
Mary writes her name carefully and Jessica sees that the letters are well formed and all sloped in a nice copperplate script. Mary notices her looking and grins. ‘It’s them Lutherans,’ she explains, ‘the buggers teach us how to write our names so we can sign for gubberment rations.’
Joe’s funeral is to take place two days later at St Stephen’s. Meg and Hester spend most of the time baking for the wake to be held in the church hall afterwards. Jessica, who is determined not to show her grief for Joe’s passing, lasts until they arrive at the homestead and she goes to the back of the house, to the sleep-out where her father lies, dressed in his Sunday suit with his arms folded, his big hands clasped over his chest.
It is his hair that finally causes her to break down. Despite being married to Joe for twenty-two years, Hester has parted his hair on the wrong side. It is such a little thing, yet it says everything about their relationship, and Jessica weeps for her father — for Joe the foreigner who never quite got the hang of his new land, who’d come from the green grass of Denmark to the black soil plains of south-western New South Wales. Stubborn, silent Joe, who tried so hard but never had any luck. She weeps for more than an hour and then rises, thinking she must go to her baby. It is then that she remembers Joe’s curious promise to bring his medicine box over to the tin hut.
Jessica goes to the familiar box and opens the top drawer. It seems the same as ever — the horsehair and the stitching needles, a packet of safety razor blades and a small pair of pliers for pulling the needle through a beast’s stubborn skin, everything neatly in its place. She opens the second little drawer and inside are two letters addressed to her in Jack’s handwriting.
It is at this moment that she hears Meg’s voice shouting for her to come quickly because the baby is crying, and she hurriedly co
nceals the letters in the pocket of her pinny. Jessica goes into the kitchen, where a worried Meg is trying to soothe the baby.
‘He’s probably hungry,’ Jessica says, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She takes the baby into her bedroom and, closing the door, allows him to nuzzle at her breast. His hungry little mouth clasps around her nipple and begins to suck furiously and Jessica is suddenly aware that her milk has arrived. Not much, but young Joey seems to know the difference and now pulls frantically at her swollen nipple.
‘Oh Joey, I love you so much,’ Jessica sobs. ‘Joe would have loved you so.’
Jessica then takes the two letters out of her pinny and looks at the date on the stamps, to see which is the first. One carries an Australian stamp and the other is Egyptian. She tears open the first and begins to read.
S.S. Star of Victoria 28 October 1914
My dearest Jessie,
We are away at last but not yet bound for England as the convoy has to assemble in the King George Sound at Albany in Western Australia. They don’t tell us much so there isn’t much more I can say. We have been joined by the New Zealanders.
I am writing this on board ship. Lots of the men have been seasick but, touch wood, I’ve been okay.
The horses are coming on another ship, the Clan MacCorquodale, and I worry about them, although they are stout horses and should be right.
About your sister, Meg. It has all been a terrible mistake and I want to say sorry to you. I am very ashamed of what happened and that I made her pregnant. She is my wife now so I can’t say anything more. But you know how I feel in my heart about you and I always will. There is only one Tea Leaf and I shall take her into the war with me. If you can manage to write could you send me a photograph of yourself.
I beg you to forgive me, Jessie.
Your loving friend,
Jack.
Jessica tearfully folds the first letter and then, pumping her left breast the way Mary has shown her, she is surprised to see a spray of milk issue from the nipple. Her breast is sore and tight and it is an immediate relief when she puts Joey onto it. She waits until he is suckling contentedly before she opens the. second letter.
Cpl. J. Thomas — No LHNSW 8760
Mena Camp — Egypt 10 December 1914
My dearest Jessica,
I hope you received my last letter. And now for the news. Instead of going to England we were off-loaded in the Port of Alexandria in Egypt. We then went by train to Cairo and marched to a place called Mena where the pyramids are. And guess what? Near the pyramids is a whole stand of eucalypt! Imagine that, a bit of Australia waiting to welcome us. They are bigger than I expected — I mean the pyramids. We climbed the Great Pyramid to put our names on one of the higher blocks and, you wouldn’t credit it, there were names there of soldiers from the Napoleonic Wars who’d done the same. Just imagine that.