Despite her determination not to cry, tears now well in Jessica’s eyes. ‘You’re the greatest lawyer in the world, Mr Richard Runche KC. I owe you everything.’ The lawyer wearily lifts his old derby. ‘Miss Bergman, I shall always be available as your counsel when I’m needed.’ He grins weakly and Jessica imagines that his head is throbbing something terrible. ‘Do not thank me, my dear, it has been a most profitable adventure and has earned me my board and claret for six months.’ His bloodshot eyes look into hers for a moment. ‘I shall go now, proud to have been re acquainted with you, my dear. You are, Jessica, a remarkable young woman.’
Jessica watches as he shambles away, his concertina trousers brushing the surface of the platform, sending tiny puffs of dust up around his ankles. She thinks how much she has grown to love the drunken old lawyer.
‘Mr Runche, I’ll never forget yiz, as long as I shall live,’ she shouts after him.
Richard Runche stops and half turns, looking over his shoulder, then he lifts his hand and waves briefly and is gone, disappearing into the departing crowd.
Jessica climbs back into the carriage and returns to her compartment where she now sits alone, the rest of her life in front of her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In Narrandera, Jessica purchases a horse and saddle with a pair of leather saddlebags and inquires about obtaining turkey chicks, a turkey cock and, as well, a kerosene-fuelled hatchery. She buys a pony and cart from Tommy Grimlisk and bargains hard, remembering Joe saying that he was the best blacksmith in town but that he had a tendency to chew a bit hard on the end of the pencil when he was writing out a bill.
She arranges for her chickens to be brought out and hires a young lad to load all the essential farm tools into the pony cart, including a couple of hurricane lanterns, a four-gallon tin of kerosene, a sack of cracked corn and another of flour. He’s to follow her out in a couple of days, taking his time and making sure to spell the pony as often as it needs to keep him comfortable with the load. He’ll also bring the Winchester .22 repeater which has to come up from a gunsmith in Sydney. Jessica reckons she can live on rabbits for a while and also buys a shotgun and cartridges to take with her, as well as a small hand axe, two blankets, a packet of candles, two pairs of moleskins, three flannel shirts and a new Akubra bush hat. But she reckons her loony-bin boots will last her a while yet.
Jessica shops where Joe always went when he could afford it and she follows the instruction of Richard Runche KC, which is not to penny-pinch, but to buy only the best and to charge everything to the Riverview Station account. Most of what she needs comes from Cully’s Stock & Station Agents and F. C. Garner, the best general store in town.
When she isn’t out fixing up the things she’ll need, Jessica spends the time in Dolly Heathwood’s cheerful company. Dolly’s first task is to buy Jessica two pretty new dresses, some underwear and the first pair of shoes she has ever owned, urging her to throwaway the ‘disgusting’ boots issued to her at Callan Park. Jessica refuses — they’re well broken in and she reckons they’ll be just the trick in the bush back home.
Ever since Jessica’s arrival, Dolly has persistently begged Jessica to remain in Narrandera and to work with her in the haberdashery store. ‘People will be wanting the gayest hats now that the war is over and we shall have such fun making them,’ she enthuses. ‘You’re clever with your hands and I shan’t last forever. Besides, there’s always been a Heathwood in the shop.’ ‘I’m not a Heathwood!’ Jessica protests.
Dolly is shocked by the vehemence of Jessica’s outburst. ‘You’ve had such a hard time, dearest. You could live with me and have a secure future — the business will do well now that we can get supplies. Do say yes, Jessie,’ she urges.
Dolly looks terribly disappointed when Jessica thanks her but declines. ‘I have to go home, it’s where I belong.’
‘Home? To Riverview?’ Dolly sniffs. ‘Your mother and sister? You’ll find they’ve changed. It’s the money. Money changes people and, in my experience, it’s seldom for the better.’
‘Nah, to our old place. I’ve got ten acres of me own now.’
‘It’s not much land, Jessie, and it’s dry. What will you do?’
‘Turkeys. Breed turkeys,’ Jessica announces. ‘The creek runs through, so there’s always water.’
‘Turkeys?’ Dolly looks confused. ‘Good heavens, whatever for?’
Jessica tries to explain her plans to Dolly but realises they don’t sound very practical. Without Solly Goldberg’s enthusiasm to back her, putting turkeys on the train to Sydney sounds like a daft idea. ‘They eat a lot of turkeys at Christmas time in Sydney,’ she says lamely, not wanting to confuse Auntie Dolly any further with a detailed explanation of the whole Goldberg kosher chicken business and now this madness, this turkey business.
‘Well, just remember, dearest, there’ll always be a place for you here with me,’ Dolly says smiling, then she adds kindly, ‘pity it isn’t America. They eat a lot of turkeys over there on what they call “Thanksgiving”.’ It turns out Jessica’s auntie is an avid reader of the new sixpenny true romance novels coming out from America. She refers to them as ‘Yankee-pankees’.
‘Aren’t I awful? Can’t resist them, my dear,’ Dolly confesses, then confides that the books are sent to her in plain brown envelopes from Myer’s Emporium in Melbourne.
‘Of course, I mustn’t be caught reading them — that would never do!’ She lowers her voice, ‘Very risque,’ then she throws back her head and laughs. ‘Only in bed with the curtains closed. Ooh, lovely!’
Jessica mentions shyly that she’s done a fair bit of reading herself while she’s been away and so Dolly promptly invites the town librarian, Miss Amy French, to afternoon tea under the grapevine. ‘You’ll like her, Jessie, she wears cheerful hats and doesn’t care much what folk think,’ she confides.
It is from Miss French that Jessica learns that Mr Fix-it, nosy-parker, Moishe Goldberg, has already arranged for her to be sent books. ‘Such a charming letter from your Mr Goldberg, my dear, with a postal order included. Very generous, I must say. I shall not let you down. We have some of the classics on his list and I shall see you get the others.’ Miss French pauses, breaking off another small piece of canary cake and popping it into her mouth. ‘Though only one each month,’ she says, swallowing, ‘and you must be patient, dear, we are not a big library and the town council seems to think books are a luxury we can’t afford.’ She turns to Dolly. ‘Would you believe it, my dear, I ran into old McPherson in the street on Tuesday last.
‘’’Miss French, a word if you please,” he says, calling me over like some lackey. He’s just come out of the pub and his breath smells of whisky. ‘’’Good afternoon, Mayor,” I say.
‘’’Miss French, I’ve got word from reliable sources that you’re buying too many books.” , The stout librarian pulls her head back and sniffs. ‘I mean, he’s a wool and skin buyer, the nerve of the man! “Is there such a thing as too many books in a library, Mr McPherson?” I ask him.
‘’’Books are not all they’re cracked up to be,” he says to me.
‘’’Oh?’’ I say. “Why is that, Mr McPherson?” ‘He wags his finger. “You be careful, Miss French, now the war is over we don’t want no foreign ideas coming in and corrupting the minds of the young. We’ll have none of them risky novels, ya hear.”
‘’’I think the word is risque, Mr Mayor,” I say to him.
‘’’Yeah, whatever, none of them,” he says.’ All three women laugh and Dolly casts a sly glance over at Jessica, who immediately translates her look into words — what would Miss French say if she knew about the Yankee-pankees, eh?