She began to cry then, it wasn’t just Dulcie, she couldn’t share her real thoughts with anyone, she never had been able to. She talked to Mrs Wilberforce about the house, the garden, what she’d seen at the pictures, but never anything deeper. It was the same with Angelina and the girls at night school, just gossip, nothing more. Was that why she felt so empty most of the time?
The saddest thing of all was she could see Dulcie’s face in her mind’s eye, and she knew in her heart her sister would give anything to get a letter like the one she wanted to write. She had always been one for believing talking things out made people happier. May could recall that day in the garden at the Sacred Heart, when they’d been told Granny was dead, and how Dulcie had tried to get her to speak about what Sister Teresa did to her. She should have told her, maybe it would have helped.
May remembered how it was after Dulcie left St Vincent’s, hearing the other girls talking about her. ‘She always understood’ was one remark she heard so many times. ‘You could tell her anything and you knew she’d never pass it on’ was another. Dulcie had been badly missed when she left, there were many girls who’d cried, but yet she, her sister, had been glad to see the back of her.
What did that make her?
May got up then and went inside. She would rather tackle a pile of ironing or clean the silver than think too hard on that one.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Wake up, Bruce,’ Dulcie said as she shook him vigorously.
He awoke immediately, sitting bolt upright in the single bed of the spare room into which he’d moved when Betty became seriously ill. ‘Is she worse?’ he asked.
‘I’m so sorry,’ was all Dulcie could get out before she burst into tears.
She had been woken at two by the alarm she’d set to turn Betty over, and gone into her room. Betty was lying on her side just as she’d left her a four hours earlier, seemingly in deep sleep. Dulcie gently drew her bedcovers back and laid her hands on her side, intending to roll her over, if possible without waking her. When she encountered a slight chill and rigidity she switched on a brighter light to check. Betty was dead, she had ceased breathing and she had no pulse.
‘She’s dead!’ Bruce looked at Dulcie as if he didn’t believe her and leaped out of bed.
Dulcie followed him into the big bedroom. It was the end of May now, Betty had hung on far longer than the doctor expected and in the last few days had even seemed a little better. Bruce had spent a great deal of time with her in the past few months, leaving the other men to do the ploughing and seeding while he read to his wife or just sat talking to her.
Dulcie stood awkwardly at the door. Bruce was kneeling beside the bed, crying and covering Betty’s face with kisses. She had felt their deep love for one another right from the first day she came here to work and she knew that even though Bruce believed he had prepared himself for this moment, he wasn’t ever going to be the same again without her.
Bruce was like a water-mill, Betty the stream that kept him going. They had both liked people, yet they had everything they needed in one another. Even as she looked at the big man sobbing beside the bed, she could almost see him shrinking and she couldn’t bear to see him in such pain.
‘I must call the doctor,’ she said gently, trying hard to control her own grief. She couldn’t imagine a day without Betty either. She had been her mother, teacher and friend. She went over to him and bent down to embrace him. ‘I’m so sorry, Bruce,’ she whispered. ‘She was the most lovely person in the whole world.’
‘What do we do?’ he asked, looking up at Dulcie, tears running down his big rugged face. ‘How can we bear it?’
She held him again, drawing his face to her chest, and wished she knew the answer to his question.
‘She died in her sleep without pain or she would have called out,’ Dulcie said soothingly. ‘I came in to turn her.’
‘Will you call the doctor?’ he whispered, his voice cracking. ‘I’ll just stay here with her.’
Dulcie fetched his dressing-gown and slippers, dressed him like a child, then moved the chair to the side of the bed and urged him to sit on it. ‘I’ll get you some brandy once I’ve called him,’ she said softly. ‘Do you think I should wake the men up too?’
Bruce looked at her vacantly. ‘What can they do?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘So I won’t call them unless you want me to.’
Dr Freeman said he’d be over as soon as he could, and Dulcie poured Bruce a brandy and took it in to him. His head was bowed down on the bed, and he was still holding one of Betty’s hands. She patted his head and told him she’d put the drink down beside him and that she’d be in the living-room if he wanted her.
It was cold, so she cleared out the stove and lit it, but as she knelt in front of it blowing on the flames she thought of all the times she’d seen Betty do the same thing. She had never been like Pat, relegating all the messy and difficult jobs to Dulcie. Before Betty became ill she was often up earlier than Dulcie, mixing up the chicken feed, laying the table for breakfast, and in winter lighting this stove. She liked fires, and she often told Dulcie about the time when she and Bruce lived in a tent out in the bush. She said she kept a fire burning all night then to keep the dingoes away and she would sit beside it for hours, planning the dream house she and Bruce would have some day.
Dulcie could imagine how hard Betty’s life was in those early years, especially as a new bride straight from the city. Yet her stories of that time were all humorous ones, without a trace of self-pity or bitterness.
It didn’t seem fair to Dulcie that she had been taken so early, that the years of comfort she’d had were so few in comparison to the tough ones. Yet it was only a few days ago that she’d said material things alone could never make you happy. She said she believed it was the ability to find joy in the simple things, the man you loved, the beauty of nature, sharing and building a home together that brought true happiness.
Through her Dulcie felt she had reconciled herself with her past. She no longer brooded on her mother’s death or her father’s conviction for her manslaughter, for Betty had taught her to accept what she couldn’t change. She rarely gave a thought to the cruelty at the Sacred Heart or St Vincent’s, and she’d lost her resentment of the Sisters for preventing her from writing to her father. Her mind often turned to England, but it was good memories she held on to, and as an adult now she could forgive those who she once felt had let her and May down. Her uncles and aunts on her father’s side had never been close, and once Susan had married and had a child of her own she probably didn’t have the time to keep in touch with two small children she knew she could never see again.
Instead, Dulcie thought how well her life had turned out. The affection Bruce and Betty had shown her had given her confidence and self-esteem, she had Ross and a lifetime of happiness with him to look forward to, May was settled and happy in Perth, and in time she hoped for children of her own. Betty had taught her that life was what you made it, and she was determined that she would never lose sight of that.
Yet Betty’s death was going to change things, there was no doubt about that. While Dulcie felt confident she could continue to keep everything in the house going the way it always had been, she wasn’t so sure Bruce would be able to cope.
At six o’clock Dulcie went over to the bunkhouse to tell the men the sad news. She thought it better to tell them before they got to the house, as she had persuaded Bruce to lie down after Dr Freeman called. It seemed Betty’s heart had just given out and he assured both Bruce and Dulcie she would have felt nothing.
Dulcie stood at the door of the bunkhouse before knocking, trying to control herself so she could tell them without breaking down. She knocked, and a few seconds later John came to the door wearing nothing but his underpants.
As soon as he saw it was Dulcie, he partially hid himself behind the door. ‘What’s up, Dulc?’ he asked.
‘Betty died earlier this morning,’ she blurted out. ‘I
thought I’d better let you know before you came over, so you were prepared.’
His handsome bronzed face just crumpled. ‘Strewth, Dulc,’ he gasped. ‘How’s the boss taking it?’
Dulcie just shrugged. Bruce wasn’t hysterical but then he had known this was coming, yet she had found his utter silence since the doctor called more disturbing than hysterics. ‘Will you tell Ross and Bob?’ she asked. ‘I’ll go back and start breakfast.’
‘You all right, Dulc?’ he asked, perhaps surprised she was talking about breakfast.
She nodded, even though she certainly didn’t feel all right. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, I expect you’ll all need a cup of tea.’
As she walked back across the yard to the house she felt very strange. The birds seemed to be singing very loudly, she was icy cold and her vision seemed just a bit distorted, but she mentally brushed it aside, forcing herself to think of the job in hand, making tea and then breakfast.
She was just putting the pot of tea on the table when the men came in. All three faces were anxious and tense.
‘Where’s the boss?’ John asked in a whisper.
‘In his room,’ Dulcie replied. ‘Go in to him, John, I’ll give you some tea to take to him.’
Neither Bob nor Ross spoke. They stood awkwardly, as if they were unused to the house. Dulcie poured the mugs of tea, wondering why Ross didn’t come and put his arms around her, or even ask her any questions.
As John went into the bedroom, taking the tea with him, she told Ross and Bob to sit down. ‘She died in her sleep,’ she added. ‘I found her at two this morning.’
‘Why didn’t you come and tell us?’ Ross asked in a croak.
‘There was nothing you could do,’ she said, taking her tea and going over to the armchair by the stove because she was so cold.
It was Bob who came over to her. He knelt down in front of her and took her hand in his. ‘You’re like a block of ice,’ he said, chafing her hand between his big ones. He turned his head towards Ross. ‘Get a blanket for her.’
Ross rushed to her bedroom and came back with one. Bob tucked it around her and put her tea into her hands. ‘You’ve had a bad shock, Dulcie, you just stay there and get warm. We can look after ourselves.’
His concerned tone made tears come to her eyes and Bob saw them. ‘You cry if you want to,’ he said in little more than a whisper. ‘I know I feel like it, Betty was beaut, the kindest woman I ever knew. But you’ve been doing everything for her for a very long time, like you was her daughter.’
It was probably the most he’d ever said to her at one time, and the first time he’d expressed his feelings about anything.
‘It’s going to be so sad without her,’ she said, looking into his plain face and seeing grief that mirrored her own in his pale brown eyes. ‘What will we all do, Bob?’
‘We have to remember she’s got no pain now,’ he said simply. ‘We have to take care of Bruce and look after the place. That’s what she would’ve wanted.’
John came back into the living-room. He looked down at Bob kneeling by Dulcie, across to Ross who was sitting at the table, then back to Dulcie. ‘Bruce is doing okay, I think,’ he said, his voice hushed and his eyes full of tears. ‘He said he’s relieved she’s free of pain now, and he wants me to go with him later to arrange the funeral. It’s you he’s worried about, Dulcie, go in and talk to him, we’ll get our own breakfast.’
Bob draped the blanket round her shoulders as she got up. ‘Keep that round you,’ he said, and patted her cheek gently.
Bruce was lying under the eiderdown, still in his dressing-gown and pyjamas. He gave her a watery smile as she came in. ‘Are you cold too?’ he asked, seeing the blanket. ‘That’s how I feel as well.’
Dulcie sat beside him on the bed and took his hand. He squeezed it appreciatively. ‘Betty loved you,’ he said simply. ‘I just wanted you to know that. Only last night she said it again and told me to tell you when she was gone. I reckon I ought to have given you a hug earlier this morning, but I was only thinking then of how I felt. I’m sorry.’
Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘You don’t have to say you’re sorry about anything,’ she said. ‘I loved Betty too, and even if we are all glad her pain is over, it’s going to be so tough without her.’
Bruce nodded. ‘Right now I don’t want to live without her, but I guess I’ll come round. We’ve got calves to be born, crops to sow. A farmer of all people knows life has to go on. How’s Ross bearing up? You still want to marry him?’ he asked. ‘Only Betty wasn’t convinced it was right.’
‘I know,’ Dulcie sighed. ‘I do still want to marry him, but it’s not a good time to talk about it now.’
Bruce shrugged. ‘Maybe not. Reckon Ross will be as badly hit as the rest of us by Betty going, she’s the nearest he ever got to a mother.’
Dulcie remembered Ross’s silence back in the living-room.
‘Grief is something that has to be talked about,’ Bruce said, as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘It isn’t the male Australian way to talk about feelings, but Betty got me out of that way of thinking, she came from a family who weren’t scared to show emotion. She said to me once when she was in a temper, “Look here, Bruce, there’s nothing manly about behaving like a brick wall, that just makes you look empty-headed. Cry, scream, anything that shows me you’ve got something inside you, or I’ll bloody well leave you.’ ”
Dulcie smiled. She could almost hear Betty saying that. ‘I’ll pass it on to Ross,’ she said. ‘Now, could you eat a bit of breakfast? Just some scrambled egg or something light?’
‘I’ll try,’ he said with a sigh. ‘That’s if you’ll have some too. But we’ll wait till the men have gone out if you don’t mind. I can’t face them just yet.’
‘Is it okay if they go in to see Betty?’ she asked tentatively.
He nodded, his eyes filling with tears. ‘You do whatever you think best for now, Dulcie. My mind’s all fuzzy.’
Later that afternoon Dulcie found her mind was all fuzzy too. The undertaker had called and taken Betty away, Bruce was outside somewhere, the house silent and empty. Her days had been so busy for so long that she didn’t know how to fill the time now there was no nursing to be done. She’d already cleaned Betty’s room, removed all the bottles of pills and medicine, changed the bed and put it back exactly how it was before she became ill. She had a Lancashire hot-pot in the oven for supper. Everywhere was cleaned and dusted, and now there was nothing more to do she didn’t know what to do with herself. She knew what she really wanted, for Ross to come in and talk to her, but he hadn’t been near all day. By the time she’d finished talking to Bruce early this morning he had left to go and milk the cows.
Bruce and John were in town at midday, and it would have been an ideal opportunity for Ross to come over and speak to her, but instead Bob came to collect tea and sandwiches for them both. It felt very much as if Ross was purposely avoiding her, but she couldn’t understand why. She knew he must be hurting about Betty, so why not speak to the one person who shared that same hurt?
She had cried on and off most of the day. Betty’s personality was stamped on everything she touched or looked at, she needed to talk about her, to be held and comforted. If Ross truly loved her why didn’t he know this? It wasn’t as if he had to keep up a tough front with the other men – John had cried over his breakfast, and couldn’t eat it, and Bob had shown her such concern when she was cold. Even if no one did any work at all today, Bruce wouldn’t care. Dulcie knew he hadn’t gone outside to work when he returned from town, it was only because the house felt so strange without Betty.
Ross didn’t come into the house until six-thirty, and even then he didn’t look at her or speak. He was pale-faced and tense, staring intently at the pattern on the tablecloth, and didn’t even appear to be listening when Bruce told them all the funeral would be on Friday, three days away.
‘Her sisters and brother and their families will be coming as soon as they can,’ he said. ‘
They’ll probably get here Thursday night. The women can all sleep in here, and the men with me out in the bunkhouse. They’ll all give you a hand, Dulcie, we’ll have to lay on a bit of a spread too for after the funeral.’
Dulcie was glad to know she had something to fill the next two days. She had gone with Betty twice to help neighbours prepare food for such occasions, so she knew what was needed.
‘If you write out a list of what you need, Dulcie,’ John said. ‘I’ll get it all tomorrow. I’ll sort out the bunkhouse too and make up the beds. You’ll have enough to do in here.’
Dulcie shot him a look of gratitude.
‘Have you got something black to wear?’ Bob asked her, his lips trembling.
Dulcie shook her head.
‘Reckon you can find something in town?’ Bruce asked. ‘Betty’s got a nice black hat in the cupboard, I think she’d like you to wear it.’ He glanced round at his men. ‘You all got black ties?’
Dulcie dished up the supper, listening to Bruce talking about moving the sheep into a new paddock. She guessed he felt like her, thinking if he found enough jobs to do he’d feel better. She noticed he was forcing himself to eat, his movements were slow and deliberate, yet he gave up halfway through the plateful. ‘It was good, Dulcie, but I don’t feel like eating,’ he said.
‘It’s okay,’ she said gently. She couldn’t eat her own either, and John was struggling.
But Ross kept on eating, silently and intently.
‘Do you want to come down the pub?’ John asked Bruce when the meal was finally over.
‘Nice of you to ask, but no thanks,’ Bruce said. ‘I’ve got a heap of phone calls to make tonight. I’d best make a start on it.’
Dulcie began stacking the plates to take them into the kitchen. She hoped Ross might stay behind to help her. But he didn’t, he followed John and Bob out and didn’t even say goodnight.
By nine Dulcie was in bed. She could hear Bruce’s voice in the living-room as he made yet another call. She guessed he was weary of explaining the same thing over and over again, of listening to all that sympathy. She had offered to make some of the calls for him, but he’d refused, simply saying, ‘Betty was loved by a great many people. It wouldn’t be right for me not to speak to them myself.’