Bill Thomas was the local blacksmith. He was also an Elder of the Presbyterian church. His face had been the battlefield of many an emotional conflict and the blows of defeat had left lines of tension engraved upon it.
He must have thought a lot about sex. His gaze did not linger upon women—Elders of the church were free of lust—but even his averted gaze carried the knowledge of what a brief glance had suggested. He leant towards you as he spoke, smiling ingratiatingly and displaying teeth as strong as anvils.
He dressed in black when going to church on Sunday mornings. He walked ahead of his wife who followed like a conscience. She was a little woman. She was short and thin, but she smiled at me sometimes. ‘She has a sweet face’, somebody said. I thought she had.
When they reached the church he stood aside for her to enter first; he was always courteous to women. He bowed and spoke to them all. He didn’t do this to the husbands.
There was a girl he spoke to. Her name was Nellie Bolster. She was an orphan from a Home and had come to Turalla to live with Mrs Frank who was always ill. Now Mrs Frank didn’t have to do any work at all; Nellie did it.
Nellie used to call in at the blacksmith’s shop and talk to Mr Thomas. She would sit on the anvil but before she sat on it Mr Thomas would wipe it clean with a piece of cotton waste. He was a clean man and didn’t want her to dirty her frock. He helped her to sit down and while he helped her his hands escaped him and moved over her thighs and bottom. Nellie didn’t mind.
One day a kid at school told me that Nellie was up the duff. I didn’t know what this meant but I knew it must be pretty terrible because this kid heard his mother telling someone and when she discovered him listening she roared hell out of him.
Joe told me it meant Nellie was going to have a baby.
‘All girls have babies’, I said. I knew far more about girls than Joe.
‘Yes, but they’re not allowed to have them until they grow up’, Joe explained.
‘Nellie’s grown up—well, nearly’, I said. I was patient with Joe.
‘It’s hard to say’, said Joe.
Mr Thomas must have thought she wasn’t grown up, because he was terribly worried over her. He told the men who came into the blacksmith’s shop. He said, ‘If I could get my hands on the man who got her into trouble I’d murder him. To take advantage of an orphan is as low as you can get.’
When he said this he lifted the horse’s leg and shod it.
Everyone admired Mr Thomas. ‘You mightn’t like him’, I heard a man say, ‘but you’ve got to give him his due. He’s even offered to pay her expenses because she’s an orphan and he’s sorry for Mrs Frank.’
Mr Thomas went to see Mrs Frank. When she heard Nellie was going to have a baby she collapsed and had to go to bed, so Mr Thomas had to talk to her in bed.
‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Frank’, he told her. ‘I’il attend to the lot.’
‘After all I’ve done for her’, moaned Mrs Frank.
‘Yes, yes, I know’, murmured Mr Thomas.
‘I couldn’t possibly keep a girl like that around the place now all this has happened’, said Mrs Frank.
‘I agree, I agree’, said Mr Thomas, loosening the collar around his neck and grimacing. ‘There’s an orphanage at Ballarat that attends to such matters. I’ll. . .’
‘Will you?’ asked Mrs Frank with such relief that she sat up in her nightgown.
‘I will’, said Mr Thomas, lowering his eyes.
‘Oh, you’re a good man!’ sighed Mrs Frank. Her face took on an expression of distaste. ‘I’d like you to arrange everything with Nellie. I just can’t talk to her in my condition—with things being as they are—you know—it’s so sordid and everything.’
‘Leave it to me’, said Mr Thomas, feeling brighter.
Nellie wouldn’t tell who was the father of the child. She just looked at the people who asked her. They said she was stubborn as a mule. The ladies wanted to know more than the men, but they couldn’t break Nellie down. Nellie remained silent as a mourner.
Mr Thomas took her by train to Ballarat and we never heard of her again. She was ‘no good’, they said, but I had always liked her. She used to laugh a lot.