CHAPTER 57
Danny, the postman, handled a fifty-mile mail route. After he traded in his stock horses and wagon for a motorized one, the mail was delivered every week instead of every two or three. Between the normal routes he delivered telegrams. But the gas-filled engine didn’t speed the man. Bowlegged as a wishbone and just as stiff, Danny moved unhurried, paid no attention to the impatient nods and quick greetings of his customers desperate for mail and catalogs and news from the outside world. He was a man of few words, but fuller of whistling than a magpie.
Danny tipped his hat to Leonora and whistled through his toothless grin. He rocked sideways on his bowed legs and pulled out an envelope. “Telegram fer Shelby.”
“I think he’s out with the horses.” Leonora took the letter. “I’ll bring it out to him.”
The November day was intense and pure with dry heat. The temperature reached over one hundred degrees, the hour only half past ten. The dry ground leaped around her steps and dusted the blue dress hem orange. Her heart skipped a beat as James came into view in the riding ring. He was leading the stallion by the bit, calming him with even strokes and pulls of the reins. Tom dismounted from a gray spotted mare and waved. “Hey, Smoky!”
“Hi, Tom.” She laughed. James watched her approach, his forehead smoothing before he lowered his gaze.
“You clean up nice.” Tom winked. He leaned his arms casually over the wooden fence. “Course, you can even make soot look pretty.”
Leonora smiled and handed him the telegram. “This just came for you.”
“Whoa-e-e!” Tom took the letter and looked at the address. “From Mum. Boys must be back!” He tore into the envelope, his pupils dancing over the words. But then the dance stopped. Tom’s eyes stilled and his lips parted. The paper remained glued to his fingers while his arms fell limp by his sides. The air shifted and grew with the heat and the silence. Leonora’s hand inched to her stomach.
James let go of the horse, neared Tom. “What is it?”
Tom raised his head, looked through him without blinking. He closed his mouth.
“Which one?” James’s voice was low and soft with knowing.
“Both.” Tom’s eyes blinked quickly now, his face immobile and puzzled. “The Flu.” He shook his head and his upper lip rose in sudden disgust. “They were comin’ home.” The puzzlement grew. “The Flu. The gawddamn Spanish Flu?”
Tom dropped the telegram and clutched his scalp with his fingers. “They were comin’ home,” he mumbled.
James stepped another foot forward. “Tom . . .”
But Tom stepped backwards, his hands still holding his head. “They were comin’ home!” He shook his head with his fists. “I can’t talk. I can’t . . .” He stumbled away, stumbled past the barn and kicked up dust as his bent figure ran past the big house.
James stooped and picked up the telegram, rubbed off the dirt and read it. His face was ashen, his jaw like stone.
Leonora covered her mouth as hot, blotted tears fell freely from under her eyelids. “I’m so sorry, James,” she whispered. They were his brothers, too.
“We need to go back,” James said slowly as he stared at the telegram. “For the funeral.” James closed his eyes. “Poor Mrs. Shelby,” he hushed.
“I’m coming with you.”
His eyes flashed to her face. “No.”
She touched his arm gently, then pulled it away. “Tom’s mother still has five children and a house to care for, James.” Leonora wiped her tears away with her sleeve. “I’ll cook and clean, take care of the little ones. Poor woman’s deep in grief, James. She’ll need the help. Besides that, we can bring the car, leave first thing in the morning.”
James watched her with heavy, weak eyes. “It’s not a good idea, Leo.”
“Why not?”
His gaze flitted to her lips. “You know why.”
“I’ll stay out of your way, James. I promise,” she pleaded, thought of Tom’s stricken face. “I just . . . I just want to help.”
“Alex will never let you go.”
“He won’t have a choice.”
“No.” Alex did not look up from his papers strewn across the desk.
“Tom’s mother is going to need the help,” Leonora insisted.
“They can bring Meredith or Clare then.”
“Alex.” Leonora leaned over his desk, made him look at her. “They saved my life. Probably saved yours, too. It’s the least we can do. Besides, it’s only for a few days. Until the funeral is over.”
Alex rifled through his papers, half-listening. “I’m not sending my wife out to the wheat fields like hired help.”
The framed picture of Alex standing with his thoroughbreds leaned importantly on his desk. “Aren’t you heading to some horse race today?” she asked shortly.
Alex huffed, “Some horse race, she says!” He put down the papers and raised his brows. “It’s only the Melbourne Cup, darling.”
“Well, I’m coming with you.”
He laughed. “Oh no, you’re not.”
“Look, Alex. I’m not staying here alone. Especially after what happened in Coolgardie. I’m either going to help Mrs. Shelby or coming with you to the race. It’s your choice.”
Alex tapped his fingers on the desk. With each tap, Leonora knew he was thinking of the Melbourne women, of the parties, of the endless betting, of the freedom from his wife. “All right. Do your charity work.”
Tom placed half the luggage in the passenger seat of the Model T; the other bag he placed in the trunk with food from the pantry. Tom turned to Leonora and finally broke his silence. “Mind if I drive?” He rubbed his temple sullenly. “Just can’t sit an’ think,” he explained. “Don’t want to think about anything but drivin’.”
Leonora handed him the keys and sat in the backseat. James slid in next to her, his face clean shaven and fresh. The light scent of soap mingled with his skin, filled the air between them and made her light-headed. The seat grew warm with his strong body. She felt him against her flesh, felt him without touching him.
The car left the big house in the dust, left the gates behind—one, two, three, four, five. The road stretched in a line that seemed headed toward infinity. The wind blew against Leonora’s hair, blew the tiny wisps around her face like the tickle of fingertips. The engine rumbled but had no effect on the quiet of the interior. Each mind ran its own thought or memory or worry or hope and so the car was full with floating, mute chatter. A cluster of emus watched the car pass, their long necks and scrawny haired heads perplexed at the strange, loud beast.
James’s arm stretched languidly across the top of the seat, his hand only inches from her head. When the road hit a rocky patch, her hair grazed his fingers, the mere touch resonating down her arms and the backs of her legs. She thought how easy it would be to rest her head against his shoulder, to feel the ridges of his chest beneath her cheek, hear the soothing sound of his breathing as it rose and fell.
The hours zipped by along the route. The sun pressed against her eyelids until they were more at ease closed than open. Between the hum of the car and the push of the midday heat, her eyes fell sleepy and dreams entered softly through the minutes, dreams with kisses and moving hands and pressing bodies. Leonora’s lips parted with a deep sigh, the noise waking herself from a sleep she hadn’t even known she had fallen into. She blinked, slightly dazed. James was grinning at her, an odd look on his face. “Must have been a good dream,” he said. “You’ve been smiling this whole time.”
Leonora blushed to the tips of her ears and turned to the window. The bush scrub thickened, the trees more frequent. Long grass began to spread in golden threads.
“This starts the Wheatbelt.” James pointed. “Next is Southern Cross and then we have another few hours till we’re home.” He leaned forward and placed his arms on the seat top in front. “Want me to take over, Tom?”
Tom shook his head, didn’t utter a word.
Another few hours on the road and Tom straightened. His hands moved from the sides of the steering wheel to the top. “Almost there,” James told her. “That fence marks Shelby land.”
Butterflies woke in Leonora’s stomach and she held her hand against the flutter. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. She was entering a sliver of James’s past, a world that had not been open to her. Perhaps he wanted it that way.
They turned a curve. Dogs rushed from nowhere, sped with tongues flapping between barks. They barreled at the moving car, turned and chased it, nipping at the wheels. Then the squat house rose into view—simple and homey. Red roses climbed the verandah posts and reached for the edge of the steel roof. Five red heads popped up in the window.
Tom parked the car and got out. The dogs whimpered and yelped, jumped to lick his face, clawing his shirt in the process. James and Leonora got out next. The dogs sniffed her curiously and then searched on hind legs for her face.
The screen door on the verandah slammed open and a flood of little girls in red pigtails ran and shouted in different volumes, “They’re here! They’re here!”
The girls flew at them as the dogs had. Tom crouched down with his arms wide and the girls piled upon him, knocking him on his bottom with hugs. Laughing and dusty, the girls abandoned him and flew to James. In a flash, he scooped up two girls at a time, squeezing and twirling them in his arms.
The screen door slammed again, slower this time. A tall woman, majestic in posture and topped with thickly piled hair, stepped to the drive. James set the girls on the ground. The children quieted and turned their gaze to their feet. The woman’s face was strong, but the lines of the lips drooped, her body rigid. She nodded formally at the men. “Tom. James.”
Tom rose to his full height and stared at his mother. “Hey, Mum.”
Mrs. Shelby nodded—kept nodding. Her lips twitched. Tom went to her then, wrapped his sunburned arms around her shoulders. And in that moment, the woman’s frame crumpled against his and he held her. Their faces were hidden. A silence grew to the children and they did not shuffle their feet; the dogs lowered ears and wound in tails.
Son and mother held each other for less than a minute before Mrs. Shelby pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her face composed and a hint of a smile broke from the white lips. “I’m glad you’re here, boys.” The woman’s gaze turned to Leonora.
“Mum,” Tom began. “This is Mrs. Harrington. Leonora.”
Leonora brought her belly of swarming wings as she approached the woman. She held out her hand. “Mrs. Shelby, I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
The woman did not take the hand and turned away, looked at Tom. “Why’s she here?”
Tom cleared his throat. “To help, Mum. Give you a break.”
Mrs. Shelby’s eyes sparked. “Since when have I needed help? Does it look like I can’t take care of my own family?”
A hurt pause filled the space. “That’s enough, Mum,” Tom said firmly. “She’s a fine woman. You know we have the funeral in Perth. Someone’s got t’stay with the girls.”
Mrs. Shelby dismissed the words, dismissed Leonora with a turn of her back. “Got supper on the stove. You boys probably starvin’.” She turned to the children and shouted as she walked to the house, “Come on, girls; clean up! Get the table set. Boys are hungry.”
Leonora dropped her head. The butterflies in her stomach died, settled heavy as lead. James came up beside her.
“You were right,” she said, nearly mute. “I shouldn’t have come.”
He placed a finger under her chin and gently raised her face. “I’m glad you did.”
She turned away, but he held her shoulders softly. “She’ll warm up. I promise.” He slid his hands down her arms. “She’s sick with grief, Leo.”
“I know.” She swallowed. “I know.”
The family sat around the long rectangular table while Mrs. Shelby made the rounds between kitchen and dining room bringing in steaming bread, stew and buttered beans—all offers of help sternly scoffed. Two empty seats leaned against the center leaf—a shrine all eyes tried to avoid.
The children stared with open wonder at the new woman at the table. Gracie sat at the edge of her seat, and when her mother returned to the kitchen for more food the girl snuck around the chairs and squeezed between Leonora and James. She pulled at his sleeve and lowered her voice. “Can I ask her somepin, Jamesie?” The twins were nine now but still coveted their pet name for him.
James nodded at the child with a half smile. “She won’t bite,” he promised.
Gracie turned to Leonora with eyes full of secret curiosity. “Are you a princess?” she whispered.
Leonora bent down with eyes equally curious and whispered back, “No. Are you?” The young girl giggled, her eyes bright and pure.
Leonora looked over Gracie’s head to James and grinned. “Jamesie?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Watch it, princess.”
Mrs. Shelby came to the table with butter. She looked at James, then at Leonora and then back at James. “Gracie!” Mrs. Shelby scolded. “Get back to your seat!”
A hush fell over the table as forks moved tentatively from plates to mouths. Tom broke the silence, “Gawd, I missed your cookin’, Mum!”
“Look half-starved!” she huffed. “Both of you. Aren’t they feeding you over there?” Mrs. Shelby cast a hard look at Leonora.
“Just workin’ hard, Mum.” Tom tried to soothe. “We’re eatin’ just fine.” He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and leaned back rubbing his stomach. He touched the top of one of the empty seats next to him, stared at the wood for a while and then patted it with his hand as if it were a shoulder. “What time we gotta leave tomorrow?” Tom asked quietly.
“First thing, before daylight,” said Mrs. Shelby. “Train leaves at seven.”
“Tom,” Leonora ventured. “Please use the car. I won’t need it.”
“Thanks.” Tom nodded. “It’s a good idea. Save us some time.”
“Train is just fine.” Mrs. Shelby’s cheeks reddened as she stabbed her fork into the meat. “Shelbys never needed charity and don’t need it now. A car!” she grunted. “Won’t have our family putting on airs.”
“That’s enough, Mum!” Tom slammed his fist on the table, the girls jumping under his sudden temper. “This ain’t like you.”
Leonora rose, felt ill. “I’ll start cleaning up,” she muttered.
“No, you sit!” Tom ordered. “You got no right bein’ rude to our guest, Mum. The Harringtons have been good as gold to James an’ me. I nearly bled t’death from a bullock’s horn an’ she fixed me up better than any doc in the county. We got a good job there, Mum. Already paid off the taxes ’cause of it. This ain’t like you. An’ I don’t like talkin’ to you like this, Mum. I don’t. But you owe this woman an apology.”
Leonora wilted, wanted to slink under the table. “It’s all right, Tom.”
“No, it’s not,” said Mrs. Shelby weakly. “Tommie’s right.” She blinked at Leonora as if finally seeing her. “Like I got a thorn in my side that’s twistin’. Pain makin’ me so mad, I can’t think straight.” Her fingers fluttered to her cheeks, bounced as if she didn’t recognize her own skin. “I just got to bury my boys. You see? Can’t think straight. Got that thorn twistin’ an’ pokin’ me.” Her voice dropped. “Won’t stop till I bury my boys.”
Leonora covered her mouth with her napkin and nodded, tried to hold back the tears. She placed the cloth down. “May I help you in the kitchen?” she asked.
The woman took a long breath and stood. “I’d like the help. Thank you.”
The Shelby home was just that—a home. Small, cut dashes lined the door frame to the library, marking the many heights of many children over many years; scuffs centered the wood floors from endless walking and running feet; worn, mismatched dishes lined the cupboards. Food, enough for an army, overflowed from the pantry and larder. Laughter and voices and stories papered the walls and the very home; the very depth of the place embraced the body with a sincere warmth. This was where James had spent much of his childhood, and as Leonora let her fingertips caress the patched upholstery and the dusty leather bindings of the books and silken hair of the children she felt a heavy, sweet gratitude that James had known such a life.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Shelby cleared the last of the dishes from the table. James and Tom sat with cups of coffee, looking refreshed and well fed. Mrs. Shelby greeted from the sink without looking back, “Mornin’. There’s coffee and eggs if you like.” Then the woman turned with a slight smile. “You sleep all right? That bed isn’t the best.”
“Haven’t slept that well in a long, long time,” Leonora answered.
“Mum’s snorin’ didn’t keep you up?” Tom teased. “Thought the roof was gonna cave in.”
Mrs. Shelby reached over and delivered a slap to his head.
“Ouch!” Tom winced. “Told you not t’beat me in front of company.”
Mrs. Shelby shot him a look but couldn’t disguise her humor. She turned to James. “Sure the girls aren’t gonna be too much for you, son?”
“Sure. Besides, I got the princess here to help me.” He winked at Leonora.
“Aren’t you going?” she asked him in surprise.
James shook his head, his brows low. Mrs. Shelby saw the expression on his face. “You’re family, James. You know that. Got just as much right t’be there as we do.”
“I know that,” said James with a nod. “Still think it’s best if I stay here. I’ll check in with the sharecroppers, take care of the animals. Besides, I miss the girls.”
Tom and Mrs. Shelby left soon after in the ebbing dawn. “We’ll be back tomorrow!” Tom shouted over the engine. “Try an’ stay outta trouble till then!”
Leonora and James watched from the verandah as the blue exhaust diffused. “Glad they took the car,” noted James. “Mrs. Shelby deserves to ride in style once in her life.”
“Fair dinkum.” Leonora nodded.
James laughed. “You’re sounding more like an Aussie every day, Leo.”
She smiled mischievously and rolled up her sleeves. “Enough of this bloody yabber, mate. This ’ouse won’t clean itself, eh?” She returned to the kitchen with the warmth of James’s grin on her back.
Little eyes lined the edge of the kitchen’s door frame and watched her cook. Leonora played their game and pretended she couldn’t see them. She scraped the eggs in the cast-iron skillet, the underside golden brown with butter. The bacon and sausage patties spit and left dark spots along the black stove, then hissed with greater fury as she flipped them over. And in this simple work she found Heaven. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her food or her pans or her children.
Leonora scooped the food onto the set plates and the children snuck out like rabbits in a freshly tilled garden. She looked up in surprise. “Where did you all come from?”
The little girls bounced to their seats and set upon their food. Elbows and prodding eyes jabbed at Rachael, the oldest and, apparently, the designated speaker. Rachael shushed the children and addressed maturely, “Mrs. Harrington, did Mum an’ Tom leave?”
“They did. First thing.” She smiled. “And please call me Leonora.”
The eyes slithered to their big sister again. “I’m Rachael. The oldest.”
“And how old are you, Rachael?”
“Fourteen.”
“A woman, then?”
The girl stretched her neck out proudly. “Nearly.”
“Well, I’ll be counting on your help then, Rachael. We women need to stick together.”
A light beamed from the girl’s face. “Gracie an’ Charlotte,” Rachael ordered as her eyes flitted to Leonora for approval, “please keep your elbows off the table when you’re eatin’. An’ Sarah an’ Annie, stop fidgeting!”
James entered the kitchen then, his arms loaded with rough-cut wood, the muscles in his forearms still active and formed from chopping. “Don’t think there’s a prettier group of ladies in all of Australia than right here,” he said. The girls giggled as he stacked the wood near the stove.
James peeked over Leonora’s shoulder, his skin smelling of fresh eucalyptus. She nearly dropped the fork in the hot grease. “Want to sit with the girls?” he asked. “I’ll clean up.”
“No, you go. They’ve missed you.” Leonora looked into the handsome face, let her gaze trail down his neck to the open collar of his shirt. She cleared her throat and turned back to the pan. “Are you hungry?”
“I am. Woke up so early, feels like it’s lunchtime already.” James sat down with the girls, their faces open in affection.
“James,” Rachael asked, “is it true you an’ Tom went drovin’?”
“It is.” He reached for his fork. “Two hundred thousand head.”
The girls stopped eating. “See any snakes?”
“Run into any bushrangers?”
“Abos sneak up on you?”
James finished chewing. “Yes. Yes. And no.” He shot Charlotte a look. “Don’t listen to those kids at school. Aborigines aren’t out to hurt anybody. You know better than that.”
“What kind of snakes?”
“Couple of taipans. A gwardar. Nearly stepped on a death adder coming out of my tent one morning.”
“They bite you?”
“Wouldn’t be here if they had.”
“And rangers? Real-life bushrangers?”
James nodded, finished his food and brought the plate up to the sink. “Three of them. Had guns and masks and everything.”
“Are you joking?” Leonora asked stiffly.
“Not at all.” James pushed up his sleeves and began washing the plate with circular, casual movements. “To be expected.”
“What you do?” asked Sarah breathlessly.
“An old trick Tom learned from your dad. Start running around yelling and shouting so much the cattle start stomping in circles. Rangers get scared and confused. Horses get too frightened to control. Crooks end up thinking there’s more of us than there are, so they’re off.”
Crikey, the children mouthed in unison.
“All right, girls.” James laughed and clapped his hands to break their trance. “Bring up those dishes and get dressed.”
Leonora joined James at the sink, dried the dishes as he washed them. “Was that true about the bushrangers?” she asked.
“Mostly. Except for the end.” James chuckled softly as he scrubbed the hot water in the greasy pan. “Tom stripped down naked and started chasing the poor bastards like a lunatic. Probably would have shot him if they hadn’t started laughing so hard. Anyway, Tom brought out the bourbon and they all had a good drink.”
“Naked?” She laughed.
“Bare-ass naked. All night.” James raised his eyebrows. “Nearly left with the bushrangers myself just so I didn’t have to look at his white bum. Pale as a full ugly moon, that one.”
Leonora pressed her soapy wrist to her mouth and laughed until her side hurt. James bent with his own quiet laughter, then scooted her away from the sink with his hip and scolded her with a grin, “Compose yourself, woman!”
While James met with the neighbors out in the far paddocks, Leonora spent the day indoors with the chores. She made the beds, smoothing out the sheets in careful strokes. She dusted the bookshelves and piano, ran the duster around and over the furniture, the feathered end whipping around like a weasel. She washed the girls’ dresses and pressed them with the copper, her face reddening from the steam. And she knew the foolishness of her joy in the work, but it was true joy and she wished silently with each broom stroke and hiss of the iron that this was her life.
Later in the day, she peeled the carrots and turnips and potatoes and watched out the window. James ran in the field with Gracie on his back, the other girls chasing at his heels. Then, when they caught him, he put down the girl and picked up another, ran again. Finally, he lay on his back exhausted even as the girls pulled at his arms and legs to get him moving. Leonora stopped peeling and laughed until tears wet her cheeks. James pretended he was asleep, lulled the girls into a sulking impatience and then jumped up, chased them into a screaming frenzy. And Leonora watched, slowly now, her laughter calmed, her smile even, and once again she wished, with more sadness than before, that this was her life.
That evening, the moon was high. Dinner was over. Little bellies were full again; faces were washed; a few mouths yawned above nightgowns. James lay on the couch, the girls piled on his lap as he read The Magic Pudding. One by one, he carried the sleeping children up to bed. When he returned to the kitchen, the house was quiet for the first time. Nature now had the space to enter and the rhythmic drone of crickets and chirr of frogs grew from beyond the screens.
James leaned against the wall and watched Leonora put the clean dishes back on the paper-lined shelves. She turned to him and met his smile. His long, strong body was loose and relaxed and brought her heart throbbing.
“You’re really good with them,” Leonora told him, her face soft. “You’ll make a good father someday.”
“Think so?”
“I do.”
“I love kids. Want fifty of them,” he said shyly.
“Fifty? Guess that explains why you’re not married!” she teased.
“Certainly doesn’t help,” he agreed. James stretched his back against the wall and rubbed his right shoulder absently. His eyes rested on hers and it was too easy to hold the look, as easy and comfortable as breathing.
The heat moved from the stove to her face. “I should probably turn in.”
“Not yet. You’ve been cooped up in here all day.” He inched close, took her hand. “You’re coming with me, young lady.” The touch of his large hand covering and holding hers was stupefying and she followed him without thought or words—only the feeling of his palm against her palm and his fingers interlaced between her fingers and the heat that throbbed up her wrist all the way to her shoulder.
They walked out to the screened verandah and then to the summer night. The warm air wrapped around her skin, felt cool compared to the trapped heat of the house.
Slowly and with prolonged effort, James dropped her hand, but they walked close. Occasionally, their arms would brush. In the balmy air, the crickets and frogs and the strange and shrill call of the curlews grew in volume and engulfed them in a vibration of sound.
Leonora’s hand was awkward without his and she stretched out her fingers as if they were numb. “Where was your house?” she asked finally. “The O’Reilly property.”
In the blue dark, his features muted with varying expressions and his face was soft with shadows. “About eight miles that way.” He pointed with his chin.
“May I see it?”
“No,” he answered with stern quickness. “Burned down. Place was hardly a shack.” James grew quiet for a moment and glanced at her worried face. “Tess—she was my aunt,” he explained softly. “She was a good woman, a great woman, actually. Huge heart. After she died, everything just fell apart. Not many good memories from over that way.”
“What was your uncle like?”
“Shamus?” James sighed. “Like I said, not many good memories from over that way.”
They crested a tiny hill and James shook off whatever ghost was chasing him. “Close your eyes!” he ordered. She clamped her eyes shut as commanded.
James took her shoulders in his hands. “Now, lie down.” Leonora’s eyes popped open.
“Trust me.”
She closed her eyes again, fidgeting nervously. “What about snakes?”
He laughed. “No snakes, I promise.”
He helped her to the ground, cradling her head until it lay cushioned in thick grass. The sounds of the crickets leveled with her ears, seemed to rise from her body. She felt the heat of his length as he lay down, her pulse quickening with the proximity. “Now, open your eyes,” he said.
She gripped the grass with her nails, a sudden vertigo rushing over her. The endless night sky seemed to surround from every side. There was no ground to be seen, no edge to the universe as she lay embraced in its enormity—an orb of midnight blue dotted with pinholes of brightness. The infinite magnitude above and around her made her gasp. “It’s like I’m floating in space.”
“Amazing, isn’t it? Makes you feel tiny and large all at the same time.” His tone grew gentle. “Seems like the stars are shining extra bright. Like they’re showing off for you.”
The words melted, nothing completely real anymore. Together they lay side by side, each out of view of the other, their bodies eclipsed by the halo of night. She breathed out in a long sigh and relaxed into the ground. The side of her hand brushed against his—the delicate touch sending an electric charge through her limbs.
Leonora did not move her hand away. With the lightest of touches, James slid his hand closer and placed his hand atop hers. Her breathing stopped as his fingertips whispered over her knuckles and etched the curves of her slender fingers. Her whole body tingled, each minuscule movement amplified through her fingers, then her arm, before radiating through her whole body. She stared at the stars, but her focus did not leave the feeling of his hand across her flesh.
Leonora turned her hand over and their palms pressed hard. She touched the soft and firm spots of his hand, felt the full tenderness of his long fingers as they intertwined. She thought of his hands on the rest of her body—the strong hands, the tender touches, the agility of his body against hers. Her face flushed. If he turned to her now and kissed her, she would give herself to him gratefully. She was tired of fighting.
James turned his head and looked at her profile. His face glowed like porcelain in the moonlight. The stars reflected off his pupils and she drowned in them, the vertigo returning as she fell into the pure pools.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
The words swept over her with sadness. He really did think she was beautiful, maybe even loved her, and it hurt like embraced grief. Her longing for him was an almost physical pain and she waited for him to pull her to his body—wanted him to make love to her, here, now, forever. She parted her lips and squeezed his hand—the only signal she had the strength to show.
His breathing quickened and his face shadowed with restraint. He closed his eyes, fought as metal against a magnetic pull and forced his concentration back at the stars. “We should go.”
James stood and pulled her to her feet, then let go of her hand. Her mouth opened with disappointment and her stomach sank. He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he turned back to the house. “The girls are light sleepers.”
James lay on the library couch and slammed the book closed, dropped it with a thud onto the floor. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and flung his arm across his forehead.
She ain’t your wife, Tom’s voice echoed in his head.
James opened and closed his fist. He tried to recall the sensation of her fingers laced between his and he tried to forget it all at the same time. He didn’t know what he was doing. One minute he could stay away from her; the next minute he was reaching for her, touching her. But the wanting never stopped and it pricked him like sharp hunger pains.
Seeing her with the Shelbys made it worse. She was happy. The simple joy glowed from her skin. At the stove, he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. At the sink, he wanted to lean her against the counter, lift her around his hips. Wanting her. Waiting. A kiss, an embrace, a caress—mere tastes that only increased the craving.
In a few days, Leonora would be back with Alex, her husband. They would share a bedroom again—share their bodies again. And he would be left with the memory of her rose perfume, the softness of her hands and the reality that she was not his, the reality that he was nothing more than a distraction.
James ran his fingers through his hair, let the brown strands remain tousled and spiked. He thought about her body lying next to his under the stars, remembered her profile as it angled in the moonlight, sending a subtle light down her smooth forehead. He melted into the memory of her slender, perfect nose and the smiling lips. Those lips!
At that moment, under the night expanse, he had almost taken her in his arms, almost let his body meld against her body until they became one, almost let the urges swallow him blind. He had wanted to make love to her. There. On hard, cold ground, he wanted to make love to her. Under the black blanket of night, surrounded by the sounds of the night, he wanted to touch her—all of her—and bring their own noise and movement and pleasure to the night and send their own vibrations into the earth.
She ain’t your wife.
Leonora was asleep down the hall—three doors down. Three. Only a few walls and a door separated them and he could feel her breathing against his neck, feel her hair across his chest, feel her smile stretch across his skin. A few steps down the hall, a turn of the knob, and he could be in her bedroom. He could pull back the covers and slide in next to her and find her lips, find her hands searching and her body willing. Only three doors down. His legs tingled for movement, slid to the edge of the couch; his back wanted to rise.
She ain’t your wife. With a frustrated, audible grunt, James thrashed onto his stomach and wrapped the pillow around the back of his head, clasped his hands in a lock around his ears.
She ain’t your wife, mate.
“I know!” James shouted into the sofa, the sound muffled and lost within the cushions.
Upon their return, Tom and Mrs. Shelby shed the raw grief of the previous days and settled into mourning. The weight of the funeral no longer hung on their shoulders. Mrs. Shelby buried her sons; Tom buried his brothers. Life moved forward again, be it slowly and thick with gray.
No one wanted to sit within the confines of the house or walk past the two empty chairs that had been moved to the side of the dining room, so Mrs. Shelby packed a picnic and they all set out beyond the golden wheat to a placid lake nestled at the far end of the property. The day was hot and dry and bright. The ground filled with flowers and butterflies, the sky cloudless and pale blue. James carried Charlotte on his shoulders, her fingers covering his eyes now and then in play, sending him into blind staggers and protests.
Tom walked backwards, the sun against his back. “Where you say the dance is, Mum?”
“Tessler’s,” Mrs. Shelby answered. “Whole county will be there.” Tom turned back and faced the sun, his shoulders slumped.
“Should leave after supper,” Mrs. Shelby directed.
“You know I ain’t goin’, Mum.” Tom plodded sullenly. “Wouldn’t be right.”
“Hell it’s not! Nothin’ you like more than a good dance!” Mrs. Shelby scolded. “Been workin’ too hard, Tommie. You need a break. Be good for you.”
“Really?” Tom turned around tentatively. “You wouldn’t be sore?”
“Sore? I’d be thankin’ the good Lord to have an ounce of peace without your yabberin’!” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re goin’ to that dance even if I got to drag you there myself!” She pointed at James and Leonora. “You’re all goin’. Hear me?”
Tom smiled from one ear to the next, ran at his mother and kissed her hard. Mrs. Shelby wiped her hand across her cheek. “Gawd, hope you’re a better kisser than that with the ladies!”
Tom was a different man now—looked at the sun like he saw it. He stepped back and put an easy arm over Leonora’s shoulder. “Ever been to a barn dance?”
“Can’t say I have.” She thought about James and Tom dancing with all the pretty country girls. “But I’ll stay back and help with the house. You don’t need me tagging along.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Shelby said. Then she leaned into Leonora’s ear. “Besides, somebody needs t’look after him. Can see that look in his eye. He’s drunk on grog and women already.”
“Heard that!” Tom shouted. He poked James in the ribs. “But she ain’t lyin’!”
The lake came into full view. Mrs. Shelby laid the blanket onto the thick grass, spread out the food baskets.
“Can we go for a bogey now, Mum?” the girls hollered.
“Long as you stay close to the boys.” Mrs. Shelby held up a blanket as the girls changed into their suits. Tom and James stripped off their shirts and socks and boots and piled their clothes on a smooth boulder.
“Coming in for a swim?” James asked Leonora with a grin.
She shook her head, tried to keep her eyes from drowning in his chest and stomach muscles. “I didn’t bring a suit.”
He winked playfully. “All the more reason.” She blushed and threw an apricot at him.
“Last one in is a sheep’s arse!” Tom shouted.
“Tommie, watch that mouth!” Mrs. Shelby scolded, but the men were already off toward the water, the girls screaming to catch up.
The two women sat under the shade of the wide, warm pepper tree and gathered their skirts under their legs. They watched the boys play tag with the little girls, feigning leg spasms and slow feet so the girls could knock them to the ground. Then, with a series of big and small splashes, they all plopped into the lake.
“You have a wonderful family, Mrs. Shelby.” Leonora stroked a grass blade wistfully.
“Thank you. They’re a good bunch,” she said with visible pride. “That Tommie’ll be the death of me, though.” She chuckled. “He don’t think much past what’s sittin’ right in front of him whether it’s a beer, a woman or a fist. Just like his father, that one. Always has been.” Her eyes twinkled, then grew distant. “Tommie’s always seemed like a fleetin’ wind.”
Leonora plucked the grass stem, twirled it. “How so?”
“He was a sickly child. Wouldn’t know it by lookin’ at him. Doc said it was general malaise. What a load a crap! That first year, my Tommie nearly died more times than I could count. I nursed him, but I wouldn’t hold him, didn’t want to get attached. Sounds cold, eh?” The woman grimaced. “But I couldn’t do it. Only reason he made it is because his dad never put him down. He strapped little Tommie to his chest an’ brought him everywhere, just like a kangaroo with a joey in her pouch.” She chuckled then, but her forehead wrinkled. “Still get my heart stuck in my throat when I see Tommie, fearin’ something’s gonna happen to him.” She shook the ghosts away and slapped her knee. “Must be on account of those sickly years. Probably just the guilt I got for not holdin’ him. That stuff plays silly tricks on a sentimental woman.”
Mrs. Shelby picked at a loose thread on her dress, scanned the lake, the pepper tree and the purple violets hidden in the grass. “I’m sellin’ the property,” she said suddenly. “Tommie don’t know yet.” The woman lowered her eyes and her face paled, the skin around her jaw slacked. “Too many ghosts. I still wake up every morning lookin’ for my Tom snorin’ on the pillow next to me. Man’s been dead well over ten years an’ I still reach for him. Now the fields are filled with Will an’ John. Think I see ’em sometimes, movin’ with the wheat. Every time it breaks my heart. Like I’m losin’ ’em all over again, a hundred times a day.”
“Where will you go?”
“Don’t know.” Her lips straightened. “Can’t stay here, though. I’ll break right in two.”
Mrs. Shelby inhaled and closed her eyes, her voice hushed and drawn with effort. “My boys are dead. Can’t hardly breathe with ’em gone. Like I’m being choked all the time.” The woman’s chin shook quickly before hardening. “Thought I could handle it. When the boys left for the war, I prepared myself. Had hope but told myself over an’ over again, they might not come back. But you can’t prepare for death any more than you can prepare your stomach for starvation.” Mrs. Shelby touched her red hair, patted it down around her ear. “My boys are gone an’ it feels like there’s hardly anything in the world that’s not movin’ in a dream.”
Mrs. Shelby looked far into the distance, her pupils moving left and right and back again frantically searching for a world she recognized. She turned to Leonora then, looked over her features gently, the heavy words floating away like the seeds of a dandelion puff. “Look at me yabberin’ on.” She pulled out the basket and took out a bowl of strawberries. “Help yourself. Not worth waitin’ for the rest of ’em. We’ll have to drag ’em outta that lake.”
Leonora took a piece of fruit, the juices warm and sweet. She watched as James crawled out of the water, his skin slick, his pants slung low on his waist showing the bones of his pelvis. He hollered something out at Tom and then dived over his head. James emerged amid splashing hands and laughter.
“He’s a good man.” Mrs. Shelby’s tone was sober. Leonora knew who she was talking about and chewed the berry slowly.
“He’s in love with you, you know. Saw it the first time he looked at you. Never saw him look at anyone like that. Ever.”
Leonora’s whole body flushed, her throat too frozen to swallow.
“You love him, too.” Mrs. Shelby kept her gaze steady on Leonora’s face.
Leonora closed her eyes, wanted to cry. The words, now spoken out loud, made them all the more real. Her chest expanded with longing until her ribs hurt.
“This husband of yours,” asked Mrs. Shelby, “is he a good man?”
“No.” Leonora’s voice cracked and she couldn’t look at the woman. “No, he’s not.”
Mrs. Shelby rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first girl to marry a wanker.”
Leonora met the woman’s kind face and they chuckled shortly. But then Mrs. Shelby stopped. “You plannin’ on leaving him?”
The tears began in her throat and she pushed them down. “No.”
Mrs. Shelby nodded. “Then you got to let James go.”
Leonora squeezed a blade of grass in her fingers until it darkened and ripped.
“That boy’s like a son to me.” Mrs. Shelby looked off at the swimming hole, her face wrinkled with affection. “He’s honest. Good. Weighs everything in his mind. Feels things more than other people. A blessin’ and a curse for a man to feel so much.” Her face shifted and saddened. “He’s had a hard life, Leonora.”
Her head shot up and she watched Mrs. Shelby carefully, held on to her words.
“He’s had more loss in his young life than any human’s got a right to have. After Tess died, O’Reilly took it all out on the boy. Beat that poor child to an ounce of his life.”
Leonora covered her mouth in horror. Her ears throbbed with the words. Her throat closed and now the tears fell freely from her eyes, heated a trail down her cheeks.
“I’m only tellin’ you this,” Mrs. Shelby said kindly and with pity, “because that man don’t deserve more pain. If you can’t be with him, let him go. It’ll hurt him, but won’t kill him. If you wait an’ lead him on, it very well might. Better to do it now. Let James move on and find happiness, start a family. He’ll make a good father, a good husband, someday. But you gotta give him a chance to find his way.”
Mrs. Shelby stood and pressed down her skirt. “Know it hurts, Leonora. I can see it in your tears. But if you love him, you got t’stop it now. Poor man’s had enough pain to last a lifetime.”
The old barn filled with light, its beams blasting through the cracks and knots of the wooden planks. Before they even exited the car, the air vibrated with the hum of voices and laughter, the pulse of ragtime tunes atop male hoots and girlish squeals. The electric charge of the bodies and the music rippled along the patted dirt, drew the young in like moths to a candle flicker.
Ignoring the door handle, Tom hopped out the window of the parked Model T, barely able to contain himself after the stress and grief of the last few days. “A warnin’ to you both.” He pointed a finger at James and Leonora. “I’m gettin’ so snookered t’night, you’re gonna have to scrape me off the floor!” And catching the eye of a petite brunette, he added, “Or off of her. Hey, love, wait for me!” Tom was off like a shot, his eyes following every sway of the girl’s hips as she sauntered and teased her way into the barn.
Leonora smiled at the bouncing figure. “I’m guessing he’ll be true to his word.”
“Can count on it,” James promised. He put his hands in his pockets and stuck out an elbow for her to link. “Shall we?”
Leonora reminded herself it was just an arm. Shyly, she laced her arm into the waiting one, and the heat came quick and sharp. His biceps rubbed against her forearm, the muscle under his white shirt hard as bone. She tried to bring her focus to the ground, to the air, to the sounds of the barn, but the warmth of his body erased it all.
They headed over the gravel path to the flooded glow of the open doors, her heart picking up the rhythmic blast of music that grew and thumped in her rib cage. The room was alive, flowed and lived and breathed no different than a newly formed organism. The ground trembled under their shoes. The smell of tobacco and burning cigarettes filled the walls and formed a hazy cloud of smoke that hung and drifted near the rafters. A band in the corner took a break, smoking and laughing with one another. The victrola’s needle thumped and bounced and tapped as it played “Darktown Strutters’ Ball.” A strand of sloppily hung lightbulbs dipped and climbed along the corners of the barn. Hay bales, stacked in rows of two, edged the walls, seated the reclining bodies of women with dresses pulled up seductively near their knees while their beaus stroked their calves and ankles and kissed their necks.
Leonora’s fingers crept to her throat. The heat was everywhere. The smell of cologne-and-perfume-tainted sweat, of spilled ale and damp hay, of disturbed earth, made her dizzy. Bodies and touches and kisses and wanting, aching, waiting sex whispered from every end of the barn. Leonora dropped her arm from James’s bent elbow, turned away from him even as his heavy gaze burned into the side of her face.
Mrs. Shelby’s words still haunted—hurt her insides like an open wound. This trip had been a fantasy from the beginning. Tomorrow they would return to Wanjarri Downs; tomorrow she was Mrs. Alexander Harrington again. This—this was just a fairy tale, except her pumpkin was an expensive Model T and no glass slippers awaited the arch of her foot. Tomorrow she would be back walking on their broken shards.
But for right now, she was here. Leonora pushed tomorrow away and fell into the beat of trumpets and pianos and the deep, strumming bass. She shoved the heaviness away and tapped her foot to the music, scanned the details of the party. Clusters of young men and women stood in the corners, pointing, eyeing, and flirting with each other from across the room. Young, pretty women swayed in dainty dresses, brightly colored silks and cottons below faces flushed with ale and rouge. Men wearing everything from clean work clothes, to stiff-collared church shirts, to army uniforms chatted with lazy eyes and cigarettes suavely held between lips.
Tom stumbled through the crowd carrying two spilling pints of brown beer, his hair already wet with sweat under his hat. He pushed one at Leonora, sloshing the brew over her fingers, and gave the glass an exuberant clink. “Cheers! To the beginnin’ of the end.” He gulped down the ale like it was water.
Leonora giggled, flicked her wet fingers and looked at James’s empty hands. “Looks like he forgot yours.”
“I don’t drink,” he said flatly.
She blinked once before laughing. “Of course you don’t.”
He winced, tightened his brows. She reached over and touched his arm. “It wasn’t an insult, James,” she said softly through her smile. “You just never cease to amaze me.”
His face relaxed and he raised an eyebrow. “Be careful with that stuff. Some rogue might try and take advantage of you.”
“Thanks for the warning.” She sipped the dark beer, felt the warmth of it run down her throat and settle in her stomach, drown out the butterflies. The ale tasted bitter and awful and she liked it more than anything in the world.
Two women with mirrored smiles stopped short and screamed from the rim of the crowd, “Tommie Shelby!”
Tom turned and whipped off his hat, squeezed a twin sister in each arm, picking them off their feet with a loud, “Wooeee!”
“You’re a dog, Tom! Why didn’t you tell us you were back?” They stopped suddenly as his reason for being home became clear. “Oh, Tom. I’m so sorry about your brothers,” said the slightly taller one, her face genuinely remorseful.
Tom shoved away the sentiment that threatened his mood and grabbed the girls’ hands, pulled them toward the floor until the shorter one turned back and yelled, “James! My God, we didn’t see you there. Allison, it’s James!” The sisters were charming in their excitement and quite beautiful. Leonora lowered her eyes.
The women ran at James, threw their arms around his neck, nearly knocking him against the wall. “God, we missed you guys. Just not the same without you.”
Allison grabbed James’s hand. “Come on; I love this song.”
“Maybe the next one.” James squeezed her hand before letting go of it. “Besides, it looks like Tom wants you both to himself.”
The young woman glanced at Leonora and understanding crept through her face. “Pardon me, miss. I didn’t see you there. I’m—” But before she could introduce herself, Tom pulled her away into the throng of dancing bodies.
James pointed in their direction and leaned his mouth to Leonora’s ear. “Those are the McGinny sisters, Allison and Jessica. Two out of the five.” His breath caressed her neck and she found it hard to concentrate on the words.
Leonora thought about the pretty McGinny sisters, thought about Mrs. Shelby’s words again, realized her selfishness in coveting James’s attention. “Don’t you want to dance with them?” she ventured weakly. “They’re very pretty.”
“I’m not a dancer,” James said. And she was shamed by her own relief.
Tom emerged from the crowd, alone. His cheeks were red and flushed, his hair sweated at the tips. His face was so happy, they both had to laugh. Tom smiled and grabbed Leonora’s hand. “James might not be man enough t’dance with you, but I am.” He pulled the drink from her hand, thrust it clumsily to James. “Sorry, mate!” he teased, and pulled her to the dance floor.
James leaned against the wall and pushed his hand in his front pocket. He watched Tom and Leonora squeeze between the dancers. She wore a pale blue dress. Above the blue, her skin was pale peach, her lips salmon, her cheeks pink—she was a moving, living sunset. He found the air now; near her, he couldn’t breathe. It was a constant effort to keep his eyes off her, like they were meant to stare at her face and nothing else. James wafted through actions blindly and helplessly, flowing to her and then forcing himself back, and it made his bones tight, all that pulling back, fighting against every urge in his body.
James put the warm beer on the ground and wiped his wet hand across his trousers. He chuckled as his best friend twirled Leonora in the cramped space. Tom had no rhythm or etiquette for leading. He simply moved himself joyously in any manner his body wanted, taking poor Leonora along on his uncoordinated ride.
Leonora was laughing—laughing so hard James could see tears in her eyes as she tried to keep up with her swinging, spastic partner. He was relieved to find her so happy. Her mood had changed during the picnic earlier in the day. She had turned quiet and distant, her eyes sad. But leave it to Tom Shelby to blow away the clouds.
James watched Leonora, watched her smile, her laughter, her figure, her skin, her golden hair, the curve of her neck, the small waist, the perfect shoulders and the curved back. Tom faded into a haze along with all the others crowded into the space. James only saw Leonora. Even the pulsating music muffled, only the sensation of the beat touching his skin. James stopped smiling. He loved her. It was there now, in his chest and in his blood, in the unwavering certainty that set his jaw and made his muscles tight and his bones thick with knowing. He loved her—all of her. A fight grew now—pumped from the vibrating floor, fueled with the heat of stifled, hot bodies.
Tomorrow she would be back with that bastard. Just the thought of it hardened the lines in his face and straightened his back against the wall. Tomorrow this would go away. He loved her and the fight rose. He had tonight. Only. He would not hide. He could fight or disintegrate with waiting. Decision landed hard and swift. Let tomorrow shine with light or hide with darkness, but tonight he would fight.
James left the wall and strode through the crowd, his body tall and straight with singular purpose. From Tom’s swirling, Leonora saw James approaching and raised her eyebrows in a silent, mock cry for rescue. But then she saw the look on his face and stopped smiling, fell idle in Tom’s arms. James pushed past Tom and gripped Leonora’s waist firmly in his hands. Tom opened his mouth in complaint but then saw James’s expression and exited promptly into the moving bodies.
The song shifted to the slow serenade of “Any Time’s Kissing Time.” James pressed his palm into the small of Leonora’s back and loomed above her, held her eyes so it was impossible for her to look away. Her body trembled under his touch. “Thought you weren’t a dancer,” she whispered.
“Didn’t have the right partner.”
James pressed his fingers into her back, the soft silk of her dress unable to slip under his tight grip. He moved his hand up her spine surely and confidently, all restraint now gone. He held her helpless gaze with unwavering intensity, permitted the heat to close in and linger unextinguished. Longing and desire drowned out the other bodies. The voices and music blurred behind the stark beauty that he held in his hands. James tightened his fingers against her back. Her lips opened and gasped with the pressure, her heartbeat clear and fast against his chest.
Leonora did not belong to another man. She was not another man’s wife. Not here. Here, at this moment, she was his. Here, at this moment, there was no station to return to, there was no past of loneliness or abuse, there was only her open face and her pink lips inches away.
As the song wound down with the last plaintive notes James stopped moving and held her still against his frame, kept his eyes glued to her wide and urgent pupils. He leaned his face down and whispered in her ear above her neck, “I can make you happy, Leo.” James saw the look of fear enter her eyes. “I will never hurt you,” he promised. “Ever.”
He would have kissed her square on the mouth right then and there, fully and without regret, had a drunken woman from the crowd, mistaking him for another man, not snatched him roughly out of Leonora’s arms and into the crowd.
In the lapse without him, the air caught in Leonora’s throat. Her head dizzied. The burn of his touch still smoldered along her back where his fingers had held her. And that look—the urgency in his eye that nearly crumbled her bones to dust. She couldn’t think. She clutched her throat and ran through the crowd to the open barn doors and out into the cool night air. She needed to get away, needed to clear her head.
The sounds of music and laughter wafted, followed her. Leonora looked into the dark sky, sought the fresh air greedily. The stars, millions of them, dotted the blackness. She kept walking past the carriages, past the few cars lining the lot, until the music and the crowd blended to one undulating sound.
Leonora leaned her arms against the split-rail fence, let the slight breeze cool her face as she stared into endless space. It would be so easy to give in. But she sank with the impossibility. It would be so easy to just say yes, to close her eyes, take his hand and leave every other person, memory, behind. But the black children would follow her. Their white eyes, their empty wails for their mothers and fathers ringing in her ears until she screamed. If she left Alex, she destroyed families. If she stayed, she destroyed James.
Leonora rubbed the spot above her nose between her eyebrows. Her stomach fell deeper. She could keep James at the station—hold him hostage with glimmers of hope, shackling him. She could keep her heart still full and beating by knowing he was near. It was enough for her. But James would fade from it slowly, torturously, forsaking his own future and happiness. She thought about Mrs. Shelby’s words. The pain he endured in his life. She could not, would not, add any more to it. Her life was of little sacrifice. Knowing what she needed to do brought no comfort; it ripped and clawed at her flesh and made her ill to her toes. Her decision mapped out a lonely, endless future that would leave her more dead than alive.
The stars stretched into diamonds, then distorted and lengthened through the lens of her tears. They flowed savagely down her cheeks and she bit her lip to stop them, but their number grew stubbornly. Deep sobs rattled her whole body and made her hiccup for air. Leonora rested her clenched palms against her lids and let the dark, buried sorrow spill. She loved him, loved him so much that it seemed better to die than to live without him. But there was more to this world than her life. Her happiness had always taken a backseat. This was her curse, her pain.
Footsteps crunched the gravel and she frantically wiped her eyes, tried to stop the flood. James emerged from the shadows. Her stomach was sick and she pressed it with her hand. She was thankful for the lack of light, hoping it hid her red eyes.
“You disappeared,” James said cautiously.
“Just needed a little air,” she sniffed.
He stepped closer. “Have you been crying?”
She shook her head even as fresh tears spilled. “No.”
“I can see that.” James gently rubbed a tear away with his thumb. He kept his hand at her face, caressed her cheek with his finger.
Her body was tired, so tired of fighting. She let her cheek sink into his palm. She closed her eyes and placed her hand upon his, wanting only to savor his touch for a moment—a moment that she could store within her memory for a lifetime.
James inched closer to her body, his strong thighs leaning into her hips. He took his fingers from her face and reached for her limp hand, brought it up to his mouth, turning her palm and placing his lips in the smooth center. She leaned against the post for support, her legs completely numb as he brushed his lips over her palm, her wrist, and across her forearm.
Her body burned and her muscles quivered. James placed a hand on her waist and moved closer still until the steel of his belt buckle pressed against the fabric of her dress and blazed and spun her abdomen. He leaned forward and, with the softest of lips, kissed the farthest edge of her cheek right next to her ear.
Drowning. Falling. Sinking. Helpless. The desire crippled her. His lips moved across her cheekbone. She was losing. If he kissed her on the mouth, she would be lost. She would melt into his arms. Clear thinking, any thinking, would evaporate into the night.
If you love him, you got t’stop it now, Mrs. Shelby’s words echoed between the kisses. Poor man’s had enough pain to last a lifetime.
James kissed the middle of her cheek, so close to her lips that it would only take a slight turn of her head for them to meet. Let him go.
“I . . . can’t do this,” Leonora whispered between her tears.
In the darkness James stopped, but his face was close. “You can leave him, Leo,” his words hushed with urgency. “Leave him.” He gathered her into his arms, his lips poised above hers. “I love you, Leo.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, pushed every ounce of love for him down to her stomach. She hardened her face, straightened her neck and forced her wet eyes to ice. Then she brought the new, bitter words up, raised them to her throat like bile and delivered them roughly: “I’m in love with Alex.”
His body winced. A thrust of a knife into his ribs, pushed in with her own hand and twisted, would have caused less pain. James dropped his hand from her waist with deadweight. His arm hung loosely at his side. His brows knit above blank eyes. His face clenched with the hard, hard lines of his cheekbones and jaw. James stared at her for only a second, a last second, before he turned silently and walked away.
Leonora did not watch him leave. Her body stood rigid, paralyzed. Only her hand moved—her fingers tightening with white knuckles around the fence post as the pain in her stomach nearly crushed her to the ground.
The next morning, Tom, James and Leonora left the Shelby homestead under the rising, bitter sun. As they drove in the open car, the golden wheat waved in the wrong direction. Back. Back. If only she could go back.
But the sage bush squeezed through the thinning wheat until it did not wave any longer. And this sage bush grew bolder as the red earth grew bolder between the clusters and the stiff, hard grass did not wave but pointed straight into the hard, hot sky. The rabbit-proof fence picked up by the road, blurred outside the moving car until the posts were invisible and only long lines of gray wire pointed the direction home.
Tom slept in the backseat, sprawled and listless with hangover. His boots rested on the window, his ankles crossed; his hat slumped low on his forehead, covered his eyes and nose. At times his body jerked from a dancing dream or a twisted stomach and then went limply back to sleep.
James drove, his narrowed eyes glued to the road. He held the steering wheel with his right hand, rested the elbow of the left on the windowsill. Despite the unrelenting heat, the cold that radiated from him filled the car. Leonora occupied the passenger seat, kept her hands together and interlaced, still as a posed corpse. They had not spoken a word since they said their farewells to the Shelbys—the divide between them as large as if they rode in separate vehicles. In another few hours, the gates of Wanjarri Downs would come into view and then lock, one after another, behind her.
Leonora stared at her fingers fixed on her lap. “How long will you stay?” she whispered.
James did not answer for a long time, kept his gaze straight. “Until I talk to Tom.” Then added shortly, “He can stay on if he wants.”
“Where will you go?”
He ignored the question, leaned his elbow farther out the window, shifted his body away from her.
She had no right to ask him anything. He would leave soon, maybe by morning. There would never be another kiss, a touch, a look, again. Not even a good-bye. It was over. She wiped a heavy, lone tear. It was over before it had even begun.