‘Florrie!’ I called as I ran into the kitchen. She looked up. ‘Mr Faahan’s piano has arrived at last! He’s going to put on a ball at his hotel, for Boxing Day. Won’t that be such great fun!’ I had expected Florrie to join me in the waltz I was doing around the kitchen. She put a slight smile on her face, but I could see that it was only because she thought my dancing was funny. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. The smile disappeared.
‘Oh, Clara, I don’t have anything to wear to a ball, and I can’t stand this any longer.’
‘What?’
‘Everything. The heat, the flies, the “dunnies” – I’ve had enough of living rough. I’ve decided to leave Coolgardie.’
Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. All my excitement escaped through my open mouth.
‘I’ll miss you,’ I said when I got my breath back. ‘Anyway, I’m the same as you. The soles of my shoes have gone through and if Mother doesn’t send me some soon, I’ll be completely barefooted.’
Florrie’s smile came creeping back. ‘I saw some brand-new leather bluchers in Tobias’s Store the other day,’ she said.
‘And I’m sure you would just love to see me trying to dance in men’s shoes!’ I pulled a face at her. ‘Please stay, Florrie.’ I squatted down in front of her chair and took her hands in mine.
At first, she wouldn’t look at me. Then she said, ‘All right. I’ll stay until after the ball.’
I leapt up, pulled her to her feet and whirled her around the room.
‘Away,’ Mrs Fagan said, shooing us out of the kitchen. ‘Ye’ll be upsettin’ me trays, so ye will, and I can’t be startin’ again with these biscuits.’
Everyone was talking about the ball. Consignments of fine lace, linen, even lengths of silk arrived at Tobias’s. The women were all busy sewing, altering dresses or making new ones. Dressy shoes were rare in Coolgardie, so bows and colourful ribbons were being added to make their boots look a little more glamorous.
Christmas drew closer and we baked extra batches of biscuits and cakes so that some could be set aside for supper at the ball.
I hadn’t seen Jack for six weeks and I missed him terribly. There were so many things I wanted to talk with him about. When I asked Mr Snell, he said Jack and his father were often out of town working. They were finding it hard to keep their business going since the levels in their dams and soaks were at an all-time low.
‘I was hoping he would be here for the ball,’ I said.
‘Perhaps he hasn’t heard about it,’ Mr Snell replied. ‘Write him a letter.’
I did, but I heard nothing from Jack.
On Christmas Eve, Florrie and I joined in the usual singalong in the dining room. Dryblower Murphy was there, leading the singing and keeping everyone entertained. He had come from Victoria to try his luck in the west and immediately fitted into the town. He was a poet and storyteller with a great singing voice. Florrie’s sweet soprano blended well with his strong tenor and he suggested that they sing a duet.
‘Oh, no. I couldn’t,’ Florrie was shaking her head, but shouts of encouragement and drumming on tables convinced her to say yes. After a short consultation, they sang the folk song ‘Scarborough Fair’. The hushed crowd swayed in time until their voices died away with ‘Then she’ll be a true love of mine.’ Amongst the applause there were murmurs of, ‘We wish’, shouts for Dryblower to recite his latest bush ballad, then calls for Padraig to tell us some of his Irish jokes.
‘Have ye heard the one about the Englishman travellin’ through County Cork?’ Padraig asked his audience.
‘Sure ya’re goin’ to tell us anyway. Get on with it, Padraig.’
‘The Englishman sees a farmer comin’ along the road towards him,’ Padraig began, ignoring the banter from his mates. ‘“Excuse me, my good man,”’ Padraig said, putting on a posh English accent. ‘“Can you tell me how to get to Limerick?” The farmer takes off his hat and scratches his head. He looks up and down the road. Then, shakin’ his head sadly, the farmer says, “Ah, well, I’d like to help ya, so I would, but if I were goin’ to Limerick, now, I wouldn’t be startin’ from here.”’
There were shouts of laughter. Someone called out, ‘That’s an old one, Padraig.’ Someone else yelled, ‘Aye, but a good one, so.’
‘Worth a drink, anyways,’ Padraig yelled back, and someone handed him a glass of beer.
It was getting late and I still had to sew on some lace I had bought to make my good dress look a bit more festive. I said goodnight to Florrie and headed towards my room. There was no moon, but as I came out through the kitchen I saw a familiar shape on the verandah.
‘Jack!’ I ran to him and he hugged me tight. When I leaned back in his arms and looked at him, I saw that he was wearing a bow tie and a new waistcoat.
‘Don’t you say anything,’ he warned, and placed his finger across my lips. Then he stepped back and made a bow. ‘Miss Clara Saunders, will you do me the honour of being my partner at the Boxing Day ball?’
I wanted so much to laugh, but I pulled my face as straight as I could.
‘Mr Raeside,’ I said. ‘I am delighted to accept your invitation.’
‘Phew,’ he sighed, and the tension went out of his body. ‘I was afraid you might already be spoken for.’
‘You’re lucky I’m not,’ I said. ‘When you didn’t answer my letter, I thought you’d ditched me.’
‘What letter?’ Jack asked.
‘Never mind. You’re here now and I can’t wait for Boxing Day. We’ll have to bring Florrie, though. She’s been a bit down lately. She’s decided to leave.’
‘Florrie?’ Jack looked worried. ‘Why is she leaving?’
‘She says she’s sick of heat and dust and flies,’ I said.
Jack nodded. ‘It must be hard. So different from England.’
‘I persuaded her to stay until after the ball,’ I said, ‘but I’ll miss her so much.’
Jack took both of my hands in his. ‘Hey, cheer up,’ he said. ‘It might not happen.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, feeling the smile spreading across my face. It was so good to see him. I looked him up and down. ‘My, you are formal tonight.’
‘I need to break in these new clothes. This tie is killing me,’ he said, running his finger around inside the collar of his white shirt.
‘Now you’ve made it go crooked,’ I told him, and reached up to set it straight. There was a faint smell of starch and shaving cream about him. Combined with the new clothes, it made him seem different, distant even.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I can’t dance if I’m not comfortable. Oh, I nearly forgot. I have something for you.’
I tilted my head and looked at him curiously while he stooped down and picked up a box from the verandah. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. I felt the weight of it, shook it to see if it rattled and turned it over. Something moved inside as I tugged at the string.
‘Come into the kitchen,’ I said. ‘I can’t see out here.’
The kitchen was deserted, but coals still glowed in the fireplace. I brought the lamp down from its shelf and lit the wick with a taper. With Mrs Fagan’s sharp knife, I cut the string on the parcel. The brown paper fell away and I opened the box.
‘New shoes! From Mother!’ I hugged Jack and did a little dance, then brought the shoes to my nose and breathed in the wonderful smell of new leather. They were a deep burgundy colour, easy to keep clean in our red-brown town. Best of all, when I turned the shoes over in my hands, I saw the elegant tapered heel. These were the first pair of real shoes I had ever had; practical, but stylish, and so much lighter than my working boots.
‘Perfect!’ I exclaimed.
Christmas Day was so busy that it passed in a blur for me. All the regulars came into the hotel for Christmas dinner and we did our best to provide traditional fare. A dozen chickens had been killed and plucked the day before. Potatoes and pumpkins were roasted in the fat and served with large quantities of Mrs Fagan’s famous gravy. We had made the Christmas puddings a week before because there was not enough room on the stove to cook everything at once. The heat in the kitchen at midday was so intense that although we had planned to reheat the puddings, we decided to just pour the hot custard over them. The dried fruit had softened while the puddings sat resting in their calico wrappings. The flavours of cinnamon and nutmeg, glazed cherries and candied peel had spread through them and produced a wonderfully moist, mouth-watering pudding. Florrie said she had never tasted better, even in England.
By Christmas night we were all exhausted and Mr Wisdom decided that, with the ball the following evening, he would not open the hotel until midday. We could sleep in for an extra hour in the morning and still get our chores done in time.