Under The Harvest Moon. Gary Blinco
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my ailing wife company and to see to her little needs, I...’ Nigel paused when he saw that she was not concentrating on his words. He followed her line of vision and saw Lennie standing in the doorway, loaded with a map board and an armful of record books.
Lennie’s eyes were on Veronica, he seemed mesmerised, like a bird under the spell of a snake. She had felt her heart leap for some unknown reason when she saw him enter the room. Now their eyes locked for what seemed like a long time. Nigel cleared his throat again and Derwent looked disdainfully at Lennie. ‘Ah,’ Nigel said. ‘This is my son Lennie. He is the administration manager of this farm. Lennie has taught an old man to regard a farm as a business you see. In the old days we tore down a few trees, ran on a few head of stock or threw in a crop and hoped for the best. But it is more scientific now, or at least it is on this place, thanks to Lennie.’ The old man was clearly very proud of his son. ‘This is Mr Byrne’s wife, Veronica,’ Nigel said to Lennie. ‘I have been outlining her part of our proposal to her.’
Lennie entered the room and sat down at the low table, he seemed a little nonplussed and Derwent grinned, looking from Lennie to Veronica with amusement. He’d seen this reaction from men before and it reminded him of how beautiful she was, a fact that somehow escaped him when he was mad at her for organising and directing his life for him. ‘And how does it sound, Mrs Byrne?’ Lennie asked quietly.
‘Wonderful,’ she said, and Lennie visibly thrilled at the sweetness of her voice. He pretended to study the books in his hands until he regained his composure; his father regarded him quietly, noting his reaction to the girl. ‘We will pay eighteen pounds per week and an annual bonus based on your performance and the success of the season,’ Lennie said authoritatively. ‘There is a good cottage across the courtyard. It’s partly furnished, and I believe you have quite a lot of your own belongings with you to make up the difference.’
‘When we are not in harvest or planting mode, the hours are from eight until five, five days a week. We want to keep the job as close to normal work conditions as we can. We supply meat and milk, and the lady of the house will be expected to nurture the hens, for a reward system that can be worked out with my father.’
Lennie smiled and she warmed to him as he relaxed. ‘My father likes his chooks. Well, what do you think?’
Derwent looked quizzically at Veronica and she smiled happily. ‘When do we start?’ she said as a dark look fell unnoticed across Derwent’s face. Lennie grinned and opened one of the books he had been carrying and began to take down their details.
That was almost two years ago. Now her first feelings had been confirmed and she had come to love the place dearly. Derwent had not been as taken with the place as she had been, but he seemed resolved to give it a go. He began to drink more than she liked, and she suspected he was a little more than just friendly with one or two of the local women, but his open boldness and recklessness hid his deep insecurities from all but her.
She knew that she had almost bullied him into the job here and she was therefore tolerant of his behaviour because it suited her to stay here, but there were times when she thought of giving up on the marriage and leaving him. But where would she go? To leave Derwent would be to leave the farm, and she could not bear such a thought. From the first day she had felt her heart welding to the place, almost as if she owned it herself.
She had even considered having a fling of her own in a wrong-headed attempt to balance the books, but none of the men she had met stirred any desires within her, except Lennie. But somehow she could not bring herself to allow any more than a platonic relationship with him because if she did, and she knew she could if she wanted to, there would be no turning back. And something inside her wanted her relationship with Derwent to continue as a sort of refuge from too much change. It was familiar to her and part of her could not bring herself to admit defeat. She wanted things to continue as they were, frozen in time.
Her frequent long walks across the paddocks took her through the bush and down to the nearby creek where she discovered so many beautiful and private places to sit and be alone. In time she almost forgot that Derwent was her husband at all, he became just another family member who shared a house with her. She saw little of him and found herself not caring where he was, who he was with, or what he was doing. On rare occasions they still connected and pockets of passion flared, but usually she kept out of his way.
And Lennie was always there, always available to her and a reminder that she was attractive and desirable. Despite her determination to keep him at arm’s length, she felt her affection for him growing every day; it imposed upon her thoughts and gnawed at her heart, fighting against the denial that she instinctively threw up against it.
Old Mrs Symons was very ill and Veronica’s job of providing daily companionship and care for the old lady took her frequently to the main homestead where she began to spend most of her time. Lennie too spent most of his time in the office, only venturing out about the farm to monitor the various crops, or to check the breeding programs of the remaining stock on the place. He often asked her to help with general office administration tasks like filing, bookkeeping and typing; but her real passion centred on a book he was writing about the history of the Darling Downs.
He wrote the manuscript in his neat, almost feminine hand and she typed it on the office typewriter. She fell in love with the work, not because it gave her an insight into the district, but an insight into Lennie. She identified with his warm sensitive nature, her own artistic instincts drawing her to him. Lennie was illustrating the book himself, which meant he would go off and paint an old building or some historic spot whenever he could. Veronica, who had been good at art in school, now began to do pencil sketches, based on something she had read in the manuscript. Before long the book somehow became a joint effort.
Lennie found an old pushbike in one of the sheds and got it working for her, thus giving her greater mobility. She could range further then, exploring the bush and looking for subjects to sketch or to just enjoy. Lennie would often, seemingly by accident, end up at the same location as her. They would laugh at the strange coincidence, avoiding one another’s eyes to hide the truth that they somehow denied to themselves. Often as they worked together their hands would touch, or their bodies would make contact as they studied a draft. Her heart thrilled at these innocent encounters.
Then suddenly there was Jenny. Jenny had been conceived after Derwent returned from a tour with a band. He had been angry that she had decided not to accompany him; and he had come home drunk, argued with her and accused her of flirting with Lennie. There had been a terrible argument that ended with them both in tears. She felt sorry for him then because she knew she had drawn him to this place and that he only stayed because of her, his own heart longed for the road and the carefree excitement of the labour gangs. They had gone to bed and made love with such urgency, as if the loving would heal the great abyss that seemed to stretch between them. In the urgency of their lovemaking, they threw the usual caution to the wind and she soon found out she was pregnant.
This occurred about six months after they had come to the farm and any thoughts she may have had about leaving him disappeared with the added responsibility of a child. But Derwent could not remember their night of passion because of the drink and he held a festering suspicion that the child was not his own, and this suspicion served to widen the gap between them. Despite his dark brooding mood swings and his nagging belief that she was somehow having an affair with Lennie, her commitment to the troubled marriage was supported by her love of the farm and her concern for her daughter’s future.
She supposed she was being selfish in a way. She wanted to keep Derwent in her life for the child’s sake at least, but she also wanted to stay on the farm and be close to Lennie. There were times when she felt she saw brief flashes of the future, disturbing insights that told her she could not have it all, that at some time she must decide what it was she really wanted.
Derwent became almost like a boarder in her house as time went by, she tolerated him and he mostly ignored her and the child. She never actually acknowledged her love for Lennie; indeed she denied it to herself every day. In the end she determined that she