Читать книгу Girl with Wings - Jennifer Bradley - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Narromine 1929

Jessica decided that Sunday lunch would be the right time to tell the family of her decision. That way, she would only have to tell them once. Every Sunday, her mother cooked a family dinner. They arrived after church, her grandparents, Auntie Velia and cousin Charles, all hungry. Jessica always set the table before church, making sure that the knives faced the right way, the serviettes were folded properly, and placed on the side plates. She set crystal water glasses on the right and ensured that matching salt and peppershakers were at both ends.

She quite liked this task, enjoying the crisp linen and shining crystal. In any case, it was a lot better than most of the other household chores girls were supposed to learn. Other days they didn’t go to all this trouble, but Sunday lunch was the day Grandfather tested how well her mother was looking after the homestead, the day everyone always felt as though they were “on approval”. (That phrase was a deliberate usage, pinched from my own family and in common usage in the first half of the 20th C in both Sydney and country towns, where things were ordered from big shops and sent back if wrong. My own ­grandfather never quite accepted any of his sons or daughters in law, who always felt they were, as the local saying went “on appro”.) At least, that was how her father described it. Jessica had lived in the homestead since she was a baby, when her grandparents moved to the smaller house they called The Lodge. Although it felt like home, on Sundays she was aware that it was not as simple as that. Her mother had been heard to mutter that it was like having the landlord come to inspect. While her grandfather lived, he was the owner of the whole property, including their house.

Jessica’s father was placed at one end of the table and her grandfather at the other. As her mother said, that way, he could appear to be head of the household. Her grandmother sat at her father’s right hand, her mother at Grandfather’s and she placed the others in between. Mum would arrange some flowers and by the time everyone sat down, the table would be a picture, with its cream damask cloth and matching serviettes, the Royal Doulton floral plates, polished silver and crystal glasses.

This Sunday, Jessica waited impatiently through the sliced lamb and mint sauce, baked vegetables and fresh peas, and the usual compliments. It was only when everyone was served apple pie and cream that at last she could break her news.

“I have decided,” she said in her clearest voice, “I will be a pilot when I grow up.”

There was a sudden silence with only the clatter of a fork dropping onto a plate. She could see her parents glance at her grandfather who was glowering. Nobody would speak until he did. That was his rule and woe betide anyone who disobeyed. As he had a mouthful of pie and disapproved of people speaking until they had swallowed, they all waited. Jessica was not worried. It was not a request, but a statement. She was not asking for permission, she was just telling them what she planned.

Or so she thought.

Grandfather finished his mouthful and opened his lips. “Stuff and nonsense,” he almost exploded. “I forbid it. You will not do any such thing. No granddaughter of mine will fly in one of those newfangled machines. And that is an end to it.”

When Grandfather laid down the law, he always did it loudly. The only thing missing was that he did not thump the table.

Nobody else said anything, they just ate. Jessica’s younger brother Billy almost stopped chewing as he watched. A small grin lifted the corners of his mouth as he kept his eye on Jessica. The only one not watching was young Elspeth, locked into her high chair and mixing pie crumbs into melted ice cream (most of the larger properties has these wonderful ice room thingies underground and made ice cream with evaporated milk — not the heavy cream of dairy country!) with her spoon. As Jessica opened her mouth to reply, her mother kicked her gently on the ankle and shook her head very slightly. So did her father. She wanted to yell at Grandfather, to tell him that she was going to do it anyway and he couldn’t stop her, but she drew breath as she caught her dad’s eye.

She knew what he was thinking. “Don’t argue with Grandfather at the dinner table.” It was a family rule, one Jessica originally thought was laid down by Grandfather himself. “Yes,” her dad had said. “That’s what he thinks. The rest of us comply so we can eat our meals in peace.”

“And then what?” Jessica had asked.

“Just let him tell you what to do?” Dad just smiled.

Grandfather harrumphed a bit more, telling the whole table what he thought about this modern idea of women working. No wife of his had ever had to work. (Jessica always thought that was a silly statement. He had only ever had one wife and she worked hard on the property. And Grandfather didn’t pay her for it.) And no woman in his family ever would. And so on.

Jessica remembered how her grandfather disapproved of women voting and wondered for the first time, if her grandmother voted as he told her. Jessica’s mother Ellen chewed stolidly, her mouth tight, and said nothing. There was no point in reminding Grandfather that she had been a nurse before she married Angus. That was how they had met, after all, in a rehabilitation centre where Dad was learning to walk again after his injuries at Beersheba. Or that Ellen’s sister Louisa, Jessica’s godmother, was a teacher. There was no point in raising any of that. It would only make Grandfather froth at the mouth and carry on a lot longer.

Elspeth decided she had had enough food and threw her plate onto the floor. Even though it was Sunday, Elspeth had a painted tin plate rather than the Royal Doulton, so there was no danger of it breaking.

“Oh, dear,” said Mum with what Jessica recognised as mock dismay. “I must take Elspeth out and clean her up. Jess, come and give me a hand and I’ll get a cloth to clean the floor.”

Grandma folded her napkin and stood up as well. “It’s time to clear up anyway, Ellen, so I’ll help.” Jess opened her mouth, but before she could speak her mother had somehow ushered her out of the room. Not however, before she saw Billy twist his face into a gargoyle. Dad stood as well, inviting Grandfather to the study, as he did every Sunday, leaving the cleaning up to the women. As Grandfather would say, that was their job. Billy and Charles were free to do whatever they wanted. No one expected them to help with the washing up.