After River by Donna Milner Read Free Book Online Page B

along with Widow Beckett, walked two miles out to our house.
    They looked like a female versions of Laurel and Hardy as they came up our road, Ma rolling along in her rocking gait while the willowy thin Widow hurried along beside her taking two steps to each single stride of Ma’s. These two were fixtures in our kitchen each Monday. Along with our laundry, as members of the Catholic Ladies Auxiliary, every week the three of them pressed and mended uniforms for the girls of Our Lady of Compassion.
    Although the sign over the oak gates leading to the building next to St Helena’s hospital read ‘School for Girls’, I had yet to see beyond the hedges that surrounded the grounds. And Ma Cooper’s many veiled comments only left me curious about the mysterious girls who lived in the dormitories.
    There wasn’t much going on in town that Ma didn’t seem to know about. And she brought all the local news into our kitchen each week. My father called the Monday ladies the ‘steam team’ because, as he said, ‘There’s a lot more steamy gossip going on in that kitchen than ironing.’
    Mom said it was usually just harmless talk. ‘What’s more interesting to talk about than people?’ she asked. But more than a few times I heard her challenge Ma Cooper on the accuracy of the latest rumours while she punched into dough rising in a porcelain tub so enormous she sank into it up to her elbows.
    Widow Beckett usually said very little, letting Ma Cooper keep her position as the authority on local goings-on. The widow was never far from her friend though, and could be counted on toagree and encourage her. And sure enough, after the Christmas recital, there she was, standing next to Ma Cooper, nodding at her friend’s words.
    â€˜Nettie Ward’s, daughter? Really?’ Mrs Royce replied to Ma Cooper. ‘My, she certainly doesn’t look anything like her mother, does she?’
    Widow Beckett responded with a silent tsk-tsk shake of her head. I moved closer to them as Ma Cooper leaned in, and in a voice that was meant to be a whisper, but was not anywhere near to it, said, ‘Homely as a mud fence, that one.’ Then she straightened up and added with a strange note of pride in her voice, ‘But her teacher says she is brilliant.’
    Thanks to Boyer, and his penny words, at seven I already had a large vocabulary. I knew the meaning of lots of words, but ‘homely’ was not one I had come across. Still, I knew it could not be good when paired up with ‘mud fence’. I made my way to the back doors, but Boyer was gone. I stood up on my tiptoes and scanned the room. Suddenly Mom was beside me. ‘What is it, Nat?’ she asked.
    â€˜I’m just looking for Boyer,’ I told her. Normally I would have asked Boyer about a new word, hoping it was a ten-penny one, but something told me that this wimpy sounding word had little value. So I asked Mom. ‘What does homely mean?’
    â€˜Where did you hear that?’ she asked, her brows knitting together in a frown.
    Afraid I’d stumbled on a forbidden word, I told her what Ma Cooper said. My mother’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment, the muscles of her cheeks twitched as she clamped her mouth shut. Then she smiled and touched my face, ‘Well, it could mean many things, honey. My guess is that it means you’re good around the house. She knows what a help you are to me.’
    I wondered for a moment what that had to do with a mud fence, then decided that this was probably one of those Santa Claus fibs. So I chose to believe her. It almost made sense. Later I could look it up in Boyer’s dictionary.
    Before we left, Mom walked over to Ma Cooper and Widow Beckett. The smile never left Mom’s face as she spoke, but Ma’s smile melted down. I could not make out Mom’s words, so I went and stood beside her in time to hear Widow Beckett say, ‘But Nettie, we