Heritage (6 page)

Luigi was left scowling, and his workmates looked even grimmer, casting openly antagonistic glares at Lucky, whom they'd not met before.

Lucky decided, diplomatically, that it was time to part company. ‘I am going to see Peggy,' he said in Italian to Pietro and Elvio. ‘I promised I would – she is working in the Agricultural Hall.'

Pietro nodded. He would far rather go with Lucky than remain with the brothers' friends, but Peggy was Lucky's girlfriend and he didn't wish to intrude.

‘I will see you at Dodds?' Elvio asked, and Lucky responded with a smile of recognition. Of the many pubs in Cooma, Elvio knew that Dodds Family Hotel was Lucky's favourite hangout, just as Lucky himself knew that the brothers usually drank with their mates at the Railway or the Cooma. The offer to meet at Dodds was Elvio's unspoken apology for his workmates' unfriendliness.

‘Of course,' Lucky replied. ‘I will be there in an hour.'

When he'd gone, Luigi announced that he and the others were off to the Railway, but Elvio declined to join them. He would wander around the showgrounds until it was time to meet Lucky, he replied pointedly. ‘What do you say, Pietro? Shall I challenge you to a shooting contest?' Pietro thankfully agreed.

The Capelli brothers parted a little coldly. Luigi knew that Elvio was cross with him for his perceived rudeness to Lucky, but he'd intended no insult to Lucky at all. Lucky was their friend. Lucky was different. It was those other German
bastardos
he couldn't abide.

‘What was that about?' Pietro asked, as he and Elvio headed off for the shooting gallery.

‘Italians and Germans,' Elvio shrugged. ‘They do not mix.'

‘Here they do, don't they?' Pietro queried. He had not encountered any such friction at Spring Hill. ‘Here we are all Snowy men.' He glanced back at the tent where Jim Sharman was once again touting through the loudhailer, his boxers lined up on the platform, Patrick Murphy having made a remarkable recovery. ‘We should have been backing the Snowy man in the fight.'

Elvio smiled. At times Pietro seemed bordering on simple, he thought, which was not surprising given the boy's sheltered upbringing, but his simplicity was refreshing in its innocence.

‘You are right, Pietro,' he said, ‘but people cannot change overnight. Some find it difficult to leave their hatred behind. I, too, have no liking for Germans,' he admitted, ‘but it does not mean I wish to pick fights as Luigi does. That is an unfortunate part of his nature.'

‘But you and Luigi both like Lucky,' Pietro persisted, genuinely puzzled. ‘And Lucky is a German.'

‘Lucky is different.'

‘Why?'

‘Lucky is a Jew.'

‘Oh. Is he?' Pietro had never met a Jew. Not that he was aware of. There had certainly been no Jews at the orphanage throughout his schooling, nor during the four years he'd stayed on at the Convent of the Sacred Heart as a gardener. And during his twelve months at the building site in Milano, there had been no Jews. But then perhaps there had been, he thought; how would he have known? And then it occurred to him that there must be many Jews working on the Snowy and that he'd probably met lots of them, it was just that nobody had ever bothered pointing them out to him.

‘Does that mean that Lucky is not a real German then?' he asked as they arrived at the shooting gallery, and Elvio laughed as he dug some coins out of his pocket.

‘You ask too many questions, Pietro,' he said, giving the money to the man behind the counter, who passed him two rifles. ‘Questions too complicated for me to answer.' He handed one of the rifles to Pietro. ‘Here,' he said in English, ‘my shout.'

 

In the Agricultural Hall, Lucky pushed through the crowds that meandered about the exhibits and flower displays, weaving his way as best he could towards the kitchen where he knew Peggy would be working hard with the team of ladies serving refreshments.

The vast hall had seen better days but was still impressive. Upon its official opening in 1887, the pavilion had been described as ‘the finest in the Colony south of Sydney' and over the years it had served Cooma well. Now known as the Agricultural Hall, it was not only a showground pavilion but a regular venue for balls and all other manner of social events. It was currently even serving as a temporary school. The influx of Snowy children had rendered the town's only public school sadly inadequate, and the new school was still under construction, so, on weekdays, canvas partitions were erected in the hall to form makeshift classrooms. Draughty in the cold, stuffy in the heat, they had earned the title ‘Tent City' from teachers and students alike. But, uncomfortable as the conditions were, it was evident to all that the ever-versatile pavilion was once again proving itself invaluable to the people of Cooma.

Peggy was at the far end of a queue of several women working at the large kitchen bench. She was carving a leg of mutton, and the dexterity with which she handled the huge knife seemed at odds with the neat, sharp-featured little woman that she was. Standing there in her neat apron and her tidy floral dress, her tidy brown hair secured in a severe bun at the nape of her neck, her butcher-like expertise with the carving knife was most incongruous.

Peggy Minchin, upon first impression, was not unattractive; rather, she was unapproachable. To most, she appeared a mixture of frosty and fragile, when, in truth, she was neither. She was feisty, outspoken, and above all efficient. Peggy Minchin was efficient at everything she tackled, which today included carving mutton. Shaving away at the leg, she was nearly down to the bone, and a pile of meat lay neatly stacked on the cutting board beside her.

The women were making sandwiches in conveyor-belt fashion, one slicing the loaves of bread, another buttering the slices and adding homemade chutney, the third in the line inserting Peggy's freshly sliced mutton and cutting the thick sandwiches in two. The final member of the group, the young daughter of one of the women, ran to and fro with fresh supplies and, when there was a substantial pile of sandwiches, she collected them on a platter for sale at the counter, where another team of ladies was making and serving tea from a large urn in the corner.

‘G'day, Lucky love.' The big woman slicing the bread didn't halt in her actions, but gave him a breezy grin and a jerk of the head. ‘She's up the end there.'

‘Thank you, Edna. Good afternoon, ladies.' Lucky nodded politely to each of them, receiving tight smiles of recognition from Mavis and Vera. It wasn't that they disapproved of Lucky himself. Lucky was well respected among the locals. He'd been working for the Snowy for years now and was one of the better assimilated foreigners. Extremely so, in fact: his English was perfect. But Mavis and Vera could not condone the relationship that appeared to have developed between Lucky and Peggy Minchin over the past several months.

‘He's courting her!' Vera had said disbelievingly when the two had been spotted around town several weekends in a row, dancing to the band at the Snowy Mountains Inn, or gathered around the piano at Dodds, Peggy leading the singalong.

‘
She's
courting
him
, you mean,' Mavis had retorted, outraged. ‘Brazen, I call it. She's a
schoolteacher
! It's shameful.'

‘And he's a
German
, what's more.'

They both agreed that made it far worse.

Mavis and Vera were not the only ones who disapproved. Several parents of local children had complained to the school. ‘Teachers are expected to set a good example,' they maintained, and the principal had been reluctantly forced to suggest to Peggy, with all the tact he could muster, that she be a little more ‘discreet' in her private life. Peggy had asked no questions, she knew just what he was talking about and her response had been simple. If she couldn't keep company with whoever she wished, she said, then she would seek employment elsewhere. The principal, who'd had no argument with the situation in the first place, hastily backed down. Cooma was desperately in need of teachers. They couldn't afford to lose one, and certainly not the best they had. From that day on, he'd turned a deaf ear to any further complaints about Peggy Minchin and ‘that German' and most of the outrage had died down. But there were still some like Mavis and Vera who whispered disapprovingly among themselves and on occasion made sure it was loud enough for others to hear.

Today was no such occasion, however, because Edna was there.

‘Go on, Lucky,' Edna called over the babble of noise, ‘get her out of here, she hasn't had a break for four hours.'

Edna had seen Peggy's face light up. When Peggy had stopped attacking the mutton for a brief second and flashed Lucky a smile, she'd looked downright beautiful, Edna thought. God but that girl was in love. ‘Besides, she's way ahead up her end. Just look at it, will you. I've never seen anyone carve a leg better.'

Having noticed the pile of sliced mutton, Edna stopped working and looked at her own stack of sliced bread. ‘You're slowing up again, Mavis,' she said. Then she scowled at the fine veil of chutney Mavis was carefully wiping over each slice. ‘And you're spreading it miles too thin.'

‘Just trying not to waste it, that's all,' Mavis replied through pursed lips. This particular jar of chutney was from her own batch, and she always spread it this thin at home.

‘The men like it thick – you've got to pile it on. I told you that before.'

Edna could see that Mavis was miffed, but she didn't care, Mavis was always miffed about something, and, returning her attention to the end of the counter, she noticed Peggy's hesitance as Lucky whispered in her ear. The girl felt guilty about leaving her post, Edna realised.

‘Oh go on, love,' she urged, ‘you two get out of here. We'll have to be packing it in soon anyway.'

Young Tess arrived with the platter to collect the sandwiches. ‘That was the last leg, Mum,' she said, ‘we're out of mutton.'

‘There you are, you see.' Edna shrugged in an I-told-you-so way, and Peggy laughed.

‘All right, it's meant to be. I'm off.' She quickly untied her apron, threw it on a packing case in the corner and grabbed Lucky's hand. ‘Come on, let's go.'

‘Goodbye, ladies.' Lucky rolled his eyes, the bloodhound one looking particularly alarmed as he pretended to be physically dragged away. Tess laughed and Vera was about to do the same until she caught Mavis's eye. She quelled her laughter and joined Mavis in another tightly polite smile.

‘Are you bringing him to the ball tonight, Peg?' Edna called just before the couple disappeared through the door.

‘You bet I am, Edna,' Peggy called back. ‘You bet I am.'

The polite smiles vanished as Mavis and Vera exchanged looks of amazement. Surely she wasn't going to bring her German boyfriend to the P & A ball! But they didn't dare say anything in front of Edna. Edna was a force to be reckoned with, and one who approved of change. It was Edna who had suggested that the Pastoral and Agricultural Association should consider including European food stalls at the show. ‘Something different – we need to change with the times,' she'd said. As usual, few had chosen to disagree with Edna, and Mavis and Vera certainly weren't about to start now, so they returned to their sandwiches. But they would talk about the matter in depth later on, Mavis would make sure of that. Peggy Minchin really was going too far.

Lucky and Peggy found a relatively quiet spot behind the pavilion.

‘I've missed you,' he said. It had been three weeks and he longed to gather her to him and feel her body against his. He would have done so. Lucky was a passionate man and had no qualms about openly expressing his feelings, but he was aware of her position and the censure of local society, and took care not to compromise her.

‘I've missed you too.' It was Peggy who initiated the kiss. She was suddenly in his arms, her face upturned, her mouth inviting him, and before Lucky knew it their lips had met. The kiss was brief. Even as she'd acted instinctively Peggy had been aware that her behaviour was outrageous. But short though the moment was, it held a wealth of passion and, when they hastily parted, both were a little breathless.

‘Have a seat,' Lucky said, pulling over one of the many wooden crates strewn about and hoping, for Peggy's sake, that no-one had seen them. There were a number of people around, but they seemed to have paid no heed as they busily gathered up crates themselves in preparation for packing. The show was nearing its end and in an hour or so they would start clearing the hall for that evening's ball.

Peggy sat. She didn't look around – she refused to – but casual glances from the corner of her eyes assured her that none of her many pupils had been present to witness her indiscretion. Thank goodness for that. She'd rather shocked herself.

Lucky overturned a crate and, as he sat, he decided to get straight to the point. ‘I cannot go to the ball with you, Peggy,' he said.

‘Why not? You said that you would.'

‘I said that I
might
.' He hated to disappoint her and he had intended to go. He'd been looking forward to it; he'd brought his best suit into town and it was hanging in the wardrobe at the hostel. But he'd seen the looks on the women's faces as he'd left the kitchen. They'd been horrified. And it had occurred to Lucky that he'd not heard other workers boasting in the past about having gone to the show ball. On Saturday show night they all went to the pub. It might well cause a great deal of trouble for Peggy if she took him along.

‘None of the other Snowy men ever go to the ball, do they?' he asked.

‘Of course they do,' she replied with an all-encompassing wave of her hand. ‘Lots of them, dozens, all nationalities …'

He captured her hand mid-air and smiled as he interrupted: ‘Lots of them, dozens, and all nationalities from the SMA, you mean, don't you, Peggy?'