Spitfire

Chapter Three

                  

No one saw anything of Doug for a long time, only a few shallow nods of his continued struggle for life at church, on the street in town. The sickly pallor on his mothers face, a shadow of the strong woman. And all the while I think, if I had come round earlier, if I hadn't accepted Charlie's invite. If I had done this, if I had thought this, if I had said this, if! If I was a better person, a better friend, a better son.  The accusing glances I see on people faces speak the truth I already know. They blame me, they blame me for not doing better, they know it's my fault, I know it's my fault!

I won't go to war without Doug, either I wait until his get's better or I go and slaughter every man who threatens our way of life to avenge his name. I know this; I won't give in to the disappointed looks. Nor the white feathers I find on my doorstep that I burn in the stables out of sight from Mother. The odor lingering, it doesn't fill me with shame, the intended feeling that the narrow minded girls desire. They sing their sickly songs, they giggle at the young men leaving on the train who give them a smile, they nod in approval at the posters shouting "we want YOU!" The posters that beg us away, but no I will not fall, I will not crumble. I will be strong and wait for Doug, because he is a fighter and we are in this together.

                                                                        *                       *                       *

The long awaited return arrived as I was grooming Marshall, the fourth feather had arrived this morning. I wanted to say it didn't effect me but I was angry, I was leaning hard into Marshall with the brush. The tell tale smell lingered as a familiar coached pulled up along the yard. An unknown chap sat on the drivers box as the door opened, out stepped Charlie who held out her hand to the person inside. And out came Doug, pale and exhausted but his grin was the same as ever.

"Doug Parsons, where the hell have you been?" I demand my own grin glued to my face. He chuckles and limps forward leaning heavily on a cane only to collapse again on the hay bale by the fence of the yards.

"Trying to escape my Mother!" He groans in frustration, "she hired Danny," I glance at the man by the carriage, "to do the farm work with dad. She won't let me leave the house! Charlie get's out more than I do, I snuck out because I need to apologize, Joe."

"What for?" I ask as I turn Marshall out in to the yard behind Doug.

"For yelling at you, for the feathers, for my mother!" He cries in despair, "she spread word that you got me to fall so you could prolong going to war. I'm sorry, I know you never meant for any of this to happen," he sighs putting his head in his hands. My eyes flicker up at Charlie who is perched on the rails a few yards away staring at Spitfire, I look back down at Doug.

"You're a sad sight to see you know that?" I laugh and Doug relaxes visibly, "c'mon mopey let's go have a cuppa. You can tell that poor chap he can head back, we'll bring you guys back down." We make our way slowly to the house, talking like old friends the three of us together, for infinity. But not for infinity, when we go to war when we drag our horses to war. They are not the only ones who will die in a bloody massacre we will die. I will die, Doug will die. How long will our infinity be? When will we get our infinity? Will we get our forever on our death ground, crawling through the trenches? Will forever be when Doug falls to his knees, dead? Infinity is looming in a dark cloud of war, and I don't want to go. 

A dainty hand collides with my cheek, my feet stumble yearning for balance. I glower round to see Doug on a knee in laughter and Charlie pale with fright, her hand over her mouth.

"I'm so sorry Joe!" She cries with sincerity her hand hovering near her cheek, I step close "you were staring off at your shoes and I thought..." I cut her off, leaning in a land my lips squarely on hers. The brief second I allow myself stretches for eternity. I pull away and skip up the house steps and decorously open the door for the siblings.

I know then and there, Charlotte Parsons is my infinite infinity, of that I am certain.

   *                         *                               *                           *

When Doug and Charlie were go I meandered out on to the deck, sitting in the sagging arm chair I allowed myself to believe the unbelievable. That maybe, everything will be okay after the war, I can carry on working with the horses, Kevin can grow up in peace at his own pace, and Nat can go to school without fear that there might be a spy ready to kill her tracking her every move as unlikely as it would be.  My bare feet were pleasantly warm on the beck as the sun began its decent for the day, Nat and Kevin were plodding up the drive on old Clyde. They jumped off and put him in the yards like they had done almost all their lives. As Kevin rammed the bolt shut he stormed up to the house and slammed the door behind him.

"Hey!" I shouted after him, Nat just waddled up with an envelope in her hands, "what have you got they're Nat?"

"The teacher gave it to me, it's about Kevin," she reveals holding it out, I take it and see it's addressed to our Mother, but I go on and open it.

Mrs. Collins,

I am afraid to inform you that this afternoon in the school yard during break, your son Kevin was found fighting some other boys. He is receiving lines in detention every lunch time this week since I believe that the cane would get him nowhere. I leave you to punish him as you see fit, but I advise you to listen to his story first.

Yours truly,

Mr. Clarks.

I sighed, I should have to deal with this on my own, I couldn't let Mother find out. She would be working today, doing the laundry for the neighbors.

"Go give Clyde his feed, Kev and I need a chat," I tell her ruffling her hair as she skipped down to Clyde. I found Kevin angrily scrubbing at his his hand at the sink in the kitchen.

"So, you want to tell me what this letter is about? Why you were fighting?" I probed, taking a seat at the table. I don't get answer, the water keeps running and Kevin grunts every so often, "Kevin,"

"What?" He grunts flicking the pipe off and throwing the cloth down in the basin.

"First of all, watch your tone, second of all don't slam the doors and third of all," I say grabbing his arms and siting him up on the bench top, "why were you fighting?" I repeat softly.

"They started it," he sighs hanging his head, I grab his hand to see his knuckles bloody and grab the cloth to clean them, "they said that I shouldn't show my face, I should be ashamed. That my family was a disgrace."

"Why would they say that Kev? You have nothing to be ashamed of!" I cry out clutching his hand tightly.

"They said that you were a coward! Johnathan Creek's older sister said told him that you were getting feathers and you kept ignoring them!" He cries and my heart breaks, because I caused his pain.

"Mate, I am so sorry, they shouldn't be hitting you for that," I tell him, holding his shoulders. That's my fault, I thought silently.

"I punched him first, no one calls my brother a coward," he whispers and a smile cracks across my face in gratitude and humor, of course he threw the first punch.

"I'll handle mum, if you go do your lines with your head held high, and if they say those things again you walk right past them alright?" I tell him, he nods and I wrap my arms tightly around him, "you let me handle the Creeks," I whisper.

I release him and he hops down and disappears out side. Dragging my hand down my face I get to work chopping vegetables, I keep my focus on the knife. But I am angry, even more angry then when I get the feathers or the looks. My actions have impacted Kevin, my fault, my fault, my fault. I can't wait any longer, the knife catches my finger in my clumsiness and I have to take a moment to collect myself before I do something stupid. I drive the knife in to the wooden bench, glaring as it vibrates with the force. I brace my fore arms on the surface, my breathing labored as the stream of red trickles into the crooks between my fingers. I leave the kitchen without finishing the job and find myself in my room, shutting the door I lean against it my heart fluttering in

I won't screw this up.

I won't get rejected.

I won't screw up.

Because I am not a coward.

You know how I know? Because tomorrow, I am riding to Sydney. 

I am going to war.