How To Catch Crabs Read online

  The smell of fresh-baked bread hung in the kitchen, drawing my eager eyes to the oven as Mrs Paino bent to extract the tray of perfectly formed scones.

  "Those look amazing," I breathed, meaning every word.

  She gave a small smile, but I know she was pleased. Here was another perfect housewife and cook, the likes of which I could never be. "I have a jar of Merry D'Angelo's mulberry jam that she gave me at Christmas. I've been saving it, but your visit is certainly an occasion. I had to hide it from Sal's brother, or he'd have swallowed the lot without tasting it. Who knew young men ate so much?"

  She busied herself making coffee and arranging the scones on a plate. I couldn't help glancing around, not wanting Giorgio to take me by surprise again.

  As Mrs Paino poured my coffee, she said, "You don't need to worry. My brother-in-law is gone."

  "Gone where?"

  "Sal called in some favours and managed to get him a job on the pearling boats in Cossack. Giorgio's been handling luggers since he was a child, and there are fewer women up there to tempt him to cause trouble." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for his behaviour at your house. He spoke of nothing but you for days until Sal decided he'd had enough and sent him away. Sal said Giorgio was responsible for getting some girls in the family way back home in Sicily. More than one, he said, and he couldn't marry them all, so his mother sent him away in disgrace. He only told me when I got home. If I'd known before bringing him to your home, I never would have let him leave the truck cab." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Did he try to...make love to you?"

  "He tried to sweet-talk me," I admitted. I didn't want to mention the cricket bat. I'm not sure she'd be so sympathetic if she knew I'd hit a member of her family, however objectionable. "But you summoned me to help Mum before he'd done more than irritate me."

  "How is your mother?" she asked, sipping her coffee.

  We continued with small talk and scones for an obligatory hour before I made my excuses and escaped, though not without a basket of fresh scones for my mother.

  Eight

  Winter warmed into spring before baking the land dry in a typical scorching summer. Farmers spoke of a bumper harvest and our grapevines had never looked so promising. When they ripened, we all took turns at the back-aching labour of picking the vines clean. The 1927 vintage would be our biggest batch of wine yet, Dad declared as he shut the shed door on the last crate of grapes. Tomorrow, he'd start pressing, but tonight was for celebrating, he promised.

  We broached two bottles of wine and became very merry, especially Dad, but inevitably I had to use the outhouse and excused myself to head for the dunny.

  On my way back to the house, I thought I noticed the shed door ajar. Knowing Dad had closed it, I immediately raced back to the house to tell him. A quick check told him we'd been robbed of several crates of grapes, which was the last straw for Dad.

  He whistled for Red, who was sleeping in the paddock on the hot February evening. It took Dad two tries before he managed to mount the horse and the two galloped off, a kerosene lamp swaying in his hand.

  The next morning, I woke to the sound of Dad shouting. I pulled on a dress and washed my face before I slipped outside to find out what else had drawn his fury.

  "Faster, or I'll call the police!" Dad threatened, smacking a riding crop into his hand.

  I rounded the corner. Dad's reddened eyes and face made him look like he was possessed by some sort of demon, but the two strange men operating the wine press looked exhausted. One sported a black eye and the other's lip was enormously swollen. In the yard stood a horse and cart I didn't recognise.

  Dad gave a slight shake of his head and I returned to the house to help Mum light the stove for breakfast.

  Maybe an hour later, I heard the clop of hooves and more incoherent shouting from Dad. He stumbled into the house and collapsed on a chair, still holding the whip, but he was grinning.

  "I sure showed them," he said. "Damn grape thieves."

  It wasn't until after breakfast that I understood. Dad had chased the thieves, caught them, thrashed them and not only forced them to drive their stolen goods back to the house, but turn them into wine, too. Only he'd gone a bit further. I estimated they'd pressed half our grapes overnight. No wonder they'd looked so exhausted by dawn.

  Dad slept half the day away while the five boys dealt with the rest of the grapes. Even eleven-year-old Vince took his turn on the press. The long summer day was darkening into night by the time the last barrel was hammered shut, but their sense of triumph was palpable.

  The following morning saw them loading the barrels onto the cart for their journey to Dad's shop in Subiaco. There, the wine would be allowed to settle before being poured into the aging barrels, where it would mature until it was bottled for sale. Dad, Dominic, Tom and Vince took the first cartload, before Dominic returned for the second. Nick and John climbed up with Dominic and the second load, but Nat and Vicki insisted on going, too. I suspected the girls were more interested in shopping in town than helping with winemaking, but they had Mum's permission, so that left just her and me in a quiet house to ourselves.

  The still summer air stifled me inside, so I sat under a tree in the yard and attempted to read a book on bankruptcy law that one of Dominic's friends had loaned me. Rumour was that a job would be available for a good accountant in the bankruptcy court and I intended to apply. They'd never hired a woman before, but someone had to be first.

  The smell of smoke drove me to my feet in time to see the fires of hell thundering down the foothills toward us, whipped by an easterly sent from the devil himself. I raced inside. "Mum! Mum! Bushfire coming down from the hills. We need to get out. We need to go now!"

  Mum had fallen asleep, so she took some rousing, but I could still see the orchard through the smoke as we crossed the yard. "There's a lot of smoke, Lucy. Where's the fire?" she mumbled.

  Down in the gully, I heard a boom so loud it shook the ground, followed by a gout of flame that topped the house. "Where Dad used to store the explosives for blasting stumps," I replied grimly and pulled her along faster. I freed the horses and brought them with us into the orchard, down near the creek.

  We hunkered down in the near-dry creek bed, reduced to a trickle at the end of a long, hot summer, and waited. Night fell, but we could still see flickering flames nearby, so we huddled together and tried to sleep. When dawn broke, the smoke seemed to have cleared, but that could be ominous or miraculous. Either the fire had burned itself out or it had moved elsewhere, and the only way to find out which was to leave our sheltered spot.

  "Come on, Lucy. I need to know if my house is still standing," Mum said, pressing her lips together. For months, I'd missed this strength in her, but it seemed she had regained it in the dark.

  I followed Mum up to the house.

  "Thank God," I heard her say as it appeared to be intact. A miracle indeed, for the trees twenty feet from the house were scorched nearly black, but the house was saved.

  I stared at the charred posts that had held the washing line only yesterday. "I'll ask Dad to get some more rope in town so he can build you a new clothes line, Mum."

  She lifted her head. "No need. I'm not going through that again. I refuse to live in a house that could burn down any moment. When your father comes home, we're moving to the house behind the shop. He can sell this farm for all I care."

  And just like that, we moved from Armadale to Subiaco.

  Nine

  It took Mum only a matter of months to turn the Subiaco house into a home, but it didn't feel quite the same. The house was bigger than the boxy cottage on the farm, but the neighbours were nearer, too. I walked through Kings Park to the tram every morning. Dominic had gleefully trumpeted my appointment as the first woman to work in the bankruptcy courts through all the newspapers, for he'd become a successful journalist with The West Australian. So successful, in fact, that he'd enrolled at university to study zoology.

  I couldn't believe how qui
ckly three years passed – it seemed like only yesterday Dominic had enrolled, yet today Mum fussed as she ironed the dress she intended to wear to his graduation ceremony.

  "Do you think Nat will make it, Mum?" I asked.

  "No, she's too ill with her pregnancy. I think William gave her a honeymoon baby. By the end of the year, I'll be a grandmother! And not before time, either." She glared at me reproachfully. "It should have been you, much earlier, Lucy."

  Long inured to Mum's talk of marriage and babies, I shook my head. "No, Mum, I'm going to be an old maid. Love is for sentimental girls like Natalie. Not me." Licking my lips nervously, I added, "Besides, I don't think those two waited for the honeymoon. Nat's looking much bigger than a girl should, so early in her pregnancy."

  Mum hushed me, but her lack of surprise spoke volumes. She surely suspected the same thing.

  I donned my best dress – much better than the one I'd worn the day I met Giorgio, I mused.

  The Depression had affected many, but my family seemed to be better off than most. Only Tom and John had been laid off, and they followed in Dad's footsteps and sought their fortunes in the gold mines of Kalgoorlie. Dad had told us many times that the only treasure worth finding in that town had been our mother, for that's where they'd met and married.

  Now, Nick, Vince and Vicky helped Dad in the shop and Mum ruled the roost at home once more.

  Life was good, I reflected as I brushed my hair before the mirror.

  When Dominic shook the university chancellor's hand and received his degree, I'm not sure whose smile was broader – his, Mum's or Dad's. He insisted on introducing us to everyone. I quickly lost track of names and settled to a conversation with one of his friends who turned out to be a member of the Naturalists' Club Dominic still pushed me to join.

  I nodded politely at the man's talk of a birding expedition to some remote islands to the north, only to find him urging me to accompany them. Dominic and Dad appeared at this point, drowning out my refusal as they shook hands. I made my excuses and tried to shrink away.

  "But your sister must come with us. Everyone is bringing their wives. She won't want for female company," I heard him say. "Dominic, Victor, help me persuade her."

  Before I knew it, Dad had agreed to let me go and Dominic was beside himself, offering to pay for my club membership and everything.

  I wasn't sure whether to cheer or panic. I slipped away to find another glass of champagne.

  "Lucy, do you think there's any chance you can persuade Maria Speranza to come, too? I remember you saying once that you were friends and that she'd accompany you if you came on an expedition. And Tony Basile said he'd be willing to captain the expedition boat if she's part of the party." Even in the evening light, I could see Dominic's eyes beseeching me.

  I relented. "I'll ask her." I downed my glass of champagne in two gulps.

  Ten

  Though I stood on the deck of Tony Basile's Stella Maris, I found it hard to believe I wasn't dreaming. I'd expected Maria to take a seat in the front of the boat and hold court like the queen she was, but instead I'd seen her sailing the boat as skilfully as Captain Basile himself. Better, even.

  She dropped lightly to the deck in front of me and smiled. "Tony, there are shoals ahead. I suggest sailing to the west of them and giving them a wide berth."

  I turned as a heavyset man thumped down from the mast. "The swell's worse west, where the water's deeper. I say we go east of the shoals. Closer to shore, too." When he turned to glare at Maria, I got the shock of my life. Giorgio Paino looked too solid to be a ghost, yet he stood not ten feet from me.

  Captain Basile looked from one to the other. "Hard a-port! We're passing on the sea-side of those shoals!" he roared.

  "You're going to take that woman's word over mine, Basile? Has she ever sailed before?" Giorgio demanded.

  "That's Captain Basile to you, and I'll take Maria over you any day. She's my first mate, not you," Captain Basile said shortly, walking away.

  Giorgio spat on the deck.

  I felt a strong urge to swim back to shore, but the mainland had already slipped out of sight on the eastern horizon. As the waves grew rougher, my stomach rebelled and I leaned over the side to lose my breakfast.

  "And that's why we should have stuck to the calmer water," I heard Giorgio say.

  Of all the people to embarrass myself in front of... Now I wished I'd thought to pack a cricket bat.

  I longed for the comfort of my ledgers and land.

  Eleven

  By the time I'd lost what felt like last Sunday's dinner, I could barely retain consciousness. I slid bonelessly down the side of the boat to slump on the deck, thoroughly sick of the sea. Or I would be, if there were anything more than bile left in my belly. Or not...I hoisted myself up so my mouth cleared the side and peered blearily into the water as my stomach heaved again.

  Pale blue and not moving as much, my mind registered. Had we stopped? It didn't feel like it. I didn't much care, either.

  I came to in someone's arms. Clothed, of course, but carried like some sort of helpless maiden in a fairy tale. Helpless. Humph.

  "Put me down," I croaked.

  "When we reach shore, Lucy." The voice was not my brother's.

  I stared up at Giorgio's grinning face. Like hell I'd let this man touch me again. I struggled in his loose hold and felt myself slipping. I jerked my legs and he let them go, allowing me to stand up.

  My feet sank into cold water, which reached my waist. I hadn't counted on my own weakness after all that seasickness and I wobbled.

  "Let me help you," Giorgio said. He touched my arm, but I yanked it away.

  Being off-balance on wobbly legs was all it took to drop me from standing to sitting. My mouth filled with seawater and for a moment, it tasted like ambrosia compared to the bile in the back of my throat.

  Strong arms pulled me to the surface and I spat saltwater, then took another mouthful, swished and spat some more.

  "I know you don't like me, but there's no need to spit like a cat," Giorgio said, lifting me out of the water.

  My fury told me to fight my way free again, but a gust of wind chilled me to the bone, making me press closer to the man I detested instead. Oh, for a cricket bat and the strength to wield it. Perhaps there would be a suitable piece of driftwood on the beach.

  As if he'd read my thoughts, Giorgio set me down on a log that nature had bleached bone-white to match the sand beneath it. This bit of driftwood was far too big for me to lift, though. He walked off without another word and I huddled in my wet clothes, wishing I'd just let him carry me without protesting. Then at least I'd be warm and dry.

  Instead, I wanted to sink into the sand and disappear from sight.

  The smell of fish assailed me as someone draped a blanket over my shoulders, followed by another. No, not blankets – salt-encrusted hessian sacks. I looked up in surprise.

  "You're cold and until your things come ashore, you'll need these. I'm sorry for the smell – they were all I could find." Giorgio sat on a rock beside my log. "Why did you come on a sea voyage if it makes you so sick?"

  I glared at him. "I've never been seasick before. Never travelled so far from shore. I was born in Kalgoorlie, not some foreign country."

  He nodded slowly. "So you didn't know. You were very brave for your first time, then." His eyes seemed to be laughing at me.

  "You're mocking me," I replied, pulling the sacks closer around me to block out the wind.

  Equally slowly, he shook his head. A lazy grin appeared. "Truly, I'm not. You clung to your place in the bow, took care of yourself and made no mess. The others weren't so careful and they complained a lot more, too." He nodded at the rowboat, filled with pale-looking people who looked as green as the shallow water beneath Mr Basile's boat.

  "I wasn't the only one who got sick?" I asked.

  "No, there were two other women and a man. The man was the worst. He cried and complained and begged to die." I stared at the man he pointed a
t, who seemed to be leaning heavily on his diminutive wife as they trudged up the beach. Behind them, Maria laughingly leaped from the boat, wearing a shirt and rolled-up pants like the men, splashing through the shallows.

  "I bet she didn't," I said darkly.

  Giorgio's eyes were equally dark as he regarded her. "Her cold-hearted majesty? No."

  "She's not cold-hearted," I protested. "She's always been kind to me. She just seems that way when you don't know her. She lost her husband to the ocean when she was very young and it broke her heart."

  "Perhaps her heart is only cold to men," he said softly, nodding at the boat. Dominic and Captain Basile sat in it, both pairs of eyes fixed on the blonde woman striding up the beach, seemingly oblivious to her audience. Yet the way she swung her hips said otherwise. She knew they were watching and her every move managed to mesmerise them. Once again, I envied her both her grace and her confidence – she wasn't sitting on a log, wrapped in smelly sacks.

  I sighed and met Giorgio's eyes. "Perhaps."

  "You're more like her than the others," he observed.

  My heart hardened against him. "Cold, you mean?"

  "No. The others cling to their husbands as if they are less without them. You're like her because you don't need a man to define you. You wish to control your own destiny and the world around you." He closed his eyes momentarily, as if he found a thought painful. "I wish I'd seen this when we first met. I might have made fewer mistakes."

  I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but closed it again as I glimpsed my brother again. Somehow, he'd made it up the beach to be within earshot and I didn't want him to be party to my private conversation with Giorgio. I'd need to find an excuse to ask him later, was all, I resolved. In private.

  Twelve

  Dominic cleared his throat, clapped his hands and generally tried to get everyone's attention. They crowded around the firepit where Giorgio and I sat, standing in an uneasy circle.