Free The Dressmaker by Rosalie Ham

were brown.
    Ruth frowned. ‘What sort of powder was it?’
    ‘It wasn’t important.’ Tilly walked away.
    ‘Not poison or anything?’
    ‘It was fertiliser for my plants,’ replied Tilly, ‘South American Vampire bat dung – the best, because of the blood they suck.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Ruth.
    As Tilly left (wondering where she could get some more henna) she could hear retching and feet scurrying about inside. The bathroom light flicked on.
    As Tilly was strolling towards Pratts she met Mae at the library corner. Mae was on her way home with pegs and milk.
    ‘Good morning,’ she said.
    ‘Morning,’ said Mae and kept walking. Tilly turned to the big red flowers hurrying away and called, ‘Thank you for looking out for Molly.’
    Mae stopped and turned. ‘I didn’t do anything, thought that was obvious.’
    ‘You hid the fact that she was …’ Tilly couldn’t bring herself to say the words lunatic or mad because that’s what they had used to call Barney. Once some people had come to the school to take him away and lock him up, but Margaret had run and gotten Mae. Someone was always with Barney, even now.
    ‘It’s better to keep to yourself around here, you should know,’ said Mae and walked back to Tilly. ‘Nothing ever really changes, Myrtle.’ She strode away again, leaving Tilly stunned and sobered.
    The next day was still and the low clouds sat like lemon butter on toast, keeping the earth warm. Irma Almanac sat on her back porch watching the creek roll away, carrying traces of spring with it. Tilly pushed her mother along the creek bank towards her.
    ‘How are you today?’
    ‘There’s rain coming,’ Irma replied, ‘only enough to settle the dust though.’ The two women sat together on the porch while Tilly made tea. Irma and Molly chatted, carefully avoiding the tender topics they shared – absent babies, brutal men. They talked instead about the rabbit plague, the proposed vaccination for whooping cough, communism and the need to drain kidney beans before and after boiling and before they go into soup because of possible poisoning. Tilly placed some cakes in front of Irma.
    ‘Speaking of poison …’ muttered Molly.
    ‘I made you some special cakes,’ said Tilly.
    Irma picked one up in her swollen, lumpy fingers and tasted it. ‘Unusual,’ she said.
    ‘Ever eaten anything Lois Pickett’s made?’
    ‘I believe I have.’
    ‘You should be right then,’ said Molly.
    Irma chewed and swallowed. ‘Tell me, why did a beautiful and clever girl like you come back here?’
    ‘Why not?’
    They left well before lunch. Irma felt light and pleased and was sharply conscious of the day’s details – the quiet sky and the creek smell, rotting cumbungi and mud – and the warmth of her buffalo grass lawn, mosquitos singing and a faint breeze moving her hair about her ears. She could hear her bones scraping inside her body but they no longer hurt and the aching had stopped. She was eating another cake when Nancy popped her head around the door. ‘Here you are, eh?’ Irma jumped, then stiffened to wait for the rush of red hot pain to take her breath away, but it didn’t come. Nancy was cross, her brow creased, her hands on her hips. Behind her, Mr Almanac’s bald dome taxied slowly through the door frame like the nose of a DC3. Irma giggled.
    ‘You wasn’t out the front to stop Mr A here so he’d have gone bang into the front door if I hadn’t rushed over.’ Nancy patted Mr A’s head.
    Tears were streaming down Irma’s face and her buckled old body was jigging with laughter. ‘I’ll just leave it open in future,’ she said and almost whooped and slapped her thigh.
    Mr Almanac fell into his chair like a rake falling onto a barrow. ‘You’re a fool,’ he said.
    ‘Right then, I’ll leave you to it,’ said Nancy and swaggered out.
    ‘Those Dunnage women have been here,’ muttered Mr Almanac.
    ‘Yes,’ said Irma cheerfully, ‘young Myrtle took my frocks away. She’s going