Summer at Mount Hope Read Free

season: drought, famine and hard times are caused by improvidence, drinking and gambling – all of which are at the root of evil. Cast thy burden upon the Lord and he shall provide.’
    The farmers shifted on their knees and Freckle nudged Phoeba: ‘A bit of a letdown if rabbits is the best He can provide.’
    Phoeba smiled. She didn’t believe dry weather was caused by squandering money, and she knew the banks were to blame for the depression.
    Turning then to the altar cup the vicar let out a mighty squeak: a sparrow was perched on its lip, splashing and preening in the wine. The bird flew back to the trusses, the swaggies charged down the aisle and the vicar had to refill the cup three times.
    At the end of the service the vicar clasped his hands at his chest and, with his neck bunched above his clerical collar, said, ‘I know you’re looking forward to lunch as much as I would be if I had a nice roast and pudding to go to, but in the interests of the Lord, nature and the elements, I ask you to dig deep and offer donations to finish this roof. We are all in depressed circumstances but £50 would see the ceiling lined and the birds cast out.’ Then he rubbed his hands together and rolled down the aisle towards the door. The Overtons followed hot on his heels, with Lilith nudging her way through the small dense crowd behind them. Phoeba fell in behind her mother to hide her wet bottom. At the door, Maude introduced herself to the vicar, already flanked by the Temperance ladies.
    â€˜Mrs Crupp has a vineyard,’ said the largest Temperance woman. ‘It’s for alcohol.’ She had low buns either side of her head which, combined with a mole on her nose, made her look like a koala.
    â€˜A vineyard?’The vicar’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I must come for lunch.’
    â€˜We’d be honoured,’ said Maude. ‘And this is Phoeba, my elder daughter.’
    The vicar took Phoeba’s hand in his with a grip like warm, raw chicken.
    â€˜The vicar will have roast rabbit with us today,’ boomed the koala-like Temperance woman.
    Phoeba extracted her hand: ‘We grow Sweetwater and a few Glory of Australia grapes. For white wine.’
    â€˜Lovely,’ said the vicar. ‘I do get tired of red.’
    Phoeba propelled her mother towards Widow Pearson and Hadley as they waited in the shade between the vehicles. Henrietta arrived.
    â€˜Happy New Year for tomorrow,’ said Phoeba, squeezing her hand.
    â€˜Hadley has an interview at Overton this afternoon.’
    â€˜For wool classing?’
    â€˜Yes. But it’s a secret.’
    As the Overton carriage passed, the older women stood to attention. Mrs Overton hid behind her parasol, and Marius tipped his hat without actually looking at anyone. Mr Titterton captured the Widow’s gaze and lifted his hat high, his lips stretched back from his wooden gums. Mrs Pearson giggled, then gasped, like an expiring canary, the rest of the group holding its breath until hers was restored. She suffered respiratory problems.
    â€˜You’d think the Overtons would donate an organ for Christmas, wouldn’t you?’ said Maude. ‘The hymns are such a struggle.’
    â€˜At the moment everything’s a struggle for all of us,’ said Had-ley, glancing across to the swaggies wandering to the foreshore.
    â€˜Of course, Mrs Crupp, I’ve always had to struggle,’ wheezed his mother.
    â€˜So you keep telling us,’ said Maude.
    Maude and Widow Pearson endured the wary acquaintance of neighbours whose children had grown up together and who shared common experiences – middle age and the treacheries of rural life – but who actively despised each other. Maude’s bulk could no longer be shaped by a mere corset, but Widow Pearson drew her small torso very tight in the middle, squeezing herself into the shape of a sand timer. As a result she wheezed like a