Sarah Thornhill. Kate Grenville

Mrs Thornhill, he said.

      Ma went back into the house. The kitchen door banged behind her.

      Why’s she cranky? I said. Always nagging how there’s no kindling.

      Won’t be beholden to me, Jack said. Doesn’t want to have to say thank you. Her way of telling me she don’t want me here.

      Some of us do, I said. Want you here every minute of every day.

      We might of gone on smiling at each other all morning, except for Mrs Devlin calling out the window for Jack to bring her some kindling.

      He took an armload in, dropped it in the basket.

      Do the knives for you, he said. Mrs Thornhill told me she likes a good sharp knife.

      It was true Ma liked a sharp knife, but far as I knew she’d never said so to Jack. Mrs Devlin didn’t argue, got the knives out of the drawer and found the whetstone and the oil. I followed him through the house to the verandah.

      Can’t get her one way I’ll get her the other, he said. Want to hear her say it, thank you Jack.

      He sat on Pa’s bench, the whetstone on his knee, a bit of rag underneath to save his trousers, dripped the oil on the stone. Picked up one of the knives, an old one with the point broken off.

      Wouldn’t cut butter, he said. No one in this house got any idea of putting an edge on a blade.

      Smoothed the knife against the stone, turning his hand one way, then the other. That sweet stropping sound.

      Pa come out with his pipe and a drink of tea, sat watching.

      Your mother fetched that out from London when we come, he said. In her bundle. Little enough we had by then, but you had to have a knife. Got it off a man in End Lane, broken like that when we got it, but your mother said, it’ll see us out, and here it is, on the other side of the world, still good.

      Sat watching Jack’s hands, back in End Lane, in that past he never talked about.

      I see that knife, I think about the bit broke off, he said. Out there somewhere in this wide world. Nothing ever gone, just you got to know where to look.

      He drank down his tea and picked up the telescope, the end of it tracing the shape of his watching. Jack winked at me, turned the wink into the kind of one-eyed squint that was Pa with the telescope. No one but Jack would laugh at Pa, even behind his back.

      A boat was sliding up the river. Sail up, man with a blue cap on the stern.

      There’s Dick, Pa said. There he goes.

      Hundreds of Dicks in the world. Still, I asked.

      Dick who, Pa? I said.

      Seemed he didn’t hear. The man in the cap leaned on the steering-oar and the boat swung round to where the First Branch joined the river.

      Going up to Blackwood’s, Pa said. Away aways up. Ever been up the Branch, Jack?

      Watching where the boat had gone, as if it might come back.

      Never had reason to, Jack said. Was that Dick Blackwood, Mr Thornhill?

      Pa glanced at him, blue eyes like chips of glass.

      That’s what they call him, lad, he said. Dick Blackwood.

      Gave the name a scornful weight.

      What they call him, he said. But not who he is.

      Then he was gone, down the steps and out the gate towards the river as if he couldn’t sit still.

      Who’s Dick Blackwood? I said.

      Lives up the Branch, Jack said. Got a still, cooks up brew. Pa gets it off him. That raw it’ll strip the lining out of your guts.

      Got a brother Dick, I said. Wonder is that him.

      No one ever looked at me as straight as Jack or listened so well.

      Dick Blackwood your brother, he said. Think so?

      Mightn’t be, I said. Only, you know, the name.

      Jack picked up another knife and stroked the steel against the stone, this way, that way.

      Will told me, I said. Some kind of bust-up with Pa, this brother sent off. Name of Dick, see.

      Never heard anyone say Dick Blackwood might be a Thornhill, Jack said. Then again, he’s a feller keeps himself to himself.

      Thought you’d laugh at me, I said. You know, what a silly idea.

      Never that, Sarah Thornhill, he said. Never laugh at you.

      Touched his thumb to the blade, laid it with the others.

      Only I’d like to know, I said. One way or the other.

      Now look, he said. There’s plenty of mights and might-nots in this world. Leave them alone till they come out and bite you. That’s my view, Sarah Thornhill. For what it’s worth.

      He gathered the knives, stood up.

      We get these back in the drawer, he said. Want to see her face when she does the bacon.

      So I let it go. But knew there’d be a chance, one of these days. Find out one way or the other.

      We stood innocent as the dawn when Ma started on the bacon. She made the first slice, stopped and looked at the knife, turned with it in her hand.

      You done this, Jack, she said. Sharpened this?

      Yes, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said.

      She cut another slice. The meat fell away from the knife so thin you could see through it.

      Well I’ll say this for you, Jack, Ma said. You do know how to put an edge on a blade.

      Yes, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said.

      Meek as meek, but when she turned away he gave me a grin like a tiger.

      ~

      That afternoon Langlands paid a visit. No one else, and Ma most particular for Will to put on his good new coat. No seven-guinea coat from Deane’s for Jack, just his blue shirt and a bandana at his neck, his black hair combed through with water. But to my eyes, the handsomest man in the world.

      I missed my moment to get him beside me on the sofa again, and he went to sit on a chair where Mrs Langland had her shawl. Picked it up to give it to her, somehow got his fingernail caught in it and pulled a thread. My word, the way Mrs Langland carried on. He stood with the bit of fluff in his fingers, head bowed under her scolding. The shame came off him like heat.

      That’s ruined now, Sophia said. No putting that right.

      Yes there is, Mary said. Give it here, Jack. I’ll have it fixed, never see where I done it.

      Mrs Langland wasn’t sure she wanted to trust anyone with her precious kashmir, but Mary took it out of Jack’s hand, picked the thread off where it was caught in his nail, went away to the sewing room. I thought, if she makes it worse, Jack will be the one pays.

      But I could see by her bounce when she come back in that she’d fixed it. Mrs Langland looked and Ma looked but blessed if they could see the mend. Sophia took the shawl over to the lamp, pored over every inch.

      Think you’ll find it’s as I promised, Mary said. Never see where I done it.

      Oh well, Sophia said. I best not try too hard then, had I?

      That’s all right then, Pa said. I’ll have another of them scones, Meg, and Jack, you got nothing to eat lad, get yourself one of them cakes going begging. And a fill of your cup.

      Mrs Langland started on about her joints again.

      Dr Mitchell said I had the loosest joints he’d ever seen, she said. I put my foot down, it’s flat on the floor, I got no arch at all.

      Goodness, Ma said. Fancy that now.

      Pa took a bite