Page 29 of The Vanishing Place
“Please,” she whispered again. “These people are bad. We can’t trust them.”
December 2001
Effie scribbled ona piece of paper as June and Tia played cards at the table.
June had brought three packs with her, and Tia played Uno about fifty times a day. There was some wild card that seemed to let you do whatever you wanted. And it was obvious that June was letting her sister win. Which, Effie reckoned, made the point of playing pretty stupid.
“You can’t do that.” Tia giggled. “It has to be green. Not blue!”
“Silly me. What about this?”
“No.” Tia snorted. “That’s red.”
“I don’t think I have any green,” said June, putting on a ridiculous fake frown.
Tia reached over the table and peeked at June’s cards. “You do,” she squealed. “You do. Look.” She pulled at June’s cards. “It’s hiding.”
Effie rolled her eyes. They should have been out fishing or foraging for berries, not playing card games. They hadn’t had eel or trout in weeks. June was rubbish at bush stuff. Useless as, Dad would say. But then, Dad was gone, so he was useless as too.
June wouldn’t let Effie go spin fishing by herself, or even set up the net—she didn’t want a kid whacking a fish’s brains and insidesout. But it wasn’t exactly hard; Effie had watched her mum and dad do it hundreds of times. Dad took Effie fishing all the time—even let her do the gutting—and Effie always helped Mum with the smoker. Smoked trout was the best. Much better than June’s hard bread and lentils. June was obsessed with lentils.
“Do you want to join in?” asked June.
“Nah. I’m good,” Effie mumbled.
June had nearly choked on a mouthful of lentil slop when Effie suggested hunting, the conversation over before it had even started.
June had been there for about four weeks and she’d almost killed them twice. She’d tried to feed them tutu, thinking it was asparagus or supplejack or something. She’d boiled it up and chucked it in with the vegetables from the garden. Just a couple of bites and that would have been all of them dead. Gone. Dad said that just one tutu shoot had once killed two circus elephants.
Two.
Then, the other day, June had taken all of them for a walk to get some fresh air and exercise. Which was mental. They lived in the bush—fresh air was literally everywhere. Effie hadn’t been paying attention to the markers—she’d been too grumpy—and they’d got lost. The dense bush had become tricky and unrecognizable, and they hadn’t found their way back until sunset, starving, thirsty and covered in sandfly bites. Aiden had itched until he bled. He was still covered in angry red bumps.
Effie tiptoed over to the sleeping nook. She pulled back the curtain and peered in. Aiden was spread out on his mattress with his arms above his head, and Four was sleeping next to him. June was good with baby stuff though. She was good with Four.
“Right, you two.” June stood up. “Let’s see how our feast is coming along.”
“Yay.” Tia bounced up. “Then presents!”
“After lunch.” June smiled.
The smells in the hut were incredible, so good that it was making Effie’s stomach hurt. It was Christmas Day, Mum’s favorite day, and June had been cooking since the morning. Effie had helped her bring in the last deer leg from the outside meat safe, the remains of Dad’s final spring kill. Effie had chopped and trimmed the meat for a stew. She’d held the foot between her legs, just like Dad did, and tried to remember everything he’d taught her. Large chunks first, then trim. June had watched in silence, none of her mutterings or gasps, then she’d placed a hand on Effie’s shoulder.
“Your mum would be proud.”
It was the best thing that had happened in a month.
—
Two hours later, after Four had been fed and changed and put back down—babies slept a crazy amount—the rest of them sat around the table. They’d set out two wooden stools and a thin bench. In the center was a pot of venison stew, a large bowl of rice, and a plate of steamed chard and broad beans from the garden. June had also made them each a small flower crown; she was better with flowers than fish. Mum would have loved all of it.
“Right,” said June, holding her hands out. “Shall we say grace?”
Tia frowned, already reaching across the table for the rice, then slunk back. “What’s grace?”
“It’s where we thank God for our meal.”
“But”—Tia’s frown deepened—“you made it. Why would we thank him?”
