Katherine McCrawley

The day Katherine’s brother signed up for war, even the weather seemed to celebrate. The sky was a perfect blue, and the sunlight made the copper in Gordon’s hair shine as he burst through the front gate, waving his draft papers in his hand. ‘Bloody hell, yeah!’ he hollered, rushing to the door where his family waited. ‘McCrawley’s goin’ to Europe to kill some Nazis!’

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He may as well have been announcing that he had won the lottery, because everyone was congratulating and hugging him – exuberant that one of their own was going to join the courageous ranks. Soldiers were like gods at that time.

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Everyone kissed and hugged Gordon – except Katherine. Her face was set in a resolute scowl, her arms folded over her broad chest. ‘What’s with you, sis?’ Tommy asked, tugging her arm. His pale face was flushed with pride as he looked up at his big brother. ‘Isn’t Gordo the best? Why do ya look so sad?’

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‘I’m not sad.’

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Katherine’s response was toneless, a match to the stormy colour in her eyes.

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‘You worried about him? Worried he might be hurt?’

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‘Nope.’

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‘Angry? Angry that he’s leaving us?’

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‘Nope.’

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Tommy tore his eyes from Gordon, inspecting his sister with a slight tilt of his head. ‘Whatcha feelin’ then?’

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Katherine tensed. She barely contained the emotion roiling inside her, like a caged beast. ‘I’m jealous,’ she said, and as she spoke the truth, tears of frustration stung her eyes.

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Tommy’s face fell open in surprise. ‘What’re ya jealous of? You should be proud, like I am.’

 

He squinted up at Katherine. Her expression was as dark as her curly hair. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he let the words roll out. ‘You’re a bloody kill joy, sis. Why don’t ya bugger off and do ya chores.’ And, as Tommy had seen his father and brother do time and time again, he turned his back on his sister, making her invisible.

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No one noticed when Katherine stepped away from the merry group. No one noticed when she disappeared around the side of the house and slipped away to the shed, but they did notice her absence that evening at dinner. After all, she hadn’t been there to help cook and set the table.

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‘Where’s Kathy?’ Gordon asked, as his eyes took in his hurried mother, working double time to get dinner on the table for the men. ‘I haven’t seen her all arvo.’

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‘She’s gone walk-a-bout,’ his mother said. ‘Shirking her responsibilities as usual.’

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A frown settled on Gordon’s face as he considered his sister. Just yesterday afternoon, Katherine had pushed him aside in their latest race around the back paddock. She had won – but only because she had shoved him hard into the barbed wire of the fence. He was still sore – inside and out, smarting at the humiliation of her latest victory.

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Gordon hated to admit it; he held deep within a wary flicker of fear that licked at him when he dealt with his sister. He perceived it as weakness and it niggled and wiggled within, encouraging him to push harder, so that he might dull her desperate attempts to shine. It also made him more scathing and often cruel toward Katherine.

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‘Forget her,’ Tommy said, banging his fork and knife on the table in another display of impatience. His mother rushed to place a crispy bun and slab of butter in front of him. ‘We can eat her share.’

‘We do anyway,’ Gordon replied with a wicked grin, and then he mimicked his little brother’s actions and banged his utensils upon the table. ‘You should serve me first, Mum. I’m the hero. I’m going to war.’

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On the outskirts of town, a young man strode toward the highway, his shoulders squared with quiet determination. In the fading light, he could have been anyone, yet a local might notice the distinctive McCrawley features jutting forward from under his Akubra. The youth raised a thumb to a passing lorry and as it slowed to a stop, his eyes shone like the burgeoning stars.

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The next day, Katherine still hadn’t made an appearance. Gordon had to make his own oats for breakfast and his mother laboured to pick up his sister’s slack. ‘That bloody nuisance of a girl,’ Gordon’s father bellowed. ‘I’ll take her out into the paddock and shoot her if she’s not lucky.’ Gordon smirked as he considered the punishment that awaited Katherine. It was almost worth the inconvenience of a few extra chores.

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Meanwhile, the neighbouring town drafted four more into the national ranks. Katherine McCrawley – now Kit, a squat, strong fellow with oddly feminine features – was one of them and unlike Gordon, nobody would celebrate her departure.