Part Fifteen - White Feathers

Patty and Freddie drove in silence for what felt like hours. The road stretched out before them, an endless ribbon cutting through the barren landscape. The car’s engine hummed, a steady background to their swirling thoughts.

“Hello dears! Patty again!” Patty glanced at Freddie, his face a mask of conflicting emotions, “We needed to get away to a neutral place to really talk for the first time. Freddie’s admission has left me…shattered. I am finding it hard to accept what he is. Not my Freddie! Yet deep in my bones I know it to be true. It explains all my inklings over the years…I wasn't going mad. There was something going on. I almost feel relieved.” She reached over and squeezed his hand, offering silent support. She wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, ‘I’m sure Phil will be just fine…we often imagine the worse of these situations.”

Patty had left her children in the capable hands of Flo while Patty and Freddie finally talked for the first time about the unknown parts of him.

They finally pulled into a roadhouse that was a single-story building constructed from weathered timber or corrugated iron. A large, painted sign with the roadhouse's name in bold letters, beckoned travellers from afar. The parking area was a simple dirt lot, with a few petrol pumps standing sentinel out front, ready to refuel weary vehicles.

Stepping through the doors, they were greeted by a cozy, albeit functional, interior. The walls were adorned with vintage advertisements, tin signs, and a couple of mounted boomerangs. A mix of wooden tables and chairs filled the dining area, each set covered with checkered tablecloths that added a homely touch.

In one corner, a jukebox stood ready to fill the air with the latest hits from Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, and other rock 'n' roll stars of the era. The sound of clinking cutlery, low chatter, and occasional laughter created a lively, yet relaxed atmosphere.

A waitress came over who looked as weathered as the scenery around her, as if the elements had worn her down too, “What can I get ya, darls?”

Patty spoke for them ordering a pot of tea and a serving of bacon and eggs for both. She disappeared to put in the order.

Freddie stared out the window, his hands trembling slightly. Patty reached across the table, her fingers brushing his, “Freddie, please no more holding back. Tell me everything,” she said gently. “I want to understand you.”

He sucked in some air finally turning to face her, “I know. And you should. I have hidden all this away for too long,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath and finally looked up at her. “When I was a boy, there was this kid at school,” Freddie began, his voice trembling. “We were close. Really close. We met at the local community theatre.” He smiled, wistfully. “His name was Elliot. Gosh, the boy could make me laugh. He was like Peter Pan to me. He was always up to mischief and dragging me along with him…” He stopped when the waitress brought back the pot tea and two cups. He waited for her to leave before continuing, “I didn’t understand my feelings…still don’t…but they were not like those for my other friends.” The woman interrupted them again bringing back a jug of milk. She was just as curious as Patty, “But after a while, people started talking, making fun of us.” He glanced down as shame crept onto his face, “I got scared and so I pushed him away. I quit the community theatre and turned my back on him.” Patty listened intently, as she poured the tea. “I buried all of that shame and disgust for those feelings hoping no one would see.”

“Then, during the war, it happened again. I met someone,” Freddie continued, his voice breaking. “You know him best as my night phantom.” He picked up his cup and took a sip before continuing, “Mmm! Nice brew!” He put down the cup to continue, “Marty and I fought together, went through hell. He was my best friend, my confidant. And I loved him, Patty. I loved him with all my heart. And then... he died. Right in front of me. I couldn’t save him.”

“I came home and tried to forget.” A warm smile etched across his face, “That’s when I met you that night at Morgan’s Cinema. You gave me extra popcorn at the concession stand.” He smiled, “I thought you were my saving grace. I stopped thinking about Marty. I began to move on from him…” The woman returned with their bacon and eggs. Freddie quickly turned away to wipe his eyes. He continued once more when she had left the table, “We got married and had this amazing life. I put that side of me out of my mind. I got on with it.” He sighed, heavily, “And then I met Phil, and we seemed to hit it off. He reminded me so much of Marty. I didn’t even know he was the same as me until one fishing trip…it was nice having someone like me that I could talk to…and that’s all it was…talking until Phil wanted more than just that. He got jealous over a silly interaction I had with Tommy. He was a kid interested in writing, so I gave him some tips. That’s all.”

“Freddie,” she said softly, “I can’t pretend to understand you’re feeling…the way you are.” She shook trying to free herself of these mixed emotions, “You’re a good man. A wonderful father. You’re a darling to me but for the first time I actually know all of you…I just don’t know where this all leaves me.”

“I love you, Patty. More than anything.”

“Did you ever really love me or are you in love with the idea of loving me?” Patty had heard that in a lecture at the library. She finally understood what it meant, “Be honest with me.” She lowered her voice, “Are you in love with Phil?”

“I don’t know…I just can’t go there…I could lose everything if I give it some thought,” he said.

Patty rubbed his hand, smoothing, “You need to figure that out before we can move ahead.” She paused, sipping her tea in silence, “So, any news from the hospital?”

“They won’t tell me anything. I’m not family,” he said. “But at least he is still alive.”

Patty knew their lives were far from perfect and her family was unconventional. She was committed to finding a way through this storm.

Yet she finally knew her husband inside and out. He was no longer an enigma. She finally saw him for the person he really was. She still loved him for it. It seemed Teddy and him were much more alike than she had ever imagined.

*********

The moon hung low, casting a pale glow over Flo’s back porch. A faint breeze rustled the gum trees, filling the air with the scent of eucalyptus and damp earth. There was fog rising about the outskirts.

Patty sat curled up on Flo’s wicker chair, clutching a half-empty glass of brandy, her knuckles white around the stem. Flo leaned against the railing, arms crossed, studying her in quiet contemplation. She’d seen Patty fray at the edges before—but never like this.

Patty exhaled sharply, setting the glass down with a clatter, “I don’t even know what to do with this,” she blurted, voice strained, shaking. “I—I should be angry. Furious. My husband, Flo. My Freddie—he’s spent our whole marriage lying to me.”

Flo tilted her head, “Has he?”

Patty whipped her gaze up, “Of course, he has!”

Flo arched a brow., “Or did he spend it lying to himself?”

Patty opened her mouth, then shut it. The night air filled with silence as the weight of Flo’s words settled over her.

Patty huffed a bitter laugh, “I should’ve known you’d have the enlightened take.” She sniffed, wiping at her cheek, “What if he never loved me?”

“Did he say that?”

“No!”

“You know, Patty, there are many ways to love someone…not just romantic love.” Flo took a slow drag, exhaling toward the sky.

“You’re right! As usual! He still loves me. Maybe not in the way I imagined but I still feel his love for me.” Patty shook her head, frustration bubbling in her chest. “But what does that leave me with?”

Flo sighed, stepping forward to perch on the arm of Patty’s chair, “Well, my dear, you can sit in this grief, let it swallow you whole—or you can laugh in its face and keep going.” She said gently, “Maybe having a best friend for a husband is much better.”

Patty let out a sharp, humorless laugh, “What will people think?”

“Nothing. Tell the old biddies to mind their business. It is your marriage and no one else. You dictate the terms. Freddie is a kind and decent man who adores his family. Maybe that’s what you hold on to?” Flo’s lips quirked up, a wicked glint in her eye, ‘You know, I think you're ready for the secret to my buoyant personality when everything around me is going down the drain.”

Patty furrowed her brow. Not sure where she was going with this conversation.

********

“Flo, this is insane,” Patty muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Flo grinned, “Exactly.”

They stood in the middle of Flo’s backyard, beneath the glow of a single hanging lantern, surrounded by nothing but grass, gum trees, and the sound of a distant dog barking.

Flo never believed in bottling things up, “A woman’s emotions,” she had once declared, “are like a pressure cooker. You don’t let off some steam, and one day—BOOM! Their scraping us off the kitchen ceiling.”

Flo handed her a pile of old ceramic teacups and plates, "Throw them," she nodded towards the makeshift target—an old wooden door propped up against the fence. Patty had blinked, skeptical. “Smash them!” Flo cried out. “One plate for every thought that won’t let you sleep. One cup for every time you’ve swallowed your frustration instead of saying what you really wanted to.”

Patty had hesitated. Then, slowly, she picked up a delicate, floral teacup—one that reminded her of the ones her mother used for company—and hurled it at the door. Freddie's deception shattered spectacularly.

The next one was easier. The pain in her heart. Then another. The humiliation. Then another. Phil.

By the time she had reduced the assortment of porcelain to glittering shards, her hands were shaking, her chest was heaving—but she felt lighter.

Flo had stood back, arms crossed, nodding approvingly, “There. Now you’re getting somewhere.”

********

Patty wandered through the house, dusting shelves and straightening cushions, trying to keep her mind occupied. She noticed the door to Freddie’s study was ajar. Curious, she peeked inside and saw Freddie sitting at his desk, his back to her. He was holding something in his hands, staring at it intently.

Patty approached quietly; her curiosity piqued. She noticed that Freddie was holding a photograph. She immediately knew this was a picture of Freddie and his war buddy, Marty, taken during happier times before they went to the conflict.

There were happy, smiling faces, in some desert location, with tanned bodies and open shirts exposing their training regime. What caught her attention was how young and carefree her husband seemed to be. She had never seen him like that.

Freddie didn’t notice her at first, lost in his thoughts. Patty watched him for a moment, feeling a pang of sadness for her husband. She could see the pain in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he held the photo.

“Freddie?” she called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Freddie looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and vulnerability, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I was just finishing up in the kitchen,” she said, stepping closer. “What’s that you’re holding?”

Freddie glanced down at the photograph and sighed, “This is Martin.” She was surprised when he handed the photo to her. No longer afraid of his secrets, “I keep him locked away, but sometimes I need to see his face. It’s like... I need to remind myself that he was real, that we were real.”

Patty sat down beside him, “I would love to get to know him.”

Freddie swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Marty was... he was everything to me during the war. He kept me going when things got tough. We had plans, dreams of what we’d do when we got back home. We plan to travel the world together…if there was anything left. Maybe open a bar somewhere and just have a happy life. But then...” Freddie took a watch from the draw and showed it to his wife, “He was wearing this when…I have tried to get it working again but it stopped at the same moment that he died all those years ago.”

Freddie tucked the watch away once more. He plucked out a stained and aged crumbled piece of paper, passing it to his wife, “Marty liked to draw at random. This was me before we were shipped out to the battlefield.” Patty opened the folds of the paper to find a sketch of a boy that would one day grow into the man sitting beside her, “Just to prove your husband wasn’t always boring.” He passed over an old playbook for Peter Pan. “This is the one thing I kept from those days in the theatre group.”

She ran her fingers down the cast listing noticing Freddie as Peter Pan and right under his name was another boy playing Captain Hook. Someone had underlined the name. He just had to be the illusive long-lost friend.

“Just a lot of regrets,” Freddie smiled wistfully through the watery eyes, “It’s not just about Marty. Phil...He’s off the critical list but his family told me that he never wanted to see him. They think I’m... responsible for everything.” Patty felt a surge of anger on Freddie’s behalf, “I am sure they think I’m the reason he’s... like he is.” Patty hugged him tightly, “I’ve made such a mess.”

“Freddie!” Patty sighed, “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but we can’t pretend everything is the same. It’s not.” She took his hand, “I’m sorry you’ve had to live such lies because of what the world would think of you. Now you can be your truest self.” She felt the tears roll down her face, “Your safe here within this house.” She sighed, “But you're not alone...there is someone else under this roof who is so much like you.”

“Teddy!” Freddie's brow furrowed for a moment until clearing. “Of course!” This time. Freddie’s eyes watered. His tears flowed freely but not for him. He was upset for his son. He hadn’t been oblivious to him. He tried so hard to ignore the familiarity that he saw in his son. Now, his wife was implying what Freddie had dreaded the most. His son was cursed the same as him, “What have I done!”

“No! Freddie!” Patty literally shook him, “You did nothing wrong but raise a beautiful boy full of kindness and joy.” She gripped his shoulders firmly, “We may not be the perfect family of propriety but we’re still a family. No matter what happens beyond today. We just do things a lot different to everyone else…but eventually the world will evolve, and we’ll be not that different from everyone else. We just need to wait.”

Freddie held onto her, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Patty let him cry, knowing that he needed to release the grief he had been holding inside for so long.

They sat there for a while longer, holding each other. Eventually, Freddie put the photograph and playbook back in the drawer and locked it.

********

The night air was cool. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside, casting soft shadows along the walls. Teddy lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

His body felt heavy; his mind even heavier. He had spent all evening replaying Angelo’s face in his mind—the disgust, the betrayal, the spit dripping down his cheek. It clung to him like a stain he couldn’t scrub off.

A soft rustling outside pulled him from his thoughts. Then—a quiet thud as something landed on his window.

Teddy sat up, staring at Syd’s smiling face at the window, waving at him. Teddy rolled off his bed and opened it, “What are you doing?”

“Hey Ted! I came to check on you. Heck! I’ve noticed how down you’ve been since Angelo.”

Syd swing one leg over the windowsill, effortlessly slipping inside like it was something he’d done a hundred times before.

Teddy felt the tension in his chest loosened slightly. He slumped down onto his bed. Syd climbed onto the bed beside him, stretching out with an easy familiarity, his hand brushing against Teddy’s.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Syd said softly, “I saw Angelo earlier. He wouldn’t even look at me.” Syd was quiet for a moment before shifting closer, resting his chin on Teddy’s shoulder. “Maybe he just needs some time. He’ll come around.”

“It could have been worse. At least he hasn’t said anything to anyone.”

“You ever hear about the crow with white feathers?” Syd asked. Teddy shook his head. “This crow was born different,” As he spoke, Syd began to draw on Teddy's bare arm with his finger. “His feathers were white, not the usual black. All the other crows teased him, said he didn’t belong. He didn’t look right, wasn’t one of them.” Teddy listened closely, but didn’t say anything. “The crow felt so out of place, he hid away from the others,” Syd continued. “But then, one day, a hawk came, swooping down on the flock. All the black crows tried to blend into the trees. The white crow noticed the danger and darted out from hiding. He knew he would stand out like a beacon in the sky. He was faster, smarter and eventually led the hawk away. He saved the whole damn flock.”

Teddy blinked, “So… his white feathers weren’t a bad thing?”

“Heck no! They were the very thing that saved them.” Syd said. “Sometimes what you think is wrong with you is the thing that’s meant to set you apart for the good of everyone else.”

Teddy let the words sink in, settle in his bones. Then, he smiled, just a little. He turned his head to look at Syd, their faces close in the quiet dark. His chest ached—not with sadness, but with something warm, something steady.

Syd reached up, brushing a stray curl from Teddy’s forehead, “You’re not alone, Teddy.”

Teddy exhaled, his body finally unclenching.

Wordlessly, he turned onto his side, and Syd pulled him close, their limbs tangling in the warm comfort of the bed. Syd didn’t say anything else. He just held Teddy, grounding him, reminding him that not everyone would turn away. That someone still saw him. That someone still cared.

********

The afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen window, casting golden light across the table where Patty sat, idly flipping through the day’s mail. Bills. A postcard from Diana. A letter from her mother. A church fundraiser flyer.

She sighed, tossing them aside, when a pale blue envelope caught her eye. It had the library’s seal stamped in the corner. Her brows furrowed as she opened it, pulling out a neatly folded flyer and letter.

EXPAND YOUR MIND FROM HOME!
Join the growing number of Australians furthering their education through correspondence!

The University of New England, in association with the local library, is offering external study opportunities in Literature, History, Political Science, and Social Studies.

Want to shape the future? Learn about the laws and structures that govern our society!

Whether for personal growth or future career aspirations, correspondence courses can help you gain the knowledge needed to contribute to your community in meaningful ways.

ENROLL NOW!

Patty’s heart thudded. She smoothed the paper out on the table, reading over the details again and again. A degree in political science and social studies. Correspondence. Studying from home.

Her fingers tightened around the flyer, her breath coming a little quicker. This wasn’t just a course. It was a door.

A way to make sense of everything she’d been feeling—the injustices, the limits, the quiet suffocation of being told she already had everything she should want. A way to fight back. She thought of Lucy, institutionalized after the fire. Of Cindy, free in ways Patty hadn’t dared to be. Of Flo, always pushing her to think bigger.

Of herself, trapped in a sitcom-perfect life where she smiled through gritted teeth and swallowed her own thoughts like bitter medicine. She could learn. She could understand. She could do something.

Patty set the flyer down carefully, then pressed a hand to her chest, steadying herself. She had always been so careful, so hesitant to step out of line. But maybe it was time. Maybe, for the first time in her life…She’d step forward instead.

********

Patty was buzzing with excitement. For the first time, she didn’t need her pills. She stood at the kitchen sink, staring at the darkening horizon. The stars twinkling. The moon so round it could swallow her up.

She gripped, a postcard in her hand. She was so distracted from her sister’s adventures by her own learning opportunity. She signed up before the enthusiasm began to erode.

She forced herself to focus on the postcard one last time. She turned the card over, revealing a picturesque scene of Auckland’s Skyline on the other side.

“Dear Patty,

Auckland has been an absolute whirlwind. I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure, but Roger was too dashing to resist. He was the pilot on this route. We had a moonlit picnic on a secluded beach, and I was in heaven. Now I'm off to Hong Kong once more! I will be thinking of you when I am gorging in dim sum with Wei. Thank you again for everything.

Miss you dearly.

Love, Diana”

She tucked the postcard into the corner of the kitchen window, a small reminder of her sister’s journey and the bond they shared despite the distance. For the first time, in a long while, Patty felt at peace with her life. She didn’t feel the same pang of envy. She was embarking on her own adventure.

Her joy lasted only a second longer, when Freddie suddenly staggered into the house, his shirt torn, one eye already swelling shut, and a streak of blood running from his split lip.

Patty gasped, nearly dropping the dish towel, “Freddie!”

She rushed to him, her hands hovering near his face, afraid to touch him but desperate to know just how bad it was.

Freddie waved her off, wincing as he collapsed into his chair at the kitchen table, “I’m fine.”

Patty snorted, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Fine? You look like you went ten rounds with a bloody kangaroo!”

Freddie winced as he touched his ribs, “Three broad shouldered red kangaroos to be precise.”

She rushed to the sink, wetting a cloth before kneeling beside him, gently dabbing at the cut on his lip. “Tell me who did this.”

Freddie exhaled slowly, “Doesn’t matter.”

Patty stilled, “Freddie—”

He shook his head, his jaw clenched, “I was leaving the newspaper office. A car pulled up. Two men got out. The third stayed in the driver’s seat.” He let out a bitter chuckle, “Real professional operation.”

Patty’s fingers tightened around the cloth, “What did they want?”

Freddie’s swollen eye narrowed, “They told me to stop looking into Riley Carrington.” Patty’s stomach dropped, “They said I was digging in places I shouldn’t be. That I was asking the wrong people the wrong questions.” He shifted in his chair, groaning slightly, “And just to make sure I got the message, they gave me a little reminder.”

Patty’s hands shook as she dabbed at his temple, “This isn’t some old bushranger legend, is it?”

Freddie let out a slow breath, “No. This is something much bigger.”

Patty swallowed hard, “You’re not going to drop it, are you?”

Freddie looked at her, his bruised face set in determination, “Someone went through a hell of a lot of trouble to bury this story.” He touched his ribs, wincing, “Which means it’s worth telling.”

Patty let out a shaky breath, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Patty hated that she loved this about him—his need to chase the truth, even when it put him in harm’s way. But this time felt different. This time, she wasn’t just worried. She was scared.

#LGBTQIAStories #AustralianFiction #FictionOnTheWeb #1950sHouseWives #FemaleProtagonist #SocialChange #FemaleFriendships #Dramedy #SoapOpera #TeenLGBT #StrongFemaleCharacters #Nostalgia #QuirkyReads #FunReads