The Consequence of Anna: An Epic Family Saga About Love, Friendship, Obsession, and Madness

She was beautiful.
In a movie star kind of way.
With clear, radiant skin; thick ebony hair; and brilliant, flashing, dazzling green eyes.
Green eyes like two shimmering emerald pools.
Green eyes that spoke with no words.
Green eyes that laughed as you cried.
Green eyes like a serpent, hiding, waiting, slithering, lurching, fangs ready to puncture its prey . . .

July 12, 1933

“This is all twisted,” I said, narrowing my eyes at my cousin from the other side of the visiting table. “I shouldn’t be imprisoned here.”

“Anna, please listen to me,” Rose pleaded, a sincere kindness in her voice that at one time would have made me move mountains for her.

I shook my head. “I should be at Sugar Alexandria with my husband and daughters. I should be with them, loving and taking care of them instead of here in this asylum.” I pointed my finger at her. “And you should be far away on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean in America.”

“Anna, you’re precious to me. You have always been precious to me,” Rose said.

“Precious?” I scoffed. “If I am so precious to you, why have you done this to me?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re my best friend; you’re like a sister to me.”

“No, you’re not my cobber, and no sister of mine. You’re a liar, a thief, and a trollop,” I continued, seething with indignation.

She stared at me in shock, as if looking into the face of a lunatic uttering unholy nonsense.

“As for James, you have bewitched him,” I said, thinking how she had poisoned his mind and soiled his sheets.

An eerie silence followed, both of us feeling it. Despite knowing each other all our lives, we were strangers meeting for the first time. The grim reality was that I was no longer the Anna she knew and loved. What had happened transformed me, infected me. Inside and out. As if my bones had been broken and mended back together with pieces of wire.

Sitting there, I studied my cousin, her flapper bob done in perfect finger waves, her lips and nails crimson red–the same hue she always wore. The maternity dress–lavender, her favorite color–silky and expensive looking, bringing out the emerald in her eyes. She reminded me of cool vanilla ice cream, of decadence, of an evil Siren. As her pale hand began to caress her stomach, my eyes gravitated along. It was apparent the bairn within was kicking. “Look, the baby is upset,” I said, breaking the silence. “Even your unborn child knows what you have done to me.”

“Anna, I never meant to hurt you,” she sniffled, wiping her nose with a handkerchief. “I love and miss you.” Yet as her words left her lips, she glanced over at the white-uniformed attendants. Was she frightened? Was she shaken that I no longer saw her as I once had? The truth was, I hoped she was scared, as all affection for her had been carved out of me like a gutted pig.

“Love me?” I sneered, appalled at the lie. “You only love yourself.”

“Anna,” she continued to entreat, trying to assuage my anger. “I do love you, and I came here to make peace.”

“You have destroyed me, and now you want peace,” I laughed.

“Please, let me explain,” she said with desperation. “If you listen, you’ll understand, and then maybe you can forgive.”

“You want me to forgive? How dare you!” I yelled, choking back my tears. Rising to my feet, I leaned forward across the table and slapped her face. In a rage, I cursed in Danish, “You once came to me for help, which I gave. And how did you repay me? By killing my soul and abandoning me. I curse you for what you have done to me!”

“Anna . . . ,” Rose said, holding her cheek, weeping.

Her display of emotion meant nothing to me. Once more, I slapped her as the attendants came running to intervene, curling their thick hands around my thin arms, dragging me away from her. “I curse the very ground you slither on!”

CHAPTER 1

Anna May Polston & Ambrosia (Rose) Charlotte Moss

Fifteen Years Earlier . . . December 14, 1918

“This is your last summer here,” Anna said, wearing a white slip, looking at herself in the vanity mirror as a sea of freckles stared back at her. Freckles, freckles, freckles everywhere, she thought. Applying crimson red lipstick, she concentrated on not going over her lip line, just as her cousin had shown her.

Rose had been her mentor, her teacher, and her best friend since they were children, and Anna loved her like a sister, affectionately calling her Lottie at times–a shortened form of her middle name Charlotte. She thought Rose was beautiful, witty, and brave, walking tall and confident with her cane, and she would do anything for her. Anything in the world.

“Did you hear what I said, Lottie?” she asked. “This is your last summer here. I’ll probably never see you again after you return to the States and marry.” She paused, saddened by her certitude. “I’d trade my healthy leg for your sick one, if it would make you stay.”

Rose, already dressed in her finest chiffon and lace net gown, was waiting for Anna to finish. As she lay on her stomach on the four-poster bed, reading a magazine, she looked up at her younger cousin, so full of quirky bravado. She cared for Anna like a little pet. “Oh, Kitten, don’t say such things. I’ll be back.”

“You pinky swear?” Anna asked, voice cracking, glossy eyes meeting her cousin’s in the reflection of the mirror.

Rose lifted her pinky, and Anna walked over, interlinking hers. “I swear,” said Rose. The young women remained that way a moment, fingers tightly locked, grinning at each other.

Every summer, Rose would make the long trip from New York City to Australia to stay at Sugar Alexandria, a remote cattle station outside the town of Esperance. Just a flyspeck on the map, Esperance sat on the southwest coast near the Archipelago of the Recherche, or Bay of Isles, that sheltered fur seals, sea lions, and whales which gathered out in the farthest depths of the sea. It was beautiful with its white sands and endless turquoise waters of Lucky Bay, Thistle Cove, Blue Haven, and West Beach. The town itself was named after a famous French ship, The Esperance, meaning hope, earning its fame through Bruni d’Entrecasteaux’s 1792 expedition of the scenic waterways and estuaries in the area. There was even a glorious pink salt lake–the color of fuchsia bubble gum–where the water was smooth as silk.

The shire exemplified the quintessential land Down Under. A mysterious dimension of red earth, blue skies, and exotic wildlife where the girls went into their own enchanted world together. Large-bellied cattle, submissive sheep, horses and camels, vibrant narcissistic peacocks, and various other animals–some tamed, some not–all became companions of the two. The sprawling cattle station in the Outback wasn’t just a large farm by the sea anymore, but a never-ending fantasy realm of anything and everything they could imagine. Elves, fairies, mythical beasts, a place of dragons and unicorns where they were queens ruling on their thrones made of beech tree branches held together by the gum of eucalypts. Rose’s wooden cane–her beast of burden, a necessary evil to support her underdeveloped right leg–would become their magic wand. Whatever they wanted, she would simply point it, and their wishes would come to pass.

The reality, however, was anything but a fantasy world. Outside the boundaries of Sugar Alexandria were other cattle and sheep stations where red-faced farmers plowed the lands, grew their crops, and raised their livestock. With thick accents–a mix of Aussie and European decent–sounding like a language all its own, stern faces and thin, wiry bodies, slits for eyes from prolonged squinting at the blaring sun, and callused hands from endless work in the fields, the men would afterward pack into the local pub like sardines, drinking too much ale and toasting the land, the sea, and whatever else fed their families.

Wives–sometimes more than one–stayed at home waiting for them, washing the vegetables, the clothes, their babies, and their own bodies in the same outside water trough, then cooked for hours, only to wait some more for their blokes to return. These were the women of Australia. Their mother’s mother’s mother had lived the same life, in the same house, doing the same chores, barefoot and rawboned, sometimes caught out in the fields birthing children, other times burying a stillborn, or vomiting blood as they pushed themselves to support their husbands any way they could to eke out a living from the land. They didn’t have time to nurture a loving family, only to help with the workload. The more children, the more hands to tackle the burden of it all.

Anna and Rose did not see the harsh realities of life on a station in the Outback. Instead, they fashioned their own creative verismo, and over the course of their wonderful visits each summer, from the first day to the last when Rose would return home, the girls became more than cousins and best friends . . . They became close like sisters.

“You two almost ready?” Anna’s father asked, poking his head into the room. “We leave in an hour.” Clean-shaven, exposing smooth, pink skin–a rarity since he usually wore a full beard–with hair sleeked back, he had replaced his worn-out dungarees with his only suit, a blush-colored carnation pinned to the lapel.

Anna went over to the mirror again and began taking out her curlers. “Rose is ready; I just have to finish my hair.”

“Well Lordy, look at you,” her father said, admiring his teenaged daughter. He was used to seeing his princess in braids, overalls, and muddy boots.

Anna was usually a tomboy, and she loved the outdoors. Inquisitive and fearless since a young child, she would often walk for miles, sleep in the barn with the animals, or even under a tree. She knew all about the land and the food that grew on it, able to survive in the wild if need be. Yarrajan, the Aboriginal nanny, had taught her which plants, mushrooms, berries and seeds to eat, and which to avoid. If any of the livestock had strayed, her father would send her out to find them. She would walk to the tallest hill on the station and use kulning–an ancient Scandinavian herding call–to summon them home. She had learned how to generate the haunting, high-pitched sounds from her Danish grandmother, who had been taught by her Swedish neighbor.

Anna smiled. “I’m hoping to fetch a bloke today, Daddy,” she giggled.

Her father only shook his head. “Don’t take too long getting ready, love. I’m not going to be late for my son’s wedding.”

“I won’t; I promise.” After her father left, she turned to Rose. “You’ll be getting ready for your own wedding when you return to the States. Except I won’t be there.”

“Anna, your papa is right: You’re too young to travel that far alone.”

“It would only be on the way back to Straya. Besides, you traveled here by yourself.”

“I’m older than you, though.”

“Not that much older.”

“Old enough to travel across the sea on my own; whereas you are not.”

“Soon I will be.”

“Yes, and you can come visit me then.”

“Even then my daddy probably won’t let me go,” Anna said, frowning. “He’ll never let me grow up, or leave Straya.”

Anna’s father had lost his wife during childbirth, and five years later, Anna’s twin sister to pneumonia. He kept a tight rein on his only living daughter–the long journey across the Atlantic Ocean from Esperance to New York and back, was out of the question for a seventeen-year-old girl.

“Wish you would just marry a bloke here,” Anna said, removing the last curler and using her fingers to unfurl the tight coils in her tresses. “What do you see in him, anyway?”

“Blake is . . .” Rose stopped, unsure of what to say next. “He’s good for me.”

“How?”

“He’ll provide a soft life in New York City.”

“Do you love him?”

“Umm . . .” Rose hesitated, marking the page of the magazine displaying the wedding dress she fancied. “He accepts me for how I am.”

“You mean your leg?”

“Yes.”

“Your leg is apples, if you ask me. Besides, it’s because of your leg that we have our magic wand.”

Rose grinned. “It’s a cane, Anna, and I need it to walk most of the time.”

“So?”

“So some men don’t like that. Some are even afraid our children would suffer the same curse if we married. Remember Triston Miller? I was crazy for him, and he straight out told me I had a beautiful face, but . . .”

“But what?”

“He wanted a woman with two normal legs.”

“He was a drongo.”

“Blake doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, and I consider that a blessing.”

“You’re marrying a bloke just because your leg doesn’t bother him?”

Rose looked away.

“Don’t marry because of that, Rose. You’re a beauty with a heart of gold; you deserve someone better.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Anna. Far from it, even though I get to act like one when I visit here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’m a woman, now. And that’s what women do at my age–get married and have babies.”

“I’ll only marry a bloke I love, who I’m absolutely mad for,” Anna said, clutching her chest.

Rose picked up the locket hanging around her neck, examining it in her palm. Anna’s father had bought them both matching friendship necklaces that summer, each containing the other’s picture inside. I’ll grow to love him, she assured herself.

Anna noticed her staring at the locket. “Every time I look down at mine, I’m gonna miss you terribly.”

“I said I’ll be back, so you won’t have to miss me for long. We pinky swore, remember?”

“That’s right, and everyone knows that once you picky swear, it’s for life.” Anna stepped into her dress and twirled, her mood shifting from melancholy to excitement. “I’m gonna dance with every bloke tonight,” she giggled. “How about you, Lottie?”

“I’ll dance with some, I guess. Until my leg tires.”

Anna glanced over at her cousin’s cane propped up against the bed. “Does it ever feel like your bone is breaking?”

“My goodness, Anna May Polston, aren’t you descriptive.”

She laughed. “Sorry.”

Rose thought about her underdeveloped right leg, defective since birth. Without her walking stick, it would become painful as it enervated. Like a bad toothache, the small muscle fibers in her thigh spasming if she overworked it.

“Liam is here to see you sheilas,” said Yarrajan, walking into the room and placing their clean white gloves on the bed. Both girls put them on. “Want me to tell him you be leavin’?”

“No,” said Rose. She loved children and enjoyed their company. “We still have time; send him in.”

Liam Herdsman, an eight-year-old boy who lived on the neighboring station across the river, walked into the room smiling ear to ear. The deaf, intellectually disabled child had suffered a severe bacterial infection a few years back and almost died, leaving him with his disabilities. He could read lips, however, and his speech hadn’t yet changed to the point of being abstruse. Often he would visit Anna and her cousin, seeking them out to play with them, whether board games, hide-and-seek, or anything else they would entertain. “What are you doing?” he asked, his words forced and loud.

“Getting ready to go to my brother’s wedding,” Anna answered.

“Can I go?” asked Liam, trying to smooth down his dirty blond hair.

Anna shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? He won’t be any trouble,” said Rose.

“Because we’d have to babysit him.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” Anna said again. “Not this time.”

“What are you going to do there?” Liam inquired.

“Dance and eat cake,” said Anna, brushing her hair in the mirror.

“What? Let me see your lips.” The mentally challenged boy frustrated easily, especially when he could not see someone’s lips, or failed to read them properly.

Anna frowned, then turned to him. “I said dance and eat cake.”

“I love cake!” Liam exclaimed.

Rose waved at him to get his attention. “I’ll bring you back some. A great big piece.”

Liam smiled, clapping his hands.

“Anna, have you ever slow-danced with a bloke before?” Rose asked.

“A couple of times. I mean, I did with Daddy and my brothers in the past, if that counts.”

Rose got off the bed and put a record on the gramophone. “Come here, Kitten. Let’s practice before we go.” Pulling Anna in close, they both swayed to the music. “See? It’s easy.”

Anna gazed up at her cousin as they danced. Rose had the prettiest, greenest eyes she had ever seen, and the kindest smile. “Yes, it is.”

“Me next, me next!” Liam chirped, opening his arms.

Rose let go of Anna and brought the young boy into her embrace. He could not hear the music, but he had an idea of what they were doing. Being small, he leaned his head against her chest, closing his eyes in ecstasy. Anna plopped onto the bed, stuffing two sticks of gum into her mouth, observing her cousin cradle the deaf, mentally challenged boy in her arms. What a strange pair, she thought. Rose, with her flawed leg, lacking muscle and shape; and Liam, intellectually slow and unable to hear. Yet as they danced there in her room, on the hard wooden floor under their feet, they took on such a graceful, beautiful form.

Anna’s heart ached. Her beloved cousin would be going back to the States right after her brother’s wedding, getting married to an American man and most likely never returning. Silent tears streamed down her face as she stared at them both, Rose gently swaying back and forth, her lavender chiffon dress softly flowing as she moved, Liam swaying with her to music he could feel but not hear.