Kindlingers – what is happening! It’s Kindling Day, the sun is shining and the birds are singing.

I gave you a lovely story of justice last week, this week I give you small-town, gothic tragedy. It’s slightly longer than normal, so I’ve foregone a poem this week.

I’ve just filed my first paid article! It’s a short piece about teeth grinding (or bruxism). I’m told it will be published in July. I’ll let you know where and when. Baby steps!

I’ve also published my review of the book Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton here. All thoughts and counterarguments welcome.

Enjoy the rest of your week and happy reading x

Two of us died before we caught on. Hank was the funniest and Gaylene had been my favourite. I wanted to find the person who’d killed my brother and sister and lock them up forever. God taught forgiveness, I wanted revenge.

It was a Sunday the day our water tank was poisoned. Everyone had gone to church. The only person who didn’t attend was Old Manny who lived in the house on the far side of town and could no longer walk all the way to church. People had offered to wheel him there, but he wasn’t interested. The rumours at school said that someone had heard him cursing the Lord for cursing him with a lifetime of pain. I didn’t know the Lord did curses anymore. Daddy had told us he had bad bones.

Someone must’ve left midway through the service, poisoned the water tank, and returned without anyone noticing. My first thought had been that one of the boys had done it as a prank, not knowing that what they’d used was lethal. But every child had attended that day, sat in the usual area at the front under the watchful eyes of parents and the chaplain.

The same could be said for everyone else. Every family had an unspoken agreement to sit in the same spot every week. The Gurmonds were near the back so they could serve morning tea quickly after each service. The Matthews and Penfolds sat together on the left side of the aisle since their children married three years ago. We sat at the front on the righthand side – Mama has terrible hearing and hangs off every word uttered in the holy house. The MacNewbys sit front left, the widow Mrs Hamton sit behind us, as did Mr Goldfly who natters to Mrs Hamton through every service.

I went and assessed the water tank. It was an old metal thing, painted red and sat on wooden stilts. The only way to access the water inside was through a hole in the top. Around the back I found the access ladder and spotted some dark wool fibres caught on one of the steps. Could the poisoner have worn dark clothes? I folded them inside my handkerchief for closer inspection later. At the top, the hole was only slightly bigger than my hand. I looked inside and, in the darkness, could only just make out the waterline around a quarter of the way up. We’d had to empty the tank and have it cleaned. Old Manny had recommended making some kind of charcoal filter for the tank, but Daddy had said the man was playing with God’s will. I didn’t really know what he’d meant by that.

Nobody wore dark clothes to church. But Ma had said she’d polished off a whole glass of water that morning – and she was fine. Gaylene and Hank had been thirsty after the walking home under the midday sun. They had drunk a glass of water each and not lived to see dinnertime. The water had been poisoned during Sunday’s service when no one was home to see it happen, this was certain.

We’d had to share the MacNewbys water until the town had some rain to refill the tank – we would never pay the exorbitant fees that the Gurmonds charged for a tank refill. Even if we would, we couldn’t afford it. Especially after losing Hank’s carpenter’s wages.

Still at the top of the ladder, I noticed something I hadn’t seen from the ground – on the side of the corrugated tank wall, traces of white powder had been caught on the ribbed surface. I moved the ladder to get closer and, using a stick off the ground, carefully scraped some of the powder off the tank wall and into another fold of my handkerchief.

Some gypsies passing through a month ago had been toting a special powder for women. Something that could make your skin a bright white. Mama was suspicious of anything that changed how God made you, but Gaylene had shown me her secret stash of the powder. Her friend Patricia had managed to buy some and given her half. Gaylene let me watch each night as she mixed a small amount of the powder with water and dabbed it carefully on her face and chest. I’d sniffed the water and found it completely odourless. ‘Careful Dot, who knows what they put in that stuff. The gypsies told Pat that this stuff is for skin only.’

Once back inside, I carefully unfolded my handkerchief and gently sniffed the powder. It smelled of nothing.

After Gaylene and Hank’s funeral, the chaplain’s daughter had come over to speak to Daddy. She cried a lot while Daddy had looked outraged. I tried to ask Ma about it afterwards, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. She already knew what the girl had told Daddy. I could tell.

I went for a walk to try and think of who could’ve left the powder and wool fibres. Patricia had been sitting across from us the whole service. Old Manny can barely leave his house, let alone climb that ladder. I reached Old Manny’s house and went to turn back when I heard him shouting. I hid behind some overgrown bushes and listened.

‘You know as well as I do that they can’t afford it! You have to save the others before it’s too late!’

Mumbling from a man’s voice.

‘You’ve talked to the chaplain, then?’

More mumbling.

‘They’re going to send the girl away so no one knows. It’s what she wants!’

‘Please calm yourself, Manny!’

‘I will not be calm! Watch the rest of them go the way of the dodo before they’ve finished school.’

‘You’re being unreasonable.’

‘Unreasonable! I think it’s time you leave. This town needs a proper policeman! You’re killing those kids!’

Was Constable Penfold the one who’d poisoned the tank? Heart pounding, I ran home as fast as I could.

I told Mama about what I’d heard and she sent me to my room for eavesdropping. She said Old Manny was on his way back to the Lord. She locked the door and left me there to think about my actions. I lay on Gaylene’s bed and missed her so much. If I’d died, she would’ve gone door to door questioning people. Her pillow still smelled like her and parts of the fabric had lost its colour where her skin whitening powder had touched it.

I went into her drawer and opened the compact where she’d kept the whitening powder – it was empty. She’d only had it for a couple of weeks . . . how could she have used it all already?

I balanced the compact on the windowsill and carefully tipped the powder from my handkerchief into it. Then I removed the dark woollen fibres and held them up to the fading sunlight. In the shade of the water tank they had looked black, but in the light, I could see they were a very dark grey. Not quite black.

I put the compact away and saw my sister’s diary lying where she’d left it the night before she died. I flipped to her last entry and read.

Mama found my skin whitening powder. She was so upset, she took my compact and hid it from me. Between Hank getting the chaplain’s daughter pregnant and my constant disobedience she said she was so disappointed she should’ve prayed to God for better children or none at all. Daddy had told her that ne’er-do-wells used the powder to poison people. That it’s made of white arsenic – a devil’s creation.

I suddenly felt very sick.

We’d been heading to church as normal, when Mama started to complain that the sun was burning her. With a withering look at Gaylene, she went back to the house while we waited for her at the end of the street. She’d returned after a while with her umbrella and complained of a splinter in her hand. Hank had joked that he’d probably got twenty splinters a day since becoming a carpenter. Ma replied that maybe he should have thought about that before he’d chosen to become a carpenter’s apprentice. That he should think about the consequences his actions had on all of us.

After the service, it had been Mama who’d sent Gaylene and Hank home early to prepare lunch. They were the oldest and eager to leave. To have some time away from Ma.

Years ago, on a hot night when I couldn’t sleep, Daddy had told me that he didn’t think Mama had ever wanted to have children. We’d been alone in the kitchen, his breath on the verge of flammable.

Mama knocked on the door. It was morning. I’d fallen asleep reading Gaylene’s diary. I quickly pushed it under the pillow and sat up. Mama brought in a tray with bread and a glass of water.

I’d never noticed that her apron was dark grey until I saw her stand in the glow of our bedroom window. I stared at the glass of water. God taught forgiveness, I wanted revenge.