Tears of the Moon (55 page)

Olivia smiled and called back to him. ‘In a way, Gilbert, you’re right. Wait till you hear what we’ve discovered.’

Shortly after the birthday party Maria and Olivia caught the train to Albany. They’d both written to Maria’s adoptive mother and father advising them that they were coming. Olivia had booked them into a hotel by telephone as the trip from Perth took
most of the day. They caught a taxi to the modest cottage where the Barstow family lived and arrived in time for afternoon tea.

Mr Barstow, a schoolteacher, had left class early to be at home and answered the door. He was stern looking, with a clipped silver moustache, thinning hair and tightly buttoned shirt collar. There was a moment of silence as he stiffly acknowledged Maria with a nod. ‘G’day, Maria,’ he said a little coolly. ‘And a good afternoon to you, Mrs Shaw. Please come in. The wife is in the living room.’

‘It is good to see you again, Dad.’ Maria hoisted up the little girl but her father said nothing. He took a really good look at the pretty youngster who reached her hands out to him, but he didn’t respond.

A few steps down the hall were double doors that opened into a living room crammed with furniture, little of which matched but looked well used and immensely comfortable. On an old traymobile with crocheted lace cloth, was an assortment of sandwiches, a sponge cake and lamingtons and a slightly tarnished silverplated tea service.

Maria tried to break the ice as they walked in. ‘Hello, Mum. Here she is, your granddaughter. And this is Mrs Shaw.’

The small girl spotted the cakes and threw herself forward, knocking Maria off balance. Spontaneously Mrs Barstow reached for the child and suddenly found herself holding her granddaughter, a little awkwardly and with some embarrassment. The child studied her for a moment, then smiled broadly and planted a big kiss on her cheek. There was laughter,
some of it a little forced, but the atmosphere relaxed slightly.

Olivia studied Mrs Barstow as she poured the tea. She was a bony woman with severely cut short brown hair flecked with grey, dressed in a good green dress with crocheted collar.

Olivia took a sip of her tea and began to spell out more details of the family background she believed to belong to Maria. The Barstows listened in silence.

‘I’ve just got to know, Mum, Dad,’ said Maria when Olivia finished giving them the facts that she judged to be essential at this point.

‘Why, lass?’ snapped her father. ‘You aren’t one of them, one of the blacks. You’re one of us. It’ll only hurt the kid later on, believe me. And it won’t do any good digging into what’s dead and buried. Bad enough getting into trouble with that young fellow. Can’t forgive you for letting us down like that. Hurt terribly. After all we did for you.’

‘Please Mr Barstow,’ pleaded Olivia. ‘This is painful enough without being so hard on Maria. It hasn’t been easy for her, you know.’

‘Hasn’t been easy for us either,’ interrupted Mrs Barstow with some feeling. ‘The shame of it all. The rumours that got around. Was hard to hold our heads up, I can tell you.’ She smoothed her hair and adjusted the brooch at her collar.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. Sorry for the pain it caused you, but there was nothing I could do about it once I knew I was pregnant. There was no way I was going to part with the baby. No way at all.’

Olivia tried to dampen emotions. ‘Let’s try to be
practical about the current situation. Maria is determined to find out about her past. If you won’t tell her, then we will try some other way. But surely you won’t deny her right to know, whatever the consequences. That’s her choice.’

The Barstows exchanged glances but Mr Barstow was immediately distracted by the little girl trying to climb up on his knee holding a half-eaten biscuit. ‘Friendly little thing,’ he said with a hint of softness in his voice, and carefully removed the biscuit and wiped her hand on a serviette. Mrs Barstow smiled fleetingly then went to a writing desk in the corner, fussed about in the drawers and found a yellowed envelope.

‘It’s all in there,’ she said briskly. ‘Advice from the adoption people. Not much about her background apart from the fact she came from an Aboriginal mission in the north near Broome. Father a white man. Mission people no doubt got records that will confirm everything.’ She paused while Olivia and Maria read the letter together, then went on, ‘Really, Maria, I think you’re making a big mistake.’

‘Mum, all my life I’ve been haunted by these memories. All my life I’ve been too frightened to even mention them, not even to you. But it’s all out in the open now and I can’t tell you what a huge relief it is. I don’t know if it is a mistake or not. I know I pass for white and Aborigines are regarded as rubbish by most people, but I just can’t deny what I am any longer. It’s as if something is pulling me, some spirit … ’ Maria slumped back in her chair and put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘I
don’t know, it’s all so confusing. I really can’t expect you to understand. I hardly understand it myself.’

Olivia reached over and briefly touched her hand, then turned to the Barstows. ‘I think the next step is to go to Broome. Thank you very much for at least showing us the letter. It tends to confirm everything and that’s a big step forward.’

By now the little girl was demanding attention and tried to get on Mrs Barstow’s lap. The woman was unable to resist the natural instinct to lift the child up. ‘Pretty child, isn’t she.’

‘One big bundle of energy and trouble, I can tell you,’ said Maria quickly, seizing on her mother’s softening. ‘Can’t keep still and more adventurous than any tomboy.’

‘A bit like her mother wouldn’t you say, Fred?’ said Mrs Barstow looking briefly at her husband. ‘You were a handful when you first came to us, Maria, believe me.’

Olivia found this reminiscing contagious. ‘Maya, Maria, was a real tomboy as a little one, I can assure you. She used to play with my boy quite a lot and they were always getting into mischief.’

There were a few more exchanges but the Barstows kept a wall of reserve firmly in place and it was clear to Olivia that they had come as far as they could towards accepting the situation. She indicated it was time to get the little one back to the hotel for a nap.

‘Before you go, you’d better collect some of the stuff you left behind, Maria,’ said Mrs Barstow, hurrying from the room with Maria trailing behind her.
In the bedroom wardrobe was a battered schoolbag stuffed with bits of cheap jewellery, old letters, a favourite rag doll and a few photographs.

The farewells were formal enough, Mr Barstow extended a hand to both women and nodded, able to do little more than wish them a good trip back to Perth. Mrs Barstow gave Maria and the sleepy child a fleeting kiss on the cheek. ‘You might let us know how things turn out,’ she called from their verandah as the little group reached the gate.

The train next day wasn’t crowded and they had a first class compartment to themselves. It gave Olivia plenty of time and opportunity to tell Maya stories of Broome, Tyndall, Star of the Sea, and the story of how she first met the Aborigines of Niah’s tribe, the birth of her first son, and many events that gave Maya a better grasp on her other world.

Maya became more and more excited as she learned about the time in Broome when she was a child. ‘I can’t wait to get there. Are we really going, Olivia? It seems such a big thing to do. And I’ve no money, you know.’

‘I’m sure Gilbert will be agreeable. Forget about the money. I can’t wait to see John’s face when he meets you. It will be absolutely wonderful for him. He loved you so much. So much.’

They had morning tea then both dozed a little, lulled by the rocking of the train, the hypnotic dick-clack of the wheels over the rails and the peacefulness of the passing countryside. They were still about two hours from Perth when Maria took her old
schoolcase from the brass rack above her and opened it on the seat opposite Olivia.

‘I loved this rag doll. Couldn’t let it be thrown away when I grew out of it.’ She gave it a cuddle and pressed it to her cheek. ‘Still smells the same.’ She tried on some junky jewellery which made them both laugh and she handed some jewellery and the doll to her little one to keep her occupied.

Maya then started thumbing through the photographs. ‘Oh, look at this will you. Me just after finishing high school. Mum and Dad were so proud they insisted on a memorial photograph.’ She handed the picture to Olivia, who studied the gangly uniformed schoolgirl trying to look scholarly as she clutched a ribboned scroll.

When Olivia looked up to hand it back she found Maya looking intently at another photograph and was surprised to see tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. She said nothing for awhile then, as a big tear rolled down her cheek, asked quietly, ‘What is it, Maya?’

Maya hesitated. ‘We promised each other never to talk about our loss.’

Olivia nodded in understanding and gave a small comforting smile.

‘I’d like to show you. It’s the man I loved. Love still. Her father.’ She looked at the little girl absorbed in her playing. ‘Everything’s different now, isn’t it?’

‘I’d like that. Yes, I’d like to see him.’

Maya handed over the cardboard-backed photograph. She barely had time to notice the look of astonishment before Olivia collapsed to the floor
between them. Maya’s scream brought a gentleman from the next compartment to the door. He rushed in when he saw Olivia and the two of them lifted her on to a seat.

‘What happened, lass?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. We were talking and looking at photographs and she just fainted.’

‘Odd business. She’s starting to come round.’

Soon Olivia’s face started to get its colour back, her eyes opened and she asked for a sip of water. Then she sat up, thanked the man and assured him that she was all right. When he had gone, she looked at Maya and asked for the photograph. Maya handed it over and watched as tears welled in Olivia’s eyes. ‘It’s Hamish. My Hamish,’ Olivia gasped.

‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Maya quickly. ‘It is Hamish, but what do you mean,
your
Hamish?’

‘He’s my son.’

The full impact of what she said hit Maya like a body blow. ‘Your son,’ she whispered. ‘Your son. Oh my God.’ She threw herself across the compartment into Olivia’s outstretched arms and they hugged each other and both wept uncontrollably.

Gilbert listened in astonishment as Olivia and Maya told him their story when they alighted from the train in Perth. Oblivious to the bustle of passengers and people meeting them and the clatter of porters’ barrows, Olivia and Maya revealed details of what they called ‘our little miracle.’

Later, back at their home, he poured a glass of champagne for them all. ‘I think a little miracle is worth
celebrating in style, don’t you? To the future,’ and they all clinked glasses. ‘It’s really lovely to be able to welcome you to our family, Maria … Maya. I think it is going to take some time to adjust to that part of it,’ he laughed. ‘And of course, it’s great to welcome our newest member. My, it’s a little odd suddenly becoming a grandfather. Can’t say I’ve ever seen Olivia looking so happy.’

‘You’re not the only one finding it strange to be a grandparent all of a sudden. But isn’t it just so beautiful?’ She and Maya wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and clinked glasses again.

They settled down immediately to discussing how to tell Tyndall and it was soon agreed that they would catch the next boat to Broome. Chances were he was still at sea and in any case a cable hardly seemed the right way to break the news.

That evening as Olivia kissed Gilbert goodnight in their bedroom, she whispered her thanks to him for the generous welcome he had given Maya and his immediate support for the trip to Broome. ‘There’s a lot of unfinished business there, Gilbert. I need to go back.’

‘Of course, I understand.’

But despite her joy at the news about Maya, as she lay awake beside the sleeping Gilbert, Olivia was overcome at the loss of Hamish. She cried into her pillow, the lonely grief of a mother who has lost a child. But slowly the tears stopped and she felt comforted that at least she had a link with him—her granddaughter, Georgiana.

The three stood at the railing as the steamer settled its bulk alongside Broome’s tidal jetty. Maya took Olivia’s hand and squeezed it, her other holding the small hand of the bouncing, excited little girl. All the smells, the sounds, the warm air, the crystal sharp colours of a bright Broome early morning flooded over Olivia with a comforting familiarity that was at once exciting and sadly nostalgic.