Tears of the Moon (61 page)

Olivia shook her head. ‘No, Gilbert wanted to say goodbye. It was sheer willpower or God’s intervention that made him reach out to me,’ she said firmly.

The kindly doctor, who had known Gilbert since
their medical student days, didn’t argue. ‘You have been devoted and inspirational, Olivia. I’m sure you’re right.’

A large memorial service was held for Doctor Gilbert Shaw in Perth. Pale light from an overcast morning filtered down from high, leadlight windows and in the front row Olivia looked by her feet at a patch of light that ran like spilt milk across the stone floor. She became lost in the pattern of light, her mind drifting back to the light of other times. Walking in a cold London night with Conrad and seeing the comforting glow of lights in shops and pubs. Her first glimpse of Australia through a shimmer of dawn light from a ship’s rail, morning light in Broome, fresh-washed blue sky, deep clear aqua sea and a golden light that touched mangroves, mudflats, leaftips and glaring tin roofs with a magical glow. She was hypnotised by the diffused pattern of light on the floor for most of the service, hardly conscious of what was going on around her, and was surprised when Doctor MacDonald took her by the elbow and stood up. The service was over. The tributes had been paid and Gilbert Shaw laid to rest.

In the following weeks Mollie and Stan silently watched Olivia wistfully drift through her garden. Then, one day, when she was kneeling by a flowerbed, lost in plucking out weeds, a shadow fell across her and a strong hand helped her up.

The world was no longer held at bay. It now intruded in her garden. Tyndall stood before her. She
expressed no surprise, made no move, but stood there, gazing into the face that was imprinted on her soul.

He, too, looked into her eyes. ‘Come home, Olivia. It’s time.’

They returned quietly to Broome on a sunset tide on a balmy evening refreshed by an afternoon thunderstorm that left the sky cloudless velvet against which the rising moon shone in the mirror of the sea. The lavender and rose sunset melted as the lights of Broome sparkled to life and Tyndall and Olivia went ashore without fanfare. They hadn’t alerted anyone about their arrival, not wanting any fuss. Maya had stayed in Fremantle after the funeral to take Georgie around the city sights and visit the Barstows in Albany.

At Tyndall’s house, all was quiet. They could smell the curry Rosminah was cooking for Yusef in their quarters, but the house was empty. Tyndall grinned and dropped the bag he was carrying and gathered Olivia in his arms, sweeping her off the ground. ‘This might be a little premature, but it means a lot to me.’ He carried her up the steps, across the verandah, nudged the door with his shoulder and strode down to the bedroom. He kissed her and dropped her on the bed. ‘I’ll get Yusef to fetch the rest of the bags.’

She laughed at him as she struggled to sit up. ‘You’ve got style, John Tyndall, I must say.’

Late in the evening they sat in contemplative and companionable silence on the darkened verandah
looking at the moon shining across the bay. He kissed her fingertips. ‘Now we can plan our wedding.’

‘I want nothing more, my darling. I think we’ve waited long enough. I doubt there’s anyone in town who won’t be glad to see us together at last,’ said Olivia with a small smile.

That night, wrapped in each other’s arms as they drifted to sleep, Olivia gazed at Tyndall’s face beside hers and knew, with great peace and certainty, that they would spend the rest of their days together.

In the following days there was a busy round of catching up with old friends. The Mettas held a luncheon at the Conti, and for Olivia it was a return to the good old days of high spirits, talk of pearling trips, snide sales and prospects for the shell market. It was acknowledged and accepted among the white community that the partnership between Tyndall and Olivia had become a personal commitment.

Ahmed couldn’t stop beaming and had grasped Tyndall’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically, when Tyndall told him he and Olivia would marry.

And when Olivia arrived at the foreshore camp there was an enthusiastic reception from the shell openers, tenders, divers and other workmen. It was seen as a good omen, a closing of a circle, for they knew the story of Olivia’s long association with Star of the Sea.

The luggers returned to sea and Olivia began decorating and setting up their home while also planning their wedding. ‘Just a simple ceremony, I mean at our age and after all this time … ’ she began, but couldn’t hide from Mabel her bubbling joy.

‘What nonsense! You’re in the prime of life. The town will expect a big event, Olivia. John is a popular man with all races and they love you too.’

‘We’ll see. I’ll talk it over with John when he gets back.’

Olivia walked along the track at the edge of the bay. With the luggers outside on a last run over the beds, the town dozed in the salty air heavily humid with the threat of the first rain of the wet season.

She paused to watch an old Malay fisherman unload silvery barramundi, thread them along an oar and, hoisting it to one shoulder, lift a bucket of cockle oysters and set off for town. His faded batik sarong was knotted firmly around his sinewy frame, his black topi set at a jaunty angle, his sandals scuffing the orange dust. Memories of fish dinners Minnie had prepared from Alf’s catches came back to Olivia. Or times Alf had caught a couple of big mangrove crabs which Minnie declared ‘were sweeter even than dugong’.

A puff of the last of the south-east trade winds skipped across the bay, lifting a lock of her hair, and she could smell the sea, the mangroves, the mudflats, tar from a repaired boat and mock orange blossom in the front yard of a small wooden shuttered house. And it came to Olivia that this was indeed home. Broome was in her blood.

Every morning here held promise … promise of excitement, adventure, achievement, a feeling that in this remote spot on the north-west coast of the continent almost anything could happen, that it was
unlike anywhere else on earth. One was part of a rough, roistering community of many races, ordinary folk doing their ordinary jobs on shore, adventurers, wild and funny misfits, and that great mixed band of men who lived for the sea and its treasures which were sought by the rich and the famous in the great cities of the world who couldn’t possibly imagine places like Broome. The realisation that this odd little town and the great emptiness around it had become so much part of her inner self excited Olivia. She recognised how artificial her life in the city had been, that her apparent satisfaction with work at the refuge and life with Gilbert before his stroke was indeed superficial. This was where she really belonged, in the outback where life was still quite raw, the land untamed, the sea magnificently challenging. It was where she had first discarded the emotional baggage she brought from England and discovered within herself new emotions, new aspirations, new abilities beyond her imagination. In Broome she had been reborn, and here she belonged.

She confided these feelings to Tyndall, who understood perfectly. He shared her love of the place, but had to acknowledge in turn that it was his finding of her love in Broome, rather than more physical aspects of his life here, that made his attachment to the place so strong. ‘It’s like we belong to this place because we belong to each other,’ he whispered to her one evening. ‘I always felt that if I left here I would never get you back. Do you understand, or am I talking nonsense?’

She laughed a little. ‘Nonsense? Of course not, darling. It’s beautiful sense. Although I’m quite sure there are a lot of people who think we’re crazy staying here, that we’re missing out so much on what the world has to offer.’ She snuggled up close to him. ‘I’m quite happy to let the rest of the world go by so long as you’re around.’ They were treasuring every moment together, for too well they both knew how joy could be snatched away.

Olivia had asked Yusef to find a small poinciana tree and when she had decided on the right spot in the garden, he dug the hole and Olivia spread the soil around its roots and patted it firmly in place. She stood back and shut her eyes and could see it in the years ahead, rising upwards, its sweeping soft green branches smothered in brilliant gold and orange blossoms, silhouetted against the turquoise waters of the bay.

Later when she was alone, Olivia returned to the freshly planted little tree. Kneeling down, she unwrapped a small jar filled with powdery red soil. She unscrewed the lid and sprinkled the soil from James’ first grave around the tree. Then, digging a small hole, she reached into a pocket and took out Hamish’s war medal and buried it.

‘Now my sons are home at last,’ she whispered. ‘Be at peace, my boys. Grow strong, little tree.’ She lightly touched the feathery leaves and turned to go indoors with tears in her eyes.

Olivia slowly withdrew from her role in the office at Star of the Sea as Maya became increasingly competent.
It pleased her that Maya was so committed to the business and that her father got such joy from having her involved. One day as they were getting letters and parcels together for the mail south, Olivia remarked how much Maya seemed to enjoy the business and life in Broome generally.

‘I thought you might find it all a little dull after living in the south with so many amenities, so many attractions,’ said Olivia.

‘But I was white then,’ responded Maya almost casually, tightening a knot in the string around a parcel.

Olivia was stunned. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

Maya looked up, slightly puzzled at her reaction. ‘Well, life down south isn’t that great if you’re an Aborigine.’

‘But you’re … ’ paused Olivia, searching for the right word.

‘Different?’ suggested Maya with a raised eyebrow.

Olivia paced a little nervously around the office. ‘No, I don’t want to say that. It’s just that, well, I really hadn’t thought about it much since we came here. You just fitted in so well. Everything seems so … normal.’

‘Ah yes, but that’s because this is Broome and Broome is not normal, is it? Being part Aboriginal here isn’t much of a problem, is it? Nobody really makes a big issue of it, do they? You can see it every day in the streets, Aboriginal blood mixed with God knows how many races.’ She flipped a rubber band around a pile of letters, then went on. ‘I hid from my real self for most of my life. Now I am being me, and
that means being Aboriginal as well. It’s pretty easy to do that here, I couldn’t do it in Perth, or Fremantle. Down there hardly anyone wants to know an Aborigine, even a white-looking one,’ and she laughed, breaking the tension she knew the issue had created between them. ‘I can never go back down there, not to live anyway.’

Olivia took Maya’s hand in hers. ‘Maya, I’m sorry I haven’t talked about this with you before. I really took too much for granted. I just haven’t thought about how you were adjusting to your Aboriginality.’

‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Olivia. But I do feel sorry for Georgie. How she has reacted to Minnie’s tribe, how she doesn’t want anything to do with our people. It saddens me a lot, but I don’t think she wants to know. She listens to you more than she listens to me. But I can’t change, Olivia. What I’ve found is too valuable to give up.’

‘I know what you’re saying, my dear Maya. I know,’ said Olivia softly and they embraced.

Maya then hoisted herself up on the desk and motioned Olivia to sit in the swingback chair. ‘Sit down and I’ll tell you something I’ve not talked about much to anyone, except Dad.’ She paused, looked down for a moment in contemplation, then gave a little sigh. ‘Remember after you left here and I wrote to you saying that I had been down the coast to see my family.’ Olivia nodded and Maya went on. ‘My family,’ she repeated thoughtfully. ‘Sounds odd doesn’t it when you know them—still bush blacks mostly. Anyway, it was fun, it was exciting and they were beautiful and warm and
wonderful. But there was much I didn’t write because I just couldn’t find the right words, and, well, it seemed to be a very private thing. Something very spiritual happened that has changed me forever. It will help you understand why I feel like I do now.’

Maya leaned back, hands on the desk behind her. ‘It was the most magical experience, Olivia. Magical.’ She then told briefly of the welcome on the beach, the damper and treacle lunch, the walk in the bush with the women. ‘Imagine the scene, Olivia. Me in a big straw hat and feeling almost dressed well enough for shopping in Perth, taking off with a band of black women wearing not much more than their old skirts, and I had absolutely no idea of why or where we were going. I was completely unconscious of the outward difference between us. We were family, but I think they felt it more than me at that point. Well, they took me into another world without leaving this one. It was like Alice through the Looking Glass.’

Maya then told Olivia of how she learned, with Minnie interpreting, that she had a special relationship with certain rocks and trees along the way. She learned about features in the landscape that had significance for all women, sacred places. And then there was a rock overhang, not quite a cave, where there were some ochre paintings on the rock wall, paintings of strange figures. ‘It was the most special place, Olivia. I could feel it, right into my heart, my soul. Even before Minnie explained it to me I knew it was special, to them and to me. I can’t tell you
everything that happened because it’s secret.’ Maya watched for Olivia’s reaction.

‘I understand, Maya, truly I do. I know why you must keep it secret. Over the years, Minnie taught me quite a lot about her culture. Remember, I, too, had a special relationship with the same people.’