The Forgotten Pearl (3 page)

Daisy grinned. ‘Hello, Miss Maude. That naughty Miss Poppy is always bringing animals into my clean kitchen. Sometimes I think I should feed them all to that hungry snake.'

Maude sat at the table cuddling the wallaby, who greedily guzzled and headbutted the bottle.

‘You wouldn't be so cruel, would you, Daisy-dear?' Poppy teased. ‘You love them as much as I do.'

Daisy plopped the peeled potatoes into a saucepan of water on the range. Drops of water hissed and sizzled as they splattered on the hot stovetop.

‘Get along with you, Miss Poppy,' Daisy mock-scolded. ‘That's enough of your tomfoolery. I have to make dinner, and I have enough to do without more children and animals under my feet.'

After feeding Christabel, the animal menagerie tour continued from the two tortoises swimming lazily around the fish tank on the kitchen sideboard and the possums in a dark storeroom fruit box to Coco the elegant cat, the chooks in the fowl yard, Lola the cow and Angel the draught horse, grazing in a small paddock.

Poppy gave Maude a leg-up onto Angel's back. Angel continued to graze, unperturbed.

‘Have you ever tasted a mango?' Poppy asked suddenly.

‘No, what's a mango?'

‘Follow me,' ordered Poppy, running through the long grass. ‘You are in for one of the best treats of your life.'

Overhanging the stable was the huge old tree. Poppy scaled the thick trunk effortlessly, showing Maude which footholds to use. She wriggled out along a branch and picked two oval, orange-green, speckled fruits. Poppy used her teeth and fingers to tear the skin.

‘They're messy,' Poppy warned Maude, handing one over. ‘The best way to eat them is hanging upside down like a fruit bat.'

Poppy demonstrated, hooking her feet under a bough and swinging upside down from the knees. She sucked on the sweet mango flesh, its juice dripping down onto the ground below. Maude tentatively followed her example.

‘Wow – that's so good,' Maude enthused, her mouth and fingers sticky with juice. ‘That's the best fruit I've ever tasted in my life – and it grows in your back garden!'

‘How long are you going to be in Darwin?' asked Poppy.

‘My father works for the government,' explained Maude. ‘A public servant. He was transferred to Darwin a few months ago – something to do with the war. Mother and I followed him up here and arrived last week, although Mother would much rather have stayed behind in Sydney. She thinks Darwin is far too dangerous.'

‘Dangerous? What could possibly be dangerous about Darwin?'

Maude grinned and ticked the list off on her fingers. ‘Crocodiles, snakes, venomous spiders, mosquitoes, malaria, dengue fever, villainous criminals and soldiers – not necessarily in that order.'

Poppy snorted in derision. ‘Rubbish. Darwin is paradise.' She swung down from the tree. ‘Would you like to see something quite amazing?'

‘What?'

‘A two-headed calf.'

Maude once more looked bemused, but obediently followed in Poppy's wake. This time Poppy led Maude to the western side of the house.

‘This is my father's study,' explained Poppy, creaking open the French door. ‘He's a doctor and works at the hospital in the afternoons, but he sees patients here in the mornings.'

The room was clinically white with a huge timber desk in the centre, facing the view. Bookshelves, crowded with journals and large jars, covered two walls. The third wall was occupied by an observation couch, medical charts and storage cupboards.

‘Dad collects medical curios,' continued Poppy, gesturing to a human skeleton standing guard in the corner of the room. ‘That's Hippocrates.'

Poppy shook hands with Hippocrates, making Maude giggle.

Two shelves of the bookcase were devoted to slimy, white specimens preserved in formaldehyde and a collection of skulls. Maude peered into each jar, her face a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. The collection included various floating organs, a soggy brain, a variety of animal foetuses, a dissected possum and a wrinkled human hand.

‘Look, this one's a diseased liver,' explained Poppy.
‘Dad saves it to show the miners and stockmen what will happen to them if they drink all their earnings in rum.'

‘Eeeewww,' replied Maude. ‘Do they stop drinking rum?'

‘No – well, maybe for a day or two.'

In the very centre, in pride of place, was a glass tank containing the preserved remains of two calf heads, joined together at the neck.

Maude reeled back, swallowing nervously. ‘Is it real?'

‘Yes, of course. Isn't it fascinating?' asked Poppy, stroking the side of the tank, as though she was stroking the animal's face. ‘The calf was born out on one of the stations. It had no chance of surviving, but they put the head in the icebox and saved it for Dad. He keeps it here to remind him of the peculiarities of Mother Nature.'

The girls poked around the exhibits, marvelling at the massive skull of a crocodile, big enough to encase a child in its jaws.

‘Feel his teeth,' Poppy suggested, running her fingers over the powerful jaw. ‘Dad snared this croc on his fishing line. It completely swallowed a prize barramundi he had just caught. I was only eight and was fishing with Dad down near the creek. The croc thought I looked more delicious than the barramundi and started paddling towards me, licking his chops and dragging Dad's fishing line behind him. He yelled at me to run. Next thing I knew, I was being chased up the mudflat by this enormous, prehistoric beast, who was gaining on me fast. It took Dad six shots to bring it down. Boy, was Dad in trouble when he brought it home and had to confess to Mum that the croc nearly snapped me up.'

A bell jangled from the front sitting room.

‘Come on,' urged Poppy, ‘I think Mum wants us back.'

The girls returned to the sitting room, where the two mothers were still chatting.

‘Perhaps you'd like to join us at the weekly Red Cross meetings, Mrs Tibbets?' suggested Cecilia. ‘Mrs Abbott, the Administrator's wife, is our patron. We do lots of work for the war effort: rolling bandages, knitting socks and rugs, and making care parcels for the soldiers. It would be a nice way for you to meet some of the other ladies of Darwin.'

‘Thank you, that's very kind, Mrs Trehearne.' Mrs Tibbets nodded, smiling, and then caught sight of her daughter. ‘Oh goodness gracious me, Maude Cordelia Tibbets – what on
earth
have you been doing?'

Poppy glanced at Maude and realised that she did not look the same as she had when they left the room half an hour before. Her white dress was rumpled and streaked with horsehair and dirt. Her mouth and hands were sticky with mango juice and grime, and there was a twig tangled in her hair.

Maude tried to straighten her skirt with her palm, but that only succeeded in further staining the once-white fabric.

‘Oh, Mama, we have had the most lovely time,' explained Maude, her cheeks pink with excitement. ‘Poppy showed me her orphan possums, and her dog Honey, and I fed the baby wallaby with a bottle, and I rode on Angel the horse, and we climbed a tree and ate a mango, and Poppy showed me a two-headed calf, and the skull of a crocodile that nearly ate her! I think I'm going to love living in Darwin.'

Mrs Tibbets's eyes widened. Poppy swallowed. Cecilia glanced up, alarmed.

Mrs Tibbets took a deep breath. ‘Why, darling, I'm so thrilled that you've made a friend.' Mrs Tibbets smiled at Maude and then at Poppy. ‘Perhaps tomorrow Poppy can come to our house. But now we've stayed too long and must get home to unpack the silver.'

2

A Surprise Visitor

The bell rang for dinner. Poppy pulled a brush through her tangled hair and straightened her ribbon. Doctor Trehearne liked the family to dress for dinner.

When she hurried into the dining room, her parents were already seated, her father at the head, her mother, elegantly dressed in a green silk sheath, at his right-hand side.

‘Here she is, my darling girl,' greeted Doctor Mark Trehearne. ‘How was your day? Did you enjoy meeting the new neighbours?'

Poppy stooped to kiss his cheek, inhaling the lingering smell of disinfectant and tobacco. Mark was dressed in a dark-brown suit, starched white shirt and tie.

‘Yes, I met Maude and she seems like a lovely girl,' agreed Poppy, ‘although you should have heard her mother scream when she sat on the sofa and found Basil curled up under the cushion.'

Mark chuckled at the thought.

Bryony sashayed into the room, her dark hair pulled back into a pompadour roll, her lips conspicuously bare of make-up. She slipped into the seat at her father's left.

‘And here's my beautiful Bryony. She looks just as gorgeous as her mother did when I first laid eyes on her in England twenty-three years ago. I thought she was a dark-haired angel welcoming me to heaven.'

‘An angel with a hypodermic syringe and a bedpan!' joked Cecilia.

‘Well, I still maintain that if it wasn't for your uncanny nursing skills, I wouldn't be here today, and neither would either of you!'

Cecilia smiled at her two daughters and began to serve the baked potatoes. Mark carved into the butt of roast beef in front of him, releasing a mouth-watering aroma.

‘I bet Mama didn't have so many freckles, though,' added Poppy, raising her eyebrows innocently at her sister.

Bryony screwed up her nose, which was really only lightly sprinkled with freckles.

‘No, she didn't have freckles, but that's because she grew up in misty Cornwall instead of the tropics,' agreed Mark, serving Poppy some meat. ‘I think Bryony's freckles are charming.'

While her parents were distracted with serving dinner, Bryony took the opportunity to poke her tongue out at her sister.

Cecilia, who seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, frowned warningly at both girls as she poured out the gravy.

A noise sounded from the hallway. Honey barked in warning, then woofed a joyous chorus.

‘I wonder who would be dropping in at this hour?' asked Mark. ‘I hope it isn't a patient in the middle of dinner.'

Cecilia flung her hand to her throat and half-rose expectantly.

‘It's probably just dearest George,' suggested Poppy, darting a mischievous glance at Bryony. ‘Perhaps he's come to sing arias under Bryony's window.'

Bryony ignored Poppy but straightened her back and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

The dining room door flung open and a tall, handsome young man in army uniform strolled in, a broad grin lighting his face. He held his hat in his hands.

‘Edward,' shrieked Poppy, sending her chair flying backwards.

‘Edward,' cried Cecilia, rushing forward to fling her arms around him.

‘What
are
you doing here?' asked Bryony, crowding around him. ‘Why are you in Darwin?'

‘Can you stay?' begged his mother. ‘Have you had dinner?'

‘It's
sooo
good to see you,' shrieked Poppy.

Edward embraced his mother and sisters, and shook hands with his father. ‘I'm on leave for a few days,' he explained. ‘We finished our army training down in Sydney, and we're heading overseas – to Europe, I guess. Our ship's refuelling in Darwin, so I received permission to come and see my family and beg their forgiveness.' He shot an apologetic look at his father. ‘I didn't want to leave the country without asking for your blessing.'

His father sat down heavily. Cecilia squeezed his arm.

‘Poppy, run and get a plate and some cutlery for your brother,' suggested Cecilia. ‘Bryony, can you please tell Daisy that Edward will be staying?'

In a few moments, the family was all seated around the table, enjoying their meal of roast beef, gravy and baked vegetables. Cecilia kept touching Edward's arm, as though she expected him to disappear like a forgotten dream.

Edward kept them entertained with stories from army training, everything he had seen and done since he left them six months ago, and the characters he had met.

‘It's funny how quickly you get used to things,' Edward said. ‘I can't believe how hot it is up here in Darwin after living down south for so long. I must be getting soft.'

‘You look well,' decided Cecilia. ‘Though I doubt you eat as well at army camp as you did here.'

‘Nothing beats my mum's cooking,' Edward boasted. ‘That is one of the many things I've missed; that and Poppy's never-ending mischief!'

Mark had been very quiet during much of the meal, listening to Edward's chatter.

‘There's nothing soft about army life, my boy,' Mark began grimly. ‘I know you think it's all fun and travel and adventure, but I wish you'd never signed up. There are so many things you could have done to help the war effort without using your body to stop bullets.'

Mark stopped himself with an effort, biting his lip.

Edward flushed and pushed his chair back. ‘But Dad,
you
did,' he blurted. ‘You ran away from the farm when you were younger than me and signed up for the Great War in 1916. You were seventeen years old. You served
your country on the Western Front and defeated the Hun. You were a hero.'

Mark choked, shaking his head. ‘I was an ignorant, idiotic farm boy,' he contradicted forcefully. ‘I broke my mother's heart by running away. On the Western Front I watched so many of my mates get slaughtered, one after another, or die of disease or infection.

‘More than sixty thousand Australian men were killed in that war. If it wasn't for your mother's magical nursing skills, I wouldn't have survived.' Mark took a deep breath, making his voice steady again. ‘On the battlefield I saw many men die who could have been saved with proper hospitals and medicines. That's what made me decide to study medicine and become a doctor. I wanted to devote my talents to
saving
lives, not taking them.'

Edward scowled, his eyes down and shoulders hunched. Mark rose to his feet and strode up and down the room, hands dug deep in his pockets. He sighed deeply, then stood behind Edward's chair with his hands on his son's shoulders.

‘Edward, I know you are a man now, and must make your own decisions.' Mark spoke softly. ‘I wish you weren't going, but of course you have my blessing. Of course I forgive you. You're my son, and I'll always be proud of you.'

Edward scuffed his feet and nodded with embarrassment. Cecilia brushed her hand across her eyes and patted Edward's hand.

‘Come on, girls,' Cecilia said, ‘why don't you help me whip up a quick pudding to celebrate Edward's homecoming. I have a little sugar saved, we can use the last of
the cream, and Poppy can scoot up the tree and find us some mangoes.'

The special dessert made everyone ignore the earlier tension. While they laughed and joked, and made much of Edward, Poppy felt there was something forced about the atmosphere. No one could forget he was soon sailing off to war.

Edward had four days' leave before his ship departed, and he was determined to fill the days with fun and frivolity. He organised picnics and outings to nearby waterfalls and swimming holes. He planned bicycle races and cricket matches and dancing on the sand under the moonlight. He invited Bryony and George, and a few of the other young people of Darwin, including a pretty girl called Iris, whose parents ran the post office. Poppy caught Edward gazing at Iris with what she suspected was adoration, although nothing was said. What was it with her siblings going dopey with love?

Cecilia stretched her resources to provide lavish picnic baskets and suppers. On the morning of the fifth day, Edward packed his kit bag, hugged them all and said his goodbyes.

‘Look after yourself, Poppykins,' Edward urged her. ‘Promise you'll write? I want to know all the details of life at home, no matter how boring! And look after Mum for me – I don't want her to worry.'

Poppy hugged him tightly, her throat thick with emotion. Edward picked up his kit bag, moved his hat to a
jauntier angle and whistled cheerfully as he swaggered up the gangway.

I wonder where he's going?
thought Poppy.
I wonder when I will see Edward again?

Poppy was sitting on the verandah, feeding Christabel, when she spied a huge wicker basket of linen tottering up the garden path on a pair of thin legs. Poppy put the young wallaby down, leapt to her feet and ran towards it.

‘
Ohayou gozaimasu, Murata-san
,' Poppy greeted the basket carrier.

The figure carefully lowered the basket to the ground, revealing herself as a small Japanese woman, her hair almost white and her face creased into hundreds of wrinkles. She smiled and bowed. From behind her skirts peeked a small girl, with long, glossy black hair pulled neatly into two plaits.

‘
Ohayou gozaimasu
,' replied the woman. ‘
Ogenki desuka
?'

‘
Watashi wa genki desu, Murata-san
,' replied Poppy, returning a half-bow. ‘
Arigato
.'

‘Very good, Miss Poppy,' said Mrs Murata. ‘Your Japanese is coming along very well.'

‘
Arigato
,' Poppy thanked her.

Poppy dropped down on her haunches and solemnly said, ‘
Ohayou gozaimasu
,' to the little girl. ‘And what's your name?' The child was too shy to respond.

‘This is my granddaughter, Shinju – it means “Pearl” in English,' explained Mrs Murata. ‘She is my son's
daughter.'

‘Pearl – that's a very beautiful name,' replied Poppy. ‘A perfect name for a beautiful girl.'

Mrs Murata smiled lovingly at the girl, stroking the fringe out of her eyes.

‘The pearl is a magic jewel of good luck to the Japanese,' explained Mrs Murata. ‘It was the pearls and the pearl shell that brought us to your country. My family have been pearl divers for generations – first in Japan, now in Darwin. My father came to Australia in 1880, and I was born in Broome. Pearls have been good to us.'

Mrs Murata bent down to pick up her load of washing.

‘Can I help you?' asked Poppy,

‘
Arigato
, Miss Poppy,' replied Mrs Murata. ‘It's heavy.'

Poppy took one handle, and together the two carried the basket of washing towards the house, with young Shinju following.

‘How are your family, Mrs Murata?' asked Poppy. ‘Is your son feeling better?'

‘Yes.' Mrs Murata's face beamed. ‘Your father is a clever doctor.'

Several weeks before, Poppy had been with her father when he had been called to the Murata's house to treat Mrs Murata's son. The pearl diver had contracted a severe chest infection while out at sea and had been critically ill by the time the pearl lugger had returned to port. Poppy's father had treated Mr Murata and saved his life.