The Forgotten Pearl (5 page)

Poppy returned a simple bow. Maude copied Poppy in both her bow and clumsy Japanese greetings to Mrs Murata and Shinju. Shinju's mother entered the room, carrying a black lacquer tray. She shuffled gracefully in her long, silk kimono, taking tiny steps.

Poppy felt underdressed in her summer skirt and blouse. She fingered her teardrop pearl, thinking that at least the jewel was elegant.

‘Masuko, this is Poppy and her friend Maude,' said Mrs Murata.

Masuko took Poppy's hand, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Thank you, Miss Poppy. I can never thank you enough for saving my little Shinju.'

Poppy blushed and stammered. ‘No. No. It was my pleasure.'

Mrs Murata showed them where to sit. The Japanese women knelt on the floor, their feet tucked under their bottoms. Shinju's mother began to lay out the tea implements and food with precision, carefully folding back her long, wide sleeves to keep them out of the way. Black lacquer dishes held tiny cakes and sweetmeats. Bamboo vases contained delicate sprays of yellow and orange speckled orchids.

‘The men are away diving for pearl shell,' explained Mrs Murata. ‘My husband and three sons are usually out on the pearl luggers for a couple of weeks at a time.'

‘You must miss them,' replied Poppy. ‘And you must worry about them, too.'

‘Yes – many divers die from paralysis, when they come up too quickly,' agreed Mrs Murata. ‘You know, in Japan, it is the women who are pearl divers, but we're not allowed to dive for pearls in this country. So Masuko and I wash clothes instead.'

With great ritual, Masuko carefully wiped each porcelain bowl with a white linen cloth, holding up each precious article to be admired and examined. She opened the blue-and-white tea caddy, measuring out powdered green tea and then whisking it vigorously with hot water.

The porcelain bowls of tea were ceremoniously passed
to each person around the table. Only when everyone had been served did Mrs Murata take a tiny sip.

‘My mother brought this tea set with her from Japan as part of her dowry when she married my father. It belonged to her grandmother, so it is very old and valuable,' explained Mrs Murata. ‘In Japan, taking tea is a very important ritual.'

Poppy and Maude sipped their tea. It tasted far stronger than the tea they usually drank with milk and sugar.

‘Everything must be done in exactly the right order and with absolute grace,' said Mrs Murata. ‘Shinju-chan must learn the ceremony from her mother, Masuko, just as I learnt it from my mother.'

Masuko smiled, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘Would you like some cake, girls?' offered Masuko. ‘Shinju-chan helped me bake them this morning, especially for you.'

‘
Arigato
,' Poppy and Maude said in chorus.

The cakes were tiny and very sweet. The girls weren't sure if they liked them, but politely ate a couple.

Mrs Murata pointed out the paintings on the wall and explained their significance. Poppy's legs were aching and going to sleep in their uncomfortable kneeling position, so she had to wriggle into a different posture. Maude shifted too, rubbing her calf muscle gingerly.

‘Now, Shinju-chan, I think our guests would like to see you dance?' Mrs Murata said. ‘Will you fetch me my
shamisen
?'

‘Yes, please, Shinju,' urged Poppy. ‘That would be lovely.'

Shinju obediently left the room with the same tiny steps
as her mother and returned with a long lute-like instrument, a bamboo flute and two fans.

Mrs Murata tuned the
shamisen
, plucking the strings with a tortoiseshell pick. Masuko accompanied her on the bamboo flute.

Shinju took up a position, kneeling on the tatami mat, the two fans spread open like wings on either side of her.

‘This is the butterfly dance.' Mrs Murata began to play, slowly plucking the strings of the instrument. The music was strange and discordant to the girls' unaccustomed ears, but hauntingly beautiful.

Shinju took dainty steps, fluttering the fans up and down, left to right, in a shimmering semblance of a butterfly's flight. When she finally finished, gracefully swooning to the ground, both Poppy and Maude burst into applause.

‘Bravo, Shinju,' cried Poppy. ‘That was just beautiful.'

‘You looked exactly like a pink-and-gold butterfly,' agreed Maude.

Shinju beamed with pleasure and quickly covered her face with one of the fans.

‘Would you like to learn?' asked Masuko. ‘Shinju can show you.'

‘Yes, please,' agreed Maude, her eyes lighting up.

‘That would be fun,' added Poppy, ‘although I'm not much of a dancer.'

Mrs Murata shook her head gravely. ‘But they cannot learn the butterfly dance dressed like that!'

‘Oh.' Maude looked downcast. ‘What a shame.'

Mrs Murata stood and went to a large oak chest in the corner of the room. She opened it and pulled out metres of crimson and cream fabric, neatly folded.

Together Mrs Murata and Masuko dressed Poppy and Maude, draping the silky fabric around them and fastening it with the wide obi sashes. Poppy wore the crimson kimono and Maude the cream. Masuko gathered their hair up into buns with mother-of-pearl clips, finished with scarlet hibiscus flowers.

Shinju giggled at the sight of the girls transformed into Japanese maidens. Maude curtsied.

‘You are the Butterfly Princess, Miss Maude,' decided Masuko, giving Maude two open fans for her wings before turning to Poppy. ‘And you, of course, are the Pearl Princess, daughter of the wise and noble dragon-king, Ryo-jin.'

Masuko smiled at Poppy, lifting her arms aloft so that the sleeves draped regally.

‘Now, poised and elegant,' instructed Mrs Murata, plucking the
shamisen
. ‘No,
tiny
steps. You'll trip if you take great, big man-steps like that, Miss Poppy. Yes, that's better Miss Maude.'

The girls laughed, trying hard to copy Shinju and Masuko's graceful movements. Poppy felt like she had been whisked to another country and another time.

Cecilia arrived later to collect the girls and found them giggling and dancing, fluttering their fans and swaying to the music.

Poppy felt oddly disappointed as she shed her borrowed robes and became her everyday self again. It had felt special being a Japanese princess for an afternoon. Poppy and Maude hugged Shinju.

At the door, they both bowed to Mrs Murata and Masuko.

‘
Arigato
.'

‘
Arigato
.'

‘
Dou itashi mashite
,' replied Mrs Murata. ‘
Sayonara
.'

As they clattered down the stairs, Maude grinned at Poppy. ‘That was such fun. You know, I've never met a Japanese person before the Muratas. They were nothing like what I'd expected. They were lovely.'

4

The Drover's Boy

Maude and Poppy sat at the kitchen table helping Daisy bake Anzac cookies to send to Edward. On the dresser against the wall, the two tortoises, Tabitha and Tobias, swam around lazily. Charlie sat on the floor cuddling Coco the cat. Christabel hopped around on the floor, nuzzling up crumbs. Honey studiously ignored her, preferring to lie with her head on Poppy's feet.

‘Now add one cup of brown sugar,' ordered Daisy as she stood by the stove frying mince for shepherd's pie. Maude measured out a cup of sugar and added it to the bowl of flour, rolled oats and coconut. Poppy added golden syrup, water and bicarb soda to a saucepan of melted butter and stirred them together.

‘Daisy, tell Maude the story of when you were a drover's boy on the plains,' urged Poppy, pouring the liquid into the bowl of ingredients and mixing them vigorously with a wooden spoon.

Daisy laughed and shook her finger. ‘Don't you ever get tired of that story, Miss Poppy?'

‘No,' she replied, handing the gooey wooden spoon to Charlie, who crowed and began licking eagerly. In an instant, his face was a sticky mask of caramel biscuit dough. Christabel hopped over and licked him on the face. Charlie giggled with delight.

‘Please, Daisy?' begged Maude with a beguiling smile, rolling the dough into balls between her fingers. Poppy flattened the balls with a fork and laid them on the baking tray.

Daisy pulled the mince from the stove and sat at the table, a bowl full of potatoes in front of her. She began to peel them expertly with a sharp knife, her long fingers flying.

‘Before I came to work with Doctor and Missus Trehearne I was a drover's boy,' began Daisy with a shy smile. ‘You see, I'm not originally from the bush – I was born on Never-Never Downs, a big cattle station down south. My mum and aunties worked in the kitchens at the homestead, and my dad was a stockman with all the other fellas. I had a great childhood, running wild and playing with the other kids.

‘Gran taught us how to track goannas and find sugar bag – you know, bush honey – and discover water in the bush. She taught me how to find my way home from anywhere in our country, just by asking the birds.'

Daisy scraped the potato peelings in the chook pail and started chopping the spuds into chunks.

‘When I was fifteen, I fell in love with one of the drovers, a white man called Charlie, and he asked me to
come mustering with him. Those drovers worked hard, moving the cattle over hundreds of miles, following the feed and water, or taking them to market. They might be gone for months.

‘Well, girls weren't allowed to be drovers, but I wanted to be with Charlie. So I cut my hair short, dressed in a chambray shirt and moleskins, and told everyone my name was Jackie.

‘I became a drover's boy. For the next two years we drove those bullocks up and down the country, sleeping under the stars by the campfire and riding the horses all day. I cooked and scrubbed, branded cattle and mended tack. It was hard work but a good life.'

Daisy scraped the potato into a pot of boiling water.

‘As I grew older, it became harder to pretend to be a boy. I wore a scarf bound around my chest to hide my sex.'

Daisy started stripping thyme leaves from a twig with her fingertips. Charlie junior put his arms up for a cuddle. Daisy swept him up in her arms and kissed the top of his dusky curls.

‘One day, I started feeling sick. I could feel the spirit of a little piccaninny growing inside me. When Charlie found out, he was scared he'd get in trouble with the boss. He sent me to the missionary and told me not to come back or it would cause him big problems. When my time came, little Charlie didn't want to come out into the big, sad world. The missionary's wife helped me, but still Charlie didn't want to be born.

‘Finally, they called the doctor to come flying down. Doctor Trehearne and Missus Trehearne came on the
plane to help. Missus Trehearne talked to baby Charlie and told him everything would be all right, it was safe to come out. Charlie fought for a while, but then he turned around and came out, meek as a lamb.'

The thyme was scraped in with the mince, then Daisy began finely grating a block of cheese. Charlie licked the crumbs from his fingertips.

‘Missus Trehearne was so kind and asked me about Charlie and his father. I told her the story of being a drover's boy for all those years, and she wrote a letter to Charlie senior, telling him about his baby boy. Then when Charlie up and left Never-Never Downs, Missus Trehearne asked me if I'd like to go back to the station, stay with the missionaries or come here to Darwin to work for her, with baby Charlie.'

Poppy smiled at Daisy. ‘Of course Daisy-dear decided she'd much rather live with us.'

Daisy flashed Poppy a smile of affection.

‘Poppy!' cried Charlie, blowing a bubble kiss at the girl.

‘No,
Charlie-boy
decided he'd much rather live with you.'

Maude rolled the last few balls and added them to the tray. ‘It's rather sad, that story,' she confessed.

‘But it has a happy ending,' insisted Poppy. ‘Daisy and Charlie live with us.'

Maude frowned. ‘But Daisy, have you ever heard from Charlie's father?'

‘No,' admitted Daisy. ‘But I can't weep over him forever. I have Charlie and Miss Poppy and her sisters and brother. We all have to make the best life we can with what we have.'

‘You're very brave, Daisy,' Maude said.

‘Let's get those biscuits in the oven. I have to mash the potato.'

Charlie toddled over to Maude and raised his arms to her. ‘Up. Up,' he ordered.

Maude obliged, sweeping him into her lap and kissing his cheek.

On Saturday night, Cecilia asked Bryony's swain, George, over for a family dinner, before joining them at the open-air cinema.

George arrived carrying a spray of orchids for Cecilia and a bouquet for Bryony. George wore his khaki army uniform, his hair slicked back with oil. Bryony had spent all afternoon curling her hair into graceful waves that fell to her shoulder. She wore her best floral dress, high heels and a slick of red lipstick.

‘Mama, this is my friend, George Payne.' Bryony clutched onto George's arm, gazing up into his face.

‘Good evening, Mrs Trehearne,' greeted George. ‘I can see where Bryony gets her beautiful looks.'

Bryony blushed and became very interested in the pattern on the floor rug.

‘Thank you, Mr Payne.' Cecilia repressed a smile. ‘And thank you for the orchids. Would you like to take a seat? My husband will just be a moment.'

‘Lovely, and this must be Bryony's baby sister, Poppy? I brought you a present, too.'

George handed Poppy a small parcel wrapped in brown
paper and string, which she tugged open with delight. Inside was a small rag doll.
A doll!
thought Poppy.
How old does he think I am? Bryony's ‘baby sister' indeed.

Poppy scowled. Cecilia glared at Poppy warningly, so she sighed and pasted on a bright, fake smile.

‘Thank you, Mr Payne. I just
love
dolls.'

‘Splendid.' George grinned broadly. ‘When you smile, I think one day you might even be nearly as pretty as your sister.'

Poppy raised her eyebrows at her sister and rolled her eyes.

Dr Trehearne came in and shook hands with the young soldier, leading him into the sitting room where they all sat sipping on ice-cold soda water with lemon.

‘How do you like Darwin?' asked Mark. ‘Are they keeping you busy?'

‘So far, it's been great. Some of the men find it boring and are disappointed to be missing out on the action, but I've enjoyed it.

‘Of course we've been training, but there have also been excursions out to the Dripstone Caves, picnics and swimming at Rapid Creek, games of football and cricket, fishing for barramundi. I know I'd rather be here than hiding in a rat hole in the desert.'

‘Sounds like quite a picnic,' replied Mark.

George flushed. ‘Of course, sir, we're not here for a picnic,' George assured him. ‘We're here as the front-line in Australia's defence, just in case we're needed – which of course we won't be.' He smiled at Bryony and squeezed her arm. ‘You're safe with us here.'

Bryony simpered and gazed at him through her lashes.

‘Bryony, perhaps you'd like to help me carry the meal through,' suggested Cecilia. ‘I'd hate it to be overcooked.'

Bryony reluctantly left the side of her beau and followed her mother to the kitchen.

‘Poppy, I'm going out to the Shanahans' station tomorrow to run the monthly clinic,' Doctor Trehearne said. ‘Would you like to come with me?'

‘Yes, please,' Poppy agreed.

‘We'll be flying out at five am and staying the night, so make sure you pack tonight – and pack light.'

Poppy felt a flutter of excitement. She loved visiting the Shanahans' station, Alexandra Downs. It was always so much fun.