The Ghost at the Point (18 page)

“Gee,” said Mr Jennings, finally, “Chile doesn’t sound like a very nice place to live.”

Dorrie thought of the island, solid under her feet. Her beautiful island, where nothing ever seemed to change. Never again would she think of its peace and quiet as being dull.

She sighed. “No wonder old Ned hid his Chilean roots. He probably thought he might be sent back there again if the truth came out.” She glanced at Alonso, standing there, swamped in Gah’s clothes. “That’s why we hid,” she added, “when you came searching for me. Alonso was terrified – I think he thought he’d be sent back too.”

Mr Jennings smiled wryly. “Yep, you certainly led us a dance, miss!” He patted Alonso on the back. “But I can now see why.”

“You don’t have to worry, son,” said Sergeant Tonks. “I’m sure the authorities will look kindly on you and your mum’s situation.”

Mr Jennings indicated the tin box, sitting at their feet. “So, what’ve we got in here then?”

Dorrie smiled at Alonso. “Just wait till we show ’em, eh, cousin?”

That was the best part of the day – all the family stuff. Discovering that not only had Alonso’s mum survived, but that Dorrie and Alonso were related. She far preferred Alonso as a cousin to Esme, any day.

The second-best part was finding old Ned’s gold nugget. It turned out to be very valuable, but more of that later.

Dorrie couldn’t resist bringing it out again, right at the moment that the Crickles were led out to the paddy wagon by Sergeant Tonks.

“Gosh,” she cried loudly, admiring its gleam in the sun, “thanks for bringing
this
to our attention, Mr and Mrs Crickle.”

The expressions on their faces were a treat in themselves.

The third-best part of the day was falling into their beds. By this time it was eight o’clock in the morning, and Dorrie and Alonso had never, ever, been so tired in their lives.

Poppy slept pretty well too.

Six months later three horses came thundering up the drive, their riders shouting with laughter. There was a smattering of raindrops, but that was only an excuse for them to have a race. Sides heaving, the horses skidded to a halt at the paddock fence.

“Me!” shouted Alonso, sliding off his pony, Bess. “Me won.”

“
I
won,” corrected Dorrie automatically, patting Sampson’s sweaty neck. “And anyway you didn’t – it was a draw between you and Sarah.”

Old Sampson, as usual, had chosen his own steady pace.

There was a rush of grey-and-white and a chirrup of a meow, and Poppy jumped up onto the gatepost to have her chin scratched.

“’Allo, ’allo, Poppee,” crooned Alonso, doing just that.

“I wonder if your mum’s made some of those delicious
conchas
, Alonso,” said Sarah, slipping her bag off her shoulders. It was Friday afternoon and she was coming to stay the night at the point.

“I hope so.” Dorrie opened the gate. “They’re my favourite.”

Francesca, Alonso’s mother, had indeed made
conchas
, a kind of Chilean sweet roll. They sat gleaming and still warm on a rack on the kitchen table.

“Yum, Aunty Francesca,” cried Dorrie, her mouth watering. The three of them made a dive for the food, as Francesca came through from the sitting room.

“
¡Niños!
” she cried. “
Lávenselas
– wash the hands,
primero
.”

Alonso, a cinnamon-sprinkled
concha
an inch from his mouth, groaned. “
Pero Mamá
,” he cried. “We’re
starving
.”

His dark-haired mother folded her arms and looked at them all, the corners of her mouth twitching. They sighed and trooped over to the sink.

Gah had insisted, once he was out of hospital that there was more than enough room at the point for their new-found relatives. Francesca had taken the bedroom next to the drive and Alonso chose the end one off the courtyard – the room where Dorrie had seen Alonso’s “ghost” light that night.

That all seemed a long time ago now. It was almost as though their Chilean relatives had been part of the family forever.

The day after the Crickles’ capture, Uncle Harold and Aunt Janet had driven Dorrie to the hospital to see Gah. She’d sat in the back, staring out the window, trying to ignore the tart remarks coming from the front.

“I don’t know
what
your grandfather’s going to say when he sees you,” her aunt had exclaimed, several times. “Lying to him about where you were staying like that, and leading us all up the garden path.”

Dorrie had bitten her lip, feeling a bit concerned herself.

But when they arrived Gah, tears springing into his eyes, had simply hugged her and exclaimed: “What a wilful, disobedient granddaughter I’ve got!” He held her out, smiling. “Your parents – and Gan – would be so proud of you, Ducks!”

“Well!” her uncle huffed.

“Really, George,” added her aunt. “The child should be–”

“‘The child has apologised,” said Gah, gruffly. “Now let that be the end of it. Besides,” he added, with a wink at Dorrie, “I understand she’s not only saved the old place from the clutches of those villains, she’s also revived the family fortunes –
and
discovered a whole new branch of the family.”

“Hmph,
foreigners
,” Aunt Janet had sniffed.

Though even she eventually had to admit that the household at the point had become a lot more “civilised” since Francesca had arrived. Aunt Janet even paid Francesca’s cooking the highest (for her) compliment, remarking that her
pastel de choclo
(a kind of Chilean shepherd’s pie) was “quite tasty”.

And strangely, after her aunt and uncle were given a share of the new-found family fortune, not another word was said about Dorrie’s disobedience.

Dorrie, Gah, Alonso and Francesca had insisted that Jacky and his dad take some of the money. The Pearces bought a truck, which came just at the right time, seeing their horse was getting too old to pull the dray. Jacky, of course, was over the moon and never stopped talking about their corker good truck. They also bought an outboard motor, which made their fishing trips a lot easier.

It was harder to get the Jennings to accept any reward. In the end, they agreed to take just enough money for Sarah to be able go to school on the mainland the next year, with her two friends from Ned’s Point.

In the meantime Alonso went to school with the others at Watson’s River. To begin with he was a great novelty, but after a very short time he had become just one of the boys, rowdy and full of fun. The name “Alonso” was too long for his mates – he became simply Al. And his command of English was growing, as Miss Taggart said, at the rate of knots.

When they’d drunk their tea and the children had eaten a couple of
conchas
each, they all, including Poppy, trooped down to the beach to help Gah. Since his leg had recovered he’d gone right back to his old routine. This was despite the fact that with the money they’d received from the sale of the gold nugget, there was no real need for him to sell fish any more.

But Gah wasn’t about to stop. What else, he asked, would he be doing with his days?

Now they watched him coming in. The outboard slowed as he reached the shallows, and Alonso waded in and took the bow.

“Good fish?” called Francesca, shading her eyes against the silvery glare on the water.

Gah hopped out, the fish basket under his arm. “Pretty good. Half a dozen whiting, three or four leatherjackets and a couple of tommy roughs.”

“Good,” Francesca said. “Tonight I cook
Caldillo de Pescado
.”

“What’s that, Francesca?” asked Gah. “Yet another of your garlicky dishes?”

He was teasing her, Dorrie knew. Dorrie and Gah had acquired a real taste for Francesca’s spicy Chilean fare. Compared to it, their old diet of plain fish and tinned bully beef now seemed very dull. There were already some new additions to the veggie patch – garlic and chillies among them.

Francesca looked to Alonso to translate the menu. Alonso turned to the others. “Is the fish soup – you know it – from Chile.”

Gah, Dorrie and Sarah smiled.

“Yum!” said Dorrie and Sarah together.

“Ah, yes,” said Gah. “I can certainly put up with the garlic in that one.”

As their English grew better, Francesca and Alonso had managed to translate most of the old letters in the tin box. The information these contained was a treasure-trove in itself. And for Dorrie, the most interesting part of all concerned Ned’s younger brother, Tomás.

The eldest brother, Felipe – Francesca and Alonso’s ancestor – had stayed in Chile to fight in the war. But their mother had managed to get her two youngest boys, Eduardo (Ned), aged sixteen, and Tomás, eleven, passages on the doomed ship to Australia.

Ned had survived the wreck at Black Cape, and had gone on to prosper.

Tomás had drowned.

Now, standing here on the beach, Dorrie mentally pictured that old drawing of the three brothers. Particularly the youngest – Tomás.

She glanced at Alonso, who had gone back to his fish scaling. Tomás looked awfully like him.

She remembered that first evening, when she’d seen the face vanishing behind the tree in the dusk. Of course, it had been Alonso.

Hadn’t it? She’d never actually checked with him.

Then she had another thought. She smiled to herself.

Perhaps the ghost – that boy from long ago – could finally rest. Now that Alonso was here.

I’d like to thank Monica Ulbari, Rafael Pintos-López and Mauricio Araya for their help in translating the Chilean language bits. Also Fiona Inglis, Sarah Foster, and especially Jess Owen, Sue Whiting and Nicola Santilli for their really thorough edits.

Most importantly, thanks once again to that wonderful cheer squad – my family.

Charlotte Calder was born in Adelaide and has worked as an actor, photographer and occasional newspaper columnist.

Her first novel for young adults was
Settling Storms
(Lothian Books, 2000), followed by
Cupid Painted Blind
(2002),
Surviving Amber
(2005) and
Paper Alice
(2008), all with Pan Macmillan.

Her picture book
Stuck!
(illustrated by Mark Jackson) was short-listed in the Young Children Category of the Speech Pathology Australia Book of the Year Awards, 2010, and received a Notable mention in the Picture Book Category of the Children’s Book Council of Australia Awards, 2010. Charlotte lives with her husband (and their three children, when they’re home) near Orange, in the central west of NSW.