32
‘Missus M! It’s past eight o’clock! Wasn’t we meant to get up at four? You said you’d come and wake me.’
Kitty stirred, seeing Sarah’s anxious face hovering above her.
‘There’s been a change of plan,’ she said hoarsely as she came to. ‘Mr D is driving us out to Hermannsburg today.’
‘That’s good then, is it?’ Sarah waited for confirmation.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘What is Hermannsburg?’ Sarah asked as she folded the clothes that Kitty had dropped on the floor last night.
‘It’s a Christian mission. Mr D felt it would be too hot to take the trip out to Ayers Rock today. He says Hermannsburg is far closer.’
‘I don’t like God-botherers,’ said Sarah. ‘They used to tell us stories of the little Lord Jesus at the orphanage, said that we should pray to him for our salvation. All I could think was that he didn’t last that long, did ’e, miss? For all that he was the son of God.’ Sarah stood at the end of the bed with her hands on her hips. ‘What time are we leaving?’
‘At nine o’clock.’
‘Then I’ll go and get you a fresh basin of water so as you can have a good wash before we leave, ’cos the Lord knows when we’ll get another. I like your friend, by the way. It’s good we have someone protecting us out ’ere, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Kitty suppressed a smile.
‘D’you think he’d let me steer the cart for a bit? I’ve always loved ’orses, ever since the rag an’ bone man came round to me auntie’s and ’e gave me a ride.’
‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ Kitty said and fell back onto her pillow as Sarah left the room.
‘What am I doing?’ she moaned as the events of only a few hours ago came back to her.
You’re living, Kitty, for the first time in years . . .
Downstairs, she forced down a breakfast of bread and strong coffee as Sarah chatted away opposite her.
‘Mister D said he’ll meet us outside when we’ve finished breakfast. We’re to take a change of clothes each because of the dust, but he’s seeing to the supplies. I’m glad ’e’s coming, Missus M, ’e looks like a man who knows ’is way around. It’s a bit like the Wild West out here, in’t it? I once saw a flick that showed horses galloping across the desert. Never thought I’d see it for meself.’
Outside, Drummond waited with a pony and cart, and the two women clambered up onto the board bench. Kitty mentioned that Sarah wished to drive the pony at some point and put her firmly between them.
‘Right. Off we go.’ Drummond gently snicked the pony’s back and they trotted off along the high street.
Kitty was only too happy to let Drummond regale Sarah with his adventures in the Outback. She took in the scenery, which, as they headed out of the town, became a vibrant red, the mountain range a hazy violet behind it. Sarah constantly questioned him, and he patiently pointed out the varieties of shrubs, trees and animals as she sucked up information like spinifex during a drought.
‘And that over there is a ghost gum.’ Drummond indicated a white-barked tree in the distance. ‘It’s sacred to the Aboriginals, and you can use the bark to treat colds . . .’
As the sun beat down, Kitty was glad of her cotton bonnet with its net veil, and eventually the rhythmic clopping of the pony’s sure footsteps lulled her into a doze.
‘Turn left here.’
She was pulled back to consciousness by Drummond’s voice.
‘No, left, Sarah.’
The pony lurched and Kitty roused herself to see Sarah steering the cart into a drive, beyond which stood a number of whitewashed buildings.
‘Welcome to Hermannsburg, sleepy-head.’ Drummond grinned as he offered his hand to help her down. ‘Your Sarah has the makings of a fine horsewoman. You didn’t even stir when I handed the reins to her.’
‘Oh! An’ I loved it, Missus M! Wish I could sit on his back.’ Sarah looked plaintively up at Drummond.
‘There’s plenty of horses here, I’m sure someone will give you a trot round before we leave. Now, let’s see if the pastor is about.’
Drummond led them past a cluster of huts towards a central area which was humming with life. Most of the faces were Aboriginal, the girls of assorted ages all dressed in white, which Kitty found rather ridiculous given the red dust that had already blown up onto her own clothes. There were men sitting outside a big open shed, stretching large swathes of beige cow hide and hanging them up to dry in the sun.
‘That’s the tannery; the mission sells the leather on. There’s the schoolhouse, the cookhouse, the chapel . . .’
‘Goodness, it’s a village!’ Kitty followed his pointed finger around the huts, hearing the sweet sound of young voices singing a hymn inside the chapel.
‘It is indeed. And a lifeline for the local Arrernte people.’
‘Those children,’ Kitty said, pointing at a group of little ones being led from the schoolroom. ‘Have they been brought here against their mothers’ will because they are half-castes?’
‘No. The Protectorate is not welcome here. These people come of their own free will to learn about Jesus, but, more importantly, to get a good meal inside their bellies,’ Drummond replied with a chuckle. ‘Many of them have been here for years. The pastor allows them to practise their own culture alongside Christianity.’
As she heard the sound of the children’s laughter, Kitty was filled with emotion. ‘It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen; two cultures working in harmony together. Perhaps there’s hope for Australia after all.’
‘Yes. And look who it is over there.’ Drummond indicated a tall, bulky man lugging a table into a hut. ‘Hermannsburg’s most famous son, Albert Namatjira. We’re lucky to catch him. He’s often out walkabout painting.’
‘That’s Namatjira?’ Kitty squinted her eyes against the sun, awed that the most famous Aboriginal artist in Australia was standing only a few feet away from her.
‘It is. Interesting fella. If you’re a good girl, I’ll introduce you later on. Now, let’s go and find the pastor.’
They walked across to a low bungalow set apart from the others and Drummond knocked on the door. A short, broadly built white man opened the door and greeted them with a smile. Despite the heat, he was dressed in black robes and a white clerical collar, and a pair of round rimless glasses rested on his large nose.
‘Mr D, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, thumping Drummond on the back heartily. He spoke English with a strong German accent.
‘Pastor Albrecht, this is Mrs Kitty Mercer from Adelaide and late of Broome,’ said Drummond. ‘She was very interested to see Hermannsburg for herself, having heard of it through her son, who was at school and university with Ted.’
‘Indeed?’ Pastor Albrecht’s eyes swept over Kitty as if he was assessing her for a place in the kingdom of heaven. ‘I’m afraid Ted is not here. He is currently based in Canberra working on a research project at the university, but it is my pleasure to welcome you, Mrs Mercer. And the young lady?’
‘This is Sarah, a friend of Mrs Mercer’s,’ Drummond replied.
‘How d’you do, yer honour.’ Sarah, looking nervously at the clerical robes, dipped a curtsey.
‘Are you thirsty? My wife has just made a jug of quandong cordial.’ Albrecht, walking with a slight limp, led them through to a small sitting room, its Edwardian furniture looking out of place in the simple hut. Once they had all been handed a glass of sweet pink cordial, they sat down.
‘So, how have things been here since my last visit?’ Drummond asked.
‘The usual ups and downs,’ said the pastor. ‘Thank the Lord that we have not had another drought, but Albert has had his problems, as you know. There was also a break-in some weeks ago. The robbers took everything from the safe, and I’m afraid to say that the tin box you gave me all those years ago when you brought Francis went with them. I do hope there was nothing particularly valuable in it. Francis told me his grandmother was relieved, for some reason.’
Kitty watched Drummond blanch. ‘No, it was nothing of value,’ he said lightly.
‘Well, you may be pleased to hear that justice was done. It was a couple of cattle rustlers who’d been robbing the safes of stations round here. They were found shot dead near Haasts Bluff. Whoever killed them made off with the stolen goods. My apologies, Mr D.’
‘So, the curse continues . . .’ Drummond murmured.
There was a knock on the door. A young woman popped her head around it, and spoke in German to the pastor.
‘Ah, the choir is about to sing!’ said Albrecht. ‘Yes, we will take a walk across, thank you, Mary. And could you also find Francis for me? He was helping Albert earlier.’
‘Of course,’ Drummond smiled, ‘where else would Francis be?’
As the four of them walked across the courtyard towards the chapel, Drummond held the pastor back and the two men talked in low voices behind Kitty and Sarah. When they arrived on the doorstep of the chapel, Kitty noted Drummond’s grave expression.
‘Please.’ The pastor indicated a rough wooden pew at the back of the church and the four of them sat down. The chapel was basic, its only decoration a large painting of Christ on the cross. Standing in front of it were perhaps thirty immaculately dressed young girls and boys, their faces eager with expectation as they waited for their pastor to indicate they should begin.
Kitty closed her eyes as the beautiful tune of ‘Abide With Me’ was sung in German by the Aboriginal choir. At the end, the four of them clapped enthusiastically.
‘I’m not one for hymns meself, but that singing were lovely, Missus M, even if I couldn’t understand a word they were saying,’ said Sarah.
‘Danke schon, Mary, Kinder.’ The pastor stood up and the three of them followed suit. Kitty saw that an old woman in a wooden wheelchair had been pushed to the back of the chapel by a grey-haired man. With them was a breathtakingly handsome young man, his hair a rich mahogany, skin the colour of butterscotch and enormous eyes that, as Kitty drew closer, she saw were a startling and unusual blue, with flecks of amber in the irises. They were not, however, looking at her, but fixed on Sarah next to her. Sarah was staring back just as blatantly.
‘What a beautiful young man,’ murmured Kitty as they waited for the choir to file out ahead of them.
‘He is indeed. And a very talented artist too. Francis has followed Namatjira about like a puppy ever since he could toddle,’ Drummond said.
Kitty dragged her eyes away from Francis and glanced down at the woman in the wheelchair. The woman looked up at her and Kitty had to grasp the back of the pew to steady herself. Even though the woman was desperately thin, her skin streaked with lines of age, Kitty knew the face as well as her own.
‘Good grief, it can’t be!’ she whispered to Drummond. Then she looked at the old man who had pushed the wheelchair in. ‘And that’s Fred!’
‘It is,’ he agreed, ‘but Camira is why I have brought you here. She doesn’t have much time left. Go and say hello.’
‘Camira?’ Kitty walked towards her, her legs trembling. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Missus Kitty?’ Camira whispered back, equally startled. Fred gawped at her from behind the wheelchair.
‘Now, Francis, this is Sarah,’ said Drummond, watching emotion cross both women’s features. ‘She has a passion for horses – would you take her and give her a riding lesson?’
‘Of course, Mister D.’ Francis spoke halting English, but his expression as he beckoned Sarah to follow him told everyone how much of a pleasure it would be.
‘Mr D and I have some business to conduct,’ Pastor Albrecht said. ‘Fred, why don’t you join us? We shall leave you two ladies alone.’
Once the men had gone, Kitty bent down and put her arms tenderly around her dearest friend.
‘Where did you go? I missed you so terribly, I . . .’
‘I missum you too, Missus Kitty, but things happen, don’t they?’
Kitty released the emaciated body and took Camira’s hand. ‘What “things” happened?’
‘First you tellum me how you here. Mister Drum come-a find you?’
‘No, it seems I found him. Or we found each other.’
Kitty explained how they’d met as swiftly as she could, desperate to know why Camira had left her all those years ago.
‘See? Dem up in heaven wantum you two together.’
‘It’s not like that. I leave permanently for Europe very soon,’ Kitty said hurriedly. ‘And no one must know the truth, Camira.’
‘Who here would I tellum?’ Camira gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Whattum Mister Drum say to you?’
‘Absolutely nothing – not even that you were here. Please, dearest Camira, tell me why you and Alkina left.’
‘Okay, but it longa story, Missus Kitty, so you sittum down and I tella to you.’
Kitty did so. Between halting pauses for breath, Kitty learnt the truth of her son’s relationship with Camira’s daughter.
‘God, oh God.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Why on earth did they not come to me? I would have sanctioned their marriage.’
‘Yessum, but my daughter, she-a strong-willed woman. She not wanta live in whitefella world an’ be treated like mangy dingo from street.’ Camira sighed. ‘She love Charlie, Missus Kitty, so much she leavem him. You understand?’
‘I do, of course I do, but I could have announced their engagement and the whole town would have seen they had my backing.’
There was a pause as Camira’s eyes found the painting of Jesus at the front of the church. ‘Missus Kitty, there something else that madem her run.’
‘What?’
Camira’s expressive eyes begged Kitty to think, to say the words for her.
‘No! You mean she was pregnant?’
‘Yessum. Four months when she go walkabout.’
‘Did Charlie know?’
‘Yessum, he know. He wanta go find her, beggum me to tell him where she go, but I do not know. After you went away to Europe, he feel he cannot leave. One night, I knowum she dead. Charlie and me, we cry together.’
‘Oh God, where did she die?’
‘Out there, in Never Never.’ Camira rested her head on Kitty’s arm. ‘Love, it causem the big trouble. Mister Drum, he come all the way to Broome to see me an’ tell me ’bout it. An’ I go with him here. Den Fred turnem up few month later.’ Camira rolled her eyes. ‘I smellum him before I see him.’
‘But if Alkina died, then why . . .’
‘She die, yessum, but baby alive. Mister Drum, he find baby with Ghan camel men, an’ bring him to Hermannsburg. He savem baby’s life. He a miracle man.’ Camira nodded vehemently. ‘Ancestors helpum him find my grandson.’
Kitty’s head was spinning with what Camira was telling her. There were so many questions she wanted answers to, she hardly knew what to ask next.
‘But how did he know the baby was Alkina’s?’
‘Thattum bad pearl. My daughter once see me check that it still buried where I leave it. She takem it to sell for money for her and baby. Mister Drum, he see bad pearl with baby and baby’s eyes. Dey like his mum’s. He comun see me an’ bringum me here to care for baby.’
‘So you didn’t tell Charlie that he was a father?’ Kitty tried to control the anger rising inside her. ‘That my son’s baby was alive? Good God, Camira, why did you not tell me?!’
‘Maybe I makem mistake, but Charlie friend with Elise, an’ I thinkum best he not know. He running big business, an’ my daughter dead. How could he bringum up baby? You away in Europe. Yessum I hear later Charlie die too. So sad, but now they up there together with Ancestors. So, everything turnum out for best, yes?’
Camira’s eyes begged Kitty to agree, but she stood up and began to pace up and down the narrow aisle of the chapel. ‘I really don’t know just now, Camira. I feel as though I wasn’t given any choice in the matter. I feel . . .’ Kitty wrung her hands. ‘Totally deceived.’
‘Missus Kitty, we all lovem you, we wanta do best thing.’
‘How many wrong decisions come out of love . . .’ Kitty sighed. As she did her best to control herself in front of a woman she loved and who, from her obvious frailty, was facing her last few weeks on earth, another thought came to her.
‘What happened to the baby?’ she asked, bracing herself for more bad news.
Camira’s features finally gathered themselves into a wide smile. ‘He sick as baby, but now he big, strong boy. I do-um best to bring him up good for both of us.’ She chuckled then. ‘Missus Kitty, you just met our grandson. His name Francis.’
* * *
Drummond watched Kitty pushing Camira’s wheelchair towards the stables, uncertain how she would have reacted to the news. He turned his head at the shrieks of laughter emanating from Sarah as she did her best to steer the reluctant horse round in a circle, with Francis holding the end of the rope below her.
‘He keeps wanting to go straight ahead! Can we, please?’
‘Only if I climb up with you,’ Francis called to her.
With the past and the present about to collide, Drummond pondered on whether Sarah’s words were an apt metaphor. So many humans wandered round in circles, wishing for a future they were too fearful to seize.
‘Come on then! Jump aboard!’ Sarah shouted.
Francis released the rope and swung his long body onto the horse behind her.
If nothing else, he knew those two would seize it.
‘I tellum her, Mister Drum, I don’t think she very happy,’ Camira murmured as Fred took the wheelchair from Kitty’s shaking grasp. She greeted him, then stared at the young man on horseback.
‘Maybe I diddum wrong thing,’ Camira continued as they watched Francis doing his best to impress a lady. With a hand tucked proprietorially around Sarah’s waist, his strong thighs controlling the movements of the horse, he set it to a brisk canter. Expletives fell from Sarah’s mouth, but the onlookers could all see their sheer joy in being alive, with their future ahead of them.
Kitty turned to Drummond and finally spoke. ‘I believe I am watching my grandson career round a field with my lady’s maid?’
‘You are, yes. Are you angry?’
‘When a decision is taken out of your hands – when one is left completely in the dark – of course there is anger.’
‘Forgive her, Kitty, Camira only did what she thought best at the time.’ Drummond braced himself for her verbal onslaught. Yet, as her gaze fell once more onto Francis and Sarah, Kitty was silent.
Eventually she said, ‘Thank you.’
‘What?’
‘The polite response would be “pardon me”, as you well know, but given that you apparently saved our grandson’s life . . .’ Kitty put her hand to Camira’s shoulder. ‘I can overlook your appalling use of language just this once.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, and gave her a smile.
‘I can see Charlie in him already,’ Kitty breathed, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘His energy, his kindness . . .’ Then she lifted a palm to Drummond’s cheek. ‘I have made so many mistakes in my life—’
‘Hush, Kitty.’ Drummond caught her hand and kissed it. He pressed his forehead to hers. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never stopped.’
‘I fear I feel the same,’ she whispered back.
‘It’s time now, isn’t it? For us.’
‘Yes,’ Kitty replied. ‘I rather believe it is.’
Camira turned her head and watched as Mister D’s arms encircled Kitty tenderly and held her close to him. She looked to the field where her grandson was whooping with joy as he let the girl take the reins of the horse, holding her safe to him as she cantered them around the field.
Camira closed her eyes and smiled.
‘I diddum the best I could.’