‘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.’
CeCe
Alice Springs, Northern Territory
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol
for a resting place
33
‘So, that’s the story of how I met my Sarah. It sounds rather ridiculous, but it really was love at first sight for both of us. You could say we rode off into the sunset that very first moment we met.’ Francis’s eyes misted at the memory.
‘She didn’t go back to Adelaide with Kitty?’
‘No. She stayed at Hermannsburg with me. They were glad to have her, what with her sewing skills.’ Francis indicated the embroidered cushion covers. ‘And her natural way with the young ones. She was born to be a mother. The irony was, it took us years to have our own child.’
‘My mother?’ I whispered.
‘Yes. Sadly, the doctors told us she was the only child we could have. We both adored her.’ Francis struggled to suppress a yawn. ‘Do excuse me, it’s getting late.’
Before he made a move to stand up, there was one more question I had to know the answer to before I could sleep. ‘What about Kitty and Drummond?’
‘Now there was a happy ending. He went with her when she left for Europe. God knows how he acquired a passport to do it, given he’d been declared officially dead, but knowing him, he probably paid for a forged one. You could do that kind of thing in the old days.’ Francis smiled. ‘They made their home in Florence where no one knew their past, and lived happily together for the rest of their lives. Kitty never did get to Ayers Rock, mind you. She stayed on at Hermannsburg until just before my grandmother died.’
‘Did Kitty tell you that day that she was your grandmother too? And that Drummond was your great-uncle?’
‘No, she left that to Camira, who told me the whole story on her deathbed a few days later. After they went to Italy, Drummond and Kitty kept in touch regularly with Sarah and me, and in 1978, when she herself died, Kitty left us her apartment in Florence. We sold the apartment and bought this place with the proceeds, with a view to retiring here. The Broome house Kitty had left in a trust for Lizzie, along with her stocks and shares, which had grown over the years to a sizeable sum.’
‘What happened to Ralph Junior and his family at Alicia Hall?’ I queried.
‘Dear Great-Uncle Ralph,’ said Francis with a smile. ‘He was a good man; trustworthy and steadfast to the last. His family always welcomed us at Alicia Hall on the rare occasions we travelled to Adelaide. Little Eddie did rather well for himself too. He blossomed under the tender care of Ruth and Ralph, and once he knew he was safe, he began to speak. Sarah, who kept in touch with him to her dying day, always said that he hadn’t shut up since! He was as bright as a button and became a very successful barrister. He only retired last year. Perhaps one day, I could take you to visit him at Alicia Hall.’
‘Yeah, maybe. So . . .’ I needed to ask the question. ‘Is my birth mum dead too?’
‘She is, yes. I’m sorry, Celaeno.’
‘Well, I suppose you can’t grieve for someone you’ve never known, can you?’ I said eventually. ‘And my dad? Who was he?’
‘He was called Toba and your mother met him while we were still living in Papunya, when she was just sixteen. Papunya was a village full of creative types, and a hub for the local Pintupi and Luritja Aboriginal communities. Your mother fell in love with him but he was an . . . unsuitable man. He was a talented Aboriginal painter, but far too keen on his grog and other women. When she announced she was pregnant with you, we’ – Francis’s fingers curled round each other in tension – ‘suggested that she shouldn’t go through with the pregnancy. I’m sorry, Celaeno, but that’s the truth of it.’
I swallowed hard. ‘I understand. I really do. It was like your history playing out all over again.’
‘Of course, your mother refused to listen to us. If we wouldn’t give permission for her to marry her lover, she threatened that they would elope. She always was impulsive, but I suppose that trait runs in the family.’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘Sadly, neither Sarah nor I thought she would go through with it, so we stood firm. A day later, the two of them left and’ – his voice broke – ‘we never saw her again.’
‘That must’ve been really awful for you. Was there no way of finding her?’
‘As you have already learnt, it’s quite easy to disappear here. But everyone was on the lookout for her, and for years Sarah and I trekked all over the Outback following up on possible sightings. Then one day, we simply couldn’t take it any longer, and decided to finally give up.’