Tears Of The Moon Part 39

Lily told the whole story as briefly as she could, concentrating on the relationship with Maya and Niah and then showing Rosie the pendant which she had in her shoulder bag. Rosie handled the pendant with reverence, then gave it back. 'It's proper. So, you're one of Minnie's mob, eh?'

Lily took a breath. 'Looks like it, doesn't it?'

'That makes you and me relatives, same mob.' She looked keenly at Lily.

'Yes, I guess it does,' acknowledged Lily in a whisper. Rosie settled back in her chair and just looked at Lily, who went on, 'You'll have to bear with me. It's hard ... ' she faltered, searching for the right words.

Rosie's solemn face fractured into a big smile. 'It's a real blast, Lily. Really it is, when you think about it. You don't have to make any big decisions right away. Geez, people like you are popping up all over the place these days. Come and have a look around the house. You probably have a mind full of images of what it's like from Olivia's diary.'

Lily felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders as Rosie grabbed her by the hand. They were still holding hands when they went into the living room where a beautiful oval, framed photograph of Olivia was hanging.

'There she is,' said Rosie with admiration. 'Magnificent isn't she. So strong, so beautiful. There's nothing like it in the shots down at the museum. It was taken by a touring j.a.panese photographer just before the war.' Olivia gazed out from the picture with a bemused expression as though about to break into laughter. Her thick hair was pulled neatly back from her face in a complicated loop, a soft chiffon print dress was draped across her torso and around her neck hung the strand of magnificent pearls.

'You must have become very close to her somehow,' said Lily, acknowledging the warmth with which Rosie talked about Olivia. 'I only ever met her once, in Perth when I was very little. Mum had come back from America after her divorce. I remember walking with Olivia in the garden. And I remember the pendant. She must have given it to Georgie then.'

'Probably,' said Rosie brightly. 'Yes, she was wonderful to me. Although I was very little, too. I was brought up by my grandmother, who worked for Olivia and John in their last years. Olivia helped keep me in school and then set up a trust fund to send me to art school. "Tears of the Moon" was one of the first paintings I did at the art school. The teachers loved it and that helped make me proud of my heritage and I knew I had to paint it. "Tears" is still special to me, but I told you that the other night.'

'How did you get the house? Did you buy it?'

'Yes. It got sold up when Olivia died, just like the house in Perth. I guess your Mum put it on the market. Several people owned it before I bought it ... thanks to the art punters in New York.'

They reached the verandah that overlooked the bay. 'Great view, isn't it? said Rosie.

'Wonderful. It must have been a sight in the old days when the luggers were putting to sea under sail.' They stood in silence, taking in the view, then Lily turned to the attractive woman beside her in smart cotton slacks and a T-shirt emblazoned with the Aboriginal flag and the word MABO. 'You're living in two worlds, Rosie. How do you cope?'

'It's easy. I've always lived in two worlds, but I know why you're asking. You want to know if you can live in two worlds like me. Well that's something only you can answer. It depends on the spirit in you, I guess. You see Lily, it's one thing to acknowledge you've got Aboriginal blood. It's another thing altogether for you to really know in your soul if you are one of us.' There was the noise of someone in the kitchen and Rosie called out, 'Out here, Gran. Come on out and meet a special visitor.'

Lily turned and gasped in surprise when the old woman came through the door. Gran was Biddy, the wizened old woman she had found fishing on the sand spit the day she arrived in Broome.

'Catch enough for dinner again, Gran?'

'Yeah. Done orright.' She eyed Lily thoroughly. 'G'day.'

'h.e.l.lo, Biddy,' said Lily softly.

The old lady peered at her, then broke into a gap-toothed grin. 'We talked down on the spit. You brung in me line.'

'That's right,' explained Lily to Rosie, 'I was wandering around when I first got in and we chatted for a bit.'

'Grandma Biddy is a bit of a fixture down there when the tide allows. Doing well for her age, pushing eighty.' Rosie turned to Biddy, took her hand and brought her closer to Lily. 'Gran, this is Lily. She's the great-granddaughter of both John and Olivia. Maya's granddaughter.'

There was a sparkle in the old woman's eyes that delighted Lily. 'Ah, you're one of our mob then. I f' git your mumma's name. She went south, never came back.'

'Georgiana,' prompted Lily.

'Yeah, that right. Georgie we called 'er. Yeah, Georgie. Wild one she was.' Biddy plopped into a canvas director's chair and began unlacing her well-worn sandshoes.

'Grandma is Mollie's granddaughter or Minnie's great-granddaughter. Gran worked with Olivia right up to the time she left town to live in Perth after the war. Show Gran the pendant.'

Lily again took the pendant from her bag and gave it to Biddy.

The old woman examined it carefully, but said nothing, giving Lily only a slight nod of acknowledgement as she handed it back. Lily was putting it in her bag when Biddy asked, 'Yer got kids?'

'Yes. Only one. Samantha.'

'Well, bring 'er up 'ere t'meet family. Proper t'ing t'do that.'

Lily was speechless. That simple statement by Biddy, the invoking of family ties and responsibilities. .h.i.t Lily like a blow to the body. Her mind whirled. How would Samantha react to all of this? She could barely cope with the reality herself. Biddy, that old black woman, was family-at least in Aboriginal culture she was family. The enormity of it all made her feel faint.

Rosie came to the rescue. 'Now, Gran, Lily hasn't had time to think about this family business. She only just found out in the last couple of days. Her mother never told her about us.'

Biddy hauled herself out of the chair. 'Betta put them fish in the fridge. Yer comin' for a feed t'night?'

'Thanks, Biddy, I'd like that,' said Lily, then exchanged a grin with Rosie.

That night, after dinner, Lily lay on the bed staring at the slowly revolving fan. Like the fan going round and round, her mind replayed the events of the day. The meeting with Rosie and Gran, the dinner, then the long talk with Rosie on the verandah about Aboriginal concepts of family and the complexity of kinship relations as they watched the moon swing over the bay. She also replayed the agonising emotional confusion that had been compounded by the meeting with Biddy. The old lady's words echoed in her mind. You're one of our mob then. You're one of our mob then. She found herself pondering on Rosie's comment about the difference between having Aboriginal blood and being Aboriginal. Did she really belong to Biddy's mob? Was she really one of the family in spirit? Lily didn't know the answers. She found herself pondering on Rosie's comment about the difference between having Aboriginal blood and being Aboriginal. Did she really belong to Biddy's mob? Was she really one of the family in spirit? Lily didn't know the answers.

She looked at the telephone beside the bed and for a moment considered phoning her daughter, then her lover, then her best girlfriend, but dismissed each option as it presented itself. None of them could possibly understand what she was going through. It was her struggle, she realised, one she had to resolve alone. She had almost fallen into an exhausted sleep when a thought surfaced from the mists of her mind. Tomorrow she would go to Niah. Then she lapsed into a deep sleep.

In the morning Lily rang the car rental company and asked them to bring a good four-wheel drive around to the Continental. She took off along the red sand road with confidence. Unlike the first time she drove down this road, she was comfortable with the brightness of the sky, the softness of the orange talc.u.m-like dust beneath the wheels, and the hot breeze that blew into the car.

As she headed north, Lily ran through the scenario of her life story once more, occasionally fingering the pendant that hung around her neck. How easy it was to accept her white Broome antecedents. How fascinating was the story of the history of their lives. They had struggled and won. But within that struggle lay a story of mixed races and entwined histories that had brought her to where she was today. Lily now understood why her mother had turned her back on her family, choosing to reject her heritage. In those times, a hint of mixed or black blood was socially devastating in white society. It meant being a person without rights.

She could adopt her mother's att.i.tude and do as Georgie did-turn her back and ignore the knowledge. But the more Lily thought about her mother's att.i.tude the more she realised Georgiana was a product of her times. Yet deep down it must have affected her, because she hadn't turned her back completely. After all, it was Georgiana who had sent Olivia's diaries, letters and photos to the Broome museum. She must have surmised if Lily was really interested in her roots she would set out to find her history and what Lily chose to do with the knowledge would be her decision.

And how would her friends in Sydney react? Rosie they would embrace. But Biddy? In Broome and the north it was accepted and understood. But in city heartlands it was all very well to be politically correct provided it didn't encroach on one's personal life. Lily knew some of her more sn.o.bby friends would be appalled at finding she had Aboriginal family connections.

She drove into the mission at Beagle Bay late in the day to find Brother William sitting on a chair outside the church reading a small prayer book.

'h.e.l.lo again, Brother William.'

'h.e.l.lo there. You were here before. The lady asking all the questions.'

'That's right.' She held up a plastic bag, 'Look, I've brought you some black bread and liverwurst from the delicatessen in Broome.'

The old man's eyes lit up. 'So kind of you. Come, we'll make tea.'

They went into the dining area and the young Aboriginal mother set out the cups and plates as Lily sliced the bread. They exchanged a smile and it immediately struck Lily that she was now looking at Aboriginal people differently. Even so, could she go back to Sydney and never return to Broome, never tell anyone about her family history, and pretend it didn't exist?'

She talked with Brother William about the old days, dwelling mainly on the life of Olivia and Tyndall after they were married, and avoiding any reference to the Aboriginal side of the story. Then she changed the subject. 'I gave the Bishop's journal to the Historical Society. They were very grateful. It's a valuable addition to their archives.'

Brother William was pleased. 'We have been able to help each other, and that is the way it should be. Now, what is the purpose of your visit? More questions?'

'In a way yes, Father, but I don't think you have the answer. I've got to find it myself. I'm sorry if that sounds a little mysterious.'

Brother William threw his hands up and laughed. 'In our business we live with that sort of mystery all the time. Is there any way I can help?'

'Not really. I just need a little time to walk around on my own. Do you mind?'

'Of course not. Please go ahead, take your time. The church is open if you want to pray. It might help.'

He watched from the verandah as Lily walked slowly across the settlement to the cemetery, paused at the gate, then went in and began studying the headstones. Absent-mindedly, he scratched his head a little, nodded slowly several times as if he suddenly understood something, then walked briskly to the church to pray for this unexpected visitor.

The headstone was in a rather neglected part of the cemetery, a spot where the weeds had grown out of control in the last wet. It was without any markings and adorned only by the carved pearl sh.e.l.l, exactly as described in Olivia's diary.

Lily kneeled down and ran her fingers over the carving, now almost worn smooth by nine decades of wind-driven dust in the dry and lashing rain in the wet. But there was no mistaking the design, the symbols of journeys across the sea and circles that represented pearls. She sat back on her heels and just looked at the simple headstone, which was devoid of any words yet said so much to her.

All the knowledge gained and the emotions experienced in an extraordinary few days flooded over her yet again. Despite the confusion in her mind she realised, more than at any time this week, that she was now centre stage in the ongoing drama that Olivia's diary had recorded. It was being here at the grave, close to one who was yet so distant in her family line, that made the continuity of it all so clear, and at the same time so awesome in all its implications. This was no longer a story in a diary. It was reality, and a reality that posed a huge challenge to her.

Picking absently at some of the long stems of gra.s.s, she recalled Rosie's words of the night before. Being Aboriginal isn't a hat you can put on and take off, Lily. It's a commitment, a spiritual thing. Without that, you don't belong. If you've got the spirit, Lily, then you've got something. That mightn't always be easy to carry, but believe me, it's something really special, really worth hanging on to. And you won't want to hide it from anyone. Being Aboriginal isn't a hat you can put on and take off, Lily. It's a commitment, a spiritual thing. Without that, you don't belong. If you've got the spirit, Lily, then you've got something. That mightn't always be easy to carry, but believe me, it's something really special, really worth hanging on to. And you won't want to hide it from anyone.

Lily had a choice-to reveal this truth to the world or keep it to herself. It would not be easy to walk back into her own world in Sydney and proclaim her new ident.i.ty. And it would not be easy to reject it, for the knowledge was now part of her and could not be erased. The facts of her links were indisputable; whether she was going to be fully accepted by her Aboriginal family was a very different issue and dependent on her own honesty. Was she really one of the family in spirit?

It had all seemed much clearer last night sitting on the moonlit verandah with Rosie. But now ... ?

Lily dropped the stems of gra.s.s and reached out again to lightly touch the sh.e.l.l on the stone. 'Do I have the spirit in me, Niah? Do I?'

Also by Di Morrissey

Heart of the Dreaming

The Last Rose of Summer

Follow the Morning Star

The Last Mile Home

Tears of the Moon

When the Singing Stops

The Songmaster

Scatter the Stars

Blaze

The Bay

Kimberley Sun

Barra Creek

The Reef

Di Morrissey The Last Mile Home FROM ONE OF AUSTRALIA'S FINEST STORYTELLERS COMES A CLa.s.sIC LOVE STORY.

THAT WILL REMAIN IN YOUR HEART FOREVER ...

It is 1953 in a small country town in Australia, a time of postwar prosperity and hope.

The Holtens are wealthy austere graziers who have lived on the land for generations. The McBrides are a large and loving shearer's family who are new arrivals in the district.

When the McBrides' eldest daughter falls in love with the Holtens' only son and heir, the barriers to their love seem overwhelming.

But in the end, their love triumphs even over tragedy ... and hope and joy are their enduring legacy.

The Last Mile Home is an unforgettable story to touch the heart of every Australian. is an unforgettable story to touch the heart of every Australian.