Silver Clouds (29 page)

‘Yeah, because of the freight, mainly. But, see, I had this idea about our meat being organically grown. Load of shit, really, but the fact is, we don't use chemicals on our pastures. Everything they eat is natural. Thought we might be able to find a niche market or something.'

He looked so hopeful, Tessa couldn't say no, even if she wanted to. It would be a reason to spend some more time with him. To impress him with her skills.

‘That's thinking outside the square! I'll give it some thought and see what I can come up with.'

‘Why don't I fly over and pick you up the day after tomorrow? You can spend the weekend and we can mull over it together.'

Tessa felt a thrill run through her. ‘No worries. I'll try and do a bit of investigation before then.'

‘Great.' He glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘Right, I'd better be off and see Cally before she leaves. Imagine, fifteen kids and three teachers on a bus for seven hours. That's how long it'll take them to get to Perth! Probably longer in a bus.'

Tessa screwed up her nose. ‘Couldn't think of anything worse. Give her a hug from me.'

Harrison nodded. ‘Sure. And I'll see you in a couple of days.' He winked as he turned away, leaving Tessa smiling like a clown.

Get a grip!
she thought silently, watching him move through the crowd. Her eyes strayed to his shoulders and down further. She blushed and turned away.

Tessa leapt from the car. ‘I'm back, Dozer!' She ran to pat the dog, who was doing a kind of arthritic hokey-pokey as he attempted to jump up on her. ‘Don't jump, you silly thing. You'll hurt yourself. Did you miss me?' She gave him another pat then opened the front door and looked around.

There was the sandalwood smell again. The diaries lay where she had left them.

Tantalised, she picked one up and let it fall open.

Sunday, 7 December 1930

Ali and his team are here to load the wool. They have towed a flatbed trailer with them. One by one, the men have loaded fifty-two bales onto it. Then they will tow it down towards Esperance. Tagon Harbour is where they'll meet the ship. The market is buoyant, we are told. So, once again, we are hoping for high prices.

Ali has stayed longer than usual this year.
The unseasonal rain has prevented him from leaving. They are camped a little way away from us, but they are all so quiet, you'd never know they were here.

She snapped the book shut.
First, a cup of tea,
then
you can start reading them
, she told herself.

In the kitchen she put on the kettle. Opening the pantry, she reached up to grab the sugar. But her fingers didn't grasp the jar firmly enough and it tumbled down. With a crash, the glass shattered.

‘Oh shit!' Grabbing the dustpan and broom, she got onto her knees and began to sweep the sugar and glass into a mound. She flicked the brush in under the bottom shelf of the pantry. It hit something hard and unyielding. She tried again, but the same thing happened. This time there was a dull
thwack
.

She bent down and peered under. It was an old, rusty tucker box about the size of a laptop computer but bigger. It was what everyone used to pack their food into in the old days. She dragged it out, cursing as it spread the mess further, and lifted it onto the table. Then she went back to cleaning up.

Dozer tried to nuzzle under her arm and lick at the sweet treat.

‘Get out of it, Dozer. Sugar isn't good for dogs.'

He lay back down and sighed.

When the floor was tidy she returned to the tucker box. ‘I hope Aunty Spider cleaned this out last time she used it. Otherwise it's going to be gross,' she told the dog, wrinkling her nose.

The latch was stuck, so she got a knife and wiggled it around, hoping to dislodge the rust. It finally came loose and she pulled up the lid.

‘Oh, bloody hell, more papers! Aunty Spider, you were the biggest hoarder I've ever known! I thought I'd found everything there was to find.'

She reached in and grabbed a handful. How many more places had Spider hidden things? But as she started to read, she almost dropped the pile.

16 June 1942

My darling Violet, I can't tell you where I am, because the censors will just cross it out. I am overseas, though. It is the first time we've been able to post letters since we left home, but I have written to you every day.

How are things on Danjar Plains? Has it rained?

Do you remember how we walked down the road, just before I left? The wildflowers were beginning to bloom and the kangaroos were grazing under the mallees. I think of that, all the time.

The smell here is putrid. We smell like rotting bodies, even though we are alive. The sound of gunfire is all around and the cries of the wounded are eerie.

I crave the quietness of the plains and your soft touch.

I often think about how we met. It was fate. You on holidays and me, a young English jackaroo, hoping to make my fortune in Australia. I was too shy to speak to you the first time I saw you, shoes in hand, walking along the sand staring out to sea. Fancy, our first time ever on the beach and we fall in love!

Violet, if I don't make it back, I want you to know I have never once regretted leaving England to be with you. I may have lived at Danjar Plains for only a couple of years, but it is my life. I love it the way you do. And I don't want to be anywhere other than where you are.

All my love, forever,

William

Tessa's eyes widened as she flicked through the rest of the pile. Something personal! This was the sort of thing she'd been so desperate to discover – and had despaired of finding.
Oh, my goodness!

She went on to the next letter, realising they were in no particular order. The dates were higgledy-piggledy.

18 June 1942

Dearest Violet,

We've been moved, on a [the censor had struck out this line]. We are going into action
[again, blacked out]. I love you, my darling. I can't tell you how much.

Keep the memories close, in case I don't return.

All my love,

William

23 July 1943

Dear Mrs Anderson,

We regret to inform you that Second Lieutenant William Anderson was killed in action on 19 June 1943.

The Australian Government sends its deepest sympathy.

Signed,

The signature was illegible.

Tessa kept flicking:
Dear Violet.
Dear Violet.
Dear Violet.
Dear Grace.
What? Dear Grace?
It was Violet's handwriting.

Dear Grace,

My darling William is dead. Gone. Killed on foreign shores. My darling, darling man.

I am heartbroken.

Violet.

September 1941

Dear Grace,

Tom turned ten today. I must say he is such a strapping lad. There's none better on a horse and his ability to muster a paddock and bring in every animal is almost legendary!

I am recovering from William's death. I guess I always knew it was possible he wouldn't come home, but it doesn't stop the ache in my chest. I can function and keep going and that is what is important.

I thought I would find it lonely without him, but Tom keeps me company. He has a wicked sense of humour. The tricks he plays can just about stop my heart, but he has a kind and thoughtful side, too. Yesterday I came home after sheep work and found a pot of freshly picked wildflowers on the outside table.

I miss you, dear sister,

V x

Tessa's tea had gone stone-cold on the bench. When she finally tore herself away from the letters she found it was late afternoon.

Unwillingly, she put the pages down and went to light the hot-water system. Her mind was in a tangle. She was desperate to keep going, to unwind this family mystery. But she was keen to get on and research Harrison's scheme, too. And of course there was the weird conversation between Brendan and his father, back at the muster, when Spider's name was mentioned. Oh, the webs.

She decided to focus on the letters for today. On the one hand, she felt she was intruding upon her aunt's private world but, on the other, it was
her
heritage too – and if you don't have a history, then who are you?

But why were the letters to Grace not posted? It was a mystery.

Back inside, she spread out the letters and sorted them into piles. There were missives from Elsie, William, Ali.
Ali?
Now that was strange. The handwriting in Ali's letters was printed and careful. Perhaps they were from the camel-train man? Why would he be writing to Violet? But the biggest bundle was made up of the ones Violet had written to Grace.

Fetching the diaries and a piece of paper, Tessa began to make a timeline, trying to cross-match the letters to the diaries. Hopefully then she'd have a clearer picture of what was going on.

Something was fizzing inside her – excitement, perhaps. Or was it fear of what she might find? Either way, she was almost certain that if there
was
a family secret, it was within her grasp. She wanted to jump up and down and jiggle all at once, but she needed to stay calm and be methodical. Otherwise, she might miss some small clue.

Tessa started with the smallest pile.

9 March 1933

Dear Violet,

Here is the recipe you asked for when I passed your way last. It will work well with mutton.

Dripping for the pan

Mutton

Onion

Turmeric

Nutmeg

Cinnamon

Cayenne pepper

Water

Simmer all together for about two hours.
We wouldn't usually add potatoes but it does help to fill out the meal.

We are travelling towards Ceduna and then I have managed to win a contract to cart supplies to Alice Springs. I won't be back your way for a long time.

Ali

. . .

1935

Dear Violet,

I am writing to let you know I am going home. I will travel by ship in three months.
As much as I would like to see you, Tom and the rest of your family before I leave, it will be impossible. I am making my way towards Adelaide now.

Thank you for all your love and support, dear friend.

Ali

Tessa was confused. Why were they so friendly? Still, Violet had been a warm person and would have made sure she greeted and treated them all as family, if they allowed her too.

At least this solved the mystery of how Spider learned to cook her famous qorma!

Think, Tessa, think!
Ali carted supplies to Danjar Plains and back-loaded wool to the coast. He must have done this for many years to forge such a friendship.

Joe's words came back to her.
A woman ran off with a camel driver.
Spider? Surely not. It was obvious she was too much in love with William. But wait! She checked the dates. It was 1935. Violet wouldn't have met William yet.

Did Violet have a lover before William? The questions! Tessa scratched down her thoughts so as not to forget, then laughed out loud. That was ridiculous. Spider would have been all of fourteen.

She stretched and looked at the clock. Midnight! Where on earth had the time gone? Barely able to keep her eyes open, she left the letters on the table and headed to bed.

Although she wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep, she needed to rest her eyes and clear her mind. She was agitated, as she thought through the different scenarios. Something she couldn't put her finger on was bothering her. Maybe if she lay quietly it would come to her.

She dozed, dreaming of Afghan trains, Violet and Ali. The smell of spices and sandalwood permeated her imaginings.

She awoke with a start. That was it!

She raced out to the lounge, switched on the light and looked at the photos. All of the brothers and Violet lined up in a row.

Yes! She could see it now. She'd never noticed it before. He wasn't just younger by years, but different. The colour of his skin was different to the rest of the family.

Something else jumped out at her. Every time Violet wrote in the diary, she had said ‘my brothers and Tom'.

Tom wasn't a brother.

Was he the son of an Afghan? Of this Ali?

Did he even belong to the Mathison family? And if he didn't, then neither did her Dad, Ryan or herself.

Tessa's world tipped slightly sideways.

Chapter 29

The plane thundered along the airstrip then lifted off gracefully. Tessa watched her mum, who was standing by the ute waving, grow smaller. She glanced across to Harrison. He was stern-faced, concentrating on the instruments.

It would take only half an hour to get back to Mundranda, so instead of talking shop, she waited. She would try to enjoy the flight and look at the view.

Since her discovery two nights earlier, the letters had dominated her thoughts. But she had steadfastly left them on the bench, not looking at them. Even when her hand strayed of its own accord and picked up the top-most letter, she had willed her eyes not to look, and had finally convinced herself to put it down. To leave things as they were, to let sleeping dogs – or secrets – lie. If she was honest with herself, the truth was she was frightened.

Instead, she'd told herself she had research to do. Then she braved the slow internet connection at the homestead to get as much information about organic lamb as she could. She was keen to impress Harrison, suspecting he thought her a bit of an idiot for getting involved with Brendan. She couldn't say she would blame him, or hadn't thought that herself.

Now she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and was embarrassed to find he was watching her from under the brim of his sparkly hat. Quickly, she looked down at the folder on her lap and busied herself with sorting her notes. For an older bloke, Harrison was handsome, she'd decided. The flecks of grey at the sides weren't too obvious – distinguished, really – and although sadness still lined his face, it disappeared when he smiled.