Tears of the Moon (3 page)

Lily had never looked in the suitcase but had persuaded her mother to take out her will, share
certificates and deed to the unit and put them in the bank.

Lily dragged the suitcase out to the middle of the floor, took a sip of wine and unbuckled the old-fashioned catches. It smelled faintly of mothballs and she lifted the tissue paper off the top to reveal a disorderly stack of photographs and letters. She randomly leafed through several letters from one pile. There were love letters between Georgiana and the numerous men in her life. Others were from people she’d met in her travels whom she’d written to for some time until lack of contact and interest had seen the correspondence fizzle out.

Familiar, though childish, writing in another pile caught her eye. Lily was touched to find all the letters she had written to her mother while at school were carefully bundled together. Georgiana hadn’t been such a diligent correspondent, preferring to telephone. Lily always had a sneaking suspicion the letters her mother did write to her were written for public approval, to be read to others and admired. Dramatic and detailed descriptions of exotic places interspersed with funny anecdotes, outrageously exaggerated, written on thick hotel stationery in a large, free-flowing hand.

The suitcase also contained dozens of photographs of Georgiana with friends and on her travels. She noticed one photograph was wrapped in tissue paper. Curious, she folded back the yellowed paper to reveal a sepia-tinted photo set in a small silver frame. Staring out at her was a handsome man in a white uniform, wearing a nautical hat set at a jaunty
angle. Despite the formal pose there was a hint of a suppressed smile about the mouth and merry eyes. She’d never seen this man before and wondered for a moment if it was her father, then remembered that he’d been in the army. She opened the back of the frame and read in spidery writing on the back of the photo,
‘Broome, 1910’
. He was too old to be an amour of her mother and, knowing Georgiana’s family had come from the west, there must obviously be a connection.

There were other photos taken at balls and dinners, and in gardens of unknown houses. There was one of a man in uniform who appeared in several photos which, judging by the car, she took to be in America. There were photos taken around the world, which featured Georgiana centre stage with elephants and castles, alongside laughing companions. There were photos of Lily taken on their holiday trips and some of her as a small child playing with a sailboat, on a merry-go-round or dressed to kill in bonnet, bows and Mary Janes—what Georgie called her ‘Shirley Temple shoes’.

But it was a record of Georgiana’s life only after she had left Australia. There was nothing that connected her to her own family, her childhood or her country. Nothing, except for this mysterious framed photograph of the man in Broome.

Lily had reached the bottom of the suitcase now and found a parcel. Inside was a letter and a cloth-wrapped package. She opened the letter, addressed to her in her mother’s writing, with trembling hands.

Lily dear,

I always intended to give you these but could never find the right time. I held back as I knew you would ask questions and I don’t have all the answers.

I had such an unsettled youth, I felt no interest in my past. And I preferred to stick to the old adage that what you don’t know won’t hurt you. Ever since the war, I suppose my philosophy has been to live for today.

Now these are yours, for they have been passed on to the women in our family for so very long. When my grandmother gave them to me she said, ‘Keep them close to your heart as I have done. If they are not cherished and cared for, like love they will turn to dust.’

Just know you have been my life and in my way I did my best for you. I didn’t need any family but you.

My love,
Mother

Lily wept as she read her mother’s words. It was the first time she could remember Georgie calling herself ‘Mother’.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before! You were all I had, Georgie. My mother, yes, but I needed more.’

Lily sobbed with the pain of loss, for her mother and for the family she never knew, and for the woman she was and didn’t understand and for her own daughter to whom she could pass on so little of her past.

When she eventually stopped crying, but still shaking with emotion, she unwrapped the lumpy, cylindrical parcel.

In it was a blue velvet bag. She undid the drawstring and tipped out a strand of magnificent fat, glowing pearls. Lily gasped as she fingered them, but what caught her attention was the strangely carved mother-of-pearl pendant that hung from the centre of the pearl necklace. On it were carved parallel lines, a circle with smaller circles in it, and an X.

Impulsively she draped the rope of pearls around her neck and pressed her hands over the pendant. It felt smooth and cool and Lily shut her eyes as a wonderful feeling swept over her.

And then, faintly, like looking through a misty screen, she remembered. She had seen this wonderful necklace before. It had shone against the navy silk of a dress worn by—the lady in the flower garden. Other small details came back to her. They had been walking among the flowers, holding hands. Her great-grandmother had been telling her the names of the flowers. Once when she turned to smile down at Lily, the little girl had reached out and touched the swinging pendant. Great-grandmother let her wear it saying, ‘One day this will come to you, Lily.’ Then Georgie had come along and said the necklace looked silly swinging down near her knees and had taken it off and handed it back saying, ‘She might break it.’

Lily had forgotten the incident but now it was vividly recalled. It was on that one trip they’d made to see her great-grandmother in Perth. She wondered why she had never seen her mother wear this family necklace. It was obviously old and valuable. But what made it most precious was the knowledge
it was a family heirloom. She felt it was the only link she had with her past and her unknown family.

Uncurling her cramped legs, she swallowed the last of her wine and began to pace about her mother’s flat wearing the magnificent pearl necklace and pendant.

Lily wanted to lift the phone and call her daughter but she held back, not wanting to dump her confusion and misery on a young woman busy with university finals. Her thoughts then moved to the man in her life. She knew Tony would be sweet to her if she called, but it was the sort of conversation where they needed to be physically close, where she could have his full attention, cry and be held. Distance and private lives separated them.

Suddenly, Lily felt incredibly lonely.

For the next few weeks she went through the motions of settling her mother’s affairs; selling possessions, giving things away, putting the flat up for sale. But she couldn’t shake her feelings of dislocation, of loss and a gnawing sense of wanting to resolve the gaps in her past. So much emotion had been triggered by the discovery of the pearl necklace. She found herself staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, studying her features, searching for clues from the unknown ranks of ghostly relatives who swam through her past—who had formed this person called Lily. Where had she come from … what genes had she passed on to her own daughter?

As if hearing her silent call, Samantha rang her. ‘I’ve been thinking about you, Mum. It must be
hard, sorting out Georgie’s stuff and everything. I wish I’d come and helped. I think it would have been easier—to know she’s really gone—if I had been there with you.’

‘Yes, I wish you had, too. But you had exams, Sami … It’s certainly been … strange.’

Sami heard the vulnerable tremor in her mother’s voice. ‘Dad asked how you were getting on. Said he didn’t want to intrude but hoped you were coping all right.’

‘I
am
coping all right. You know me. It’s just … ’ and her voice trailed off.

‘What, Mum? You don’t miss her do you? I mean, it’s not as if she was around a lot.’

‘But she was my mother, Sami … and I can’t help wondering. About her and her life.’

‘We don’t know much do we?’ Sami’s voice was hard. ‘I think it was so unfair of her, to keep everything to herself. She never told us anything. Whenever I asked about her side of the family, she said I didn’t need to know that stuff. But I do, Mum!’ Now Sami’s voice was trembling. ‘It’s all part of us. It’s like she took away our family, wiped them all out. And now there’s only you and me and a bunch of letters and photographs of people we know nothing about. What am I supposed to tell
my
daughter when I have one?’

‘Calm down, Sami. Don’t be melodramatic. But you’re right, darling. That’s why I’m feeling so sad, for just those reasons. I feel I’ve let you down, too … ’

‘Oh no, Mum. You haven’t. Maybe we can piece it all together and trace our family tree when we have
time. Please don’t feel badly. Do you want me to fly up?’

‘No, sweetheart. It’s only a few months till the holidays. You keep your head down and study hard. Maybe we’ll do something special, go somewhere nice—if you don’t have plans that is.’

‘I’d love that. Let’s make it a date. I love you, Mum.’

‘Love you too. Take care, Sami.’

Lily hung up, grateful to her daughter for her thoughtfulness, but feeling worse than before. She felt history was repeating itself. Deep in thought, Lily packed the photos and letters back in the leather suitcase but kept out the silver-framed photo of the man from Broome. She kept the necklace on and that night slept naked, wearing just the pearls. They felt alive and warm against her skin and once, waking in the moonlight, she looked at them and thought it was like they’d come to life, for their lustre had an almost luminous glow.

By morning, she’d made up her mind. She’d take three months’ leave from the medical clinic where she worked as a research technician, for she was owed long service leave. She would go to Broome and start the search for her mother’s family there. She owed it to herself and to her daughter.

The more she thought about Georgiana’s attitude, the more convinced Lily was that there were secrets that perhaps her mother felt best buried and forgotten.

It surprised her how easily one could make things happen. In a matter of weeks she had rearranged her life.

Tony, her lover, good friend and part-time companion, was initially surprised and asked why she was undertaking this search now. ‘Why didn’t you do this years ago? You said you felt strongly about it when you were pregnant with Sami. Why do this now? What’s it going to achieve?’

His gentle questioning made her try to find the answers in her heart. Several times in her life she had felt the need to trace her family. Being pregnant had made her wonder about hereditary traits and genes but she had enough to deal with at the time and never followed it up. She always intended to sit her mother down with a bottle of wine and ask all the questions. But she never got around to it. And at boarding school, when girls talked about family stuff and shared secrets, Lily had little to offer and let them think she was holding something back rather than tell them how little she knew about her family. Dear God, had Sami faced that same questioning and, like herself, had no answers?

Maybe it was shock, grief, the emotional rocking of her life, the realisation that she owed her daughter something. But Lily knew the time had come to look at her life—the past and the future.

Strangely, she felt invigorated and renewed and she spoke aloud, ‘I hope you’re at peace at last, Georgie, but I have unfinished business. Family business. I’m going west.’

Lily lifted up the pearls and kissed the pendant and for the first time in many weeks, laughed aloud.

Lily was sitting in the forward section next to the window, her face obscured by the pages of the
Australian
newspaper. Her concentration was interrupted by the flight attendant unlatching the small table and placing a tray of food in front of her.

Lily started, and then smiled over the top of the paper. ‘Sorry, I was reading.’

The young woman in the Ansett uniform smiled back. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea, please.’

As she began pouring the steaming tea the stewardess gave this attractive woman a friendly glance. ‘Going to Darwin on a holiday?’

The cabin crew had been eyeing this pretty fortyish woman in the beige linen slacks and cream silk shirt, her thick dark hair coiled on her head, a minimum of tasteful gold jewellery. ‘Classy’ was the word they’d decided suited her. She had olive skin and large dark eyes. Her mouth was wide and generous. She was one of those beautiful women whose looks crept up on you, feature by feature.