Tears of the Moon (54 page)

The staff respected Gilbert’s request to avoid any mention of the death of Olivia’s son. As Gilbert said, it was war time. Everyone knew someone who had suffered a loss. The best way to deal with life was to put yesterday behind you and go forward.

On her rounds the first morning back at work Olivia met the new girl in the room she shared with three others.

They smiled at each other and Olivia glanced at the medical records. ‘Well, Maria, I’m glad to say you seem to be very healthy. I’m sure all will turn out well.’

Olivia sat by the bed where Maria was hunched in the centre, her legs tucked under her, still wearing the simple shift they gave all the girls for the checkup. She looked miserable and tears trickled down her face.

Reaching over, Olivia took her hand. ‘My dear girl. I know how you must feel … truly I do.’ And as the girl lifted an angry tear-stained face, Olivia managed to say, ‘I have lost my only child, my son, in this war.’

The girl was instantly contrite but she spoke with bitter sadness. ‘I don’t understand why he went. He didn’t have to.’

‘Do you want to talk about him?’

The girl shook her head.

‘Then let’s make a pact. We can share our grief but we don’t have to talk about it and drag it up all the time. It’s just something you and I have to bear. They tell us to take it moment by moment, day by day. And it seems the best way. You have your child to think about.’

‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to my family … the shame of it all. We weren’t married yet … we were about to be but he was called up to go, so quick … ’

‘Let’s wait and see. Maybe after the baby comes, you—and they—will feel differently. It is their grandchild, after all.’

The girl looked unconvinced but was somewhat comforted by Olivia’s words.

Maria soon slipped into the routine of Shaw House, marvelling at the compassion, help and generosity shown to the girls who passed through. Three of them were pregnant—one had been assaulted for running away from a brothel and two were homeless Aboriginal runaways who’d been living on the streets after being taken from their families as young children and farmed out as servants and mistreated.

She made herself useful and Olivia found herself calling on Maria for assistance more and more. Finally she asked Maria if she would be interested in working as her assistant once she was over the birth. Olivia liked the calm and pleasant girl and a bond slowly developed between them. She put it down to their shared loss, but was sensible enough to recognise the girl’s abilities.

Gilbert encouraged the friendship, hoping it would help divert her attention. They never spoke of Hamish, Olivia kept all her pain locked up. She had taken down his photos and put them in a drawer by her bed. But once Gilbert had found her sitting in the darkness holding a photo to her chest. Not knowing she was in the bedroom he’d turned on the light and was shocked at the anguish on her pale, still face. He sat beside her and held her silently, wishing with all his heart she would at least cry or share the burden with him.

Maria’s baby decided to come in the middle of the night and when Doctor Shaw was summoned Olivia insisted on going with him.

Strange feelings, thoughts and emotions swept
over Olivia as she sat beside the panting girl in labour. Memories of the birth of James came back with great intensity and for a moment the awareness that she had lost both sons, her only children, threatened to overwhelm her. She gripped Maria’s hand as her child pushed into the world and Olivia fervently hoped Maria would never suffer as a mother the way she had.

Gilbert held up the squalling infant. ‘A girl,’ he announced.

She was perfect. Dark hair and eyes like her mother. Olivia weighed and wrapped the baby in a blanket and tucked her into the crook of Maria’s arm. Maria lay back and shut her eyes as she held her baby and several tears escaped from under her lashes. ‘Oh, she’s like a little doll.’

Olivia patted her head and silently left the room, her heart full, knowing Maria was thinking of the baby’s father and how he would never share this joy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

O
ver the next two years Maria became firmly entrenched at Shaw House. Olivia had taught her rudimentary bookkeeping and some secretarial skills. Although they’d found her a valuable worker, they knew at some stage she would have to find other work and make a fuller life for herself and her daughter. The impish and mischievous two-year-old ruled the roost at Shaw House and was considered part of the family, bringing great delight to Gilbert and Olivia.

To Maria, the Shaws had become her family as much as her friends. She hadn’t been to visit her own family though she sent a note saying she had a baby girl and had chosen to keep her. Her mother had replied with a terse and bitter letter telling her she should have given up the child and then there might have been some chance of her returning to them.

When Maria mentioned her daughter’s second birthday was looming, Olivia asked if she would like a little party. It would provide the staff at Shaw House and other children and their mothers with a happy diversion.

‘Oh, Olivia, it would be wonderful,’ responded Maria with delight. ‘She’s old enough to get some fun out of a birthday party, but it never entered my head to have one. Gosh, we haven’t much time to make preparations.’

‘Time enough, I’m sure. Tomorrow is Sunday so we’ll pick you up after church and take you around to our house for lunch and we can sort it all out. The birthday is next Saturday, and will fit in with the routine quite well.’

Maria rushed to Olivia and impulsively gave her a hug. ‘You’re a really special person, Olivia. Thanks. We can spend the week making decorations. It’ll give everyone something to do. The kids will love it.’

Gilbert and Olivia detoured on their way home from church to wait at the Catholic Church until Maria and her little girl came out. They drove home and while Gilbert read the
Bulletin
on the verandah, the two women took tea and biscuits in the garden in the shade of a tree.

It didn’t take long to make a list of party items that had to be bought and a menu of cakes, sandwiches, biscuits, jelly, lollies and cordial prepared. It was done with a lot of laughter as both of them recalled funny events they had experienced at parties while growing up.

It was while the two were cleaning up to go inside that Olivia, without giving it too much thought, remarked sympathetically, ‘Of course, it must be sad not being with your family for her birthday.’

When Maria didn’t reply Olivia looked up to see Maria trying hard not to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia said softly.

‘No, it’s all right. Truly. It’s just that I’m not sure who is family.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ asked Olivia, sitting down again and motioning Maria to join her.

Maria took a deep breath, ‘Well, you see, I’m not white. I’m part Aboriginal.’ Olivia gasped and Maria went on. ‘Oh yes, I was adopted by a white family living in Albany, but somewhere I know I have another family. I have memories … ’ and her voice trailed away as she tried yet again, as she had for so many years, to make sense of the fragments of images of that other distant life.

Olivia leaned across and took her hands, trying to give emotional support at what she recognised was a cathartic moment in the young woman’s life. ‘You’ve not talked about your background to anyone?’

‘No. Mum and Dad never mentioned it. Not once. The nuns at school never talked about it. It was as if it never existed. I was happy enough to accept it eventually. Seeing how Aboriginal kids were treated made me afraid to mention it, I suppose. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing. I tried to block things out but those memories just wouldn’t go away.’

Olivia studied her, seeing the possibility of Aboriginality in her melting brown eyes and olive skin. ‘What sort of memories?’

‘Singing. I hear singing, but not in English. Singing and campfires.’ She paused and seemed to be almost in a trance.

‘Go on,’ said Olivia in a whisper. ‘What else is there?’

‘I can remember a special night that I was the centre of everything. With my mother. But I can’t remember clearly what she looked like.’ Maria’s Up trembled.

Olivia waited and squeezed her hands gently.

Maria went on. ‘It was under the stars. Not a party … a ceremony, yes, a ceremony. And I was given something special, like a present, I suppose.’ Maria broke the clasp with Olivia and lifted her hands to a fine braid around her neck. ‘I only wear it when I go to Church,’ she explained. ‘It seems as if there is some connection between it, the Church and the memories. I just have to put it on for Church.’ She pulled the pendant from under her blouse and held it out for Olivia to see.

Olivia felt she was going to faint. The blood drained from her face as she swayed slightly and gasped.

‘Whatever’s wrong?’ exclaimed Maria. ‘Olivia, what’s wrong?’

‘The pendant … ’ said Olivia in a hoarse whisper. ‘I can’t believe it. I’ve seen it before. Many times. The pattern, that is.’ She looked at Maria more closely than ever before, searching for something that would
confirm what was swirling through her mind as almost an impossibility. ‘It’s the same as Niah’s.’

Their eyes met. ‘Niah,’ repeated Maria softly. ‘Niah. I remember that name. It is one of the memories. Who was she?’

Olivia took a deep breath. She was on the point of tears. ‘Your mother, I think. Yes, your Aboriginal mother.’

Maria let the pendant drop and the two women reached out, their hands locking in support of each other. ‘My mother.’ Maria could barely say the word. ‘How can we be sure? It’s almost too much to believe. Where? When?’

‘I’m having trouble believing it, too, but the story goes back many years to when you were a baby in Broome. At least, it will if we can prove what I suspect. But everything adds up, your memories, your age, your beautiful looks, but above all your pendant. Niah told us that the pattern was special, a family totem.’

‘Us?’ queried Maria.

Olivia took another deep breath, but this time had to reach for her handkerchief and dab her eyes. ‘Your father, if you are indeed Maya,’ she said at last. ‘Your father, John Tyndall. He was a friend of ours when we lived in Broome. When I was there with my previous husband.’

‘Who was he?’

‘He’s still alive. A master pearler in Broome. I actually have shares in the pearling company he owns. My husband was a partner with him in getting it all started years ago.’

‘He’s white?’

‘Oh, yes. He and Niah … ’ It was too hard for Olivia to go on. ‘Look, we’ve got to be sure before we jump to many more conclusions.’

Maria closed her eyes. It was too much to take in. The world around her had to be shut out for at least a few seconds so that her racing mind might settle down again and let reason prevail.

‘How will we find out for sure?’ she asked, her eyes still closed.

‘We’ll have to go to Albany to see your white parents. There’s really no other way that I can see at the moment. And if we’re right, you’re not Maria but Maya. That was the name of Niah’s daughter. Maya.’

‘And Niah?’ The two words said little, but the look in her eyes said everything.

‘She’s dead, Maria. Died when you would have been quite young. I’m sorry.’

‘Whatever are you women up to?’ came a shout from the verandah and they both looked up to see Gilbert standing by the rail, shading his eyes with the
Bulletin.
‘Been chatting on down there like you’d never had anyone to talk to before.’