Tears of the Moon (68 page)

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 talcum-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 attitude and do as Georgie did—turn her back and ignore the knowledge. But the more Lily thought about her mother’s attitude 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 snobby 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.

‘Hello again, Brother William.’

‘Hello 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 shell, 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 grass, 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.

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 identity. 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 grass and reached out again to lightly touch the shell on the stone. ‘Do I have the spirit in me, Niah? Do I?’

Di Morrissey
The Last Mile Home

FROM ONE OF AUSTRALIA’S FINEST
STORYTELLERS COMES A CLASSIC 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.