The Lost Valley

by Jennifer Scoullar

Tom wandered past the slips and dry docks of various shipbuilders until he came to the gates of Abbott & Son – the shipyard his father had lost in the stock market crash. It still bore their family name, a name that had stood for quality Tasmanian boat building for more than a century.

  ‘One day, I’ll buy the yard back,’ Harry had told him. ‘I’ll make it bigger and better than ever.’ Tom didn’t doubt it. When his brother set his mind to something, he rarely failed.

  Tom sat on a bollard to eat his bread and cheese, watching the aerial acrobatics of shearwaters and terns soaring over the harbour. A flotilla of pelicans sailed by. And there, right above him, a wandering albatross. It caught a high crosswind and wheeled away. Tom watched the giant seabird until it became a mere speck on the horizon, then disappeared altogether. The old yearning gripped him. Boats were fun, but nothing could beat the joy of flight.

  Was his brother here somewhere? Maybe he was still with Celeste. Tom had seen her last night, hanging around on the street outside the house, waiting for Harry. A different creature altogether from his shy, serious Emma. Buxom with a blonde bob, glamourous in the glow of a streetlight. Wearing rouge, and lipstick, and a skirt above her knee. Looking at least eighteen. How the hell did Harry do it? Tom grinned and decided to stick around for a while, to see if he showed up. Maybe he’d pluck up the courage to ask him.

  Time slipped away. Tom was enjoying the hustle and bustle of the wharves. Men measuring sails. The smell of turpentine and tar. Ship chandlers making deliveries. Tallow and twine. Barrels of oil. Cages of ducks and chickens. The sun sailed high in the sky before Tom gave up waiting for Harry and headed back along the foreshore, lost once more in thoughts of Emma. That first, delicious kiss and all those that had followed. His brother could keep Celeste and others like her. Emma was the girl for Tom, and he wanted to be home when she got back from work.

  Twenty minutes later, Tom slipped in the back gate to find Nana standing out on the porch, watching for him. ‘I’m glad you’re back. Come to the parlour. We need to talk.’

  * * *

  ‘Go home? Why?’ said Tom. ‘I thought we were staying in Hobart until Christmas.’

  ‘I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking,’ said Nana. ‘You know my health hasn’t been the best lately, and there’s something important I want to show you, back at Binburra.’

  He wasn’t sure if the tremor in her voice was from illness or emotion.

  ‘Somewhere special I need to take you, before I get too old. And anyway, I thought you couldn’t wait to get back?’

  Tom wasn’t sure what to say. Last night he’d dreamed of Binburra. Its upland button-grass clearings and stands of beech. Its pure, strong mornings, and the special clarity of light that meant you could see forever. The eagle from Hobart Zoo was there with him; free from its dingy cage, feathers shining, flying high towards the sun. And Karma, lounging on a fallen King Billy pine tree, gracing the elemental landscape, back where she belonged. He’d woken to a powerful longing for home, but what about Emma? He loved her. He wouldn’t leave her. Not for Nana. Not for anyone.

  Nana saw through his confusion, as she always did. ‘Emma received a telegram this morning. Bad news, I’m afraid. Her mother has had a major stroke.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Emma left for Launceston an hour ago. She asked me to say goodbye.’

  Tom couldn’t get his head around the news. ‘What about her scholarship?’

  ‘The College will keep it open as long as they can. Emma’s one of their most talented students, but apparently there’s nobody else to care for her mother. Mrs Starr requires ‘round the clock nursing. Life can be so unfair.’

  This was more than unfair. Tom could hear Emma’s voice in his head, full of determination and hope for the future. ‘I’m not going to be a shop girl forever. I’m going to be a doctor and find a cure for Mum’s arthritis. It’s in her fingers and makes it hard for her to sew. Doctors earn lots of money, so she won’t even have to sew if she doesn’t want to. She can be a lady of leisure.’

  * * *

  ‘Sorry, Tom. I gather you’ve grown rather fond of her.’

  Tom did not feel like discussing his feelings for Emma with his grandmother. ‘Harry and I were supposed to start school here. What about our education?’

  Nana smiled. ‘That’s the first time I’ve known you to be worried about your education.’

  Tom couldn’t see the funny side.

  ‘I’ll engage a tutor,’ she said.

  ‘After what happened to the last one?’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to keep a suitable teacher, without Harry to cause trouble.’

  ‘Without Harry?’ Nana was making less and less sense.

  ‘Hasn’t he told you? Your brother won’t be coming home with us. He’s found himself a position at one of the shipyards.’

  Oh. Tom bit his lip so hard it hurt. So that’s why Harry had let him have the best bedroom. He hadn’t planned on staying long. It came as a wrench to think his twin hadn’t wanted to share his plans. ‘Has he landed a job with Abbott & Son?’

  ‘Sadly no, although of course that was his preference. Harry will work at the next yard – Purton & Featherby. An apprentice shipwright with accommodation at the wharf. Harry can follow his passion and forge a career at the same time. Doing a man’s job, a hard day’s work, knowing the pride of earning a wage. Perhaps it will make him grow up, although I don’t know what Bertha will say about him taking up a trade and not finishing school.’ Nana sighed and gave Tom a heartfelt hug. ‘It’s a shock, I know, but just between us, Harry’s such a tearaway. Sometimes he’s too much for me.’

  For me too, thought Tom, recalling that terrifying night at the waterfall. The strange sensation of falling through space. A sudden shiver passed through him, the kind Nana said was caused by someone walking over your future grave. He cast the feeling aside, missing Harry already, despite everything. He could see past his brother’s faults, knew the pain that lived at the core of him. And they’d always been together. Always.

  ‘What about you, Tom? What do you want to do? You don’t have to go on to university, in spite of what Grandma Bertha says.’ Nana patted his hand. ‘We could ask around at the aero club, find you an engineering apprenticeship or something similar for next year?’

  His heart leaped at the possibility. Spending his days surrounded by planes. Understanding them from the inside out. Learning to fly.

  ‘What about you, Nana? You’d be all alone again.’

  ‘You’re a good boy, Tom. A fine boy. I’d hate to lose you, but I’d be a selfish old woman to stand in your way.’ A series of dry, hacking coughs stole her breath.

  Tom jumped to his feet. ‘Stay there. I’ll make you some of that special tea.’ Nana nodded, still unable to speak.

  Tom filled the kettle in the kitchen and put it on the gas range. He found the ginger jar, sliced up a few pieces and dropped them into Nana’s favourite blue teapot. All in slow motion. He needed time to think. His initial enthusiasm for staying in Hobart was slipping away. So much had changed in the space of one morning. It would be lonely here with Emma gone and Harry caught up in a new life.

  And he would miss Nana. She wasn’t well. The numerous doctor appointments hadn’t seemed to help. If anything, her cough was worse than ever. A surge of love claimed him. His grandmother had been there for him at the darkest point in his life; been there when everyone else turned away. Well, now she needed him, and he wasn’t about to let her down.

  The whistling kettle jolted him from his thoughts. He poured boiling water into the pot, added a dipper of honey, took the tray into the parlour and poured Nana a cuppa.

  She indicated the teapot. ‘Aren’t you having one?’

  He made a face. ‘There’s not enough money in Hobart for me to drink ginger tea.’

  She laughed and took a sip. ‘Ah, that’s good.’

  ‘What about the zoo?’ said Tom. ‘Those animals will be in trouble without Emma.’

  ‘I’
ve already been to see Arthur Reid, the curator. A wonderful man. Such a shame about his eye. Do you know Hobart Council refuses to help with his medical fees, even though he was injured in the course of duty?’ She pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I’ve arranged for a sum of money to be deposited into the zoo’s account on a monthly basis. It will allow him to feed the animals properly, and employ an experienced person to assist his daughter, Alison.’

  ‘Does Emma know?’

  ‘I told her before she left. It seemed to be a great comfort to her.’ Nana fixed warm, knowing eyes on him. ‘She asked me to say goodbye. Emma seems very fond of you, too.’ She took a small envelope from her pocket and handed it over. He thought about opening it later, in private, but couldn’t wait.

  ‘My darling Tom. Forgive me for leaving in such haste. I will never forget you. Love Emma.’

  Tom fought back tears.

  Nana’s breath grew more laboured. Her face turned pale and she started to cough. After a few more sips of tea the coughing subsided. Tom studied his grandmother’s face. In her youth she’d been a great beauty, pursued by two of Tasmania’s wealthiest men. More than a hint of that beauty remained in her classic features, her regal bearing, her full, wavy hair that still retained some of its chestnut colour. In her emerald eyes.

  Mama had been the only person in his family to defend Nana’s decision to leave her husband. ‘Who knows what is in another’s heart?’ she said one day, after Grandma Bertha embarked on a bitter tirade against his grandmother. ‘Love is mysterious and strange, Tom. It lies where it falls, and does not always obey the rules we lay down for it.’

  Tom poured Nana more tea.

  ‘Thank you dear. You always know exactly how to make me feel better.’

  Her heartfelt words sealed his decision. ‘I don’t want to stay in Hobart.’ He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Chapter 11

  The sky was a melancholy blanket of grey, the day unseasonably cold for late spring. A rag-tag pack of dogs chased after the taxi as it turned the corner into Emma’s street, spraying a fan of mud over a pair of unfortunate pedestrians.

  Emma’s stomach churned with mixed emotions. Looking forward to seeing Mum, fearful about what she would find. ‘There it is,’ she said. ‘Number thirty-five.’

  They pulled up beside the drooping wire fence of her family home. After the grandeur of Coomalong, the rundown house was a depressing sight. The front gate hung from one hinge. A few shreds of white paint still clung to the weatherboards. Weeds sprouted from rusty gutters that sagged from the corrugated iron roof. Straggly geraniums bordered an overgrown square of buffalo grass. The waratah she loved was leafless and brown, its stark skeleton as dead as her dreams.

  Emma had hoped to arrive home unnoticed, but no such luck. The neighbourhood was out in force today. Kids riding dilapidated bikes up and down the slushy street. Mr Wren mending a letter box. The Harper clan drinking beer and smoking out on their porch, although it wasn’t even twelve o’clock.

  Everybody stopped what they were doing as Emma climbed from the car. The driver fetched her suitcase from the boot, then tipped his cap in farewell.

  Old Mrs Phipps was waiting at the gate next door, almost like she knew Emma was coming. ‘Here she is, hoity toity as you like,’ she announced in a loud voice. ‘Thinks she’s too good to come home and look after her poor sick mother.’

  Emma ignored her and hurried through the gate. How she hated that woman. Ever since they’d moved from the farm to Sparrow Lane, she’d made life a misery. If Emma read a book in the garden, Mrs Phipps would lean over the fence and say ‘Look at her, miss la-de-da. Lazy so-and-so.’ If Emma planted flower bulbs, Mrs Phipps would snort and say, ‘Stupid girl. Your poor ma can’t eat daffodils. You should be growing potatoes.’ When Emma dug a potato patch, Mrs Phipps shook her head and scoffed, ‘Everyone knows you can’t grow potatoes in this soil.’

  Emma couldn’t think of anything she’d said or done to invite such hostility. Although Mrs Phipps was the worst offender, others also seemed to resent her. The general consensus of opinion was that she had tickets on herself.

  ‘Take no notice,’ her mother would say. ‘They’re a miserable bunch around here and misery loves company. When they see a bright girl like you, full of potential? Well, folks get jealous. They want to drag you down to their level.’

  ‘Nobody seems to have a problem with Tim and Jacky.’

  ‘They’re boys,’ Mum had said simply. ‘Boys are allowed to aim above their station.’

  Emma had burned with the unfairness of it. I’ll show them just how far I can go. She’d studied hard, constantly topping her class.

  ‘No point keeping that one at school,’ Mrs Phipps told Mum. ‘With your poor husband in the grave, you need to send her out to work. She’ll only go and get married, and all that learning will be wasted.’

  ‘Maybe she will, and maybe she won’t,’ said Mum. ‘But whatever happens, I don’t believe education is ever wasted. It broke my heart when I had to leave school to find a job. I won’t disappoint my daughter that way.’

  When Emma won a scholarship to Campbell College, Mum urged her on. Saying how proud Dad would have been. Never once questioning her daughter’s ambition to be a doctor. Never once doubting her. Mum was her rock, her anchor, her safe place to fall.

  Emma pushed through the rickety gate, mouth dry as sawdust. Licking her lips didn’t help. No spit would come. Her steps slowed as she neared the front door. Maybe if she wished hard enough, maybe she could make it so nothing had changed. Her mother would be baking scones in the kitchen. Or doing the mending she took in to make a living since Dad died. Maybe Mum would be sitting by the window watching for Emma to come, a Women’s Weekly on her knee and a smile on her face.

  ‘What are you waiting for, you silly girl?’ called Mrs Phipps.

  Emma turned to see a host of curious eyes and a wave of panic claimed her. She rushed onto the porch and tried the door. Unlocked, as usual. Her mother always said they had nothing worth stealing.

  ‘Mum?’ The door opened into the familiar musty hallway, its fading floral wallpaper peeling in the corners. ‘Tim? Jacky?’

  Emma’s brother Jack came in from the kitchen – an athletic, red-haired young man whose square, freckled face lit up at the sight of her. ‘Good to see you, little sis.’ He enfolded her in a long bear hug.

  ‘How’s Mum?’ she asked when Jack finally let her go. His happiness seeped away. He looked as grim as she’d ever seen him. It frightened her.

  ‘It’s bad, Em. Real bad. She can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t feed herself. You even need to remind her to swallow.’

  ‘What does the doctor say?’ A sudden shame hit her. The car had dropped her off ten minutes ago. Ten whole minutes, and she still hadn’t seen Mum. Still hadn’t summoned up the courage. ‘Where is she?’

  Jack nodded towards the lounge room.

  Her mother lay on a bed by the window. Someone had moved the couch out to make room. Food scraps clung to her chin, and something dark stained her blouse. Emma’s nose wrinkled at the smell. The odour of urine vied with that of disinfectant, and something else, something fetid and dank.

  ‘Mum?’ Emma reached for her hand, a hand she knew as well as her own. It remained stiff and unyielding. Cold too. The whole room was cold. ‘Mum?’ Louder this time.

  Her mother moved her head a fraction and called out; a guttural, animal sound. Emma stared, too shocked to react. Then she felt something, a light pressure on her fingers.

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ She choked back a sob. ‘We’ll get you well again. Whatever it takes, I promise.’

  Jack backed out of the room.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Emma.

  ‘I promised Bluey we’d catch up this arvo.’ He reversed more quickly.

  ‘Hang on, Jacky.’ Emma released her mother’s hand and hurried after him.‘You can’t leave me alone with Mum.’

  ‘You’ll be right.’ He pulled
on his coat. ‘Mrs Shaw’ll be here at five to show you the ropes, how to help her with the toilet and that.’ He put on his hat.

  ‘I just got home, haven’t even unpacked my bag and you want to throw me in the deep end?’

  ‘Jesus, sis, I’ve been doing this by myself for three days straight. Sleeping in the chair beside her. Feeding her. Even helping her … you know, when Mrs Shaw got drunk and didn’t show. Don’t know who was more embarrassed; me or Mum.’

  ‘What about Tim?’

  ‘You know Timmy, dodges anything hard. He did give me some money to pay for Mrs Shaw, though. Tim and his wife have only been ‘round here once. He got so worked up when he saw Mum, so upset, you’d think he was the one stuck in that bed for life.’

  ‘Is that what the doctor said? That Mum won’t get better?’

  ‘He told me to pray.’ Jack gave the faintest shrug, as if sorrow weighed down his shoulders. He took off his hat and wrung it in his hands. ‘There ain’t no treatment.’

  No treatment. The awful words echoed around Emma’s head. She felt as paralysed as her mother. It wasn’t possible; there must be something she could do to help. She’d promised Mum.

  Jack seemed close to tears now. He suddenly looked much younger than his eighteen years, much younger than she felt. ‘Go on,’ she said, taking pity. ‘Go see Bluey. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Thanks, sis.’ He gave her a ghost of a smile. ‘I’ll be back by six. Don’t worry about tea. I’ll get fish and chips to celebrate you being home. I bet Mum could even eat them without making a mess.’

  He wrapped Emma in another one of his great hugs, and escaped through the door before she could change her mind.

  Emma went back into the lounge room, pulled up a chair beside her mother and started talking. Mum always loved to hear about her life in Hobart. She told her about Campbell College, and her classmates and the dress shop. About Alison and the zoo and the animals. She took hold of her hand, hoping to feel that squeeze again, however slight. Hoping for some sign her mother could hear her. Nothing.