by Lilly Mirren
He cocked his head. “I know, I’ve landed it on you all at once. Sorry about that.” He wiped his lips with a napkin. “Take your time to think it through, I’ll be here.”
He stood, kissed her cheek, and strode from the dining room, leaving her seated at the table alone.
When Bindi had cleaned her plate of pie and mashed potatoes, she wandered into the kitchen. A cup of tea sounded enticing. She heard voices on the verandah and peered out through the window on tiptoe. Kate and Reeda sat in rocking chairs, feet resting on the top railing as they talked and laughed together.
She smiled, set the kettle to boil and scooped tea leaves into a tea pot. By the time the tea was ready, she’d filled a plate with melting moment biscuits, and added it all to a tray along with cups and saucers. She carried the tray out through the back door, and along the verandah to where her sisters were seated.
A cool breeze lifted the hair from her neck. Waves pounded against the shore in the cove, a steady rhythm that brought comfort to her troubled thoughts. She wasn’t ready for this, but it was time.
Kate faced her with a smile.
Reeda laughed. “There you are. We’d wondered what had become of you. Your hair has a weird…kind of untamed look tonight.”
Bindi chuckled, set the tray on a table between her sisters. “Thanks, I’m fashion forward. Didn’t you know? This is the new trend.”
“You always look beautiful. Grab a seat.” Kate waved a hand at an empty rocking chair.
She joined them, sighing as she leaned back in the chair, her feet pumping softly to rock back and forth.
“It’s so lovely out here at this time of night,” she said.
“Mmm,” agreed Reeda.
Kate leaned forwards in her chair. “So, that guy in there…is that Brendan? As in your ex-boyfriend?”
Bindi stopped rocking and sighed. “Yep. Oh, and thanks for booking him in without telling me, by the way.”
“What? Did I?” Kate’s incredulous voice told Bindi she hadn’t known who Brendan was when she filled in the booking at the reception counter.
“Never mind.” It didn’t make much difference. Whether she’d known he was coming or not, she could never have guessed his reasons. She still couldn’t wrap her head around his proposal — he wanted her to give him another chance, to move back to Melbourne and to take a job as a columnist at his newspaper. It was overwhelming.
“So, what does he want?” asked Reeda.
Bindi shrugged. “To get back together, I think.”
“What?” Kate stared at Bindi, wide-eyed. “That’s not what you want, is it?”
“I don’t think so… I mean, no. I don’t know.” Bindi scrubbed her face with both hands. “He wants me to move back, and his boss is interested in hiring me at his newspaper.”
Kate blinked. “Are you going to do it?”
Bindi sighed. “I don’t know.”
Reeda reached for Bindi’s hand and squeezed it. “You should do whatever is best for you, honey. We support you whatever you decide.”
“Yes, definitely,” added Kate. “We’d miss you, of course, but if that’s what you want to do, go for it.”
Bindi blinked back tears. Her sisters were so good to her, she loved them in a way she hadn’t believed she could again after everything that’d pushed them apart as teenagers. Losing their parents in a car accident had put a rift between the three of them that they hadn’t truly been able to overcome until Nan died.
“I don’t think I want any of that…not anymore,” replied Bindi. “Thanks for the support though.”
“Are you sure?” prodded Reeda. “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
“I’m not sure, but there’s something else going on in my life that I need to talk to you about. And the stuff with Brendan really isn’t my priority at the moment. I’m going to tell him no, for now at least, because I have to focus on myself.”
Kate’s brow furrowed. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Bindi shifted in her seat. This was harder than she’d thought it would be. She stood, strode to the verandah rail, clenched her hands around it, then turned to face her sisters. “As you’ve both noticed, lately I’ve looked a bit tired.”
Kate and Reeda both nodded.
“I haven’t been feeling well, either. So, I went to see a doctor. Doctor Ash in Kingscliff. He ran some tests, and it turns out I’m sick.”
Reeda frowned. “How sick?”
“I have Non-Hodgkin lymphoma.”
Kate covered her mouth with a hand. “Cancer?”
Bindi nodded.
Kate’s eyes filled with tears. “No.” She shook her head. “No!”
Reeda crossed her arms over her chest, her face hardening. Her nostrils flared.
“Doctor Ash says the prognosis is good. I’ve already begun chemo, and apparently, we caught it early. It’s very likely I’ll beat this thing and get back to living my life in no time.” Bindi tried to brighten the words with a smile.
“This isn’t fair,” snapped Reeda. She turned away, facing into the darkness.
Kate reached Bindi in two strides, wrapped her arms around her sister and squeezed tight. She sobbed into Bindi’s shoulder. “We’ll fight this. We will. You’re going to be okay.”
Bindi curled her own hands around Kate’s thin waist. “I know, I’m young and strong.”
“I can’t lose you,” whispered Kate against Bindi’s hair.
“I know…you won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”
Reeda stood and joined them, silently enveloping both sisters with her arms. She didn’t speak, her face pinched. Bindi smiled at her through a veil of tears. Reeda nodded, bit down on her lips.
“It’s not fair,” she repeated, her teeth clenching down on the words. “We’ve been through enough. You’ve been through enough.”
“I’ll need you both…” began Bindi.
“We’re here,” replied Reeda firmly.
“Yes, whatever you need,” added Kate. “We’re a family. We’ll beat this thing together.”
8
December 1943
Abruzzi Apennines, Italy
The mountainside was rugged, steep with jagged rocky outcroppings that pushed through the white blanket of snow. The narrow dirt track he was following was mostly clear, but on either side of the trail, snow piled high where the sheep’s hooves hadn’t trampled it. Charlie stopped walking a moment to catch his breath. He leaned on his walking stick, the tip of it pressed into the palm of his leather glove.
Ahead of him, the small herd of sheep trotted as one, all headed in the direction of a cosy stone cottage in the distance. A trail of smoke curled from a stout chimney, dark windows peered like eyes surveilling the mountain range beyond and the valley, almost hidden from view below.
There weren’t any trees this far up the mountain, only the occasional squat bush, or straggling shrubbery. Grass poked through in places where a sharp hoof had dug it up, but otherwise everywhere he looked was white or the slate grey of protruding rock.
A maremma trotted around the outside of the herd, first this way, and then that. Charlie studied the large, cream-coloured dog, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. She was an intelligent beast. He’d shouted her name, Aldo, only once that day. Otherwise, she followed his whistled commands without complaint, eager to please. She’d earned the bowl of warm gruel that awaited her at the cottage.
It was his first time taking the herd lower on the mountain to graze alone. Bruno had given him that freedom when they’d awoken before dawn that morning. Charlie had accompanied him many times over the past few weeks, ever since he’d managed to leave his sleeping mat and wander around the cabin without experiencing too much discomfort.
Bruno had grunted when he saw him, then handed him a coat and indicated he should follow. They’d skirted the mountain that day, and it’d taken every ounce of strength and determination Charlie had to make it back to the cabin, puffing and heaving for breath.
Even
though he still didn’t remember anything about himself, who he was, where he was from, or how he’d ended up on this mountain, Charlie enjoyed getting outside and inhaling the crisp, fresh air into his lungs. Ever since that day he’d felt his strength returning bit by bit, his muscles rebuilding piece by piece. He could climb the mountain now without pain in his side, though he still relied on a walking stick for support.
Maria had removed his bandage for the last time two weeks ago. He’d examined the wound and discovered it was completely healed with only a pink scar to show anything had happened. He pressed the place now with gloved fingers through his thick coat, and it felt good, strong.
He smiled, whistled to the dog, and watched as she drove the sheep towards their pen. Something about this felt familiar. Perhaps he’d herded sheep this way before or whistled to a dog in a similar manner. He couldn’t be sure, only knew that it stirred something within him, something he couldn’t quite place.
He’d begun working on the language. Learning words, bit by bit, sound by sound. Building a way to communicate with the man and woman who hosted him in their house. That much he’d figured within a short while of waking — he was their guest, they’d cared for him, nursed him back to health after being shot. Why he’d been shot and by whom, he still couldn’t say. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone other than Bruno and Maria in the months he’d slept on the floor of their stone cottage, even though he could communicate better with them now, neither one of his hosts liked to talk much about what went on outside their own insular world. No sign of another chimney spewing smoke on his mountainside walks either. No evidence of a nearby village, nothing to suggest that anyone else lived in the vicinity. And no one who spoke his language.
Every now and then he’d see something, like the dog rounding in on the sheep, and it’d spark a distant memory. Only the memory would be nothing more than a vapour, and no matter how quickly his mind grasped at its edges it never fully materialised. He felt it hover there, but it didn’t reveal itself to him, didn’t break through the haze that blanketed his mind still.
He shut the sheep into their pen and fed the dog in the small, timber stable set into the hillside. Then, he trudged along the winding, snow-covered path to the house. Snow had begun to fall while he was in the stable. Silent and white, it drifted in swirls to rest on the ground. It settled on his whiskers, his shoulders, and teased his numb nose.
Behind the cottage, Bruno’s axe thudded into a log, hewing it in two. Charlie raised a hand in greeting and Bruno nodded in his direction, the swing of his axe never pausing in its descent. Keeping a cottage warm in this mountain range was a full-time job. Bruno settled the pieces of firewood on top of a pile that lined one entire outside wall of the cottage. Surely there was enough firewood to keep the fire burning until spring. Charlie didn’t think he’d ever seen so much stacked in one place, though he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, Bruno spent a portion of every day splitting more wood.
Inside the cabin, warmth quickly chased away the cold. A fire roared in the hearth and glowed in the pot-bellied stove. Maria stood by the stove, peering beneath the lid of a large, black pot. The scent filled his nostrils and his stomach clenched with hunger.
“Spezzatino?” he asked.
She nodded, smiled. “Sì spezzatino…” Mutton stew, one of his favourite meals.
He tugged the knit cap from his head and hung it on the wall, followed by his jacket. A few flakes of snow fell to the ground and he stared at them in dismay, thinking he should’ve brushed them off outside, now they’d leave a wet patch on the floor.
In the other small room, adjoining the main living area, he washed his hands and face in a bowl of water, then dried them on a towel. The room belonged to Maria and Bruno. There were two beds, one against each wall, with a curtain strung between them. It was a strange way for father and daughter to live, at least he assumed that’s what they were from the way they interacted with one another. There was a photograph in a frame on one wall of a woman, dressed in black, he assumed had been Maria’s mother. Though with his limited understanding of their language, he couldn’t be certain of anything.
Since he’d woken that first time on his sleeping mat to discover himself in the cabin, Bruno had hewn an extra chair. Now there were three, crowded around the small square table. Charlie sat in his, arms crossed over his chest, and watched as Maria finished preparing the meal. She dished out three servings of the stew and set them each on the table just as Bruno pushed through the door and stamped the cold from his feet with a grunt.
Bruno and Maria conversed in their strange tongue for several minutes while Bruno washed up, calling to each other across the cabin.
When Maria laughed at something her father said, it lit up her face. Charlie smiled, unable to resist mirroring her joy. She caught his eye and her cheeks flushed red.
“Stai bene?” she asked.
He nodded, guessing that she’d enquired about his day, or his health. “Yes, I feel much better today. Thank you. Grazie.”
Her flush deepened. She leaned across him to pour water from a jug into the three cups on the table. Her scent filled his nostrils, stirring something deep within him.
After the meal, he sat on his sleeping mat, his back pressed to the wall. Bruno lounged in a rocking chair by the fire, a pipe nestled between his lips and puffs of smoke issuing from his mouth every now and then. Maria busied herself cleaning up after their meal.
Charlie held the silver discs in his hands, the ones that’d told him what his name might be. He studied them again, as he had many times. On the other side from his name, was stamped an insignia, and written beneath it was “Royal Australian Airforce”. So he was a soldier, perhaps even a pilot.
Though he couldn’t remember the details of his life, he somehow knew that Australia wasn’t anywhere near where he now found himself living. So what was he doing there?
When he looked up, he found Bruno studying him with interest. The man stood to his feet and lumbered into the other room, soon returning with what looked to be a folded newspaper. Charlie had wondered what Bruno was doing while he was out on the mountainside all day with the herd. He must’ve travelled to a nearby town.
Bruno handed the newspaper to Charlie and pointed to the headline with a grunt.
“Aerei tedeschi bombardarono le navi alleate nel porto di Bari.”
What did it mean? Charlie glanced at Bruno, who nodded in encouragement, puffing again on his pipe. Then, he turned on his heel and headed back to his rocking chair.
Charlie returned his attention to the newspaper, unfolded it, and began attempting to read it. Seeing the foreign words on paper seemed easier to understand than hearing them, and before long he’d managed to translate enough of them to work out a little of their meaning.
In the centre of the page was a photograph of a port, with ships burning, black smoke billowing from their hulls. The word Bari stood out beneath the image. He’d seen Italian words before, but he wasn’t sure how he recognised them. He knew somehow that the words on the page were written in that language and that he must be in Italy. He was a soldier in a war. It was the only likely explanation given the uniform he’d discovered by his makeshift bed. But if that were true, where was the rest of his battalion? Perhaps he was an escaped prisoner. Or maybe they’d all been killed or captured, and he was the only one left.
Charlie let the newspaper fall into his lap. He stared at the wall, the words he’d read swirling in his mind. None of it making much sense. One word stood out, Germania. Germany. They were the enemy, he felt it somehow.
He was a soldier in a war in Italy; he’d been separated from his battalion. A soldier who was far from home in a foreign land where he didn’t speak the language. If he ventured from this small mountainside farm, he might be captured, possibly killed. The Germans could be anywhere, could stumble across him at any moment. He’d have to be more careful, make sure they didn’t find him.
Maria met his gaze, her cheeks pink, her smile h
esitant. His heart skipped a beat. He’d have to make sure this family who’d taken him in weren’t in danger either, and to do that he’d have to stay hidden, at least until he figured out where the Germans were stationed and how he could escape.
9
November 1996
Cabarita Beach
The night before Kate and Alex’s wedding, Bindi sat at a long table in a crowded restaurant. She couldn’t believe Kate was getting married. After tomorrow, Bindi would be the only single Summer sister left. The din of conversation muffled the words being spoken throughout the restaurant. Bindi leaned back in her chair, sipping a glass of water as she scanned the room. Friends and family leaned together around small tables to talk, laugh, and share a meal together after the wedding rehearsal.
She sat next to Kate, who was deep in conversation with Alex and Reeda over the state of the beaches. Sand erosion was causing some distress among locals, and conversations about how to best address it oscillated between the various options, like dune care, sand dredging, and leaving nature to resolve the issue itself.
Bindi wasn’t interested in joining the discussion. She preferred to listen, to watch, to enjoy being with her loved ones. How many more opportunities like this would she get?
She knew she shouldn’t be morbid. If Kate or Reeda could overhear her thoughts, they’d tell her to stop thinking that way, that she was going to make it through this cancer scare and be well on her way to an amazing life on the other side of it.
They’d be right, of course. She had to stay positive. Still, today she didn’t feel like it. In fact, she felt awful. A wave of nausea swamped her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth, swallowing it down. She’d been to the hospital for a treatment the day before and was feeling the effects of it now. Her head throbbed with pain, her body was weak, and she couldn’t keep down any of the delicious food that crowded the plate in front of her.
