by DIMORRISSEY
Later, carrying her chipped enamel mug of tea, she walked about the overgrown garden, remembering how she and Millie had struggled to clear the ground around the house during the months of her pregnancy.
She drove the Range Rover down to the creek, pulled a string hammock from behind the back seat and fastened it between two strong young gums. There, in the dappled light, Queenie swung gently, while two willy wagtails quietly preened their feathers in the branches above her and an occasional dragonfly buzzed lazily past. She let her mind become blank and slowly slipped into a light sleep.
Refreshed and relaxed she headed back to the house at sunset, made a simple meal and flung her swag on the bare wire-sprung bed and settled down for the night.
She woke as she always did in the bush, at piccaninny light. She stretched and lay there watching the pearly dawn seep into the room, listening to the chorus of the morning birds. How she missed the sounds of the bush and station life.
Whenever she thought of Tingulla the images came to her with sound … the wild bush animals and birds; the bleating of sheep; the whinny of a horse; rain spattering on a tin roof; the soft swish of wind through the branches of the sheoaks at the creek; the shouts and whistles and cracks of stock whips from the stockmen; the barking of the working dogs as they rounded up the sheep.
These were sounds she had known since birth, and in her heart this was the music of her Dreaming songs; unlearned internal, rhythms and harmonies — threads which linked her to her spiritual home. The first time she had ever been away from Tingulla as a little girl, she had run to Snowy on her return, overwhelmed at the relief she felt to be back at Tingulla. Later, he had gently explained to her the Aboriginal belief in one’s Dreaming place and how she would always be tied to that special place.
The more she reflected, the more Queenie realised she was experiencing a joy and a tranquillity she hadn’t experienced for many years. She was back in the bush, in the land she loved, close to her Dreaming land. And although Tingulla was lost to her, she was close enough to feel and hear its songs.
For two days Queenie drifted, her mind shut down in meditative stillness as she walked and slept and watched the patterns of clouds, the crimson and golden sunsets, the graceful sway of tree tops, or paused to watch the busy progress of an ant or insect. Gradually through the layers of her mind, from the quiet, still depths, like a tiny bubble making its way from the ocean floor to the surface of the sea, her future direction became clear.
Her marriage to Warwick had been scarred by her love for TR and the loss of their child, and she had never given herself completely to him. She realised she would be cheating Henri if she married him, once again settling for second best. Queenie didn’t know what the future held for her, but she knew she had to let go of the past, forget TR, and lead her own life. If that meant being alone, so be it. She was strong and learning to find peace and happiness within herself. Being alone no longer frightened her.
Once she had come to this decision, she knew she had made a positive step and felt flooded with renewed energy. She breezed into the house, washing, scrubbing and cleaning. It was an unnecessary exercise, because as soon as she was finished she promptly locked the door, threw her swag into the Range Rover and drove purposefully away.
The small crowd ringing the playing field at Guneda were cheering their teams in the final moments of a closely fought match. The horsemen were riding with reckless abandon, the Guneda polo team determined to hold the one point lead that meant victory, the other team as determined to level the score in the last few minutes of play. There was a madness about their riding, as if reason had been totally abandoned.
Saskia jumped up and down by the fence, alternatively clutching Millie’s arm or chewing her nails.
Millie stood impassively, holding a large black umbrella to shade her head, but she, too, was concerned at the reckless way Tango was riding. ‘He’s gonna hurt himself, or the horse, or both. He wants to win too much,’ she muttered.
‘It’s so close, Millie, and he scored the last point …’
Saskia’s sentence caught in her throat. A gasp rose from the crowd as Tango, stretching out to swing his mallet, lost his balance and fell from the saddle under the feet of two horses.
In the melee of horses and dust, it was difficult to see what was happening. TR ran across the field followed by Saskia and Millie.
One player caught the riderless horse, while the others left the field. A doctor, a reserve player from the visiting team, dashed forward.
‘TR, is he all right?’ asked Saskia in a small voice.
Tango was lying in a twisted position on the ground, moaning softly, his eyes closed, his face ashen.
The doctor finished his examination and stood up. ‘Broken femur — the thigh bone. He’ll have to be moved carefully.’
The ambulance was on its way to take Tango into the Scone hospital. He was resting on a temporary stretcher in the shade of the beer tent. The doctor returned and handed Millie a pair of scissors.
‘Would you mind helping? I’ve given him a shot, he’s quite heavily sedated. If you could cut away those pants I’ll see what I can do about dressing the wounds that are bleeding.’
Millie nodded and began snipping away at the heavy cotton. Saskia smoothed a hank of hair from Tango’s closed eyes. In a few strokes Millie had cut away the torn riding pants revealing Tango’s pale skin. Saskia turned her head away at the sight of the protruding thigh bone. The doctor swabbed down the bleeding around the fracture and carefully peeled back more of the trouser leg to check for excessive bruising.
At a choking sound from Millie, he smiled reassuringly. ‘It looks worse than it is. It’s a clean break, once it’s set in plaster it should knit well.’
But Millie seemed not to hear him. She was staring at the bare skin on Tango’s upper thigh. There was a small birthmark, a series of dots and lines in the rough shape of a small butterfly. It was faint, but very distinctive.
The doctor looked at Millie as she gazed fixedly at the small mark. ‘You’ve never seen a birthmark before? That’s a rather definitive one, but they are quite common.’
Saskia glanced at Millie curiously, wondering why her face looked pale and sickly beneath her dark skin. Then the ambulance men and TR arrived, there was a bustle of activity, and Tango was carried away.
‘Millie, what’s wrong? The doctor says he’ll be all right.’ Saskia reached out and touched Millie who hadn’t moved.
‘Help me up, girl, I feel a bit weak.’
Saskia linked her arm through Millie’s and carrying her black umbrella walked with her to find a ride back to the homestead.
Tango was resting in the hospital, Millie hadn’t left her room and Saskia hung about the kitchen talking to Mum Ryan, who kept saying she knew this polo business was going to lead to trouble.
TR stayed at the hospital with Tango whose first words after he came around were, ‘Did we win the match?’
‘Yeah, your final point did the trick. And the horse is fine.’
Tango smiled and relaxed.
‘I’ll be back to see you later.’ TR stood, then leaned down and awkwardly patted the boy’s arm. ‘Don’t do this again — it hurts me, too.’
‘Millie? Millie, would you like a cup of tea?’ Saskia tiptoed into the darkened room. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Thanks for the tea. I’ll be all right.’
‘You didn’t look too well at the match.’
‘I wasn’t … too much excitement, too much heat. I must be getting old.’
‘Rubbish. You’re ageless, Millie.’
Saskia soon returned to Sydney to go back to school and as Millie wanted to stay on and see Jim when he got back from Tingulla, Sarah agreed to look after Saskia until Queenie arrived back from Cricklewood.
‘You know, Aunt Sarah, I feel everyone has secrets and problems they’re not sharing with me,’ said Saskia. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know either, Sas. All we can do is
wait until they decide to tell us.’
‘What do you think Mum is going to do? I wish she’d talk to me about it.’
‘Sas, you and your mother are wonderfully close. You’ve already told her your feelings about her marrying Henri. Your mum hasn’t had an easy life. It was hard losing her parents the way she did, and then losing your dad. We grew up together, but to be honest I don’t know that I could have coped with what she has had to face.’
‘Plus not having any money and starting over again in the city,’ added Saskia thoughtfully.
‘And just look how brilliantly she’s done. You should be very proud of her.’
‘I am. But I want her to be happy.’
Sarah hugged the tall young girl. ‘We both do, Sas. But it has to be her decision. Now, do you want to come with me while I take young Tim for his swimming lesson and then go down to Manly pier for an ice cream?’
Queenie and Jim were travelling south at the same time without knowing it. When he reached Guneda, Jim went directly into the kitchen where Mum Ryan told him about Tango and explained that Millie seemed to be in some sort of ‘state’, and was waiting to see him.
‘I thought she and Saskia would be back in Sydney.’
Mum Ryan sniffed. ‘The girl is all right. She’s back down south but something is bothering your old lady.’
It was dusk and Millie was sitting in a fraying wicker rocking chair when Jim came quietly into the room. ‘I’m back. Didn’t expect you to still be here.’
‘I needed to talk to you.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Tango hurt himself.’
‘So I heard, but Mum Ryan says he’s coming along real good.’
‘I saw it, Jim.’
‘Eh? Saw what?’
‘He had a birthmark, on his thigh. The same one I saw so long ago. On Queenie’s baby.’
There was a brief, stunned silence. ‘What are you saying, Millie?’
‘Facts is facts. Tango is Queenie’s son.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure, all right. The mark on that baby boy was a little butterfly on his left thigh.’
They stared at each other in the fast falling twilight as the truth dawned on them.
Millie reached out and took Jim’s hand. ‘What are we going to do?’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Henri perched at his makeshift desk in the dusty construction office of the proposed site of the Montpelier Hotel. The multimillion dollar complex was merely a hole in the ground, littered with rubble and rain puddles. It was sandwiched between old city buildings and surrounded by a wooden fence already plastered in peeling posters for pop bands.
He blew a layer of dust from the architect’s plans spread on his desk and chewed the end of a pencil.
‘Perhaps you should call your hotel The Phoenix,’ came a soft voice. ‘It appears something beautiful is going to rise from the ashes of the old.’ Queenie grinned at him and his heart lurched as he leapt to his feet, coming around the desk to reach her. He was about to take her in his arms, but hesitated, afraid to speak.
She stood still, her face solemn, and slowly she shook her head.
‘Oh, Queenie, are you sure?’ breathed Henri.
‘It would not be fair to you. You are a wonderful man, but I cannot love you completely and I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘I would accept whatever love you were prepared to give.’
‘No, Henri, it wouldn’t work. I’m sorry. Truly sad and sorry, but I know it is the right thing — for both of us. Our lives are too different. I realise I have to go back to the bush — I couldn’t settle in New York.’
‘But I can give you the world, Queenie. You can live wherever you want, for any length of time … travel …’
‘No, Henri. That’s not for me. I’m very fond of you, but I can’t love you.’
He shut his eyes in pain and gripped the desk. Queenie touched his arm hesitantly, then turned and left him, tears stinging her own eyes.
Sarah visited Queenie the next day and was astounded that she was sorting and packing up the elegant terrace house. ‘What’s going on? You going somewhere?’
‘Sarah, I’ve made up my mind. I can’t leave the land. I belong in the bush and so does Saskia. I’m moving to Cricklewood and will start developing that property … as Dad always dreamed. I can’t marry Henri.’
‘You’re obviously very sure,’ said Sarah, looking at Queenie’s peaceful expression. ‘Millie will be pleased to hear the news.’
Before Queenie could relay the news to Millie, who was still visiting Jim at Guneda, Millie and Jim had come to a decision of their own. Together they went to TR who was by one of the shady paddocks watching a foal follow its mother on wobbly legs.
‘TR, come and sit under a tree with us. There’s something we have to tell you,’ said Millie gently.
When Millie had finished her story, TR ran a hand across his face. It was a dream, his heart ached for what Queenie had been through, the lost and wasted years. No wonder she had been so hurt and defensive. Tango … in his heart he knew what Millie was saying was true.
‘Millie, we have to be terribly sure. Don’t you have any facts?’
‘We can check with the authorities, I suppose,’ said Jim.
‘He was born in Charters Towers on 9 June, 1966. I held him and saw that birthmark. Queenie never knew whether the baby was a boy or girl. And she doesn’t know I’ve known all these years that you were the father. Those eyes … he looked just like you.’
‘He looks like both of them … I guess we weren’t looking, eh?’ added Jim.
‘It hardly seems worth checking the records — I just know it’s true. Tango told me he was adopted by a wonderful couple when he was a baby. He was shattered when they were killed. Said he felt he’d lost two sets of parents.’
Millie touched TR’s twisted hands. ‘Now it’s up to his real parents to make it up to him.’
‘My poor Queenie. All these years … I’ve never stopped loving her, you know.’
Millie nodded. ‘That was obvious to me. And even though she’s been fighting it all along, she’s never stopped loving you, TR. Isn’t it time you fixed all this up?’
‘What happened … back then?’ asked Jim shyly.
TR looked thoughtful. ‘I wrote to her, she says she never got the letters …’
He and Millie looked at each other and spoke simultaneously. ‘Colin …’
‘It had to be. The bastard was always jealous of her … and me. God, if I ever get my hands on him.’ TR slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. Then he stopped. ‘Millie, does Queenie know? About all this?’
‘No. I figured you’d be best telling her. It’s between you both now. But I’d get a move on. You know Queenie — when she makes up her mind to do something, she does it. She could be on her way to America with Henri.’
Having made the decision not to marry Henri or go to America, but head back to the bush and start over again, Queenie moved like a whirlwind, flinging herself into packing up their Sydney home. Saskia complained it was disrupting her school studies, so she moved in temporarily with John and Sarah.
Pictures came off walls, books rose in a pile on the floor and clothes were flung in heaps.
Queenie took a break, made a cup of tea and sat on the floor to drink it, studying the beautiful portrait of her mother propped before her. She was deep in thought, lost in the memories of the warm and gracious woman she had loved so dearly. Sighing, she pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.
‘That portrait of Rose always hung in the landing above the staircase at Tingulla, didn’t it?’
Queenie gasped, and lowered her cup with a shaking hand as she saw TR standing in the room. ‘How did you get in?’
‘The door was open. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘What are you doing here … why?’
In three strides he was before her and reached out and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘
Queenie. Please don’t say a word, just listen to me. This is our last chance.’
He lifted his hand as Queenie opened her mouth to protest. He spoke calmly but firmly. ‘I love you, and I know you’ve never stopped loving me. I think I know where the whole bloody misunderstanding between us began. I want you to come with me, now, as there is someone I want you to meet. There is a lot you have to know.’
‘What are you talking about? I can’t just leave.’
‘Queenie, for once in your life listen to me. Do this one thing — it’s all I ask. For everybody’s sake. Millie is waiting for us at Guneda, throw some things in a bag and come now. Hear me out, please. Then I’ll leave you alone, you can go to America, get married, do what you want. But this is important.’
The intensity of his speech knocked the wind from Queenie and she stood stunned. ‘I’ll call Saskia.’ In a trance-like state she left the room.
They drove in near silence for five hours. Their only conversation was inconsequential and stilted. Each was wrapped in their own thoughts. Once he asked her if she’d like to stop for a cup of tea and a sandwich, but she shook her head. A dull ache throbbed at the back of her head and she sat with her eyes closed, sitting far across the seat from TR. Once or twice her eyes fluttered open and from the corner of her eye she glimpsed his strong tanned hands flecked with golden hairs, gripping the wheel. It made her heart ache and she closed her eyes again.
They arrived at Guneda at sunset, the lights were on and a curl of smoke rose from several of the chimneys. Taking her arm, he led her into the living room.
Awkwardly Tango rose to his feet.
TR was matter of fact. ‘Queenie, I have something to tell you. Tango is our son.’
