Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  ‘I’ve waited too long and searched too hard to be knocked back now,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll write another letter, and then another and another until she gets sick of sending them back. Then, perhaps her curiosity will make her read one.’

  The telephone interrupted her thoughts and she reached for the receiver. She listened in horror as Fred told her about Poppy. ‘Keep the children with you. I’m on my way.’

  *

  The funeral was to be held early the following day. Catriona arrived late at night, but the lights in the homestead were spilling out into the darkness. ‘Where are the children?’ was her first question.

  Fred was pale beneath the suntan, his eyes sad. ‘We put Rosa to bed in the spare room. Billy’s wife, Maggie, gave her a hot drink with one of her potions in it to calm her and help her to sleep. She’s in with her now, just keeping an eye.’

  ‘And Connor? How’s he holding up?’

  Fred ran his hand over his grizzled chin. ‘He’s out with Billy,’ he said. ‘The boy’s taken it hard. But he’ll be right, tougher than you give him credit for, and already talking about working here to keep him and his sister.’

  Catriona said nothing, but deep down she raged at the unfairness of Connor having to act tough and manly when he was still only a boy. It seemed Poppy’s determination and strength had been handed down to her grandson, and although she wished it otherwise, she knew Connor would do as he saw fit regardless of any advice from her.

  She walked into the homestead and shed her fur coat. It was too quiet and there was already the smell of death in the house. She wished the children were here so she could put her arms around them and reassure them they weren’t alone. She needed to hold them for her own sake as well as theirs, for losing Poppy was her last tie to the past, the final thread of the woven cloth that was her childhood.

  Catriona peeked in at Rosa and resisted scooping her up in her arms. The little girl was wearing her favourite Snoopy pyjamas, and was curled up asleep, one small hand cupping her rosy cheek. Maggie was sitting in a chair by the bed, her head drooping in weariness, her dark hand resting protectively on the child’s arm. Not wanting to disturb either of them, she quietly closed the door and crossed the narrow hall. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Fred before she opened the door.

  Poppy had been laid out in the parlour which was lit by the light from dozens of candles. She looked as if she was sleeping, and her face was calm, the lines of care somehow smoothed away. Her hair had been brushed and her hands were folded on her chest, a string of rosary beads clasped in her lifeless fingers. The dress she wore was one Catriona had given her years ago – it had been her favourite – bright yellow with big red flowers all over it.

  Catriona stood and looked down at her, the tears caught in her eyelashes. The carpenter had made a coffin from local timber and had varnished and polished it until it gleamed. There were brass handles, she noticed, and the lining was pale lilac silk. ‘How did you do all this in such a short time?’ she asked through the tears.

  Fred cleared his throat. ‘The chippy always has a store of coffins,’ he said gruffly. ‘It would take too long to get one made and flown in, and we only ever have twenty-four hours at the most before the funeral.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘Maggie and the other lubras saw to Poppy. I hope everything’s all right?’

  Catriona didn’t reply, just looked at Poppy and tried not to give in to the terrible need to howl with grief. The dress clashed with the earrings and bracelets, and everything jarred against the lilac lining – but that was Poppy. Brightly coloured and chatty like the rosellas, as mischievous as the possums she could hear scampering over the roof. ‘I hope she didn’t suffer,’ she murmured.

  ‘The doc said it was a heart-attack. She wouldn’t have felt a thing.’

  Catriona nodded. ‘I’ll sit with her tonight,’ she whispered.

  Fred left the room, and she pulled up a chair and covered Poppy’s hands with her own. They were cold to the touch, unresponsive, so unlike the Poppy she had known. And as she sat there in the flickering shadows, she remembered the jolt and creak of wagons trundling through the Outback. Remembered the chorus girl with the paste jewellery and long legs who’d had such a zest for life, and who could tell such entertaining and naughty stories. She refused to remember the dark days – the days of poverty and prejudice – the days when life had been a struggle and they had all thought they couldn’t go on. For Poppy had overcome it all, her strength of character and lust for life giving her the will to survive long enough to see her grandchildren safe and thriving. It was a powerful legacy, already apparent in young Connor.

  *

  Connor was glad it was dark, for the night hid his tears as he followed Billy Birdsong into the bush. The ache for his grandmother was a weight in his chest, and he wondered how he and Rosa would manage without her. She had always been there, always protective and loving, even in the darkest times.

  ‘Alonga me,’ said Billy in his sing-song voice. ‘Follow footsteps of ancestors into land of Never-Never.’

  Connor was drawn by the soft voice, for he had known the Aborigine Elder since early childhood and had loved to hear his stories and go bush with him when Gran allowed him to. Billy was his hero, his mentor, and one day he hoped he would be as knowledgeable about the land and the animals and plants which flourished here in this great open country.

  They had come a long way from the homestead. The horses had been left behind and the two figures moved like shadows through the long grass and into the stands of trees. The wind was soft, like another voice, whispering in the darkness as it sighed in the leaves and ruffled the grass. Connor followed the sure-footed Aborigine through the trees and out onto the plains. He could hear only the siren song of the man he followed, could see only the darker shadow against the night sky as they came to a clearing.

  Billy stopped walking finally and stood waiting. He was a tall, thin silhouette against the starlit sky, his hair like a halo around his head. He held out his arm. ‘Alonga me, Connor,’ he sang. ‘Sit under stars and I tell you of Dreamtime, and how death is not for tears.’ He crossed his legs and sank in one graceful, flowing movement to the ground.

  Connor sat beside him, wondering what words Billy could say that would ease the pain.

  Billy began to speak, his voice hypnotic and compelling as he told Connor about the final journey into the heavens. ‘Poppy have strong spirit,’ he said. ‘She make good journey into land of the sky.’ He threw a handful of grass in the air and they watched as it was caught by the wind and carried away. ‘Like the blades of grass we are blown here by the Sun Goddess to protect Mother Earth. As we plant seed for new generations we grow old, and the Sun Goddess call us home. She sing and we cannot close our ears, it is time to rest.’

  Connor sniffed and rubbed his nose on his sleeve.

  The Aborigine smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. ‘Your tears will nourish the seeds she has sown,’ he said. ‘They will bring life to the spirits who wait in the earth to be born.’ His voice softened to a murmur. ‘Her time is over, but her spirit always with you.’

  Connor looked at him, his eyes blurred with tears, his heart breaking.

  ‘Do not be sad,’ said the Elder. ‘She is lifted up in Spirit Canoe, and if you look very carefully you will see she sails on Great White Way.’ He raised a bony arm and pointed.

  Connor blinked back the tears and looked up. The sky was enormous, reaching over and around him in such magnificence it was almost as if he could see the curve of the world. And there, among the millions of stars was the Milky Way, a broad swathe of pinpoints of light that were too numerous to count. It stretched from horizon to horizon in a great, glittering arc, and as he watched he thought he could see a solitary star travel along that celestial highway.

  ‘Spirit Canoe carry her to land of Moon God,’ said Billy softly. ‘There, she will lose earthly shape, shed it like bark of gum tree and fly high and high across sky until she is a star. A star that will a
lways shine alonga you and those she loved.’

  Connor’s tears were warm on his cheeks as he watched the tiny pinprick of light traverse the Milky Way. Then, without warning, there was a flash and something streaked across the sky.

  ‘It is done,’ sighed Billy.

  Connor blinked and looked again. There was a new star in the sky, he was certain of it, and although he was sure Billy had made the story up, he wanted to believe it more than anything. ‘Will the star always be there?’ he asked.

  ‘Always,’ said Billy. ‘Her spirit live in sky now. She is happy.’

  Connor sat beside the Aboriginal Elder for a long time. They said little, just watched the sky and the stars until they faded to a pearl grey which heralded a new day. Then, in silent unison, they rose and walked back to the homestead.

  *

  The neighbours had begun arriving the night before, and as the sun rose and bathed Belvedere in a glow of gold, the makeshift camp of tents in home paddock came to life. Water was fetched and food was cooked on camp-fires. Utilities were parked out by the bunkhouse, horses were let loose in the corrals, and small aircraft landed and taxied to the clearing on the far side of the strip. There was even a collection of wagons and buggies under the trees, some of them probably antiques that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a museum.

  Catriona had worried about how to feed all these people. Five loaves and two fishes would be stretching it and she wasn’t up to miracles. Yet, to her relief and grateful astonishment it seemed a tradition amongst these big-hearted Outback people to bring food for such an occasion. It was carried on plates and in hampers and boxes into the cookhouse where it was laid ready beneath cloths for after the service. It was the product of many hours of baking in stifling kitchens where the temperatures often rose beyond one hundred degrees and would be enough to feed a veritable army.

  Clemmie arrived with the director of Tosca in his plane, and the locals of Drum Creek came on horseback or in a long convoy of utilities. The Sullivans drove in with Belinda and their three strapping sons.

  Catriona stood on the verandah, Rosa clinging to her skirts, Connor silent and watchful at her side. She hadn’t slept, keeping vigil over Poppy through the lonely night, talking to her, crying, raging at the unfairness of it all until the priest arrived and calmed her. It was too soon to be holding a funeral, she thought in despair, she hadn’t come to terms with the shock of Poppy’s death, let alone prepared herself or the children for today. Yet the heat demanded the funeral be held as swiftly as possible. It was part of life and death in the Outback, a part she must accept if she was planning on living here eventually.

  She welcomed Pat and Jeff Sullivan. She had met them many times before and was pleased to see them again even though it was such a terrible reason for their visit. Belinda went straight to Rosa’s side and, hand-in-hand the two little girls wandered off to the back verandah. Connor tipped his hat and strode off across the yard in the company of the Sullivan boys. He’d hardly said a word since returning at dawn this morning, but everyone had their way of handling grief and Catriona realised that whatever Billy had said or done the previous night, it had given the boy some comfort and prepared him for today.

  ‘I can’t believe so many people have taken the trouble to come all this way,’ she said to Pat as they stood on the verandah. ‘And they’re so kind. We’ve enough food to feed twice as many.’

  ‘Poppy was unique,’ said Pat as she slipped off her cardigan and mopped her hot face with a handkerchief. The temperature had soared into the nineties and the flies were already a nuisance. ‘She was such good company, used to make me laugh with her stories. I reckon Drum Creek won’t be the same now she’s gone.’ Pat blew her nose. ‘She was always the first to offer help, you know. She baked cakes for fêtes, organised costumes for the school plays and baby-sat for some of the younger parents so they could have a night out at the pub. We’re all going to miss her.’

  Catriona stared as even more people arrived. Poppy had certainly made her mark on this small corner of Australia, and was obviously held in high regard. She watched the ebb and flow of the crowd, noting how the men wore bush-hats, long-sleeved shirts and moleskins or jeans, and how the women were almost uniformly dressed in faded print dresses and white sandals. She looked down at her manicured nails, at the gold bracelet and diamond rings. She was wearing a black dress by Chanel, black patent high-heeled shoes and silk stockings – the height of fashion in the city – but she felt overdressed beside this comfortably proportioned countrywoman in her faded cotton frock and sensible shoes.

  The priest had flown in the night before and had already performed the last rites. Now he emerged from the gloom of the house, his black robes sombre in the bright sunlight that streamed onto the verandah.

  Clemmie rounded up Connor, and Pat found Rosa and Belinda. When they were all gathered a great silence fell on the crowd as the procession began. Poppy’s coffin was carried by Connor, Billy, Fred, the landlord of the pub, the owner of the general store and the eldest of the Sullivan boys. It was draped in her favourite black shawl, the one with the red roses painted on it. The floral tributes were carried by those who’d brought them and the lilies and carnations and roses sweetened the air with their perfume.

  The procession slowly wound across the yard and into the eastern paddock. Belvedere’s little graveyard had stood there behind a picket fence since the homestead had first been settled. It served as a poignant history lesson, for the gravestones and wooden markers told the story of the people who’d lived and died here: from accidents to still-birth, from fire and flood to illness and old age.

  As Catriona stood by the graveside she couldn’t help but remember all those who’d left her. Mam and Da, Max and his little dog – and now Poppy. Summers’ Music Hall had finally come to the end of the road. She blinked back the tears, and just for a moment she thought she could hear the trundle of the wagon wheels and the soft, reassuring plod of Jupiter and Mars. Perhaps they had returned for Poppy – it would be nice to think they were all together again – making tracks across the skies.

  She put her arm around Rosa and held her tightly as the coffin was lowered into the earth. Glancing across at Connor she saw how pale he was, how tightly he was holding in his emotions and she yearned to reach out and hold him too. But he was trying so hard to be a man; a man in a child’s body, a boy on the threshold of adulthood who wouldn’t thank her for making him appear weak.

  The service was over and the crowd melted away as the men began to cover the coffin with the dark red earth of Belvedere. Catriona had sent Rosa back to the homestead with the Sullivans, but Connor was standing alone, watching the men finish their task. She went to stand beside him, not really knowing what to do or say.

  Then his hand reached out for her fingers and he grasped them tightly. He turned to look at her, his hazel eyes swimming with unshed tears. ‘She wasn’t just a gran,’ he said, his voice uneven. ‘She was a mum and a friend. I loved her very much, you know.’

  Catriona had to struggle to keep her voice steady and her emotions under control. She squeezed his hand. ‘We all did, darling,’ she murmured. ‘Poppy was a wonderful, courageous woman and I’m proud to have known her.’

  He fell silent for a long moment, staring at the ground, and Catriona wondered what he was thinking. Then he cleared his throat and lifted his chin and told her what Billy had said the night before. ‘Do you really think it’s possible?’ he asked finally.

  Catriona’s heart went out to him. ‘Why not?’ she replied softly. ‘Poppy always wanted to be a star.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The food had been demolished, and as the sun dipped low, the people began to leave in their wagons and buggies, the utilities and horses wending their way down the long driveway, the small planes roaring down the airstrip and lifting into the sky. The clouds of dust lingered long after they had gone, and when they had cleared, it was almost sundown.

  The men of Belvedere sat outside th
e bunkhouse smoking their cigarettes and talking, their voices a muted hum in the stillness. Pat Sullivan had taken Rosa with her to Derwent Hills Station for a few days, in the hopes Belinda’s company and different surroundings would help her to heal. Connor was nowhere to be seen, and Catriona guessed he was with Billy.

  ‘It’s been quite a day,’ sighed Clemmie as she handed Catriona a glass of gin and tonic. ‘How are you holding up?’

  Catriona sipped the drink and tried to ease the ache in her neck and back. It felt as if every muscle had been stretched beyond endurance. ‘I’ll be right,’ she murmured. ‘A good night’s sleep wouldn’t go amiss, though.’ She put her hand on Clemmie’s arm. ‘Thanks for staying,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to spend the night alone.’

  Clemmie patted her hand. ‘I’ll stay as long as you want,’ she said. ‘John’s quite capable of looking after himself for a while, and as you’re my only client now, I have nothing more important to do.’ She smiled. ‘Franz said to tell you to take a week off.’

  Catriona stared in amazement. The director never let anyone off rehearsals, they were too important. ‘Has he been smoking pot, or something? It’s most unlike him.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kitty. He’s not all heart. He expects you to be word perfect and fully aware of the stage directions when you get back for the final dress rehearsal.’ She grinned. ‘You know Franz. Takes no prisoners, just has his soprano shot if he thinks you’ve been slacking.’

  ‘At least it’ll give me something else to think about,’ she replied with a wry smile. ‘I thought it was too good to be true.’

  They sat in the cane chairs and looked out into the night. The yard was quiet, the sky dark and twinkling with stars. The Southern Cross hung high above them, so clear it was as if you could reach up and pluck it from the sky.

  ‘There’s nothing like an Outback night,’ said Clemmie dreamily. ‘I never knew there were so many stars, and look at the Milky Way, it’s fantastic.’