Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  The boy regarded her for a long moment then nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly. ‘Rosa needs us both but I think she needs you more.’ He hesitated and a spot of colour tinged his cheeks. ‘Reckon we both do,’ he added.

  Catriona felt the tears fill her eyes and the lump grow in her throat. She couldn’t speak, so she put her arms around the boy and his sister and held them close. She had made the right decision.

  *

  Over the following days Rosa clung to her side, and at night she cried herself to sleep. She was frightened and confused and missing Poppy. Catriona realised immediately that things would have to change in the homestead. With Clemmie in the spare room, she moved the other bed into Fred’s, so that when the child woke in the night, all Rosa had to do was clamber across and get in with her. Connor slept on the couch, it wasn’t the perfect solution, but Catriona didn’t want him returning to the old house on his own, and the bunkhouse was no place for a boy of such tender years. The men who worked on Belvedere might be gruff and good-hearted, but their language left a lot to be desired, as did their cleanliness.

  As the week drew to a close, Catriona left Rosa with Clemmie, and headed off to Poppy’s cottage. There hadn’t been time to sort through things since the funeral and frankly she hadn’t had the heart for it until now. But she would be flying to Brisbane with Rosa and Clemmie tomorrow, and she didn’t want to leave it any longer.

  She drew the utility to a halt and sighed. The house already had an abandoned air about it, and as she let herself in, there was the musty smell and the lingering reminder of the burning pot in the air. Catriona threw open doors and windows. She would get Maggie and the other lubras to clean the place up, but for now she just wanted to be alone.

  Wandering through the rooms she remembered Poppy’s delight at coming here. Her excitement at the thought of finally having her own place – and her determination and energy she’d put in to making it a home – was all here in the poignant reminders of the scrubbed kitchen table, the homemade curtains and rag rugs. She stared out of the window to the back garden. Mercifully, someone had brought in the laundry, and there was no sign of the tragedy that had happened there. With a sigh she began to gather up the children’s things and pack them in boxes. There wasn’t very much, just jeans and shirts and underwear, and a single dress Rosa wore on special occasions. Books and toys, and boxed games went in one box, Rosa’s dolls and her teddy in another.

  With the boxes in the utility, she returned to the house. Poppy’s bed was covered in a handcrafted homemade patchwork quilt of many colours. The wardrobe held a collection of dated cotton dresses, worn-down shoes and a couple of knitted cardigans. At the back of the cupboard she found a shoe box, and as she opened it, she realised it held Poppy’s mementos.

  There were some old fliers, printed during the days of the travelling musical hall troupe. A sequined tiara, a feather fan and boa, and a pair of elbow length gloves were all she had left of those days. Catriona sifted through the black and white photographs. There was one of a very young Poppy standing between a man and woman, the dome of St Paul’s rising behind them. Another of Poppy dressed in her stage finery, posing with the chorus girls in a cramped and chaotic dressing-room. That had to have been taken when she was at the Windmill, she thought. There were a few more of people she didn’t know, but who had obviously been important in Poppy’s life, and a couple of her with Ellen as a baby. Closing the box she set it to one side. She would keep it for Rosa and Connor.

  The battered leather box on the top of the chest of drawers held Poppy’s treasured jewellery collection. It consisted of cheap, colourful beads, paste brooches and earrings. There were bracelets of varying colours, hair slides and a gold locket that was badly tarnished. Catriona fiddled with the catch and eased it open. Inside was a photograph of a handsome, smiling man; she guessed it was probably Ellen’s father.

  Sorting through the clothes, she put them to one side. Someone would get use out of them, and she couldn’t bear the thought of burning them. The quilts would be a reminder of home for Rosa and Connor, so she put them in the utility with the other things. The sheets and blankets were worn, as were the towels. They joined the pile of clothes to be given away.

  Catriona packed up the utility and then stood in the silence of the house. She could hear the echo of Poppy’s laugh, and the tramp of her feet on the floor. She closed the door and turned the key. The ghosts of the past would always remain here.

  *

  Connor had come in from the paddocks where he’d been helping Billy separate the calves from the cows. After a hot bath in the tub on the back verandah, he joined his sister and the two women at the table.

  Catriona handed out the plates. Cookie had sent over a stew, and the smell was mouth-watering. The boy had a healthy appetite, she realised, and even Rosa was tucking in. It was early days yet, but it seemed the children were tougher than she’d thought. Maybe they were beginning to let go and look to the future. With that thought in mind, she cleared her throat. ‘We’ll have to leave very early tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I must be in Brisbane by nine.’

  ‘Are we really going in a plane?’ Rosa’s eyes were wide with excitement.

  Catriona laughed. ‘Don’t speak with your mouth full, Rosa. And yes, we are, it will drop us off in Brisbane, then take Aunt Clemmie down to Sydney.’

  ‘How long will you be away?’ Connor finished his dinner and pushed the plate aside. ‘It’s just that Billy said I could go on roundup with him and the others.’

  ‘I’ll be back for a couple of days in about a week’s time,’ she said. ‘Then over the next two months I’ll be popping back whenever I can.’ She grinned at Connor. ‘You can go on the round-up as long as you promise to keep up with your school-work.’ She saw him pull a face. ‘And I’ll be checking your work when I come back, so don’t think you can get away with anything.’

  ‘Fair go, Aunt Cat,’ he drawled, giving her a shy smile.

  Catriona smiled back at him. She had asked him if he wanted to join her and his sister in Brisbane for the Australia Day celebrations and he’d said he preferred to stay here. They had grown closer during the last few days, and she had come to realise Connor wanted only to work on the land and be like so many of the other men who lived out here – quiet, shy men, who loved the land and their way of life – men who spoke slowly, and who preferred the company of horses and cattle to humans.

  ‘Will I have to do lessons in Brisbane?’ chirped up Rosa. ‘I don’t want to miss anything and we’ve got exams next term.’

  Catriona laughed. How could two children be so different? ‘I don’t think you’ll miss much for the first few days, but after that I’ll get you a tutor to give you lessons and look after you while I’m working. How does that sound?’

  Rosa screwed up her face as she thought about it. ‘Will it mean I have a teacher all to myself?’ she asked.

  Catriona nodded.

  ‘Wow! Wait ’til I tell Belinda.’ Her excitement was momentary, and her expression became crestfallen. ‘But what about my friends?’ she wailed. ‘I won’t see Belinda at all, and Mary Carpenter will be her best friend instead of me.’

  Catriona stroked her cheek. ‘You’ll see them when we come back to Belvedere,’ she reassured her. ‘You’ll only have a tutor when I’m travelling, and once I’ve finished all my commitments, I’ll make sure I only go away during school holidays so you can come with me.’ She kissed her. ‘Belinda can come and stay whenever she likes, and perhaps her mother will let her come to the city sometimes, too.’

  Rosa seemed content with this, and as the meal was finished and the plates cleared away, Catriona realised the pattern had been set until it was time for Rosa to attend high school.

  *

  Rosa had been so excited at attending the Gala performance in Brisbane, that she’d hardly taken it all in. The flight to Brisbane had been thrilling enough, and the fireworks after the show were amazing, but it was seeing a full opera for the first time tha
t really overwhelmed her. Tosca had come as a shock to Rosa, who hadn’t realised how dramatic and powerful it would be, or how wonderful Aunt Cat was. Her voice made her skin tingle and sometimes, when it was soft and sad and achingly pure, it made her want to cry for the sheer beauty of it.

  New York was a revelation. The streets were packed, the buildings reached almost to the sky and the constant noise and bustle was far removed from the leisurely pace of Brisbane. They had stayed in a luxury hotel suite overlooking Fifth Avenue, and she’d agreed with Miss Frobisher, her nanny and tutor, that she didn’t like being up so high.

  Rosa fell in love with London. It was so old, and although the streets were busy, there didn’t seem to be the same thrusting energy of New York. She enjoyed riding on the big red buses, and shopping in Carnaby Street and Harrods. Miss Frobisher took her to see the Houses of Parliament, the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and the Beefeaters at the Tower of London, and Aunt Cat had taken her to tea at Browns, where the sandwiches were tiny, the cakes delicious and the cups of tea tasted very different from those at home.

  But Rosa’s favourite place in London was the Royal Opera House where they were staging I Pagliacci, Swan Lake and a series of orchestral concerts which ran in strict rotation. Backstage, it was a vast warren of tiny dressing-rooms, stairways and narrow corridors, and underneath the stage it was like a giant’s tool-shed with huge machinery that growled and murmured as it operated pulleys and trap doors.

  Miss Frobisher didn’t seem to approve of the men and women strolling around half naked, and clucked like an irate hen at some of the language used during heated arguments, and the free and easy way the singers and dancers hugged and kissed one another. Rosa loved it all: for the colour, the costumes, the lights and the very people themselves reminded her of Grandma Poppy. She could still remember her tales of when she’d been in the theatre, and being among the dancers, musicians and singers brought those stories to life.

  They had been in London for almost three months now, and it was the night of Catriona’s last performance on stage. Rosa sat in the audience with Miss Frobisher. She had celebrated her tenth birthday only a week ago and was wearing the new dress and shoes that had been her presents. She couldn’t help but grin in delighted anticipation, for although she’d attended some of the rehearsals, seen the ballet, and been told the story of I Pagliacci, she had yet to see the full opera.

  *

  Catriona was dressed in her Columbine dress of black and white, and sat in the back of the gaudily painted cart which would be pulled on stage by a high-stepping horse. The tenor playing Beppe, the Harlequin, was standing at the horse’s head, waiting to lead him on. Tension was high as they waited for Tonio to finish the prologue.

  The great red velvet curtains began to swoop up and back, the golden tassels swayed back and forth as the auditorium was finally revealed to the players. It was a breathtaking sight, and one that Catriona knew she would never forget. For, in the lights, the theatre came alive, the gilded balconies and cherubs glimmered against rich red velvet and the sheer size and splendour of the wonderful old building was a powerful force.

  Catriona lounged back, her costume spread out around her as Harlequin lead the horse on stage to the thundering beat of Canio’s big bass drum. Her pulse was steady, but she was transported back to those long ago days when this was no scene from an opera, but the reality of her life. This was her swan-song, her final performance. How very fitting it was.

  *

  Rosa sat forward not wanting to miss a moment of the tragic final scene. Aunt Cat’s screams had been so real, her terror so powerful she’d wanted to rush on stage and protect her. Now she lay still on the stage, pale and beautiful as the curtain closed in front of her.

  The audience erupted and the cries of ‘bravo’ lifed to the ornate roof as the applause thundered all around her. Rosa slowly got to her feet, then began to clap and cheer and jump up and down as the cast took their curtain call.

  Catriona was led by Canio and Silvio to centre-stage, where she sank into a graceful curtsy. Flowers rained down from the balconies and circles, bouquets were brought on stage and laid at her feet.

  Rosa’s hands stung from clapping so furiously, but her overwhelming pride in Catriona brought a lump to her throat, and she could barely see for the tears. This Catriona was vibrantly alive – more real than at any other time – how could she bear to give it all up?

  *

  Catriona curtsied low as the audience applauded and stamped their feet. The flowers lay all around her as the spotlight beamed down. The sweat was cold on her skin and her emotions were almost out of control. She wanted to cry, to sing, to take this audience and their applause and hug them to her. This was her final appearance on stage – her final part to play in this episode of her life – if only she could keep this atmosphere in a bottle so she could take it out in later years and relive it.

  She blew kisses to the audience, garnering their approbation, dreading the moment when the curtain would fall for the last time. How could she have thought this would be easy? How long would it be before she was tempted back on the stage? This was her life, what she had been born to do. Was she really being wise to throw it all away? Then her gaze fell on Rosa. Her little face was radiant as she clapped her hands, and as their eyes met, Catriona realised there was nothing more precious, or sustaining, than the love of a child.

  Catriona took a deep breath and swept down into a final curtsy and with a signal to the stage-hand, waited for the curtain to drop for the final time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  To the outsider, life on Belvedere appeared dull, with little to mark the change of seasons. But, as Catriona settled in, she discovered there was always something going on, and the Outback life began to attract her far more than the cities. Her city trips were dealt with swiftly, for she’d become impatient with the noise and bustle and just longed to return to this peaceful oasis. Yet those trips were necessary, for Catriona had a particular reason for visiting Sydney, a reason known only to herself. And although they caused her heartache, she knew it was her only chance to see her daughter.

  Catriona sighed and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sun. They had never spoken, never even met – and Catriona suspected they never would – but to see her, to know she was well and successful had to be enough. Rosa, although a child, was good company on those seemingly innocent forays to Sydney. They would shop and have lunch or supper in the little bistros that were strung along the waterfront, then round off their stay with a visit to the theatre or the ballet. Rosa had discovered a passion for Gilbert and Sullivan, and although Catriona thought of them as pantomime for adults, she was happy to take her when a show was on.

  Catriona leaned on the fence, waiting for the mail plane. It came once a month, unless the weather dictated otherwise. She looked out over the pastures and saw how the wind blew in the long grass, turning it into a pale green ocean that dipped and swayed across the great valley beneath the ironstone hills. She had been here for a year now, and felt very much at home.

  The improvements to the homestead had been finished while she was in London; now the little house boasted four bedrooms, a proper bathroom and a very modern kitchen with an Aga imported from England for cooking. Ceiling fans cooled in the summer, and during the long, cold nights of winter there was a fire in the sitting room.

  Fred had been wonderfully patient in those early months. He came each morning with the account books, stock sheets and rosters for the day, and explained everything in great detail until she was familiar with how Belvedere was run. Connor and Billy had taken her around the yards and paddocks and after getting re-acquainted with riding horses again, she’d joined in on her first brumby run – an exhilarating race amongst the wild horses of the Outback – which proved more energising and thrilling than any operatic performance.

  Then there were the parties and dances, the picnics–races and school functions to attend, as well as the committees for the C
ountry Wives Association, the Musical Appreciation Society, the School Board and the Outback Conservationists. The people of the Outback might live far from each other, but the community was tightly knit and they enjoyed their moments of relaxation. It was also the time to exchange gossip, to discuss farming and the price of beef and lamb, and for the youngsters to meet and forge close friendships, which often led to marriage and the joining of vast properties.

  She turned and looked at the homestead and smiled. It was very different to the little shack she’d first stayed in. The roof was shingled, the screens painted green, and the verandah had been rebuilt. There was bougainvillea trailing up the verandah posts and the fronds of a pepper tree drifted over the roof. Inside, she’d made it cosy with soft chairs and comfortable beds, fresh curtains and table-lamps.

  The distant drone of the heavy plane made her turn back. She watched it descend and finally land, and waited for the pilot to taxi down the dirt runway and stop. Billy and two of the jackaroos took the heavy mail-bag and the boxes of supplies and stacked them by the railings. Within minutes the plane had turned and was lifting off again. The pilot was on a tight schedule and his round encompassed several thousand miles – he couldn’t hang around and yarn.

  Catriona climbed over the fence and hurried over. ‘I’ll take the mail,’ she said.

  ‘Alonga me,’ said Billy gruffly. ‘Too heavy for missus.’

  She had to agree. The damn thing weighed a ton. But her impatience was all-consuming and she shuffled her feet and sighed as the men sorted through the various boxes and bundles and distributed them to the cookhouse, the bunkhouse and the blacksmith.

  ‘Cookie in betta mood now,’ said Billy as he swung the mail-bag over his shoulder. ‘Tinned peaches and custard for tucker tonight.’

  Catriona smiled as she tried to keep up with his loping stride. Cookie knew Rosa loved tinned peaches. He spoiled her. ‘Did Fred get those tools he was waiting for?’