Then it dawned on her: Rosie could help the women and children who needed safety, needed hope. No one should suffer alone. They needed to feel loved, that someone cared. Yes. As soon as things settled at Tulpil, she’d talk to Minister Jack. Whether it was helping these women find work or child-minding or accommodation or just an ear to listen…whatever they needed…
With a spring in her step, she reached the bottom of the hill and turned to look up at the house. Tomas and the man were deep in conversation and it was hard to tell from this distance the tone of the meeting. Although, by the way Tomas stood rigidly, hands on hips, and the man gesticulating wildly, Rosie suspected this was not going to end well. But Tomas was his own person and had his own things to deal with. Just like Rosie.
She left Il Sunnu behind and turned right, her pace picking up. Once more, her thoughts turned to Vincenzo Pasquale. Did he have a deep voice? Was it heavily accented? What was his laugh like? Did he have a good sense of humor or was he a serious soul? What was his favorite food? Did he play a musical instrument? Did he look anything like her?
People had often commented on how much Rosie looked like her mother and not one person had ever mentioned her resemblance to John. Now Rosie knew why. How hard would it have been for her father to stand by and witness other people noticing there was no visible genetic connection? He must have suffered horribly.
Her poor, poor father.
They needed to talk.
Now.
Chapter 29
Rosie found her father in his favorite outside chair. He sat in the darkness, staring over Tulpil and when he caught sight of her, a slow, sad crooked smile formed on his lips.
Climbing the stairs, she asked, “Why are you in the dark?”
“The lights attract the bugs.” With great effort, he leant on the elbow of his good side and shifted to face her. “Besides, I get a better view of the stars without the glare of a man-made light.”
“Fair enough.” Rosie glanced at the chair beside him but opted to lean against the railing, her back to the vast expanse of the universe.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time away from Tulpil.” His tone wasn’t judgmental, just matter-of-fact.
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to be here?”
“It’s not that I don’t want…” She didn’t finish the lie. “No, I don’t want to be here, but I can’t avoid this situation forever.”
Rosie studied the scratches on the wooden boards of the verandah. How many times had her father told off Rosie and her brothers when they were kids for pushing the metal trucks along the boards? How could she have ever known back then she wasn’t a proper Stanton?
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I can hazard a guess.” His tone now held a slight edge, and she didn’t appreciate it.
“Why do you hate Italians so much?” she asked, her annoyance rising. “I’m half-Italian! Do you hate me?”
“Of course, I don’t—”
“It’s ridiculous to hang on to hate all these years just because Mum ran off with an Italian—”
“Rosie.” Her mother appeared at the screen door and she gave a small shake of her head.
“Seriously,” Rosie continued, past the point of caring what her mother thought, “it’s crazy to despise an entire nationality based on one event, hurtful as it was.”
Her mother and father exchanged glances.
“What?” Rosie’s chest constricted.
“There is something you need to know.” Her father rubbed his forehead.
Surely there couldn’t be more buried secrets?
The screen door banged shut as her mother stepped out and stood behind her husband. Cecile placed her hand on his shoulder and for the first time in years, Rosie witnessed affection and tenderness between her parents. He patted her hand, motioned for her to lean toward him and whispered in her ear.
“Are you sure?” Her mother stood upright.
He nodded and Cecile moved to go inside the house but paused and held the screen door open. “You know we both love you, don’t you, Rosie?”
“I know.” Of course she knew. If she’d had any doubt about that she wouldn’t be here trying to make sense of it all.
Her mother went back inside and Rosie hoisted herself up on the railing. She hesitated for a moment, waiting for her father to tell her off yet again for balancing on the rails but this time he let it slide.
“You’re right, Rosie, it is wrong to lump all Italians together, but my experience with them has been so bad that I cannot see past it.”
“Because Mum went off with Vincenzo?” Rosie still couldn’t get used to saying his name.
“Actually, no.” Her father reached for the glass of water next to him and he managed to hold it without spilling it everywhere. He took a sip and placed it back on the side table. Despite all the drama and hurt of the past week, it was so good to see him reaching milestones, no matter how small. “After Vincenzo died and I married your mother, we had a visit from his sister.”
“I have an auntie?” It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she could have grandparents and uncles and aunties, even cousins. There could be a whole family out there waiting for her to get in contact with them. If they knew she existed…
“You have three Italian aunties, but this is getting us off track. One sister came out to Australia as a proxy bride just before Vincenzo died.”
Even now, with the shortage of single Italian women in Australia, immigrants often married women from their village by proxy. A family member would stand in as the groom at the wedding in Italy then the bride would board a ship and arrive in Australia, sometimes meeting her husband in person for the first time. Rosie couldn’t ever comprehend how scary that must have been for the proxy brides yet, sometimes, these marriages seemed to be the strongest and happiest.
“Did Mum know her?”
“They’d met. Vincenzo’s sister—”
“What’s her name?” asked Rosie, probably sounding too keen. But this was a whole new world opening up to her and although it had been painful, there was a sense of wonder about this other part of her life. “Did she know about me?”
“Her name is Gianna.” He cleared his throat. “Rosie, it would be easier if you just let me say what I need then you can ask me all the questions you like and I’ll answer them as best I can.”
“All right,” she said, feeling a tad guilty about her enthusiasm for the Pasquale family.
Her father rubbed his chin. “When Gianna came to visit, she was all smiles and sunshine, but she had every one of us fooled.”
“You let her visit even though you were passing me off as your own child?”
A raised eyebrow reminded her to zip her lips. “She was having a hard time adjusting to her new life in Australia. Cecile felt sorry for her and let Gianna look after you every so often because you made her happy.” He paused and a small smile crept on his lips. “You were such a pretty little thing. Never stopped laughing. But”—his expression turned serious once more—“it turns out we were wrong about Gianna—so very, very wrong.”
The hot breeze lifted the back of Rosie’s shirt and made her already overheated skin rise in temperature.
“She’d been with us a couple of weeks, telling us that her husband had gone farther north for work and she was lonely. The only other person she knew was your mother and, naturally, Cecile wanted to help out a woman who was doing it tough. Your grandfather didn’t approve but by then he was too frail and had given up on ramming his opinions down everybody’s throats. I guess he thought that if I didn’t have a problem with Gianna staying there was no point in arguing.”
Rosie nodded, conscious of not interrupting her father’s flow.
“We didn’t think much of it at first. Gianna was fond of taki
ng you in the pram and being outside made you happy. Your little round face would stare up at the trees and sky even though you should have been sleeping. All you wanted was to take in your new world.” Her father said softly, “I may not have fathered you, but I have always loved you as my own.”
“I know, Dad.” Rosie sat on the chair beside him. She placed her hand in his. “I’m sorry I ever doubted it.”
“And I’m sorry I’ve given you cause to question.” He squeezed her fingers. “So, just like every other day, I worked while your mother rested and Gianna took you out in the pram. But one day”—his hand trembled—“you didn’t return.”
“What happened?” She leant forward, her hand tightly gripping his.
“We still don’t know the details but I suspect she’d planned it all along. Wooed us into a false sense of security, made us trust her with you.” He frowned. “I have never been so scared in my entire life. Your mother was distraught and every single person in Piri River and beyond dropped everything to find you.”
“How long was I missing?”
“Five days, eighteen hours and twenty-three minutes.”
“Oh.” she sat back against the wicker chair.
“Turns out everything was a lie. Well, apart from being a proxy bride. When she’d arrived in Australia she was lonely but quickly had a network of Italian friends. The rest of her family, who were due to immigrate to Australia, told her that you belonged with them, that Cecile was not a fit mother and you deserved to be with a large family who would care for you.”
“Gianna did as they asked?” Possibilities ran around Rosie’s head of what her life could have been had Gianna successfully kidnapped her.
“She was young, heavily influenced by her family and hadn’t had any luck in conceiving a child of her own,” he said.
“But my name on the birth certificate would have given me away. Did they think you wouldn’t come looking for me?”
“I don’t know what they thought, but through Gianna’s connections she managed to find helpers. I’m sure she would have figured out a way to cover your true identity.”
“How did they find me?” The reality of the grave situation sank in and left a cold, hollow feeling in her stomach.
“As soon as we figured out what Gianna did, the bush telegraph went into full swing.”
“Where was I?”
“Six hours north on a station outside a town so small it wouldn’t even be a pinprick on a map. I’ll never forget the dedication and help complete strangers gave us. They got our girl back.”
She swallowed hard, trying to relieve the dryness in her mouth and throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say a thing. You wanted to know why I despise Italians and now you do.”
“They’re not all the same.”
“I know.” He shifted on his chair. “But that family worked together so closely and they used their network—all Italians—to take you away from us.”
“That could have happened regardless of nationality. It could have been an Australian family. Or Yugoslavs. Russians. Fijians. Latvians. Dad, I’m here now, there’s no need to hate Italians anymore.”
“I don’t know, Rosie. The pain of losing you to a bunch of strangers has never left me and I will never forgive them. I just…” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t care if it makes me racist. I cannot trust Italians.”
“Dad—”
“Look at the Contis taking back that land.”
“It rightfully belonged to them,” she said, exasperation creeping in.
“There was never any trouble when the Ellis family owned the property,” he mumbled.
There was no point in dragging this out. He’d explained why and, to a point, she could see his reasoning, especially as he’d clung to this for over two decades. Maybe now the truth was out in the open, he’d eventually come around. Only time would tell.
Rosie braced herself when she asked, “What happened to the Pasquales?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The police tried to press charges, but Gianna had run, as had her husband.”
“And her parents who were supposed to come out here?”
“They never did. Your mother and I kept in contact with the detective running the case for years and he would check regularly with immigration officials.”
“They could have gone under a different name.”
“Possibly. I doubt we’ll ever know.”
Although the story about her abduction hadn’t sunk in yet, Rosie couldn’t help but wonder if, given the chance, she would want to meet with the family who had ripped her out of her mother’s hands. A mixture of sadness, anger, longing and confusion swirled inside her.
Darkness descended once again as the half-moon rose in the sky. Low cloud cover obscured the stars while thunder rolled in the distance.
“Perhaps we should go inside.” Her father reached for his walking stick and Rosie placed her hand under his elbow to help him stand.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For?”
“For telling me everything and not protecting me.”
“If I have learnt anything from this stroke, it’s that you are not my little girl anymore, but a strong woman capable of taking on the world. I am so very grateful.”
* * * *
The heat inside the metal shed was almost unbearable as Rosie worked on her arch nemesis—the tractor. She’d gotten up early to enjoy the coolest part of the day but the heat had quickly risen and her body was now covered in perspiration. Rosie didn’t care, though, as today was the first time in over a week when she actually felt at peace.
Chewing on her lip, Rosie turned the spanner one more time. Plop! The nut that had been rusted so tightly now lay in the dust.
“Aha!” She picked it up and brought it to eye level. “I knew you wouldn’t get the better of me!”
“Rosie…”
She turned to find Alex standing in the doorway. Sefa stood next to her brother, his head bowed.
“What’s wrong?” she rasped.
“The men have walked.” Alex’s eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
“What?” She put down the bolt and went to the shed door. Sticking her head out, she listened for the usual chatter and thump of knives hitting the thick cane.
Silence.
Spinning on her heels, she faced Alex and Sefa. “What’s happened?”
Alex still didn’t look at her. Sefa’s eyes met hers. “They couldn’t wait any longer for their money.”
“So they left? Now? Right when we need them most?” The bulk of the cane had reached maturity and was ready to harvest. “We need to get them back.”
“They won’t return,” Sefa said. “They would rather cut their losses than keep working with the possibility of never getting paid.” Sefa scratched the back of his neck. “There is no shortage of work out there.”
“We need to talk to Dad.” Rosie started for the house. Alex called out but she couldn’t decipher it because she’d broken into a run. Taking the stairs two at a time, she yanked open the screen door and clomped down the hallway toward the office. She didn’t care her boots made a dusty trail, that was the least of her worries.
Rosie arrived at the office doorway and leant against it, her lungs burning. “The workers—”
“I know.” He looked up from his desk.
“What are we doing about it?” Rosie willed her racing pulse to slow down but the stress only made it faster.
Her father placed his hand on a pile of papers as if he was protecting them. “I’m about to sign over a large piece of land to the Wilsons.”
“What?”
“There’s no choice,” he said.
“I could track down the workers and talk to them. Alex isn’t the best at diplomacy so maybe they’ll listen to me. Sef
a’s still here and if I can get people like Loto back on board—”
“That’s enough, Rosie.” His voice was firm but gentle.
“What if Bartel shows up on another property somewhere?” She doubted it would be close to Piri River but with so many people travelling and picking up work at various farms, perhaps someone would come across Bartel.
“We cannot live in hope forever. Look, we have to face the reality that we are in a terrible mess. Nothing short of a miracle will help.”
Rosie collapsed on the leather reading chair. Defeat fought to take over but she refused to let it. Something could be done, surely? “I can’t believe Bartel did this to us.”
Her father rested his head on his hand. He mumbled something but she couldn’t make out a word of it.
She leant forward. “What did you say?”
He lifted his head and looked directly at her. “I said it was not all from the hands of Bartel. We were already on a downhill spiral, but you couldn’t possibly have known from looking at the books.”
“I don’t understand. I went through those thoroughly. There were some gaps but you filled those in when I asked you.” Rosie paused and let the conversation sink in. “Is this why you didn’t want me to stay at Tulpil? Because there was a possibility you’d lose the farm and you didn’t want me to get settled here?”
A single nod from her father confirmed it.
“And then you lied to me about our finances? How could I have ever worked anything out without knowing the full story?”
“I didn’t lie, I just omitted the truth.” He flinched when he saw her narrowed eyes. “I was embarrassed about how I’d handled the books and I should have listened to you much earlier. Now we’re in a bind that could cost us our future. All because I was too pigheaded to believe I could be wrong.”
Burning Fields Page 26
