The Secret Years

by Barbara Hannay

  But what really spoke to Lucy was the knowledge that this property brought her closer to her family. It was kind of ironic that she’d charged off to England in search of family connections, when they’d always been right here, waiting, and perhaps even more significant.

  Harry, George and her mother had all lived here and, before that, Harry’s parents, Lucy’s great-grandparents. Of course, originally, the property had belonged to the Kalkadoon people and Lucy also liked the fact that Doug Prince was still here, sharing his people’s heritage. She liked that he asserted his native title, too. Another owner might not appreciate or respect that.

  Wrapped deep in these thoughts, Lucy had scarcely noticed that the track was veering steeply uphill until she found herself at the top of a cliff. From here, she had fabulous views up and down the majestic sweep of the river and beyond to another wall of even higher cliffs.

  It was an amazing spot. So quiet and peaceful as she stood looking down at the clear green water and the smooth rocks beneath it, and then to the sky above, now purple and pink and streaked with orange.

  Surely, this must be a favourite place for family picnics and celebrations. It would be the perfect setting for a wedding.

  Damn. Hastily, Lucy scratched that last unsolicited thought, but not before it left painful scorch marks on her heart.

  Annoyed, she whirled away from the view of the river and the sky. And that was when she saw it.

  Over in the shade of a tall spreading tree, a headstone was surrounded by a pretty metal fence. With a soft cry she hurried across the grass and her eyes were already misty as she read the inscription.

  In loving memory of

  Georgina Katherine Kemp

  19 June 1920 – 17 April 1962

  Cherished wife of Henry

  Beloved mother of Rose

  Remember me, won’t you?

  Oh, George. Oh, Harry. Sudden swamping grief brought Lucy to her knees. How could Harry have borne to leave George here?

  She thought of the photographs she’d seen of Georgina, so glamorous and ever so slightly unhappy in England and then so unmis­tak­ably happy here at Kalkadoon with her sweet chubby baby.

  Kneeling in the short grass, wrapped in sadness, Lucy heard a high, keening call. Looking up, she saw a bird, quite possibly a falcon, a black shape against the bright sunset, circling high above the cliffs.

  And in that moment she knew.

  She had to come back here.

  I want to be like them. I have to give it a go.

  She owed it to Georgina, to Harry and to her mum. All of them, for different reasons, had to leave Kalkadoon before they were ready.

  She, Lucy, had been offered a chance to reclaim the opportunities her forebears had lost – and she knew she couldn’t refuse.

  __________

  Ro was sitting under the poinciana, enjoying a sundowner with June and Doug in the last of the light, when Lucy came hurrying back.

  One look at Lucy’s face and Ro knew something had happened.

  ‘Are you okay, love?’ she asked, as her daughter flopped down into a spare chair after only the most cursory greeting.

  ‘I found Georgina’s grave.’ Lucy’s grey eyes glistened. ‘It’s on a high bank overlooking the river.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ro shivered as vague memories stirred. ‘I’d like to see that.’

  ‘I’ll take you there tomorrow,’ Lucy said. ‘But it was so sad, Mum. You were still quite young when she died, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I was five.’

  ‘That’s so sad,’ Lucy said again.

  A chill rippled down Ro’s spine as she remembered the laughing woman in the photo Primrose sent, remembered the memories of her loving mother that she’d shared with Harry. She found herself struggling not to cry.

  ‘It – it was quite sudden, wasn’t it?’ Lucy asked. ‘An aneurysm?’

  Ro nodded. ‘I think so. I know it was a terrible shock foreveryone. Dad never really got over it and I’ve never had the heart to press him for details.’

  ‘I was there,’ Doug said suddenly.

  A soft gasp broke from Ro and Lucy as they stared at him.

  ‘I remember how it happened.’ His habitually cheerful face was suddenly grave.

  ‘Do you mind telling us?’ Lucy’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  Doug nodded solemnly. ‘I remember, cos it was Easter time and my mum and Missus George were in the homestead kitchen, making hot cross buns.’

  ‘I wasn’t there, was I?’ asked Ro.

  ‘No, you were away with the Boss. Those days, if you had half a chance, you used to follow him around like a puppy, so he’d take you out in the truck to hand feed the poddy calves.’

  Doug grimaced, smiling awkwardly. ‘I was hanging around the kitchen, cos there were so many good smells. I was always wanting to lick the bowl.’

  Ro almost smiled as she imagined this.

  ‘It was like the Missus just suddenly fainted,’ Doug said. ‘That’s how it seemed. She just kinda slid to the floor. Mum was frantic. She tried to wake her, but she couldn’t and she yelled at me to race down to the stockyards. “Tell your dad to fetch the Boss,” she yelled.’

  Doug’s dark eyes gleamed with bright tears. ‘By the time I did that and got back to the house, Mum and my auntie were gently lifting the Missus. They carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, cos they didn’t want the Boss to come back and see her collapsed on the floor.’

  June reached over and patted her husband’s hand, while Ro could only sit, mesmerised by Doug’s story. She could hear the buzz of insects in the grass and the distant call of a lone crow, but her thoughts were winging back – back to the past.

  She was seeing herself, a little girl with black curly hair and dressed in denim overalls, and she was helping her father to hold a metal bucket, while a calf greedily lapped up the powdered milk. She could see the calf’s eager pink tongue and the milk sloshing, and when it splashed up her arm, she could smell it, sweet and creamy on her skin. She was trying to wipe her arm on the back of her overalls when Dougie’s dad came charging up on his horse, making the dust fly. His eyes were wild, looking scarily big and round and white and he was yelling.

  ‘Boss, you gotta come. Something bad happened to the Missus.’

  Everything moved so fast. Her father abandoned the calves and the buckets, scooped her up in his arms and raced with her to the truck.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked him as he climbed into the driver’s seat, but he didn’t answer, just started up the truck and stared grimly ahead as the vehicle rushed and bounced and juddered down the track, so fast that she banged her ear against the door handle, making it hurt.

  At the homestead, the grown-ups wouldn’t let her into her parents’ bedroom. Her father disappeared inside and then the door was closed behind him. She was scared and hated it, hated the closed door and the house full of people.

  No one would let her see her mother, and Shirleen and her sisters were wailing.

  ‘Mum.’ Lucy’s voice came from far away. ‘Mum,’ she said softly.

  Ro started as she felt her daughter’s hand on her arm.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Lucy asked her gently.

  It was only then that Ro realised she was crying. ‘Yes, I’m okay, thanks.’ She swiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. ‘It’s just coming back to me, that’s all. There’s so much I’d forgotten.’

  Doug was looking worried and Ro sent him a shaky smile. ‘Thanks for sharing your story, Doug. It’s important to remember.’

  ‘It was such a sad time for all of us,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I remember your aunties wailing and singing in language,’ she said. ‘Their songs were so sad.’

  Doug nodded. ‘Our women were devastated. They loved the Missus. The men attended the funeral when the minister came, but the women had their own mourning ceremony down by the river.’

  Yes, Ro could remember now, seeing the women preparing for the ceremony, pa
inting themselves with white stripes. The paint had looked quite startling on their dark faces and breasts. ‘I think I was a bit frightened,’ she admitted.

  Doug nodded. ‘Me too. It was so sad, such a very sad time.’

  She could almost hear it again – the sounds drifting up from the creek – the low, melodic moaning of the women’s voices as they swayed and danced to express their grief.

  To her surprise, June got to her feet and circled the table to give her a hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she and Doug’s wife, whom she’d only just met, exchanged watery smiles.

  Silence fell over the little group. It was almost dark now.

  Then Lucy’s voice. ‘From everything I’ve heard about my grandmother, Georgina, she was quite an amazing woman. I’m very proud of her.’

  ‘Yeah, you should be proud,’ agreed Doug. ‘My dad told me some of the stories Harry shared with him. Stories about the war in New Guinea. The Missus was up there, too. She was very brave.’

  ‘A true heroine,’ said Lucy softly.

  And she was my mum, thought Ro. My lovely, brave mum. The knowledge gave her a warming glow inside and a new resolve to stay strong.

  __________

  Back at the homestead, Lucy telephoned Harry. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ she accused, as soon as she’d checked that he was okay.

  ‘What did I know?’

  ‘That I’d fall in love with Kalkadoon.’

  She heard his soft chuckle. ‘So, you don’t mind it out there, eh?’

  ‘Mind? Harry, it’s amazing, awesome. I’ve been blown away. I can tell you already, I want to give it a damn good go.’

  After a pause he said, ‘Are you sure about that, Lucy? Have you had enough time to think it through?’

  ‘Well, obviously there are all kinds of details to be sorted. I’d have to give notice to the army and, for the time being, I’d still like to move in with you, if you’ll have me. But I do feel like I’m fit for the challenges here. There’s a heap of stuff I need to learn, Harry. I know next to nothing about cattle, but from a logistical standpoint I’m well and truly qualified.’

  Harry chuckled again. ‘That’s all good to hear, love.’

  ‘And I adore the old homestead.’

  After a beat, he said, ‘Have you asked yourself whether you’ll be lonely out there? There won’t be much social life for you.’

  ‘I know, but don’t worry, I’ve given that plenty of thought and, at this point in time, it’s not really an issue.’ Her enthusiasm for dating was currently sub zero. She really needed a spell from that scene. ‘Where boyfriends are concerned, I’ve been there, done that.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, my girl.’

  ‘Well, let’s just say that dating is not currently top of my pri­or­ities.’

  ‘And you don’t have to make a decision overnight. You should definitely give it more thought, but I’m certainly pleased to hear you like the place.’

  ‘There’s no doubt about that. Now, you take care, Harry, won’t you? I can’t wait to get back to have a good old chat about this.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Love you heaps.’

  Ro was in the kitchen fiddling with knobs on the ancient oven, which was slowly heating up their dinner: a frozen lasagne they’d brought from Townsville. ‘I give up. We’ll just have to be patient,’ she said.

  ‘Harry sends his love,’ Lucy told her.

  ‘Oh, good. How is he?’

  ‘He says he’s fine, but I thought he sounded tired.’

  Ro nodded. ‘It’s probably just as well we only have another day here.’ She dropped frozen greens into a saucepan of water. ‘And how did he react when you told him you’re keen to take this place on?’

  ‘He’s warning me not to rush into it, but I know he’s pleased.’

  Her mum shot her a quick glance. ‘And you’re still feeling con­-fident?’

  ‘I don’t know about confident, but I’m certainly determined. If Nick Bloody Myatt can take on Penwall Hall, I can take on this place.’

  This brought her mother’s raised eyebrows. ‘Who’s Nick Bloody Myatt? One of the sons?’

  Already regretting that she’d opened her big mouth, Lucy knew she’d only make things worse if she didn’t answer. ‘He’s the elder son. Word on the street in Portreath was he saved the Penwall Hall estate single-handedly.’

  Ro looked more interested than Lucy would have liked. ‘He must be capable then.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Sounds like he didn’t make a very good impression, though. Perhaps he inherited unpleasant genes from you-know-who.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘He can’t have inherited from Alice. She couldn’t have children and Nick’s father was adopted.’ She frowned. ‘Didn’t you know your cousins were adopted?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I might have been told.’ Her mum turned down the heat under the saucepan and then she shot Lucy a searching glance. ‘This Nick Bloody Myatt didn’t hurt you, did he, love?’

  ‘Hurt me?’ Lucy echoed, stalling, because she couldn’t think of an appropriate way to answer.

  ‘I’ve wondered if something happened over there to upset you.’

  In a sudden moment of weakness, Lucy almost told her mother everything. It was so tempting to simply offload the truth about Nick and her terrible disappointment, but then she remembered how unproductive it would be to drag all that into the open now, when she was trying so desperately to bury it and forget.

  ‘No, Mum, Nick Bloody Myatt didn’t hurt me. He was very charming.’ In an effort to look as calm and unruffled as possible, Lucy leaned back against a tall cupboard and folded her arms. ‘So, what colour paint do you think would go well in this kitchen?’

  33

  Keen to make the most of their last day at Kalkadoon, Lucy and Ro drove in the Pajero along a graded track to distant parts of the property, where they made billy tea beside a lagoon and took a host of photographs for Harry.

  They photographed the reflection of trees in the reed-fringed lagoon, a flock of emus in a paddock and a mob of silvery cattle with white egrets on their backs. They took a few selfies of the two of them against a variety of scenic backdrops – a fallen log in a creek bed, at the foot of a bright red cliff, and leaning on a weathered timber gate.

  On their return to the homestead, they had a quick sandwich and cuppa and then Lucy took Ro down the track along the riverbank that led to Georgina’s clifftop grave. Ro knelt for ages, gazing at the headstone, and Lucy, respecting her mother’s need for silence, could only guess what she was thinking and remembering and feeling.

  ‘I love this,’ Ro said at last, reading from the inscription. ‘This last line: Remember me, won’t you?’

  ‘I know.’ Lucy dropped to the grass beside her. ‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I think it’s the same message George wrote to Harry on the back of her photograph.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course, that’s where I’ve seen it.’ Her mother shivered and rubbed her arms. ‘Gosh, that’s so romantic. It’s given me goosebumps.’

  ‘I think theirs must have been a very special romance,’ Lucy said quietly. ‘When you think about how they met in England during the war, then they were in New Guinea together fleeing the Japanese, and afterwards how Harry went to England to brave Penwall Hall to ask George to marry him. And she came out here to Kalkadoon to such a different lifestyle.’

  ‘Yes, it was all pretty amazing.’ Tears glittered in her mum’s eyes. ‘I wish she’d lived longer.’

  Lucy nodded, thinking how devastated Harry must have been to lose his precious George, thinking, too, how different her mother’s life might have been if George had been there to guide her, if Harry hadn’t been left, grief-stricken and alone, to struggle in the outback, a single father. ‘If George had lived, I guess you wouldn’t have had to go away to England.’

  ‘That’s true, but I can hardly blame her for that.’ Ro pulled at a weed growing close to the headstone. ‘I
just would have liked to have known her. I know so little about her, really, but I – I never asked Dad. I was so angry with him, so damn selfish and pig-headed.’ Dropping the weed, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, as the tears spilled.

  ‘Hey.’ Lucy slipped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘I reckon you need to give yourself a break. You’ve been hard on yourself for too long.’

  Her mum nodded, found a tissue and wiped her eyes and then together they diligently cleared away the grass and the weeds, and left a vase with half-a-dozen of Georgina’s lovely pink roses. They also took more photographs for Harry.

  Their work done, they stood for a few moments, looking at the neatly cleared site and the vase of roses, at the setting of the grassy headland and the river below. Lucy looked up at the sky, half-expecting to see another falcon, but today there were only soft white clouds.

  Her mother let out a heavy sigh. ‘So much we’ll never know.’

  ‘I guess every generation has its secrets,’ Lucy said.

  ‘That’s true enough.’ Her mother shot her a glance. ‘Are you going to tell me yours?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Lucy managed to smile, but she wished she felt happier.

  They left then and made their way back down along the track beside the river.

  ‘I do feel as if we’ve achieved quite a lot in the last couple of days,’ Ro said. ‘Even though I still feel guilty about staying away from Kalkadoon for so long.’

  ‘Well, we’re here now and that’s what counts. And Harry’s happy.’

  ‘Thank God I didn’t leave it any longer. I’m so glad I came with you, Luce.’

  As they emerged from the shady bush into bright sunlight, Lucy found herself squinting. The open paddock ahead was flooded with afternoon sunshine, and the sun caused a white flash as it hit a windscreen up near the homestead.

  ‘I didn’t bother with my sunglasses,’ she complained, lifting a hand to shield her eyes.

  ‘Mine won’t be any use to you. They’re prescription.’