FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  He opened his eyes and saw Queenie watching him, a loving smile about her lips, her face still beautiful, just softened with time. Her hair was piled on top of her head and a diamond clasp shone in her upswept hair. A look of such hope and desire burned in the depths of her emerald eyes that he couldn’t bear the intensity of her gaze and turned away guiltily.

  Her heart aching, Queenie walked outside into the garden and paced across the dark grass. She passed Jim and Millie’s cottage and saw a light burning there. Through the window she could see Millie and Maud at the kitchen table. How well they were getting on together, she thought, but suddenly Millie dropped her face into her hands and appeared to be crying. Queenie rushed through the screen door without knocking. ‘Millie? Is everything all right? I was just passing and couldn’t help seeing in . . . ’ She stopped as Millie and Maud sat staring at her. Both looked teary.

  ‘Sit down, luv. I’ll put the kettle on,’ Millie rose and went to the sink to fill the kettle. Queenie looked questioningly at Auntie Maud who pointed at the chair and Queenie sat down. ‘Millie and me bin talkin’ a fair bit as you might’ve noticed,’ began Maud with a slight smile. Taking a deep breath she continued as Millie made a pot of tea in a somewhat distracted manner.

  ‘We figured being mixed-blood girls we probably had things in common and we started tellin’ each other ‘bout our childhoods an’ young days, y’know . . . ’ Maud glanced over at Millie and Queenie wondered where Maud’s usual insouciance had gone. She stumbled over her words as she spoke. ‘Well ya’ see, it seems we have the same story . . . me ’n’ her . . . ’ She looked at Millie again.

  Millie put down the cup and turned to face Queenie. ‘What she’s sayin’ is that we is sisters. I don’ mean sisters under the skin. I mean real sisters.’

  ‘We got the same mumma,’ explained Maud.

  Queenie’s jaw dropped. ‘What! Are you sure? Positively sure? I mean, how?’

  ‘We know all the names and little stories, Queenie.’ Millie moved over to stand beside Maud, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘From what we both remember when we was taken away from our mother and the tings we bin told by the nuns, we know.’

  ‘We was split up right away. I was a bit younger and we was sent different places. We kin check all this but we know, fer sure, who we are.’ said Maud with conviction, adding, ‘It’s a bit of a shock, but.’

  Suddenly, looking at them both, Queenie realised how similar they were. She hadn’t paid much attention before, they were both mature plump ladies of mixed Aboriginal and white descent. But now she knew what it was about Auntie Maud’s smile she’d always liked — it was the same as Millie’s. She knew too that these women shared a common bond of family and kinship, of hardship, of good-hearted devotion to others.

  Queenie rose and went to Millie who had been so much a part of her own family and whom she regarded as her spiritual mother. She hugged her tightly and Millie burst into tears.

  ‘Never thought, after all these years. So alone . . . lost everyone, never had any kids . . . just me ’n’ Jim . . . ’

  ‘Oh Millie . . . ’ Queenie was crying too as Maud came and embraced them both. Millie was first to wipe her eyes with the back of her hands. ‘The kettle’s boiling . . . Oh my.’

  Queenie smiled at seeing the efficient Millie in such a dither. ‘This is going to beat all Saskia’s other birthday presents.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  Queenie had left most of the details of the wedding to Ruthie, Ernie and Millie while she concentrated on Saskia’s party. Briefly she’d stopped Millie to ask whether everything was under control.

  ‘Don’ worry, love, you look after your bits, we’re staggerin’ along okay,’ grinned Millie.

  So when Saturday morning came, clear, bright and sunny, the events came as a delightful surprise to Queenie. Most of the guests were gathered in the church as Queenie, holding TR’s arm and followed by Saskia and Tango, walked down the aisle to take their places in the front pew. The sun sparkled through the stained-glass window, which Rose had designed, illustrating the twenty-third psalm in an Australian bushland setting. It was in Queenie’s mind, as well as many others present, that the last wedding held here had been hers and TR’s.

  To the strains of Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’, Ruthie made her entrance. She had bought her gown, which Queenie had insisted on paying for as part of her present, and it fulfilled every dream she’d ever had when flipping through the bridal magazines. The dress was a white Scarlett O’Hara crinoline ruched in beribboned folds and liberally sprinkled with fake pearls. A small diamanté tiara held the short lace veil over her hair that had been lacquered into a smooth French roll.

  Millie and Queenie were both thinking the same thing — where was the gawky stick-legged figure who dashed to the clothesline with flying black curls, and danced up and down the stairs dusting as she went? In her place was a serious faced young woman, walking slowly through these moments of glory and relishing every second. Befitting the sombre occasion, Snowy walked with pride beside her, Ruthie’s arm tucked through his, every inch the patriarch in a suit and new white shirt carefully ironed by Millie.

  He had a spray of wattle in his buttonhole and Ruthie carried a bouquet of native flowers surrounded by pink-tipped gum leaves. Ernie, self-consciously wriggling around in an unaccustomed suit, collar and tie, turned and gaped at the apparition that floated down the aisle towards him, then a proud and delighted grin spread across his face. His duty done, Snowy stepped back, sliding in between Millie and Queenie who smiled at him as Millie gave him a pleased nudge.

  The formal church ceremony over, Ruthie and Ernie paraded to the door and stood on the steps as everyone milled around for the next part of the ceremony. In front of the church a troupe of a dozen Aboriginal boys began a foot-stomping dance. They were well rehearsed and wore the traditional red triangular loin-cloths, their wrists and ankles festooned with gum leaves, white pipeclay designs on their chests, legs and faces. Each wore a headband of woven grass, hair and small bird feathers. They clapped and sang and Ernie explained it was a dance to wish them good spirits for a healthy life and lots of children. With a shout and a stamp the dance ended and they formed two lines, arms about each other’s waists, to escort the bridal couple from the church to the waiting horse-drawn sulky.

  Ruthie and Ernie waved and were driven off and everyone began following to the homestead for the wedding breakfast.

  By lunch time the newlyweds had left for Neptune Island, waved off by owner Alf who said he’d see them there when he got back on Monday. People changed clothes, relaxed and lazily greeted the string of Saskia’s friends who began arriving for the party that night.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re so organised,’ said Queenie to herself. Millie, Maudie and Alf had the food under control. Jim, Dingo and TR had the bar set up and drinks stacked in the cold room with kegs of beer. Countess Magda, helped by Raylene, had decorated the house and tables. Magda had brought yards and yards of pale yellow tulle which she draped in soft big bows around the tables, which had centrepieces of wattle and freesia sprays. Tango, Jenni, Saskia and various groups of young people had toured the property on motorbikes and four-wheel drives and were off horse riding.

  Queenie went looking for TR. ‘We seem to have everything under control,’ she said when she found him. ‘Alf said he’d start the spit about four o’clock.’

  ‘You’ve done a fantastic job, Queenie,’ said TR.

  ‘Thanks to all the help we’ve had,’ she smiled. ‘I’m glad to see you’re so much better.’

  He patted his hip. ‘Still a bit stiff and gives me a bit of trouble, but I can get on a horse without having the poor wretch sit down,’ he attempted to smile, but instead turned his face away so she didn’t see his discomfort.

  ‘And your memory? Anything?’ asked Queenie gently.

  He shook his head and didn’t look at her. ‘Sometimes I get . . . what I call flashes. Images and scenes come to me, obviously moments st
ored away there. But that’s not much help, is it?’ he said ruefully.

  ‘But it’s something, TR,’ said Queenie positively. ‘I think that’s a good sign. A very good sign.’

  ‘Queenie, please. Don’t hold out so much hope. We have to resign ourselves to the fact this might be all there ever is,’ said TR bitterly. ‘And we have to consider dealing with that.’

  ‘We’ll manage, TR,’ Queenie smiled brightly and touched his arm. ‘You’ll see.’ Alf was calling her and she moved away.

  TR watched her go. ‘No, Queenie, you don’t see,’ he said quietly to himself.

  The evening was clear and star-studded and Alf and Millie breathed a sigh of relief knowing food and guests wouldn’t have to be moved indoors.

  Small festive groups were scattered through the house, along the verandah and in the gardens as Queenie hurried upstairs to change into her dress for the party. After a shower she wrapped herself in a towelling robe and stood before her long mirror brushing her hair. Memories of her own twenty-first came back to her as she remembered how she had stood before this same carved cedar mirror wearing her mother’s favourite oyster satin Jean Harlow dress after she’d ruined her own emerald gown by climbing out on the roof to pick jasmine for her hair. That moment at the mirror was when Rose had clasped Great-grandfather Ned Hanlon’s opal necklace around her throat. And though Queenie had lost so much and had had to sell so many precious possessions during the years of struggle to regain Tingulla, she’d always promised Saskia never to part with the necklace.

  On a sudden impulse Queenie took the grey chiffon dress she’d planned to wear and hung it back in her closet. In her dressing room she pulled open a deep cedar drawer and found, wrapped in tissue, her mother’s satin gown. ‘I wonder . . . ’ she mused. Dropping the robe to the floor, she pulled the oyster-coloured dress over her head. The silky satin folds slipped over her body like water, skimming her still slim hips, falling from tiny slim straps over her bare breasts to flare in a curve around her ankles. It was a classic gown, dateless and breathtaking and it still fitted her trim but curvy body perfectly. For her father it had brought back memories of how much he’d loved her mother in this dress. Maybe it would bring back for TR the memory of the night they fell in love. Slipping it off, she called over the bannister for Millie and began applying her make-up.

  There was a tap at the door and Millie stuck her head in. ‘What is it, luv?’

  ‘Why, Millie, how smart you look,’ said Queenie, looking at the black linen dress with cream lace over the bodice.

  ‘I was going to wear me red, but I’ve loaned it to Maudie. Saskia and Jim have loaned her kids outfits too. Everybody is scrubbing up very nice. What about you? Whatcha wearing to this shindig?’

  ‘Mum’s dress that I wore the night of my twenty-first. Remember? It still looks all right. Would you mind ironing it for me, I’m running late as usual.’

  Millie carefully picked up the dress from the bed. ‘Oh yes, I remember this dress.’ She gave Queenie a shrewd look. ‘Is there a particula’ reason you’re wearin’ this?’

  Queenie shrugged. ‘Thought it might give TR a bit of a jolt.’

  Millie smiled but didn’t say anything and left the room. ‘Be back with it in a jiff.’

  Saskia came through the door as Millie left. ‘Well, what do you think?’ She twirled around in front of her mother in a midnight blue water-silk dress that set off her dark curly hair and grey eyes. It had been designed by Countess Magda as her birthday gift.

  ‘Oh, darling, you look gorgeous, you really do. You’re like a sparkling sapphire. Your father would be very happy to see you like this,’ she added softly.

  Saskia went and lifted the silver-framed photograph of herself as a little girl perched on Warwick’s shoulders. ‘I wish I had more memories of him, I just remember little girl things. But they’re all happy things.’

  ‘You were a very happy little girl until he died, then life changed so much. For both of us.’

  ‘But then there was TR. He really has been my father and my best friend, along with Tango, of course. But it seems as if TR has always been in my life. He was such a comfort after Daddy died. I remember him telling me Dad would always be there and I was to talk about him and hang onto all the good memories.’ Saskia suddenly clung to her mother. ‘I miss TR. I want things back, the way they used to be.’

  ‘I do too Sas. But it’s out of our hands,’ said Queenie, close to tears, her voice strained. She pulled away and smoothed Saskia’s hair, looking into her sweet wide eyes. ‘This is your night, you enjoy yourself. Be happy always, my precious.’ Queenie kissed her and turned away, hiding the tears that welled in her eyes. ‘I have to get dressed. Go start playing hostess, darling.’

  Queenie came slowly down the staircase, feeling slightly nervous, wondering what TR’s response might be. But it was Tango who came bounding up the stairs and stopped on the landing, gaping at her. ‘I was just coming to get you . . . Mum . . . You look . . . like an angel. Just beautiful.’

  She smiled at her son and took his arm as he escorted her down the stairs. ‘Everyone is gathered in the main room, overflowing onto the verandah a bit. Saskia wanted all the speeches and boring stuff over with first,’ he said. ‘Just the cake cutting later.’

  ‘A smart idea, not that we’d planned anything too formal,’ added Queenie as they headed for the double doors into the drawing room.

  They came through the doors and the older people present fell silent at the sight of Queenie and her son. In the sylphlike romantic dress, her long hair falling simply about her shoulders, and in the soft light from the chandelier, Queenie looked like a young woman. And Tango was so like his father that they reminded them of the young Queenie and TR. Glowing at Queenie’s throat was the magnificent opal necklace.

  Someone turned on soft music and from the verandah came Saskia holding onto TR’s hand. The four met in front of the white marble fireplace and Dingo stepped forward to speak. He talked of the heritage of Tingulla, its tradition being upheld by its women — which brought a cheer from the girls in the room — the loving memories they all held of the Hanlon family, of Warwick Redmond, Saskia’s father and, despite the sadnesses that had befallen Tingulla from time to time, its future was now secure in the hands of the family. Then he turned to Saskia and spoke lovingly and humorously of the daughter of Tingulla who was carrying on the tradition of ‘being beautiful, being strong minded yet feminine, and a bloody good horsewoman’. This brought a round of applause and Saskia blushed.

  Dingo then turned to Queenie. ‘And now perhaps Queenie would like to say a few words?’ He took Queenie by one hand and Saskia by the other and drew them together, stepping to one side as trays of champagne-filled glasses were circulated.

  Queenie smiled at Dingo. ‘I think you’ve said it all, Dingo. I know Warwick would be very proud of Saskia tonight,’ and turning to Saskia, she continued, ‘as we are all proud of you, Sas. I think the greatest thing I can say about you is that while you will always be my precious baby daughter, you are also a young woman I respect and admire, and I consider you my very best friend. The good wishes and love of everyone here tonight goes with you, my darling, as you spread your wings and fly high and free to chase your dreams. To continue a family tradition, it’s now your turn to take the gift from Great-grandfather Ned.’ Queenie lifted her hair and turned to TR, indicating the necklace. He unclasped the opals and as Queenie smiled he stepped forward and locked them around Saskia’s throat.

  Saskia’s hand flew to the magnificent milky fire opals and tears filled her eyes as she touched the necklace. TR kissed her and Queenie raised her glass. ‘To Saskia, go forward with our love, darling.’

  ‘To Saskia,’ echoed the crowd and followed with a cheer.

  ‘They’re beautiful opals,’ TR whispered to Queenie.

  ‘You don’t remember them?’

  TR looked distressed. ‘Oh dear, should I?’

  Queenie could hardly speak. ‘It doesn’t ma
tter,’ she whispered. Guests crowded around, and Queenie and TR were separated in the crush.

  Saskia extricated herself from the well-wishers to give Queenie a hug. ‘Thank you, thank you. You know I always loved these opals.’

  Queenie hugged her back. ‘We’ll save Grandma Rose’s pearls for your wedding. Off you go and have fun, darling.’

  ‘You too. By the way, I’ll make a speech when we cut the cake — Millie’s made me a Pavlova.’

  Alf had done a grand job at the barbecue and spit and with many willing hands, a feast was spread along a massive buffet table. Guests helped themselves to salads, quiches, vegetables, side dishes and condiments, then carried their plates to Alf for lamb or beef from the spit. Fresh tropical fruit, Millie’s fruitcake and Tingulla cream and pastries were laid out for dessert with the promise of the birthday Pavlova to come with the coffee later in the evening.

  During the woolshed dance that followed, the band leader declared a ladies’ choice. Jenni tapped TR on the shoulder. ‘Shall we?’

  He smiled warmly at her and held out his arms. ‘I’m much smoother on my feet since last time we danced.’

  They circled the floor without speaking, then TR looked down into her face. ‘You okay?’ It was a question that implied a lot more than it asked.

  She nodded. ‘And what about you?’ TR nodded and they turned round one more time before Jenni asked, ‘And what conclusions have you come to? You left Harmony Hill before I could really talk to you. Have you made a decision?’

  ‘About myself? About us? About what I am going to do with the rest of my life?’ His voice had a hard edge to it.

  ‘You don’t seem happy about things,’ said Jenni wondering what was in his mind and his heart. She took a deep breath. ‘TR, about us . . .’