She’d made her Confirmation here at the age of twelve, professing to believe in the one true church of God, with lovely Aunt Florrie standing beside her supportively with her hand on her shoulder. And now she thought about that, it was generous of Florrie to be her sponsor, since her aunt was so different to Tansy’s mother—it was part of what Tansy loved about her—and might not have actually believed in what she was saying there in front of that priest. She was all into yoga and meditation these days.
Gosh, this morning it seemed as though there was a lot of things she’d never considered about her family. Perhaps she should say an extra prayer after communion for help to put them at the forefront of her mind.
And then, of course, she and Dougal had been married here by funny, gentle Father Bryce. He was her favourite of all the priests she’d seen come and go. He’d been so kind and welcoming to Dougal, a divorced, lapsed Catholic, and she’d never forget how during the ceremony he had placed a hand on each of their shoulders, his voice booming around the church, and said that he married a lot of people but rarely did he see a couple with such faith and commitment not only to God but to each other. And somehow she’d felt the power of those words run through his hands into them both, and it seemed even more important than the words she and Dougal had spoken.
Their wedding had been such a happy day. Both their mothers had cried. Her father had walked her down the aisle, and she’d felt the pride coming from him with every step. Leo, right on the verge of manhood, had stood there in a suit slightly too large for him and passed the rings when asked, and later danced with Belle during the reception at a restaurant on the Brisbane River. Rose had been matron of honour; during the lead-up to the day, with the planning and the bridal shower and the hen’s party, Tansy had felt closer to her older sister than she ever had when she was young and Rose had seemed so many leagues ahead of her, many more than the actual fourteen years’ difference between them. It was as if Tansy had finally grown up and was now part of the same tribe. And of course Belle had been a bridesmaid, beaming in her pale pink strapless dress, with tan marks around her neck from her swimmers.
Now, with the first hymn playing, Father Bryce stepped up to the altar and knelt and genuflected to the cross, and Tansy took a deep breath, feeling great love for this church, and wondering what might have caused Maria to leave and abandon her vows. She knew that her mother held great resentment towards Maria for not attending their mother’s funeral. And she knew that her mother had actually wanted to become a nun and sometimes had moments of ‘what if?’ about that, though she was quick to assure the girls she had no regrets about following a different life of a wife and mother. Tansy had thought she’d picked up a whiff of jealousy, even, that Maria got to lead the life Enid had wanted. But there was more going on here, and she was determined to find out what it was.
‘Did you know that a collection of sharks is called a shiver of sharks? Isn’t that appropriate?’ Tansy said. It was a tradition for her and her mother (and usually her father) to go out for morning tea after church to Riverbend Books in Bulimba. They usually sat on the deck to have a pot of tea and some cake before each choosing and buying a book to read over the following month and then chatting about it the next time they were here. Since Enid was unusually quiet today, Tansy had brought a few books to the table to peruse while they waited for their order to arrive, and had come across this fun fact. ‘I certainly think I’d be shivering if I came across a group of sharks swimming my way,’ she said.
‘Except you’re afraid of water and don’t swim in the ocean,’ Enid replied, flicking through an art book of Italian sculptures.
‘And you can have a flamboyance of flamingos,’ Tansy went on.
Enid looked up and nodded approvingly. ‘I like that one.’
The tea and cakes arrived at their corner table, which was too close to another table with several rowdy children at it. Wordlessly, mother and daughter poured milk and shared the honey spoon. ‘So,’ Tansy began, sipping her vanilla tea. ‘What’s new in your world?’ She was, in fact, itching to tell her mother both about Toronto and also that she had tracked down Maria, but—in view of her most recent resolution to put thoughts of her family to the forefront of her mind—she made a supreme effort to concentrate on her mother’s accounts of the latest goings-on in their life of retirement, which consisted of a lot of medical appointments and standard screenings for all sorts of cancers and diseases, the new herb garden they were building, and the leaky pipe under the sink that her father was trying to fix while stubbornly refusing to call a plumber.
‘Have you had any thoughts on what you’re going to do for your birthday?’ Enid then asked.
A rabble of butterflies began beating their wings in Tansy’s tummy. ‘Interesting you ask, actually. I was thinking of having a family gathering, with everyone there, maybe outdoors so Rose’s kids can run amok and not trash anything.’ This was the perfect opportunity to tell her about Maria and the great idea she had about inviting her to the party. It would be a reunion! It would be easier on Enid and Florrie to see Maria again after all these years if they were in a neutral location with lots of other relatives there to help dilute the tension from whatever had caused the separation in the first place.
‘That sounds lovely,’ Enid said, genuinely pleased. She clearly thought of Tansy as being older than she was, because she made no reference to that being an ‘old woman’ thing to do, as Tansy’s husband had done when she’d mentioned it to him. He’d been teasing, of course, but the jibe made her wonder if she’d let the best years of her life pass her by with a man so much older than her. She could have spent the past eight years climbing the Himalayas with a Sherpa with a chipped tooth and dimples. Or dancing the rumba in the streets of some Latin country, a mojito in one hand and the other on her instructor’s bare midriff while his pelvis thrust forwards into hers to the beat of the maracas.
There’d been Brussels sprouts for dinner that night after all that fantasising. And not even any white sauce to cover them.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ Tansy said now, replacing her china cup on the saucer. ‘Because there’s something I want to talk to you about.’
Enid, sensing an impending announcement, put down her own cup with extra care and leaned forward. Despite the noise coming from the kids nearby, including a tinny rendition of ‘The Wonky Donkey’ from a three-legged toy donkey and book set, and the accompanying squeals of delight from the boy who’d pressed the button, she dropped her voice. ‘Are you pregnant?’ She seemed almost giddy with delight at the possibility.
For the second time in a few days, Tansy was thrown. Her jaw loosened and she scrambled for something to say, suddenly remembering that she’d meant to go back through her diary to work out how long it had been since she’d had a period, but in the shock of Dougal’s news she’d forgotten.
But all of that was a large and complicated amount of information to give to her mother, who was nearly salivating at the thought of another grandchild. She was the most excitable grandmother, which still managed to astound Tansy—even after four of the cherubs had come via Rose and Sam—because she had no real memories of Enid being that playful and carefree with herself as a child. Rather, she’d seemed tired and harried most of the time.
‘Mum,’ she began, edgy because this was cutting a bit close to the bone of the fantasies she’d had recently, but also annoyed that she was having this conversation with her mother yet again. ‘You know Dougal doesn’t want any more children. We all knew that before we got married. He was clear, right from the start. I made my peace with that.’
I thought.
‘Yes, yes, I know. I just always thought he’d have changed his mind by now,’ Enid said, exasperated, as though she’d been waiting daily for the news that Tansy was having a baby.
‘Well, you know they say that’s the greatest mistake women make, thinking they can change a man.’ Pretty good advice, Tans. Maybe you should have listened to that. ‘Anyway,’ she said
, keen to move the subject on, ‘guess who I was thinking about this morning?’
‘Who?’
‘Maria.’ Tansy said it tentatively, unsure how her mother would respond. Instantly, Enid shot her a brittle glare that made Tansy flinch. A shatter of stares.
‘What on earth for?’ Enid demanded.
‘Just being in church, you know, because she was a nun . . .’ Tansy let her words trail off, no longer feeling confident her mother would welcome the idea of Tansy contacting Maria, let alone her plan to bring her to the party.
‘Pft. If she was a real nun she’d still be in the order, wouldn’t she? She took holy vows to serve the church for the rest of her life, until death. But then she abandoned them, just like she abandoned our family right when we needed her the most.’ Enid paused, her eyes focused somewhere in the distance, remembering. ‘She didn’t care what happened to us, and it was all for nothing, apparently, since she left the church anyway.’
‘I’m sure she had her reasons,’ Tansy ventured.
Enid shook her head. ‘She was married to the church and she broke those vows. When we take the sacrament of marriage we take it for life. For. Life. There’s no getting out of it when it doesn’t suit you anymore.’
She had Tansy’s attention now, as well as her concern. ‘Is everything okay with you and Dad?’
Her mother’s verbosity of the past couple of minutes dried up and she folded her arms. ‘Fine.’
Tansy nodded slowly. She knew this stance. She knew that her mother had shut down the louvres over the window to her thoughts and the more Tansy tried to pry them open the tighter they’d close.
The piercing sting of sunburn drew her attention and she pulled a cotton shawl around her shoulders. Even in the last month of autumn you could still burn in Brisbane.
‘But forget that,’ Enid said, waving away the conversation. ‘What was your news?’ She was trying to sound interested, but the set of her mouth and the frost in her voice said she was still preoccupied with thoughts of Maria.
Oh dear. This well of bitterness was a lot deeper than Tansy had realised. ‘I have a new client to meet this week,’ she fudged, hoping that would be enough to keep her mother happy. She didn’t feel like talking about Toronto now and she certainly wouldn’t be sharing anything about Maria. She needed more time to discover why the sisters had had such a falling-out and to prepare Enid for Maria’s arrival at the party. But that would have to wait until Enid was in a much better mood. And of course, Maria would have to agree to come. There was no point counting any chickens before they’d hatched. For now, she would just get on with planning what she hoped would be a wonderful reunion. And she’d try to talk to her father and find out what was going on at home. More than anything, this little chat today had convinced her one hundred per cent that she needed to pull her family together before she left the country.
3
Monday morning, Maria woke with a horrible kick to her chest at the memory of the official letter. But, nowadays well practised at dealing with huge emotions, she effectively slammed closed an iron door on those thoughts. Beginning her day just before dawn as she’d done for decades, she pulled one of her two op-shop-purchased cardigans around herself and went from her small bedroom into the adjoining office. She adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose, turned on the laptop and logged into the Haven’s inbox. Michaela had emailed again from Cambodia, this time with a sad face in the subject line. Maria sucked in cool early morning air through her teeth and opened it.
Hi Maria, I hope you don’t mind my writing again but I couldn’t sleep and needed to talk to someone. It’s too hot to sleep here anyway and the children are restless. The fans click interminably day and night, though I only notice them when I’m awake at night.
And there’s the chanting from the monks. They’ve been here for the past week (did I tell you that?) giving special instruction to the children. I do love their chanting, though. It sounds so otherworldly, like it’s coming from a galaxy far away.
Maria leaned back from the screen to take a moment to listen to her own surrounds. The kookaburras announced the first rays of light, the tin roof creaked slowly as it woke for another day, and there was the gentle whir of the laptop. But otherwise, all was quiet. It wouldn’t stay that way, of course, not with a busload of corporate guests arriving in a couple of hours’ time. They’d be as they always were—some yahooing men looking forward to the afternoon drinks, some women irritated to have to participate in juvenile games, some falsely jovial managers who were silently stroppy that their billable time sheets would be suffering from this waste of productivity, and a cheery human resources manager who lived for this one event a year.
She focused on the screen once more, feeling the pinch under her skin as she read the rest of Michaela’s email. Michaela was still fretting about how to find the money for Sopheak’s spinal fusion operation back here in Australia to correct her scoliosis. Sopheak’s wheelchair was also getting on, and while not urgent, it would be wonderful to replace it so she could get around more easily to play with the other kids. Michaela always felt guilty that she couldn’t do more.
Maria knew about guilt. It was a pervasive and toxic emotion, and incredibly difficult to shake.
She started to type a reply to Michaela, then deleted it. It was far too pragmatic and Michaela was all heart. She’d given up her life in Australia to serve orphans in a treacherous, often violent country, with nothing but faith. Maria understood that too.
She wanted to be a shoulder for Michaela to cry on. Clearly, Michaela wanted that too or she wouldn’t unburden her soul to Maria so frequently. But Maria knew she just didn’t have the words Michaela needed to hear. So she settled on a prayer—one of her favourites, from Saint Therese, the ‘little flower’ who didn’t think herself capable of much at all but who inspired miracles around the world. Little Therese, benefactress of the needy, pray for us. And she told Michaela that she would say a decade of the rosary for her.
It had been years since she’d said the rosary each day, but she still liked to do it from time to time. After doing it her whole life, her body had a physical reaction to just holding the beads in her hands. They were prayer beads, essentially, not dissimilar to those used by the Buddhists in the Cambodian orphanage. Meditation beads. They brought her great peace.
Maria hit send, checked the time, decided to make a cuppa, and then returned to the laptop carrying a steaming mug of black tea with just a splash of milk.
The next email was from Tansy Butterfield. Her niece.
Another jolt zapped Maria’s chest and she automatically placed the warm mug there, in an unconscious attempt at solace. Once again her sense of safety had been pierced. In the past, she could have hidden from the world. Now it seemed anyone from anywhere could track her down and invade her private space.
Hi Maria,
I hope you received my letter on Friday and have had the chance to consider it. (If you haven’t, this email will be quite a bolt from the blue!) I was at mass yesterday (at St Columba’s) and thinking about you. Look, in short, I’d like to meet you. I work for myself, so I have some flexibility in my days, and you’re not that far away.
Maybe I could come up and help out with some chores? I’ve been reading about the orphanage in Cambodia—so horribly sad—and I’d love to help raise funds. It’s clever of the orphanage to have a business here in Australia to create a steady supply of income. I think that’s going to be the way of the future for charities, don’t you? It’s hard to just keep asking people for money for nothing but a good feeling in return. It’s far more sensible to link it to a business. Maybe I could offer some help through my business. I’d love to chat to you about that too.
Gosh, I have raved on, haven’t I? You see, we won’t have any trouble filling the silences! So, what do you think? Would it be okay if I came up to see you?
Tansy xx
Maria didn’t know whether to laugh or shake her fist at the screen. Part of her wa
s intrigued by this young woman, with her rambling thoughts and her whimsical attitude to life and her belief that Maria would of course love to meet her too. Part of her was also drawn by Tansy’s offer of assistance to the orphanage. Maria was focused on one thing only, raising funds for those children, and she never, ever turned down help, donations or publicity from anyone (although she was careful to keep herself out of the limelight as much as possible and refer interviews to Michaela). Part of her was outraged that Tansy was so pushy and had managed to break into her early morning solitude. And part of her was deeply saddened.
Tansy was her family, and family was something she’d long since let go of. Family was something she’d worked hard to forget. But sometimes a memory would float to the surface and she’d find herself watching it, like stepping into a room and finding a movie playing on the television.
There was the one about the hard years after her father’s death, with her mother doing leatherwork to make a little money, staining the strands and weaving them into belts and handbags; sending her three daughters to school in second-hand uniforms the nuns found for them; and inventing a thousand different ways to use pumpkins.
Heavens, Maria hated pumpkins. For years, she could barely walk past one in the convent garden without gagging. Mother Veronica had made her pray to stop being so wasteful and ungrateful. But as far as she was concerned, the pumpkin’s only virtues were that it was large and easy to grow, it multiplied faster than the loaves and the fishes in the Bible, and it was versatile. Actually, that was quite a lot in its favour. But there was only so much of the stuff anyone could eat in a lifetime. Now the ones she grew in the garden she could sell for money for the orphanage. For that, at least, she was grateful. But her dislike truly did verge on hatred.
The Beekeeper's Secret Page 3
