Alice jiggled one knee as the words of her mother’s will flared in her mind. Should June Hart not be fit to raise my children, I, Agnes Hart, hereby leave guardianship to Sally Morgan.
‘Did you know her? My mum?’ Alice demanded.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, Alice. I didn’t. Not really. No more than occasionally passing each other in town.’
Alice shook her head. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Why would she leave us to you?’
‘I didn’t know her, but your mother knew me, Alice,’ Sally said. ‘She knew me.’
‘I don’t know what that means,’ Alice said. Her heart felt constricted, as if her ribcage was too small to contain it.
‘When I was young,’ Sally said slowly, ‘I fell in love. With someone who wasn’t mine to fall in love with.’ She shook her head. ‘I was eighteen. Never had a boyfriend. I’d seen your father here and there. He was a new cane farmer in town. Quiet, hardworking, brooding. Kept to himself. There was something about him, I guess.’ She paused. ‘I watched him from afar for a long time. No one knew much about him. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. It was just one night. One. I was at the pub with girlfriends, tipsy on shandy, and got some Dutch courage. Walked straight up to him at the bar and asked him if I could buy him a drink … Two months later I found out I was pregnant.’
Alice stared at her. ‘When was this?’
‘The year after you were born, when —’
‘No?’ Alice interjected. ‘That can’t be right.’
Sally nodded solemnly. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘No,’ Alice said again. Nowhere in her mother’s stories was there a sister. Her mother couldn’t have known about Sally.
Sally waited, her face open, her eyes heavy.
Alice’s head spun. ‘You have a child with my father?’
‘Had,’ Sally murmured. ‘I had a child.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘Gillian died when she was five. Leukaemia.’
Alice couldn’t bring herself to speak.
‘I told Clem about Gilly when she was born, just so he knew about her, but I made it clear I didn’t want anything from him. Still, the love of a child changes you. I couldn’t stop myself from hoping he’d acknowledge her. The night she died, as morbid as it may sound, I sent him a clipping of her hair, tied in one of her favourite ribbons. Although Clem wouldn’t have anything to do with her while she was alive, I wanted him to have something of her. The truth is, I was a mess. Angry. I wanted to hurt him, to punish him, to remind him of how he’d ignored her life, in her death.’
The smell of kerosene filled Alice’s nose as she remembered opening the drawer of her father’s workbench to find the photograph of Thornfield, and a curl of hair, tied in a pale ribbon. Gillian’s hair. Her sister’s hair.
‘The carving of Gilly was at my front door when I got home from her funeral,’ Sally said.
In Alice’s memory, the lamplight flickered over his carvings of June, and a young girl. Who Alice had wrongly presumed was herself.
‘Your mother came to the funeral.’
Alice looked sharply at Sally.
‘I saw her,’ Sally said, ‘at the back of the congregation. I couldn’t find her after the service. She left a pot plant at the grave with a card to Gilly, signed in your name.’
Alice whimpered, covering her face with her hands, imagining what it must have taken for her mother to get herself into town, to the funeral and back home, without her father finding out. What it must have taken to discover such a betrayal yet still find compassion for Sally. The pain she must have carried, knowing Alice would never meet her half-sister. The trust her mother must have had in Sally’s decency; the point of desperation she must have reached to leave guardianship of her children to Sally. The point of fear her mother must have reached to have had the need for a will.
‘What plant?’
‘Sorry?’
‘What plant did Mum leave, at the grave?’
Sally went to the open window and reached through to pick a peach-coloured flower from a blooming bush. She offered it to Alice.
‘Beach hibiscus,’ Alice cried softly, remembering the flower crown her mother made when she was a child. Remembering its meaning in the Thornfield Dictionary. Love binds us in eternity.
‘A year later you walked into the library,’ Sally went on. ‘I recognised you straight away. I knew you were Clem and Agnes’s daughter. My Gilly’s big sister. After the fire, I made it my business to look after you.’
‘Look after me?’
‘I was there. In hospital.’ Sally’s voice was nearly inaudible. ‘I sat with you while you were in a coma. I read you stories.’
Stay with my voice, Alice, I’m right here.
‘I sent you a box of books …’ Sally trailed off.
Her childhood books, which she was told were a gift from June.
‘I stayed with you until I found out June was coming. After you’d left with her, your nurse rang and told me your brother survived, but June didn’t take him. Then a solicitor contacted me about Agnes’s will … I made my John find out where you were, though. I needed to know you were safe. Once I knew you were at Thornfield, I forced myself to accept June’s wishes and make peace with things.’
Alice looked at her blankly. ‘What wishes?’ she asked.
Sally studied her face. ‘Oh, Alice,’ she said after a moment.
‘What wishes, Sally?’
‘June made it clear she didn’t want you to have any contact with me, or your brother.’
‘Made it clear, how?’
Sally blanched. ‘I sent letters, Alice. For years. Letters and photographs about your brother, as he grew up. I always wanted contact with you, but never got a reply. With June being your legal guardian, I couldn’t impose upon her. I had no power. All I could do was make sure I didn’t cause any additional pain. Especially not for you, or your brother.’
Alice cried out in frustration. Desperate for fresh air she got up and went to the window. Pressed her forehead against the cool glass.
After a while Sally cleared her throat. ‘Your brother grew up knowing he was adopted. I wouldn’t have raised him any other way,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s always known about you.’
Alice turned.
‘He’ll be twenty soon. Such a gentle soul. Just moved in with his girlfriend and works as a landscaper. Never as happy as when he’s in a garden.’
Alice sank back to the couch. ‘What’s his name?’ she whispered.
‘I named him Charlie,’ Sally said, smiling for the first time that morning.
29. Foxtails
Meaning: Blood of my blood
Ptilotus | Inland Australia
Tjulpun-tjulpunpa (Pit.) are small shrubs that form spikes of purple flowers covered in dense white hairs. Leaves are covered in closely packed star-shaped hairs that slow the rate of water loss. Traditionally, women used the soft furry flowers to line wooden bowls in which babies could be carried.
Alice pedalled uphill, as hard as she could bear. Her locket swung back and forth, hitting her chest as she puffed along. She wanted to kick herself for not driving into town; her backpack was cutting into her shoulders, filled to the zipper with ingredients for dinner that night. But the exercise was helping. She’d needed to work her nerves through her body ever since Sally had arranged the dinner date. This morning, she’d pulled the cobwebs off a bike in Sally’s garage and decided to ride. As she cycled into town, the sea had glittered turquoise. Alice took it as a good sign.
Riding home, Alice thought through the menu one more time. Barramundi tacos with salsa and homemade guacamole, and Anzac biscuits, crunchy on the outside, chewy in the middle. Sally had taken care of everything else. She seemed determined to bring Alice and Charlie together gently.