Page 175 of The Pearl Sister
‘No. The Protectorate is not welcome here. These people come of their own free will to learn about Jesus, but, more importantly, to get a good meal inside their bellies,’ Drummond replied with a chuckle. ‘Many of them have been here for years. The pastor allows them to practise their own culture alongside Christianity.’
As she heard the sound of the children’s laughter, Kitty was filled with emotion. ‘It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen; two cultures working in harmony together. Perhaps there’s hope for Australia after all.’
‘Yes. And look who it is over there.’ Drummond indicated a tall, bulky man lugging a table into a hut. ‘Hermannsburg’s most famous son, Albert Namatjira. We’re lucky to catch him. He’s often out walkabout painting.’
‘That’s Namatjira?’ Kitty squinted her eyes against the sun, awed that the most famous Aboriginal artist in Australia was standing only a few feet away from her.
‘It is. Interesting fella. If you’re a good girl, I’ll introduce you later on. Now, let’s go and find the pastor.’
They walked across to a low bungalow set apart from the others and Drummond knocked on the door. A short, broadly built white man opened the door and greeted them with a smile. Despite the heat, he was dressed in black robes and a white clerical collar, and a pair of round rimless glasses rested on his large nose.
‘Mr D, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, thumping Drummond on the back heartily. He spoke English with a strong German accent.
‘Pastor Albrecht, this is Mrs Kitty Mercer from Adelaide and late of Broome,’ said Drummond. ‘She was very interested to see Hermannsburg for herself, having heard of it through her son, who was at school and university with Ted.’
‘Indeed?’ Pastor Albrecht’s eyes swept over Kitty as if he was assessing her for a place in the kingdom of heaven. ‘I’m afraid Ted is not here. He is currently based in Canberra working on a research project at the university, but it is my pleasure to welcome you, Mrs Mercer. And the young lady?’
‘This is Sarah, a friend of Mrs Mercer’s,’ Drummond replied.
‘How d’you do, yer honour.’ Sarah, looking nervously at the clerical robes, dipped a curtsey.
‘Are you thirsty? My wife has just made a jug of quandong cordial.’ Albrecht, walking with a slight limp, led them through to a small sitting room, its Edwardian furniture looking out of place in the simple hut. Once they had all been handed a glass of sweet pink cordial, they sat down.
‘So, how have things been here since my last visit?’ Drummond asked.
‘The usual ups and downs,’ said the pastor. ‘Thank the Lord that we have not had another drought, but Albert has had his problems, as you know. There was also a break-in some weeks ago. The robbers took everything from the safe, and I’m afraid to say that the tin box you gave me all those years ago when you brought Francis went with them. I do hope there was nothing particularly valuable in it. Francis told me his grandmother was relieved, for some reason.’
Kitty watched Drummond blanch. ‘No, it was nothing of value,’ he said lightly.
‘Well, you may be pleased to hear that justice was done. It was a couple of cattle rustlers who’d been robbing the safes of stations round here. They were found shot dead near Haasts Bluff. Whoever killed them made off with the stolen goods. My apologies, Mr D.’
‘So, the curse continues . . .’ Drummond murmured.
There was a knock on the door. A young woman popped her head around it, and spoke in German to the pastor.
‘Ah, the choir is about to sing!’ said Albrecht. ‘Yes, we will take a walk across, thank you, Mary. And could you also find Francis for me? He was helping Albert earlier.’
‘Of course,’ Drummond smiled, ‘where else would Francis be?’
As the four of them walked across the courtyard towards the chapel, Drummond held the pastor back and the two men talked in low voices behind Kitty and Sarah. When they arrived on the doorstep of the chapel, Kitty noted Drummond’s grave expression.
‘Please.’ The pastor indicated a rough wooden pew at the back of the church and the four of them sat down. The chapel was basic, its only decoration a large painting of Christ on the cross. Standing in front of it were perhaps thirty immaculately dressed young girls and boys, their faces eager with expectation as they waited for their pastor to indicate they should begin.
Kitty closed her eyes as the beautiful tune of ‘Abide With Me’ was sung in German by the Aboriginal choir. At the end, the four of them clapped enthusiastically.
‘I’m not one for hymns meself, but that singing were lovely, Missus M, even if I couldn’t understand a word they were saying,’ said Sarah.
‘Danke schon,Mary,Kinder.’ The pastor stood up and the three of them followed suit. Kitty saw that an old woman in a wooden wheelchair had been pushed to the back of the chapel by a grey-haired man. With them was a breathtakingly handsome young man, his hair a rich mahogany, skin the colour of butterscotch and enormous eyes that, as Kitty drew closer, she saw were a startling and unusual blue, with flecks of amber in the irises. They were not, however, looking at her, but fixed on Sarah next to her. Sarah was staring back just as blatantly.
‘What a beautiful young man,’ murmured Kitty as they waited for the choir to file out ahead of them.
‘He is indeed. And a very talented artist too. Francis has followed Namatjira about like a puppy ever since he could toddle,’ Drummond said.
Kitty dragged her eyes away from Francis and glanced down at the woman in the wheelchair. The woman looked up at her and Kitty had to grasp the back of the pew to steady herself. Even though the woman was desperately thin, her skin streaked with lines of age, Kitty knew the face as well as her own.
‘Good grief, it can’t be!’ she whispered to Drummond. Then she looked at the old man who had pushed the wheelchair in. ‘And that’s Fred!’
‘It is,’ he agreed, ‘but Camira is why I have brought you here. She doesn’t have much time left. Go and say hello.’
