Page 178 of The Pearl Sister
‘I can see Charlie in him already,’ Kitty breathed, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘His energy, his kindness . . .’ Then she lifted a palm to Drummond’s cheek. ‘I have made so many mistakes in my life—’
‘Hush, Kitty.’ Drummond caught her hand and kissed it. He pressed his forehead to hers. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never stopped.’
‘I fear I feel the same,’ she whispered back.
‘It’s time now, isn’t it? For us.’
‘Yes,’ Kitty replied. ‘I rather believe it is.’
Camira turned her head and watched as Mister D’s arms encircled Kitty tenderly and held her close to him. She looked to the field where her grandson was whooping with joy as he let the girl take the reins of the horse, holding her safe to him as she cantered them around the field.
Camira closed her eyes and smiled.
‘I diddum the best I could.’
CeCe
Alice Springs, Northern Territory
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol
for a resting place
33
‘So, that’s the story of how I met my Sarah. It sounds rather ridiculous, but it really was love at first sight for both of us. You could say we rode off into the sunset that very first moment we met.’ Francis’s eyes misted at the memory.
‘She didn’t go back to Adelaide with Kitty?’
‘No. She stayed at Hermannsburg with me. They were glad to have her, what with her sewing skills.’ Francis indicated the embroidered cushion covers. ‘And her natural way with the young ones. She was born to be a mother. The irony was, it took us years to have our own child.’
‘Mymother?’ I whispered.
‘Yes. Sadly, the doctors told us she was the only child we could have. We both adored her.’ Francis struggled to suppress a yawn. ‘Do excuse me, it’s getting late.’
Before he made a move to stand up, there was one more question I had to know the answer to before I could sleep. ‘What about Kitty and Drummond?’
‘Now therewasa happy ending. He went with her when she left for Europe. God knows how he acquired a passport to do it, given he’d been declared officially dead, but knowing him, he probably paid for a forged one. You could do that kind of thing in the old days.’ Francis smiled. ‘They made their home in Florence where no one knew their past, and lived happily together for the rest of their lives. Kitty never did get to Ayers Rock, mind you. She stayed on at Hermannsburg until just before my grandmother died.’
‘Did Kitty tell you that day thatshewas your grandmother too? And that Drummond was your great-uncle?’
‘No, she left that to Camira, who told me the whole story on her deathbed a few days later. After they went to Italy, Drummond and Kitty kept in touch regularly with Sarah and me, and in 1978, when she herself died, Kitty left us her apartment in Florence. We sold the apartment and bought this place with the proceeds, with a view to retiring here. The Broome house Kitty had left in a trust for Lizzie, along with her stocks and shares, which had grown over the years to a sizeable sum.’
‘What happened to Ralph Junior and his family at Alicia Hall?’ I queried.
‘Dear Great-Uncle Ralph,’ said Francis with a smile. ‘He was a good man; trustworthy and steadfast to the last. His family always welcomed us at Alicia Hall on the rare occasions we travelled to Adelaide. Little Eddie did rather well for himself too. He blossomed under the tender care of Ruth and Ralph, and once he knew he was safe, he began to speak. Sarah, who kept in touch with him to her dying day, always said that he hadn’t shut up since! He was as bright as a button and became a very successful barrister. He only retired last year. Perhaps one day, I could take you to visit him at Alicia Hall.’
‘Yeah, maybe. So . . .’ I needed to ask the question. ‘Is my birth mum dead too?’
‘She is, yes. I’m sorry, Celaeno.’
‘Well, I suppose you can’t grieve for someone you’ve never known, can you?’ I said eventually. ‘And my dad? Who was he?’
‘He was called Toba and your mother met him while we were still living in Papunya, when she was just sixteen. Papunya was a village full of creative types, and a hub for the local Pintupi and Luritja Aboriginal communities. Your mother fell in love with him but he was an . . . unsuitable man. He was a talented Aboriginal painter, but far too keen on his grog and other women. When she announced she was pregnant with you, we’ – Francis’s fingers curled round each other in tension – ‘suggested that she shouldn’t go through with the pregnancy. I’m sorry, Celaeno, but that’s the truth of it.’
I swallowed hard. ‘I understand. I really do. It was like your history playing out all over again.’
