The Valley of Lost Stories

by Vanessa McCausland

  ‘You mentioned some books on the history of the valley. Do you think you could point me to them? I’m quite keen to read about the missing woman from the 1940s, Clara Black.’

  The woman paused in her book stamping. ‘There was another woman too, it’s believed. It wasn’t widely publicised.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She was a druggie. No one was sure if she offed herself, or ran off with some of the bikers who were notorious in the region at the time. But people around here have long memories. There’s also the Lithgow correctional facility just down the road. Been some escapes there. You can imagine the types.’

  ‘And this other woman. Who was she? When did that happen?’ asked Emmie, trying to sound more casual than she felt.

  The woman scrunched up her face, trying to remember. ‘Gosh, the memory’s not as good as it used to be. Now you’re pushing it. I’d say 20 years back. More. Yes, that seems about right. Went under the radar. Not like Clara Black – she’s the reason people come for the ghost tours. Here, I’ll show you what we’ve got. Laura Blakey, retired teacher with a bit of time on her hands, wrote a bit of a potted history on the place a few years back.’

  Emmie followed the woman through the stacks. The smell of old books transported her to the simple school libraries of her youth. It was like going back in time 30 years. In fact, the whole town seemed stuck somewhere in the 1980s.

  ‘Here it is.’ The woman slid the book out by its slender spine. ‘This section here is where you’ll find local history. Enjoy.’ She began to walk away, then she turned. ‘And I’m sorry about your friend. I hope you find her.’

  Emmie smiled. ‘Thank you. Thanks for your help.’ She sat down in a faded armchair. She realised her hands were shaking as she opened the book.

  Jean

  1948

  The valley smelled familiar, like eucalyptus and dust and the heat of the day still lingered in the night air. Conflicting feelings churned inside her as the car crunched its way through the hotel gates. It was late and only a few rooms were lit. Her heart grew warm at the thought of seeing Liv. Her darling. Her girl. But the feeling was overlaid by something dark, a shadow she could feel growing stronger. Now that they were back here in the valley her ruse felt bigger, more serious. And her desire to escape this place felt stronger, too. If only she had not seen the sea.

  Exhaustion had lulled her to sleep on the descent into the valley. She had removed her shoes and curled up, her stockinged feet tucked underneath her. It felt like she’d lived a lifetime in two days and her visit with her father had torn something deep inside her. And yet there was Magnus’s huge generosity. She felt even more beholden to this man. She desired him, respected him, so why did she fear him? She could feel all the threads of her life tangling, like the branches of the trees out there in the dark. She knew she must tell Magnus about Liv and Robert. She knew he wanted her to return with him to Sydney, take up Mr Parker’s generous offer. And why wouldn’t she? Magnus had even told Mr Parker she had accepted his proposition before they left, as though it was his decision to make. She had been too weak to protest. And she had wanted it, if she was honest with herself, she wanted the room over the harbour, the dancing every night, the smell of salt on her bedsheets.

  Magnus cut the engine, the whites of his eyes flashing as they met hers in the dark.

  He placed his hand on her leg. ‘A nightcap in my room perhaps, after such a long drive?’

  She hesitated. Still, the feeling of wanting to please him was there. He had done so much for her. The gifts, all the money for her father. Anxiety whipped through her. She couldn’t keep putting this off. She had to break it. Had to be brave. She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Magnus,’ she whispered with more gravitas than the refusal of a drink would warrant.

  An awful silence stretched out and somewhere a lone bird call echoed through the valley.

  ‘For what?’ There was still warmth in his voice, and she held onto the promise of it.

  ‘Magnus, I wanted to be her. I wanted to be Serpentine Rose again. It was nothing more than that, I promise you.’

  It was hard to read his expression in the dark, but he took her hand. ‘You are Serpentine Rose.’ He stroked her cheek, tenderly, and she could feel her resolve wavering under his touch. ‘You’re tired. It’s been a long journey. We’ll rest for a few days before returning to Sydney.’

  But her father’s words came to her. She’s a strong girl. You’d be so proud of her. She remembered her mother’s face. The way her smile lit her eyes. That smile that was never far away. That face so known, so dear. Always there. Her comfort. Her home. She remembered the aching pain of when she was gone. The hollow mother-shaped hole that no amount of anything good would ever fill. She could never do that to Liv.

  She exhaled and closed her eyes. ‘I have a child, Magnus. A little girl. Liv is her name.’ She didn’t dare look at him. ‘So, you see, I’m not who you think I am.’

  There was silence and it thickened the air, making it hard to breathe. She felt beads of sweat form on her brow. Her heart was loud in the still cabin of the car as she waited. And then there was a thump as Magnus hit the steering wheel, hard with his fist. Jean knotted her hands together in her lap to stop them from shaking.

  His voice was tinged with something she’d not heard before. Menace, but disguised by a light tone. ‘What’s this? Another humiliation for Magnus? Did you set out to purposely make me look like a fool?’

  She shook her head, swallowed hard. Her voice was weaker now. It had an awful pleading quality. She sounded like a child herself. ‘Of course not. I wanted to tell you on that first night we met at the ball and then at the ballet hall. But I couldn’t. I was so seduced by it all.’ She paused, willing him to listen. To understand. ‘By what you offered. By you. By the memory of what my life used to be. I missed it so much. But coming back here, I’ve missed my daughter. And I can’t keep lying to you. I’m a mother. A wife.’

  She could feel his eyes on her, boring through the dark. ‘A wife?’ His voice was strangled. ‘You’re married?’

  Her voice was tiny. ‘Yes. But–’

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as though it was all a joke. As though none of it really mattered. ‘Well, it’s obvious you don’t love him. And by the looks of how I found you, he has no money. You’ll leave him. Mr Parker wants you to dance for him. You can open in the autumn. It’s a done deal. We’ll leave in the morning.’

  ‘But my daughter, Liv . . .’

  As she spoke her name Jean formed an image of her child dancing in their tiny kitchen. She could smell the sweetness of the soap on her skin, see the lift of her little chin, the easy way her feet found the steps. The way she smiled when she twirled. She longed to be there in that small kitchen watching her daughter dance.

  ‘Serpentine, this life you’ve been offered is no place for a child.’ His voice was a bark. ‘I have no want of a child.’ He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. ‘I’m already keeping your father in housing, and paying for the clothes on his back, for God’s sake. What more do you want from me? You women are all the same.’

  She felt his words reach her like small slaps. She swallowed, feeling everything slow. She remembered the feeling of salt air on her skin. She knew she would never feel it again. The ache of what she was giving up moved through her and she felt tears wet her face, but she met his eyes.

  ‘I understand, Magnus. And I want nothing more from you. I’m sorry, I truly am.’ She opened the car door, the warm night air, familiar, dusty, rushed in, enveloping her, calling her back to her child. He grabbed her wrist and instinctively she drew back, panic rippling through her. His fingers burned into her skin and she yelled in pain but the more she pulled the harder he gripped.

  His voice was low and there was no lightness disguising the menace now. ‘You don’t get to just walk away from me. Not after everything I’ve done for you. And I know what you’ll do. You’ll go around me. I know how women lik
e you operate. You think you’re the first? You’re not.’ He laughed and it sounded sharp and cruel. She felt it like a stab. ‘You’ll take your daughter and go back to Mr Parker. But that’s not how this works. Parker’s allegiance is to me.’

  She saw then clearly that he already thought he possessed her, that she was his to trade, to own. Nothing was ever free in this life. She’d deluded herself to think it could be more than that, because of his tenderness, because of what he’d done for her father. But a man like him dealt in particulars. In ownership. And she was his now. He had bought her, and she had let him. His generosity with her father had confused her, seduced her, blinded her for a moment, made her think that what they had was bigger, grander. She realised with an ache how much she wanted that big love and how far she’d come from having it. How wrong she’d been. She saw that in his eyes now.

  But she had Liv. She may not have a man she truly loved, but her love for her daughter was the sea, quiet at dawn, and the movement of her body lost in dance. It was all and it was everything. She was adored. She was needed. Something lit in her, some small spark and she wrenched hard, freeing her arm.

  It felt like fire burning up from her core and she turned to him, looked him straight in the eyes and she wasn’t afraid anymore. ‘Men like you think you own women, but you don’t. I’ll do what I please with my body, with my talent. I don’t belong to you. I don’t belong to any man. My gift is my own and nobody else’s. And you’re so very mistaken if you think I’d choose the seductions you offer over my own daughter.’

  She heard him growl, low like a wild animal in the dark and she knew she must run. She pictured her daughter in bed, the feeling of slipping in beside her, wrapping her body around those long, growing limbs, pushing her nose into that sweet-smelling hair. And Robert. He would protect her. Sweet Robert. Darling Liv. An image flashed into her mind as the pebbles and sticks dug into her bare feet, and she ran from the car. She glanced behind to see Magnus gaining on her as she flew towards the gate, towards her love. She remembered the figure of Clara Black, right here, walking barefoot in the moonlight, disappearing from sight, as the night claimed her forever.

  CHAPTER 41

  Nathalie

  Under the dense, shady arms of a weeping mulberry tree Macie had laid out a white cloth. In the centre sat a tray full of delicacies – fresh fruits, tiny cakes and sugar cubes. A miniature tea set had been laid with a milk jug and teapot, and teddy bears stood as placeholders, one for each child.

  It was as though Nathalie had slipped down a rabbit hole and emerged into a strange enchanted land. A fractured fairy tale. As though the darkness of the past few days was merely a dream and this idyllic garden setting was reality. It made her uneasy, this stark contrast. Didn’t Macie know how stressed they all were? She had wanted to leave the valley with the others rather than be left alone with Macie, especially after what she’d seen in her office. But Richie was fussing and unsettled and the girls were tired after a night of broken sleep and before she knew it the car was pulling away in a plume of dust.

  The children squealed in delight as they saw the picnic.

  ‘It’s like a magical cubbyhouse,’ said Jasper, picking up a bear and hugging it to him.

  ‘Do you think this is where the fairies live?’ asked Sim, her little eyes shining.

  ‘Maybe sweetheart,’ said Nathalie with false brightness to mask the feeling of foreboding as she crawled on her hands and knees under the shadowy branches. The harsh morning sunlight diffused through the thick foliage. The children were spellbound, but under the sweet note of cake she could smell damp earth and rotting flowers.

  Sim snuggled in her lap and Nathalie tried to find a place for the rising emotion in her throat. An image of that little boy’s face flashed into her mind. Jacob. How is Macie even able to do all this for our kids? Isn’t it too painful? She was reminded of the feeling she’d had in Macie’s study. What she’d found buried there. How much it deviated from the perfect picture Macie presented on the surface. Like a pristine white picnic cloth laid over darker, deeper things: soil, dead insects, twisted roots, secrets.

  Seraphine and Will entered the tree’s shady lair last, and Nathalie noticed the girl had an arm protectively around Will. His little face lit up when he saw the picnic.

  Nathalie smiled and squeezed Will’s arm.

  ‘Are those bears for us?’ he asked, bending down and stroking one with a tenderness that brought tears to Nathalie’s eyes.

  ‘I think so,’ said Nathalie. She ran her fingers along their soft fur. They looked new. Had Macie gone out and bought these for the kids?

  Macie appeared then, ducking under the foliage and crouching to the children’s height. She wore a loose white linen pant suit, better suited for a wedding than sitting on the ground in the middle of a garden.

  Nathalie felt a cold tremor run though her, but she smiled brightly. ‘This is an unexpected surprise,’ she said, to cover the loud beat of her own heart.

  ‘I just thought they could do with a bit of magic. It’s been such a hard time.’

  ‘It has.’

  ‘Make sure you have some fruit as well as the cake,’ Macie said to the children, who were stalking around the food on their hands and knees like hungry animals. Sim was inspecting the wide green leaves, very possibly for fairies. ‘Everyone put some food on their little plate. You all have a cushion to sit on,’ Macie said.

  ‘This is so fun. The best morning tea ever,’ said Seraphine. ‘Thank you, Macie.’

  ‘That’s lovely manners,’ said Nathalie. ‘Everyone thank Macie for the picnic, please.’

  ‘Thank you for the picnic, Macie,’ their small voices chorused in singsong and Nathalie and Macie shared a smile.

  ‘And for the adults a different kind of tea,’ said Macie, indicating for Nathalie to take a seat next to a bottle of wine a little apart from the children. She handed her a pretty floral teacup, which she filled with sparkling pink rosé.

  ‘Oh, I’m trying to cut back. I shouldn’t, and Richie is inside napping,’ said Nathalie, holding the sweet-smelling wine to her nose and feeling her resolve softening. It was intoxicating under here. The sunshine was a lace of light through the branches above their heads. She allowed herself a small sip from the china cup. It was sweet and cool. She took another and settled onto a cushion. She had to stop judging Macie so harshly. The poor woman had been through so much and here she was making teddy bear picnics for their children.

  Macie passed her an angel sponge cake filled with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. ‘Oh, I used to love these as a child. Thank you. Just as long as there’s enough for the kids.’ Nathalie took a bite. The cake was light and delicious, with a sticky strawberry jam centre.

  ‘Do you like it, Will?’ asked Macie, calling him over to them.

  Will nodded, hugging his bear to his chest. Nathalie felt tears well in her eyes once more. This was actually a lovely thing Macie had done for Will, and given the loss of her own son, it seemed extra gracious. They watched him join the others, sitting cross-legged on their cushions in a little circle.

  She glanced at Macie who was watching the children with a beatific smile on her face. Perhaps she should come clean, tell Macie she knew about Jacob. Try to connect, mother to mother. After all, Macie knew her darkest secrets.

  ‘Macie, I just wanted to say how nice this is and I’m . . . I’m amazed you’re able to be so gracious with our children. I know how difficult it must be with your son–’

  ‘You couldn’t bear that I knew your secrets, you had to know mine, too. Is that it?’

  Nathalie froze.

  ‘I know you paid a little visit to my office.’ A smile remained on Macie’s pink lips even though her tone was not friendly.

  Their eyes met and Nathalie felt herself recoil. The article she’d left on the ground. The key. Her temples began to throb and she put down her cup. ‘Macie, I can explain. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–’

  ‘Drink. Drink. It�
�s organic from a local vineyard. I always like to support the locals.’ Macie calmly topped up Nathalie’s teacup.

  Nathalie watched the wine fizz and did as she was told, her head spinning a little. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She didn’t know what to say, how to excuse her transgression. She felt ashamed that she’d gone in there, forced her way into another mother’s private space, another mother’s pain. She tried again.

  ‘I shouldn’t have gone in there. It’s just that I saw all the photos on the wall. Of your son.’

  ‘We’re not always honest with ourselves, are we?’ Macie asked, taking a sip from her own cup and brushing cake crumbs from her lap. ‘But I feel like you and I are made of the same stuff. I felt that as soon as you told me about the pain of your husband’s affair.’

  Nathalie’s heart was so loud she was sure Macie could hear it above the rustle of the leaves and the children’s chatter. This was the first time Macie had acknowledged their encounter. She felt her mouth go dry.

  ‘I was once as beautiful as you, Nathalie. But pain changes us. Distorts us. But you know this, don’t you?’

  Nathalie’s skin felt slippery with sweat, the air under the tree too moist, too heavy. It was hard to breathe. The children were giggling as they ducked in and out of the leaves, bears clutched to their chests, their mouths smeared with cake.

  ‘Your son. Jacob. I’m so sorry, Macie. I had no idea you’d been through that. It must have been horrible.’

  Macie gave her a knowing smile and sipped from her cup. ‘Well, if anyone is to know my secrets, I would choose you. But secrets are secrets for a reason. Doors are locked for a reason.’

  Nathalie pressed her hand to her heart. ‘I’m so sorry. We just stumbled upon the office. Sim was hiding in there. During the thunderstorm. I have no idea why she was there, and I saw the photos of Jacob. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my place to go in there.’