The Valley of Lost Stories

by Vanessa McCausland

  Tears fell out of her like rain but her sobs were sandpaper dry. She held her little boy in the dark, the shadows of the mines all around them. Will. Will. Will. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  The others tried to get her to stand but she couldn’t, she didn’t want to. They tried to cover her skin in blankets, but she shrugged them off to feel the fresh air caress her skin. She didn’t want their food or water. She stayed there clinging to her little boy for a long time, but time had become elastic and she realised it didn’t matter anymore.

  When the paramedics came the light was coming up from behind the cliffs, a pale, new pink. She let them wrap her then in crinkly foil, and she drank and drank the delicious liquid they gave her. She hadn’t known how thirsty she’d been. After she had eaten a small, dense bar, as the daylight grew bright on the cliffs, she felt her mind begin to clear.

  She saw a single police car arrive, its lights blue and red in the soft dawn light. The officers spoke to her in hushed tones, crouching to her level, their eyes serious and steady. Emmie took Will away for a little while.

  They asked her how she’d got there and how long she’d been there. She said she didn’t really know. She didn’t mention Macie. It sounded absurd. She didn’t know if that was true, after all. It felt like she’d just woken up and everything was indistinct. She tried to answer their questions in between small sips of water, to find her voice, but she felt so tired.

  She watched Macie get into the police car flanked by two policewomen. She didn’t feel anger. That had burned off days ago. She had no heat left in her for it. She didn’t even need to know why Macie had done it. All she felt was gratitude.

  Will returned to her and she looked into his eyes. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you before. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I think I was sick and I couldn’t find a way to get better. But I’m here now. I am here, my love. I’m going to get better.’

  His eyes were red from crying. Her heart squeezed to think she’d caused him so much fear, so much pain.

  ‘I thought you left because you didn’t love me anymore.’

  Pen’s heart ached and she drew him close. ‘No, no, I would never ever leave you. Do you understand? Never.’

  Will fixed her with his intense gaze. ‘But you were so angry with me. Because of the lady, and the diary.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be. I was just scared because I didn’t understand. But I want to understand. I want to help.’

  Will curled his hand into hers. ‘Mummy, I know you want to go home now but before we go, can we please help the lady?’

  Pen nodded and tears spilled down her face. ‘I know. That’s what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it? When I got so angry.’

  Will nodded.

  Her heart crushed in her chest as she realised the depth of her son’s empathy. How had she not seen it before? How had she only seen his difference, his strangeness. Mistaken his sensitivity for weakness, for darkness? ‘Okay,’ said Pen, hugging him to her. ‘I’m listening.’

  They stood at the end of the dark hallway in front of a closed door. Pen tried it. Locked. The weak light from an old lamp did nothing to illuminate the shadowy corners. Pen felt the familiar unease shift and move inside her, but she fought it back and crouched on her haunches so she could look into Will’s eyes.

  ‘Tell me about this place,’ she said, taking his small hand in hers, pressing it between both her palms.

  ‘This is where she keeps leading me, Mummy.’

  Pen smoothed his soft cheeks with her thumbs. He was hot and flustered. She wanted to lead him outside into the light, into the sun, away from the dark corners of the world, the unknown. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to protect herself, but she knew she must face this.

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘This is Macie’s office,’ said Emmie. ‘Nathalie told us about it. Nathalie found you here, didn’t she, Will? But the door’s locked. Hang on, there’s a torch at the reception. Let me grab it.’

  ‘Why do you think the lady’s leading you here?’ asked Pen.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Emmie returned, shining the light along the walls, which were lined with paintings, mostly landscapes and women reclining on day beds. She hovered the light above Will’s head.

  ‘This one’s a framed newspaper article. I’ve seen this. At the library when I was reading about the history of the valley and the missing woman, Clara Black. It was a huge scandal at the time. A woman ran off to Sydney with a man and left her family in the valley. She left her daughter. They attended parties in Sydney together and then neither of them were ever seen again. It was speculated that they left Australia, went to London.’ Emmie took the frame from the wall and smoothed the dust off with her hand. The newsprint was yellow with age. She read the headline aloud.

  Local Dance Teacher in Valley Scandal

  Jean Peters, the local school ballet mistress has been embroiled in a scandal of Sydney proportions after she ran off with ladies’ man and oil magnate Magnus Varesso. She left behind her miner husband, Robert Peters, and small daughter, Liv Peters.

  Sources indicate that Jean was once a famous dancer named Serpentine Rose who danced at some of Sydney’s most esteemed establishments. Local mothers expressed their alarm that such a person of disrepute had been schooling their children in dance and had abandoned her six-year-old child to pursue a scandalous affair in Sydney, where the pair were spotted, before reportedly escaping to London, where Varesso had business interests.

  The scandal hit the close-knit town only weeks following the mysterious disappearance of local woman Clara Black.

  ‘And Clara Black is the missing woman who’s supposedly haunting the valley. The ghost from your Instagram post,’ said Pen.

  ‘Yes, everyone thought it was her ghost in my photo in the ruins,’ said Emmie. She crouched down to Will to let him see the article. ‘Will, the diary you found, was that a lady called Clara?’

  Will looked at Pen, a shadow of shame passing over his face. Pen put her arms around him. ‘It’s okay. We can look at it. I’m sorry I didn’t let you tell me about it before and I got so angry.’

  Will offered her a small smile. ‘That’s okay, Mummy. I forgive you.’

  Pen’s heart ached and she pressed her hand to her chest. She and Emmie shared a look.

  ‘Your son is all kinds of amazing,’ said Emmie as they watched him run down the hall to fetch the diary.

  Pen shook her head. ‘I’ve been struggling so hard that I haven’t opened my eyes to what I actually have.’

  Emmie rubbed her arm. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to be doing this?’

  Pen nodded. ‘Will needs me to.’

  ‘Do you even believe in ghosts?’

  Pen smiled. ‘I’m not sure. But I believe in Will.’

  The diary was cracked with age, its pages flimsy and thin. On the opening page in a small, neat hand was scrawled: Property of Clara Black. Emmie carefully found the last page of writing. The date was February 1948.

  It is the night of the hotel ball. I’m upstairs in my room, in my ballgown, trying not to cry as I make up my face. I’m escaping tonight. I’m going to sneak off into the dark when the ball is at its peak and everyone is giddy and drunk, and Magnus will be flirting and distracted. Mary is going to help me. She has a car packed and ready on the edge of the settlement with a bag containing only a few precious things. I know I must leave Magnus in this way, quietly, without him knowing, or I fear I’ll not live to tell the tale. He will kill me rather than lose me. His controlling nature has become unbearable, frightening. It has become physical. I’ve had to cover the bruises with scarves. My heart feels like it’s coming out of my body as I write this. I don’t know why I ended up with a man prone to violent fits of possessiveness. I know I brought it all on myself by starting up this secret affair, betraying Richard. I thought Magnus would be my escape from a tyrannical husband. But he turned out to be worse. I must ge
t away from them both. This time tomorrow I’ll be in Sydney making a new life for myself, God willing, even if it means vanishing forever from the lives of everyone I know.

  ‘If this is the same Clara Black, she got out of the valley,’ said Pen, her fingers tracing the ink. ‘She intended to go missing. Will, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you when you showed me this.’

  ‘So, it’s not Clara Black’s ghost that haunts this place,’ said Emmie, carefully leafing through the pages. ‘She’s detailed Magnus’s cruelty. He was abusive. Will, I’m so sorry you had to read this.’

  ‘It’s okay. I like mysteries. I like reading and writing detective stories,’ he said.

  ‘He’s actually a good writer as well as drawer,’ said Pen, feeling a rush of pride overtake the usual dull thump of shame. She hugged her little boy to her and looked him in the eye. ‘What do you think, Will? What does your detective brain say?’

  ‘Maybe it’s Jean.’

  A shiver, like a cool fingertip, traced along Pen’s spine. ‘I just got tingles.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Emmie. She read the article aloud again. ‘Jean supposedly left her family and ran off with Magnus to Sydney. But Will, you think she might still be here?’

  Will nodded.

  ‘We know this Magnus was a dangerous man,’ said Emmie. ‘And Jean was having an affair with him. Could the same thing Clara Black was afraid of, have happened to Jean? Maybe Jean wasn’t as lucky as Clara Black. Maybe she didn’t escape the valley.’

  ‘She wants something, Mummy,’ said Will, his little face strained with emotion.

  ‘Oh honey.’ Pen hugged him to her.

  ‘What could she want?’ asked Emmie.

  Will shook his head.

  ‘I think I might know,’ said Pen, her eyes meeting Will’s.

  CHAPTER 48

  Will

  We went to the house of a lady called Liv. It was a posh house on Sydney Harbour. Liv was a little girl, maybe my age when she lived in the valley, but now she’s old, like really old. Much older even than Mummy. She used to be poor because everyone who lived in the valley was poor, but she’s rich now because she became a famous ballerina when she grew up. Mummy said she’d even performed at the Opera House and it’s funny how she became a dancer, like Jean, her mum. And that Jean would have been proud of her, just like Mummy’s proud of me.

  We went and sat in an old room with a nice view of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, and Emmie talked a lot about a book she’s writing about the valley. She’s really excited about it and Liv seemed to want to talk to her lots. She told her about how she used to play a game with an old cotton reel on a string, and how she went to the movies, which were called ‘the pictures’ in the olden days, and how she had fond memories of the valley. That bit was kind of boring because I knew most of what they were talking about because of all the books I read when we were staying there, but at least I got a lemonade and to count the seagulls and boats. Finally Mummy said I had something I wanted to show her.

  ‘Let’s see, what have you got there, young man?’ Liv asked in a kind voice. She had kind eyes, too. The ones that crinkle up in a nice way.

  ‘It’s a diary of a lady called Clara Black. I found it at the hotel we stayed at in the valley.’

  She took the diary carefully, much more carefully than most other adults. She held it like it was a small, helpless animal and I liked that.

  ‘Clara Black. The woman who went missing in the valley just before my mother left. Yes, I remember it well. How extraordinary to have found this. It’s a little piece of history. Where did you come across this, Will?’

  ‘I found it under a creaky floorboard in my room at the hotel.’

  ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘Read the last entry,’ said Emmie. ‘It’s about Magnus Varesso, the man who–’

  Liv’s body stiffened. ‘I know who Magnus is,’ she said, her voice not as friendly as before.

  When she finished reading the last page, the bit where Clara escapes the mean Magnus man, she had tears in her eyes.

  ‘Will has something he wants to say to you,’ said Mummy.

  I was nervous because sometimes adults don’t understand stuff you say, or they don’t really believe you, but Mummy gave me a look that means I love you, it’s okay. She squeezed my hand and I held it without letting go. Everyone was looking at me and I felt stupid, but then I remembered how bad I felt for the lady at the hotel and how sad she seemed and what if she really was a lady called Jean who never got to tell her little girl she loved her, like my mum got to tell me she loved me.

  ‘I don’t think your mum meant to leave you. I thought my mum left me, but she actually didn’t.’

  Liv’s eyes got sparkly when I said that, and she took my hand. Hers felt soft, and also rough, like paperbark.

  ‘Tell me, why do you say that, Will?’

  ‘I know you might not believe in ghosts. Not many adults do. But I think I saw Jean. At the hotel we stayed at in the valley. The paper said she ran away with a bad man called Magnus and left you, but she’s still there.’

  Liv squeezed my hand and she didn’t talk for a little while. I think maybe she was crying but it was the kind of crying where you’re a little bit happy as well as sad. When she did talk her voice was husky.

  ‘I believe you’re probably right, Will. Thank you for being brave enough to share that with me. It’s very kind of you to be so concerned and to come and tell me this. And I knew. Deep down I think I always knew my mother never meant to leave me.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  Liv looked out the window towards the sea. The wind smelled like salt and she smiled. ‘Because she never came to my performances. In Sydney, or in London. I became a ballerina because of her. And every time I danced, I danced for her. And the mother I knew would not have missed that for the world.’

  EPILOGUE

  Pen

  She opened the doors to hear the breeze playing in the gum trees. Currawongs sang their soft song and the ocean whispered at the shoreline. She could see all the way to the horizon, to the clouds crisping to gold in the early evening light. Pen would never tire of this time of day. Of this view. Of this house.

  The doorbell rang and she walked the long, bright hallway, her neck craned, seeking the skylight and the green lace of leaves above. She heard the thump of Will’s running feet from the other end of the house, and he was there beside her, his hand slipping easily into hers.

  Nathalie, Alexandra and the kids all poured into the hallway. Nathalie held a cheese platter in one hand and Richie in the other. Cate appeared and took the little boy from her arms, his face a picture of delight at seeing his babysitter again so soon. Alexandra proffered a bottle of wine, which she cracked open and took onto the deck. Emmie and Seraphine arrived just as they were settling in for their regular Sunday night supper together. Emmie’s belly was as round as the green olives in the bowls. Nathalie rubbed it affectionately and they clinked their glasses of sparkling water in solidarity.

  Their talk was easy. The week ahead, what their weekend had held. Nathalie’s acrimonious divorce. But the water drew their gaze like a balm. The children came and went between their games, picking at pieces of cheese and grapes like the greedy birds in the branches above. The house was cushioned between bushland and water. Will called it their magical tree house. It was this, more than the fancy appliances, the huge floorplan or the pool, that appealed to Pen. People had said she shouldn’t accept Macie’s home. Or at the very least, she should sell it and take the money. And didn’t she know that Macie’s little boy had died there?

  She’d been shocked when she’d opened the letter to find Macie had transferred the house into her name. The feeling had struck her deeply, more deeply than hearing that Macie had been sentenced to jail for Pen’s kidnapping and for concealing Teresa’s death, then taking her son.

  But she understood that this house was not only for her. It was for Caleb when he visited Sydney. For Nathalie
when she and her children needed sanctuary. It was for all of them. It was something bigger, vast, like the valley walls, like the thing that linked Will and Liv, like the small blue bear that sat in the room on the second floor. She said a prayer for Jacob every night as she hugged her own son close. She wrote a letter to Macie and told her simply that. And that she was no longer afraid of ghosts.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is inspired by a real place: the beautiful Capertee Valley in NSW. The Traditional Owners of the land are the Wiradjuri people, whom I would like to acknowledge and pay respect to their Elders past, present and emerging.

  When I stumbled across this remote place online, filled with little-known fragments of Australian history, I knew I had to visit. My mum, daughter and I embarked on a road trip; we drove across the Blue Mountains and into the valley, unaware of what we were about to find.

  There’s little more than a long-abandoned town – a virtual ghost town – with the crumbling facades of buildings and an old pharmacy, with medicines dating from the 1950s still in the window. The ruins of the shale oil mines shimmer in the distance. Only a beautifully restored Art Deco hotel, built in 1939, remains in business. I immediately knew this was where I wanted to set my story. Thank you to the owners of the Glen Davis Hotel who hosted us.

  As well as its rich history as a shale oil town, the valley is a place of unparalleled natural beauty. The sandstone escarpment drops into a deep chasm that forms one of the largest canyons in the world. The landscape has an extraordinary atmosphere, at once magnificent and haunting.

  As I researched the Indigenous history of the area, I learned what had happened to the Aboriginal Wiradjuri people in this region in 1824, during the Bathurst Wars. Reading the devastating accounts, I began to understand the atrocities that had taken place in these parts. To present details in my book thoughtfully and appropriately, I consulted an Indigenous sensitivity reader, and honouring the importance of ‘truth-telling’, I want to acknowledge this tragic past.