Learning to live without him was like learning how to breathe again too, she realised now.
It had been a day much like any of the others in the months since his death. People had stopped leaving food at the house, although Mrs Watson had asked just a week before what Catherine was going to do now. She’d accosted Catherine in town. While Florence was seeking out green beans, Mrs Watson asked Catherine when the family was coming. At first, Catherine had been confused. As far as she was concerned, the family was Florence and Michael, and Florence was just getting beans. When Florence returned, Mrs Watson smiled and left. Florence asked afterwards what Mrs Watson had wanted, but instead of telling Florence the truth, Catherine said Mrs Watson had wanted to know about her daughter’s spelling. ‘She can’t spell very well at all,’ Catherine said, ‘but I didn’t tell Mrs Watson.’ By then, Catherine had figured out what Mrs Watson actually meant. When were her father’s family, the Quicks, or her mother’s family, the Freebodys, coming? For surely they would come.
Catherine didn’t know her mother’s relatives, now living in Canada, and she’d only ever met her aunt Louisa once, when she was little. She couldn’t even remember her, except that she’d smelled like flowers. There was her father’s older brother Alexander, but she didn’t know him well either. He’d always seemed stern.
She’d been out swimming with Michael in the morning and then Florence had made breakfast for them, bubble and squeak using last night’s vegies. Michael had walked with her to school. In the afternoon, he’d left early to go home and help Florence take some cakes back down to the school for the bake sale the next day. Catherine had stayed back to help Sister Ursula with the younger ones. She’d been helping teach for over a year now. Sister Ursula was trying to convince her to sit the university scholarship exam. She could go to Brisbane, Sister Ursula said, board with Sister Ursula’s family there and go to the university to study science. Sister Ursula was trying to get Catherine to think about her future. Catherine hadn’t been interested before but now she wondered if that was what she should do after all. Her father had talked about the university too. She didn’t want to leave the island, but now she knew she’d have to do something. If she went to Brisbane to study, she thought, she could come back to the island as a teacher.
Catherine had left the school around four and hurried up the hill, intending to have another swim before dinner. She ran up the path, opened the front gate and stopped.
There was a woman seated on the verandah, perched forward in a canvas-backed easy chair, Catherine’s father’s chair. The woman was dressed in a pale linen blouse and a long dark skirt, and her feet, clad in boots, were crossed at the ankles. They didn’t quite reach the floor. She had a hat pulled over her head but you could see wisps of hair sneaking out. When she stood Catherine saw she was tiny. She came forward, said Catherine’s name.
Catherine realised she must be the woman from the government, the one Florence had said would come. ‘They won’t let you stay with us,’ Florence said. It was what Sister Ursula said as well. ‘You’re a white girl, Catherine, and they won’t let you stay with a black family.’ It’s what Mrs Watson had meant too, Catherine knew. But Michael isn’t black, Catherine wanted to say to them all. If skin colour was the determining factor, Catherine was nearly as dark as him.
When Catherine was small, she didn’t know Florence had a child of her own. If anything, Catherine assumed she herself was Florence’s child. But one day, just after Catherine’s fourth birthday, they were at the harbourmaster’s office, waiting to meet the ferry to pick up the mail. Someone had left a newspaper on the bench in the waiting area. In the top left-hand corner of the page was a photograph of a group of children, four dressed in frocks, two in pants too big for them, all holding toys. Above was a headline: HOMES ARE SOUGHT FOR THESE CHILDREN. Half-castes, they called them, and quadroons. Catherine remembered the words because they were words she didn’t know.
Catherine was about to ask Florence what a quadroon was but Florence had turned and was rushing outside. Catherine looked at the newspaper again. Underneath the picture was an advertisement for White’s Jelly Crystals, which were Catherine’s favourite.
She found Florence on the steps but Florence wouldn’t speak, and she was shaking as if cold. Catherine went back inside and asked the woman behind the counter for a glass of water for Florence. While she waited, she studied the newspaper. Someone had handwritten a note below the photograph. I like the little boy in centre of the group but if taken by anyone else, any of the others would do, as long as they are strong.
The photograph had affected Florence but Catherine didn’t know why. Before she went back outside with the water, she tore the photograph from the newspaper and shoved it in her pocket. They walked home together and by the time they’d got to the top of the hill Florence was better. Catherine didn’t mention what had happened in the harbourmaster’s office for fear of upsetting Florence again.
‘They took him away, I think,’ Catherine’s father told Catherine later that night when she asked him. Florence was downstairs. Catherine was in bed. ‘I don’t know all the details, but I think they took a baby from her when she was living in Cairns.’
‘What do you mean?’ Catherine said, not understanding. ‘What’s this?’ She pointed at a word.
‘“Quadroon”,’ he said. ‘It means a quarter black and three-quarters white. “Half-caste” is half black and half white.’
‘They took Florence’s baby?’ Catherine said.
Her father nodded. He looked at the clipping again. ‘Did Florence say anything about it?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘She was crying, Daddy, and Florence never cries.’
‘No, she never does,’ he said absently, still staring at the picture.
The next morning Catherine’s father came to her room and sat on the bed beside her. He’d spoken to Florence. The Protector had taken Florence’s child when she was in Cairns, Catherine’s father said. ‘The baby’s daddy was white, so the child wasn’t as black as Florence.’
‘I thought I was Florence’s children,’ Catherine said.
Her father smiled. ‘No, darling, you’re not Florence’s.’
‘Will they take me away?’
‘Of course not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s different for the natives.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t answer straightaway. ‘I think they want the children to grow up with our values, not the native values.’
‘Was my mother native?’ Catherine said.
‘No,’ he said emphatically. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘You said they took Florence’s child because he looks white. They want children who are white.’
‘Your mother was American. You know that.’ He looked upset suddenly. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t let anyone take you away.’ But
Florence was the most fierce person in Catherine’s life. If Florence couldn’t stop them, then no one could, Catherine thought.
‘They take the children to families who can provide schooling,’ Catherine’s father said.
‘But we have a school.’
‘Yes, we do,’ he said. ‘And they’ve left the Islanders alone until recently, but Florence was on the mainland. It’s different there for the blacks.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ her father said. ‘The government says the blacks are less civilised than white people.’
‘Florence?’
‘No, not Florence.’
‘Then why did they take her baby away?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Catherine’s father said. ‘But I’m telling you this because I promised you I wouldn’t lie, not about important things.’ He patted her head and smiled. ‘Stop asking questions now,’ he said.
Three days later, her father came home early. He found Catherine playing out on the back lawn. He spoke quietly. ‘I’m going to tell you something, but you’re not to tell Florence. You know my frie
nd, the doctor in Cairns who comes here, Dr Andrews?’ Catherine nodded. ‘Dr Andrews says there’s a new Protector in Cairns. I have an appointment when I go there next week. It may be that Florence can see her child. But you mustn’t tell just in case. You must tell Florence I’m going to Cairns for work.’ He put his finger to his lips and bent down and kissed her hair. ‘I love you so much, wee Cate.’
The next week, he went to Cairns and Catherine knew not to say anything. A month later he went again and she’d all but forgotten their conversation.
Florence and Catherine were on the verandah shelling peas, and they’d been talking about whether or not to go back down to town to meet him on the evening ferry. But then she saw him walking up the path. There was someone with him, Catherine saw, a child. Florence began to moan softly and then cried out. They weren’t words Catherine knew. The child—a boy, Catherine thought, judging by the shorts—broke free from Catherine’s father and ran towards Florence. They met at the gate and she gathered him up in her arms, his long legs on either side of her hips. He had snot coming out of his nose, Catherine noticed when she caught up, a nasty brown-coloured snot that Catherine knew from her father meant an infection. He was nearly as big as Catherine, with black hair and blue eyes, and he was skinny. His eyes darted around nervously, and he wouldn’t let go of Florence.
When Catherine’s father reached them, he stood a few feet away from Florence; he was out of breath but staring, a look of concern on his face. The child, still in Florence’s arms, was sobbing too.
‘Dr Harry, how have you done this?’ Florence was saying.
Catherine was confused. Who was this child? And then she remembered. This must be Florence’s child, the one her father had mentioned. Her father had found him and brought him back.
‘He’s back to stay,’ Catherine’s father said.
The boy, Michael, two years older than Catherine, wouldn’t speak. He was sick in his kidneys, Catherine’s father told Florence later that night. Florence fussed over him. Catherine watched as his large eyes took in the scene around him. Catherine’s father stood in the background, watching the two of them.
The doctor in Cairns knew the Protector, and they convinced him to release the child, Catherine’s father told Florence. ‘I had to imply that I’m the boy’s father, but never mind. He’s here to stay, that’s the main thing.’ Michael had been placed with a family in the last year. Before that, he’d been with another family outside Cairns. Catherine’s father didn’t know much more than that, and Michael wouldn’t talk that first night, nor for many nights that followed.
In all the commotion, Florence hardly noticed Catherine, who had a bath and put herself to bed. That’s where she was when Florence came to tuck her in. ‘It’s my baby back,’ Florence said. ‘This is the best day of my life.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Catherine said, not looking up.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I am,’ Catherine said. She knew she should be happy for Florence, but for some reason she just wanted to cry. She focused on her hands outside the covers, and said nothing.
Florence sat down. ‘So many changes,’ she said. She stroked Catherine’s hair and then took the girl’s hands from the covers and held them. She regarded the little fingers. ‘You know, don’t you, that you’re my spirit-child?’
‘Am I?’ Catherine said. Her mouth turned down, even though she tried to stop it, and tears filled her eyes. She shook her head. ‘Oh yes. I knew you first time I saw you. We’ve been in the world a long time, you and me. I saw you in your daddy’s arms and I knew you were my spirit-child. It’s good my boy’s home. This is where he belongs. But you’re still my spirit-child. I couldn’t have come through without you. I won’t forget that.’
‘Will you go away now?’ Catherine asked, her bottom lip quivering as she spoke.
‘Go away? What for? Who’s going to look after you if I go away? Oh no, we’re all going to live together. It’s going to be fine. There’s enough for everybody here. You know that.’
And all at once, it was like the sun coming out. Catherine had thought, without even knowing she was thinking it, that Florence would leave her now, just as her mother had gone. But Florence wasn’t going.
It wasn’t all smooth sailing. It was a long time before Michael would leave the house. And Catherine, who’d always been the centre of everyone’s world, was suddenly on the edge. She was one of those who was trying to help instead of being a child herself. It was Catherine who enticed Michael to school finally. He was up the mango tree in the front yard. ‘What you doing up there?’ she called one morning, bored with his silence. He didn’t answer. She climbed up to a branch below his. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to school.’ He looked down at her, his eyes wild. ‘You think they’ll take you away?’ He nodded slightly. ‘Nah, not Sister Ignatius. She won’t let anyone take you away. Promise. Come on.’
And to everyone’s great surprise, including Catherine’s, he climbed down from the tree, took her hand, and went with her. From then on, it was settled: they were a family.
The little woman on the verandah came all the way forward into the sunshine. ‘Hullo,’ she called. She was English—or Scottish, like Catherine’s father.
‘Hullo,’ Catherine said. She remained at the gate.
The woman came out to the steps. ‘Catherine, my dear, it’s me. Do you remember me?’
Catherine shook her head. The woman took off her hat. She looked familiar, kind grey-green eyes the colour of the sea on a cloudy day, and little spectacles she peered through. ‘I’m your Aunt Louisa, Harry’s sister.’
The relief! She wasn’t from the government after all.
‘Oh,’ Catherine said. ‘What are you doing here?’
Louisa laughed. ‘I’m here to … After Harry. Come up out of the sun, my dear. Let me look at you. Goodness, you’re a giant.’
Louisa’s blouse was light blue, the same colour as Catherine’s, and they both wore grey skirts, Catherine saw now. And Louisa must have purchased her hat in the little shop in Samson Street in Cairns. It was the same hat Catherine had chosen, straw, with a wide brim and a wide black band. ‘At least we’re in uniform,’ Catherine said, gesturing to her skirt and top.
Louisa laughed, looking up at Catherine. ‘Yes. Do you think they’ll mistake us for twins?’
Catherine laughed too then. Louisa had stood back to make room for Catherine to come up the stairs. They stood facing one another. Catherine was a head taller than her aunt. Neither made a move to embrace.
‘I’ve been at school,’ Catherine said, and felt a sudden urge to cry. Louisa was so obviously her father’s sister, a tiny version of him, like him in the face most of all, especially her eyes. ‘I teach the little ones now.’
‘Well, isn’t that wonderful?’ Louisa said.
Catherine looked down at her shoes, not sure what else to say. She’d only started wearing shoes to school this year—Sister Ursula’s idea—to set an example for the younger ones. The year before, she’d graduated from dungarees and a shirt to a skirt and blouse. It was Florence who insisted on this. When you didn’t have a mother, Catherine had learned, everyone was your mother.
Later that afternoon, Catherine and Michael went for their swim. They saw the turtles on the far reef, the same two they’d been seeing all year. Will your aunty stay with us? Michael had asked Catherine afterwards. I think so, Catherine had said, at least for a little while.
But after dinner, Catherine realised Louisa may as well have been from the government. Her plan was to take Catherine away. Louisa and Catherine were out on the front verandah. ‘This is where you and I sat when I came to visit when you were small,’ Louisa said. ‘Do you remember?’
‘No,’ Catherine said.
It was then that Louisa told her. ‘You don’t need to worry, Catherine. I’m going to take you back to London with me.’
‘London?’ Catherine said. Louisa nodded. ‘I can’t leave the island. I’m needed at the sc
hool.’
But Louisa had been to the school, she said. She’d spoken to the nuns and they’d agreed—even Sister Ursula. They all agreed, Louisa told her. Catherine needed to leave the island and go to a proper school.
‘I’m at a proper school,’ she said. But at fourteen, she was subject to the will of others.
‘You can’t stay here without your parents, Catherine,’ Louisa said. ‘And that’s final.’
‘I have Florence.’
‘Florence can’t look after you properly. She …’
‘She what?’ Catherine said.
Louisa didn’t respond. Catherine knew the way the natives were viewed. Florence had talked to her about it. ‘They think we’re idiots,’ she said, ‘like monkeys. They speak slowly, as if we might not understand them otherwise. They’re the stupid ones, eh?’ Catherine laughed. ‘They don’t know how to catch a fish like Michael does, or make a roast chicken like I do. Oh, actually, I think they do know how to make a roast chicken,’ Florence corrected herself. ‘I think I learned that from Julia, now that I come to think of it.’ Florence had a habit of shrugging and covering her mouth when she said something incorrect or funny.
But in the end, even Florence took Louisa’s side. ‘You have to go,’ she said when Catherine told her what Louisa intended. ‘I don’t like it, but Louisa is right. She spoke to me. That’s your future, not here. And Louisa, she didn’t get to have children. She should have you.’
‘No,’ Catherine said. ‘I’m not going. I’m happy here. I’m going to teach. You don’t really want me to go?’ She was almost in tears.
Florence was fiddling with her hands in her lap. She looked down at them. ‘Louisa is your people,’ Florence said firmly. ‘It doesn’t matter how much we love each other; I’m not yours. And Michael’s not either.’ She looked hard at Catherine. ‘You and my boy—you couldn’t have children, Catherine. It would be wrong. You wouldn’t be allowed to keep them. The Protector will take them. And there’s no Dr Harry to help us. You know as well as I do what that means.’
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