Eumeralla - Secrets, Tragedy and Love

by Joanna Stephen-Ward

  “What about?”

  “It was so long ago,” she said with a shrug.

  When they arrived at the stables, Margot was organizing the grooms.

  “How many people are coming?” Stefan asked.

  “Ten,” said Kim. “So we need sixteen horses. Let’s go and round them up.”

  They went to the paddock. It had rained overnight and the April sun sparked on the grass. Stefan marvelled how the landscape changed from brown in the summer to green in autumn and winter. As usual, the horses came to Kim with no coaxing. Catriona had to entice them with carrots while Stefan only succeeded in catching one. When the horses had been led to the fence the grooms put on their bridles and saddles.

  The trek set off at ten and was scheduled to return at four, with a break of two hours for lunch. The place chosen for the barbecue was a clearing in a forest. The deciduous trees were at their autumnal best. As Stefan trotted his horse into the clearing he looked at the golden and russet ceiling of leaves contrasting with the blue sky. Dismounting, he led his horse to the stream and let her drink, then tied her reins to a tree.

  Margot, who had driven to the area in the station-wagon, had the fires burning in the brick barbecues. Paper plates and napkins, bowls of salads and fruit, and sandwiches for Catriona and Kim were arranged on the picnic tables.

  “Left the others behind, Stefan?” Her smile was strained.

  “I accidentally took the short cut. What can I do to help, Mrs Clarkson?”

  She handed him a plate of sausages and chops. “Could you start cooking these?”

  “Mrs Clarkson, can I ask you a question?”

  “You’d better be quick. Here come some more riders.”

  He smiled disarmingly. “It isn’t important.” The chops and sausages hissed as he put them on the metal racks over the flames.

  Catriona trotted over to him. “Where did you get to?”

  “Lost!”

  She hooted with laughter. A few minutes later she walked over and looked disapprovingly at the sausages and chops. “Dead animals,” she declared.

  “Catriona, don’t stand there like a stick of liquorice,” snapped Margot.

  Her outburst was so out of character that even Catriona was taken aback.

  ‘She’s rattled,’ thought Stefan. ‘She knows who May is and it’s frightening her. It’s frightening the hell out of all of them.’

  It was not until after the barbecue that he caught David alone.

  “Who’s May?” he asked bluntly.

  He looked thoughtfully at Stefan. “I don’t want you telling Tree and Kim until we decide what to do. But I don’t know that there is anything we can do.”

  “If you try and prevent it you can. Only the past is fixed. So, who is May?”

  “Fiona,” he said finally. “Her name used to be May. Virginia and Alex didn’t like it so they named her after Virginia’s mother. Kim’s premonition makes sense. Fiona’s a wrecker and that’s why she’s not welcome at Kingower.”

  On Sunday afternoon, Stefan and Catriona cantered across the hill in the glow of the late afternoon sun. It was the final stretch back to Kingower. He slowed his horse to a trot and followed her along the track leading to the paddock. They were the last to arrive. Most of the horses were at the water troughs. Normally he was sorry when the weekends ended, but this weekend had been so oppressive he was looking forward to going home. He had not succeeded in obliterating Fiona from his thoughts and Kim’s eerie contact with her dead brother was rocking his belief that the paranormal did not exist. The other explanation, that the family he was marrying into was weird, made him feel worse. For once he did not dread the journey back to Melbourne and the thought of the busy week ahead with his students, who were preparing for the second-term exams.

  The first thing he did when he arrived at his flat that night was look in the phone book for Fiona’s address.

  ***

  15th April 1972

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  I’ve been in Melbourne for six hours. It’s noisy, dirty, cold and crowded. People swarm along the pavements, pushing and shoving. Mothers plead with demanding brats. I wan – I want – is echoed all over the streets of this horrible city. I had a cup of coffee in a cafe and the waitress was too busy to chat. People are unfriendly. How can Hazel stand living in Brisbane? I bought a cheese sandwich – the bread was tasteless and the cheese was rubbery. I should have done what you said, and waited till Fiona came to Queensland. This morning I went to the Ansett offices and stood outside, but I didn’t want to meet her with lots of people around. I’m so fraught. What if she doesn’t want to know me?

  June went over to the window of the Youth Hostel in South Yarra. By her calculation, Fiona would arrive home at about six in the evening. It was lunchtime and she did not want to be cooped up inside for the rest of the day. She studied her map and walked to the Botanical Gardens. For three hours she strolled round the green lawns. She fed the black swans on the lake and gloried in the rich autumn colours of the trees that were so different to the grey-green leaves of the native gums on Eumeralla. Even their deciduous trees did not turn to such vibrant colours.

  At five o’clock she walked to St. Kilda Road and caught a crowded tram. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if Fiona was on the same tram,’ she thought. It was fifteen minutes before the conductor had struggled through the mass of people. She handed him her fare. “Hawthorn, please.”

  “You’re on the wrong tram, love. Get off and go back three stops.”

  By the time June had caught the right tram it was almost six o’clock.

  Fiona lived in a quiet street, which was lined with mature sycamore trees. Stefan had expected the units to look modern, but they had been built of red brick with Victorian-style windows. Moss growing between the cobblestones of the pathway enhanced the illusion that they were a row of old cottages. Even the garages had rustic wooden doors, which made them look like stables. Terracotta pots planted with white geraniums and ivy stood on Fiona’s window sills. Her garage door was open. As well as her royal-blue MG he saw two tennis rackets, an ironing board, skis and ski boots.

  Fiona opened her door as soon as he rang the bell. She wore a holly-green velvet suit and a white blouse with a high neck. The cut of the jacket was almost masculine, and her blouse was uncompromisingly plain. “What the hell are you doing here, Stefan?”

  He was taken aback. “Can I talk to you?”

  She stayed in the doorway. “What about?”

  “Have I come at a bad time?”

  “Any time you came would be a bad time.”

  “Are you going out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

  “No.”

  He grinned. “You’re totally without charm, aren’t you?”

  Her scowling expression remained. “Yes. Now scram.” She went to shut the door.

  “Fiona, I must talk to you. It’s important.”

  “What about?”

  “Your family.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “What about them?”

  “I’d like to bring you together.”

  She yanked the door wide open. “Come in.”

  As she turned around he saw black leather boots with flat heels showing beneath the skirt that fell to just below her calves. There was no hallway and the front door opened onto the lounge. His feet sank into the thick blue carpet.

  “Leave the door open, Stefan. I warn you that if you touch me I’ll scream the place down.”

  If he hadn’t been so confused he would have been angry. “I have no intention of touching you, Fiona.”

  The phone rang. Before she left the room to answer it she said, “Don’t sit down and don’t make yourself comfortable.” She banged the lounge door shut.

  It was evident that a great deal of money had gone into furnishing the room, which smelt of new fabric. The sofa and armchairs were upholstered in burgundy-and-navy-striped chintz, and matching curtains hung at the win
dows. A large bookcase stood against one wall. Remembering Kim and Catriona’s scathing remarks about Fiona’s lack of intelligence he looked at some of the titles. There were biographies of Winston Churchill, President Kennedy and T E Lawrence. Her collection of novels included titles by Henry James, Thomas Hardy and Daphne du Maurier. A paperback copy of the novel Exodus, by Leon Uris, lay on the sofa. The bookmark showed that she had almost finished it. ‘Hardly light reading,’ Stefan thought. Red and white roses, which perfumed the air, were arranged in a crystal vase. He wondered if she had bought them herself or a boyfriend had given them to her. Oriental pictures in black lacquer frames hung on the powder-blue walls. The room was tidy, but the atmosphere was welcoming. Although he would never have painted walls blue, her style of decorating was more sophisticated than Catriona’s.

  “Nice paintings,” he said when she came back. “Where did you get them?”

  “At an art gallery,” she said caustically.

  “It’s an attractive unit.”

  “I’m so grateful that you approve.” Fiona stalked over to the window and turned to him with her arms crossed. She stood as rigidly as a soldier. “Let me tell you about my relationship with Tree and Kim,” she said acidly. “When we were young we were friends. I loved going to Kingower. I wanted to live there all the time and wished they were my sisters. I hated being an only child – hated the loneliness and longed for the comradeship of a sister. At school I used to lie about having lots of brothers and sisters, I even invented names for them. When my mother found out, she was angry with me and I was ostracized at school because I was a liar.

  “I knew Tree and Kim weren’t really my cousins, but I wished they were. I told them things I’ve never told anyone. Uncle David despised me because I was afraid of horses. Aunty Margot didn’t like me because I was the daughter of her stepson, but I didn’t care. All I cared about were Tree and Kim. Then we grew up. And what happened? Men. Bloody, rotten men.” She walked towards him so belligerently that for a second he thought she was going to hit him. “Their boyfriends, who wanted a bit on the side with me. All the Kingower lot blamed me. Did they tell you that?”

  He shook his head. “I knew there was some row, but I thought it was something to do with your grandfather’s property.”

  “If they ever find out you were here, they would presume I had lured you. Tree would never believe that you came of your own accord and neither would anyone else.”

  “I’m sorry, Fiona, I shouldn’t have come.” His sense of shame forced him to lie. “You’ve misjudged my motives, though. I thought that as I was almost part of the family I could help.” His attempt at justifying his actions did not dent his conscience. He had insulted Fiona and betrayed Catriona. “It was arrogant of me.”

  “Yes, Stefan, it was. The best thing you can do is stay away from me. I’ll next see you at your wedding to Tree.”

  “You’re very unhappy, aren’t you?” he asked gently.

  Tears gushed into her eyes. He was not surprised that his method of disarming her had worked. Teaching had taught him that angry or aggressive pupils were usually unhappy.

  She turned her back on him.

  “Fiona.”

  “Go away.”

  Stefan turned round. He gaped in amazement at the young woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing jeans and a red jumper over a check shirt. The jeans had frayed hems and her jumper was faded, but apart from the way she was dressed she was identical to Fiona. “Strewth!” he said.

  “Go away.”

  “Fiona, you’ve – ”

  “Get out, Stefan! Get out!”

  “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Fiona spun round. Stefan, who was blocking her view of the doorway, stepped aside. He watched, fascinated, as they stared at each other.

  A faraway look came over Fiona’s face. She shut her eyes. “Juju,” she whispered. “Juju.”

  Part Two

  THE PROPHECY

  1972

  April to October

  CHAPTER 10

  Eumeralla

  April 1972

  I must be a dill. It took me ages to catch on. I assumed that Juju was adopted too. But I was staggered – wonderfully staggered when she turned up – and there was so much to do I didn’t have time to ask many questions. I had to pack and go to work and tell them what had happened. They let me take leave and will hurry my transfer to Brisbane. I rang Aunty Ruth, but she wasn’t home, so I wrote her a note and put it in her letterbox.

  I could have flown to Brisbane with Juju, but as soon as she saw my MG she wanted to drive it. So we drove here and stayed in motels overnight. It only took us three days.

  When I arrived at Eumeralla this morning I was touched by the welcome they gave me. Neil and Tom called me Sis and I was pleased that they accepted me. But I thought they were Juju’s adopted family. I thought my real mother was an alcoholic and I imagined she’d be living in a filthy slum. When I realized what Eleanor’s name was, I remembered the card attached to the posy on Jonathan’s grave. “Did you know Jonathan?” I asked. She looked confused. Then Juju told me everything. Even then it took me a while to grasp the fact that Eleanor was my real mother. I just managed to stop myself from blurting out that I thought she was an alcoholic. She said that she’s so excited that she can see Virginia again and I didn’t want to tell her how her ‘friend’ betrayed her.

  I’m so happy, but angry with Mum. I’ll never forgive her for lying to me. I’m going to stop calling her Mum and call her Virginia from now on. I was born here. Not in a slum. And my real mother is not an alcoholic. But when I walked into the house this morning the smell was familiar. Every house has a smell, especially older ones. The ingrained scent of the building materials and the walls and the air. And of the people who live in it. This house smells of baking bread, soap and oil from the lamps. It was here – along the hall and the verandahs – that I crawled as a baby – with Juju. We slept contentedly in our bassinets and had loving parents. All these years I’ve thought that I lay disregarded and hungry while my real mother sat oblivious and drunk surrounded by empty bottles while flies buzzed in the mess.

  Eleanor and my mother (I mean Virginia) are the same age, but Eleanor looks older. Her dark hair has got lots of grey streaks. Her eyes are brown. She’s not elegant like Virginia– she wears jeans and men’s shirts, but smart dresses and suits and silk blouses would be impractical here.

  The house at Eumeralla is not beautiful like Kingower – it’s small and there are only three bedrooms, but it’s freshly painted and clean. It’s built on stilts in case the river floods. It looks a bit clumsy and there’s a verandah at the back and front. There is no electricity or gas and we have oil lamps and torches. It’s like living in the olden days. It’s fun.

  Virginia would scorn this place because the floor’s covered in lino, the sofa and chairs don’t match, the cutlery is stainless steel not silver, and the glasses are just glasses not crystal, and the crockery is cheap instead of the bone china she cherishes, but I wish I’d lived here all my life instead of in the luxurious house in Vaucluse.

  There are two dogs. Toddles is a border collie and Red’s a kelpie. Toddles took to me straightaway, but Red is wary. Juju said I should be flattered – he growls at strangers.

  Now I’ve found my family I’m not sure what to do. I can’t ride a horse and I’m ignorant about agriculture. Tonight I helped Juju cook the dinner. I could help around the house. Until I get used to country life it might be better if I stay in Brisbane during the week and come to Eumeralla at weekends.

  There’s only one thing wrong. The toilet is outside – a long way from the house and it stinks so much I nearly vomited. It’s primitive, but there are only a few flushing toilets out here. All the water for the house comes from the tanks which collect rain. There’s a lot I’ll have to get used to. Because of the importance of water conservation I won’t be able to spend ages under the shower. Juju almost had a fit when she was in Melbourne. She couldn’t b
elieve I’d spent so long under the shower. And I couldn’t believe she spent so little. No sooner had she gone into the bathroom than she came out again. Hair washed and everything! If I come to live on Eumeralla for good I’ll have to get my hair cut. The boys – my brothers, look like Greg, but are much taller and apparently Hazel is the image of Eleanor.

  Today has been the happiest day of my life. Eumeralla – my home. My sisters and brothers. It feels so good to write that. I’m so lucky. The house is silent. Everyone’s in bed. They go to bed early and get up at six. I’ll have to finish now even though I could write for hours.

  As Fiona dressed in jeans and a shirt the following morning, the curtainless windows disconcerted her.

  “You’ll have to get used to the isolation,” said June. “The nearest house is over the creek.”

  “When I get my hair cut, do you think anyone will be able to tell us apart?”

  June rummaged through her drawer for a jumper. “We’ll have to try it. Aren’t you putting on a jumper?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s cold.”

  Fiona laughed. “You don’t know cold.”

  “Yes, I do, I’ve been in Melbourne.”

  They went into the kitchen. The table on the verandah was set for breakfast.

  Tom was spooning porridge into bowls. “Hi, Sis.”

  “Hi, Townie,” said Neil.

  Fiona laughed delightedly at this symbol of her acceptance. “Hi, brothers.”

  “Fancy a ride round Eumeralla today?” asked Tom.

  Fiona bit her lip. “I can’t ride.”