Dedication
For Casey David. GM.
For winding dirt roads, Mud
Farm and its inhabitants. S.M.K
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. Blending In
2. Long Words & Lamingtons
3. Birds’ Nests & Breakfast
4. A List of Likely Candidates
5. The Last Resort
6. Plan B
7. Consequences
8. The Soldier Boy
9. A Small Miracle
10. Queen of Hearts
11. Putting Miss Amelie to Rest
Golden Syrup Dumplings
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Praise for The Naming of Tishkin Silk
Other Books by Glenda Millard
Back Ad
Copyright
1. Blending In
Griffin came into the Silk family after Scarlet, Indigo, Violet, Amber and Saffron; and before Tishkin. And then came Layla. Griffin’s daddy used to say that Layla had been sent to comfort them after Tishkin went away; like an arm about their shoulders, a candle in the dark or like golden syrup dumplings for the soul.
Layla had not been born a Silk, but her mother said that she might as well have been. This made Layla wonder if a mistake had been made at the hospital where she was born. Had she been sent home to the wrong family? Was it possible that she was not an Elliott at all, but a Silk?
But when Layla asked her daddy for his opinion on the matter, he found some photographs of himself when he was a baby and some of Layla at the same age.
‘There!’ he said, smiling. ‘Do these answer your question?’
In the photographs, Layla and her daddy could have been mistaken for identical twins, but not any more. Amongst other things, Mr Elliott had lost most of his hair, while Layla’s had grown almost to her waist. But it made her feel special to know that they had started off looking the same.
‘Then why did Mum say that I might as well have been born a Silk?’ she asked.
‘Well, you do spend a lot of time with them.’
‘But Patrick spends a lot of time with his friends and Mum doesn’t say that about him.’
‘That’s true. Perhaps it’s because you sort of … blend in with the Silks,’ suggested Mr Elliott.
‘What do you mean?’ Layla had asked him.
‘Well … they’re an uncommon sort of family. Some people don’t feel comfortable with others who aren’t just like themselves, but you seem to fit in as though you belong.’
Layla gazed out the classroom window remembering her daddy’s words, and began to think about her friends the Silks. Besides Griffin, who was her best friend in the entire universe and was named after the mythical beast, there were the five Rainbow Girls, so called because they had all been named after colours. Then there was Annie, their mother, who wrote poetry and made the best bread Layla had ever tasted. Their daddy’s name was Ben. Ben wore his hair long and he cried proper tears when he talked about his sixth little girl, Tishkin, who died before she had even been named. Ben could knit socks on four needles and carve beautiful things from lumps of old wood. And then there was Nell, Griffin’s grandma, who lived with them and who still liked to play dress-ups and who had a tiny bit of magic in her.
The Silks didn’t own a television. Instead they kept bees, a one-eyed crow named Zeus and a red dog named Blue, who was deaf but very smart.
Layla could see why some people might think the Silks were a bit uncommon, but she didn’t see why that should make them feel uncomfortable.
When she had asked her daddy why this was so, he’d answered, ‘I’m not sure, chicken.’ Layla’s daddy sometimes used the word chicken in place of ordinary words like dear or darling and when he did, she knew that a tender moment was coming on. So she had climbed up onto his lap to enjoy it. ‘But I reckon there’s got to be a philosophy behind it,’ added Mr Elliott.
Layla liked it when her daddy was in a philosophical mood. It meant sitting in the old lounge chair that was nearly worn out, but that Mr Elliott refused to part with because it was just big enough for him and Layla to share. Philosophising was a thing that couldn’t be rushed. Sometimes Mr Elliott had to take a nap while he was thinking, which was probably why Mrs Elliott didn’t bother with it, because she was always far too busy.
As the school day drew near its end, Layla remained lost in her thoughts. She must remember to ask her daddy, when she went home, if he had finally worked out why she blended in so well with the Silks when other people didn’t. Perhaps she might find out for herself in the next two days. She had been invited to spend the weekend at Griffin’s house, not that there was anything unusual about that, as her mother would say.
At last the bell played its end-of-the-day tune and Layla hurried towards the locker room.
‘Wait for me, Griff!’ she called as she grabbed her red parka from a coat hook.
‘Why?’ Griffin looked up absent-mindedly from his open lunch box. He’d forgotten to eat his sandwich again. ‘Oh, yes! Now I remember!’ He jammed the lid on the plastic container and put it in his school bag.
It was about half an hour’s walk from St Benedict’s Primary School to the Kingdom of Silk. But when Layla went with Griffin it usually took almost twice as long, because there were so many distractions along the way. The first was Joe Canning’s orchard.
‘Do you think Mr Canning would mind if we had an apple?’ asked Layla.
‘Not if we take the windfalls. He doesn’t sell them,’ explained Griffin. ‘He told Nell she could help herself to them.’ He held the bottom strand of wire up while Layla squeezed underneath into the orchard.
Once inside, they chose an apple each and polished them on their sleeves. Then they lay back in the grass between the rows of trees, where ribbons of afternoon sun shone goldenly between the mottled grey trunks. Layla took a huge bite from the rosy cheek of her apple and sighed contentedly. It was Friday, Griffin was beside her and the Kingdom of Silk was almost in sight; three very good reasons to be happy.
But then Griffin said, ‘Did you get your report today?’
Before she could stop them, Layla’s thoughts shifted to the pale blue folder in the side pocket of her school bag. In her experience, short comments, exclamation marks and silver stars were the usual rewards for good work. This report was crammed full of comma-studded sentences, unfamiliar words, and strange, loopy writing.
‘Uh, huh,’ Layla answered through a mouthful of apple, hoping Griffin wouldn’t ask her any more about it.
‘Did yours have a note on the back?’
‘What kind of note?’ Layla asked.
‘About Senior Citizens’ Day,’ said Griffin. ‘Miss Beaumont talked to us about it. We’re going to have a special day at school when everyone can take their grandma or grandpa along. Miss Beaumont said we’re going to have morning tea with them and everything.’
‘But what if you haven’t got a nana or a pa?’ asked Layla.
‘Miss Beaumont said you can take anyone who’s old,’ said Griffin. ‘That’s why it’s called Senior Citizens’ Day. Haven’t you got anyone to take?’
‘No,’ said Layla, and the word came out into the world small and lonely, like the sound of a pea dropping into an empty jam tin.
‘We could share Nell,’ suggested Griffin. ‘She wouldn’t mind.’
The sun was fast disappearing behind Joe Canning’s apple-packing shed when Layla sighed, then picked up her backpack and squeezed under the fence after Griffin. If there was a way to measure love, she probably loved Nell almost as much as Griffin did. But still, she couldn’t hel
p wishing that she had someone of her very own to take to school.
2. Long Words & Lamingtons
As usual, Blue sat by the strainer post at the bottom of the long, red-gravel driveway, awaiting Griffin’s return. When he saw Layla walking beside his boy, he left his post and ran down the road to greet them. This girl knew exactly where he liked to be scratched. He groaned in ecstasy as Layla’s fingers found that secret place behind his ears where his hair was still as soft as puppy fluff.
‘He only ever leaves his post when you come, Layla,’ said Griffin.
When she didn’t answer, Griffin asked, ‘What’s the matter?’
At exactly that moment, Layla’s heart was aching. Griffin’s mention of Senior Citizens’ Day had got her thinking about her nana. Almost a year had passed since Nana died and since then Layla had learned to be brave, as her mother said she must. This seemed a strange thing to Layla and she wondered if her mother knew that although braveness stopped her tears from leaking out, on the inside she was still sad. In an odd way though, it was a lovely sort of sadness. It was as fragrant as the flowers in Nana’s garden and as sweet as the last bite of a pink jelly-cake.
‘Layla?’ Griffin interrupted her thoughts.
‘Oh, it’s just my report card. It’s got a lot of writing and big words on it,’ she said, bravely ignoring her aching heart.
Blue sat on the road, watching the children’s faces, disappointed that the scratching had stopped.
‘But you’re a good reader,’ said Griffin.
‘Oh, I can read the words. It’s just … well, sometimes it’s a bit hard to figure out what they mean and whether they’ll make my mother pleased with me or not.’
‘Why don’t you ask Nell?’ suggested Griffin. ‘She’ll tell you.’
Oh, why hadn’t she thought of that herself, wondered Layla. Nell had a special way of looking on the bright side of things. If there was anything at all good in that report, Nell would find it, and then Layla would be able to point it out to her mother.
Layla threw her arms around Blue’s neck. He could feel the happiness humming inside her. His tail thumped.
‘C’mon, let’s go,’ said Griffin.
Blue stood up, shook a shower of tiny pebbles from his freckled coat and led the way home.
There wasn’t a castle on the hill in the paddock that was the Kingdom of Silk, but there was a big old house with doors that were never locked, and windows that let the breezes in and the curtains out, and creaky verandas all around. And there was a red vinyl couch at the front of the house where you could sit and look down into the valley to the town of Cameron’s Creek.
Nell was sitting on the couch wearing her cooking apron and a pleased look on her face. Zeus was perched on the handle of a garden fork amongst the weeds and marigolds.
‘Hello, Nell!’ said Layla.
‘Hello, Layla, hello, Griffin. Thank goodness, you’ve arrived in the nick of time!’
‘Why, what’s happened, Nell?’ asked Griffin.
‘I’ve just finished making a batch of lamingtons. I’ve been practising for Nina Corrie’s funeral, and there’s been no one I could try them out on. Chocolate’s bad for dogs and crows, the girls haven’t arrived home yet and Ben and Annie are still mixing the bread dough for tomorrow and couldn’t stop. Come down to the kitchen and we’ll put them to the test.’
Layla and Griffin dropped their bags on the bottom step and followed Nell down the passageway and into the kitchen.
‘Hello, Princess Layla!’ called Griffin’s daddy. He knew about Layla’s fondness for daisy-chain crowns and still remembered the very first time he had seen Layla wearing one. She wasn’t wearing one that day because the daisies only bloomed in spring, but it didn’t matter because even real princesses don’t wear their crowns all the time.
‘Hello, Ben Silk!’ cried Layla in return. Mrs Elliott would not have approved of her using Ben’s first name. But in a quiet moment one day, he had confided in Layla that for his entire life, he had only ever thought of himself as Ben and that it seemed odd to him when people called him Mr Silk.
‘Shall I call you Ben, then?’ Layla had asked.
‘Only if it feels right,’ he’d answered.
Surprisingly, it did, but that was the way of things in the Kingdom of Silk. Things that would have seemed odd in other places seemed quite normal here.
Ben Silk held out his floury arms and wrapped Princess Layla up in his long baker’s apron.
Then it was Beautiful Annie’s turn. Layla always thought of Griffin’s mother as Beautiful Annie, because she was. She took Layla’s face between her hands and looked at her carefully. Not the way Mrs Elliott did when she was looking for bits of breakfast that hadn’t quite got washed off, but as though she was trying to look through Layla’s eyes into her heart.
‘It’s good to see you, Layla,’ she said, and Layla knew she really meant it.
‘Oh, Layla, your face looks like a bap!’ Griffin laughed at the floury imprints his mama had left on Layla’s cheeks. Layla didn’t mind. Baps, the large, soft bread rolls dusted with flour, were her favourites, and Annie always decorated one with a circlet of doughy daisies especially for her.
Though the kitchen table was enormous, it was almost covered with pieces of dough in various shapes; enough to make a week’s worth of bread. Later on Nell would stoke up the wood stove and the dough would rise all night in the warmth of the kitchen. Then in the morning Ben would cook it in the outdoor oven he had made from mud bricks.
Ben and Annie went to wash the flour off themselves and Nell cleared a space in the centre of the table; just enough for glasses of milk and cups of tea and a precarious pile of chocolate and coconut-coated cubes of cake — her famous funeral lamingtons.
‘Help yourself to the milk and lamingtons,’ said Nell. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea.’
‘What happens at funerals, Griffin?’ asked Layla, taking a cake. Although she knew that funerals were something to do with when a person had died, she wasn’t exactly sure what went on there. ‘And do they really have lamingtons?’
‘It’s when you have a sort of … going-away party for a person who has died, isn’t it Nell?’ said Griffin.
Nell was at the stove, pouring boiling water onto the tea leaves in the pot.
‘That’s part of it,’ she said, putting the lid on the teapot. Then she sat down with them. ‘It’s a time when friends and family can get together and share their feelings. There's the sadness of knowing that they’re going to miss the person who has died, but there’s also the happiness that comes from having known and loved that person.
‘What about the lamingtons?’ asked Layla, wondering what they had to do with a person dying.
‘Preparing food and sharing it is just another way of showing that you care about the person who has died … and especially about the sad and lonely ones who are left behind,’ said Annie, who had come back to the kitchen. Then Ben came and they sat down and sipped their tea and tested the lamingtons. No one spoke for a mouthful or two and Griffin had time to think about what his mama had said.
‘When Tishkin died,’ he said, ‘people brought us casseroles for dinner, and for ages afterwards Nell made us golden syrup dumplings. Remember, Nell? You used to say that it was good for your soul to make them and good for our souls to eat them, didn’t you?’
Nell just nodded and clamped her mouth shut tight and Layla noticed that her chin was wobbling. She knew about the feeling that went with a wobbly chin. Carefully she licked each of her fingers. She could feel the thick, chocolatey icing sliding slowly down her insides and she was pretty sure that it was getting to her soul. She wasn’t absolutely positive about what a soul was, but she imagined it looked something like a bird or a butterfly or even a kite, because Katie Wilson had told her that your soul flew away after you died. She sighed loudly.
‘Oh, Nell, everyone at the funeral’s going to love your lamingtons. Did Nina Corrie like them?’
‘They were her
favourites,’ said Nell. ‘That’s why I’m making them.’
Afternoon tea at the Kingdom of Silk gave Layla the same feeling as philosophising with her daddy. You felt as though you could ask anything. So Layla pulled out her report card.
‘I was wondering if one of you would mind reading this and telling me exactly what it means?’ she asked. ‘I think I ought to know in case Mum asks me questions about it.’
Nell scratched a dollop of icing from her spectacles and put them on. She read in silence for a while and Layla watched the expressions on her face, trying to guess what they meant.
‘Unquenchable curiosity — that’s marvellous, absolutely marvellous! Curiosity is a wonderful quality to possess; but unquenchable curiosity, now that’s astonishing, that’s what it is!’
‘It is?’ asked Layla, her eyes round with wonder.
‘Oh, yes! It means that you never stop wanting to know about things,’ said Ben. ‘In my opinion, a teacher couldn’t ask for more in a student than unquenchable curiosity! Don’t you agree, Annie?’
Annie did. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘It should be encouraged.’
‘And what about determination?’ asked Layla. ‘Is that the same as stubborn? Mum says I’m stubborn as a mule, but Daddy says that I’m only stubborn when it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘Determination … mmm, I’d say determination is a smidgen different to stubborn,’ said Annie. Mrs Silk was a woman who believed in the value of examples. ‘Have you noticed when Blue has a bone, that he’ll chew on it for hours until he gets to the middle where the marrow is?’
‘Yes …’ said Layla uncertainly. ‘So you mean determination is in my bones?’ Beautiful Annie smiled and looked lovelier than ever.
‘I suppose you could say that,’ she said, ‘but what I really meant is that determination is the not-giving-up part of a person.’
‘Oh! Then it’s a good thing. It’s okay for me to be determined?’
‘Of course it is, Layla! Most times, anyway.’
Layla Queen of Hearts Page 1