‘Here, let me take her,’ said Mutti in her thickly accented English. She reached for the squirming baby and Suzanne released her gratefully. ‘I’ll take her out to see what the children are doing.’
‘Thank you, Amelia. That would be lovely.’
‘Finish your champagne and relax. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Joan?’ Mutti patted the baby on her back and carried her to the door.
‘Your mother’s a godsend,’ said Suzanne. ‘She’s such a help with Joan, especially when I don’t know what to do with her.’
‘Yes, she can be wonderful,’ I said. Mutti had missed more of the girls’ early years than she cared to admit because she was fighting with me about Erich. I knew Joan brought back memories of my girls as babies. Mutti had time on her hands – time to reflect on the past and time to get bored. She was struggling to learn English but Suzanne was helping her and, for the lack of any other company through the day, would walk with her and Joan to the shops, just to get out of the house and practise her English skills.
We understood about lost time as did Reinhardt and Sabine, in a way that Suzanne and Tommy didn’t, and I hoped would never have to. They seemed so innocent about what life could bring. I prayed that it would be good to them, the same as I wished for my daughters.
*
‘I think this will be the best place for the house,’ said Erich, one Sunday not long after we’d settled on the land.
We were standing in the tall grass on the front part of the block which was flat, level and cleared but still dotted with gum trees. The girls had already disappeared, but I wasn’t sure if it was to explore or to avoid helping with the repair of the boundary fences. We came to the farm most Sundays, not only to give the girls fresh air and somewhere to run around but to consolidate our plans and begin on the list of jobs that would make our dream a reality. Despite it being my only day off, I enjoyed coming out. The feeling of accomplishment, working with my family to make this place our home, washed away all the disappointments we’d encountered along the way. It was finally happening. There was a sense of space that felt so different from where we were living in Liverpool and for the first time since stepping off the boat, I felt as if I could really breathe.
‘It’s a good position,’ I said, looking back towards the front. ‘Just far enough from the road to be private.’
‘We’ll put the garage next to it here,’ he said, pointing as he explained the design we’d discussed. ‘The driveway will come in like this and there’ll be room for a garden and a path to the front door.’ It was hot, dry and dusty and I couldn’t imagine planting a garden full of jewel-coloured flowers and bright greenery, like we’d had in Germany – or even in Liverpool for that matter.
‘Do you think we’ll manage renting and building?’ Despite my excitement, I couldn’t help but feel nervous at the financial strain we were putting ourselves under.
‘I think it will be all right. There’s plenty of room to prepare a few paddocks for growing crops or vegetables,’ he said, staring down the length of the block.
He seemed lost in thought for a moment and it suddenly hit me how beautiful he was to me. He was straight and tall, broad-shouldered and still athletic. His profile was strong and elegant, the firm jaw line and high cheek bones, the long, straight nose, the generous mouth, dark hair slicked back from a wide forehead, grey at the temples and silver strands glinting in the sunlight. The startlingly green eyes were expressive and crinkled attractively under full lashes. Smile lines around his mouth showed that although he was no longer a young man, he still found the best in every day despite everything we’d been through. I wished I’d brought the camera.
‘We can make some extra money that way. And I’ve looked into the costs. The cheapest option is to build a kit home with fibro. I’ll start on the garage straightaway. If I can do it myself, it will cut down on costs and if it goes well, I’ll build the house too.’
‘I suppose if it gets too much, we can always live in the garage until the house is finished,’ I said jokingly.
‘I wouldn’t do that to you.’ He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. ‘Let’s find these girls. I bet they’re down the back. There’s a lot to do and we’d better get started.’
Walking along the track into the bush at the back of the block brought back echoes of how I’d felt in the Blue Mountains. It was as if we’d entered another world. Although only a small patch rested within our fence line, the trees extended across the backs of the neighbouring blocks and into the larger farms behind us. Everything else was cleared for farming.
‘This was what the landscape must have once looked like,’ I said to Erich as we stood in the woodland, surrounded by muted green foliage and soft grey trunks of the gum trees. ‘It’s so different to what we’re used to. I wonder how long it’s been here.’ I still missed the lush, verdant forests of Germany and the orderly patchwork of meadows but there was something beautiful about the Australian bush that I couldn’t put my finger on.
‘Forever.’
I nodded in agreement. That was it. It felt timeless. The unmistakable and primordial laugh of a kookaburra punctuated the silence and reverberated through the bush, making us both smile.
With every trip to the farm, walking among the trees still conjured up that feeling: a state of grace, of oneness with nature. When I wasn’t helping to fix fences, build the chicken coop or erect the garage with Erich, Ernst, Franz and our families, I couldn’t help but take photos of the activity and the countryside around us. No matter how hard I tried, I knew that somehow I could never quite capture the essence of the landscape, especially the bush, on film.
But it was then that I realised that we were beginning to put down roots on this little patch of paradise and that, one day, we would call it home.
9
February 1960
Erich took Johanna to help him at the farm, waving goodbye as Bella, our Alsatian dog, barked joyously on the back of the ute. It was muggy when they left, the sky low with heavy pewter clouds that threatened rain.
Erich had corn growing in the paddock that he had cleared and tilled, borrowing tractors and machinery from neighbours and friends. It had stunk for weeks after he applied manure he’d procured from one of the dairy farms near Camden but now the corn was almost ready for harvest, tall and green, the kernels beginning to turn from white to golden yellow. Selling our produce by the side of the road or possibly at the markets would be a good source of extra money.
How Erich could turn his hand to anything and make a success of it constantly surprised me. The fibro garage was almost finished, we were just waiting on the doors, and we’d started to plan when we could afford to begin on the house.
Johanna missed no opportunity to go out to the farm with Erich. I would have loved to go with them. But today I had more important things to attend to. It was Johanna’s birthday – she was turning twelve. I wanted to make a Black Forest torte for when friends came for coffee and cake this afternoon. Greta was at Anna’s, doing a school project. She would come home later to help Mutti and me clean up and get ready for Johanna’s birthday party.
I glanced out the window and saw fat drops of rain beginning to fall, the leaves on the rosebushes drooping under their battering force. I hoped Greta had remembered her raincoat. As if on cue, sheets of water cascaded mercilessly over the street and garden before me. I groaned – so much for our beautiful garden. I only hoped that the deluge would stop before the plants were damaged beyond repair and that the rain would clear before our guests arrived.
Turning back to the task at hand, I collected the ingredients I needed for the chocolate cake. Mutti was still in bed, making the most of the quiet, but I knew she’d be up soon to help me. Cooking together reminded us of the times we had done so in Germany. I could hardly hear myself think over the pelting rain. Normally I found rain soothing, even powerful rainstorms such as this, but not today.
I could barely concentrate, the rain on the roof sounding like a dru
mroll, making my nerves jangle and draw tight with tension. The eggs slipped from my hands and the shock of them smashing on the floor made me gasp. Bright yellow yolk and clear whites splashed across the vinyl like one of the girls’ splatter paintings. I stared at the oozing contents of the eggs and a shiver ran through me making gooseflesh rise on my arms. I shook my head, took a step back and the feeling passed.
‘What was that?’ I said out loud. ‘I must be more tired than I thought.’ I frowned at the mess on the floor, annoyed at myself for making it, and bent to clean it up. ‘Mutti!’ I called. ‘I know you’re awake. I’m making coffee if you want some.’ That was what I needed, I was sure – a good, strong, hot cup of coffee before I started. Maybe then I could concentrate on what I was doing and not let the rain get to me. It was about an hour later as Mutti and I were cleaning up, the cake in the oven, that there was a knock at the front door. It was still raining but not as heavily as before. I went to answer it.
Otto stood on the porch hunched under an umbrella, his face pale with worry.
‘Otto, come in out of the rain,’ I said.
He nodded, closing his umbrella and placing it by the door before coming inside.
‘Guten morgen, Otto. Coffee?’ Mutti asked, her head appearing from the kitchen.
‘No, thank you, Amelia. I can’t stay.’ He rubbed his hands as if he were cold, although it was a warm and sticky day. He shifted from foot to foot, his gaze darting nervously about the room.
‘What brings you here? Something wrong?’ I asked, the back of my neck beginning to prickle.
‘I’ve just had a phone call at the studio,’ he said, finally looking at me.
I frowned, waiting for him to tell me, an odd heaviness swirling in my belly.
‘It was Liverpool Hospital.’
I grasped his arm. ‘Are your family all right?’
‘Yes, yes, they’re fine,’ he said hastily, his eyes sliding away from my face.
I was relieved but the pricking grew stronger and my eyes widened in sudden fear as I thought of another possibility: we had no telephone and any emergency phone calls were directed to the studio.
‘It’s Erich,’ Otto blurted. ‘He was in a car accident and he and Johanna are at the hospital. I’m so sorry.’
Suddenly Otto was holding me up and Mutti was by my side, easing me onto a chair.
‘Are they all right?’ I croaked, my voice not working very well.
‘Johanna is fine, just some cuts and bruises but . . .’ He looked to Mutti before crouching down beside me, his grey eyes steadfast on mine. ‘Erich was injured quite badly.’
The room swam before me, and there was a roaring in my ears.
‘Lotte!’ Mutti was shaking me by the shoulders. ‘Come on. Otto will take you to the hospital. Do you want me to come?’
I stared into my mother’s drawn face. ‘The cake will burn.’ I looked at Otto. ‘It’s Johanna’s birthday.’
‘Yes, I know.’ He put his hand on my shoulder. It was warm and comforting. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital and wait with you as long as you need.’
‘I’ll stay and watch the cake and wait for Greta to come home,’ said Mutti, smoothing my hair.
‘All right,’ I said, my voice coming from a long way away. ‘I’ll just get my handbag.’
*
Johanna sat on a bed in the emergency ward looking tiny and vulnerable. My breath caught at the sight of her. My poor, poor darling girl! She was pale, the same colour as the bandage wrapped around her head. The left side of her face was red and swollen, her cheek smeared with dried blood. Her bottom lip was puffy, a dark crust surrounding a cut, and her long blonde hair was matted with blood, which was also caked around her ear. Blood had dripped onto her top, staining the blue fabric with dark blotches.
I didn’t know if I wanted to vomit and collapse in relief or distress and my heart clenched at the thought of what she had gone through. It could have been so much worse, I told myself. The doctor had told me that besides a number of superficial cuts, grazes and bruising, Johanna had sustained a deep gash to her forehead, which they had cleaned and stitched. Although she had a terrible headache, she was alert and could go home with me.
‘Schätzchen,’ I whispered, holding her tightly against me. ‘It’s all right now. I’m here.’
Johanna nodded and sagged against me as I perched on the edge of the bed. I kissed her lightly on the top of her head and put my arm gently around her. I never wanted to let her go.
I squeezed my eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling. What would I have done if something more awful had happened to her?
‘How’s Vati?’ whispered Johanna.
My chest tightened. ‘I don’t know.’ I felt her stiffen in my arms. ‘I’ll see him in a minute, but the doctors wouldn’t let me see him if he wasn’t all right.’
She nodded and burrowed against me further, as if she wanted the world to disappear.
‘Mutti, do you know what happened to Bella?’
‘I haven’t heard.’
She pulled away, tears filling her eyes, dark as the stormy sea.
‘Don’t worry, my darling. I’ll find out. I’m sure she’s fine.’ I squeezed her hand, wishing I could take away everything that had happened and make this day right for her. A movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned my head to find the doctor ready for me.
‘I’ll take you to see your husband, Mrs Drescher,’ he said.
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ I kissed the top of Johanna’s head again, not wanting to touch her face. ‘Then Otto will take us home.’
‘I’ll be all right, Mutti. Give Vati a kiss for me,’ she whispered, trying to smile and grimacing as the cut in her lip cracked open, beads of fresh blood blossoming from the wound. I didn’t want to leave her side but I squeezed her hand tightly and slipped off the bed to follow the doctor down the aisle.
It seemed to take forever as we walked past the many beds of the casualty department. All I wanted was to see Erich, to touch him and talk to him, to make sure that he was all right. My heart thumped in my chest until I thought it would explode and I was sure I was going to be sick. I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt then swallowed hard and tried to steel myself for what I would find.
The doctor stopped outside a closed curtain towards the end of the ward and turned to me.
‘Your husband has sustained a number of fractures to his right leg,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It was a terrible accident and he lost a lot of blood, but he has no internal injuries that we can see. He’s lucky to be alive, but I won’t pretend that he has an easy road ahead.’
Relief swamped me, making my knees turn to jelly. Erich was safe and out of immediate danger. I wanted to rip the curtain open and see him with my own eyes.
‘Can I see him?’ My hand was already on the fabric.
‘Of course, but only for a moment. He’s groggy from the painkillers and may not be very alert.’ He put a hand on my shoulder and, surprised, I jerked my head around to find his brows creased in concern and his hazel eyes filled with compassion. ‘Now, I want you to know that he looks as he did when he was brought in, so don’t get a shock when you see him. The nurses will be in to put him in a hospital gown and tidy him up to prepare him for his move to the orthopaedic ward shortly. I’ll be back to answer any questions you might have. After that, just ask the doctor looking after him on the ward.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
I drew the curtain back just enough to squeeze through and took a deep breath to control the urge to throw myself onto my husband, weeping with relief and shock. Erich lay back on the bed, his eyes closed, dark lashes stark against the waxen pallor of his skin. I could see from the set of his mouth that he was in pain despite the medication they had given him. His leg, supported and encased on three sides by a plaster splint cushioned with layers of cotton, lay on top of the sheet. His trouser leg was cut away and my hand flew to my mouth in horror at the twisted, mangled mess before me.
The leg sat at an odd angle with the white end of the bone of his upper leg poking through, bare against the red of the open wound. Blood covered his leg, which was swollen and discoloured. It didn’t look real, a macabre prop from a horror movie.
‘Oh, my love,’ I whispered. I couldn’t imagine his leg ever being right after this. In fact, I couldn’t imagine him ever using it again.
The long lashes fluttered and his eyes opened, the brilliant green dull and clouded with pain, drugs or maybe both. ‘Lotte.’ His voice was groggy.
‘I’m here, my darling.’ I moved quickly to his side and held the limp hand above the sheet. It was cold despite the hot, humid February day. ‘You’re in good hands now.’
‘Johanna?’
‘She’s fine. Just a couple of bumps and scratches. I can take her home with me. Otto’s waiting for us.’ His luxuriant brown hair, streaked with silver, fell over one eye. I brushed it back into place, my hand lingering on his head. It was beaded with sweat. His eyelids drooped and I wanted nothing more than to hold him tight and kiss his eyelids and his mouth and tell him that everything would be all right.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He said it so quietly I almost missed it.
Tears prickled my eyes and I blinked them furiously away in case he opened his and saw me crying. ‘Just come home to us. Get better and we’ll be back to normal before you know it.’ He gave no response and I wondered if he had slipped into sleep.
Then he squeezed my hand ever so lightly. ‘I’ll never leave you,’ he murmured. ‘I love you.’
The curtains parted and two nurses entered.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Drescher, it’s time for you to go. The doctor’s waiting to speak to you and we have to get your husband ready for the ward. Come back tomorrow in visiting hours. I’m sure he’ll feel a lot better then.’
‘I have to go now, my darling.’ I kissed him on the lips. ‘I’ll come to see you tomorrow. I love you too.’ His lips were cold as well, like kissing a stone carving. I repressed a shudder. I might have been kissing a corpse, kissing my husband goodbye . . . I sent a silent prayer of thanks for Erich’s deliverance.
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