Moonlight Plains

by Barbara Hannay

  Both experiences had left her with an aching heart.

  ‘By the way, we have mail,’ Jim announced as he reached a beefy hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a fistful of envelopes. ‘I collected these while I was in the Towers.’ He frowned as he sorted through the envelopes. ‘There are some here for you.’

  ‘I hope there’s a letter from Grandma.’ Kitty was dying for news from Townsville.

  ‘Yes, there’s one here from Nell. And . . .’ Jim glanced at Kitty and raised a bushy white eyebrow. ‘You know anyone in the military? This one here’s been censored.’

  Kitty’s eyes flew to the envelopes he handed her. She didn’t recognise the handwriting, but she supposed it might be from Andy Mathieson. He’d promised to write.

  The envelope was stamped Passed by Censor and there were extra initials scratched beside the stamp.

  Curious, she opened it quickly.

  Darling Kitty,

  I’m sorry I can’t tell you much about what’s been happening to me, or where I am; the unit censor will just cut it all out.

  But I can tell you I’m fit (fighting fit, ha ha) and the food, particularly during our intense training, has been pretty good, probably better than you and my family are having at home.

  I told you I would write and I would love to get letters from you as well. Please don’t worry if my letters are few and far between. I think of you all the time, Kitty. I carry a photo of you in my top pocket. It’s a group photo taken at that picnic down on the Strand last winter. We’re sitting next to each other and you’re smiling and happy and you look so beautiful.

  I’m glad I’ve known you for such a long time. It means I have so many memories of you to carry in my heart. Can you guess one of the standout memories for me? You’re going to laugh.

  It was the day we rode our bikes out to the Town Common and I showed you how to trap nutmeg finches. You were intrigued by the whole process, but when you realised I planned to keep the birds you were so angry you tried to hit me. Do you remember how you begged me to set them free?

  I knew then that I could never deliberately upset you, Kitty.

  Don’t expect me home on leave for some time, but as soon as I get back I’m going to have a serious talk with your grandfather. I hope he hasn’t been too rough on you, Kitty. I should have made sure he understood before I left.

  In the meantime,

  I send you all my love,

  Andy

  ‘I hope it’s not bad news.’ Her great-uncle was watching her through narrowed eyes.

  ‘Um . . . no, not at all. It’s just from a fellow who lives near us in Townsville. In the next street. An old school friend. He – he signed up just before I left.’

  But Kitty was struggling to hide her dismay. During her recent encounter with Ed she’d almost forgotten about Andy. Even though her time with Ed had been so brief, he’d distracted her completely.

  Filled your head with nonsense, her grandmother would probably say.

  She’d certainly been awakened to entirely new possibilities. Or perhaps she’d been starstruck.

  Whatever happened, he’s gone. I’ll have to forget him now.

  Was that possible?

  Hastily, she slipped Andy’s note into its envelope and turned her attention to the next letter, which, she was relieved to see, was addressed in her grandmother’s beautiful script. She’d missed her grandparents, despite their strict ways. She’d especially missed her grandmother, and she knew her grandmother would be missing her.

  Just as Kitty had hoped, this letter was crowded with news about Townsville and the impact of the war.

  You wouldn’t recognise this sleepy town now, her grandmother wrote. There are tents everywhere, out along the old stock route to the north where there used to be nothing but chinee apple and straggly bush, and all these flash new aircraft runways.

  ‘Goodness,’ Kitty said, as she read a little further. ‘Grandma and Grandfather have been evacuated.’

  ‘Really?’ Jim was frowning. ‘Where to?’

  ‘Hermit Park.’ It was a suburb on the other side of town. ‘Apparently, they’re evacuating all the elderly people from North Ward and South Townsville.’

  ‘Those suburbs are probably too exposed, too close to the sea.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Now Grandma and Grandfather are living in a house with a family of four. They’re called the Robinsons.’

  ‘Could be a bit crowded.’

  ‘Yes, it probably is.’ Kitty gave a rueful smile. ‘I hope Grandfather doesn’t try to organise the Robinsons too much. He can be rather bossy.’

  ‘And how.’

  ‘Grandma says Mr Robinson works for the railway.’ Kitty read the next part of the letter aloud. ‘Mr Robinson is very efficient and organised. He keeps a bucket of sand and a spade at both the front and back door, ready to put out incendiary bombs. Meanwhile, I’ve been helping Mrs Robinson to make sugarbag poultices. We’ve filled them with sand and we’re supposed to use them like a body shield when we approach a bomb and then throw them on the bomb to extinguish it.’

  Kitty looked up from her letter. ‘Gosh, it all sounds very dangerous, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Just taking precautions, lass. There’s been no bombing yet and probably won’t be.’

  ‘Mr Robinson has also dug an air-raid shelter in the backyard,’ Kitty read on. ‘It’s big enough to take all six of us at a squash, but it filled up with water during the storms last week, and now we have a problem with mosquitoes. Mr Robinson has also painted the ends of all the garden beds white, so we don’t trip over them during the blackouts.’

  She shot her great-uncle a smile. ‘I think Grandfather may have met his match in Mr Robinson. He does sound organised.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jim was smiling, too. ‘It certainly sounds as if Alex and Nell are in good hands.’

  ‘That’s nice to know, isn’t it?’ But Kitty couldn’t help feeling left out and useless, stuck here in the bush, away from all the excitement. She longed to be part of the action, especially when her grandmother also reminded her, rather pointedly, that the women were needed for all sorts of work now that the men were away.

  Kitty knew that if she’d stayed in Townsville, she would have been doing real war work. Perhaps she should have stood up to her grandfather, but she’d felt too guilty to plead her case eloquently after she’d been caught on the verandah with Andy.

  ‘Grandma sends you her love,’ she said to Uncle Jim, as she finished the letter. As she folded it again, her thoughts lingered on Townsville, wondering what her friends might be up to.

  She was still thinking about this when she opened the third envelope. Idly curious about who else might write to her, she glanced to the bottom of the page. It was from Andy’s father.

  This was a surprise.

  Why would he write? Had her grandfather spoken to him? Would this letter brand her as a scarlet woman?

  Fearful now, Kitty scanned the page quickly.

  Dear Kitty,

  I know Andy was planning to write to you, but I’m afraid our family needs to share some bad news. Our wonderful boy is missing in action.

  We are trying to be as brave as he is, Kitty, but it’s very hard on all of us. Andy’s mother asked me to contact you. She’s not up to writing just now.

  Things don’t look good, but we are living in high hopes that he will be found alive and well.

  The message from the army could only tell us that he is missing, and that’s the only thing we know for sure. His unit was operating somewhere in the islands. A troop barge was sunk by Jap planes and Andy was not among those who were rescued.

  We’re grateful that the message just said Missing in Action . . . It did not include Presumed Killed.

  I was in the last war and I’m being honest in holding out hope, but I know you will join us in our prayers for our son to come home to us.

  Yours respectfully,

  Donald Mathieson

  Kitty wasn’t sure how long she sat
there, staring at Mr Mathieson’s letter.

  Poor Andy. He’d only just joined up. He couldn’t possibly be dead, surely? She should have been thinking about him more, worrying about him. Tears prickled her eyes and her throat.

  ‘What is it, lass? Bad news?’

  ‘My – my friend, the one in the army.’ She lifted up Andy’s envelope with its censored stamp. ‘He’s missing already. Missing in action. The boat he was on was sunk by the Japs.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Her great-uncle frowned. ‘But don’t fret too much, Kitty. People go missing in war, and it’s hard to keep track of everyone. There’s always a chance he’ll turn up.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  But what if the Japs find him first?

  She wouldn’t think about that. It was too awful to contemplate.

  At least neither her great-uncle nor Andy’s father seemed to be panicking, and they’d both been in the last war, fighting in Europe.

  But it was frustrating to sit here in the quiet homestead kitchen, miles and miles away from home, knowing that everyone in Townsville was doing his or her bit for the war effort. Poor Andy might even have given his life.

  Kitty knew that if she had to stay here much longer she would be bored. She missed being able to look out of a window and see a neighbour hanging washing on the line, or children building a cubbyhouse, their father arriving home from work.

  Uncle Jim was watching her closely. ‘You wish you could go back, don’t you, lass?’

  Kitty realised she was still sitting with Mr Mathieson’s letter lying open in her lap. She looked across the kitchen table to where her great-uncle sat, puffing quietly on his pipe. He had the same craggy profile as her grandfather, but his eyes and mouth were gentler than his brother’s. She’d grown rather fond of him over the past few weeks. ‘I’d feel bad about leaving you alone.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I was fine before you came and I’ll be fine after you leave. I’ve always been a bit of a loner.’

  ‘I must admit, I’d like to finish my Voluntary Aid Detachment training.’ Actually, she’d read in the paper that the Military Board had approved call-up of voluntary aids to work as part of the Army Medical Service.

  Uncle Jim nodded. ‘That’s much more sensible than fussing around here and getting under my feet. Let me deal with Alex if he tries to make a fuss.’

  23

  Moonlight Plains, 2013

  ‘Hi, Gran, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know, Luke . . . still here.’

  Luke winced at the familiar response. When he rang his grandmother with updates on the homestead’s progress, she invariably expressed surprise or even disappointment that she’d woken to find she was still alive. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live to ninety. He hoped she wasn’t depressed.

  ‘Well, I’ve a suggestion that might cheer you up.’

  ‘Yes, dear? What is it?’

  ‘I’m thinking about throwing a big party when the homestead’s finished.’

  ‘A party?’

  ‘Yeah, a kind of celebration for family and friends, but I’m thinking of possibly widening the circle and raising money for the bush fire brigade as well. It could be a good way of showing off the house, a chance to spread the word. Kill two birds with one stone.’

  ‘I see . . .’ His grandmother sounded dubious.

  ‘Even if we don’t make it too grand, it would be fun to have a family get-together – the uncles and their lot, Mum, Bella and Gabe, Zoe and Mac and their little guy – and you, of course. It’s been a while since we all got together.’

  ‘Does this mean the renovations are almost finished?’

  ‘Well, there’s still a way to go in the kitchen, but they’re certainly getting closer. And it takes time to plan these things. I thought maybe Zoe could help with the catering.’

  ‘I was wondering who would help you. I haven’t met Zoe, but I think Virginia mentioned that she used to be a professional chef.’

  ‘Yes, she’s brilliant.’

  ‘Then she’ll be a great asset, if she’s free. But I don’t think you’ve had much experience at throwing parties, have you, Luke?’

  ‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘I’d definitely need help.’

  This was greeted by a rather prolonged silence.

  ‘Gran, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, yes . . .’

  ‘So you like the idea?’

  ‘It’s a lovely idea, Luke. I guess I’m just a little surprised that you came up with it.’

  Luke could feel the back of his neck burn. This hadn’t been his idea, of course. It was Sally’s brainchild, hatched yesterday afternoon as they’d lain together, lazy and happy after making love, talking about the homestead and its possibilities, which was still a safer topic than talking about themselves.

  ‘I have talked it over with Sally Piper,’ he said carefully. ‘She paid another visit to get more pics and info for her story.’

  ‘Ahhh . . .’

  His grandmother’s tone was hard to read and Luke decided it was safer to drop Sally from their conversation.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask if you got that letter I forwarded from America,’ he said instead.

  ‘Oh, yes, I did, thanks.’

  ‘Does it mention anything about the airmen who were here during the war?’

  The small sound on the end of the line might well have been a sigh.

  ‘Yes, Laura certainly mentioned one of the airmen,’ his grandmother said after a pause. ‘She’s his daughter. She wrote to tell me that her father had died.’

  ‘Hey, that’s great. Well, it’s not great that he died, but it’s great that she’s a rellie. I was thinking, if she was connected, why not send her an invitation?’

  ‘An invitation?’

  ‘To the party.’

  ‘Oh, Luke, for heaven’s sake. Why on earth would you ask her?’

  ‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it, Gran? I mean, if we’re throwing a party for the homestead, why not invite anyone with a connection? Think how cool it would be if she actually came all the way from America.’

  ‘It’s highly unlikely.’

  ‘Yeah, I know it’s a long shot, but I’d be happy to write to her. I kept a copy of her address.’

  ‘Oh.’

  This unmistakable lack of enthusiasm was puzzling. Luke had expected that his grandmother would be fascinated to meet this woman and swap memories about her father.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. She probably won’t be able to come,’ he said in his most placating tone. ‘But I may as well give it a go, don’t you think?’

  Sally closed the book on another chapter of Seven Little Australians.

  ‘So, Nan,’ she said, taking her grandmother’s scrawny hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, ‘I have some exciting news. I’ve met a really nice guy.’

  Her grandmother nodded with her habitual sweet smile. ‘Josh is a lovely boy.’

  ‘No, this isn’t Josh, Nan.’ Sally tried to ignore the sudden heaviness in her chest. ‘Josh died some time ago. He’s gone.’

  ‘Has he, dear? That’s terrible for him. I’m so sorry.’

  Even though Sally was getting used to this now, she was still saddened by each new sign that her grandmother was losing her mind. It was especially hard when other elderly folk like Kitty Mathieson were still so lucid and switched on.

  Eight years ago, her nan had still been living in her little timber cottage in South Townsville with its neat lattice-fronted verandah and an enormous mango tree in the backyard shading innumerable, carefully tended pots of ferns and bromeliads.

  Sally used to call in each week to take her grandmother out for shopping and afternoon tea. In those days, Nan had been a canny shopper, always ready and waiting with her carefully prepared list that noted the specials at the supermarket. And she would never forget if a chemist prescription needed to be filled, or if she’d needed to buy a birthday gift for a family member.

  But after a s
troke – only a little stroke that required a mere two days in hospital – everything had changed.

  Sally would arrive for their regular Thursday afternoon outings to find Nan sitting on the verandah just staring into space, having forgotten all about the shopping trip. Then she’d begun to notice that Nan was buying jars of honey and Vegemite every week, stockpiling them in the pantry, while forgetting essentials like toilet paper. She’d broken Sally’s heart when she constantly asked about Tom, her husband, who had died several years earlier.

  Sally’s mother was alarmed when Sally finally convinced her there was a problem.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sally. I feel so guilty. I should have taken more notice, but I’ve been so busy at work. We’ll have to do something. See someone. She can’t live on her own like that.’

  Sally’s mother was always crazily busy at work, so Sally had been happy enough, especially after Josh died, to be the one who sat and held Nan’s hand and answered the same question three times in thirty minutes, or listened to her rambling stories.

  And today, there was an advantage to having a grandmother with next to no short-term memory. Sally could tell her all about Luke and trust that her story would go no further. It was a relief to be able to talk about him with a goofy smile on her face and without being questioned.

  ‘He’s not just good-looking and tall and athletic. He’s a really nice guy, Nan. I like being around him. I guess you could say we’re friends with benefits,’ Sally told her now. ‘That’s a term you wouldn’t have heard of, but it means we can sleep together and enjoy each other without any expectations of long-term commitment. These days, a lot of younger people have that kind of arrangement.’

  ‘Why?’ her grandmother demanded, looking stern and disapproving.

  Sally gulped. The unexpected challenge had caught her completely wrong-footed. ‘Not everyone wants to rush to get married,’ she suggested. ‘Don’t you worry about it, Nan.’

  She was a bit ashamed of herself for speaking to her grandmother in such a patronising tone.