The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

by Holly Ringland

  Long after everyone went to bed, June worked at her desk, under her jeweller’s lamp, until her eyes burned and her flask was dry. Once her letter to Alice was written and her gift was finished and wrapped, June switched the lamp off. She left the workshop, stumbled through the dark into the house, and up to Alice’s bedroom.

  Alice stirred in her sleep. She sat up. In the thin moonlight falling through her windows she saw June at her desk, but, unable to keep her eyes open, she sank back to sleep onto her pillow. When she awoke it was light. Her tenth birthday. Remembering her vision in the night, she leapt up. On her desk sat a present and a letter.

  She tore at the wrapping, opened the jewellery box inside, and gasped. A large silver locket hung from a silver chain. Encased in resin, the lid of the locket held a cluster of pressed red petals. Alice slid a fingernail into the clasp. The locket sprang open. Looking up at her from behind a thin sheet of glass was a black and white photo of her mother. Hot tears rolled down Alice’s cheeks. She put the necklace on and picked up the letter.

  Dear Alice,

  Sometimes, some things are just too hard to say. I know you understand this better than most people.

  When I was about your age I started to learn the language of flowers from my mother, your great-grandmother – who in turn learned it from her mother – using the flowers that grow from this land, our home. They help us to say what words sometimes cannot.

  It breaks my heart that I can’t fix what has been taken from you. Just like you’ve lost your voice, I seem to have lost part of mine when it comes to talking about your mother and father. And that’s not okay, I know that. I know you need answers. I’m figuring this out as we go along, just like I know you are too. When I find the part of my voice that’s missing, please know I will give you every answer I can to every question you have. I promise. Maybe we’ll find our voices together.

  I am your grandmother. I loved your parents very much. And I love you. I will always love you. We are each other’s family now. And will be, always. Twig and Candy, too.

  This is the one photo I have of your mother. It now belongs to you. I made this locket using pressed petals from Sturt’s desert peas. To the women in our family, they mean courage. Have courage, take heart.

  Thornfield is your mother’s home, your grandmother’s home, your great-, and great-great-grandmother’s home. Now, it can be yours too. It will open its stories to you just like this locket. If you’ll let it.

  Your loving grandmother,

  June

  Alice closed the letter and ran her fingers along the fold. She tucked it into her pocket and held the locket open in her palm, staring at the photograph of her mother’s face. Maybe June was right. Some things were too hard to say. Some things were too hard to remember. And some things were just too hard to know. But June had promised: if Alice could find her voice, June would find answers.

  Alice tugged on her blue boots and crept out of the house into the cool purple morning.

  Downstairs in the office, Twig kept the phone to her ear even though the conversation had ended. Her heart drummed loudly. It had been too easy: the state’s adoption services department was in the Yellow Pages. She’d simply picked up the phone, dialled the number, said her name was June Hart and that she wanted to register an enquiry about the adoption of her grandson. Gave her postal address care of Tamara North, Thornfield Farm Manager, and was told the forms she needed would arrive in seven to ten working days. It took no more than five minutes. Then the line went dead. And Twig just sat there, listening to the dial tone hum in her ear. It was the sound of fate set in motion, a sound she never succeeded in hearing in her search for her own children. On paper, there was no record of Nina and Johnny’s existence. But Twig marked their birthdays every year, planting a new seedling. There were over sixty such plants and trees around Thornfield now.

  Outside, the sun shone down on the Flowers, who were busy cutting branches of flowering wattle and gathering them in buckets. One of them was singing an old hymn. Twig thought about humming along but didn’t. She stopped going to church years ago.

  No sounds came from June’s bedroom. Twig knew she’d been up until the early hours, making amends the best way she knew, through flowers. But guilt was a strange seed; the deeper you buried it, the harder it fought to grow. If June wouldn’t tell Alice about the baby, Twig was prepared to. And that meant she needed information.

  As she leant forward to put the phone receiver back in its cradle, something glinted in the sunshine outside. Twig narrowed her eyes, following the light. Alice’s new necklace caught the sun as she tiptoed past the Flowers to scurry into the bush. Twig knew who Alice was going to meet at the river. She didn’t have any interest in stopping her either. That child needed all the solace and comfort she could get.

  Alice scampered through the flower fields. The dead winter grass crackled underfoot and the cold air burned her lungs. At the bottom of the farm the wattle trees blazed yellow, radiant with their sweet scent. The Flowers were already out and working; Alice ducked from their view as she cut away from the flower fields onto the path through the bush. She ran to the beat of the locket bouncing against her chest.

  Have-courage–take-heart. Have-courage–take-heart.

  When Alice reached the river, she stopped to catch her breath and watched the green water gush over stones and tree roots. She stood there for a while, remembering the sea. It felt so far away, almost as if it was never real, almost as if it was the same as her dreams. She hated that thought, that her life by the sea and everything she loved there would never again be more than the fires she fought in her sleep. That Toby, his paw on her leg when she read to him even though he couldn’t hear, was no more than the flicker of a flame dream. Or her mother, in her garden, her feet bare and her hands tender, no more than a wisp of smoke. Did her mother come to this river? Did she stand where Alice was standing, watching the water gush over the stones and roots? Was her name one of those cut from the river gum? She could almost feel her mother’s skin, the warmth of her arms.

  Alice tugged June’s letter from her pocket and unfolded it. When I find the part of my voice that’s missing, please know I will give you every answer I can to every question you have. I promise. Maybe we’ll find our voices together.

  She folded it up and put it back in her pocket. Sweat beaded on her forehead as her memories shifted to her father. She remembered him coming out of his shed with his arms trembling under the weight of her new desk, his eyes filled with hope. How quickly they darkened. Smashing his way through the house, throwing her mother’s body against the wall before roaring towards Alice.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Alice clenched her fists by her sides, took a deep breath and screamed. It felt so good she screamed again, imagining her voice might flow with the river and run all the way to the sea, where it could reach the edge of the ocean and sing her mother, the unborn baby and Toby home. All the way home, where they could emerge from her fiery dreams and keep each other safe.

  When her throat started to ache, Alice stopped screaming. She undressed and kicked off her boots. Fearful of it being damaged, she unclasped her desert pea locket and tucked it into her clothes. The dark green water rushed by. She dipped a toe in, shuddering at the cold. Dilly-dallied for a while, until she felt brave enough. On the count of three. She threw herself into the river. The cold shock of the water made her splutter to the surface, where she found herself coughing up rose petals the colour of fire. Confused, she looked down. Another petal stuck to her shivery skin. And then another, and another. She glanced upstream. Oggi was crouched by the river bank, setting loose petals onto the water. A thick blanket and a backpack sat on the bank beside him. She sent a splash towards him with a smile.

  ‘Hi, Alice.’

  She waved, scrambling to the rocks.

  ‘Here.’ He stood to offer her the blanket, turning his head away. ‘I had a feeling you’d swim today, even though it’s freezing.’ Shivering, she took the blanket and w
rapped it around herself. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said. His smile warmed her with its brightness. They walked together back to her boots and clothes. He sat and unpacked his backpack. ‘Did you know, in Bulgaria, you get to celebrate being you twice a year? Once on your birthday, and again on your name day. That’s when everyone with the same name all celebrate on the same day. I don’t know if there’s a name day for Alice, though. Anyway, the tradition is that people come uninvited to celebrate, and the person celebrating gives them treats to eat and drink.’

  Alice frowned.

  ‘But I’ve never really liked that idea, so I brought treats with me for you.’

  At that, Alice beamed. She sat down beside him. From behind his back Oggi revealed a cloth-covered parcel, patterned in roses, each corner tied in a knot. He gestured for Alice to untie it. The cloth fell away, revealing a pot of fiery-coloured jam and a flat, rectangular wrapped present. She smiled. Oggi took a box of buttered bread, a bread knife and a small, battered flask out of his backpack.

  ‘I bet you didn’t know that in Bulgaria your birthday falls at the end of rose-picking season. It lasts from May to June, when the Valley of the Roses is covered in roses of every colour. They’re cut one by one, and put into willow-baskets to go to the distilleries. That’s where they’re turned into whatever they’re going to be next. Jam. Oil. Soap. Perfume.’

  Alice turned the jar of jam over in her hands. It shimmered in the cold light. Oggi unscrewed the lid of the flask and used it as a cup.

  ‘This is what we drink when we celebrate.’ Oggi poured something clear from the flask. ‘It’s called rakija.’ He handed her the flask and raised the lid in a toast. ‘We say, “nazdrave”.’

  Alice nodded. Following his lead, she raised the flask to her lips, took a sip, and swallowed. They both coughed and spluttered. Alice spat and wiped her tongue on the blanket repeatedly.

  ‘It’s gross, I know, but grown-ups love it,’ Oggi croaked. Alice pulled a face in disgust, shoving the flask back at him. He screwed the lid back on, laughing. ‘Open your present.’

  First she tore open the corner, then in a rush of excitement yanked the brown paper away from the book. It had a cracked spine and yellowed pages, and smelled like the Thornfield Dictionary. Alice ran her fingers over the lettering of the title.

  ‘I thought you might like it. One of the stories is about a girl from the sea who loses her voice.’

  Alice looked at Oggi.

  ‘And how she finds it again,’ he said.

  Without thinking, she leant forward, kissed Oggi’s cheek and sat back before she realised what she’d done. Oggi’s fingers flew to the spot her lips had touched. Desperate for distraction, Alice reached for the boot that her locket was inside. She tipped it out into her palm and held it up by the chain.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, holding his hand up to touch it. Alice opened the clasp. Oggi studied the photograph of Alice’s mother.

  ‘Oggi, this is my mother,’ she said, carefully forming her words.

  Oggi dropped the locket and sprang back as if she’d pinched him. ‘What …’ His face was frozen in surprise. ‘Alice, you spoke? You’re speaking? What? You can talk?’

  Alice giggled. She’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh.

  ‘She speaks!’ Oggi stood up, running in circles around them. Alice closed the locket and slipped the necklace over her head.

  When Oggi came to a stop, he doubled over, his hands on his knees. ‘Time for birthday breakfast?’ he gasped.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said, shyly.

  ‘She said “Yes, please”!’ Oggi laughed. ‘The crowd goes wild!’ He cupped his mouth with his hands and cheered. ‘Alice, this is the best birthday ever and it’s not even mine.’

  ‘Thank you so much for my presents,’ she said slowly, getting used to the shape of words again. She hugged the book.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Oggi smiled. He opened the pot of jam. ‘Mum made this batch specially for your birthday.’ He dipped the butter knife into the jar and spread a thick dollop of jam onto a piece of bread. ‘From her garden, made of roses with my name.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She took the bread he offered her.

  ‘Oh, that’s what colour they are,’ he explained, making a slice for himself.

  ‘Ognian is a colour?’ Alice asked in surprise. Her name was a colour too.

  ‘It can be,’ Oggi replied, taking a big bite of his jammy bread. ‘Iph-meams-pire,’ he said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  Oggi laughed and swallowed. ‘My name, Ognian,’ he said. ‘It means fire.’

  ‘Oh,’ Alice said. The babble of the river intermingled with a bellbird’s call. Winter light broke through the trees.

  ‘Say something else,’ Oggi said after a while.

  ‘Something else,’ Alice said, her cheeks flushed with the joy of making him laugh.

  When Alice got home, June was in the kitchen, watching over sizzling frying pans. Candy and Twig were at the table, reading. Harry sat at Twig’s feet. His tail thumped at the sight of Alice. The three women looked up.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ June said, her eyes on Alice’s locket.

  ‘Happy birthday, sweetpea.’ Candy closed her recipe book.

  ‘Hi, Alice. Happy birthday.’ Twig folded up the paper.

  June’s frame was hunched. Candy’s face was pale. Twig’s movements were slow and heavy. All three tried to smile but none of them had happy eyes. No one mentioned Alice’s wet hair or her sandy feet.

  ‘I’m making birthday pancakes. Would you like some?’ June’s voice shook.

  Alice gave June the kindest smile she could.

  ‘Coming right up.’ June poured more batter into a pan.

  Alice angled herself onto one of the chairs.

  ‘How about some sparkling birthday juice, Alice?’ Twig offered, sliding her chair back. Alice nodded. Twig went to the cupboard to get a champagne flute, giving June’s hand a squeeze as she passed. Harry curled at her feet with a thud. Alice watched the women. The way June’s shoulders always shook a little. Twig’s sad eyes. Candy’s blue hair, which, no matter how bright it was, couldn’t hide her sorrow. Alice wasn’t the only one who was sad and missed people she loved.

  June served pancakes with butter and syrup. Twig set a flute of apple juice and fizzy water beside Alice’s plate.

  ‘Thank you, June. Thank you, Twig,’ Alice said.

  June dropped the spatula covered in pancake mix. Twig’s mouth gaped open. Candy shrieked. Harry, unable to decide between licking the pancake batter off the floor or turning in circles, decided to do both.

  The women descended upon Alice, wrapping her in a group hug.

  ‘Say that again, Alice!’

  ‘Alice, say Candy Baby!’

  ‘No, Alice, can you say Twig?’

  Standing in the centre, Alice looked up at their faces, gathered around her as tightly as petals in a new bud. Although it was her birthday, sharing her voice felt like a gift for them all.

  She smiled to herself as the women danced around her. She’d found her voice. Now June had to keep her promise to find Alice answers.

  How do I yearn, how do I pine

  For the time of flowers to come

  Emily Brontë

  14

  River red gum

  Meaning: Enchantment

  Eucalyptus camaldulensis | All states and territories

  Iconic Australian tree. Smooth bark sheds in long ribbons. Has a large, dense crown of leaves. Seeds require regular spring floods to survive. Flowers late spring to mid-summer. Has the ominous nickname ‘widow maker’, as it often drops large boughs (up to half the diameter of the trunk) without warning.

  Alice gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled. She kept her eyes on the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. Her left leg shook from the strain of pushing the clutch.

  ‘Okay, Alice, we’re going to proceed to the end of Main Street, where you’ll execute a U-turn, please.’ The police sergeant kept his
head down, scribbling on the clipboard in his lap. It was early, that hour before the school run started and the shops unlocked their doors and flipped their signs over to OPEN. Overnight spring showers had turned the road quicksilver in the morning light. Alice narrowed her eyes. The light turned green.

  She eased her left foot off the clutch. Wait until you feel it take, Oggi had told her dozens of times, sitting beside her in the old farm truck. The thought of him calmed her. When the clutch engaged, she pressed her right foot on the accelerator. Not so much as one kangaroo-jump. Exhaling, she reclaimed her grip on the steering wheel, smiling to herself. She glanced at the sergeant. His face was unreadable.

  Through the traffic lights and down Main Street, mindful of the speed limit. The road stretched flat ahead of them, a black ribbon leading out of town, curved into bushland. Alice kept her eyes on the exact spot where the road disappeared between the scraggly gums. She yearned to follow; the possibilities of where it might lead made her feel faint.

  ‘Pull over here, do a U-turn please, and we’ll head back to the station.’

  Alice nodded. She slowed down and flicked the indicator on but spotted double lines in the middle of the road. She turned the indicator off and kept driving.

  ‘Alice?’

  She kept her eyes on the road. ‘Double lines, Sarge. Illegal.’ Alice willed herself to stay calm. ‘I’ll be turning left up here at Fatty Patty’s. We’ll head back to the station that way.’

  The sergeant tried to stay deadpan but Alice caught the flicker of a smile cross his face. She turned at the fish and chip shop and drove the quiet streets back to the station.

  June and Harry were in the car park when Alice pulled in. She beeped repeatedly as she parked.

  ‘Attagirl!’ June clapped her hands together. Harry yapped huskily. He was an old dog now.

  ‘I’m driving home!’ Alice screeched, punching the air as she followed the sergeant into the station. A short while later Alice walked out with her licence in her pocket. No matter how many times the sergeant had cautioned her to hold a more serious pose, her licence photo was filled with a wide grin.