The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

by Holly Ringland

  ‘What plant?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What plant did Mum leave, at the grave?’

  Sally went to the open window and reached through to pick a peach-coloured flower from a blooming bush. She offered it to Alice.

  ‘Beach hibiscus,’ Alice cried softly, remembering the flower crown her mother made when she was a child. Remembering its meaning in the Thornfield Dictionary. Love binds us in eternity.

  ‘A year later you walked into the library,’ Sally went on. ‘I recognised you straight away. I knew you were Clem and Agnes’s daughter. My Gilly’s big sister. After the fire, I made it my business to look after you.’

  ‘Look after me?’

  ‘I was there. In hospital.’ Sally’s voice was nearly inaudible. ‘I sat with you while you were in a coma. I read you stories.’

  Stay with my voice, Alice, I’m right here.

  ‘I sent you a box of books …’ Sally trailed off.

  Her childhood books, which she was told were a gift from June.

  ‘I stayed with you until I found out June was coming. After you’d left with her, your nurse rang and told me your brother survived, but June didn’t take him. Then a solicitor contacted me about Agnes’s will … I made my John find out where you were, though. I needed to know you were safe. Once I knew you were at Thornfield, I forced myself to accept June’s wishes and make peace with things.’

  Alice looked at her blankly. ‘What wishes?’ she asked.

  Sally studied her face. ‘Oh, Alice,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘What wishes, Sally?’

  ‘June made it clear she didn’t want you to have any contact with me, or your brother.’

  ‘Made it clear, how?’

  Sally blanched. ‘I sent letters, Alice. For years. Letters and photographs about your brother, as he grew up. I always wanted contact with you, but never got a reply. With June being your legal guardian, I couldn’t impose upon her. I had no power. All I could do was make sure I didn’t cause any additional pain. Especially not for you, or your brother.’

  Alice cried out in frustration. Desperate for fresh air she got up and went to the window. Pressed her forehead against the cool glass.

  After a while Sally cleared her throat. ‘Your brother grew up knowing he was adopted. I wouldn’t have raised him any other way,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s always known about you.’

  Alice turned.

  ‘He’ll be twenty soon. Such a gentle soul. Just moved in with his girlfriend and works as a landscaper. Never as happy as when he’s in a garden.’

  Alice sank back to the couch. ‘What’s his name?’ she whispered.

  ‘I named him Charlie,’ Sally said, smiling for the first time that morning.

  29

  Foxtails

  Meaning: Blood of my blood

  Ptilotus | Inland Australia

  Tjulpun-tjulpunpa (Pit.) are small shrubs that form spikes of purple flowers covered in dense white hairs. Leaves are covered in closely packed star-shaped hairs that slow the rate of water loss. Traditionally, women used the soft furry flowers to line wooden bowls in which babies could be carried.

  Alice pedalled uphill, as hard as she could bear. Her locket swung back and forth, hitting her chest as she puffed along. She wanted to kick herself for not driving into town; her backpack was cutting into her shoulders, filled to the zipper with ingredients for dinner that night. But the exercise was helping. She’d needed to work her nerves through her body ever since Sally had arranged the dinner date. This morning, she’d pulled the cobwebs off a bike in Sally’s garage and decided to ride. As she cycled into town, the sea had glittered turquoise. Alice took it as a good sign.

  Riding home, Alice thought through the menu one more time. Barramundi tacos with salsa and homemade guacamole, and Anzac biscuits, crunchy on the outside, chewy in the middle. Sally had taken care of everything else. She seemed determined to bring Alice and Charlie together gently.

  In the weeks following Alice’s arrival, Sally had made room in her house for Alice to feel at home. She helped Alice to unpack her books, and hang the Frida Kahlo print Lulu had given her. She sat with Alice while she cried. Sally had explained that June paid for Agnes and Clem to have full funeral services; Sally had gone to both. She took Alice to the site of the house Alice grew up in, which was no longer a secluded pocket between the sugar cane and the sea. It was now a beachfront bar and youth hostel, full of tanned travellers. Her mother’s garden was gone. Alice couldn’t bring herself to get out of the car. Back at Sally’s house, Alice ran down to the shore, took a deep breath, and screamed at the sea. Sally listened while Alice told stories from the flower farm and the desert. She introduced Alice to a grief counsellor she’d used when Gilly died. Alice saw her every week, twice a week after Dylan started sending emails. They were waiting in her inbox when she checked her account for the first time, a month after leaving Kililpitjara. There were a dozen or more; thousands and thousands of words. He started sorrowfully, apologetically. But the longer he went unanswered, the angrier he became. Don’t read them, Sally implored her. They’ll only do you harm. They both knew she read every word. Over and over again. Sally could always tell when a new email arrived. She gave Alice a wide berth. Baked fruit slice. Always had time for a walk by the sea, but never pressed Alice to talk if she didn’t want to. The depth of Sally’s kindness, her astute intuition; it was as if she’d been preparing for Alice to come back to her for years.

  After she was done at the supermarket, Alice had stopped by the post office to send her reply to Lulu’s latest letter. It’s a rainy, lush and misty dream here, Lulu had written. We’ve acquired a pot-bellied wood stove, a goat, donkey (you’ll love knowing Aiden named her Frida), two dairy cows and six chickens. Please come and visit us soon. We can hike the Bay of Fires together. As Alice stuck the stamp on her envelope she smiled at the thought of the words she was sending back to Lulu. I’d love to visit you guys sometime.

  On her way home, Alice had gone to the library. Walking through the foyer still felt like walking through time, back to when she was a girl and Sally first shone a light into her world.

  ‘There’s mail here for you,’ Sally said, beaming when Alice walked in.

  The envelope was addressed to Alice in handwriting she didn’t recognise. The postmark was from Agnes Bluff. For a moment Alice struggled to breathe. Had Dylan found her? But no. He couldn’t. He had no idea where she was, he only had her email address. She slid her finger under the seal and tore the envelope open. Inside was a card.

  I hope you’re well, Alice.

  Here’s to courage. And to heart, right?

  How about, here’s also to the future, and everything it holds.

  Moss.

  Alice shook the envelope; a packet of desert pea seeds fell into her palm.

  ‘That looks like some kind of magic,’ Sally said.

  Alice gave her a small smile. ‘It is.’ She closed her hand around the packet of seeds, feeling their individual shapes and thinking of the colour they would grow. To the future.

  ‘You okay? Keeping nerves about dinner in check?’

  Alice swallowed. ‘I’m okay. Nervous. Kind of sick, actually.’ She sighed. ‘But, it’s all I’ve thought about since I left Kililpitjara, meeting him. So …’

  ‘It’s going to be wonderful.’ Sally got up to give Alice a hug. ‘You off home now?’

  ‘One more stop,’ Alice had said.

  She stood on her pedals, heaving to get up the last hill before home, her lungs burning. The image of her parents’ gravestones played on her. She gritted her teeth and kept riding until she reached the crest. Stopped to let the breeze cool her sweaty skin, and to look out at the sky and the sea. How vast they were. She followed the black ribbon of road with her eyes, seeing where it unspooled through cane fields and climbed the cliff before turning off to Sally’s house. Seeing the very route her little brother would soon drive.

  Alice sat on the bike seat. After
another lingering glance at the sea she lifted her feet, and began to coast downhill, into the tranquillity that lay ahead.

  After she finished work, Sally took a last-minute detour. She parked by her favourite white scribbly gum. Bellbirds rang in the branches. She crossed the empty street and walked through the ornate cemetery gates. Down the avenue of gums, past the carved angel with her wings outstretched, and left at the walkway covered in flowering bougainvillea. Straight ahead to the shady knoll by a paperbark tree, where she always let her shoulders fall.

  Sally sat with John and Gilly, her back straight, her hair swept off her face by the sea air. She ran her fingertips over the letters of John’s name. Kissed the cold marble bearing Gilly’s. She stayed for a while, listening to the birds sing and the trees rustle. The shooting water of a sprinkler. Somewhere, a mower. When the light started to dim she checked her watch.

  On her way back to her car, something caused her to stop and consider the northern lawn of the cemetery. It’d been years. She felt herself turn and wander through the rows of graves, checking the names on the headstones.

  At the sight of Clem and Agnes’s graves, Sally was taken aback. Someone had been there. Strewn across Clem’s grave were used stickers. As she got closer, Sally recognised the butterflies, streaked with turquoise paint. Alice must have torn them off her truck doors. Remorse swelled in Sally’s chest. She turned to face the wind, letting it blow the years away until she was eighteen again, wide-eyed, crazy-in-love with Clem Hart.

  She was wearing plastic daisy earrings the night they’d met. Where I come from they mean ‘I attach myself to you’, was the first thing he said to her. When he took her hand, she held tight and kept close by his side. They fucked against the brick wall of the pub. She’d almost not wanted the grazes on her back to heal, each one proof that he hadn’t been a dream. But the next time they saw each other, Clem looked through her as if she was no more than vapour.

  Not long afterwards, Sally’s father brought John Morgan, a young policeman relocated from the city, home for dinner. When she shook his warm hand, saw the kindness in his eyes, Sally knew he was her answer. After a whirlwind courtship, they were married, and there wasn’t one scandalous whisper when Sally started to show. People were overjoyed for them. Sally got so swept up in her own lie she heard herself say that she hoped the baby would have John’s eyes or calm disposition. Although Sally didn’t hide from John the story that she’d once fancied one of the farmers in town, when Gilly died and she saw John’s spirit break, she knew Clem Hart was a secret she would never tell him.

  Sally opened her eyes and turned to Agnes’s grave. Her headstone was covered in bindweed, lemon myrtle and a palm of kangaroo paw, lovingly arranged. She imagined Alice sitting there, building a shrine of flowers for her mother.

  A moment passed. Sally cleared her throat. ‘Agnes,’ she said. ‘She’s home. She’s come home, and she’s beautiful.’ Sally reached for a fallen gum leaf and broke it into pieces. ‘She’s safe. They’re both safe. And wonderful. Oh god, Agnes, they’re so wonderful.’

  Somewhere above, hidden among the crowns of the gum trees, a magpie sang.

  ‘I’m looking after them.’ Sally’s voice grew stronger. ‘I promise you.’

  The shrill ringing of her mobile phone interrupted her. She rummaged through her handbag, flustered, until she found it.

  ‘Hi, Charlie,’ she said.

  Sally stood and pressed a hand to Agnes’s headstone, taking a moment before she turned and walked away, listening to the sweet sound of her son’s voice.

  He walked up the front steps of the house he grew up in, taking shaky breaths.

  It’s going to be amazing, Cassie said as she kissed him goodbye. This is what you’ve always wanted. This is your family, Charlie. Don’t be afraid.

  He tightened his grip on the bouquet. After his mum rang and they’d agreed to dinner, he’d Googled her. Again. Alice Hart, Floriographer. Thornfield Farm, where wildflowers bloom. He’d bought her a bunch of waratahs after reading that at Thornfield they meant Return of happiness.

  Standing on the deck he listened to the familiar sounds of the sea, wind chimes, chickens clucking, bees hovering drowsily, and his mum’s voice coming from the kitchen. Collectively they were the backing track of his life. Then, a new addition, a dog barking.

  ‘Pip!’ A voice filled with laughter, a voice he didn’t know, came towards him.

  He gulped. Readjusted the flowers in his sweaty hands.

  Her shadow reached down the hall ahead of her. He opened the screen door. Relaxed his shoulders. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

  His big sister. She was here.

  30

  Wheel of fire

  Meaning: The colour of my fate

  Stenocarpus sinuatus | Queensland and New South Wales

  Profuse bright red and orange flowers create a spectacular display from summer to autumn. Shaped like the spokes of a wheel before they open, these symmetrical blossoms get their name from their resemblance to a spinning fire.

  It was late afternoon when Alice got home with a bunch of fresh fire flowers.

  She greeted Pip and went into her room to get the other things she needed: a bundle of books and papers. She roped the ininti necklace Ruby had given her around her throat, inhaling the smoky scent of its seeds. Tucked a pen, box of matches and ball of string into her pocket. Carried everything through the house and out onto the verandah. Pip stayed close to her heels as she went down the steps, into the garden. They sat together in the spot where she’d spent the last week building a bonfire. Pip licked her arm as she set down her things.

  Alice basked in the stillness. The early autumn sun warmed her skin; the sea shimmered molten, aquamarine. She looked at the corner where her desert peas had flourished through their first season. They’re notoriously fickle to grow, she’d written to Moss in a recent email, but yours haven’t given me any trouble. In his reply, Moss had mentioned he was coming to the coast for a conference towards the end of the year. Are you too far away for a visit? When she’d typed her answer, Alice couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

  A northeasterly blew in, ringing the wind chimes. She checked her watch. Sally would soon be on her way home, and Charlie and Cassie were coming to stay for the weekend, before Alice’s flight out on Monday. They were having one last celebration before she left to take up a three-month writing residency she’d won in Copenhagen, the city to which Alice had traced Agnes’s ancestry. When the acceptance email had arrived, Charlie was the first person Alice told. You’ll get to see the real Little Mermaid, he’d said proudly. Tell her g’day from me too.

  Since Alice had met her brother, she could no longer imagine life without Charlie in it. The night of their first dinner at Sally’s, they’d sat across the table and studied each other’s faces, bursting into awkward laughter and, occasionally, tears. From then on, they’d hung out twice a week, and met with the counsellor once a fortnight as they tried to make sense of a new life together. Alice took Charlie to the backpacker hostel to show him the place where she’d grown up with their parents. They walked on her old beach and lay on the sand, watching the clouds change as Alice told him their mother’s stories. When she described how much their mother loved her garden, Charlie suggested he take Alice to visit some of the local plant nurseries and flower markets he worked with. Seeing the wonder in his face when he was among plants and flowers, an idea came to Alice; as soon as Charlie dropped her home, she set things in motion.

  A couple of weeks later, Twig and Candy were waiting on the verandah when Alice and Charlie drove up the Thornfield driveway, his truck loaded with supplies to help finish the long process of rebuilding after the floods. Twig was strong and angular but gentle as ever. Candy still wore her hair long and bluer than a flower. Alice reunited with Myf, Robin and a few of the other Flowers who’d stayed on, and met the new women Candy and Twig had taken in. Charlie was quiet, watching and listening, as he absorbed the landscape and stori
es he and Alice came from.

  They spent nights around the dinner table together, eating Candy’s feasts and sharing memories. The women taught Charlie about Thornfield and its language of flowers; Alice had taken the dictionary with her, waiting until she was with Twig and Candy to show him. They fussed over him like maternal hens, especially Twig. There was a joy in her face Alice couldn’t recall ever seeing before.

  Charlie stayed in June’s bedroom, and Alice climbed the spiral staircase to her old bell room. She slept with the windows thrown open and the moonlight pouring in.

  A few days before they were due to drive back to the coast, Charlie asked Alice if she’d show him the river.

  ‘It’s all through Thornfield’s story. Will you take me there before we go?’

  Alice caught Twig and Candy glancing at each other. ‘I saw that.’ She wagged her finger at them. ‘What is it?’

  Twig nodded at Candy, who left the room and came back with an urn.

  ‘It didn’t feel right to do it without you …’ Candy trailed off.

  The day they held the ceremony was bright and vivid. Sun filtered through the eucalyptus canopy, green and gold. Twig and Candy each said a few words, and when the time came, Alice scattered June’s ashes. Watching the ash flow down river, Alice wiped her face of tears and exhaled deeply, as if letting go of a breath she’d long been holding. She hugged Twig and Candy tightly. Years of memories swayed around them. When everyone else headed back to the house, Alice tugged on Charlie’s sleeve, signalling for him to hang back with her.

  ‘I want to show you something,’ she said.

  Alice led him to the giant gum.