by Carol Coffey
Burilda, here, she started walking right away. She asked which way and followed the tracks of the trucks for hours until she fell down into the scrub with exhaustion. In the morning, she walked again. She got to the town and the police wouldn’t tell her anything. They said awful things to her, that she shouldn’t have her daughter back, that her daughter needed proper family, proper care but Burilda loved Kora more than anything and she was working to get them out of the reserve and into a proper place to live. She remembers crying outside the police hut and then a woman, a white woman, said go to the Mission Home. She said it was a long way southwards. A big place where they took Aboriginal children. So Burilda walked there. It took her four days in the heat. She had very little money and took water at any station along the way. We told her many years later that she had walked over one hundred kilometres but she doesn’t understand how far this is. When she got to the mission, they would not let her in. It was run by religious people, people who were supposed to be good.”
Nadda grits her teeth but Burilda touches her daughter’s hand firmly. I understand her look. She is saying don’t be angry, it does no good. But Burilda is sad. I can see a lifetime of hardship and despair in her large bloodshot brown eyes. Nadda accepts her mother’s direction and returns to her story.
“Four, five days Burilda stayed in the town and in the daytime she stood outside the mission and waited to see her daughter. Every day, children came out to play and Burilda would wait to see if Kora was among them. She said she was three then and was more white than black but there were lots of children like Kora and each time she tried to take a closer look staff would chase her off. They told her ‘You are in the wrong place, your daughter is not here,’ but Burilda didn’t believe them. She said she could feel her. She said she knew her flesh and blood was inside those walls. One day the staff called the police and two men pulled her inside the big house. There were stairs that looked like they went up into the sky and she had never seen anything like them. The police dragged her from room to room. There were so many children in cots and bigger ones running around. She tried to look at all their faces but they dragged her so quickly from room to room that she could not be sure. She kept saying ‘Wait! Let me look!’ but they didn’t listen. When they had taken her through all of the rooms, Burilda cried because Kora was not in any of them. They said ‘Now are you satisfied? Your daughter is not here. Now you make it easier on her. Wherever she is, forget about her – let her have a normal life.’ She hit out at the men and spat at one of them. He thumped her in the face but she was not afraid. She screamed ‘I cannot forget my baby! I will never forget her! I’ll keep looking!’”
Burilda cannot keep her tears in any longer and cries openly. My mother leans forward to soothe her but she pulls back and reaches for her silent daughter’s hand. Nadda is now fighting to hold back her tears but she keeps going. She has an angry face.
“Then they put her in a truck and drove her for miles. She remembered seeing the sun lowering in the sky to her right and she tried to remember the direction she was going so she could come back. It got dark and the truck stopped. The same two men pulled her from the truck and one of them looked like he felt sorry now. He said: ‘Your girl is not there, woman. Now go and find work and know that wherever she is she is safer than on that reserve.’
“Burilda broke down and as she found shelter for the night she knew the man was right, that Kora was safer wherever she was than on that reserve, but she also knew that no one could love her as much as she did and that this was more important than anything that whites could give her. The next day she walked to the nearest town and when there was no work there, she walked to the next and the next until she found another station looking for labour. She saved her money up and when she had enough to move on, she went back to the reserve looking for her brother but the men said Uncle was dead, that he got sick with drink and died. He was only twenty-three. It left a hole in Mother’s heart.” Nadda put her arm around the old woman’s shoulders.
“Burilda found work at a mission. It was run by Catholic nuns. She stayed there for two years and these nuns tried to help her find Kora. Burilda could not read or write then so they taught her a little and also put her in contact with people that might help but everywhere doors closed in her face. No one wanted to help a blackfella get a half-white child back. One woman said that the report on Kora’s removal was bad and that no court would give her back to Burilda. Burilda left the mission and moved onto another cattle station. She met our father there. A year later, I was born and two years later, Lurnea came. Burilda made sure we went to school and now that she had a husband earning a little money, she could stay at home and look after us but she was always nervous. She lived in fear that we would be taken from her. She worried about everything. If we got dirt on our clothes, she’d wash them straight away. Even if we were sick she sent us to school, but we knew about Kora so we understood. She never gave up looking for her. Sometimes if we were angry, Lurnea and I would say ‘You prefer Kora to us!’ and she would cry. She would say there was love in her heart for all her daughters but that she never felt she could rest until she saw her first-born’s face again. On my tenth birthday, my mother found out where Kora had been taken that day. It was the same mission she had stood outside for five days, the same one in which two men dragged her from room to room, telling her that her daughter was not there when all the time they must have hidden her. But it was too late. Kora was no longer there. She would have been about fifteen then and had been adopted by a family years before who moved westwards.
“That was my parents,” Mother says. Her face is bright red and I know that even though her parents gave Kora a good home, she is feeling deeply ashamed because her sister’s real mother and real sisters were out there looking for her.
Nadda says nothing but her expression is disdainful. Burilda looks out of the window again and Lurnea has not stopped looking at her shoes since she came into the house.
“The trail went cold and Burilda gave up. She said she would never see her daughter’s face again. She was always sad. It took up her thoughts and took her away from us.” Nadda squeezes her mother’s hand.
Burilda nods and wipes hot heavy tears from her face. She decides to speak.
“That was until Nadda’s husband’s family saw the paper and sent it to her. She didn’t know her sister’s face but recognised my eyes in the photo. Kora looked just like me when I was a young girl. And I knew – I knew it was my girl and we wanted to get here quickly – I wanted to see her as soon as I could –” She sobs, finding herself unable to speak.
Lurnea hushes her mother but still keeps her eyes focused on the ground.
My mother tells the three women the story of how her father took Kora from the orphanage and brought her here to Broken Hill. She tells them something of their life as a minister’s children and how they had a happy home but that Kora never gave up hope of finding out who she really was. She tells them of Kora’s impending to marriage to Jeff Young but doesn’t mention her suspicions that Jeff’s grandfather was the man responsible for Burilda’s father’s death.
When she finishes Burilda, who seems to be barely listening, says, “Can I see her? Can I see my baby?”
“I’m here,” a voice says from the doorway.
Kora has come in the back door and made her way to the front of the house. None of us know how long she has been there and I am surprised that I have not noticed her standing in the shadows. Burilda’s mouth drops open and she tries to stand. Lurnea helps her mother up as both sisters rise and stare at Kora.
“Kora?” Burilda says. “Kora, Kora!” Heavy tears fall down her face as she moves to embrace her daughter.
Kora simply stands and stares at Emma as the large black woman hugs her so tightly that it almost hurts. She puts her arms loosely around the stranger and looks at the faces of the two other women who are still staring at her. I watch as they scan her from head to toe and know they are thinking about how much
lighter her skin is and how much taller she is than them but, more than anything else, how much she looks like their mother, more so than either of them.
When Burilda loosens her grip on Kora, the two younger women move forward.
“I’m Nadda and this is Lurnea. We’re your sisters.”
Kora nods but says nothing. I can see that she is in shock and that she is feeling awkward. Burilda steps back further but never takes her eyes off her lost child. My mother moves to Kora’s side but doesn’t look directly at her. Kora decides she had better say something.
“This is my . . . sister, Emma,” she says, obviously realising how strange this situation is.
Everyone nods politely but nobody speaks. My mother decides to break the silence.
“Kora, would you like me to show your . . . sis–”
The word “sisters” is choking my mother. I know what she is thinking. She had wanted Kora to find her mother but she didn’t bank on her sister having siblings, real siblings who might take her place.
“Would you like me to show Nadda and Lurnea around?”
Kora nods but gives my mother a strange look, an expression that almost looks like empathy. Mother takes the two women out and brings them to the dining room for coffee. As she busies herself at the kettle, I know she is pondering how Natan’s death resulted in Kora’s birth as Burilda had no father to protect her from Hill and how that same murder resulted in Jimmy’s mother’s arrival in Broken Hill and a life of hardship for Jimmy from a stepfather who never wanted him. And here they were now, two generations on, neither having any idea of their connections which I know my mother thinks is best for everyone. She knows that Kora and Jeff’s marriage will bring their families together and try to mend the past, even if they don’t truly know what that past entailed. She knows that the truth is likely to emerge with time but she is hoping that by then the new bonds between the two families will be unbreakable.
As they sit around the table, my mother makes polite but strained conversation. I know she hates these situations. I know she would like to explain her family’s part in this saga and that now is as good a time as any to do this.
“I . . . I am sure that you feel resentment towards me . . . and towards my family but I would like to explain. You see, my father was a good man. He spent many years working on the missions. He helped a lot of Aborigines but when he was older and he saw how much Kora suffered for not knowing who she really was . . . he knew that . . . he felt that it was not right, that wherever possible children should stay with their families. The orphanage told him that Kora had been living in deplorable conditions, that she was – neglected and undernourished and there was no record of her mother anywhere. He tried. He and Kora spent hours writing to the government looking for her family and, like you both did, I can say now that I felt a little neglected by all the attention she got. In her teens she was really angry and our parents spent a lot of time talking to her and trying to help her.
“I’ve never told anybody this before, but she ran away once – she ran away a lot actually but this one time it was for days and both my parents drove out looking for her. My mother could not drive and she was the only one Kora would listen to so they had to go together and it was best to leave me behind. While they were gone, our house was broken into in the middle of the night and I hid in a cupboard until the burglar had taken whatever he wanted. He shot my dog and I had to bury her myself. It was two days before they came back. They found her on a nearby mission looking for her mother. I was only thirteen and I didn’t speak to Kora for weeks afterwards. I felt that her anger and her moods took up all our parents’ energy. But it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t my father’s and it wasn’t mine. It was just how it was.
“I want you to know that I love Kora. She is my sister. I want her to be happy – as happy as she can be considering all that she has lost so don’t hate me or my family. My father thought he was saving her from a dreadful life.
“I want to assure you that my father didn’t know that Kora’s mother was looking for her and if he was alive now he would tell you how sorry he is but it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring a three-year-old child back to her mother – it wouldn’t give me parents who were not distracted by Kora’s needs and it wouldn’t give you a mother who could hug you without you seeing the pain in her eyes. The most any of us can hope for is to get along and try to look forward together.”
Mother stops speaking and looks shyly from one sister to the other. Nadda turns her head and looks out the window. Lurnea looks up and finally speaks.
“Reckon Kora was lucky to have a sister like you,” she says.
Nadda cuts Lurnea a look.
I smile to myself. They are so like my mother and Kora – one is resentful while the other is trying to make peace.
“You’ve been good to her so that makes us happy,” Lurnea adds.
Nadda flushes and I wonder If Lurnea’s words have made her feel ashamed of her behaviour.
“I understand how you feel,” my mother says, “or at least I am trying to . . . could that be enough for now? Kora and your mother have been the most hurt. Maybe we need to try to get along for them.”
Nadda nods and looks away again. “That’d be all right,” she says reluctantly.
The kitchen door opens and Kora is standing on the other side. Mother stands and the two sisters follow her out to the hallway. Burilda is standing at the door and my mother scans her face to see if the reunion has gone well. Her eyes are red and her face is swollen from crying. Mother looks at Kora who also looks tearful but her mouth is tight and she cannot tell if her sister is happy. Kora’s face is hard to read and I have seen my mother say that she keeps her cards close to her chest.
“Burilda is staying in town for a few days,” says Kora. “They live a long way off. I asked her if she wanted to stay with me, at Father’s house.” She doesn’t look at my mother while she speaks.
“Hotel won’t take us,” Burilda says.
My mother doesn’t know how to respond to this. She frowns at how accepting Burilda is of the prejudice her people sometimes endure.
“The cottage would be better anyway. More private,” Mother says but she cringes. I know she is worrying that Burilda will think she prefers that no one sees them anyway. Nothing could be further from the truth but Burilda will learn this when she gets to know my mother and all that she stands for. Mother hangs around. I know she is dying to ask if Kora has asked her family to her wedding but one step at a time, Mother is thinking.
“You need me this evening?” Kora asks.
Mother shakes her head. “No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kora walks behind her siblings as they help their mother back to the truck. My mother goes inside and watches from the Penance Room. As Kora closes the gate, she looks up and stares in through the window. My mother tenses and is about to step back, anxious that Kora not be annoyed at her for snooping, when Kora gives her a half-nervous smile and waves. Mother touches the locket around her neck and simply nods as Kora gets into her car and signals for the women to follow her.
When they disappear from view, my mother sits down and stares into space. I sit beside her and watch her face change from joy to sadness and I know what is worrying her. She thinks she has lost her sister to her real family and that, while doing something good, she has robbed herself of her only sibling. After a while she stands and looks out into the garden at the pup running around.
“Well, sister, at least you remembered to get me another dog,” she says to herself as she returns to her work.
Chapter 31
The morning of the wedding arrives and everybody in the house is rushing around, trying to make the perfect day for Kora. When she arrived at the house yesterday, my mother and father were anxious to find out how she had got along with her family but found she had returned to her distant, uncommunicative self. My mother has told Father all about their meeting, even about how Jimmy’s father was responsible for Kora’s gra
ndfather’s death but she has sworn him to secrecy. Although my parents are disappointed that Kora will not tell them about her reunion, my mother has asked Father not to pry. She understands that this is private for Kora, that this is something she has waited on for a long time and she may never be willing to share those memories with them.
Li has organised a huge buffet and Mina and Kai got to make their Peace Cake after all, a two-tiered iced wedding cake decorated with tiny flowers. Aishling is happy because Steve is here for two days in between his research in other towns. Everybody laughs as he tells them that nowhere has he encountered such interesting stories as in Broken Hill Nursing Home.
Jeff has had a strong word in his father’s ear about being polite to Kora’s new-found family and everyone is amazed when he shakes their hands and tells them he thinks a lot of Kora and that she was very good to his son during a recent accident. As he shakes hands with Burilda, my mother and father exchange glances and I know they are grateful that Jimmy and Burilda have no idea at this point about their families’ shared history.
Martin is on hand to interpret for Jimmy and is continuing to enjoy his new role. I watch as he puts his hand to his head from time to time and grimaces and I worry that the clot on his brain will move before he has had a chance to speak with his brother on Tuesday. He is coughing more also and my mother says his lung condition is worsening but this doesn’t stop him having a large whiskey, compliments of Bill who has been drafted in to liven the music up when people have tired of Penelope and Wilfred’s classical tunes. Kora’s mother and sisters are seated on one of my grandfather’s pews which have been moved into the centre of the room.