by Di Morrissey
‘I think she probably has a lot more questions, but doesn’t know what exactly to ask. I feel a bit the same, with dangling ends, shadows, unformed ideas,’ said Jessica. ‘Sally even more so. This is the first she’s heard about this family history. And given the mysterious caller and the chase down the mountain, it’s all a bit scary.’
‘There’s probably not a lot Sally and Toby can do about the trespassing. Except add extra security, maybe.’
‘The horse has bolted, I’d say. They’ve taken the truffles and they’ve got all the fungi in the forest and are making a business out of it, legal or not.’
‘The fungi will grow back, Jess, although I don’t know how long it will take,’ Dan said. ‘If the Broadbents really have been stealing it over the decades then it must have always grown back again.’
‘Yes, of course, thank goodness for that,’ said Jessica.
‘I had a bit of a search through the Patents Office and patents pending, but I didn’t see anything that I recognised,’ said Dan. ‘Of course, it could be under any name or a company I’ve never heard of, which is so frustrating.’
‘It’s good of you to take the time,’ said Jessica, touching his arm.
Dan took her hand and curled it in his. ‘Oh, I feel I have a vested interest, in a way. I really want to know what research that guy is doing as it seems to be overlapping into my field,’ he said. ‘Also, Carmen asked me to look after you and Sally when you were on the island and I take my responsibilities seriously,’ he added, laughing.
‘Thanks. But we can look after ourselves,’ Jessica said, smiling. ‘Like I told you, we’ve always supported each other. Since we were kids,’ she said more seriously.
‘I can see that. But isn’t it time you spread your wings? Sally has nested, come home to roost. You’re still . . .’
‘Don’t say flapping around or I’ll get up and leave!’
Dan threw up his arms, shielding himself in mock defence. ‘Wouldn’t dare! You’re not a flapper. You’re a fighter. I admire that.’ He took her hand again.
‘Oh.’ She was a bit stumped for words. ‘Thanks. Well, shall we walk down to the forest?’
He squeezed her hand and helped her to her feet.
They started out holding hands, but Dan kept dropping behind her, pausing to look at plants, the view, or take a photo.
‘Dan, we’re not even in the forest yet, it’ll be dark by the time we get there.’ Jessica laughed.
‘There’s something interesting everywhere you look. This is my idea of heaven.’ He stopped as they came to the clearing, the deepest part of the forest across the oasis of waving grass and open air. The moment they entered the green gloom of the canopy of the old forest, Dan drew a long, deep breath. ‘It is just so beautiful in here,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you for bringing me here again. I just love places like this.’
‘Me too. That’s why knowing that someone came here and stole the mushrooms is so upsetting.’ She hesitated. ‘I can understand how a woman could fall in love in here, feel like a different person, believe that anything is possible . . .’ Jessica stopped.
‘Like what?’ Dan prompted gently.
‘That life can be better, we can have a safer, cleaner, healthier world, that somehow the answers are here, waiting for us to find them.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I sound silly. I just get so . . . overwhelmed in here. I wish politicians, the bureaucrats, greedy corporate businesspeople could quietly sit in here and learn what is truly important. It might help bring about some changes.’ She straightened up. ‘Wishful thinking, I know . . .’ Suddenly Jessica spread her arms and called out in the silent forest, ‘Hey, Prime Minister, bring all those people yapping in your ear in here and let them listen to the real story. The answers are all right before our eyes . . . money, power, position, luxuries, they mean nothing if we can’t breathe clean air, drink pure water, eat healthy food, care for our families, love our land . . . know what matters . . .’
She collapsed on a log, and looked up at Dan with tears in her eyes. ‘I suppose you think I’m nuts. But I feel as if I’ve just woken up, like Sleeping Beauty, and seen what’s happening, but no one believes me.’
‘I think you should be on national television.’
‘Pfff,’ she snorted. ‘What do we do, Dan?’ Jessica glanced around at the forest. ‘Some of us can see our world being destroyed, and ask ourselves, what’s our future? Do we just say, bugger it, eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die? Who the hell is listening?’
‘I am,’ Dan said. He leaned down, pulled her to her feet and held her close to him, rocking and hugging her. ‘I hear you, Jess. I hear you.’
He lifted her face and kissed her. And kissed her again. And again. As Jessica, still anxious and resisting at first, finally dissolved into his arms, returning his kisses, overwhelmed to be acknowledged, to be understood. They were one. And somehow together they’d find their way home.
10
Arcadia, 1985
The roses were no longer. Stunted, dead-looking sticks in a cold and frost-covered bare bed. A desolate sight from her windows.
Stella wondered what the tropics must be like. Strange countries of blue lagoons, everlasting sun, balmy breezes. She recalled childhood memories of Melbourne, and being taken to the beach on the Mornington Peninsula. She’d been too scared to venture out of her depth as she couldn’t swim, but she’d been astonished by the rich colours, and the sensuous seeping of sun and salt water swirling around her legs as she paddled. That was another life. A time of carefree childhood days never recaptured once she ventured southwards.
But she had grown to love Tasmania. Her body had adapted to the seasons, the air, the mists and dampness, the ocean winds, the joyous sunny days of postcard perfection, and, best of all, the shiver of shock from slipping into the crystal-clear creek on a hot day, the water tingling against bare skin.
And clinging together, the warmth of two naked bodies melding into one another.
The thought brought a smile to her face. Like hearing a favourite melody on a gramophone, she played it over again.
Stella was feeling frailer these days and couldn’t contemplate venturing as far as the forest. Her studio was her world, a place where more and more she kept thinking backwards rather than forward. Her dreams were vivid; she’d awake to another time and struggle to focus on the present. Daily life was a calm routine that flowed around her as Mollie and Graham picked up the reins at Arcadia, steering the property in a new direction, while she saw it all as it had been, when she’d been its mistress, if only in name.
Until Mollie and Graham had come and established Arcadia as a working farm, Stella had considered it her oasis. Stephen would leave the house every weekday and often even on Saturdays, to work in his surgery office in Burridge, and had travelled to Hobart regularly. Other than the cottage garden around the house and the cows’ small paddock, Stephen had left the property almost untouched. The cows, along with a handful of chickens and lambs, had kept the grass down and added to their food supply. In the old apple orchards, trees had stooped under their fruit, which had been left to rot apart from the basketfuls Mrs James collected for her jams and preserves.
So the activity, energy and new ideas Mollie and Graham had brought with them, as well as Graham’s day job as a school principal, had led Stella to decide to step aside. Since Stephen had passed away, she’d led a solitary life, allowing first the Jameses and then Mollie to handle all practical matters. Now Stella was slowing down. These past years since the excitement of her painting being exhibited at the Art Society show had begun to blend together.
‘I’ve made you a cup of tea.’ Mollie came into the studio and put a dainty cup on the side table. ‘And there’s some mail for you, and the paper. Would you like a biscuit, too?’ Mollie glanced at Stella’s thin frame.
‘Oh, no, but the tea is lovely. Thank you. Are you havin
g one?’
‘Actually, I will. Be back in a jiffy.’
As Mollie left the room, Stella thought about the baby that was on the way, and smiled. Mollie and Graham’s first child and another generation to live in Arcadia. It made her so happy to think about her family continuing to enjoy life here in this beautiful place, after she’d gone.
She sat down and glanced idly at the mail: a catalogue Mollie had ordered, the latest copy of The Australian Women’s Weekly, a circular from the Art Society, and the local newspaper.
Mollie came back in carrying a steaming mug, and mother and daughter chatted as they sipped their tea. Mollie also noticed the roses. ‘They look dreadful, really butchered. I’m not sure if that the new fellow helping on the farm has much of a clue about gardening.’
‘Particularly pruning roses,’ said Stella.
‘I’ll have a word to him. Are you okay, Mother? I’d better get back to work, but would you like anything? Do you need anything?’
‘No, thank you, dear. I can get anything I need and I don’t want you to overdo it. It’s not long now till your baby arrives. Don’t worry about me; I have some little jobs to do in here.’
‘Right, well if you do want anything, ring the bell by the back door. See you later, Mum.’ Mollie kissed her mother on the cheek and walked outside.
Carefully, Stella replaced the Royal Albert cup in its saucer. Reaching for the paper, she unfolded it, then turned the pages, not sure why she was even bothering. There wasn’t much in the news that interested her these days. On page seven her eyes lingered on a short article about the death of a local man who’d left Tasmania to further his work as a scientist. Then Stella drew in a sharp breath and her hand flew to her mouth. It was about Thomas Broadbent – Tommy – who had ‘recently died peacefully at his home in London. A well-respected scientist, he leaves behind a brother, sister-in-law and nephew in Tasmania but had no children of his own.’
Stella dropped the paper, putting her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. A feeling of heaviness washed over her. It was news she had never wanted to hear.
She felt like a sylph lost in the shadows now that Mrs James had died, years after Stephen. Terry was off travelling, and Mollie and Graham were busy running Arcadia. Everyone fulfilled some purpose, had some value, contributed in their own way, she thought, except for her. She didn’t agonise over missed opportunities or those she’d never taken; she had lived in her own world. She’d had that luxury, and she knew she’d been fortunate. But now . . . times were different. Women were assertive, they had a role to play and fight for. Mollie and Graham were equal partners. Mrs James had been rather forthright, too, even if her own opportunities in life had been limited. For a moment Stella allowed herself to wonder . . . what might her life have been like if she’d run away with her clever, adoring man? Would they have had a large family, been feted in his world, travelled? She forced herself to stop thinking. Arcadia was her world. She loved her painting, her visits with her owl . . . she was never meant to lead any other life.
She’d had a good life with Stephen. While their intimate encounters had brought her little pleasure, that was just how some men were, she told herself. They demanded, and women submitted. He had loved her and had only ever wanted her to be happy and to enjoy living at Arcadia.
Eventually Stella rose and closed the door that led to the kitchen. Then she sat down at her desk and took out a sheet of paper and an envelope from a drawer.
She wrote swiftly, before she changed her mind, before the thoughts of ‘what might have been’ swamped her.
My darling daughter,
As you await the birth of your first child I must share with you a truth that has long haunted me . . .
When she’d finished, she folded the letter, wrote Mollie on the envelope and sealed it. Then she sat back, deep in thought. What had happened to Tommy in the years before his death? In her small world she’d known little of his subsequent life. However, she had read about him in the newspaper a couple of times. The Broadbent brothers had been written about for their scientific achievements. Both were extremely intelligent, though one brother, the journalist had noted, was erratic and something of a wild genius with theories yet to be substantiated. The other, Thomas, resided in England, and worked in a top-secret government laboratory. There was no mention of their personal lives, although much was made of the brothers from a backwater forging brilliant careers in obscure and differing scientific fields.
Stella stood up and slowly dragged the art table away from where it blocked her old Chinese cabinet. She moved a few frames and canvases aside, opened the lacquered doors and crouched down to pull out the bottom drawer. Groping to the back, she found a large brown envelope and drew it out. Stiffly she straightened up and placed the envelope on the table among her art materials.
It had been many years since she had looked at these papers.
Her birth and marriage certificates. A few letters from her parents, the last postcard from her brother before he was killed in the war, and a birthday card painted by her best friend Mollie, who died when she was only sixteen. The girls were so close that Stella named her baby after Mollie. Slowly she fingered these documents and thought of the old tin box that held other small mementoes so precious to her. No one would ever know where her heart truly lay from those small things she treasured most: gifts from him of flowers and leaves, a couple of photos, a note or two, and some of Tommy’s papers and documents. She had given him a painting, a silver eggcup with Arcadia’s crest engraved on it, a beautiful owl feather, and . . . her heart.
Sighing, she slipped her letter to her daughter into the big envelope, and stuffed it back into the drawer. She did not know when Mollie would find it, but her heart was at peace now that she had written the truth.
Stella felt completely drained and decided to lie down. Rather than nap on her sofa as she usually did, she went to her bedroom, each breath a clutching pain in her chest. She felt calmer as she stretched out on the bed, glancing at the window where a green bough rustled gently, its leaves waving softly to her.
When she awoke, she felt better. As if she’d taken a long trip and had now recovered her strength. Had she slept till dark? The room was dim.
‘She’s stirring. Mother . . .?’
Stella felt Mollie’s hand take hers and stroke it gently.
‘We’re here, Mum, Graham and me, even our little baby,’ Mollie said, and put her hand on her belly for a moment. ‘And when he or she is born I will tell this child all about you. We love you so much . . .’
Mollie’s voice was distant, fading, hard to hear in a rush of sudden wind and light.
And then, with a feeling of joy, Stella realised that here she was, lying on the grass in her forest, the warm sunlight blinding her as the trees leaned over her and then . . . Stella felt herself lifted, wrapped in soft feathers and borne up and up so fast into the light . . .
*
‘She’s gone.’
‘Stay with her, Mollie. Sit beside your mother for as long as you feel you need. I’ll bring you a cup of tea,’ said Graham gently. ‘There’s no rush. Remember all your happy times.’ He touched his wife’s weeping face as Mollie leaned her head on her mother’s still chest, her cheek resting on Stella’s fine thin hands. Hands that had caressed her, led her to magical places, had painted pictures of their stories, smoothed her hair, adjusted her wedding veil and kissed her good night.
In the stillness of the night outside, the long, sad shriek of an owl echoed far into the forest.
Arcadia, 2018
Dan drove back to Hobart early in the morning and called Jessica after he’d dropped Terry home.
‘Hey, how was the drive?’ asked Jessica as she settled back to talk.
‘Fine, thanks. It didn’t take long. Jess, I just checked my emails and Denyse at the Seed Centre lab has some news about what’s happening at Seaw
inds.’
‘Really! What?’
‘Remember how I told you the sample I took from there had some potentially interesting qualities? Well, turns out they’re trialling some medicinal products at Seawinds – made from a very specific fungus. Broadbent submitted a research paper to a scientific journal that’s published in Melbourne. Denyse said in her email that it was sent to a friend of hers for peer review and he’s just started to read it, so they have a good idea of what Broadbent is doing at Seawinds. And Denyse is nearly sure now that the rare fungi Broadbent’s using originally came from Arcadia.’
‘How can we stop them?’
‘Well, this could be a good thing – a product that is very beneficial for general health and wellbeing, not a specific disease . . .’
‘But Broadbent stole the main ingredient! From here!’ exclaimed Jessica.
‘I know. It’s a shame we can’t prove conclusively that he took it from Arcadia. But maybe Sally and Toby should look into taking legal steps of some kind. Mention it to them, and we might be able to get more info from Denyse and her friend.’
‘Okay, I will.’ Jessica thought for a moment. ‘What I find strange is that everything with this Broadbent character seems to have happened at once. He started calling Sally, stole the truffles and the mushrooms and followed us, all in the space of a couple of weeks,’ said Jessica.
‘You’re right. I wonder what triggered it? How do you think he even got Sally’s mobile number?’ Dan asked.
‘Oh, that’s easy. It’s on the Arcadia Farm website; or it was. Sally and Toby have taken it down. Knowing where we were was simple too, because Sally and I were posting photos of our road trip on Facebook. In fact, Sally posted a photo at the start of our trip so Katie could see it. She mentioned where we were going and what we were doing.’
‘You’d never expect someone to pick up on that and start following you,’ Dan said.