Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [149]
In her small white room, uncomfortable and unused to the long cotton nightdress and bloomers, Maya dutifully knelt by the bed and repeated the Lord’s Prayer aloud as she was bid. Then climbing between sheets and after her new ‘mother’ had blown out the lamp, she sang softly to herself the songs she’d learned by campfires. It gave Maya a small sense of comfort and hope that this part of her life would also change. In her short life she had learned that times of joy and security did not last, but she never gave up hope that somewhere there was a right place for her. And she clung to memories of her mother’s arms and soft sweet voice and a laughing man singing loudly as he tickled and teased her.
Gilbert Shaw and Olivia decided to investigate other institutions and set out for the monastery at New Norcia.
It had been a long journey but one Olivia had enjoyed. The train trip from Perth had been comfortable and she and Gilbert had talked undisturbed at length. Olivia’s enthusiasm for their modest ‘halfway house’ for girls bubbled over and Gilbert kept smiling at her.
‘Why do you look so amused all the time?’ asked Olivia. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you were treating me like an indulged child.’
‘I so enjoy your zest for life, Olivia. You tackle everything head on, boots and all. It’s bracing and stimulating to be around you.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You make me feel that I still have something to offer.’
‘But Gilbert, you do! I’m so proud of the work you do. And because you allow me to feel and act the way I do, I feel safe,’ she paused, ‘sort of protected, and very lucky to be with you.’
‘I am the lucky one. You amaze me when I stop and think about your life. Such courage, such a will to soldier on despite odds that might have crushed others. You are strong and caring, Olivia, and an inspiration to others.’
‘I’ve learned from you that helping others is a balm to your own wounds. Dear Gilbert, you are such a good man.’ She gave him a tender smile and for a moment Gilbert wanted to sweep her into his arms and smother her face with passionate kisses. But he smiled and stroked her hand.
When they alighted from the train a young monk came forward and asked if they were travelling to the monastery at New Norcia. ‘I have a carriage. I think you’ll find it a pretty ride.’
The dirt road wound through lightly timbered and open countryside and the young monk chatted over his shoulder, telling them of many facets of life at the monastery.
‘What is Father Torres like?’ asked Olivia.
‘Very clever, he has degrees in art and science from the University of Barcelona and he teaches maths and science.’
‘I understood he had some medical knowledge as well,’ said Gilbert.
‘Oh yes, it has been very useful. He is also well versed in philosophy and music.’
The first sign of habitation was well-tended vine-yards.
‘We Benedictines are famous for planting grapes wherever we go,’ grinned their driver.
They passed orchards and ploughed fields and several barns and farm buildings and soon what looked like a small township came into view. Gilbert and Olivia were effusive with their admiration for the settlement as they drew up before the imposing mellow stone monastery.
The monk lead them through a quiet stone corridor to the reception room to meet Father Fulgentius Torres. The handsome Spanish priest greeted them warmly and offered a glass of the monastery wine before luncheon.
‘I’ve heard of the good work your order has done here with the Aborigines, Father. This is far from the bush mission I had expected,’ said Gilbert.
‘Bishop Salvado did great work. Now I have inherited his mantle, I have plans to give the mission a new direction as a centre for education for Aborigines. I am also supervising the construction of a boarding school for girls—St Gertrude’s College.’
‘Who will run it?’ asked Olivia.
‘The new order of the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart. Now tell me about your plans for a girls’ home in Fremantle.’
‘Many of the foundlings and abandoned girls that we have been sheltering temporarily are sent