Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [169]
Mr Barstow, a schoolteacher, had left class early to be at home and answered the door. He was stern looking, with a clipped silver moustache, thinning hair and tightly buttoned shirt collar. There was a moment of silence as he stiffly acknowledged Maria with a nod. ‘G’day, Maria,’ he said a little coolly. ‘And a good afternoon to you, Mrs Shaw. Please come in. The wife is in the living room.’
‘It is good to see you again, Dad.’ Maria hoisted up the little girl but her father said nothing. He took a really good look at the pretty youngster who reached her hands out to him, but he didn’t respond.
A few steps down the hall were double doors that opened into a living room crammed with furniture, little of which matched but looked well used and immensely comfortable. On an old traymobile with crocheted lace cloth, was an assortment of sandwiches, a sponge cake and lamingtons and a slightly tarnished silverplated tea service.
Maria tried to break the ice as they walked in. ‘Hello, Mum. Here she is, your granddaughter. And this is Mrs Shaw.’
The small girl spotted the cakes and threw herself forward, knocking Maria off balance. Spontaneously Mrs Barstow reached for the child and suddenly found herself holding her granddaughter, a little awkwardly and with some embarrassment. The child studied her for a moment, then smiled broadly and planted a big kiss on her cheek. There was laughter, some of it a little forced, but the atmosphere relaxed slightly.
Olivia studied Mrs Barstow as she poured the tea. She was a bony woman with severely cut short brown hair flecked with grey, dressed in a good green dress with crocheted collar.
Olivia took a sip of her tea and began to spell out more details of the family background she believed to belong to Maria. The Barstows listened in silence.
‘I’ve just got to know, Mum, Dad,’ said Maria when Olivia finished giving them the facts that she judged to be essential at this point.
‘Why, lass?’ snapped her father. ‘You aren’t one of them, one of the blacks. You’re one of us. It’ll only hurt the kid later on, believe me. And it won’t do any good digging into what’s dead and buried. Bad enough getting into trouble with that young fellow. Can’t forgive you for letting us down like that. Hurt terribly. After all we did for you.’
‘Please Mr Barstow,’ pleaded Olivia. ‘This is painful enough without being so hard on Maria. It hasn’t been easy for her, you know.’
‘Hasn’t been easy for us either,’ interrupted Mrs Barstow with some feeling. ‘The shame of it all. The rumours that got around. Was hard to hold our heads up, I can tell you.’ She smoothed her hair and adjusted the brooch at her collar.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. Sorry for the pain it caused you, but there was nothing I could do about it once I knew I was pregnant. There was no way I was going to part with the baby. No way at all.’
Olivia tried to dampen emotions. ‘Let’s try to be practical about the current situation. Maria is determined to find out about her past. If you won’t tell her, then we will try some other way. But surely you won’t deny her right to know, whatever the consequences. That’s her choice.’
The Barstows exchanged glances but Mr Barstow was immediately distracted by the little girl trying to climb up on his knee holding a half-eaten biscuit. ‘Friendly little thing,’ he said with a hint of softness in his voice, and carefully removed the biscuit and wiped her hand on a serviette. Mrs Barstow smiled fleetingly then went to a writing desk in the corner, fussed about in the drawers and found a yellowed envelope.
‘It’s all in there,’ she said briskly. ‘Advice from the adoption people. Not much about her background apart from the fact she came from an Aboriginal mission in the north near Broome. Father a white man. Mission people no doubt got records that will confirm everything.’ She paused while Olivia and Maria read the letter together, then went on, ‘Really, Maria, I think you’re