Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [20]
‘They were good children. Did lovely needle-work, worked in the gardens, did their lessons, sang to God with all their hearts. For a long time it was as the Bishop dreamed, but …’ he shrugged. ‘Eventually they went back to their old ways.’
‘And now?’
‘It’s different. A little of both worlds,’ he said diplomatically. He then handed Lily a mould-spotted book. ‘I am afraid it is not healthy. The pages are sticking. But the writing is still clear.’
Carefully Lily turned the amateurishly printed pages, pausing to read short extracts. ‘Brother William, this is fascinating, I’d love to read it all, but this should be kept under better conditions. And available for research.’
‘Oh, there is a copy or two back in Europe. I was drinking this copy should be in Broome.’
‘Like in the Historical Society perhaps. I’m about to go there.’
‘You take it. You give to them. I have another copy. Maybe the air-con will keep it safe.’
‘Are you sure? It does seem a sensible idea.’ Lily separated two pages seamed by humidity. ‘I’d love to read all of this. I’ll do it at the Historical Society.’
‘Ya. Is a good story. Like a book,’ grinned Brother William. ‘It tells many things of this place.’
‘I’m glad your fellow brothers were diligent and wrote down their observations. Times change so quickly’
‘Not in the Kimberley. But ya, it is good our work is not forgotten.’ He looked momentarily wistful and Lily wondered if the work of Brother William would be commemorated in some way other than in the affection of the small flock in his care. While the intentions of missionaries like Brother William had been to better the lives of the Aborigines, Lily knew that, in the light of modern knowledge, it had not been in their best interests. But Lily wasn’t going to raise such issues with the old Brother.
After a few more pleasantries Lily said she should be on her way. ‘Thank you again, Brother William, it’s been fascinating to talk to you. I promise to deliver this safely to the Historical Society and good luck to you … ’ She shook the Brother’s hand.
‘Bless you, young lady. Look around before you go.’ He grinned. ‘The ghosts are benevolent.’
She took his advice and drove around the sprawling mission, looking at the scattered remnants of its distant better days—deserted buildings, the shell of a well, broken drays and farm equipment, though the stockyards were repaired and a shed held gear and feed. But then she walked into the community store and time leapt forward to a world of frozen food, magazines, junk food, a video game machine and city-style homewares. Lily restocked with bottled water and a couple of chocolate bars for the drive back.
As she passed by the white church again she noticed a small graveyard a little distance away. She stopped to look through it. Once it must have been hidden by bush, a remote repose for a French Trappist brother, several Pallottine priests, two sisters, some infants and many adult Aborigines. The blacks rested under Christian headstones and Lily wondered if the converts would have preferred to have been put to rest in a traditional tree grave. She was about to leave when an unusual headstone caught her eye. It was a simple bush rock with an inset of mother-of-pearl shell glinting in the sun. What made Lily catch her breath as she studied the shells was the delicate pattern carved into the biggest shell.
Trembling, she crouched down and traced over the design with her fingertips. The lines and small circles within a large circle were entwined just as they were on the circular pendant that hung from her mother’s pearl necklace. Lily went back to the car, got her camera and took a photo of the headstone and a close-up of the shell. It was some kind of tribal marking she decided.
Who was buried there?
She walked back over to the church looking for Brother William to ask what he knew of the strange old grave that she felt might be linked to her own family’s past. But the Brother had retreated to his room and the lady who had cooked them breakfast and was now sweeping around the church