The Plantation - Di Morrissey [3]
‘Mum? It’s me.’
‘In the kitchen, Jules.’
‘Not watching the news?’
‘Listening from here. I had to get this out of the oven. Nothing special but as your father is going to be late I’ve indulged myself.’ Caroline Reagan looked at her thirty-two-year-old daughter standing in the doorway and her heart warmed at the sight of her. She saw her regularly but occasionally, like now, she paused and couldn’t help but think of what a lovely looking girl Julie was, with her thick, wavy hair, bright blue eyes, firm square jaw and large, happy mouth. But there was also something else about Julie that Caroline hoped others, meeting her for the first time, would also notice. There was a calmness, strength and warmth that radiated from her even before she spoke.
Caroline turned her attention to the dinner plates. ‘Do you want to stay and eat?’
Julie dropped into her family home a couple of times a week and knew that it wasn’t necessary to stand on ceremony, for her mother was always happy to feed her. Her parents’ fridge was always full of tasty leftovers or the makings of a quick meal.
‘I wasn’t, but it smells good and that rain is atrocious. So I’ll wait for awhile, if that’s okay?’
‘Do stay, sweetie. I’ve been hoping you’d call by.’
‘Oh, why is that?’ Julie could tell from her voice that Mother Had News. ‘Heard from Adam and Heather lately?’ Julie’s mother was always hoping that Julie’s married brother in South Australia would announce the imminent arrival of a baby.
‘Yes. But nothing really exciting to report. Oh, they’ve found some fabulous old recycled timbers which they’re going to use in their renovations, but no big news to speak of.’
Julie smiled to herself. It mightn’t be news in big letters to her mother but she could imagine how pleased Adam must have been at finding a treasure for the mud brick home he and Heather were creating in the Adelaide Hills. ‘So what news do you have?’
‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Pour us a small drink. How’s work?’ asked her mother.
‘The same. Hectic. Trying to help get some new companies on the map is always hard.’
‘Well, I guess that’s what a marketing consultant gets paid to do. Give them good advice.’ Her mother wiped her hands on a tea towel and led the way into the living room as Julie followed her with two glasses of chilled white wine.
Caroline turned off the TV and settled herself on the sofa. ‘We’ll eat in a minute. It’s just macaroni and cheese and a little salad. I want you to read this first.’ She handed Julie a letter from the coffee table.
Julie put down her glass. ‘Is it from someone you know?’
‘No. But it’s an interesting letter.’
Julie scanned the letterhead of one of Queensland’s universities and noted the signature, Dr David Cooper. Intrigued, she read the letter slowly.
Dear Mrs Reagan,
I hope you don’t mind my contacting you, but I am an associate professor in the Department of Anthropology, currently researching the Iban people of Borneo with a special focus on the changes to their methods of agriculture, social structure and lifestyle given their loss of habitat and resettlement from their previous existence as jungle and river dwellers in Sarawak. In the course of my research in Malaysia I came across a small book, My Life with the Headhunters of Borneo by Bette Oldham, which was published in the seventies, and in which she recounts a period of time spent with a local group of Iban in Sarawak. The author was, I believe, your aunt.
I would, of course, very much like to know more about Bette Oldham and her work. If you can help me at all, I’d very much appreciate it. I can be contacted at the above address or email, or phone.
Yours sincerely,
Dr David Cooper
‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Julie. ‘Is this the Aunt Bette that Gran was always so critical of? Did you know that Aunt Bette lived with the headhunters