Rain Music (14 page)

‘That's a pity,' laughed Toni. ‘I bet that would bring in the tourists.'

‘Do you know what's in the box?' asked Ned, his curiosity piqued.

Ken shook his head. ‘
I've only had the chance for a quick look through it. It seems to contain his Bible and missal as well as a diary and some letters tied up with ribbon. There also seem to be some diocesan papers dating from the late nineteenth century.'

‘Do you think there is anything of great importance to the museum?' asked Ned.

‘I couldn't say,' Ken answered vaguely. A waiter approached Ken and Emily's table, his pad and pen at the ready. ‘Would you two like to join us for lunch?' Ken asked.

‘That would be lovely,' said Toni, sitting down.

The four of them ordered food and a bottle of wine. They chatted easily, enjoying the afternoon sun. Ken and Emily were delightful company and Ned found their conversation stimulating and entertaining. As they were paying the bill, the subject of the museum came up again.

‘One of our difficulties is time.' Ken sighed. ‘We might have a great museum, but most of its workers are volunteers. That box you mentioned earlier, unfortunately no one has had the opportunity yet to go through the papers properly and I don't know when we'll get around to it. It's a pity, though, because you never know what interesting things you might find. Still, I'm sure I'll get to it eventually.'

Before Ned even realised it, he found himself volunteering to help. ‘Perhaps I could have a look through it?' he said. ‘I can't compose every moment of the day and a constructive task would make a nice change from talking to the chooks.'

‘Well,' said Ken, ‘it would certainly be helpful if someone reliable could go through the box and at least make a detailed list of its contents. I know I've only had a quick look at what's in there, but the job shouldn't be too difficult and it would save me a lot of time.'

‘Great, well, I'll come past the museum and grab the boxes before I head off again.'

Ken smiled broadly. ‘Thanks, Ned. That would be terrific.'

‘It's always nice to meet people who appreciate the museum. I think it's fascinating,' said Emily.

‘Yes, it is,' agreed Toni, glancing at her watch. ‘Sorry, guys, but I have to get back to work.'

‘I'll walk you back, if you like,' said Ned. ‘See you tomorrow, Ken. Bye, Emily, nice to meet you.'

On the way back to the hospital, Ned asked Toni what her plans were for that night.

‘Well. I marinated way too many strawberries and I was wondering what to do with them.'

‘I could probably help you with that problem,' said Ned with a smile.

With a few hours to kill before Toni finished work, Ned decided that he should call in to the Toppie to see Yolanda. When he went in, the pub was again full of tourists, but as soon as Yolanda saw him, she beckoned him over.

‘XXXX Gold, as I remember,' she said. When Ned nodded in agreement, she poured him a beer.

‘I just popped in to thank you for putting me on to Carlo's place. It's perfect for what I want. Days and days of peace and quiet. No hassles. Getting a lot of work done. I don't know how I can repay you,' said Ned.

‘If you mean that, I can think of a way. We get lots of tourists in here all the time and it would be great if we could give them something to really remember Cooktown by. Would you put on a concert for us?
Raise some dough for a good cause? Nothing fancy, just you and your guitar. Locals would love it, too.'

He hesitated, but then said, ‘Well, I suppose I could. When did you have in mind?'

‘What about next Friday?'

Ned nodded.

‘Great!' said Yolanda. ‘We can do a bit of publicity. Good entertainment is a bit rare around here, so everyone will appreciate it.'

Ned finished his beer, somewhat bemused by the conversation and his commitment to perform.

At Toni's later that evening, as they finished the strawberries, he told her of Yolanda's idea.

‘That would be really good of you. I'd enjoy it too. Maybe you might have a Cooktown song ready?'

Ned grinned. ‘With any luck,' he said.

*

The next morning, as Ned said goodbye to Toni, she said, ‘Next time you come to Cooktown, you might dispense with the motel room. It seems a waste of money to me.' She gave him a cheeky smile.

‘Me, too,' agreed Ned. He gave her a long, lingering goodbye kiss. ‘That's just a down payment for my forthcoming rent.'

After he left Toni, he collected his gear from the motel before making his way to the supermarket, where he did a very large shop, stowing frozen items in Carlo's ice-filled cooler. From there he drove to the museum, where Ken had the ‘Bish's box' ready for him.

Driving back to Carlo's place from Cooktown, the time passed quickly as Ned thought very pleasant thoughts about Toni.

He was tired after he'd unloaded and packed away all his supplies and checked the chooks. Eventually he turned the lights on and sat down by the river with a drink.

Suddenly he remembered that the box from the museum was still on the back seat of the car, so he retrieved it and carried it inside and put it on top of the bar. Why had he offered to go through it all? he wondered. It now seemed a rather tedious task.

‘Tomorrow,' he said aloud.

Ned stepped back outside to retrieve his drink. Suddenly from the hills above the river the breeze brought to him the distinct pumping of ‘
Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow'
.

‘The Rivingtons,
Full Metal Jacket
,' Ned murmured with a smile. ‘Yeah, way to go, Jack.'

5

That week at the
river house, Ned found that some small ripples were now disturbing the placidity of his previous existence. His smooth routine and his concentration were no longer the same. He sat by the river for hours each day, barely lifting his guitar. One afternoon, standing amongst the chickens as they fluffed and muttered around his ankles, he finally smiled. His distraction was all to do with Toni. The chickens scratched enthusiastically in the dirt. The Rhode Island Red stood on her toes and shook her wings, puffing up her rust-coloured feathers.

‘Yes, yes, I know. Toni's a gorgeous girl.' There, he'd said it out loud. He felt a rush of warmth. Toni was affecting him more than he had realised. And it disturbed him. His feelings for her were surprisingly intense. With a frown and sigh, he went back indoors.

Ned had ignored the Bish's box for a few days as he'd tried to regain his creativity and start composing again, but when he wasn't getting anywhere with his music, his eye fell on the box and curiosity got the better of him.

He put it onto the billiard table and decided to make a start cataloguing its contents. He put some of the religious items to one side and looked at a pile of letters that were marked
Returned from Dungarvan
.
He was puzzled for a moment, but then concluded that the letters had originally been sent to Ireland from Cooktown, some of them more than a century ago, and then someone had returned the collection to the Cairns diocese.

The letters were tied in neat bundles, some piles thicker than others. Curious, Ned picked up one of the letters and looked at the signature at the bottom.
It read:

May God bless you both,

your daughter,

Evangelista

All the letters were written in the same neat and precise hand, but when Ned looked closely, he
realised that they had not been collected carefully and that many of their pages were missing.

Looks as though I'll have to read everything so I can work out the order
, Ned thought to himself.

He picked up a couple of pages and started to read them. He quickly saw that Sister Evangelista had a sharp eye for detail and her pithy comments made him think that whoever she was, she had taken an intense interest in all that surrounded her.

Cooktown

October, 1887

My Dear Parents,

This place seems a long way from home, not just because of the miles we have travelled to get here, but because the landscape of this part of the world is so different from that of dear Ireland. No rolling green pastures here as in Dungarvan. All I could see of my new home when we were first rowed ashore was a desolate shoreline of low red mudflats, straggling trees, and a few rough buildings. In the distance I could make out a large grassy knoll which was surrounded by jungle-clad mountains.

All five of us sisters truly feel the heat. Our faces continually perspire and our wimples and our heavy woollen habits are so unsuitable for this climate. And it is not yet summer. But I am sure that God has some great purpose in making us all so uncomfortable, and so I said a swift prayer for guidance and strength as I am determined to face my new home with resolve.

But we all must have looked quite miserable, for Bishop Hutchinson, who was accompanying us, spoke to us in a cheerful voice, telling us not to despair. He said that although our surroundings might look inhospitable at first, they weren't all that bad.

We are all very proud to be associated with such a man of God as Bishop Hutchinson. He is indeed remarkable: humble and yet fired with enthusiasm for the task ahead, of establishing God's Holy Church in Cooktown as well as founding a school where educational opportunities can be brought to the girls of the district where few now exist. How fortunate we are that he personally approached our motherhouse in Ireland to ask that some sisters should be allowed to accompany him back to Cooktown for this purpose. He is very fervent about this calling and frequently likes to tell us of the prospects that await us in this new frontier.

When I first sighted St Mary's Convent

When Ned looked for the next page of the letter, he couldn't find it anywhere.
Perhaps it is hidden in another letter
, he thought hopefully. He had a quick look through the bundles but couldn't find any immediate trace of it, so he decided to start reading what he guessed was Sister Evangelista's next letter.

February, 1888

My Dear Parents,

We have quickly settled into this new way of life. Each morning we meet for prayers in the small church that sits behind the convent. We are hoping to have our own chapel one day but for the time being the school's dining room will have to double as the school chapel.

We are all very busy with our new life here. We have had no difficulty finding students to fill our classrooms, as we are prepared to take girls of all religious denominations, and I am spending many hours giving lessons as well as working on my new curriculum. The challenge is great, but there have been some compensations. The heat has meant that Reverend Mother has decided to relax some of the rules of our order. Thus, late on Saturday afternoons when the temperature has dropped a little, we are sometimes permitted to take a walk towards the town's seafront, where the Cornish stonemasons have completed the granite kerbs on the edge of the road, making our stroll easier.

Cooktown continues to grow rapidly, as it is the port for the goldfields to the west. Indeed, as Reverend Mother observed dryly as we passed the construction of yet another hotel, there seem to be as many opportunities for entrepreneurs here as there are at the Palmer River diggings.

Our presence and work in the town has made us well respected, and as we take our walk we are greeted with smiles, nods, good wishes and acknowledgements. Hats are doffed and shy children scamper past us, eyeing us curiously.

When we first arrived we were all rather nervous about the native population as there were many stories about their savage ways, but there are few Aborigines in town, and those who remain are sorry examples of their race. I can see them at times, sitting on the edge of the road, or down by the river. They have no access to any basic comforts let alone acceptance or recognition here in town. They are treated as inferiors and considered more of a nuisance than a threat. I feel sorry at their plight and would like to help them but neither the Bishop nor Reverend Mother think it is our role to be missionaries. I have heard that the Lutherans have endeavoured to establish a mission not far from here in order to protect these godless savages. Perhaps these missionaries will be able to convert them to the way of God, although if they do, the poor souls will be Protestants.

We have a new priest, arrived from Ireland. Reverend Mother infers that he is still a bit ‘wet behind the ears', but Father O'Brien is a good soul and as enthusiastic about this country as our Bishop. He has a parish four times the size of Ireland itself, but he is always eager to meet his thinly spread congregation.

Occasionally he tells us tales of Cape York to the north and his adventures travelling hundreds of miles by steamship, pony and stagecoach. One day he told us about the goldfields, the excitement of new finds and how other parts of the inland are opening up to cattle and tin mining. This all sounded very adventurous and interesting and I said that I hoped that one day I would be able to see the goldfields for myself. But it is unlikely that this will happen for, as Reverend Mother reminded me, my place is here, in the school.

Father O'Brien, perhaps sensing my disappointment, said that I was doing the work of the Lord and that God would be glad and rejoice in my efforts. And I must tell you, dear parents, that I do rejoice in doing the Lord's work, here in the Australian wilderness. I do not know what the Lord has in store for my future, but I have faith in whatever plan he has for me.

May God bless you both,

your daughter,

Evangelista

When Ned looked quickly though the rest of the pile of letters he realised that Sister Evangelista had never returned to Ireland and so had probably never seen her family again. In a way, he thought she was fortunate. Sister Evangelista could just send a letter every now and then. She'd had time and space to deal with her family problems, if indeed she'd had any.

Suddenly Ned felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He knew that while he was continually trying to avoid conversations with Josie and Bella, in truth it wasn't really his mother or sister he was trying to avoid. It was his own feelings about his father's passing. He had thought he'd have time to confront his father about the issues that he knew needed to be sorted out between the two of them, but Alex's death had been so sudden that the problems had been left unresolved, dangling untidily like Monday's washing on the line. Ned felt angry with himself for not facing his father when he'd had the opportunity and now he felt such conflicting feelings about his father, he didn't know how to make sense of them.

Putting the letters back into the box, he went and sat down in one of Carlo's peculiar chairs. Looking around the room he saw a group of old-fashioned perfume bottles that were amongst the house's amazing collection of glassware, and a memory flashed into his mind.

He had just started high school at the most elite private school in the district
.
His father was very proud that Ned was going to the school he himself had attended. Initially, Ned had found it hard to make friends. Everyone else seemed to have gravitated into small groups, and Ned had felt like an outsider. Then, after a couple of weeks of solitary misery, three or four boys approached him and offered to let him join them. Ned couldn't believe his luck, until the obvious leader of the group said that Ned would have to pass an initiation test first. When Ned found out that the test involved shoplifting, he had immediately baulked. The leader of the group had sniggered and called him several names.

After that, Ned had felt he had no option other than to show these boys that he wasn't too frightened to take up their challenge, and it was arranged that he would go into one of Tennyson's chemist shops and steal a bottle of perfume.

Ned remembered, even after all these years, how alone he had felt, the new boy with no friends, eager to do anything to belong, even when he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But he had steeled himself and walked into the chemist shop while his new-found friends waited outside, stifling their giggles. He was very surprised at how easy it was to take a small bottle of perfume from the shelf, stuff it into his blazer pocket and leave. Once he showed them the perfume, his new friends ran off. Confused by their actions, Ned walked home.

Later that evening, when Alex came home, he called Ned into his study. As soon as Ned entered the room and saw his father's stern face, his heart sank.

‘Ned, I had a very interesting phone call this afternoon from Jim Bourke, the chemist on Fitzroy Terrace.'

Ned stared at the floor, not meeting Alex's eye.

Alex continued, his tone hard. ‘Jim saw you take that bottle and decided to ring me rather than the police, although he was quite entitled to go straight to them. What were you thinking, son? How could you be so dishonest? Your actions are a complete disappointment to me, and they would be to your mother too, if I were to tell her about this.'

Even after all these years, Ned could still feel the shame of the incident. But surprisingly his father hadn't shouted or even raised his voice. He was just very disappointed, which for Ned, who looked up to his father, was even worse. Ned had tried to explain about the other boys, but Alex would have none of it.

‘Saying that you were only trying to make friends is no excuse. You will return the bottle of perfume to Mr Bourke, apologise for your behaviour and accept responsibility for your actions like a man. If he accepts your apology, then we will put the matter behind us on the understanding that you never do anything like this again.'

‘Yes, sir,' Ned had said meekly.

He had started backing out of Alex's office when his father had added more gently, ‘And Ned, you will make friends at school, just give it time.'

His father had been true to his word. After the bottle of perfume had been returned to the chemist and the apology made and accepted, the matter was never mentioned again. And his father had also been right about making friends. Soon enough, Ned had not only joined one of the school's cricket teams, but had found a couple of boys who were as interested in music as he was.

Now, sitting alone with time to think, Ned could only wonder at the way his father had handled the whole incident. Calm, firm, even protective, but disappointed that Ned hadn't lived up to his standards.

‘Accept responsibility for your actions like a man . . .' Ned said out loud. Still feeling agitated, he returned to
the box of letters in the hope they would distract him.
He picked up another letter and started to read it.

May, 1893

My Dear Parents,

Sometimes as I look through my window and gaze across the bay and its bustling shores I recall the damp and cool, gentle greenness of home. This is a red and gold country with great pockets of ferocious green surrounded by bluer-than-blue seas. One morning I noticed from my window the arrival of a steamer from Hong Kong. As I watched, it disgorged hundreds of hopeful Chinese miners. The men wore simple cotton garments and all had long pigtails hanging down beneath soft caps. They were, however, not brought into shore, but were forced to walk the last few hundred yards through the mudflats, carrying all their worldly goods. Such treatment truly shocked me, as I was concerned that some might be taken by the crocodiles that lurk in these waters. I prayed for their safety and, God be praised, they all came ashore in one piece.