The Year It All Ended (20 page)

Tiney dreamt of Louis. He was running towards her across a field of poppies. Her heart soared at the sight of him. A breeze made the poppies sway and the long grass parted before him as he ran. Tiney wanted to run to meet him but her body wouldn’t cooperate. He was almost next to her when the bombs began to fall. The field of flowers turned to sludge, Louis stumbled, and his hands fell heavily on her shoulders, dragging her downwards as he sank into grey mud. She turned to look into his face, but it was the face of a stranger.

Someone was shaking Tiney, with firm hands on each of her shoulders. When Tiney finally managed to drag herself from her nightmare, she realised it was Tante Bea, and she was crying.

‘Tante,’ said Tiney. ‘What’s wrong, what’s happened?’

‘Paulie,’ said Tante Bea. ‘I know there was something not right between you. Did you have a fight yesterday?’

‘We did disagree about Kaiserstuhl being called Mount Kitchener,’ said Tiney, guiltily, not wanting to tell Tante Bea everything.

‘Paul has gone. Packed his bags and run away.’

‘Run away?’

‘We know he has had letters. From Germany. From someone he met while he was interned. They have tricked him, lured him from us. First we have lost one son to the war and now we will lose the other.’ Tante Bea sat on the end of the bed and the tears flooded down her cheeks.

‘Did he leave a note for you, Tante?’ asked Tiney, one hand over her aunt’s. ‘Didn’t he say why he’s gone?’

‘No, not a note. What did he say to you?’

‘I told him I wanted to go and find where Louis was buried and he said he wanted to go to Europe too.’

‘You really want to do this thing?’ asked Tante Bea. ‘To travel all that way to visit a grave?’

‘Yes. One day,’ said Tiney. ‘Maybe Paul wants to visit Will’s grave too. He misses him very much.’

Tante Bea hugged Tiney. ‘You are a good girl. You think of your family. Not like Paul. He is not searching for Will for us. Paul only does things for Paul.’

‘He means well, Tante,’ said Tiney.

Tante Bea covered her face with her hands. ‘Paul is not a good boy, but he is all we have left, Martina.’ Then she began to cry again, her mouth turned down like an inverted ‘U’, her face stony even as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Tiney climbed out of bed and drew the curtains. The day outside was bright and soft, full of the promise of a summer morning. For the first time in weeks, Tiney felt the stirrings of her old strength.

‘Tante Bea,’ she said, turning to her aunt. ‘If we can get to Adelaide by this evening, we might be able to find Paul. He must be somewhere in town.’

Tante Bea stopped sobbing and looked at Tiney.

‘Where would we begin?’

‘The train station, the docks, the coffee palaces, the hotels. He might have contacted Thea. We might be able to stop him.’

After breakfast, Tiney quickly packed her suitcase and tidied her bedroom. Onkel Ludwig was already backing the Studebaker out of the garage for the drive to Adelaide.

When Tiney picked up her letter-writing folio to add to her suitcase, she noticed the stationery was untidily stuffed into the cover. Someone had been rifling through it. The blue envelopes had been hastily pushed back into the inside pocket and the small collection of photos that she kept in the back of the folio had been crammed in a jumble between folds of vellum stationery. Sorting through them methodically, she discovered one was missing: Louis’ photo of the woman and the baby.

Quietly, Tiney pushed open the door to Paul’s room. Though nothing was out of place, the room felt abandoned, or perhaps, Paul had never really settled back into it. The pale blue chenille coverlet on his bed lay smooth and unruffled. Tiney stood beside the bedside table, looking at the cover of the last book that Paul had been reading. It was a collection of Goethe’s poems. She touched the green cover lightly. A gum leaf lay wedged between two pages and she flipped the book open to see which poem he’d bookmarked. Three lines in German were underlined:

No one ought to refuse to receive what is offer’d with liberal kindness.

No one can tell how long he will keep what in peace he possesses,

No one, how long he is doom’d in foreign countries to wander. . .

She shut the book.

Tiney sat between her aunt and uncle on the long drive through the hills, down to Adelaide.

‘Paul was seen riding on his bicycle towards Tanunda not long after nine o’clock last night,’ said Onkel Ludwig. ‘He may be leaving Adelaide now. It may be too late to find him.’

‘He might have been to see Thea first,’ said Tiney.

Tante Bea shook her head. ‘You were his favourite, Tiney. If he could leave without telling you, then he won’t be speaking to your sister.’

Tiney hung her head, confused and with a nagging sense of guilt. Had their argument triggered Paul’s departure? And why had he taken the photo of the woman and child? What could it possibly mean to him?

‘Did he say anything to you about his plans?’ asked Onkel Ludwig.

‘I told him that I wanted to go to France to visit Louis’ grave and Paul said he wanted to go to Germany. But it was only talk.’

‘What talk is this of visiting graves?’ said Onkel Ludwig, his pale eyes serious as his gaze flicked between the road and Tiney’s face.

Tiney picked at her sleeve as she told her aunt and uncle about the Alstons’ plans to visit Charlie’s grave, about her longing to find Louis’ grave too, with her family. When she’d finished, she looked up to see her uncle and aunt glancing at each other over the top of her head. She sank a little lower in her seat and stared at the long road through the hills.

When they reached Adelaide, they went straight to Larksrest but the look of surprise on Thea’s face as she opened the front door made it clear they hadn’t heard from Paul.

Tante Bea stayed talking to Thea and Mama while Tiney
and Onkel Ludwig set out for the railway station. A train had left for Western Australia that morning but the stationmaster made enquiries for them and said no one of Paul’s description had bought a ticket. At Port Adelaide, Onkel Ludwig found out that the
Morea
had sailed at dawn. At the ticket office, they were told a young man named Kreiger had bought a berth in steerage just before midnight. Paul was gone.

Mama and Tante Bea were sitting at the table in the kitchen at Larksrest, ready with tea and seed cake, waiting for their return. Tiney saw Tante Bea visibly slump when they walked into the room without Paul. She left Onkel Ludwig to break the bad news and went to her room to unpack. Thea was sitting on the end of her bed but she leapt up and hugged Tiney tightly.

‘I’m so glad to have you home,’ said Thea. ‘I was going to write to you but it’s much better you’re here.’ She crossed the room and opened a drawer in her dresser. ‘Close your eyes.’

Puzzled, Tiney obeyed.

‘Put out your hands,’ said Thea.

Tiney felt something cool and round in her left hand and a thick wad of paper being placed in her right. ‘Now open!’ said Thea.

Tiney looked down to see a shining gold medal in one hand and an envelope in the other.

‘The medal is just for you to look at it,’ said Thea, smiling. ‘But the envelope is yours to keep.’

Tiney looked at the medal first. It bore an image of a Grecian woman holding an easel and palm frond – the symbol of the South Australian Society of Arts. ‘You won!’ she shouted. She flung her arms around Thea. ‘I thought you’d withdrawn your picture from the competition.’

‘I did. Then I entered another painting of Christie’s Beach in its place. But don’t forget the envelope. What’s inside it is just for you.’

Tiney hurriedly flipped it open and then caught her breath. Inside was a stack of crisp ten-pound notes.

‘The prize money,’ said Thea. ‘It’s not enough for a fare to England, but it will help with other things when you go away.’

‘Away?’ asked Tiney. ‘Oh Thea, I’m never going to be able to save the rest of the fare. You think too much of me.’

Thea smiled. ‘And you think too little of yourself. What I know is that your ears should have been burning all afternoon. Mama and Tante Bea have been talking about you nonstop.’

Tiney felt a shiver go up her spine, as if her body understood what her sister was hinting at even as she gazed at Thea in bewilderment.

When she walked back into the kitchen, Papa was sitting there too, looking hollow and sad. But when he saw Tiney, he smiled. Onkel put both his plump hands on the table, as if he were about to make a speech. He drew breath, stroked his beard, and then looked at Tante Bea, not Tiney, as he spoke.

‘Your Mama and Papa and your Onkel and Tante have been speaking of you, Tiney. We have, together, made a plan. Your Tante and I will be paying your passage to Europe, as long as the Alstons are happy to accompany you.’

Tiney clapped her hands to her face in surprise.

‘We ask one small favour in exchange,’ continued Onkel Ludwig. ‘When you are visiting the Western Front with the Alstons, we would like for you to make an enquiry on our behalf. We would like to know where our Wilhelm rests. For us, two German-Australians seeking their dead German son, it would
be too difficult; we know the Red Cross struggles with these requests and the correspondence, it takes years. But perhaps, if you are in Europe, you will find a way. If Paul has tried doing this also, perhaps you will hear news of him. This is a very large thing to ask of you, but rest assured we do not expect you to do more than enquire on our behalf.’

Tiney couldn’t speak. Her guilt at arguing with Paul, perhaps precipitating his departure, left her tongue-tied.

Tante Bea stood up and reached for Tiney’s hand. ‘Tiney, we are too old to make this journey ourselves. If it is only lack of money that has stopped you, then we are more than willing to help. We want to honour our dear nephew Louis, but your journey could be for all of us, for all our boys. For Louis, for Wilhelm, and for Paul whom we have lost as well, though not to God.’

‘Perhaps she’s not strong enough,’ said Papa. ‘She’s only a girl, our Tiney.’

‘Are you strong enough for this, Martina?’ asked Tante Bea.

Tiney took both her aunt’s hands and held them tight. Then she smiled.

‘I’m more than strong, Tante. I’m ready.’

Blighty

Tiney checked the clasp on her red enamel brooch and straightened the little red sail as she stood on the upper deck of the
Orvieto.
Then she crossed to the railing and stared down into the milling crowds on the dock. All the Flynns, along with Paul’s parents, stood in a cluster, holding down their hats against the wind whipping off the sea. Tiney raised both her hands and waved, hoping they could pick her out from the hundreds of passengers hanging over the rails of the ocean liner.

It felt wrong to be leaving all her sisters behind and setting out into the world alone. The one compensation was that at least her journey had brought her family together. They hadn’t all been able to gather in Adelaide for Christmas but everyone had been at Larksrest on New Year’s Eve, in time to see Tiney before she left with the Alstons on the second of January. Minna and Frank had caught the train from Melbourne, and Nette and Ray had come down from Cobdolga with baby Ray.

Ida came along the deck and slipped one arm around Tiney’s shoulders.

‘I’m so glad you’re with us,’ she said, pressing a roll of blue paper streamers into Tiney’s hand. ‘I know I’m not a real sister
but perhaps we can pretend I’m the fifth Flynn girl. Can you see the family down there in the crowd?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think they can see me,’ said Tiney.

‘We’ll fix that.’ Ida drew back her arm and threw her roll of streamers high into the air. It arced out over the top of the crowd, a rippling red ribbon. Tiney wrapped one end of her streamer around her wrist and flung it to the wind. The blue streamer tangled with the red and drifted down to the crowd.

Thea was the first to look up and see where Tiney and Ida stood waving. She raised both her arms. Nette held up baby Ray’s tiny plump arm and waved it in the air too. Suddenly, the whole party of Flynns, Kreigers, Stauntons and McCaffreys raised their arms. Tiney laughed through her tears.