Zenna Dare Page 10

  I decide not to answer him. Aunt Dorie’s in the Dark Ages and I don’t agree with her attitude, but Caleb’s tone makes me think. Like at what point will Zenna Dare become familial, someone personal, rather than a mystery I enjoy researching? The look on Caleb’s face matches his tone and it annoys me. Meeting my old friends has put a sharp edge to a mood I’ve never shown Caleb before. This is my family, not his. What right has he got to question my motives? He’s right about being able to tell what people are feeling, though. I never thought about it much before, but I reckon I know what’s in his head right now, as if it were in bold print, and nor do I appreciate it. I don’t like feeling that he’s disappointed in me.

  We walk down North Terrace to the train. It hurts how we don’t look like a couple; we’re both somewhere else, yet we sit in the same seat. By the time the train lurches to a start I’m trying to think of a way to get our old closeness back but Caleb beats me to it. He leans over and whispers, ‘Sorry.’ Amazing what that one little word does. I smile back. ‘Me too.’

  ‘No. It’s me. I’ve been brought up to think family stuff is too important to muck around with but I shouldn’t have dumped that on you. You might think differently about it.’ Caleb’s really trying. It’s hard to imagine what someone else may understand or believe; what memories they may have that affect their waking hours. When have I ever tried that? And I slip my arm through his. Move a little closer. He grins down at me — his usual easy-going grin. It’s just at that point I look up and surprise a look of unveiled disgust on an old woman’s face. I feel like saying, ‘What?’ I must have made some sound for Caleb glances over too, but that’s all it is, a glance, and he’s looking at me again.

  The woman doesn’t stop staring at me. ‘What’s her problem?’ I’m hissing, and I nearly ask her what she’s looking at. ‘Ignore her. It’s me, not you.’ This from Caleb. Caleb?

  ‘You’re kidding.’ I can’t believe it — twice in one day.

  ‘Yeah, nice white girl going out with a black fella.’ It’s incredible hearing him talk like this, as though he’s a Nunga from the interior who never gets to see the city. Is he joking? The crooked twist to his mouth says it all though — in that woman’s eyes I must be a slut.

  ‘I’ve never been looked at like that. It’s obscene.’

  ‘Better get used to it.’ I can hear the rest of the words in his head, if you keep going places with me. No one usually looks at me, Jenefer Tremayne. That’s it, I’m invisible. I always have been. Not today. Everyone sees Caleb. I check out their faces. Most try not to notice but the people closest have varying expressions ranging from curiosity to pity to open appraisal on a young guy’s face as he stares at me. It’s disgusting. I feel dirty all of a sudden and it has nothing to do with Caleb.

  I turn back to him. ‘But you’re not scruffy or drunk, or causing a scene.’ I feel like saying he’s a babe, but now mightn’t be the right time.

  ‘Bet they’ve seen someone who was, though.’

  ‘That’s not you.’

  ‘Tell them that.’ I feel the first touch of bitterness in Caleb’s tone and it saddens me. Would he feel this bitterness all the time if he was looked at like this every day? Surely not Caleb, who puts kids at ease, so sure of himself, he can joke at school about being Indigenous. But not here. Here, there’s no joke.

  ‘How can they tell anyway?’ He almost glares at me then and I realise it wasn’t what I meant. I could kick myself; I should have said something supportive like, ‘What’s it to them?’

  Suddenly the man across the aisle from me leans over. ‘Is he bothering you?’ I’m so astounded I can’t say anything. Bothering me? Caleb? Creative, peace-making Caleb who looks for a little rabbit in the dark so a kid can be happy? Caleb, who can understand what’s in my head? It’s that guy over there, thinking kinky stuff about me, who’s bothering me.

  ‘Of course not,’ I manage to say. ‘He’s my … friend.’ I was about to say boyfriend and Caleb knows it. He has a different look in his eyes now and it’s just for me. Nothing has been said about our friendship — it didn’t need to be. I like being with him and he must feel the same or he wouldn’t keep dropping me home after school or coming with me on these treasure hunts. Nor would he have kissed me under the pepper tree last night. His eyebrows are raised in a question and I say, ‘I like being your friend.’ I whisper ‘friend’ as though it’s a different word, and his eyes go a darker brown. The laughing lines on either side of his mouth start to twitch and in that moment something small and hard melts inside me and I couldn’t care less what everyone thinks. I lean over and kiss him.

  Gweniver

  Cornwall, 1846

  Here lie deposited

  The mortal remains of

  Mr Joseph Antonia Emidy

  who departed this life

  on the 23rd of April,

  1835

  Devoted to thy soul inspiring strains

  Sweet Music! thee he hail’d his chief delight

  And with fond zeal that shunn’d not toil nor pain

  His talent soar’d and genius marked his flight.

  I remember the day I saw Joseph Emidy’s grave. Afterwards, Mr. Drew took me to a concert at the Assembly Rooms in Truro. I recall little of getting to the place but for numerous stairs and passageways. When it was my turn to sing, I reached the platform where I stood next to the pianoforte and a twelve-piece orchestra, no less. I looked down onto the gallery and up to the balcony surrounding three whole sides of the hall and saw hundreds, no, a thousand people. I nearly lost my nerve. All the gentlemen seemed to be smoking cigars and had a glass in front of them. But there were ladies present too, it being Thursday evening.

  The members of the Harmonic Society had put together a program and I was asked to sing two songs, then there was an encore. Before Mr. Drew could rescue me I was begged to sing another. I could feel the music crash like a powerful drum inside of me. My singing was a mere response to the vibration that resonated within, possessing and shaking me all the way to my heart. I couldn’t have fought it even if I had a mind to. Truly I thought I would burst with all that sound inside and I knew that this was what I was born to do.

  Mr Emidy had often played the violin there, music he had composed himself. He used to be a slave and I found that astonishing. A captain of a ship saw him in a Lisbon orchestra leading the violins and took him aboard ship and would not let him go. Years later, he was given his freedom and set ashore in Falmouth, where he lived and taught.

  It would have been wonderful to have met him. Singing in a place where I knew he had been made me feel such an affinity with him. I was no less a slave than he was: a caged bird, yet I was working out a dream as no doubt so was he. What an impression his story made on me; his spirit, creativity and humility all rolled together in one soul. Even Mr. Drew had a good word to say on his behalf.

  Mr. Charles Hempel was there too and said how delightfully I sang. He hoped he would hear more of me. The whole experience inspired me to keep at my musical studies even if I was a little in awe of Mr. Drew. Occasionally, he looked at me as if I were some freshly baked game he was to eat for dinner. Yet at other times he was almost amiable, telling me gossip about the music halls, taking me to places where I was to sing, so I became used to noisy audiences full of men who had eaten and drunk too much.

  At that point, I still did not receive any money of my own; Mr. Drew handled everything and gave me whatever I needed. He decided what I should wear, which songs to sing. He favoured silk, muslin too. Mama always thought muslin was frivolous and it took me a while to feel at home in it. For months I felt like a rich cousin I never knew I had. Mr. Drew liked to see me in blue, never green. Green was unlucky for the stage, he said. So many petticoats, tiers of frills, and a bustle that he insisted on since it was fashionable that year. Bodices that Da would say showed far too much shoulder and neck. I never seemed to be able to trai
n my shoulders to slope just the way they should. One dress had a neckline almost level with my armpits. I am sure even Mama would have quailed at it, though it was lovely.

  It was not long after Truro that Mr. Drew employed a girl to help with my hair; all those curls on either side, to stitch a hem if need be, to lace up the corset, and make new dresses. He bought a beautiful, velvet cape for my travel in the carriage. I never knew if he did the same for the other students and I presumed it all came from the scholarship I won that day at the fair.

  It was beginning to stifle me that I felt like a kept woman, but what was the alternative? How could I, a simple girl, achieve a dream like mine without a guide such as Mr. Drew? I had only heard of those places before; would never have the means to go, let alone have been invited to sing. My goodness, if I were still in Camborne I would be like Mary, being courted by someone like Will Trengove!

  Fore Street

  Camborne

  February 1846

  Dearest Gweniver,

  We hope you are enjoying your singing lessons. We miss you so much and not only when the washing and baking needs to be done. James Penwith has proposed marriage to Gladys. He works in the mine with Da. Mama is not pleased but Gladys is weary of looking after the rest of us, I am thinking.

  Do you remember Will? He is Annie Trengove’s brother. He has taken to talking to me after chapel. He sings in the choir. He says he does not want to stay a miner here, earning three pounds a month and working eight hours a day underground in air that’s so bad the candles won’t burn. He wants to go to South Australia. There is land for all, apparently. What do you think of that, then? ’Tis a long way away.

  Clarice has taken a teaching post and Mama would not let Tommy go down the mine with Da on account of what happened to Georgie. Tom turned twelve last week so Da apprenticed him to old Hawker, the blacksmith.

  When shall we see you again? Everyone sends their wishes for your success.

  Your loving sister, Mary.

  Jenefer

  We decide to visit the camel farm, but we go to Caleb’s house on the way. Must admit I’m nervous — what if they don’t like me? There isn’t just his mum, like I thought. His widowed aunt and her five kids live there too. ‘No point just Mum and me in a big house,’ he’d said. No wonder he’s good with Hamilton.

  As soon as I walk in, his mum’s there, smiling. She’s so sweet. I can see this shy, creative person who just wants to shed goodwill. It’s amazing after what she’s been through. Though from everything Caleb had said about her, I didn’t expect anything else. Kids walk in and out, getting drinks, smiling. It could have been a perfect visit except for Chloe, his cousin. It was when we went into the lounge. She was already there, watching the TV with her arm round a little girl Kate’s age, and when she turned to see us I must have looked as if I’d seen a ghost. She was the same girl I noticed at the dinner dance — the one I caught looking at me as though she could kill me.

  She’s a bit younger than me, and the look on her face still says more than hurtful words could say. She makes me feel I have no right to be going out with Caleb at all. Like I was stealing someone’s only lamb when I have a flock of sheep of my own. It affects me even more than the trip to town last week. I guess because Caleb’s family matters more. What if she puts him off me?

  I mention it on the way to the camel farm. ‘It’s not you personally, Jenefer. She’ll get over it when she knows you as well as I do.’ I wish I could say the same for my friends. At least Steffi and Dad don’t mind me going places with him.

  ‘You seemed to know what I was like straight away.’ Or thought he did.

  He grins. ‘But I’m a guy.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  He ducks from imaginary blows. ‘Okay. I won’t get into that one.’ Then he sobers up. ‘Seriously, Jenefer, it can be hard for some. Your mob kicked us off our land, took away what we believed in and left us with nothing.’

  ‘But that wasn’t me.’ Suddenly I’m annoyed and I remember Alicia Tilbrook in History during the week. We shouldn’t have to say sorry at all, she said. I didn’t do it. Did you? And she looked so angelic as she said it too. At the time I attacked head on; her words sounded so hollow. She had no idea what ‘it’ was and I told her. They only want our land, was her next startling statement. No matter that Ms East tried to explain that certain land rules were in place. I couldn’t believe Alicia would say it aloud. Whose land was it in the first place, for heaven’s sake? Was there a treaty signed that passed it all over? Imagine if Caleb did History and he was there. Doubt if even that would bother Alicia; it’s like she doesn’t think he has feelings. Tim calls her Ku Klux Alice. What is the answer to someone like Alicia? No one seems to know, not even the government, it seems. The truly horrifying thought is I had no idea about it either three months ago, and now Chloe looks at me the exact same way I think about Alicia Tilbrook. The way that makes you wonder if there is such a thing as being part of a community and being held responsible for what it did.

  ‘Chloe’s young yet,’ Caleb says. ‘She’s just trying to hang onto who she is. She’ll learn to let go of the anger in time.’

  His mother’s learnt to forgive, he said once. Is it something that you learn? Forgiving, letting go of anger? And what about him? Has he learnt? Suddenly I can’t think straight. This is it, then. He really thinks all this too, doesn’t he? Like Chloe. Why is he spending time with me? I’m not stupid, I know he likes me. But why? Just attraction? Deep down, will he hate me in the end?

  ‘So what about you? You feel like that too? It’s the way you were brought up.’ I want to say more. I should just ask him to take me home. How could this have worked? We’re too different. Even his own people think so.

  Then he says no.

  ‘No what?’ I don’t care I sound bitchy. This is most probably the last I’ll see of him anyway.

  ‘I wasn’t brought up like Chloe. After the Salvation Army found Mum she believed all that too. She still tells the old stories through her art, goes to schools, but she doesn’t have that bitterness Auntie Bet has.’ He turns to me. ‘Mum is a hell of a lot easier to live with than Auntie Bet. Hating immigrant Australians for what happened isn’t going to solve anything.’

  I can’t stop myself in time. ‘So you go out with one? To prove you don’t hate us? You’re doing your bit. Is that it?’ I don’t believe I’m saying this. I’m destroying something I want to keep, but it’s like a fire in the bush that jump-starts nearby trees without my meaning it to. Soon everything will be burnt.

  Caleb’s pulled over, switches the engine off. He turns me to face him. His hand is on my arm; I can feel it shaking. He’s saying ‘no’ but I can hardly see him for the smoke of what I’m doing. ‘Jenefer. Jen.’ It’s starting to clear. I was just upset. Was I jealous? She lives with him. Can cousins feel for each other like I feel for Caleb? It’s not until later when Caleb explains about moieties, the complex clan laws of who everyone can marry, that I understand; he couldn’t have a relationship with Chloe even if he wanted to.

  ‘It was only you, Jenefer. I wasn’t thinking of anything else. I just liked you.’ Why is he bothering to be so kind after what I almost did? How fragile feelings are. And I wonder how strong they can be too. ‘I’m sorry.’ My eyes are wet and he holds me close to him. He’s warm; I can feel his heart running, chasing something that was getting away; catching up.

  ‘I don’t want to lose you, Jen. We are just two people who like each other. I never wanted it to get complicated.’

  ‘Me neither.’ I look up and then he’s kissing me. It’s different from before — I feel like the box when he helped me open it, caressing it, finding out its secrets before it gives them up — and I never want it to stop, never. But we’d better. An image of Steffi with a fiery crucifix in her hand as I come home pregnant flashes into my mind and won’t budge. Steffi may not be my real mum but
she’s sure imparted all her Catholic morals. I had no idea that when the crunch came they’d actually work. Bummer. Bet I’m the last virgin in Year 12. Even Erin does it with Tim. Though she only does because he wants to. I’d rather have a guy who cares about me, not one who can’t wait to do it.

  ‘We’d better stop.’ We’re not sitting anymore and Caleb’s suddenly still, leaning his chin down on my shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ His voice sounds husky and he gives this shuddering sigh and I wonder if he understands. Salvation Army, he’d said. It’s possible he’s been told all the same stuff.

  ‘It’s just that —’ I wonder if I should say what I’m thinking or just blame the handbrake poking into my back, but he puts a finger on my mouth. ‘It’s cool.’ And suddenly I realise what it was I liked about him that first day of school.

  We think it’s best to pick up Kate and Hamilton and take them out to the camel farm with us. Besides, Hamilton’s been asking for ages. The farm is incredible — Shetland ponies, miniature horses, donkeys, and of course, the camels. There is this huge bull camel called Horace, sitting in the paddock near the home run.

  ‘You can pat him,’ Caleb says with a grin. I’m not sure if he’s joking or not. ‘Just grab hold of his nose rope and he’ll do whatever you want.’

  It’s Hamilton who walks up to Horace. Kate and I watch, we’re not all that scared — I just hope Hamilton and Caleb don’t notice we’re not still with them. Imagine the teasing. Horace hasn’t bitten Hamilton yet, or spat, or stamped on him, so I venture closer, a little shadow half a step behind me. Fortunately I’m right there when Caleb turns around. I can’t say I’ve ever been into camels, but Horace doesn’t look bad close up. There’s a little cute one, running around its mother. They all seem pleased to see Caleb.

  ‘What do you do, when you come?’ They don’t look as if they’d need brushing like horses.