Devotion(31)

I know what it was, of course, now.



The night before we were to leave, I found Mama sitting on the doorstep of our empty home, her head leaning against the frame and her eyes to the sky. I had waited for her to go to bed with Papa, had listened to the low murmur of their conversation from my room and, when silence fell, had assumed they slept. But when I closed my bedroom door and crept down the corridor in my bare feet, I saw her silhouetted in the open doorway.

With her dark hair loose and the moonlight bright upon her skin, Mama seemed younger than I knew her to be and I was struck with the uneasy thought that she had not always been my mother. She had existed before I was born, had lived years I knew nothing about. Had I been part of her then? Had I somehow lived in her flesh, lived her life? I so rarely had the opportunity to look at her without her noticing. In the day the brown dart of her eyes was constant and aimed forever on me and Matthias and Hermine. It was wearisome. If ever I yearned to look at her deeply – out of love or curiosity – she would frown me away or ask me if she had ash on her face or tell me it was rude to stare.

‘Mama?’

She startled. ‘Hanne. What are you doing out of bed?’

‘You look very beautiful, sitting there.’

Mama raised an eyebrow, but a hand went to the hair lying on her shoulders and something in her eased. She patted the space next to her on the doorstep. I sat.

‘Is Hermine awake?’

I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

Mama gave me an odd look. ‘You’re dressed.’

‘We’re leaving so early, I thought I’d sleep in my clothes.’ It was a lie, but Mama didn’t seem to doubt me. She turned back to the night, which was mild and tranquil. All was suspended in moonlight, and the crops of growing wheat and rye looked altered and strange. I shifted closer to the warmth of her body. The rare stillness of her was irresistible.

‘The stars will be different.’ Mama gestured out towards the horizon.

‘What?’

‘In this south of Australia.’

‘That is impossible.’

Mama shrugged. ‘So says Rosina. Elder Pasche knows these things.’

‘Is that why you are out here? Saying goodbye to the stars?’

‘Well, yes. I am saying a farewell.’ Mama sighed.

I looked up at the clear sky. It seemed impossible that we would not see the stars’ familiar pattern again.

‘You don’t want to go, do you?’

Mama didn’t respond. We both watched an owl fly over a neighbouring house. It disappeared into the shadows and we heard a scuffle. A squeak.

‘You and Matthias were born on a night like this.’

‘Our birthday is in December.’

‘Colder, yes. But quiet. Clear.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Lots of stars.’

‘They must have sung us out.’

She sighed. Amusement tinged with annoyance. ‘The stars?’

‘No? You can’t hear them?’ I blew gently in her ear. ‘What about now?’

Mama pulled away from me, a rare smile on her face, and closed her eyes. She was listening.

I heard them as I always had. A faint and faraway singing that was not so much music as a crying-out. A single note of longing.

‘Johanne?’

Mama’s eyes opened. The stars were silent.

My father stood behind us in the dark of the bare kitchen, sleepy-eyed, rubbing his beard. ‘There you are. I thought I heard little mice in the kitchen.’

‘Mama is saying goodbye to the stars,’ I ventured.

‘Is she?’ Papa placed a heavy hand on my head. I imagined the dirt ingrained in the pads of his fingers. ‘Then that is Mama’s business. Go back to bed, Hanne. We leave at dawn. God bless you.’

Irritated, I got up and made my way down the corridor in half-darkness, reaching out to place a steadying hand on furniture that was no longer there. At the door to my bedroom, I looked back towards the kitchen and saw that my father sat next to Mama on the doorstep, their heads bent together under moonlight. I could not tell if they were praying or talking.

Then I entered the bedroom, placed my pillow under my blanket and climbed out the open window.


It did not take me long to reach the pine forest under such a brilliant sky, although once I had stepped under the canopy it took some moments for my eyes to adjust. Thea was already waiting for me in the clearing. Her white hair was uncovered and it seemed to glow against the shadowed sentry of trees behind her. At the sound of my footfall on the carpet of needles she spun around and ran at me, eyes wide and arms outstretched. I caught her and we both laughed, then shushed each other, then laughed again.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ Thea whispered. ‘I’ve been waiting so long I was about to go back home.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I breathed. ‘Mama was awake and caught me leaving.’

‘She caught you?’

‘I told her I couldn’t sleep and pretended to go back to bed. Then I squeezed out the window.’ I grasped her shoulder. She looked otherworldly in the moonlight. ‘I’m so glad you stayed.’

The tendons in her shoulder slackened under the weight of my hand.

‘What if she checks on you, to see if you are asleep?’

‘She won’t. Hermine is in her bed tonight. They sold her cradle.’ I hesitated. ‘What if your parents wake?’