Nate

I wake to scratching. Claws against a wall. Must be Beth’s old housemate, the possum, settling in for a good day’s sleep. The couch was pretty comfortable, and the seed hoard kept quiet, though I woke up more than once during the night, remembering the last time I slept in the same house as a woman and a child. Before we went to bed, Jesse called to say Owen had regained consciousness but wasn’t talking. He’s been charged with assault. I still can’t get over Neme speaking – all this time waiting to hear her talk, to prove to the world that she’s not a mystery to be solved – and for the first time a new thought takes hold. What if I can’t bear what she has to say?

Footsteps make their way down the hallway. It’s Beth. She’s wearing a stripy dressing-gown, her hair like she just walked in from a gale.

‘Possum bother you?’ she asks me, sitting on the arm of the couch.

‘Nah, think he was out partying all night.’

‘You want some breakfast?’

‘Sure. And I could do with a stiff cup of coffee. I’ll give you a hand.’

More footsteps, this time lighter. Neme joins us. She’s already dressed: the cut-off jeans she wore yesterday and a T-shirt with a faded picture of Sinead O’Connor on the front.

She reaches into her back pocket. Beth and I glance at each other. The last few days have left us wary of unpredictable moves. Neme holds up an envelope that’s been folded in half.

Beth points at it. ‘Is this the letter that Owen …?’

Neme flinches at the mention of him. She hands the envelope to Beth. The paper is yellowed with age, but heavy-looking, as if it once served as the stationery of someone with money.

Beth flips it over. There’s no writing on either side, though a wax seal has been cracked in half, dark red and matt like old blood. She frowns. Then something about it seems to make sense to her.

‘Pearl left it for you when she was here the other day. Hid it somewhere. That’s what she was talking about. And you found it?’

‘Yes.’

Neme takes the envelope from Beth and draws out the letter. Unlike on the page with the blacked-out text, these words are handwritten, the lettering cursive and in faded blue ink, like the names and dates entered in the front of the leather Bible passed down through my father’s side of the family. She holds it up to Beth.

‘You want me to read it?’

Neme nods, then turns to me. ‘And Nate.’

Nate.

I hear my name a hundred times a day, when someone places an order, in thanks for the simplest act, but coming from Neme … I’m not ready for the effect it has. So easy to be undone by a single word. A bird’s call. The lapping of a river against a bank. The cry of a child in the street. I don’t hear Lil. It’s Neme I hear. Neme who’s finished with silence. Who’s waiting for us to act on her words.

I stand beside Beth. At the top of the letter is the date.

March 4th, 1854.

The events it describes are violent and without mercy – events that some might say would be implausible in a place like this. Except as I read through the pages, three in total, the worst is that it’s all familiar. I’ve heard versions of what’s written here before. At the pub. When I still lived at home. Among all the stories that are told about a place by those who have a stake in it. Yet, for some reason, I never saw what’s detailed in the letter as having anything to do with me.

Neme stands, waiting for us to finish, one hand grasped in the other. I feel sick at the thought of her finding this letter and reading it on her own, knowing that Pearl had left it for her because she believed Neme was in some way connected to these events.

Beth folds the letter and returns it to the envelope where it’s been stored all these years. She bites at the loose skin on her lip. Takes her time before she finally speaks.

‘This is about something that happened a long time ago, before Pearl was born. The lady who wrote it, Harriet, was Pearl’s great-grandmother. You remember, she was the one who made the quilt. Pearl’s old and somehow she’s got things mixed up. It’s got nothing to do with you, all right?’

Neme nods, though she doesn’t relax her clasped hands. She’s clearly not convinced. And she’s right. The fact that ten days ago she walked barefoot out of the desert and since then hasn’t said a word about who she is or where she’s come from – all this has led to an unravelling.

Neme brushes her hair behind her ears, her face resolute. ‘Pearl’s.’

Beth holds up the envelope. ‘You want to give it back to her?’

Neme shakes her head, then gestures in the direction of the road.

‘You want to go to Pearl’s place?’ says Beth. ‘But Neme …’

Beth and I glance at each other. There are so many questions we could ask. So many objections to such a request. But the last thing either of us wants is for Neme to shut down again.

‘Okay,’ says Beth.

‘I could come with you,’ I offer, unwilling to let Neme out of my sight.

Beth shakes her head. ‘Thanks, Nate, but better we go just the two of us. Pearl was already pretty unhinged when we saw her last time, and she’s used to Neme and me.’ She pauses, then smiles at Neme. ‘We’ve managed pretty well so far, haven’t we?’

Beth glances at the door that leads to the laundry and the back verandah, then returns her focus to Neme.

‘But let’s get you fed first,’ she says, placing her hand on Neme’s shoulder.