The peril of growing older is that we must watch those we love slip away one by one.

In July, my youngest companion from the RMS Orient, Eddie, rang me. He had been an official member of the Mackenzie clan for over twenty-five years, but his reason for contacting me at Atlantis was not a happy one. With a shaking voice, he informed me of his father’s – Ralph’s – passing.

I spent an hour on the telephone comforting Eddie and reminding him of all his family had done for me. I was profoundly upset by the news of Ralph’s passing, and mourned a dear friend who had been trustworthy and steadfast to the last.

One week later, I found myself outside Alicia Hall in Adelaide for Ralph’s memorial service. Far gone are the days when I would have to embark upon an epic sea voyage to reach Australia. Anyone could, in fact, be on the other side of the world in twenty-four hours. From the outside, the grounds of the hall appeared as opulent and luscious as ever, and as I walked through the gate, a well-dressed young man with blond hair approached me and shook my hand.

‘Mr Tanit?’ It was Eddie Mackenzie. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Eddie! I’m so sorry for your loss.’

He bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’

In that moment, Eddie was a five-year-old child again, and I felt moved to put a comforting arm around his shoulder. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again. I’m sure you won’t recall, but I remember you as a little boy. I was on the boat that brought you over here.’

Eddie smiled. ‘So my father told me. He really thought very highly of you, Mr Tanit. He’d often tell stories of how you saved those men in the opal mines.’

That dramatic day seemed a lifetime ago. ‘Well, without your pa, I’m not sure where I’d be. I owe him a great deal.’

The memorial was very well attended, with well over one hundred people present to watch the priest inter Ralph’s ashes in the gardens of the hall. After the ceremony, I tracked down Ruth Mackenzie, who seemed very touched that I had made the effort to come to Alicia Hall to honour her husband.

There was, however, one individual that I had been desperate to reconnect with in Adelaide today – Sarah. Arguably, I owe all I am today to her caring nature. During the darkest time of my life, her optimism and warmth literally dragged me out of the depths of my despair. But there had been no sign of her.

‘Do you remember her, Ruth?’ I asked.

‘Of course I do, Mr Tanit! In fact, she and her husband have visited Alicia Hall on several occasions over the years. She’s even married to a Mercer!’

‘Is she?’ I asked, my heart soaring for her.

‘Yes. He’s a gentle man called Francis Abraham – the son of Kitty’s boy, Charlie, and her maid’s daughter, Alkina.’

The universe truly did work in mysterious ways. Never could I have predicted that Sarah the orphan would one day become a member of one of the world’s wealthiest families. I recalled her ambitions from our first conversation: ‘I’m ’oping I’ll get a job and make some money of me own. And find a fella!’

Ruth continued her story. ‘It’s a very sweet tale, actually. Sarah met Francis at the Hermannsburg Mission when she visited with Kitty. And never left!’

I clapped my hands together in joy. ‘I’m so thrilled she had a happy ending, Ruth. Goodness knows she deserved one.’ I noticed Ruth wince slightly at my words. ‘Might I ask why she and Francis are not in attendance today?’

Ruth sighed. ‘I know that Eddie tried very hard to contact them. Sarah meant a lot to him in particular. But they proved very difficult to track down.’

‘Why so?’

‘The last address we had for them was Papunya. It’s a great little village, full of creative types. It’s where Francis and Sarah had their daughter, Lizzie.’

‘Named after Queen Elizabeth, I bet! Very Sarah,’ I reminisced with a warm smile.

‘Spot on, Atlas. But Lizzie grew up to be a bit of a tearaway. She met a man in the village, who was a painter. Toba, I think his name was? He was a very talented Aboriginal artist, but I’m afraid to report that he was also a drunken reprobate. Sarah and Francis wouldn’t give permission for their marriage. So Lizzie and the man eloped.’

It didn’t escape my attention that Lizzie shared her mother’s headstrong personality. ‘I see. Where did they go?’

Ruth sighed. ‘That’s just the thing. No one knows. Apparently, Francis takes Sarah on enormous treks through the outback to try and find their daughter. They’ve basically become uncontactable.’

Poor old Sarah. She deserved nothing but happiness, and it seemed her own flesh and blood was denying her that. ‘I would have dearly loved to have seen her,’ I said to Ruth. ‘Please say when you see her again that I asked after her, and send my very warmest wishes. I’d love to get back in touch after all these years.’

‘I’ll make sure to, Mr Tanit. Thank you again for coming.’

I spent the remainder of the afternoon milling around Alicia Hall, making conversation with employees of the Mercer empire, who all harboured immense admiration and respect for their former boss. Some still worked in the opal mines, and I greatly enjoyed exchanging stories about the old days and methods with them. As the sun began to dip lower and lower in the burning sky, I said my goodbyes to my hosts, and to Alicia Hall itself. It had been an honour to visit one final time. Before I left, Eddie came jogging up to me.

‘Mr Tanit, Mum said you were asking about Sarah?’

‘Yes. I understand you can’t contact her.’

‘No, but . . . I had a thought. The other day I was sorting through some of Dad’s documents, and I found Kitty Mercer’s will. Apparently she owned a house in Broome, which she left to Sarah and Francis, to pass to Lizzie when she got older. If I had more time, I’d investigate it as a lead to their whereabouts. But I’ve got the businesses to run now, and everything’s pretty turbulent.’ Poor Eddie looked terrified at the prospect.

‘How interesting. Broome, eh . . . Whereabouts is it?’

‘It’s a little mining town in the north-west of the country,’ Eddie informed me. ‘You’d need to hop on a plane to get there. But it’s where Kitty spent a lot of her time in the early days. So there’s that, if nothing else. Here, let me write down the address.’

‘Thank you, Eddie.’

The following afternoon, I disembarked the propeller plane at Broome’s tiny airport, having hopped on a connecting flight from Darwin. I took a bus along the port and into the town centre, which was small and dusty. The main road – Dampier Terrace – boasted a courthouse, a rickety tourist information centre and a pearling museum. I realised that the town was where it had all begun for the Mercers many years ago. I looked down the orange, barren road, and pictured the young, fair Kitty melting in the Antipodean sun and longing for the chill of the Scottish wind.

I made for the tourist information centre and asked for directions. ‘Do you know how I find this address, please?’ I asked, handing the attendant the piece of paper I’d received from Eddie.

‘Of course, mate, just follow the main road out of town for about a mile. You can’t miss it, unless you decide to have a walkabout in the bush!’

I followed the man’s instructions. My trek up the road took me the best part of an hour in the punishing heat, and I was grateful to finally see what I was surprised to find was a relatively modest construction. The Broome house was a far cry from Alicia Hall. The house’s wooden frontage was old and worn, and the beams which held up the awning looked like they might snap at any moment. Next to the house was a small tin-roofed bungalow. Given the choice, I’m honestly not sure which I would have chosen to inhabit.

The place was silent, and I didn’t hold out much hope for the presence of any occupants. Nonetheless, I’d come this far, and went to knock on the door. As I climbed the creaking steps up to the porch, I noticed that the front door was ajar. I pushed it open ever so slightly.

‘Hello? Is anybody at home? Hello?’ The house remained silent. ‘Sarah? Are you in, Sarah? Francis?’ I took a step inside.

I made my way through the hallway and called up the stairs but received no response, so I resigned myself to returning to town. As I walked back to the front door, I glanced into the messy kitchen. The tap was dripping into the sink, so I went to tighten it. As I did so, I noticed a half-drunk cup of coffee on the kitchen table with a small amount of mould growing on top. This piqued my curiosity, and I opened the fridge. Sure enough, there was a pint of off milk, along with some stale bread and cheese.

Someone had been here recently. Judging by the state of the perishables, perhaps only a few days ago. With renewed hope, I made my way back into Broome and entered the first bar I came across to quiz the locals.

Luggers was dark and gloomy, but acted as a retreat from the soaring temperature outside. I took a seat on the decrepit bar stool and ordered an orange juice. Once I had built up enough courage, I asked the barman if he knew Sarah or Francis Abraham.

He momentarily stopped polishing glasses to think. ‘Those names don’t ring any bells, mate. Sorry.’

I sighed. ‘No problem. They own the old house just out of town. I thought they may have been here recently.’

A man at the other end of the bar, who was nursing a tall, frothy beer, spoke up. ‘What, you mean the old Mercer place?’

I turned to face him. ‘Yes, that’s exactly right.’

The man scratched his chin. ‘Hmm. Strange. There was someone at the house recently. But not the couple you’ve just described.’

I left my stool and moved closer to him. ‘May I ask who it was?’

He frowned. ‘A young girl. She was up the duff, actually.’

‘She was pregnant?’

‘That’s right, mate, looked like she was about to pop.’ He sniffed and took a swig of his beer. ‘My wife runs the grocery store over the road. She dropped a few bits and pieces round for her a while back.’

‘That’s very helpful, thank you.’

The man shrugged and returned his attention to his drink. Who had been in Kitty’s old home? I would have been inclined to think it was a criminal, but everything looked to be in relative order. Plus, I didn’t know too many pregnant thieves who ordered groceries and made themselves coffee. Could it be . . .

I downed my orange juice and walked out of the bar, the bright sun stinging my eyes. I returned to the visitor information centre, and asked for directions to the nearest hospital. It was a very long shot, but I hoped that the individual I’d just missed at the house had stopped drinking her cup of coffee because she had gone into labour.

I must note, reader, that barrelling into Broome Hospital to ask about a stranger I had never met was one of the more bizarre things I have done in my life. Within fifteen minutes, I had reached a building that looked small and pedestrian. Nonetheless, when I stepped inside, I was pleased to learn that it was indistinguishable from any medical centre in Geneva.

I hurried over to the receptionist. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’m looking for a woman who’s recently had a baby. Or maybe even is having a baby as we speak.’

She chuckled. ‘You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that, mate! What name?’

I paused for a moment. ‘Elizabeth.’

‘Elizabeth who?’

‘Umm,’ I put my head in my hands. ‘Mercer. No, Abraham, I think. Wait, sorry, she got married, didn’t she? I apologise, I don’t know the surname.’

The woman looked at me like I was mad. ‘Are you family, sir? We don’t let just anyone in. Particularly people who aren’t even sure of the patient’s name . . .’

‘No, of course not, I perfectly understand. I won’t ask to come in. I just wondered if you might be able to tell me if anyone by the name of Elizabeth has given birth here recently.’

The receptionist looked reticent to provide me with any details. ‘I really shouldn’t be doing that.’

‘I appreciate that. I’m only asking because she’s the daughter of a friend of mine, and hasn’t been seen in quite a while. I’d just like to make sure she’s all right. Once I’ve done that, I’ll leave, I promise.’

She eyed me up and down. ‘Fair enough, mate. Take a seat, I’ll give maternity a ring.’

I spent a good half hour staring at the wall in the sterile white reception, wondering just what I would do if Lizzie was confirmed to be a patient. My train of thought was broken when I was approached by a woman with nut-brown skin and hazel-flecked eyes. She was dressed in a blue nurse’s smock. ‘Were you the gentleman asking about Elizabeth?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

The nurse gave me a smile. ‘Please follow me.’ She led me down a corridor and into a private room with a bed and two chairs. ‘Please have a seat. My name is Yindi.’ She extended a hand.

‘And I’m Atlas. It’s good to meet you, Yindi.’

‘Are you a friend of Elizabeth’s?’

I rubbed my eyes. ‘That’s a little bit complicated, actually. Elizabeth and I have never met. But I am a . . . relation of her mother, Sarah’s.’ I lied, but knew that as a family member, I would be entitled to more information.

Yindi looked a little sad. ‘Lizzie talked a lot about her mother.’

‘That’s why I’m in town, actually. I’m here to look for Sarah. I went to her house, but found it empty. Then I heard a pregnant woman had been living there recently, which is what brings me here.’

‘Okay, Mr Atlas,’ said Yindi, giving me a pat on the arm. ‘A few weeks ago Lizzie came here. She was in labour.’

‘Did she have anyone with her? Her husband?’

Yindi shook her head. ‘No. She told me about him. He had abandoned her a month or so before.’

‘Gosh, poor Lizzie.’

‘Yes. And her labour was difficult. Nearly forty hours.’ Yindi all but shuddered at the memory. ‘The baby, she was a stubborn one. Didn’t respond to our medicines. So I called upon the ancestors.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ah, you have Aboriginal heritage then?’

Yindi giggled. ‘Can you not tell, Mr Atlas? I asked the ancestors to help the baby. And they did. But they also told me . . .’ Yindi sighed. ‘They told me that the mother would not live.’

My face fell. ‘No . . . So Lizzie is no longer . . .’ Yindi shook her head, and my heart ached for Sarah. ‘What about the baby?’

‘The little girl is healthy, and full of spirit.’

‘I am glad to hear it. May I ask what happened to Lizzie?’

‘She had a very bad postpartum infection. I tried hard to help her fight it, but the only medicines she responded to were traditional, which cannot save a life, merely improve its quality. Lizzie stayed alive for seven days, and the ancestors granted her a week with her new daughter before they took her. I’m sorry, Mr Atlas.’

I sat in silence for a while. I had come to Broome to find an old friend, but instead, had discovered some news which would no doubt devastate her. ‘Where’s Lizzie’s baby?’ I asked. ‘Has she gone into specialist care?’

Yindi gave me a wry smile. ‘No. Lizzie’s baby is here.’

‘Really? Still?’

Yindi nodded proudly. ‘That’s right. I have kept her here for as long as possible. She is a very special child, sir, the ancestors have told me. Full of fire! We nurses have tried to find a family to take her in, but have had no luck.’

I was surprised. ‘Really? As sad as it is, I thought potential adopters were most keen on newborn children.’

Yindi looked downhearted. ‘Yes. But the child is mixed race. People here . . . do not want such a child.’

My stomach turned. ‘Good Lord. How terrible.’

‘It is why I feel particularly protective of her.’

‘I can absolutely understand. I feel compelled to thank you for looking after her, Yindi.’

‘I have done my best to ensure the baby remains under my supervision for as long as possible, just as the ancestors asked me to do. But she cannot stay here at the hospital forever.’ Yindi narrowed her eyes and grinned at me, as if we both shared some cosmic secret. ‘Just today, the paperwork is being processed to hand her over to a local orphanage. What are the chances of that? This very day. And in walks Mr Atlas,’ Yindi said with a knowing wink.

‘That is . . . interesting timing.’

Yindi threw her head back and laughed. ‘The ancestors said you would come. They seem to know you, Mr Atlas.’

Based on the things I had experienced in my life, I was beyond questioning such matters, even if I did not fully understand them. ‘I have enormous respect for the ancestors. I lived here in Australia many years ago. A member of the Ngangkari saved my life, in more ways than one.’

Yindi seemed shocked. ‘Ngangkari?’ she asked, open-mouthed.

‘That’s right, yes.’

‘Mr Atlas . . . I am descended from Ngangkari. My grandparents were healers for the Aṉangu people. It is why I became a nurse.’

A shiver travelled down my spine. ‘My word.’

‘You know the gifts of my people. I try to marry them here with . . .’ – she gestured around the room – ‘penicillin and blood transfusions!’

I gave a laugh. ‘That’s a very powerful combination.’

‘It is no wonder that the ancestors spoke so clearly of you! We are connected by our pasts, Mr Atlas. You are with a Ngangkari once again!’ She put her hands together in prayer a moment, then stood up and made for the door. ‘Come on then!’ she cried.

‘Oh.’ I stood. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I shall introduce you to the baby!’ Before I could say anything else, she had grabbed my hand and started to walk me through the clinical corridors of Broome Hospital. Eventually, we reached a room filled with newborn infants, swaddled and lying in Perspex cribs. Yindi entered and wheeled out a baby who looked a little larger than the others. ‘Come,’ she gestured. ‘We will sit in here.’ I followed her into a small staffroom nearby, complete with sofas, magazines and tea-making facilities. Yindi lifted the baby from the cot. ‘Would you like to hold her, Mr Atlas?’

‘Oh, I . . .’

‘Come on, you’re an expert. You are already raising three daughters.’

‘How did you know that?’

Yindi shrugged. ‘The ancestors. They know everything!’

I sank into the old yellow sofa in disbelief. ‘I’m rather inclined to think they do.’

Yindi passed the child to me, and I cradled her in my arms. She had a searching, probing gaze. ‘You were right, Yindi. She really is very striking.’ I looked across to Yindi, who seemed to be beaming from ear to ear. ‘I feel stupid for not asking before, but did Lizzie name her?’

Yindi shook her head. ‘No, Mr Atlas. After the birth she was rarely fully conscious.’

‘It just breaks my heart.’ The baby whined a little, and I rocked her gently. ‘I know that the papers for the orphanage were due to be completed today, but surely now I’m here and able to identify her grandparents, she does not have to go into care?’

Yindi sighed. ‘I’m afraid that’s not quite true. We have already significantly bent state laws by allowing the child to stay in the hospital for so long.’

‘All right.’ I thought through the other options. ‘If she goes to the orphanage, is there a way that they can guarantee that she will be able to stay until Sarah and Francis come for her?’

Yindi bowed her head in what seemed to me like exasperation. ‘That would not be fair on the child, because there is absolutely no guarantee they will ever come.’

I stood my ground. ‘I’m absolutely positive they will come immediately when they are made aware of the situation.’

‘How do you intend to make them aware? You said you were looking for them. Why have they proved so difficult to find?’ I explained that Sarah and Francis were currently searching the outback for their daughter. ‘Mr Atlas,’ Yindi replied firmly. ‘Do you know how big Australia is? Francis could be leading Sarah on this quest for years.’

‘I take your point,’ I conceded.

Yindi put her hand on my shoulder, and a warm sensation passed through me. ‘Forgive me for being so bold, Atlas, but I think you already know that it was more than chance that led you here today.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The ancestors say that you are to father seven daughters.’ She looked down at the baby.

I stood up and placed the baby back in her cot. ‘Yindi, as much as I would love to help, I cannot take this child away when I know her grandparents would be overjoyed to find her.’

‘They will not find her, Mr Atlas.’

I gently put my head against the door and took a deep breath. ‘How can you say that?’

Yindi pointed upwards. ‘I told you. Ancestors.’ She shrugged.

‘I cannot simply take your word for it.’

Yindi crossed over to me and put a hand on my back. There was that warm sensation again. I realised that I had felt something similar when Yarran had run his hands over my broken ribs in Coober Pedy. ‘You have seen for yourself the power of the ancestors. Trust in them. Do not doubt their path.’

‘I . . .’

‘Mr Atlas, if this child is released to the orphanage today, as she has to be, then there is no chance of Sarah and Francis ever finding her. They might not even learn of her existence. But you could whisk her away to a life of love, comfort and family today.’

‘I came to Australia for the funeral of an old friend of mine, Yindi. That’s all.’

‘You do not see the greater plan. What appear to you as a series of remarkable coincidences were mapped out in the stars long before you or I were born. It is not chance that you returned to Australia when this child needed a home. You returned because it was the right moment.’

Yindi’s words resonated with me. After all I had seen in my life, who was I to question the omniscient nature of the universe? I had a thought. ‘What if I were to take temporary custody of the baby? I will leave the details of my lawyer, Georg Hoffman, here at the hospital, so that if Sarah and Francis do arrive, they will be able to contact me straight away.’

Yindi chuckled. ‘If it makes you feel better, of course you may do that. I will have everything entered into our official records, so that contact may be made. But Atlas, they will not. Never. The ancestors have shown me. She is yours. Daughter number five.’

‘Four,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps the ancestors don’t know everything.’

Yindi looked confused. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘They do.’