G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,27
proudly. “She lived in England.”
“She’s beautiful.” I held the photo gingerly, fearful that one of the dog-eared corners was going to fall off. “And the children are so adorable. They must be about—what? Two years old? I have five nephews who all went through the terrible twos. Is that you in one of the pinafores?”
“Me and Beverley. See the writing on the back? It says Nora—that’s me, and Beverley—that’s my sister. Do you see we’re dressed alike?”
“Yup. Exactly alike. Are you twins?”
Her breath rattled noisily in her throat and she grew agitated. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I want my picture back.” She grabbed it from my hand. “You’re walking too slow,” she snapped at Heath. “Slow, slow, slow.”
“You go on ahid then.” He released her arm. “You won’t git lost. I’ll find you.”
I grimaced apologetically as she barreled down the path with impossible speed. No small feat for a woman with legs like Bilbo Baggins. “Sorry. Wrong question to ask?”
“No worries. As old as she is, talking about that picture still sinds her on an emotional rollah coastah.”
“Why did she ask if I was from the orphanage?” I asked as we continued walking slowly down the path.
“Because her mum put her in an orphanage not long after that photo was taken. We think her da died in the war, and her mum didn’t have the means to raise her, so the orphanage was the only answer. It was common practice in those days.”
“Did her mother eventually go back for her?”
“Don’t know. After the war, the child wilfare groups elected to ease overcrowding by transporting hundreds of orphans to Australia. Mind you, they had the bist of intintions. They thought warmth and sunshine would be bitter for English orphans than damp and rain, but the consequinces were horrid. Children were separated from their siblings. Birth certificates were lost. Personal records misplaced. Not Mother England’s finest hour.”
“Is that what happened to Nora?”
“She inded up in Sydney with only airy fairy memories of her life in England. That photo of her mum is her only link to her childhood. But she was adopted by fine people, who made a home for her in Coober Pedy.”
“Did they adopt Beverley, too?”
“She lost Biverley back in England. Her mum put the girls in separate orphanages.”
I stared at Heath in disbelief. “Why would a mother separate her own children from each other?”
“To give thim a bitter chance at being adopted. People couldn’t afford to adopt two children, and most filt guilty about parting twins, so it was actually an act of kindness on her mum’s part. She had to have loved thim a great deal.”
“Those poor little girls.”
“We’ve been tracking Biverley down for years, but there’s not much of a paper trail to follow. She could still be in England; she could be here in Australia. We’ve dug up a few documents that’s hilped with birth and emigration dates. And there’s a couple of new sites on the internet that deal specifically with the English orphan problem. They’ve given me some good leads. I haven’t told Mum yit because I don’t want to git her hopes up, but the information is so good, we may be only weeks away from locating Biverley. That would be a happy day indeed.”
“Mum?” My voiced cracked in surprise. “Nora’s your…mother? But she’s—” I stirred my hand aimlessly, unable to think of a charitable alternate to “a thousand years old.”
Heath laughed. “She’s not aged will, but she’s fared bitter than most. Life’s harsh in the Outback.”
As I looked down the path toward the eagle cage, I noticed a small commotion, followed by a scene that I knew was going to end in disaster. I sighed as I turned toward Heath. “Park officials wouldn’t allow large, man-eating birds to roam freely around the park, would they?”
“Hard to find man-eating birds in Australia,” he assured me. “The bist we can come up with is an emu, and they’re harmliss.”
I regarded the ostrich-sized bird chasing Bernice across the glade and smiled brightly. “Gee, that’s a relief.”
“I don’t care how much money you collected,” Bernice sniped, “you’re not gettin’ my T-shirt. You’ll have to kill me first.”
“Told you she was gonna be trouble,” Nana said in an undertone.
We’d arrived at Sovereign Hill Park and Living History Museum ten minutes ago and were in the souvenir shop portion of the entrance building, waiting for Henry to hand out tickets. Gold fever had hit Australia a decade after the California Gold Rush, and according