The Daughter

The Daughter

The knocking on the front door had entered Tessa's dream. In her
unconscious mind she flew off the lounge to put an end to the
foreboding noise. As she opened the dream door, she jack-knifed into
reality. The knocking had ceased, replaced by her mother's agonized
moan.

She was thirteen when her dreams were stolen. It was at 6.55pm on
Friday, September 5, 1958. Her Dad had died less than an hour before.
He was murdered, his life cut short at the age of thirty-nine. Her Dad
had asked a young 'lad' to mind the foul language around the small,
regular gathering of town workers and farmers during the closing time
swill at the more respectable pub in town. Her Dad was attacked from
behind and left for dead at the foot of the war memorial in the only
park, only minutes from the pub and moments from home, of an almost
non-existent western New South Wales town.
Tessa idolised her Dad. She had been waiting for him to arrive home
when, exhausted from her tennis round robin of that afternoon, she'd
reluctantly nodded off on the lounge. Her last waking thought concerned
her Dad's unusual lateness. Friday night, when he wasn't on a late
shift at the railway station, was their special time. Tessa and her Dad
played games until very late, indulging in a fierce battle of wills,
with a new challenge each time. This week, her Dad had called Monopoly.
She had been ready; the board set up on the kitchen table opposite her
Dad's place setting, his regular Friday night tea of fish with potatoes
and beans drying in the oven. Her Mum and Tessa had already finished
their tea, and had moved to the lounge. As Tessa drifted off, her Mum
had been complaining about her Dad's inability to just say no to his
mates and the publican's audacity in locking the doors and continuing
to serve after six o'clock.
She dreamt of her Dad sitting opposite in his armchair. It was his
special seat, and no one, not even Tessa, ever dared to placed his or
her bum on the old faded and worn throne. He was silent. He was almost
faceless, his features indistinct. She was scared. Something was
terribly wrong. Her body had tensed even prior to Dr Johnston's knock
at their front door. The pain had taken control of her senses even
before she'd heard a sound uttered from either her Mum or the old
Doctor. On the doorstep of their small railway-owned white fibro
cottage, her Mum had looked into her old friend's eyes to discover the
horrible truth. Their world had fallen apart.
Tessa and her Mum were sedated over the next twenty-four hours. They
had both resisted, each not wanting to delay the suffering. The Doctor
did what he thought best, believing a day of rest and a good night's
sleep would work miracles. They lived in a conservative town in a
conservative time and women and children were to be protected from
reality. Medication couldn't turn back the clock. When Tessa and her
Mum emerged from their groggy state it was to find others, the Doctor,
the Sergeant and neighbours still attempting to control their right to
grieve, telling them what they must be feeling. Tessa's Mum forbade all
but her own sister, due to arrive from Melbourne later that day, from
entering the house.
Tessa and her Mum were unable to say a word to each other.
Acknowledging what had happened was unthinkable. Tessa wanted her Mum,
needed her touch, but knew her Mum only wanted her Dad. Her mother sat
soundlessly in her Dad's favourite armchair for hours, not moving until
her Aunty Helen arrived. That evening, even when Aunty Helen attempted
to illicit something from her mother, she just wept. Tessa could feel
her mother's pain, deepening her own.
Aunty Helen tried to help the pale, red-eyed Tessa, knowing she needed
reassurance, but was desperately worried about her prostrate sister.
Tessa was young - children are resilient. Aunty Helen tried to coax
Tessa and her mother to eat, but Tessa only managed to be swayed by a
small slice of Aunty Helen's chocolate cake. Her mother refused all
offerings.
Aunty Helen had answered the Sergeant's routine questions as her mother
had only managed three words since she had thrown Dr Johnston out of
the house - yes, no and Thomas. Her shock had prevented many questions
from being raised about the details. Aunty Helen felt helpless and
dealt with it all the only way she knew how - to try and shield them
both from the whole messy truth for as long as possible.
They had only a few days of relative quiet. Those few days felt like a
confused lifetime for Tessa. She sat on her iron framed bed for the
most part, hugging her brown teddy she hadn't laid a hand on since she
turned three, staring toward the yellow grassed park. The war memorial
appeared larger than ever before, waiting for further interruptions to
peace. Her Dad had escaped having his named carved in stone only to die
senselessly at its base. She could not believe he had been so close.
How could I not known, not have heard him? She had slept only in fits
and spurts, waking suddenly each time in the hope that reality had been
only a nasty nightmare.
Her mother barely registered day turning to night. She only applied her
lipstick, normally an hourly application, when Aunty Helen finally
conceded to small town protocol and permitted concerned neighbours to
visit after the fourth day. Tessa was allowed only to say hello to
these old family friends, then consigned to her cell by Aunty Helen,
for gossip and rumour had distorted information disseminated through
the Sergeant and Doctor. Such horrific circumstances&;#8230;
Protestant protestations of &;#8230; he surely could have made an
anonymous telephone call&;#8230; and the worst, why haven't they
arrested him? Her mother emerged from her coma on the eve of her Dad's
burial to confront Dr Johnston.
The 'lad' had left her Dad to suffer alone on the cold, hard ground. It
was believed that he had still been breathing as Jimmy confessed to
Father Murphy his sin. It was not Dr Johnston or Sergeant Dawson who
had found her battered Dad bleeding to death in the park. Her Dad died
twenty three minutes after young Johnny Mullins discovered what he
initially thought was some drunken itinerant farm worker while taking a
short cut through the park to increase his chance of less of a belting
from his dad for arriving home after dark.
Her mother demanded to know the truth. She needed to know. The
reluctant and still cushioned answers from the Doctor were soul
destroying. Had her Dad received attention earlier, he would probably
have survived. Both Father Murphy and Jimmy had been made aware of
this. The police were unable to act upon any information that they had
received about the timing of the confession, and there weren't any
witnesses to the assault. Jimmy's mum had actually provided him with an
alibi. The common knowledge of a small town would not be enough to lead
to an arrest. Jimmy's house had been vandalised and Jimmy was on his
way to Sydney. Jimmy would age freely. Her mother discovered just how
senseless her Dad's death had been.
Tessa wasn't supposed to have discovered this information. She couldn't
help but overhear her mother's anguished cries. Dr Johnston tried to
calm her mother, to quieten down, otherwise Tessa would hear. Tessa
interrupted them to demand why - why wasn't she allowed to know? He was
my Dad. I need to know. Everyone else in town knows, so why can't I?
Tessa's mother quickly ushered the Doctor out of the house.
As her mother turned from the closed door, unable to meet her eyes, she
quietly stated that at thirteen, Tessa was too young to understand or
deal with any of this. Also, Tessa would not be allowed to attend the
funeral. Tessa would be minding her young cousins, who were due to
arrive from Melbourne in the morning with another aunty and uncle. Her
mother turned her back on her. The only words her mother had uttered to
her in days had not been those Tessa needed to hear. Tessa retreated to
her room, shaking.
Tessa couldn't understand her mother's reaction to her. She was still
her daughter. She knew it even hurt for her mother to even look at her
- Tessa was her father's daughter. She felt she had also lost her Mum.
The 'lad' had murdered her mother's spirit, and stolen Tessa's life. He
had taken everything. The shock had already given way to hate. She
hated them. How could they do this to me? How could they live with
themselves? I've become the invisible daughter - the invisible daughter
of a dead man. It was all about her. God, she could have another
husband, but I will never be able to have another Dad. It's not fair.
None of it was fair. At thirteen, Tessa discovered what people really
meant by a broken heart. It was nothing like the movies she'd seen or
the books she'd read. It just felt like everything had turned
black.
On the day of the funeral, arranged in every detail by Aunty Helen,
Tessa refused to even look at her mother. Not that her mother noticed.
As the many mourners floated back to the house to pay their respects to
the popular stationmaster, Tessa grew to feel more like an outcast.
Adults were scared to approach children about a subject as
uncomfortable as death. Friends of the family, at the houses of whom
she had often had lunch and played with their kids, barely acknowledged
her. Even her only two young cousins ignored her. She desperately
needed someone to talk to her. She walked through a gathering of men
smoking on the back steps and path, and went behind the chicken shed
down the back of the yard to escape the loneliness.
Tessa returned to the house only when she knew most of the quiet
mourners had left. Dusk was approaching, and people were eager to get
home to put on their tea. She was cold in her Sunday dress and her
tummy was growling. She felt trapped, not knowing where to go. As she
reluctantly climbed the back steps she realised there was one place she
could go. She moved passed her family and into her room to change into
something warm. She grabbed some dried curried egg sandwiches from a
trolley in the lounge room and went out the back door. No one stopped
her. No one asked where she was going.

The earth was cold and rough from where the cemetery workers had yet to
attempt to lay some grass. The many home grown early spring flowers
neatly scattered across and alongside the grave drooped in the crisp
late evening spring air. Tessa moved bunches aside to lie next to her
Dad. He doesn't even have a head stone yet. It's like he never even
existed. She broke down. Her body-wracking sobs echoed through the
Church of England Section, bouncing off the modest stones. She cried
until there was nothing left. She then asked him all the questions that
had been welling inside her.
How could you do this to me? Dads are meant to look after their kids,
not dessert them. How could you just go to work one morning, never to
return home? Why did you have to go for a drink that night? Why
couldn't you have just shut your mouth in the pub? You know Jimmy isn't
quite right in the head. Why do you worry so much about other people,
and yet not care what happens to me? I'm your only child, your special
girl. Why didn't you feel that something bad was going to happen - you
always knew when something was bad? Why couldn't you have waited a half
hour more for the Doctor? How could you just not be there? What am I
supposed to do now? Why now? It's not fair. You always say what a
wonderful world it is. You told me you would always be there for me.
You lied.
It took some time for the tears to subside. Tessa felt drained, her
eyes were almost swollen shut, her head pounded. Though it had grown
quite cold, she still felt the need to be by his side. She let sleep
claim her, hoping to never wake.

Her Dad came to her in her dream. In her unconscious mind, he was the
smiling, almost handsome man she had said goodbye to a little less then
a week ago. She was in her own bed, asleep, and he was sitting on the
edge, stroking her hair. Like when she was little.
He then disappeared. She panicked. He was gone - again. She tried to
bring him back, calling to him.
She opened her eyes only as she felt the warmth of her Mum's
embrace.