Page 144 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
It all came pouring out: the whole confession about her infatuation and affair with Prince Jay at the same time as loving Sam; wanting to seal off her hurt at Sam’s impulsive local marriage to Pema. She spoke about her discovery of being pregnant– of maid Myra’s discovery– her utter shock at her situation and Olive’s horror.
‘I don’t blame Aunt Olive in the least,’ said Adela, ‘and you mustn’t either. She was so scared of what people would say. But Lexy stood by me. She was incredible. All your old friends were – Maggie and dear old Ina too.’
Clarrie squeezed her hand. She seemed too overcome to speak, just nodding for Adela to continue. So Adela talked about the birth of her son– tenderly and with the profound joy of a mother– in more detail than she had ever done before. Then she steeled herself to tell her mother about giving the baby away and how at first she had felt nothing but relief.
‘It was only much later that I came to regret what I’d done,’ she admitted. ‘Bitterly regret. The moment Joan tried to get me to hold Bonnie, I thought I would faint from the pain inside. Even then I believed I’d done the best thing for him. But now I have this yearning to try and find him. Perhaps he never got adopted because of his Indian blood. And even if he did, I just want to know what happened to him. Can you understand that?’
Her mother’s face was wet with tears, yet she had said nothing while Adela unburdened herself.
Finally Clarrie swallowed and said in a trembling voice, ‘Of course I do, my darling.’ She pulled Adela into her arms and held her, rocking her as if she were a child. ‘I’m so very sorry you had to endure all that on your own. I should have been there when you needed me, but I was selfish in my grief for your father and sent you away. I hope you can forgive me.’
Adela hugged her mother tighter. ‘None of it was your fault,’ she whispered. ‘It’s me that’s sorry for what happened to Dad. Not a day goes by when I don’t regret that terrible trip. I wish I could undo everything. But I can’t. The only decent thing to come out of it all is that sweet baby boy.’
Clarrie smoothed back Adela’s hair and kissed her forehead. ‘Did you give him a name?’
Adela shook her head. ‘But Lexy did– insisted on it. She called him John Wesley – after Granddad Jock and Dad.’
Clarrie let out a whimper. ‘Dear Lexy.’
‘I did do one thing for my baby,’ Adela said. ‘I gave him the swami’s pink stone to protect him. I hope he still has it. Do you think it will keep him safe?’
Clarrie nodded and kissed her brow. For a while they just sat holding each other, their emotions too strong to put into words. Adela felt more at peace than she had since the death of her father. It was such a blessed relief that her mother knew– and did not hate her for it. She shared her mother’s handkerchief to wipe her tears.
‘Is that why you pushed Sam away?’ Clarrie asked.
‘Yes,’ Adela admitted, feeling a new wave of regret. ‘He was so angry at his own mother for giving him up that I knew he would hate me too.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Clarrie pointed out. ‘Isn’t it a little unfair to Sam, letting him go through life thinking you love someone else? It would take courage to tell him, but if he rejected you because of it, then he wouldn’t be half the man I think he is, and you’d be better off without him.’
Adela was startled by her mother’s blunt words. It was distressing to think she might have made the wrong decision. Clarrie stood up.
‘It went quite out of my head,’ she said, ‘but you mentioning Sam and his mother has just reminded me.’
‘Reminded you of what?’ Adela asked.
‘A package came weeks ago addressed to you. I put it in the trunk to stop ants eating it. No idea what it is, but the address was Cullercoats and the name was Jackman.’
Adela followed her mother into her bedroom. In the soft lamplight three framed photographs glinted on the dressing table, the large one of her parents in their wedding finery and two smaller ones of Adela on a pony, grinning, and Harry sitting on a tricycle, frowning with impatience. Her mother unlocked the zinc-lined trunk in the corner and rummaged under a layer of clothing. She pulled out a small brown paper parcel tied with string and handed it over.
They returned to the veranda while Adela pulled it open.
She gasped. ‘It’s a shawl from Sam’s mother. Isn’t that kind of her?’
She part unfolded it. It was soft to the touch, made of thin creamy wool with elaborate green and turquoise embroidery around the edge.
Clarrie fingered it. ‘It’s beautiful. Cashmere I’d say.’
‘Why would she send it to me?’
‘She doesn’t have a daughter to pass it on to. What does the letter say?’
Adela reached for the letter and leant towards the lamp to read it. Her heart began to thud. She read on, her astonishment mounting. She reread it over again, her heart now pounding. She could hardly believe what MrsJackman had written. Was it possible? She looked up at her mother, gaping.
‘What is it?’ Clarrie frowned.
Adela passed her the letter. ‘Read it. This changes everything.’
As her mother reached for her glasses to read, Adela fully opened out the shawl and found the other gift that Sam’s mother had sent her.
