The book cover art was sketched by Michael after he read and loved the story. We worked together in Melbourne, Australia. It was twenty years ago now. I first began writing this book in 1992.

NEW EDITION 2023 Romantic adventure. Copyright ©1992. M. E. Harris.

 

CONTENTS

Chapter 1. Hidden Talents Chapter 2. The Painting Competition Chapter 3. Billy’s First Kiss Chapter 4. The Waterfall Chapter 5. Neana’s Trial Chapter 6. The Caves Chapter 7. A New Beginning Chapter 8. Love and Home Chapter 9. A Falling Star Chapter 10. Time to Return Chapter 11. Back to a Hero’s Welcome

 

Hidden Talents

It was April 1956, and in a quiet semi‑tropical country town in Queensland, the local school children were seated for today’s lessons. It was a small school housing only two classrooms. Jane sat with twelve other children of differing ages in one room. There was an empty seat next to hers which belonged to Billy.

Billy’s feather‑quill pen rested in an ink container set into a small round hole on his wooden desk. From the open window beside Jane, a strong gust of wind rushed in, causing her hair to fall across her face. Her striking dark brown eyes flicked toward her teacher as she wrestled to organise her wind‑swept hair.

She missed Billy. She loved him — as much as a thirteen‑year‑old girl could, which was quite a lot for those who knew the weight of young, innocent love.

“Well, seeing Billy is not here today,” announced Mrs Atachon, “David, you will read next. Everyone please turn to page fifty‑six.”

Fluttering pages settled as the class reached the page. Jane hated the way David read. His high‑pitched, nasally voice was so annoying compared to Billy’s gentle, smooth tones. She had looked forward to hearing Billy read while she was getting dressed that morning. Billy made her happy, kept her balanced, and made her laugh. Now she was miserable.

She stood up and left the room, telling Mrs Atachon she needed to go to the bathroom — a request granted without hesitation. Jane left the nasally drone behind and stepped into the open air, greeted by the ever‑present giant green mountains holding still clouds among their peaks. High above, she watched currawongs soaring as a strong breeze rustled across her dress before settling back to calm.

“Where are you, Billy?” she asked the mountains.

Her only reply was the distant laugh of kookaburras.

Billy, in fact, was chopping firewood in the back garden of his family’s home, not far from Jane at all. He put the heavy axe down against a young ironbark tree and looked toward the mountains. It usually didn’t take him long to climb to the summit of Millers Hill and look down on his home village, or gaze out to distant peaks. From up there he knew every house and almost every person who came into sight.

Billy smiled to himself and placed another three pieces of hardwood against the outside wall of the house.

“Why are you not at school?” demanded his father loudly.

The sudden appearance startled Billy. His father led him through the house and out the front door toward his horse and chaise waiting on the red dirt street. Chaises were not common in Buang, but William Lewis, who ran the old saddlery in town, still used the carriage‑making skills his father had taught him. Some residents, including Billy’s father, liked holding onto childhood memories. Surprisingly, Australian cities had abandoned the horse for cars and trucks only thirty years earlier.

“I was chopping the wood you asked me to cut!” complained Billy, resentment rising.

“I told you after school,” corrected Paul, pushing open the front gate — school their next stop. “You’re a bit of a dreamer, son. You are talented, but not focusing like I need you to.”

Paul pushed Billy firmly up onto the seat, then made his way around to the other side, climbed up, and took the reins.

Neana Karcher ran over, standing in front of the chaise with surprise. Her long blue skirt soaked up the muddy pool she stood in. Her big, pretty eyes narrowed into a scolding stare. She was ten years younger than Paul. She loved him, though Paul didn’t know that yet.

“What are you doing, Paul?” she asked.

“He is supposed to be at school, Neana.”

“I can take care of Billy today if you like.” She looked fondly at Billy. “I know how hard it’s been for you since your wife left,” she said softly. “I’ll get his books from school and we’ll talk about what you require of him. Maybe he’ll listen to me. Right, Billy?”

Billy nodded.

Paul looked at the muddy water around her feet, and his face softened. “All right… I suppose it can’t hurt,” he shrugged. He looked thoughtfully at Neana. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Come, Billy. Your father has to get back to work.”

She took Billy’s hand and walked him down the street toward her small house. Billy looked back at Millers Hill looming behind his subdued father. Paul watched them for a moment before pulling the reins and guiding the horse‑drawn chaise back to business. He felt more at ease after her goodwill. Neana had become a close friend.

He checked his Tissot watch as magpies warbled from a nearby gum tree.

“It’s a lovely day for a walk, Billy, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” Billy agreed.

“You know your father really loves you?”

Billy looked at Neana’s muddy dress. “Yes, but he has a short temper these days since Mum left.”

Neana looked away. She wanted to comfort him, but she also wanted to be his step‑mum.

“It’s terrible how she left you all alone to stay in America. Paul’s done so well looking after you all. And you’ve done well too, Billy. Your grades have been excellent, and Mrs Atachon speaks highly of you. You know you’re smarter than me?”

Billy stopped. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. I didn’t learn to write until I was twenty — that was six years ago. Your marks are…” She smiled. “Impressive.”

Billy let out a long breath. “Thanks.”

“I’m a fast learner, and Mrs Atachon’s tutoring is helping immensely. I’m catching up. I’ve not been many places outside Queensland, though. I’ve been to Sydney once.”

“Wow, that’d be all right. What about the Olympics coming up?” Billy smiled, picking up a stick and hitting a tree. “The Australian track and field team are in with a chance, hey?”

They reached Neana’s front door.

“We’ll see… Come on, it’s time for tea.”

Billy sat at her kitchen table watching her make tea.

“Sugar?” asked Neana.

“Yes please — two,” said Billy gratefully.

“Thanks for helping me. Pap gets so angry when I don’t finish my chores. But since Grandfather died too…”

“I thought he was angry at you for not going to school? But yes, I understand,” said Neana, glancing toward the window. “Do you think your father likes me? I mean…” She turned back shyly. “Does he ever talk about me at home?”

“Well… he has said you’re a nice young lady. He does like you… very much,” Billy thought.

Neana looked pleased and sipped her tea.

After tea, she showed Billy to her spare bedroom and suggested he read while she collected his books from school.

When she left, Billy was keen to visit her art room. He walked quietly down the hallway and opened the first door. The room was unkempt. Several paintings hung on the light pine‑coloured walls. A large window filled the room with sunlight. Tins of paintbrushes were scattered across the paint‑stained floor beside an easel.

He closed the door and sat before the easel. He had been here before while Paul gave Neana painting lessons. Billy opened a drawer to find several sheets of canvas — some with only a stroke of paint or an attempted signature. On the desk was everything he needed to paint. Far better than the brushes and paints at school.

Billy didn’t think Neana would mind too much if he painted a little.

Billy raised a brand‑new paintbrush like a feathered quill, dipped in golden paint. He stood in disbelief as a golden sunset appeared before his eyes on the small canvas. He gasped at the beauty. He chased the image across the canvas, desperate not to let it escape. With the vast array of colours before him, he began to capture the vision.

With love, passion, and intense concentration, the sunset slowly formed. Billy smiled as he realised he understood the techniques needed to recreate the image in his mind’s eye. Time held it within his grasp. He swooped and tapped and shook his brush like magic.

In his mind, he stood before the greatest sunset he had ever known. Billy was lost inside this world — a genius unlocking a gift once hidden, creating something that would hypnotise all who saw it.

He was so entranced he didn’t hear Neana calling his name.

Such a painting as Billy produced that day was as if God himself had shown him a miracle of colours.

The door swung open. Neana, out of breath, leaned on the handle. Relief washed over her, followed by annoyance.

“Have you been in here all this time?” she demanded.

Billy said nothing. He was somewhere else.

Neana walked around him and stared at the painting, bewildered. “How on earth did you paint this?”

Billy didn’t answer. He was returning to himself, the trance fading.

The painting was inconceivable to her. She hurried him back to the kitchen.

“Billy, stay here! Your teacher told your father, who is out looking for you. I couldn’t find you! Don’t move!”

The door slammed.

Billy drank some water, then ran back to the art room. He removed the wet painting, placed it in one of his father’s old drying cases, opened the window, and tossed it safely behind some bushes. He returned to the kitchen just as Neana, Mrs Atachon, Mr Tomb, and Mr Posy entered behind Paul.

Paul grabbed Billy and turned to leave.

“Mr Owen,” Mrs Atachon interrupted calmly. “I want to say something to Billy before you… lead him home. We’ve been out looking for over thirty minutes.”

Paul turned Billy to face them.

“All right, Billy?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You were in Neana’s art room just now?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you come to school today?”

Billy sighed. He hated keeping his painting a secret.

“I wanted to chop the wood. It needed to be done. Pap asked me because I didn’t do it yesterday.”

He didn’t mention he had been drawing for hours yesterday and again that morning.

“Isn’t school important to you anymore?” she pressed.

“Oh yes — very. I love school. I just needed some time during the day to do things. Since Grandfather died, there’s been a lot more to do.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about Jeremiah,” she said gently, “but my job is to make you smart like your grandfather and your father. If you’re not where you’re supposed to be, adults get worried for your safety. You wouldn’t be the first child bitten by a dingo or snake. So, Billy… why didn’t you chop the wood yesterday after school?”

Mrs Atachon concluded her questioning. Billy now said the only thing he could say, unless he wanted to make his father even angrier by admitting he had been drawing — something his father no longer liked him doing.

“I was… playing with my pet koala Sam,” lied Billy, dejectedly.

“I’m sorry. If you would excuse us, I will keep him home for the rest of the day. Bill and I need to have a talk,” insisted Paul.

They watched sadly as Paul hurried Billy outside.

Jane crossed the road and nearly stepped in front of Paul.

“Sorry, Jane. Billy’s in trouble, so he can’t talk right now.”

Jane and Billy shared an unhappy glance.

“I’m going to have to take care of you one day, Billy,” whispered Jane to herself. Little did she know that day was coming soon.

“That was so humiliating!” said Paul, momentarily enraged. He led Billy into his room and swung an old leather belt once across the back of his legs. The shock of it brought Billy instantly to tears.

“Pap! You used the belt? You promised you wouldn’t do that again! Grandfather never hit me!” protested Billy coldly.

“Oh… I…” Paul frowned, surprised at himself. He didn’t like punishing the children like that. He said quietly, “Your grandfather used to hit me a lot. A lot.” Paul sighed, unhappy with himself, struggling as a single parent.

He left the room and fumbled for the key in his vest pocket to lock Billy inside.

“It’s a choice!” shouted Billy. “And I am not a child!”

“Sorry,” whispered Paul, locking the door.

“Stop blaming me for everything!” cried Billy.

Paul walked away, then stopped and looked thoughtfully back toward Billy’s door. He nearly turned around to apologise — but he just couldn’t do it.

 

The Painting Competition

Jane lay with her head on her arms, listening to Billy read. She had convinced Mrs Atachon to let him, and she was as happy as she’d been since school ended the day before last.

The clock tower’s minute hand reached the hour at the community hall, causing the four small bells to play the Westminster Chimes. Then the large bell struck three times.

Three o’clock — end of school.

This didn’t please Jane, as Billy put away his book. They gathered their bags and headed out the door together.

“Your father must be looking forward to judging the painting competition tomorrow?” suggested Jane.

Billy stopped and looked at her as she read a poster on the notice board beside the classroom door. Billy began reading it too.

 

The Right Honourable LORD MAYOR’S ART SHOW

To be held at the Community Hall 30th April 1956

JUDGES Mrs Mary Ward Mr Alves Tomb Mr Paul Owen

Entries must be at the Community Hall by the 29th of April, 4 pm. Two paintings per person maximum. Entry fee for locals: one pound.

WINNERS’ PRIZES 1st Prize — 500 pounds 2nd Prize — 100 pounds 3rd Prize — 50 pounds

 

“You must be proud of your father for that?”

As Billy finished reading, the smile left his face. It was the 29th of April today, and in one hour it would be 4 pm.

“Why didn’t I think of this before?” said Billy aloud.

“Think of what?” asked Jane.

“Oh, nothing. I’ve got to go!”

Billy dashed down the steps and flung himself toward his home at the end of the long red dirt street.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” he waved.

“Billy?” complained Jane softly. “You were going to come to my house…”

Dark clouds gathered. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain began to fall onto Jane.

Billy ran straight to his room and stopped at the foot of his bed. From beneath a colourful woven rug he pulled out his painting.

He sprinted to the Community Hall and slid to a halt outside. Breathless, he waited until no one was in sight, then slipped inside through the heavy brass-handled doors.

At the far end of the long aisle between two rows of oak benches, an old man slept at a table. Billy watched as the man woke and left through another door.

Billy ran to the table and placed his painting onto the pile of competition entries, then hurried back out into the rain-drenched street.

The old man returned moments later, unaware of Billy’s actions.

“You’re very talkative tonight,” said Billy’s older brother Andrew.

“I just fell in a good—”

“Mood?” suggested Monica, his younger sister.

“Kind of,” smiled Billy.

“Because it’s your birthday tomorrow?” said Andrew.

“Hmmm… I guess,” Billy agreed.

He turned to watch Sam play on his stump by the window.

“You must be spending too much time with Sam,” said Andrew.

“He needs a wash — he smells,” Monica teased. “But he’s cute and cuddly. Want me to give him a bath?”

Billy nodded.

“You’re starting to act like him,” Andrew joked, pushing Billy lightly and moving his face slowly like Sam.

Billy didn’t push back. He was thinking about the competition. He didn’t expect to win, but the idea of doing well excited him. Maybe even third place.

“I see you’re judging the competition tomorrow?” Billy said quickly as Paul entered the room.

“Hmmm,” grunted Paul, placing a pot of overcooked vegetables on the table.

“You loved to paint once, Pap,” Billy reminded him.

“He did!” said Monica, spooning beans onto his plate.

“Yeah, I did once. See that painting in the hall?” said Paul brightly.

“Yes,” the children said together.

“Before I met your mother, I won several competitions. I wasn’t a bad painter in my day. That painting came second in the Lord Mayor’s competition years ago. I’m one of the judges tomorrow,” he smiled at Monica. “And that painting came third in Brisbane. First in Rockhampton.”

He turned back to serving food, his enthusiasm fading.

“But I made no real money from it. It took years to earn enough from clients after I stopped dreaming. I painted for too long. I had my chances, but…”

He remembered how disappointed Dale had been when he gave up painting.

“Anyway, enough of painting.” He sat down. “Yes, I’m judging tomorrow, Billy. They’re paying me well, and I’m happy with that.”

“Well,” said Billy gently, “I only wanted to come and see you judge the competition tomorrow.” He forced a smile.

“Oh… we’ll see.”

Paul turned to Andrew. “One of the entrants gave us half a dozen good fish for our troubles. You like fish, Andrew?”

Andrew nodded.

“It won’t get them anywhere though. He couldn’t choose the right colours for a peacock two years ago, and he still can’t. Sometimes I get tired of living here… especially since Jeremiah died.”

Paul drank more wine. The children watched him seriously.

“Grace,” he said. “Let us be thankful for this food, and God — whoever you are — hurry up and give a bloke a break.”

He blinked back tears.

“I love what you’ve done with the fish, Daddy,” lied Monica. “Could I cook tomorrow night?”

Paul looked at her, surprised. “You’ve never cooked before.”

“Well, I think it’s time I gave it a try. No promises,” she giggled.

Paul stared at her, then slowly laughed. “Yes. I look forward to it.”

It cheered him up immensely.

“Pap’s going to see Neana tonight,” announced Andrew.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Paul asked gently.

Andrew smiled.

“Do you like Neana much?” asked Monica.

“We’re close friends,” he said. “That’s all.”

But he thought of Dale again. He still wanted her back.

Neana came after dinner and helped put the children to bed. She and Paul talked for hours — laughing, sharing stories, discussing serious matters over coffee and cake. Later they walked to the river and watched the moonlight on the water.

“That’s right,” smiled Neana, tapping Paul’s hand. “I was given a free haircut by Clark today.”

“Free?” she wondered.

“He’s finally entered that painting he’s been talking about for two years,” Paul said, throwing a stone into the river. “You’d be amazed how many free things have come my way this month.”

Neana laughed, covering her smile with her hand.

“After the third free coffee in a week, I realised I was being softened up for the competition,” Paul said. “I’m no turkey though. I won’t take bribes. Well… big ones anyway.”

“That’s funny,” smiled Neana.

“It’s their own fault if they over‑reward,” Paul chuckled.

He looked across the river toward a large house. “No such luck with Don though. He’d rather use Rockhampton lawyers than me.”

They threw stones and watched the ripples shimmer in the moonlight. Paul knew Neana liked him — maybe even wanted him. And for the first time, he felt a flicker of attraction toward her. He lost the courage to take her hand.

Billy awoke thirteen.

At the bottom of his bed, inside a large brown paper bag, were blue shorts, a white cotton shirt, shoes, chocolate, a tin whistle, ginger beer, a beginner’s book on law, and some money.

The children loved how Paul placed their presents in paper bags at the foot of their beds.

Billy dressed, eating chocolate and blowing notes on his new whistle. He found his father at the kitchen table. Helena, the housekeeper, brewed coffee.

“Thank you for the presents, Father,” smiled Billy, blowing another note.

“Ah, Billy, you’re up! That’s all right. Let me see if those pants fit.”

“Can I come with you to the hall?” asked Billy.

“Stand still, please. You know I don’t want you taking too much interest in painting, son. Believe me, it’s for your own good. They’re a good fit.”

Billy started to leave as Helena brought coffee from the pot‑belly stove.

“Wait a minute, son. I have another present for you. Because it’s your thirteenth birthday — the beginning of your teenage years. I’ve told Mrs Ward to expect you mid‑morning.”

“Where?”

“At her house, of course.” Paul leaned back, smiling.

“You want me to take the chaise and pick up Mrs Ward?” asked Billy.

“No — the carriage. Your first solo trip as driver of the carriage,” said Pap.

Andrew entered, drying his hair. “I’ll go with Billy.”

“Not this time, Andrew. Are you up to it, Billy?” Paul grinned. “I promised, remember?”

“Yes… yes, Pap, I’m up to it!” beamed Billy.

“Good. You leave in one hour.” Paul spoke slowly, hands behind his head. “You’re to fetch Mrs Ward at ten o’clock. Bring her to the Community Hall. Feed and water Whitehorse. Clean the carriage. And once you’ve done that, wait outside the front steps until the competition ends. Is all that clearly understood.”

“Yes, Pap,” said Billy. But Billy never quite ended up doing what he had just agreed to do.

The clock tower bells played their melody before ringing seven times. Paul stood watching from the kitchen window as Billy and Andrew managed to put the flags on correctly. Paul was glad of Billy’s keenness. He knew he’d been too hard on Billy lately and decided to go easier on him.

Paul held close to the bit in the horse’s mouth. Billy sat in the driver’s seat — the dickey box — holding the reins in his left hand. He wore a fancy red driver’s jacket, white trousers, and black shoes. An old black hand‑me‑down cap that had belonged to his grandfather Jeremiah as a child sat firmly above his ears. Billy looked brilliant, and he was very good at what he was about to do.

It was a tiny carriage, with barely enough room inside for four people. Usually Paul ran two horses on the carriage, but with a near‑flat run there and back, and only Mrs Ward as a passenger, he felt Whitehorse would manage.

“How did that feel?” asked Paul, holding the bridle.

“Much better. Whitehorse — he’s always good!”

Billy’s young face looked alive and fresh.

“You’ll be fine, son. You’ve done it plenty of times to the market by yourself on the chaise. Just remember you’ll have a guest on board, so don’t go too fast. And let Whitehorse rest when he needs to.”

The horse jumped slightly.

“That carriage will be harder for Whitehorse to stop. On your way now.”

Billy snapped the reins with a flick of his wrists. Whitehorse’s head began to rock higher and higher, trotting faster and faster. Monica stood by the family gate, waving, then she was left behind as the horse hurried away between the giant fig trees and hoop pines that grew on either side of the narrow dirt road leading out of town.

Tall kauri trees dismissed any need for civilisation. Birds called to each other in shrills, back and forth. The wheels of the carriage beat like a clock. The flags fluttered noisily in the wind as the sound of the horse’s hooves echoed through sections of rainforest.

“Woo!” yelled Billy with excitement. His hands were on the reins — his moment. He no longer felt the disappointment of being unable to take the horse and carriage for a ride the day before.

A sudden movement caught his attention. Out of the gum trees, pushing through tall grass and charging into the path of the carriage, came a pack of wild pigs — over a dozen of them, all shapes and sizes, squealing and grunting and bumping against each other.

Luckily they passed safely around the horse and wheels. Whitehorse somehow remained calm as the pigs disappeared back into the forest.

“Woo… you’re not afraid, are you, Whitehorse?” Billy could see the strong muscles of the horse shining in the flashing sunlight across its back. “It’s my birthday today, Whitehorse.”

And with that, Billy began to sing:

“Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday, happy birthday… Happy birthday to me… WOO!”

It was more than forty minutes before the first view of the Wards’ house appeared through the cleared tree line. Whitehorse fought Billy for control and shook his head. Billy had seen this before. He’d thought of stopping two miles back at the creek for him. The carriage was heavier than the chaise, but the travelling had been good.

Mr Ward, carrying a full pail of water, came out from the new wooden Queenslander to greet Billy. Whitehorse came to a stop on the dry soil. Mr Ward placed the bucket down for the horse to drink.

“Good morning, Billy — you’re right on time, mate!” said Mr Ward warmly.

“I know,” smiled Billy, checking his watch. “Is Mrs Ward ready?”

Billy drank from an old glass bottle he kept in a small compartment beside him on the dickey box.

“Mary will be out soon enough. I expect you’re quite thirsty?” Mr Ward said affectionately to Whitehorse. He removed the bit from the horse’s mouth, and Whitehorse drank. He knew Mr Ward from previous trips.

Billy climbed down to stretch his legs. Mr Ward walked off around the back of the house.

Five minutes later he reappeared carrying a long wooden box.

“No problems getting here, Billy?” he asked, brushing the horse.

“None,” replied Billy, checking the carriage.

“Good — let’s keep it that way, young man.”

Billy finished checking the carriage and enjoyed watching Mr Ward fuss over Whitehorse.

“Here — happy birthday!” said Mr Ward, handing Billy a small package.

Billy was surprised. He opened the brown paper parcel to find a strong bone‑handled knife.

“Thank you very much, Mr Ward,” smiled Billy.

“Good for cleaning out horses’ hooves.”

Mr Ward picked up the wooden box. “I’ll just put these tools in the carriage for your father. I promised him last week. Do you know what happened to me this morning?” he smiled.

“I—”

The front door banged open as Mrs Mary Ward burst out in full flight. One hand held her bright floral hat, the other her bag, and she almost ran toward the carriage.

“Are we ready?” she asked happily.

“Absolutely,” smiled Mr Ward, stroking the horse.

Billy placed a wooden block on the ground so Mrs Ward could climb aboard. Once she was seated inside the tiny carriage, eager and excited, the happy party said goodbye and headed for the painting competition.

“I see your father has the flags flying today!” called Mrs Ward, leaning out the window.

This amused Billy, who smiled to himself.

“Yes, Mrs Ward,” he shouted, guiding Whitehorse around several large potholes and into a slow trot. “They look very fine.”

“Yes they do. This is very nice,” grinned Mrs Ward.

They dipped through a small creek. Water splashed high as Whitehorse ploughed through, creating a rainbow around the carriage. Mrs Ward thought it matched her dress, settling her somewhat from the spray.

Whitehorse pulled the carriage up the gentle rise, water cascading from everything. The wheels lost traction briefly before the road levelled and dried again.

Below the mountains, Billy could see Millers Hill growing larger with every sighting as they neared the village. Mrs Ward leaned from the window, talking to Billy most of the way. He heard half of it.

Later, Billy let Whitehorse walk.

“Can you not make Whitehorse go a little faster?” suggested Mrs Ward.

“Afraid I can’t right now, Mrs Ward. He’d have a heart attack if he didn’t walk for a while,” Billy explained calmly. “Don’t worry — we’re right on time.”

Billy smiled and brought out his father’s Securitas pocket watch. It slipped from his hand and fell over the side, but remained chained to his jacket. He pulled it back in and secured it.

Eventually Mrs Ward relaxed with a small decanter of port from beneath a red velvet lid in front of her. She began to sing loudly, and Billy — who knew the song — joined in.

We’re just a little town… But the word’s been getting round… We’re the place to go to see a painting show… So come… along… Say G’day and have some fun And find out who has won…

They finished with a laugh, and Billy set Whitehorse into a trot for the last quarter mile.

Mrs Ward sat back, gazing at her life with wonder. She felt lucky. She had judged this competition for ten years and was very experienced in the art of painting.

Just before they reached the village, a long line of Holden cars in convoy slowed to follow the carriage — FXs and FJs in green, white, and black. Even a brand‑new FE Special in light blue brought up the rear.

Billy angled the carriage out of the rainforest and onto Mango Street. Colourful, well‑dressed children and dogs ran beside them as they neared the Community Hall. The children giggled as Mrs Ward tossed small colourful chocolates haphazardly from the window. Captain Smith watched from under a shady tree and thought her rather reckless.

They stopped outside the hall beside a large crowd. Paul Owen opened the carriage door for Mrs Ward, who fell into his arms — not entirely by accident — and excused herself as she surveyed her special little village.

More shouting came from excited children, some Aboriginal, as another horse‑drawn carriage arrived. It was Lord Mayor Matthew Cochran, with the celebrated painter Mr Rubin beside him. The people watched the flamboyant man with fondness. He still wore his medals over a long purple cloak presented to him by the Premier of Queensland after the war. He always wore it when he had an excuse.

The children thought him funny, but everyone knew he was ruthless when he had a job to do — and sometimes a little intoxicated.

“What did you say before?” asked Paul.

“Not now, Mr Owen,” said Mrs Ward, half pushing him away as she hurried toward the Mayor and Rubin.

Billy sat at the reins, smiling broadly at the colourful gathering.

“Was everything all right?” asked Paul, as the noise settled.

“Yes, fine,” said Billy, gazing at the crowd.

Paul felt proud. Billy had done well.

“Watch, please, Billy,” said Pap, accepting the pocket watch. He turned to admire the two spires and checked the time against the large clock face. The Westminster Chimes began as the minute hand reached centre. Eleven a.m.

Pap fastened the watch to his pocket and took a deep, happy breath.

The swollen crowd drifted into the hall. Paul led the horse through the thinning crowd as Billy relaxed up top.

The Mayor stepped onto the hall steps as the bell rang for the eleventh time. Mrs Ward ignored everyone and stood nose‑to‑nose with him.

“You have to introduce me to this charming gentleman by your side,” she insisted.

The Mayor broke off his conversation and gently removed her grip.

“Mary… that is exactly how I’d describe Mr Rubin. I’m looking forward to seeing what you decide is the best painting this year.”

“A pleasure to meet such a talented man,” she smiled, shaking Rubin’s hand vigorously.

“Pleasure, Mrs…?” asked Rubin.

“Ward. Mary Ward. Please call me Mary,” she bowed slightly.

Several children giggled.

Rubin now realised who she was — and what the smell on her breath was: port.

“Come, let me escort you inside,” smiled the Mayor.

Mrs Ward nearly burst with pride as he walked her in.

The benches were full. Many smiling faces turned to see their Mayor. Children in colourful school dress swarmed him, wearing red and white wide‑brimmed hats. The large white figure of Mary Ward was peeled aside by the relentless tide of children.

Older villagers laughed at the sight. Mayor Cochran laughed too. Mrs Ward did not.

Billy secured Whitehorse, then walked up the steps past several Aboriginal men smoking happily. The hall was packed. They began to sing Waltzing Matilda loudly and sweetly — as they always did before announcing the winner.

Nearly all the villagers were there. Most were well dressed. A budgie sat on one lady’s hat. Children whispered important children’s matters.

This was partly the old way. The new way came from men like Don Bacuss, who sang proudly with a smoking pipe in his mouth, dressed in a new striped Italian suit from Fortitude Valley. Some of his money would be spent by the winners. A recent cyclone had devastated banana plantations in northern Queensland, and the price of his bananas and sugar cane had tripled overnight.

Sun streamed through the high windows onto Paul’s left side. Beside him sat the other judges, Alves Tomb and Mrs Ward. Billy realised he had missed most of the event.

Behind the judges were the top ten easels, with paintings of all designs, shapes, colours, and sizes.

Billy was delighted to see Jane step onto the stage to address the audience as the singing ended.

“You’ll come a‑Waltzing Matilda with me…”

Jane checked her notes. To her dismay, the judges began discussing again. Billy and the villagers watched Pap and Mrs Ward disagree with Mr Tomb. Shortly he consented, and with their encouragement, Jane began.

“Lord Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, and distinguished guests…”

Jane spotted Billy in the crowd and smiled. Billy hadn’t known she was involved and was impressed.

Jane continued:

“Once again we find ourselves here at the Community Hall for the judging of the region’s combined competitions — the Lord Mayor’s Art Show and the Queensland Regional Painting Competition. It has been one of the best in many years, I’m told, and today’s judges have been—”

“There it is!” whispered Billy to himself.

He froze with excitement.

Mrs Ward held his painting.

Was he seeing things?

He watched, breathless, as Paul walked to the centre of the stage with the other judges to give the results. Jane smiled and left the stage. Neana sat in the front row watching Paul with adoration. She had entered a painting but wasn’t too interested in it.

She was much more interested in Paul. She loved him dearly and was fascinated by his presence and charm.

“These are the results,” began Paul. “In third place… Marcus! The Tree!”

A warm show of hands filled the hall. Marcus stood up only a couple of rows back and smartly received his third‑place trophy and fifty pounds from Mr Tomb.

Marcus was six foot tall, with short blonde hair, expressive blue eyes, and dressed casually in black shoes, long black pants, and a short‑sleeved green shirt. He was known as the best new painter in Rockhampton. He was thirty and had been painting for twenty years, but had only recently begun exhibiting his works. This was his second time entering this competition. He had won two other competitions leading up to today — one in Rockhampton and one in Gladstone.

“Thank you,” said the young man from Rockhampton. “What an honour this is. Thank you very much. This means the world to me.” Marcus stared fondly at his trophy. “I shall be able to buy another car now, and not rely on my brother Steve to get me around. Thanks for getting me here today though, Steve. Thanks, mate!”

Steve smiled and waved. The people laughed and clapped in appreciation. Marcus smiled and waved, then returned to his proud brother and friends.

“Second place goes to…” began Mr Tomb, bringing the room’s attention back to the judges. “And may I add — a very surprising result. Mr Rubin!” declared Mr Tomb.

Silence fell over the front of the hall, then pitched expulsions of wonder burst out at what had just happened.

Rubin — a now famous European painter — had not won. All week everybody had been talking about Rubin’s entry as if it had already won, including Paul.

Rubin had been invited to Melbourne and New York to hold exhibitions of his works and would be spending a few more days in the area before going on to Melbourne for the Olympics. This was meant to be a successful farewell to this competition. Was the community putting him in his place, he wondered?

His painting had been on display in a prominent Sydney art gallery leading up to today’s competition. He was handed the runner‑up trophy and one hundred pounds, which he accepted with great courtesy.

Rubin was tall, with a prominent hooked nose and bright blue eyes. His distinguished suit was of fine quality, and shiny Italian leather shoes carried this highly successful painter. On top he wore a black trilby hat.

Rubin spoke with the judges and was allowed to see the winning painting first. With a cough, he took out his glasses and began to study the work. A full minute passed before his eyes left the page. This only tightened the curious, electric atmosphere in the hall. People strained to read his face.

Rubin handed the painting back to Mrs Ward and faced the gallery. He began to clap — and sure enough, the rest of the room clapped along with him, for him, for it.

Billy was frightened. He looked around the room. Was this something he could deal with? It was like a dream.

Mary Ward quickly moved forward with Billy’s painting. No one knew it was his.

“NEANA KARCHER!” called the judges together.

“Come on, Neana!” waved Paul encouragingly.

Neana was astounded and shook her head, not moving from where she sat in the front row. She had not noticed her entry at all. Her eyes had never left Paul. She was perplexed, the noise overwhelming.

People pulled her to her feet. She took a step forward. The applause and shouting were incredible.

Neana’s attitude changed as she noticed Paul reaching his hand out toward her. She still shook her head in disbelief. She adjusted her high‑rimmed glasses, tidied her long cream‑coloured skirt, checked her ribbons, and took a huge breath. She wished she could check her makeup, but she walked up the stairs to Paul.

“Really? Are you sure… mine?” frowned Neana, disoriented.

The look on Paul’s face was one Neana had never seen before. She could tell Paul accepted her now. Neana edged toward him. Everything she wanted was only a handful of steps away.

Neana felt Paul’s hand take hers and guide her onto the stage. It was a moment she would never forget. Everyone congratulated her for her winning painting. She turned to see Mr Rubin looking happy for her — but puzzled.

Billy watched Neana fling her arms around Pap, embrace him, kiss him, and smile at the other judges. Neana was clearly elated. This was her most wished‑for desire. Paul was overwhelmed with joy too, and held her close. He now loved her.

The crowd cheered as if they were seeing newlyweds. Paul, tall and broad‑shouldered in long brown pants with braces over a white cotton shirt — his jacket hung over his chair — stood with his arm around Neana.

Neana told Paul she loved him softly. Paul moved back a little at the realisation of her words. A feeling of relief and need washed over him.

“I am so proud of you, Neana,” smiled Paul. “Now you’re really something, aren’t you?”

“Oh Paul darling, this is the most wonderful moment of my life, and it’s got a lot to do with you. Thank you for teaching me.”

“You’re very welcome,” smiled Paul.

Neana now noticed Mrs Ward handing her a painting — one that was not hers. She looked back at Mrs Ward, unsure.

“I don’t know how you came to master your brushes, oils, and colours so suddenly,” said Mrs Ward, “but I agree with Mr Rubin. It is a masterpiece in so many ways. Congratulations, dear!”

Neana was devastated. She could not speak as she realised it was Billy’s. Her world crashed down around her and nobody knew.

She stood staring at Billy’s painting in disbelief. Tears formed in her eyes. What a disaster, she thought.

Billy took the painting from Neana’s trembling hands.

“I painted it — not Neana!” scowled Billy.

He watched the smiles vanish and anger boil in everyone’s faces as they stepped forward to grab him. In seconds, Billy sidestepped the judges’ outstretched hands, ran across to a large open window, and was gone.

Paul saw Neana unable to speak and let out a large anguished cry. A quiet settled over the room. Paul looked at everyone in embarrassment, then shook with stress. He’d heard Billy say it — but it was too much.

The hall was shocked. Several children began giggling uncontrollably, as did some parents. Some people didn’t even know Billy. Others further back hadn’t seen what happened at all.

“I’m so sorry, Neana. I’m sure it’s just a joke,” hoped Paul, running to the window to see Billy at the reins of the carriage, leaving.

Neana turned to look at everyone’s stunned faces.

“Do not let the boy spoil the day!” bellowed a voice.

“What has he done?” shouted another.

“Has he gone mad?”

The hall exploded into uproar.

“Silence!” shouted the Mayor, to little effect. “Please… silence!”

“Oh…” cried Neana, placing her hands over her face. The situation caused her great anxiety. Paul would feel a fool for his actions toward her. She fell to the floor unconscious.

Captain Smith told Mooloolaba, an Aboriginal constable beside him, to find the boy, while he rushed to Neana’s aid. Paul was there first and lifted her, carrying her to a back room and laying her gently on a large wooden table. He slid his jacket under her head.

Doctor Roberts excused himself to examine her.

Jane walked up to Mrs Ward.

“I don’t believe this. Neana made it all up for some reason. Billy wouldn’t lie. I think he entered that painting yesterday. He was very excited about it.”

“That’s Neana’s painting,” said Mr Tomb, showing Jane the signature.

“I don’t understand how she painted it either,” admitted Mr Tomb to Mr Posy, shaking his head. “It’s clearly her signature though, and she paid her entry fee.”

“Did you see Billy enter it?” asked Mrs Ward.

“No, but I’m convinced he did,” Jane insisted. “He was excited when he found out about the competition yesterday afternoon. He must have entered it then.”

“Don’t be silly,” leered Mrs Ward. “A boy like Billy couldn’t paint such a complicated work of art.”

“I’m greatly saddened by what’s going on here. Accept my apology,” said Paul, approaching the judges.

“What’s happening here, Paul?” asked Mr Tomb. “This is an outrageous predicament.”

“It’s not Paul’s fault,” argued Mrs Ward. “Go and sit back down now, young Jane,” she demanded.

Infuriated, Jane turned and marched out of the hall. She ran down Mango Street toward Billy’s house, crying. She knew she needed to talk to Billy to find out what was going on.

Billy was frightened. What had he done? What had Neana done? Why was this happening to him? He didn’t want to see anyone. He wanted to hide. He wanted to run away. But where?

Into his canvas shoulder bag he tossed some items. He picked up tiny Sam — who was coming whether he liked it or not — and placed him inside as well.

Tears ran down Billy’s face. He wiped them away sadly as he ran out the back door, unable to stop crying.

Billy stood unsure, looking up at Millers Hill, snatching little breaths between tears. Emotion had the better of him. He was confused, scared, overwhelmed. The sadness left him exasperated.

“Where shall I go?” he asked Sam, his pet koala.

He placed his hand over his face.

Then — a memory. A spark. A path.

“I’ve got it!” said Billy with relief. “The Caves!”

Within a moment the tears disappeared. He ran over and picked up a freshly fallen clump of gum leaves resting on the dry grass under the big old tree. Sam moved deeper into the bag as Billy pushed the leaves in, and Sam happily ate.

Billy took off and began climbing the path to the top of Millers Hill.

He was thirsty, but he didn’t want to stop. He continued up the hill, sweating heavily. The sun sank lower. A beautiful sunset was forming, but he would not see it today.

He made his way down the other side to the road that left his troubles behind. He waited to make sure no one was coming.

Billy’s grandfather Jeremiah had taken him to the Capricorn Caves twice before he died at sea. They were a long walk north, and it would take some luck to find them again. Maybe tomorrow he would. He knew this was right. He loved the caves and felt he would find peace there.

He was tired of the villagers.

“That is her signature,” agreed Rubin.

“Oh, this is all out of control,” said Paul. “What has Billy done?”

Neana lay silently, saying little to Doctor Roberts. She kept her eyes closed, not knowing what to do. How would Paul ever want to see her again once she told him the truth? Her world was a mess.

In the hall, some younger people laughed at what had happened. To them it was funny — but it was not funny to Billy or Neana.

Captain Smith ordered those laughing to leave the hall. Many people sat in stunned silence. Their renowned annual competition had turned into an unhappy experience. People talked of nothing else.

“How had it started?”

“Maybe that’s it. He didn’t like us kissing,” Paul said, panicking.

“He misses his mother too much. We shouldn’t have kissed. I have to apologise for my son’s actions, everyone.”

“I’m afraid it has gone too far for such an easy ending yet, Paul,” began the Mayor, coming over to the group of judges.

The whole hall went stony quiet again.

“Indeed, when it is found who is telling us the truth, then someone shall be in big trouble. After all, that is our way.” He paused. “Albert?”

Albert sat in the front row and said nothing, only shook his head. The Mayor looked worried now, before seeing Don Bacuss.

“Ah, Mr Bacuss, sir?”

“Yes, Lord Mayor?”

“What do you think of this?”

The Mayor’s eyes moved slowly from Albert to where Bacuss sat smoking his cigar. Bacuss excused himself from a member of the gallery and stood.

“Five hundred pounds is a lot of money… Billy could have painted it, Lord Mayor,” began Bacuss. “Painting is a subject here in school. His father was a very good painter once. That would have inspired him.”

“Bacuss, I’m surprised at you,” said Paul. “We all know Billy’s not a painter. I don’t give him lessons.”

“Doesn’t it seem odd to you, Paul, that he happened to be where the painting had occurred?” said Bacuss, blowing smoke out the open window. “I heard Billy had spent time at Neana’s house recently, and Billy was adamant of his ownership.”

“Did you see the power of that piece?” interrupted Rubin, chuckling. “I also find it hard to believe either Billy or Neana painted it. As far as I can tell — unless you can show me some paintings from Billy?”

Mrs Atachon took a mental note to look in Billy’s desk later.

“Enough,” said the Mayor, gesturing with his hand. “I can see exactly what needs doing. This is an important matter.” He coughed. “This needs immediate attention. An open hearing. Yes — a community trial… tomorrow.”

“But Mayor?” protested Paul, distressed.

“Don, you’ll put forward a case for Billy. Paul, you’ll be supporting Neana. I know he’s your son. I’m sorry. Perhaps you’ll lose?”

The Mayor placed his arm kindly on Paul’s shoulder and said brightly:

“People of Buang!” He looked to his clerk. “Take note. A community trial will be held here tomorrow to find out, conclusively if we can, who’s really telling the truth.”

His last few words came out slightly off‑pitch and croaky. He shook his head at several people arguing.

“Everybody out!” he waved. “But please return for the open hearing here tomorrow at… noon.”

Constables began waving their arms, encouraging people to leave the hall.

One of the Aboriginal police constables, Mooloolaba, came to the front and informed Captain Smith of Billy.

“Mooloolaba tells me your son is not at home, Mr Owen,” said Captain Smith.

Paul breathed out. “Maybe he’s gone up Millers Hill.”

“Has he run away with the winning painting? Oh God, no!” complained Mr Tomb dramatically.

“I don’t know — maybe,” answered Paul.

“Mooloolaba… you’re in charge of finding the boy,” stated Captain Smith dryly. “I don’t need a whole town wandering off into the night and getting injured or lost themselves.”

Paul scratched his head, wondering what was happening. The police tracker nodded and followed Captain Smith out of the hall.

“Mr Owen, I still need to be taken home,” reminded Mrs Ward sadly. She had never left the competition feeling so disparaged.

On the way to gather his car, Paul bumped into Mark Marks — a small red‑headed man wearing glasses and a large brown hat. Paul’s partner in the law firm Owen and Marks.

“We have a bloody important trial beginning tomorrow, mate.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Mark. They watched Neana being taken home by Doctor Roberts. “Come over early tomorrow to discuss it. Blast this Mayor!” complained Paul.

“I’ll see you at eight,” said Mark quietly, leaving.

Jane finished placing items into her bag and set off to find Billy. On the way out she grabbed her dad’s lantern.

Late rays of afternoon sunlight faded from the hall. An old man swept the floor with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. In the back corner, a couple sat talking about the now infamous incident, still enjoying the atmosphere. They had found the whole thing very entertaining.

“The thing is,” began Rubin, standing by the front door, “I was shown a painting of Neana’s yesterday. She did not paint the winning painting. I am positive of that.”

“Right,” said Bacuss, lighting his pipe and blowing smoke into the fading light. “Could you make a copy of it?”

“No chance… but I could write down what I remember of it. A sort of page of description,” said Rubin, rubbing his chin.

“She didn’t paint it?” asked Bacuss again.

“No. But think, Don… if it was Billy who painted it, he has incredible talent for a boy his age. Or he stole it.”

“Was it really that good, Rubin?” Bacuss showed doubt.

Rubin laughed knowingly.

“Don,” he said firmly. “It was exceptional. I’ll see you tomorrow. If I don’t, I’ll leave the description by your front door.” Rubin nodded and left. “I want that painting protected. Good day!”

“Very good,” said Don, before whispering, “Hmm… or is it?”

Bacuss played with his moustache. He had thought about joking with Rubin over Neana and Paul’s apparent love for each other, but thought better of it. It would come out in the trial. These things always did.

As much as he believed it possible Paul and Neana had set it up, the conclusion seemed dubious.

“I don’t know, Matthew,” said Albert Homes, a famous art critic and friend of the Mayor, getting into the back seat of the ’56 Special that would take him home to Brisbane. “This will be great for Queensland, whoever painted it. Rubin was beaten — fairly and squarely, it seems to me. I won’t say anything just yet. But you know how fast word travels, Matthew.”

He grabbed the Mayor’s arm and squeezed.

“If it is Billy’s — we have ourselves a real star in the making for my Brisbane exhibition. I saw that painting, Matthew. Us Queenslanders can count ourselves bloody lucky. It’s a world‑beater. Get him back!”

“Ah… of course, Albert. I’ll send word of the outcome tomorrow,” smiled the Mayor calmly as the chauffeur‑driven FE Holden pulled away.

Once Albert was out of sight, the Mayor cursed and kicked at the dirt. Captain Smith chuckled from his police office window.

 

Billy’s First Kiss

Billy’s ears pricked up at the approaching car and he made his way back into the bush. It was his father’s car, with Mrs Ward seated beside him. The light was fading as Billy began to cry again.

He walked back onto the red dirt road, listening to the distant sound of the FX Holden heading toward the Wards’ residence. Billy had been walking nearly three hours. Sam knew a good ride when he saw one and sat quietly in the bag, listening to the evening sounds.

It was only a short distance to the turn‑off to the Wards’ house. Past it, potholes appeared more frequently, causing Billy to stumble in the near darkness. A near‑full moon shone over the horizon, softly lighting the puddles ahead. Night began its passage.

Billy placed his bag down. Sam crawled out and stretched. In the forest, a pair of powerful owls looked down from a bunya nut tree. The larger bird swooped and nearly snatched Sam away. Billy hurried him back into the bag and ran on, though he needed to rest.

Night brought the rustlings of new life. Day birds finished their calls; night birds began theirs.

Billy was tired. His mind raced with the shock of the owl and the chaos at the hall. He would go back to the village soon — but he needed time to think.

Why did Neana do it? Why?

Billy was heartened when he found the start of the trail. Soon he came across an old gum tree with a large opening at its base — a place he had played in with his grandfather Jeremiah. He decided to sleep there.

He cleared the floor of twigs and leaves, but the tree trunk was uncomfortable. He stretched out on his small blanket and tried to sleep.

“Billy?”

A voice came from the dark.

Billy gasped, peering into the blackness. He moved to the opening of the tree. A figure holding a glowing lamp approached along the road.

He stumbled toward it.

“Billy? Oh Billy, where are you?” the voice called.

“Jane!” exclaimed Billy, surprised.

“AAAAAA!” screamed Jane, thrusting the lamp toward the sound.

“It’s me!!” said Billy, stepping into the light.

“Billy? Oh Billy — you frightened me, you frightened me,” complained Jane, hand on heart.

“I’m sorry. You frightened me too,” said Billy.

“What are you doing all the way out here?”

“What am I doing out here?” protested Jane. “What about you? And why did you run away? What is going on, Billy?”

Billy looked at her without speaking. He was stunned, upset, exhausted. He turned away.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he sulked.

“Please, Billy… I stood up for you after you ran away,” said Jane softly.

Billy turned back sharply.

“You did?” he said, amazed.

“I told Mrs Ward I thought you painted it. I believe in you. My mother nearly died of embarrassment. So I know why you ran away.”

“No — you don’t know why I ran away. Only I know why.”

They stared at each other — frustrated, tired.

“Anyway… thanks for sticking up for me,” Billy finally said. “Maybe you do know why.”

“That’s right, Billy,” encouraged Jane. “I will always stick up for you. You’re my best friend. I… I love you, kind of.” Jane looked embarrassed. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”

Billy’s face brightened.

“You love me?”

“Well… yes,” said Jane honestly.

Billy looked at her affectionately as her striking brown eyes flicked up, then away again. He rubbed her shoulder.

“Prove it,” smiled Billy.

“I’m standing here in the dark far away from home looking for you, Billy,” protested Jane. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No, no — not that. I’m really impressed by that. I mean… with a kiss. Sorry. You said you loved me, and I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

Jane took a big breath, releasing tension.

“Okay,” she smiled beautifully.

She took in his gentle eyes. She had wanted to kiss him for the longest time.

Billy let out a relaxed sigh, put his hands on his hips, looked at the moon, and smiled. Jane giggled.

“All right, Billy. Ready?” she laughed. “But just one kiss.”

Billy’s smile broadened. He stepped forward — and tripped, slightly stepping on Jane’s foot.

Jane closed her eyes. They shared a quick kiss, gently holding each other’s wrists.

Billy stepped back and saw Jane’s eyes still closed. She looked content. He felt changed.

“Wow… if I had known that’s what it would feel like kissing you, Jane, I would have asked sooner. I’ve wanted to kiss you, but was afraid to ask. I thought I’d embarrass you. And myself… in case you said no.”

“Okay,” said Jane. “My first kiss.”

Billy waited for her to agree — but she didn’t.

“Your first kiss too, right?” he asked.

Jane looked slightly disappointed.

“Well… no. I have kissed once before.”

Billy looked shocked.

“Who? Not Adrian Jones?”

“No, not Adrian… it doesn’t matter,” shrugged Jane.

“It does,” frowned Billy. “I want to know.”

“Justin Charmers,” admitted Jane.

Billy was stunned.

“What? Justin Charmers? That snobby cobber from Sydney?”

“I’m sorry. He was nice. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone else since then,” sighed Jane.

Billy looked even more shocked.

Jane realised how it sounded and quickly corrected herself.

“No, Billy — I mean I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone but you since then. And if Justin Charmers was here right now, I’d tell him to go back to Sydney. Honestly. I wait for you every day. Only you.”

She took his hand, pulled him close, and kissed him again — eyes full of concern.

“I need you to accept this, Billy. It’s very important.”

Billy smiled again. “Okay. But hey — you’ve cheered me up, Jane.”

“Yeah,” laughed Jane. “I think we’ve cheered each other up.”

They hugged. Billy accepted the lamp from Jane.

“Come on. We’re sleeping over here tonight, if you want?” smiled Billy.

“Here…? Not home?” replied Jane, unsure. She followed Billy to the tree.

“Where are your shoes?” asked Billy, stepping around a log.

“I stepped in a puddle and got my left shoe soaking wet. They’re in my shoulder bag.”

“You’re brave for walkin’ all the way out here by yourself, Jane.”

“More like a little silly,” said Jane, relieved she had found him. “I was really scared. I was hearing all sorts of noises around me. Do you know how I found you?”

“How?”

“I was following your footprints on the road. That’s how I found you. I knew they were yours. I’ve watched your bare feet leave footprints on Mango Street many times.”

“Yeah… wow, that’s tops. I’ve watched yours too,” smiled Billy.

An owl hooted from a short distance away.

Billy stopped in front of the tree. “Here we are, Jane. Home sweet home,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve got a small blanket here on the ground.”

Jane smiled at the sight of Sam peering out from Billy’s bag in the lamplight — then screamed as a large spider moved slightly. She took her shoe, killed it, and swept it outside the tree. She then sat down, picked up the koala, and cuddled him.

“I hate spiders,” shuddered Jane.

Billy placed the lamp to the side and twisted it into the earth. “It’s a stroke of luck you brought your lamp, Jane. I couldn’t see a thing.”

Just then the flame flickered and dimmed in the kerosene lamp. Billy looked at Jane as they both heard the sound of an animal walking through the undergrowth. It was closer now. Then it stopped — almost outside the tree.

Billy found his bag under Sam and pulled out the bone‑handled knife.

“What do you think is out there?” whispered Jane.

Billy was suddenly gripped by the fear that it could be a dingo. He held the knife in front of him and yelled:

“HEY!”

The sound of a small wild pig scurried away into the darkness.

Jane took out a wineskin filled with water from her bag, took a sip, then offered it to Billy.

“Thanks. It’s full! It’ll give us more time to find the waterfall in the morning, as we head for the caves,” said Billy.

“What? The caves? I hear they’re amazing, but I haven’t been there. Aren’t they a long way north? Are you sure we shouldn’t just go home?” asked Jane.

“No. The waterfall. Then the Capricorn Caves. How about it? We could go to the Darumbal people’s caves my grandfather used to take me to. Just for a day. Then we’ll go back. I don’t expect we’ll get to the caves until late afternoon.”

“Do you know how to get there?” asked Jane.

“Yes. I’ve been there before… twice… but not for years. We’ll find them. For sure, mate.”

“All right… I agree to go. Just for one day though.”

“Tops!” smiled Billy.

“It’s terrible what Neana did,” said Jane coldly. “They all said it was Neana’s. I saw the look in their eyes. They were really angry with me.”

“Neana knows I painted it.”

“I didn’t get to see it properly.”

A smile came to Jane’s face as Billy handed Sam to her. Billy knew she loved Sam. While she cuddled him, she was surprised to see Billy hold out his painting beside her. Her jaw dropped at the amazing scene.

“How on earth did you do that, Billy? I’ve seen you do some good sketches in pencil, but this is…”

Jane couldn’t explain it.

“What sketches?” asked Billy.

“What? Oh — your mother, for one.”

“Oh.” Billy smiled. “Mother knew Pap didn’t want me to sketch. Pap always discourages me from it.”

“He said not to sketch?” asked Jane, still studying the details and colours.

“Yes. All the time,” said Billy matter‑of‑factly. “He used to just ask me to do something else. ‘Billy, come with me. Bill, can you do this, can you do that.’ One day he threw a bunch of my sketches into the pot‑belly. I’ve kept it a secret since.”

Jane felt so relieved she had found him.

“Oh, the look on Mrs Ward’s face when I challenged her. I love what you’ve painted.”

“Thanks,” said Billy, re‑tying the painting and placing it back into his bag. “I’ve still got that sketch you did of your mother.”

“I’d forgotten I’d given it to you. Thanks for believing me, Jane.”

“You’re my best friend, Billy. I think we suit each other. We’ll find out what’s at the bottom of all this, mate.”

Billy leaned back on part of the blanket.

“We should blow out the light,” said Billy.

“I can’t sleep with no light,” explained Jane, leaning into him, still enjoying the moment.

Billy put his arm around her. They had sat side by side many times before, but this was the first time they had cuddled.

“My mother will be so worried about me,” realised Jane.

“Mine too, I guess. Or so she says. But I do miss her.”

“Of course. I’m sure Pap would be worried about you too.”

“He’ll be angry with me for the rest of the year,” sighed Billy.

“Serves him right,” Jane smiled. “Just you and me against the world.”

Billy smiled. “I’m not worried anymore now that you’re here and you believe in me.”

“Agreed,” said Jane.

It was eight o’clock at night by the time the six men with lamps and torches reached the top of Millers Hill.

“Billy!” shouted Paul. “Billy, where are you? Jane?”

The men spread out, torches swaying in the darkness. They had spent over two hours searching the places young people liked to gather.

“I don’t think he’s here, Paul,” said Mooloolaba calmly.

“I can’t go looking for him now,” said Tom. “My other children are alone.”

“My wife’s expecting our third child,” said Will.

“We’re not prepared for this,” said Tom.

“I’m willing to look more, mate,” said Louise.

“Me too, cobber,” said George.

“I suggest you go back down. I’ll check with you early morning, mate. If he hasn’t returned, then I’ll track him,” said Mooloolaba.

“Well, the Captain says it’s your call, Mooloolaba,” said Paul.

Their faces shone in the torchlight, shifting with every gust of wind.

“Very well, let’s head home,” said Paul.

“I’ll stay here a bit longer by myself,” said Mooloolaba. “I need to check for tracks.”

“You do that,” said George.

Mooloolaba looked at the road leading out of Buang in the moonlight and thought of what lay ahead. He knew nothing was certain when searching for people.

Once he had been sent to find a man named Davis, possibly bitten by a snake or injured after failing to return from a Fitzroy River fishing trip. Mooloolaba searched and searched but could not find him. Finally he found footprints — dingoes and a human. He feared the worst.

An hour later he found Davis. The man had climbed a tree like a “silly bugger,” fallen, knocked himself out, and broken his leg and arm. When he woke, dingoes surrounded him. He had beaten them away with a branch. When Mooloolaba found him, the dogs were waiting for him to pass out again.

He had been lucky.

Now, Mooloolaba looked at the fresh pairs of footprints heading away from Buang. He set off after them, but light rain soon washed the tracks away. Regretfully, he turned back to organise his absence. Captain Smith had insisted he wait until dawn for any extended pursuit anyway.

“So he’s run away, Daddy?” complained Monica, slouched unhappily in a big cane chair, rubbing her feet. She had feared this all afternoon.

“For the moment. He’ll be home soon,” said Paul.

“I don’t understand why he would do such a thing. Damn — the boy must really dislike something I’ve done. But what, Monica? Does he hate me?” Paul’s voice cracked under the pressure of the day.

“He doesn’t hate you, Daddy,” said Monica reassuringly. “He looks up to you. But… I think he did paint it.”

Paul looked shocked as Andrew entered the room. He had been at a friend’s house in a neighbouring village and had not gone to the competition. He wondered why the neighbour’s children had said strange things to him at the gate.

“Has Billy done something wrong?” asked Andrew.

“He took the winning painting from Neana in the Community Hall and ran away with it and then—”

“Monica,” interrupted Pap, but she continued:

“He took the carriage back home without asking and has run off into the bush and Jane’s missing too!”

“MONICA!” shouted Paul.

“What?” shouted Monica.

Both children stared at their father, startled. His voice had been very loud.

A knock came at the front door.

“Sorry for shouting. I’m sorry. Just… stay calm. Or I should stay calm,” said Paul, raising an apologetic hand before rubbing his hair and walking down the hall toward the insistent knocking.

“It’ll be all right, don’t worry.”

Once Paul was far enough away, Andrew and Monica whispered about Billy and their angry father.

Paul opened the door to find Neana standing sadly before him. She had changed her dress and her hair was unkempt, tumbling over her shoulders. She turned back, embarrassed by the people walking past and staring.

“May I come in?” asked Neana gently.

“It’s not a good time.”

“I have something I have to tell you,” insisted Neana.

Paul looked into her eyes and could not refuse.

“All right, come in,” he said, glaring at the nosy reporter Henderson before locking the door.

Neana followed him into the lounge room and stood across from the children.

“Say goodnight, children. I have some things to discuss with Miss Karcher.”

The children didn’t say goodnight and went to their rooms. Their beds were a welcome retreat from the chaos surrounding their brother.

Neana followed Paul into his study. Paul sat at his desk, picked up a pen, and motioned for her to sit.

“I hope you’re feeling better. Billy’s not back yet.” Paul looked into her eyes, hoping what she was about to say would end this nightmare.

The town clock struck ten.

“Well, you see, Paul…” Neana slumped forward over his desk. “I didn’t paint it!” she cried into her arms.

Paul’s eyes widened in shock. He watched as Neana flung her face upward, tears streaming from her shattered world.

Paul clasped his hands together. “Please — who painted it?” he asked, pushing his handkerchief toward her.

“It was Billy!” Tears ran down her face.

Paul began bawling into his hands.

“Oh God… Billy painted the sunset?”

He stumbled to his feet, picking up his handkerchief. He had been so impressed by the painting, it had never even crossed his mind that Billy could have painted it.

He dried his eyes.

“It was incredible to think it yours. Billy… crikey, he’s a way better painter than I am… Why the hell didn’t you tell me earlier?” His face rested in his hand.

“I don’t know. All I did was attend a painting competition to enjoy the show and be near you. I had no idea my name would be brought up. Before you start looking at me like some kind of monster, let me say what I’ve got to say… and if you still—” she paused. “Damn it, Paul, I love you!”

“Yes — you must love me for putting me through this…”

They stared at each other, shocked.

Paul tried to relax and sat back down.

“Okay. Adult time. Tell me what happened. I’m still in a daze with the whole thing. Please… Billy? Tell me what happened?”

Neana took a deep breath and nodded.

“I found Billy in my art room. He’d just finished the painting. It was on a canvas of mine. I forgot all about it. I was going to mention it to you last night but I forgot.”

She looked to the floor.

“I arrived at the hall and was asked to pay another one‑pound entry fee. At that stage I thought they’d made a mistake. I don’t have a lot of money. I was going to tell you later.”

“You should… He’s my son! In front of all those people! Do you understand how that made him feel?”

“What about me? And what about you — and the way you beat him! You always talk badly of him, Paul. He’s no good at attending school, trouble with the teachers, doesn’t do what you ask. I had to take him off you in the street before you did something you’d regret later. Or maybe you wouldn’t have?”

Neana sat a little straighter.

“I was only taking him back to school — and you lost him,” added Paul, unmoved.

“I was encouraged by everyone to go up when my name was announced,” continued Neana. “I was as amazed as you were. I only heard my name called out. I was looking at you the whole time. I didn’t see the painting until Mrs Ward brought it over to me just before Billy took it. I was pulled to my feet to accept it, and you’d made me so frustrated. You never asked me out, even after the many times I’d invited you,” said Neana, starting to cry again.

“You held your hand out to me. That’s what I’d been waiting for, for the last two years. You kept smiling at me through the whole bloody thing. You thought it was mine. I didn’t know. I thought you finally loved me. Can you see how I choked? Can you?”

Paul watched in shock as Neana cried. They had made a huge mistake. It was standard practice to check with the winning artist — their details and signature — before awarding prizes. They hadn’t followed basic protocol.

“Remember, Paul. I paid for his entry without knowing it wasn’t mine. Technically, Billy hadn’t entered properly and could still be disqualified. I’m not a bad person, you know.”

Paul realised she was right. She looked firmly at him.

“Anyway, here’s the five hundred pounds and the trophy,” said Neana, bringing them from her bag and placing the money into his cigar box before closing the lid. “We can still work it out, Paul darling. It’s only a misunderstanding.”

Neana studied Paul’s face for any sign of what he was thinking.

“I know this is crazy. A crazy mistake. Don’t let this thing destroy us, Paul. You must think I’m a total fool?” she cried. “I knew I’d lost you! I knew it!”

Paul watched her a moment.

“No… you are right, Neana. It seems it was just a crazy mistake,” agreed Paul. “I do get the pressure you were under… I do… blast!”

The screeching of a cockatoo woke Billy. He felt for Sam, partially waking him from the bag where he slept. Sam would not go far from the bag — it was his comfort after his mother died.

It was still dark as the birds screeched again with the first traces of dawn through the trees. Billy couldn’t tell the time without the bell chimes, but by the moon now gone to rest, he had been asleep many hours. The stars never sleep, he thought.

Every time Billy wondered if he was overreacting, he remembered the looks on their faces on stage. He would have to prove it was his painting.

Billy listened to the cockatoos and kookaburras welcoming the day. His mind had raced in fright several times before sleep. Dreams of dingoes had terrified him.

As daylight increased, what had looked like statues of people or beasts now transformed into boulders, rocks, and tree‑ferns.

Billy let Jane sleep a little longer before saying her name.

Jane opened her eyes and faintly smiled at him. She felt sore from the hard ground, then stepped outside to find privacy behind a tree.

“Don’t look,” giggled Jane.

“I won’t,” promised Billy, turning away and also going.

Soon they decided to leave for the caves. They placed their bags over their shoulders and began their journey, heading down a sloping descent, holding the ground in parts so they wouldn’t lose their footing.

“Look! Here’s the trail!” announced Billy.

“Well done,” smiled Jane. “Impressed.”

Jane had noticed the trail earlier but waited to see if Billy found it.

They walked along flatter ground, looking at the different trees. Billy occasionally pulled a few leaves from a freshly fallen cluster of young gum leaves and gave them to Sam. The highest branches of the tallest trees now glowed with the first rays of dawn.

Billy stopped and pointed to a fully grown wild banana tree. Birds screeched, squawked, and whistled constantly.

Billy brought back a large bunch. They ate several, then stowed a few less ripe ones in their bags. Sam poked his head out, watching with interest, making Jane laugh.

“I think we should keep your painting in my bag,” she said, removing it. “Sam is only going to ruin it. Oh — I’ve got some biscuits my mother made yesterday.” She brought out two. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

A large bug buzzed around Billy, then landed on Sam. Sam ignored it and it soon flew away. Jane swung her bag at the bug, then caught up to Billy.

The thumping of a large kangaroo hopping away made them stop. This happened many times along the trail.

After about ten minutes the trail grew steep again. At times they felt almost lost before finding the main trail once more. Sunlight now touched the tops of the medium‑sized trees.

Occasionally the trail was very clear — kangaroos used it. They had to be careful not to follow a kangaroo trail by mistake.

They dropped into a steep gully where rainforest took over. It had been over three years since Billy last walked this trail with his grandfather. He remembered many sights, but the largest trees were the clearest landmarks.

 

The Waterfall

They stopped dead at the sight of a tan‑coloured snake with a white face.

“Taipan!” warned Jane.

They walked off the trail, keeping an eye on the venomous snake.

Thirty minutes later, after making good progress, Billy was suddenly distracted by a sound far ahead and to the right. He continued, listening intently.

“The waterfall!” shouted Billy proudly. “This way!”

He ran.

It was quite a big waterfall by memory. Dodging grass, bracken, fallen branches, and small trees, Billy neared the gurgling sound of water.

“Billy?” complained Jane. “Don’t run too far ahead… I might lose you!”

“I’ll just be up here!” replied Billy.

Leaves snapped beneath him. He reached a small stream. The bubbling water looked soft and welcoming as whip‑birds echoed through the morning.

As Billy walked beside it, the water picked up pace near the top of the waterfall.

There it was — just as he remembered.

Billy stepped into the water and strode toward the edge. Sam looked over his shoulder at the rockpool below. Jeremiah had jumped from here many times.

Billy stepped to the side and turned to hear Jane calling his name. Suddenly his foot slid uncontrollably — then both feet. The edge was extremely slippery.

Billy regained his balance — and instead of stepping out of the water, he decided challenging himself was more fun.

This time he fell. He couldn’t hold onto anything as the water and slippery slope carried him straight toward the edge.

Billy grabbed a clump of water plants. It broke off in his hand — and over the waterfall he went.

“AAAAAAAAA!!!” screamed Billy.

He fell forty feet, hitting the water hard on his left side. He went under. Below, he saw Sam paddling upward. Billy gathered himself and followed.

He reached the surface, gasping — leaves sucked into his mouth. He choked, swept them away, and groaned.

Looking up, he saw Jane staring down from the top.

“Billy?” yelled Jane. “Are you all right?”

Billy couldn’t answer.

Jane jumped in and swam to him, taking his arm. Billy gulped fresh air, coughing out water and tiny flowers. Jane guided him to the side. Sam swam ahead and hauled himself out, soaked and unrecognisable.

Jane helped Billy out. They collapsed in a heap as the morning sun dried them.

“Daddy?” said Monica, knocking on Paul’s door. “Daddy?”

Paul reached for his dressing gown and looked back to see Neana still asleep under the sheets.

“Daddy?”

“I’ll be out in a sec,” mumbled Paul.

“Somebody’s knocking at the front door,” said Monica.

Paul opened his door. “I’ll get it… what time is it?”

He walked to the door in his pyjamas. Mooloolaba stood there, a spear over his shoulder and a tiny bag.

“Did Billy come home last night, mate?”

Paul turned to see Monica shake her head. He turned back.

“Ah… no. No, he hasn’t,” said Paul clumsily.

“No worries. I’ll find him. I’ve been told to tell you the Mayor will start the trial today at eleven.”

“Eleven?” said Paul, scratching his head.

“Are you going to find Billy?” asked Monica gently.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” smiled Mooloolaba, heading down the steps. He walked fast, with purpose.

“Good luck!” shouted Monica.

Paul and Monica watched from the back door as Mooloolaba made his way easily up the hill. He stood at the top, looking down at the road cutting the forest in two. Then he ran toward it, jogging while watching clouds from an approaching storm front.

But what really held his attention were the two pairs of footprints ahead. They ended where the rain had fallen, then reappeared where it hadn’t.

One matched Jane’s. Paul had discussed many things with him the night before. Mooloolaba had found old footprints of Billy’s outside the house — they matched.

He hurried on, eventually passing the point where he had turned back the night before.

Billy and Jane made their way back onto the trail. The fall had been frightening. Billy was achy and stiff. His left ear held water. He was shaken.

But his bitterness toward the painting competition drove him on toward the Capricorn Caves.

The trail turned back into tall trees. Billy remembered this. He walked with more determination — adventure calling him, sadness pushing him.

He looked at fallen branches and thought one would make the perfect spear.

“Look at this, Jane! It’s like a spear! We need spears,” proclaimed Billy.

He picked up the branch and began sharpening one end with his knife. Mr Ward’s present was more than a tool for cleaning hooves, he thought.

Jane found a branch of her own and stripped the twigs and bark. She loved the outdoors more than Billy knew.

“I have my spear, Billy!” said Jane enthusiastically.

“It’s a lucky spear to protect us on our journey,” answered Billy.

As he finished, he suddenly became upset. He leapt up screaming and ran through the forest. He flung the spear at a dead tree. It struck the trunk, sending several crows into the air. The spear fell into the bracken.

“Take that, dingo!” shouted Billy. “Take that… Arrrraagh…”

He swung his arms, then sat and sulked.

Jane didn’t notice his tears at first — she had thrown her spear at a dangling vine and hit it. She jumped up and down.

“Did you see that, Billy?”

Then she saw him crying and ran to him, sitting beside him and holding his hand.

“Are you all right?”

“Mum leaving made me hard,” frowned Billy. “It’s what’s keeping me determined now. Pap will never stop my love of art. She said never to let Pap stop my love of art. She was right about one thing.”

Jane looked at her dirty clothes. Her white floral dress needed a wash. So did Billy’s new white shirt and blue shorts.

She noticed a small tin whistle sticking out of his bag. She took it and played Waltzing Matilda. When she finished, she saw Billy smiling.

“You won, Billy,” she smiled.

Billy placed his head on her shoulder as Jane played Que Sera Sera.

 

Neana’s Trial

“So now you see?” smiled Pap to his children. “Neana didn’t know she hadn’t won. It wasn’t solely her fault.”

Paul stood before his seated children

The uncertain looks on their faces said it all.

“I still don’t understand why she didn’t tell you straight away?” said Andrew. “I realise… hmm… I think I realise she wants to be with you, Pap. And everybody was encouraging her to go up and accept Billy’s prize.”

“That’s right,” agreed Paul. “Billy’s prize,” he laughed. “Sorry, go on. I still cannot get over it. Billy won!”

“But why didn’t Neana just tell everyone it was Billy’s painting straight away?”

“Because she was too overwhelmed, Andrew. Everyone acts differently under pressure in front of a huge crowd. She didn’t know it wasn’t her painting at first, right? Just listen, please… try to understand. It is called shock!”

“She must be very anxious, Daddy,” said Monica.

“Mmm… yeah. She’s a little anxious baby. It made her really anxious. She was just so shocked she hadn’t really won after everyone told her she had — and that made her disastrously anxious. Right? She very much wanted to impress me,” explained Paul. “I know it’s hard to understand. She isn’t guilty of anything. It was just a mistake. And all three judges, including me, are more guilty than her!”

“Are you defending her actions, Pap?”

“Damn right I am, Andrew,” said Pap. “I see you don’t quite understand yet, son. But you will.”

“What if Billy is very hurt or can’t be found?” continued Andrew coldly.

“Ahh… ah, that’s different. Oh, I hope not, son,” sighed Paul. “I hope to God that is not the case. Nevertheless,” he sighed, “it is not Neana’s fault that Billy ran away. And Billy shouldn’t have run away. Don’t go telling anyone either about it being Billy’s painting yet, okay? We are the first to know.”

The children nodded.

“Can you both believe that Billy painted it?” asked Paul.

“I told you he did,” replied Monica calmly.

“Yeah. You did,” nodded Paul. “What about you?”

“I knew he was hiding art stuff,” said Andrew.

“You did?” asked Paul, surprised.

“But how was I to know he was a champion painter, Pap?” grinned Andrew.

Paul nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he grinned. “True.”

 

An hour later, Paul got dressed in his room, talking to himself about all the things making him anxious.

“I wanted Neana when the crowd cheered wildly for her. I wanted to forgive her. And my personal needs have been put in front of my son’s safety. God, I can be weak… What if he is hurt?… Still, Mooloolaba will find him. Yeah, but in what state?”

Paul whistled nervously while buttoning up his dark navy blue shirt.

“Now I have to go to the Mayor and the whole damn town and explain the latest twist in this extraordinary story of my family’s life,” laughed Paul. “My son, the genius! I like that part,” he smiled. “The rest of it sucks.”

Paul sat at his desk with Mark. They had been discussing the case for nearly an hour. They laughed now while reading the notes they had made — a list of the main points they might need to remember. Anything was possible in court, even with an open‑and‑shut case against them.

Don Bacuss’s chaise passed by the window as a shower of rain finished.

“You know he never got his chaise until after I did. You know that, right?” said Paul, watching him.

“You’ve told me several times,” replied Mark, scribbling notes without looking up.

“He has had one hell of a lucky streak though, Mark,” smiled Paul, nodding.

“It’s time, Paul,” said Mark, checking his Tissot wristwatch — the one Paul had given him.

They rose from their comfortable chairs, gathered their things, and walked across the timber floor and out of the house.

“And today is the day his lucky streak ends. Because I am going to win his case for him,” chuckled Paul.

As they walked down Mango Street, they saw many cars, carriages, and horses outside the hall.

Paul felt uneasy at the sight of Neana standing from her chair at the front of her house, arms folded tightly across her waist. He felt responsible.

“Shall we go then, Paul darling?” she quipped. “I’d hate to keep them all waiting,” she added sarcastically.

“I am sorry,” said Paul. “I just want you to know that I believe you and I’m on your side.”

“Do you love me, Paul?” asked Neana.

Paul shook his head. “Maybe. I’m working on it.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t love me,” said Neana, looking at the Scot brothers walking past.

“Yeah… well I don’t like them either,” replied Paul.

 

Paul, Neana, and Mark entered the hall and took their seats atop the stage as the Westminster Chimes played and the bell struck eleven times.

Bacuss left a group of people in the front row and climbed the steps to sit at a table opposite Paul, with his wife Sarah. Sarah opened the top drawer of the desk beside them. It contained a small glass of his favourite drink.

“Good start,” he smiled.

She opened the next drawer — documents for the case. He nodded.

She opened the third drawer — empty.

“That’s room for thought, dear,” she smiled.

Bacuss smiled happily.

Don Bacuss had studied law in Brisbane. He wasn’t practising in Buang, but because of his experience — and because Bacuss Bananas brought money into the community — the Mayor used his knowledge well. Crates of bananas and sacks of sugar for markets from Cairns to Brisbane were worth a lot to the small town.

Silence fell as the Mayor entered. He walked slowly behind two constables. He wore a funny black hat and his long purple robes again. Captain Smith wondered if going to the lavatory counted as official business on occasion. Nevertheless, the community was used to seeing him parade about whenever he had the chance.

He reached his chair, swung around eloquently, and sat with a plonk.

His clerk entered carrying a golden sceptre — found in the museum storeroom and gifted to the Mayor, who treated it as his own. The clerk looked like a royal messenger. He handed the sceptre to the Mayor, who nodded and passed it to Captain Smith, who looked amused and slightly embarrassed.

Most people were neatly dressed, ten to a bench, though some bare feet wiggled among the rows.

“I am Matthew Cochran, the Lord Mayor of Buang,” began the Mayor. “As is bequeathed to me by the Premier of Queensland. I am also the head overseer and judge of this community.”

“Heaven help us,” mumbled Captain Smith.

“I have brought you all here today to this court of general sessions. For those who don’t understand the term — a local court. Meaning here. With general jurisdiction, both civil and criminal. So… to find an answer to our problem. I am not a learned scholar or lawyer.”

“True,” sighed Captain Smith.

“But I will find out, mate, who is telling the truth,” he pointed at the audience. “About the winning painting we have all heard about, no doubt. And I say to you, like I said during the war that rallied a hundred men to victory!”

Captain Smith recited the Mayor’s exact words under his breath — he had heard them a hundred times.

“There will be medals for every stinking one of you if you just follow me a bit bloody longer in our glorious effort for King and Country. On to victory! Gentlemen!”

Several women looked unsettled. So were the dozen men left standing after the suicidal attack that had, by chance, turned the battle — earning the Mayor his George Cross and a hero’s welcome home. Little comfort to the families he had destroyed.

“So listen. Listen and find the truth, good people. For nothing is above the good of this village.”

The Mayor sat with a smile and gestured for Paul Owen, his defence counsel, to begin.

The crowd leaned forward.

Paul walked to the top of the wooden stairs.

“I could not agree more, your Lordship. Nothing is more important than the truth and what is best for this village — even regarding my own son.”

His voice was firm and confident — surprisingly so to Don Bacuss.

“As a community, we all have a part in its existence. Each one of us has our own characteristics as we work, play, love… and differ, together.”

Paul glanced at Don.

“That is why, as a parent and member of this community,” Paul swept his arm across the room, “when something is disruptive to us, it is best isolated, treated, and put back into place by our chosen leaders — and most importantly, with community input.”

The Mayor nodded. Captain Smith raised an eyebrow.

“This will happen here today, at this Community Hall,” Paul added, taking a sip of water. “You women here today, beating your fans in the air like hummingbirds around this flower of trust. It is trust for a good woman like Neana that we aspire to.”

“Very good,” agreed the Mayor.

Captain Smith breathed deeper.

“Lord Mayor. Captain Smith. Ladies and gentlemen. I have spoken to Miss Neana Karcher. And she has told me…”

Bacuss smiled a little smile along with Paul as he paused.

“Why did he smile?” whispered Don to Sarah.

“That she did not — I repeat, NOT — paint the winning painting yesterday. Billy did!” announced Paul, proud of his son.

“Billy! Oh God…” Paul struggled. “She can vouch for it. Neana saw him paint it.”

Everybody talked at once.

“Crikey,” muttered the Mayor. “Albert will love it!”

“Good grief,” said Captain Smith.

Paul hurried to Neana, comforting her.

Heavy rain began to fall outside.

Bacuss slid open the top drawer and took a quick sip. He and Sarah had worked many hours for what they thought was about to happen. Sarah began to laugh. The Mayor noticed.

He decided it would not be wise to use a heavy hand. Neana had told the truth. She had caused some harm by not speaking earlier, but since Billy was believed to be in good health, the matter could be handled lightly.

The Mayor shuffled to the front of the stage.

Mrs Ward talked animatedly among her friends about her real feelings toward Billy. Alves Tomb sat stiffly, enduring his wife’s pernickety comments. Rubin talked endlessly about the importance of getting Billy — the genius — back, even at his own cost. People pointed to the window Billy had jumped from.

Mark sat unmoved, concentrating. Waiting for the bell.

“People of Buang!” called the Mayor.

“Silence,” said Captain Smith.

The hall quieted.

“I would ask that Don Bacuss and Paul Owen, my advisers for and against…” the Mayor paused, unsure of his wording, “…remove the charge brought against Billy.”

“Thank you, your honour,” said Paul.

“Agreed,” nodded Bacuss.

A warm show of hands filled the hall.

Paul whispered to Neana, “I’ll wrap this up as fast as I can. We’ll be home for lunch.”

“The truth has been found. It will now be a question of his deliberations after we speak to him and the community elders,” Paul said, comforting a nervous Neana.

“I’ve never been this nervous in my life,” she whispered.

“This is—” began Paul.

“I just hope Neana can’t get away with this,” said Henderson, a reporter for a coastal paper. “I’m going to write an article about this. I can’t say my readers will be impressed by the outcome from this part of the bush. What a joke.”

Immediately a troublemaker near Henderson added:

“To think she didn’t tell the community yesterday is very bad. Very bad,” said Ronald Scot.

“She must be punished,” added Richard Scot from the back. “This has unsettled all the town folk. This is what I say.”

Many nodded. A few complained.

“Very bad,” agreed a mother of two.

“He is a child of great talent!” shouted another.

“Silence!” demanded Captain Smith. “No more outbursts. Especially you Scots.”

“Mr Henderson,” began the Mayor, encouraged by the Captain’s control. “If you speak one more time during this trial, causing my Captain—” he coughed, “—to bring calm after your little speech… I will have you locked up!”

The Mayor turned to Don Bacuss.

“Mr Bacuss. Give us your reasoning why Neana should be held accountable for her unwillingness during yesterday’s competition to inform us that the winning painting was not hers — and so, by her lack of this, left us all scratching our heads and the winner leaving town!”

Paul jumped to his feet.

“Now wait a minute, Lord Mayor, let’s not start—”

“Silence, Mr Owen,” demanded the Mayor. “You will have your chance to talk in a moment. For Neana’s sake, it is best you do not treat this court with too much complacency, like some here.”

He scowled at Henderson.

“It is done now… Continue, Don.”

The community listened, murmuring in agreement. It would be their decision today.

Bacuss stood and walked along the stage, giving Paul a slightly egotistical glance.

“Thank you, your honour,” he began. “My concern regarding this matter is the truth. If that means upsetting some members of the community, then I have little pity.”

“Just what we need,” mumbled Captain Smith. “The more the un‑merrier.”

Bacuss’s voice was loud and challenging.

“Do you, the people of Buang, want the truth? Do you? What about you?”

He watched them closely, reading their faces.

“It may hurt. But Buang must be known as a just village — not one of jokes like yesterday’s competition.”

He was making sense to everyone. The villagers grew alert. The Mayor called for a cushion to soften his uncomfortable wooden chair.

Paul glanced at Neana. She looked speechless.

“Mr Alves Tomb, could you please stand, sir?”

Alves stood conveniently from the front row.

“Did Billy Owen ask you for anything from your store recently?”

“Yes,” said Alves loudly.

“Please tell us what took place,” asked Don.

“Well, young Billy came into the store saying it was his birthday soon. I asked him what he wanted.”

“What did he want, Mr Tomb?” asked Bacuss confidently.

“Some paints, brushes, and two or three sheets of canvas,” replied Mr Tomb.

“Don’t look so shocked, Mr Nelson,” smiled Bacuss. “His father just couldn’t stand the fact that Billy wanted to paint,” he concluded dryly.

Parts of the hall erupted in laughter.

“And you told this to Paul Owen?” suggested Bacuss.

“Yes, but he didn’t seem to listen.”

“Didn’t seem to listen? Didn’t want to listen? Didn’t want to listen to his own son telling us he was the actual winning artist of yesterday’s competition? Thank you, Mr Tomb. Let me explain my feelings on some points.”

Mr Tomb sat.

“One of yesterday’s judges, ladies and gentlemen. And still Miss Karcher and Paul Owen had us believe that Billy had no chance of being the artist of yesterday’s winning entry. Was there an ulterior motive behind yesterday’s prize money?”

“Absolutely not!” spat Paul.

“I would like to address Mr Tomb, your honour?” interrupted Mark.

“Very well,” replied the Mayor.

“Begging your pardon, my lord,” interrupted Don. “But I haven’t finished questioning the witness yet.”

The Mayor waved his hand dismissively. Don sat, annoyed. The Mayor thought he was stirring too much trouble.

“Mr Tomb, could you please stand again,” requested Mark. “So, sir, I take it you had sold paints and brushes and canvas sheets to Billy many times before, yes?”

“No, sir,” replied Mr Tomb.

“NO!” shouted Mark, his voice absurdly loud.

Captain Smith fumbled with his jail keys while clearing his ear. People who had laughed earlier now murmured, distancing themselves from their previous reactions.

“No, I did not!” continued Alves. “Which seems strange?”

“Strange?” asked Mark.

“Yes — strange. Where did Billy learn such a complicated craft? That is what I want to know. He did not get the supplies from me, from Paul, from anyone. And what does Neana have to say about it? There’s no use putting all the blame on her. Nobody knew he was that good. I surely didn’t…”

“What else? Go on,” encouraged Mark.

“Well,” said Mr Tomb, “some of the blame lies with the judges. We didn’t follow basic protocol to find out if it was Neana’s entry before awarding the prize. All three of us had huge doubts, openly shared among us. Again, like I said before — there’s no point blaming Neana for our mistakes.”

“Yes. Neana is the person in question for the moment,” agreed the Mayor.

“Well done, Mark,” whispered a stressed Paul.

Paul added loudly, “If it pleases your honour, we request that Neana be allowed to speak. Let us hear what she has to say!”

Neana looked surprised.

“Yes, Mr Owen,” smiled the Mayor. “I agree.”

“But I don’t,” said Don, standing. “There is plenty of other information relevant to this hearing that should be gone over before we listen to Neana’s side. It’s possible they intended to—”

“It is my wish to grant Miss Karcher time to address us and explain why she did as she did. This isn’t a bloody firing squad, man. Miss Karcher,” gestured the Mayor.

Don sat. Sarah whispered sharply, “Don, please stop. You need to open that third drawer down.” She looked furious at his baiting.

“Just tell them exactly what you told me,” whispered Paul. “Go on — you’ll be fine. They all just want a show.”

Neana stood awkwardly before everyone.

“I also suggest,” said Mark, “that Neana be allowed to address the community until her story’s closure, without interruptions.”

Mark glared at Bacuss.

“Agreed!” declared the Mayor.

“Agreed,” sulked Bacuss, peeking into the third drawer to appease his now‑sad wife.

Neana began telling them everything, just as she had told Paul.

How she honestly believed she had won. How she had been overwhelmed. How she had not seen the painting until the last moment. How she had been swept up by the crowd. How she had been waiting two years for Paul to show affection. How she had choked under pressure.

She spoke of her life — the daughter of labourers in inner Dunedin, New Zealand. Her parents illiterate. Her father finally earning enough for her to take English lessons at sixteen. Her move to Australia with a boyfriend she refused to return with. Her job at the milkbar. Her love for Paul. Her loneliness. Her hope.

Paul listened, stunned. He had never realised how deeply she cared. He had been too busy, too wounded by Dale’s leaving.

“I only wish,” continued Neana, “that I’d been able to tell you that I had painted it… but I didn’t. I was a mess. Billy is such a nice boy. I promise the village of Buang that I am trustworthy and would never harm Billy intentionally. Never.”

Sad and drained, she asked the Mayor if she could be excused.

No one said a word as she left the hall, escorted by Captain Smith, who kept an eye on several unruly characters.

Outside, she sighed.

“Are you all right, Miss?” asked Captain Smith.

“To tell you the truth, Captain… I can’t believe what’s happened to me for just accepting an award.”

“Cheer up, Miss. You wouldn’t be the first person falsely accused.” He leaned closer. “I myself look forward to the day those Scot brothers trip up and I’m there to catch them.”

He saw she was still upset. “Sorry, Miss. You’re free to go.”

He watched her leave, then returned inside.

 

Rubin approached the Mayor.

“People of Buang,” said Rubin. “We must not let this afternoon pass without mentioning the talent of one Billy Owen.”

He paused, imagining the scene as a painting.

“We hope he is in good health, right?”

Approval rustled through the hall.

“Enough of blaming Neana already. Look — your boy, with little teaching, with just one opportunity in Neana’s art room, on a sheet of canvas already signed by her… produced a painting of such depth and mastery that we all thought it impossible from his young hand. This is quite an amazing situation.”

He smiled.

“I want no one to doubt this. He is a genius painter. All Buang should be proud. On his safe return, I ask Paul to let Billy travel with me to Melbourne as a sign of goodwill. A chance to find a future in his ability and our love of great art. Possibly he might still enter the Archibald Prize?”

The hall erupted in applause.

Paul looked overwhelmed with pride.

Mrs Atachon joined Rubin on stage.

“May I show you these?” she smiled. “They are Billy’s.”

Rubin watched with great interest as she turned over a dozen paintings from her book.

“Yes,” beamed Rubin. “These are definitely Billy’s!”

Children ran forward to see. Parents followed.

“Where did you get these, Mrs Atachon?” asked Rubin.

“I found them at the bottom of his school desk this morning,” she said, beginning to cry. “They’re beautiful!”

Rubin nodded sadly and left the stage with the paintings and Mrs Atachon’s arm. He took his seat to slaps on the back.

“Well, it has certainly been a big day for Buang. A star is born from our little town,” announced the Mayor, standing to smiles and relief.

“I’ll see how it comes up,” muttered Henderson sarcastically.

The Mayor marched over, stood him up, and walked him out of the hall. He pushed him toward two constables.

“Lock him up,” he ordered, ignoring Henderson’s protests.

“Well, well,” said Captain Smith to himself.

“I think we will go off and deliberate what we have heard and seen. Mr Owen, Bacuss,” said the Mayor.

Both men stood.

“We will hand down a decision in… thirty minutes. All right?”

The people applauded as the Mayor and elders left through the rear door. The Mayor returned briefly, bowed, and waved.

“Why don’t you do a song and dance while you’re at it?” muttered Captain Smith.

 

The Caves

Hours of slow progress under a hot sun had physically and mentally drained Billy and Jane in their quest to find the caves.

They had walked across flat grazing land and stayed on the edge of the wetlands by the Fitzroy. As they pushed ahead through scrubland toward the mountains, it was humid, and tree ferns huddled together, creating another barricade of dead branches around them.

They now moved through an ancient grove of hoop pines in another gully — Jurassic trees that had been in Queensland for millions of years. Any sign of the trail was hidden beneath a foot of their dead, brown, claw‑like leaves. Further around them were giant kauri, Australian banyan, and kapok trees, swirling in the strengthening winds of an approaching storm.

The worst was the stinging nettle — a thorny plant covered in tiny needles that forced them to stop immediately and carefully remove themselves from its clutches.

Rain began to fall as they entered a large gum‑tree forest. This was good and bad — refreshing, but now slippery and soggy underfoot. Billy felt surrounded and hungry, his direction lost. His shoulder ached to the bone from carrying Sam. Sam felt dizzy and had tried — and succeeded — in climbing out of the bag several times. Billy’s arms and legs ached, and raindrops trickled pale red from his many scratches.

“We should have found the caves ages ago!” complained Billy, scratching his arm.

“I don’t like this,” protested Jane, her voice dry and exhausted. “We’re in trouble, Billy. We’re out of water. I need to drink some of this rain. I’m so thirsty!”

This was Jane’s first complaint — well overdue, Billy thought.

Jane knelt before a large dark‑green leaf and took tiny sips from the bottom of it.

“I’m sure we had to go left back there, but that’s the last thing I remember doing before Grandfather and I reached the caves,” Billy said uneasily.

Jane didn’t hear him — the rain crashing against countless leaves drowned his words.

“We’ll have to go back!” Billy shouted, dejected, as several rock wallabies stood perfectly still watching them.

Jane’s safety was so important, and he had been pressing their luck for over half an hour. He wasn’t even sure which direction they had come from. The truth was they were both frightened.

Billy felt a little relief as the rain intensified. He placed the water bottle under a large leaf that slowly filled the empty wineskin. The roaring rain drenched them in seconds as it battered the forest.

Billy lifted the wineskin to his mouth and drank, watching one wallaby. As he continued to drink, he looked to the treetops. Rainbow lorikeets, eastern rosellas, king parrots, and black cockatoos clung desperately to branches swinging like trapeze artists in the gale.

The trees swayed violently from side to side.

The rain and wind eased after five minutes.

An eastern rosella squawked in Billy’s ear, startling him as it flew close and landed in a tree. Where it settled, Billy saw something beyond the swaying branches — something that did not move.

He stared harder… and then gasped with delight.

“The caves!!”

It was the caves — just beyond the tree line. He had remembered. Mostly. He had not lost his way — just.

“The caves!” laughed Billy, pointing.

Jane didn’t notice at first and thought he was pointing at the birds. Then she looked — and looked — until she finally saw what Billy was jumping about.

“I see it!” she cried. “The caves!”

Jane wiped dirt and a tear from her face and stood sobbing in relief.

Hope swelled within them as they found new strength to climb the last three hundred feet.

Billy and Jane emerged from the forest as the rain stopped. They fell to the ground, panting with exhaustion.

The majestic caves stood solid before them as rainwater cascaded down the rock faces, splashing at their feet. The sun came out, creating a deep rainbow. Cicadas began a slow song that quickened to a noisy chorus.

A strong wind blew over them as the heavy clouds cleared to reveal the moon.

“We made it,” said Billy at last.

“I’m too exhausted to celebrate,” smiled Jane. “Hooray,” she whispered. “But they do look amazing. There’s so much of it.”

“We can sleep dry in the caves tonight and leave for home tomorrow.”

Billy placed his bag down and Sam shot out, racing to the nearest gum tree. Billy had never seen him climb so eagerly.

Jane walked toward a large cave opening. Billy followed. They stepped over rocks into the entrance. Inside, where it was still light, they sat enjoying the cool air.

“These caves are amazing, Billy!” smiled Jane.

They laughed at the echo of her voice.

“Hello… we’re here!” laughed Billy.

“We made it. Who’s the best?” laughed Jane.

“We are!”

Jane turned to Billy and whispered, “There’s colours in the walls!”

“Yeah. Looks tops, hey?” whispered Billy.

After resting, they stood — stiff and sore — and walked back out to sit under a cool, large tree.

“I’m so tired,” complained Jane, eating her last biscuit.

Billy sat beside her.

“Up there is a good cave to sleep,” he said, pointing.

“Good. Let’s rest a while again,” suggested Jane.

They rested twenty minutes, catching their breath and revelling in their success.

Billy jumped up. “I’m going to take a look up there.”

“Okay, but be careful,” she warned. “Snakes.”

Billy climbed toward the highest cave. A path had been formed by trampled moss on one long section of the ledge.

“Only a bit more to go now!” he called, his voice echoing.

The climb was exhilarating after so long in the trees. He reached the entrance and peered inside.

Jane noticed a fire pit still smouldering further down the slope.

Someone was here.

“Billy!” shouted Jane in fear, as a man stepped out of the cave.

The shock made Billy stumble — but he caught himself.

“You almost fell, boy!” said the grey‑bearded man. “Billy? Is that you?”

“Grandfather!” cried Billy, throwing his arms around his wide belly. “Oh… thank God! I thought you were dead!”

“Billy! Oh, this is a nice surprise,” smiled Jeremiah Owen. “Hello down there!” he waved to Jane. “Welcome to my second home!”

“I can’t believe it,” whispered Jane. “Jeremiah? Jeremiah!!”

“You didn’t drown?” asked Billy, leaning his tired body against the man he had missed for two years. It was him — and he smelled the same too. In need of a bath.

Jeremiah gently moved Billy so he could see his face.

“Why do you say drowned?” he asked, smiling warmly.

“Your ship sank in a storm coming back to Australia.”

“It did? My God!” said Jeremiah, shocked.

“It was terrible,” frowned Billy. “We all waited for months hoping you’d be found.”

Billy’s words slowed. His body swayed. He was losing consciousness.

It had all been too much.

Jeremiah caught him and carried him inside the cave.

Jeremiah’s wife had passed away peacefully. After her burial in Buang, he grew restless and travelled to America. On the day of his scheduled return, he overslept and missed the ship — the ship that later sank. His name remained on the passenger list, and he was presumed dead.

He stayed with a friend, unaware of the tragedy. A year later he returned to Australia, and in a moment of nostalgia, stepped off the bus and returned to the caves. Nearly a year later, he was still there.

He had never known he was believed dead. The news troubled him — and amused him.

Inside the cave, Jeremiah stirred a pot of food while watching the children sleep. He knew he would soon return home with them.

Paul rubbed his face with both hands. It had taken over an hour with Bacuss and the Mayor to reach a decision with the village elders.

Neana would have to work with two older sisters who had outlived their families. Some villagers wanted to treat the matter as they would have forty years earlier. Only after community input went nowhere did the Mayor settle it by his own word.

A heated debate erupted between the Mayor and the Scot brothers — who weren’t Scottish at all. Captain Smith finally removed them from the hall.

His afternoon was a happy one with the Scot brothers behind bars — countless cups of tea while listening to their complaints.

Paul climbed the freshly painted stairs of Neana’s rented wooden house. He knocked happily on the door. She would be relieved.

He knocked again. No movement.

He went to the back door — it was open. He hurried inside.

Clothes and items lay strewn across the bedroom floor.

She was gone.

Paul ran from the house, face full of pain. He climbed aboard his chaise and raced home. He had never dismounted so quickly, running into his office.

He stopped before the cigar box on his desk.

Had she made fools of them all? Would he lose credibility? The town’s faith in his judgment?

He opened the cigar box.

The money was gone.

Paul froze — then remembered he had moved it to his safe behind the painting of a small fishing boat. He sighed with relief.

He opened the safe. The money was there.

Paul walked steadily back to Neana’s house. After a while, he found a letter on the kitchen table addressed to him.

He unfolded it.

 

Neana’s Letter

Dear Paul,

I will miss you and Buang for many tomorrows. I shall return to New Zealand by ship, not wishing to be a trouble to you, your family, or anyone anymore. I will not write. Wish me well, dearest Paul. I so wished to hear you say, I love you.

Love, Neana xx

 

“Oh, Neana,” grimaced Paul, hurt and confused. He felt there was nothing more he could have done.

Mooloolaba was becoming agitated. He had found other footprints, and now the trail split in different directions. He had lost Billy and Jane’s direction twice. He had walked for hours and felt both good and bad.

Good: their movements suggested they were still all right. Bad: sunlight was fading fast, and he would have to camp.

Rain made the search difficult.

He set up camp and made a fire by spinning a stick on soft wood. A hot ember formed, which he scooped into dry grass. He blew gently until it flamed. Soon he sat listening to the night as the fire warmed him.

“It wasn’t a dream,” said Billy, waking. His voice filled the cave with new life. He had slept for several hours, warm by the fire, his grandfather glowing in the light.

“Yes, little mate — it’s really me,” smiled Jeremiah.

“Oh, Grandfather, you don’t know how happy this makes me,” said Billy, looking around at the intricate cave walls glowing in the firelight.

“Sure I do… I’m sorry, Billy. I’ve been feeling sad for myself since Anne died. I should have dropped in on you months ago. Here — have this soup. I’ve just made it.”

Billy drank the warm soup from a wooden bowl, wide‑eyed and full of wonder.

“Feel better, little mate?” asked Jeremiah fondly.

“Yes!” said Billy, finishing the bowl. “Boy, that’s great tucker, mate!”

Jeremiah handed him another bowl while cooking damper on a stick.

Jane woke slowly, listening to their voices. Jeremiah handed her a bowl.

“You must be hungry, Jane. Eat first.”

“I am,” nodded Jane.

Billy ate the damper. The soup was warm and filling. Jane looked delighted — until she found a large piece of gristle on her spoon. When Jeremiah wasn’t looking, she flicked it toward the back of the cave.

She was startled when it splashed into a pool of water — followed by a frenzy of movement.

“That’s fish!” gasped Jane.

“Come see,” smiled Jeremiah.

They walked to the pool, glowing from the three fires.

“Where did all this water come from?” asked Jane.

“It trickles in from up top somewhere,” said Jeremiah. They listened to the steady dripping. “When it gets too full, it spills over the edges and keeps it clean — running out through there,” he pointed.

Billy noticed many swirls. A fish jumped.

“There’s one!” smiled Billy. “How many are in there?”

“Plenty,” smiled Jeremiah. “I put three fish in to start with. They must have hatched young. There’s a dozen now — maybe more.”

“What do they eat?” asked Jane.

“What you threw in. Weeds, scraps, insects — whatever I give them. Sometimes I sit here watching them, and they float there waiting for me to play with them. One or two let me touch them. See?”

They watched as Jeremiah bent down and touched one as it swam past.

“They’re like pets waiting to be fed. Funny sight, hey?”

“The colours in the cave walls are amazing, Jeremiah,” smiled Jane. “And the smell. It’s very cool compared to outside. I can see why you like living here.”

“Limestone walls,” said Jeremiah. “They were formed from corals around volcanic islands. The geography changed and they shot up to be these magnificent structures. They’re all over this area for miles. The black man comes here at the height of summer. Some of the tribe live further to the east. See?”

Jane and Billy nodded.

“There’s been talk about a few scouts from another tribe who haven’t been as friendly, so… anyway.”

They walked back and sat down in front of the main fire.

“So now — I know it might sound strange me asking this, seeing you thought I was dead, little mate — but why have you and Jane come here? I’m glad you did, of course, but you had little food or water. I hate to think what might’ve happened if you got lost.”

Billy and Jane looked at each other, then around at the caves — new and exhilarating.

“Tell him, Billy,” insisted Jane.

“Good, good… so, um… why did you come here?”

“I entered my painting in the Mayor’s painting competition,” explained Billy.

“Right,” nodded Jeremiah calmly.

“And it won!” said Billy, eyes widening.

Jeremiah jumped up. “Yippee! Oh… that’s terrific! Your father and I came second in it,” he smiled.

“But something terrible happened,” said Billy sadly. “A woman called Neana claimed she had painted it.”

“What? What are you saying? Who’s Neana? I don’t know her,” frowned Jeremiah, now looking angry.

“She accepted the award as if the painting was her own. She was kissing Pap on stage in front of everyone,” explained Billy, still mystified.

“Oh…” Jeremiah walked away from the fire and placed his hand over his face, thinking. He turned back. “It had your signature on it, I take it?”

“No. I didn’t sign it,” admitted Billy.

“You didn’t?” asked Jeremiah.

“He didn’t,” said Jane.

“I painted it on one of Neana’s old canvas sheets.”

“Ahhh!” smiled Jeremiah. “Her signature was already on it.”

“I didn’t really care about that at the time. I’d forgotten all about the competition.”

“I see,” said Jeremiah, trying to take it all in.

“I’m sorry,” said Billy. “I couldn’t control myself. I just went up, took it straight out of Neana’s hand, jumped out the window with it, and ran away.”

“What?” Jeremiah laughed. “That old blighter Cochran would’ve had a heart attack. Not to mention Mary Ward.”

“I wanted to tell Captain Smith or the Mayor, or anybody, but they looked so angry at me. I was hurt… I’m not going to cry again.”

“Of course you were. You can’t change what you did now, Billy,” said Jeremiah. “What’s done is done. The main thing is that you relax and enjoy your food, enjoy your friend Jane’s company, and mine. And… you won?” he asked, still half‑disbelieving.

“He won,” smiled Jane.

“And here you both are,” said Jeremiah, rubbing his beard. “Where’s my pipe?” He looked around. “I need to find my pipe before you tell me any more. This is incredible. You won the competition at what — twelve years of age?”

“Thirteen. Just turned,” said Billy.

“Right. Thirteen. Mr Tomb — well, he would’ve found it impossible to believe you,” said Jeremiah.

He found his pipe, lit it, and thought:

Why had this Neana done such a thing? Why had his son not accepted Billy’s word? Could he have?

The old man picked up Billy’s spear. He hadn’t heard another voice for weeks, not since bartering supplies from the local Aboriginal tribe. Their words now filled him with emotion.

“You brought it with you?” asked Jeremiah.

“Show him, Billy,” encouraged Jane.

“Excellent… show me the painting,” said Jeremiah excitedly.

“You have it,” smiled Billy.

“Oh yeah,” smiled Jane.

Billy took the painting from her and handed it over. Jeremiah unrolled it carefully, holding it high in the firelight.

His eyes widened. A tear ran down his cheek.

“Goodness me,” he breathed.

It was perfection. Original. Powerful. Deep. The more he gazed, the more it pulled him in — and the more he questioned his own ability to understand how such a painting had been created.

It shocked him — but happily.

“A genius,” he whispered.

He looked at Billy, then at the painting again. No doubt remained.

“I always knew you were good — no, great — with pencils for your age, but your father didn’t want to know. Don’t worry, Billy!” said Jeremiah, walking over. “We’ll go back into town and prove it’s your own.”

“How?”

“Easy. We’ll get you both to paint something else, and your natural talent will end any doubt. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” smiled Billy — his world suddenly full of promise again.

They were startled by Sam’s screaming as he woke and stretched beside the fire. He found a branch of his favourite leaves and water. Eventually he settled.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight, if that’s all right?” said Jeremiah.

Billy and Jane nodded.

“I think we need to catch up on other matters… So, how do you like my home?” Jeremiah stretched his arms.

“Oh, Grandfather,” said Billy, tears in his eyes. “I think these caves are a wonderful and beautiful place. I’d like to paint them one day.”

“And you shall,” nodded Jeremiah.

“I’m a good cook too, hey Jane?” he smiled.

Jane didn’t like all the fat in the soup, but it was good — and the damper was good too.

“It’s just what we needed,” smiled Jane, sitting close to Billy.

“She’s my girlfriend, Grandfather.”

“Well done to you both,” smiled Jeremiah — though he now wondered if she was good enough for his talented grandson.

“Let’s take a look outside, hey?”

Jeremiah walked toward the opening. His mind ticked over. He wished Anne were alive to share this joy.

His private existence was over.

They followed him outside to stand on the ledge, looking at the night sky. No one spoke as the leaves rustled in the warm evening breeze.

“They’re a wonderful sight,” said Jeremiah.

“The stars?” asked Billy.

“Too right,” smiled Jeremiah.

“I like the stars. They’re so beautiful,” agreed Jane.

“Just think — all those stars burning away in the night sky, just like our own sun.”

“I never realised that’s what they were,” admitted Jane.

Billy knew — Jeremiah had told him years ago.

“The sounds of the night,” murmured Jeremiah, listening to the forest.

“An Aboriginal friend of mine calls them the… the… I’ve forgotten. I’ll ask him next time I see him. Anyway, a scientist once told me many things about them — and planets.”

“Can you see the planets?” asked Jane.

Jeremiah pointed. “See that bright one above the horizon?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Jupiter. Saturn will be up soon. Earth rotates fully around the sun in 365 days.”

“Oh — one year?”

“Yes. There are other planets too. The new kid on the block — Pluto. Very far away. There,” he pointed. “Up there’s the constellation of Orion.”

Billy listened intently as Jane rested her head on his shoulder.

 

A New Beginning

Paul Owen had blown out all the candles in the house except one. He sat in bed thinking about how Billy had been gone for more than a day. His emotions were torn between Billy and Neana. He could think of nothing else. He couldn’t work. He was mentally exhausted.

Neana must really love him, he thought — after what she said in the hall. Her loyalty. He couldn’t get over it.

He decided that surely Billy and Jane would be found soon by Mooloolaba — but only he would find Neana.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” asked Monica as Paul opened her bedroom door, the candle lighting the room.

“Don’t worry, chicken. I’m just letting you know I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Helena’s here. If you need anything, just ask.”

“He’s going to find Neana,” whispered Andrew, entering.

“Yes, I am. I love her. I’ll see you both tomorrow. Be good.”

The candlelight moved away down the hall. Monica and Andrew listened to their father’s car as it drove down Mango Street into the night.

Paul’s black Holden FX — SR‑234 — rolled into the darkness. Two headlights lit the road; one red tail light faded behind.

It would be a three‑hour journey to Port Alma. Narrow, winding roads. The full moon helped, but he couldn’t risk speeding. Patience was needed.

It was five in the morning. If he had an accident, he would miss the ship — and Neana — forever.

He turned on the radio. “Heartbreak Hotel” played — a new singer, Elvis Presley. Paul felt the loneliness in the song.

It was nearing five‑thirty.

Gypsy’s hooves were wet and muddy as Neana dismounted. Her body ached from the long ride. Exhausted, she tied the horse to a rail outside the hotel and went inside.

The port village was asleep. The sea glowed under the near‑full moon.

She climbed the steps and rang the bell.

An elderly gentleman opened the door and led her to reception. Her legs wobbled; she sat down.

“Yes, may I help you?” asked a woman in a dressing gown.

“I’d like a room, please,” said Neana quietly.

“Just for one night?” asked the woman, surprised. “Are you all right, love?”

The woman’s husband peered around the corner.

“Yes… thank you. Just one night. I’m taking the ship to Brisbane tomorrow, then on to New Zealand… Do you know anyone who would buy my horse?”

The woman wrote in a large book and handed Neana a key.

“Third door on the left at the top of the stairs. The elderly gentleman will buy your horse.”

In her room, Neana sat on the bed and wondered how everything had gone so wrong. From beautiful to painful. She cried herself to sleep.

Rain blew heavily around the car. Paul thanked his stars he wasn’t in the carriage. The wipers struggled. Dawn approached.

He thought of Neana — how lovely she had looked the night before. How she had said she loved being with him. How she had said she loved him in the hall. It meant more than he realised.

The moon moved ahead of the car. Sometimes the road turned and the moon was behind him again. Trees and mountains played tricks.

The faintest beams of sunlight appeared above the sea.

He was almost there.

 

Just before first light, torch in hand, Jeremiah led Billy and Jane on a tour of the caves. They headed down sandy limestone rock into large open chambers where they stood still as Jeremiah showed them the formations left from when the caves were on the sea floor.

“There are so many caves and areas to explore, it’s hard to know where to take you. It’s all good to me, you know,” smiled Jeremiah, his voice echoing.

Billy and Jane were delighted. They climbed and explored all morning. They marvelled at the countless shapes, colours, and atmospheres each cave offered.

Later they climbed to the very top and listened as Jeremiah told them about the time he got lost in the caves for twenty‑four hours.

He only chanced his escape by hearing little bats which seemed to be heading in a particular direction. It had been night, and Jeremiah wearily followed the bats out into the brilliant starry black sky before collapsing in a heap.

“Bridge your arm with strength. Yes, but have give. See? Think about the speed of the animal. See its journey, its life — it turns before your eyes… Try it again,” instructed Jeremiah encouragingly.

Billy raised the bow to sight.

“Brilliant, you nearly hit it!” said Jeremiah, stroking his beard. He was so happy to have company again, to share his new home and skills on such a fine day.

“Just release it without pinching it.”

“I’ll try,” smiled Billy, releasing the arrow.

“A hit!” cheered Jeremiah, clapping his hands.

“You’re getting better at it,” encouraged Jane, hands on her hips. “My turn.”

Jeremiah was gobsmacked to see Jane place the arrow correctly, bridge her arm correctly, hold the arrow correctly — and hit the target.

“Tops!” laughed Billy.

“Are you kidding me, young lady? Crikey, that was bloody unreal! Billy, you’ve got yourself a right one here, mate.”

Billy grinned from ear to ear. Jeremiah laughed with happiness. He nodded contentedly, ashamed he had doubted her.

“Where did you get these bow and arrow sets, Jeremiah?” asked Jane.

“Don’t ask.”

“My father John was in the war,” said Jane proudly.

“So was I,” replied Jeremiah seriously. “He takes me hunting from time to time. I don’t like killing animals. My dad understands, but says it might come in handy one day.”

“So true. So true. Right — my turn,” said Jeremiah, taking his bow.

He walked over to the ball of vine and swung it hard. He smiled as he walked back. The children watched eagerly as Jeremiah pulled back, steadied, and shot. The large heavy ball of matted vine fell like a dead weight to the ground — the vine had broken, Jeremiah’s arrow slashing it several centimetres above the ball.

“Did you mean that, Jeremiah?” asked Billy.

“Maybe. I’m not sure,” replied Jeremiah, scratching his head.

Billy prepared to take aim again, a respectful grin on his face. A wind eased around them. He felt confident.

Jeremiah tied the vine and pushed it. Billy raised the bow. Sweat gathered on his brow. He wanted to let go but couldn’t. When he finally did, he only just missed.

“That’s an injury, boy — it’s attacking! Shoot now!”

Billy hurried and missed badly.

“Always remember these words,” said Jeremiah. “Accept your strength. If you have none, then you’re in trouble,” he laughed.

“Maybe archery just isn’t your thing, Mr Artist,” teased Jane.

Billy slowly smiled too, laughing with his eyes.

“Do you want to try again, Jane?” asked Jeremiah.

“No thank you. It’s too early for me,” yawned Jane.

 

Mooloolaba had been walking toward the shrieking sound of a distressed animal for about five minutes. The forest floor was well lit now by the morning sun. He saw it ahead — hanging from a trap. The possum clung to the vine that had snared it, wide‑eyed and frightened. It couldn’t have been there more than a few hours, he thought.

“Heck,” muttered Mooloolaba. “Is this Billy’s doing?”

He wasn’t sure if he had found their footprints again or someone else’s — and now this trap had his attention. In fact, Billy and Jane had rested close to the trapped possum but hadn’t seen it.

Mooloolaba decided to wait a little while to see if the owner of the trap returned. The possum watched him move away and climb a nearby banyan fig tree. Mooloolaba sat on a branch and waited.

 

Billy was ecstatic at the emergence of a group of wild pigs running past. They ran around Jeremiah, then back into the forest.

“It’s them again!” shouted Billy, plunging into the forest in chase. “Come on!”

“Don’t waste your time, Billy. You’ll never catch them. Too dangerous,” advised Jeremiah.

“Billy?” shouted Jane. “Come back!”

The pigs passed like shadows through the undergrowth. Billy bounced, ducked, and lifted himself across the forest floor. Soon he realised they had vanished. The sound of their escape was gone.

His lungs and heart pumped heavily in the damp mid‑morning air. Billy threw the bow and arrow to the ground in defeat and laughed.

The canopy was high and thick. Sunlight touched the ground only in patches. A whip‑bird cracked like a whip from a mossy log. Billy heard currawongs, kookaburras, king parrots, cockatoos.

Then — directly in front of him, fifty feet away — a big wild boar with tusks and sticky black fur ambled into view.

It heard him. Smelt him. Saw him.

It turned away — then stopped and faced him again, raising its head to bare its dagger‑like tusks.

Billy heard Jeremiah calling in the distance.

“I’m over here!” Billy called back.

The boar grunted louder and louder.

Jeremiah’s voice was closer now.

“Over here!” shouted Billy, frightened.

The boar charged.

Billy grabbed his bow and arrow and ran toward Jeremiah’s voice.

Jeremiah saw him — and the boar — a hundred feet away.

Billy stopped and turned. The black shadow closed in fast. He fumbled to fit his arrow. The boar swayed left and right around obstacles, propelling itself like a torpedo.

Billy released the arrow at thirty feet — it missed.

The boar thundered on, seconds from impact.

He turned in terror toward his grandfather, then back at the boar lowering its tusks.

Jeremiah pulled back and released.

Two cracking sounds.

The boar lurched, skidded, tumbled, and crashed to the earth in a sprawling thud — dead — just in front of a wide‑eyed Billy Owen.

Standing beside Jeremiah was Jane, bow in hand.

Jeremiah let his bow fall.

Billy, panting, stared at the boar, then at Jane.

Two arrows.

Tears formed in their eyes.

Jeremiah reached out to Jane, but she ran straight past him to Billy. Her dress bobbed and flew. Billy ran to her. They embraced — Billy relieved he wasn’t hurt, Jane relieved she hadn’t missed.

After a long embrace, they met each other’s eyes — all smiles and tears.

Jeremiah let out a terrific howl of excitement, which Mooloolaba heard nearly a mile away.

Jane ran her hand through Billy’s reddish‑brown curls. They cried and giggled over their fear.

“I’ll never let anything harm you if I can,” cried Jane.

“For as long as I live, you’ll always be my favourite Jane. You’re the best,” smiled Billy, pulling her close again.

Tears and joy — a sweet and sour taste.

Jeremiah walked up to them, tears in his eyes too.

“Well… I will never see anything so enchanting as this for the rest of my life.”

He sighed, turned, and led them back to the Capricorn Caves. Billy and Jane followed, smiling and holding hands all the way.

“We’re going back to Buang tomorrow morning. I’ll have to release the traps so no animals are left to die.”

Billy and Jane had no objections. Jeremiah would have to do it now — he couldn’t leave an animal trapped.

“I’ll be back before an hour’s up. I think you’ll make a better painter than a hunter too,” quipped Jeremiah, whistling as he left.

“All right,” said Billy. He wasn’t above learning a lesson.

 

Mooloolaba was about to jump down when a man came wandering into view, whistling. He came from the north‑east, back turned, sixty feet away.

Mooloolaba relaxed and moved with the windy branch. He needed to get down.

“Well,” said Jeremiah to the trapped possum. “I won’t be making soup of you today.”

He cut the vine. The possum hobbled away, climbing awkwardly up a tree.

Jeremiah suddenly jumped, pretending to scratch his foot — the sight of the hidden man with a spear had scared him. The thought of Jane and Billy alone scared him more.

“I need another vine now,” he muttered loudly, pretending not to notice the man.

He walked toward his escape route — then ran.

“Hey!” called Mooloolaba.

Jeremiah hoped he wouldn’t be speared. He ran for the tree that would take him to safety.

“No damn bow!” he muttered.

“Hey! Wait!” shouted Mooloolaba, cursing himself for not speaking sooner. He threw himself from the tree and sprinted after the old man.

“I’m looking for a boy from Buang!” he shouted.

Jeremiah slowed, then changed direction, looking for a better escape.

The ground rose toward sunlight. Jeremiah stopped ahead and reached behind a large river tree.

Mooloolaba approached cautiously, spear raised.

He heard a creaking sound.

Jeremiah swung across the creek on a rope and landed safely seventy feet away. He tied the rope loosely and ran.

“Bloody Tarzan… Hey mate? Wait!” begged Mooloolaba.

“What about my turn, mate?” he muttered, climbing down the steep bank. The water was deep — he swam across, thinking of crocodiles.

Time was passing.

He climbed out and hurried on.

 

Billy and Jane sat with their legs over the ledge of the high cave. The sun was hot overhead.

“I can’t believe Granddad is alive,” smiled Billy. “It’s great.”

“Yeah,” said Jane. “This trip is amazing. I’m really thrilled for you, Billy. Wow.”

“Pap will be amazed too. So will Monica and Andrew. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we return, Jeremiah comes back with us — like some kind of truth supporting us. He’ll make it right. We needed help and we found it.”

“Yes, I agree,” nodded Jane.

“I ran away — and it helps me help Grandfather. If I hadn’t run away and Jeremiah had an accident, we never would’ve found him. If I hadn’t painted the sunset, I never would’ve found him!”

“He would have returned one day,” said Jane.

“I guess. Or he might not have.”

Billy thought of his mother and the sketch he’d given Jane.

“Mum will be so proud when she finds out I won the painting competition. She always encouraged my joy in painting. I miss her very much sometimes. Sometimes I just hope she doesn’t come back — probably because I’d just have to watch her leave again.”

Jane understood. She had never liked Billy’s mother since hearing the story. She thought her selfish.

A sudden fear ran through them — something hurried across the forest floor, loud and fast.

Jane stood.

Jeremiah came into sight at an alarming pace, jumping and weaving.

“Billy! Jane!” he shouted. “Get in the cave!”

Billy looked — no wild pig. Relief.

“Head into the cave! I’m… I’m being chased by someone!”

The children stared in disbelief. They ran inside and waited as Jeremiah scrambled up the rocky path.

He pulled an animal skin over the entrance in a second. He peered through a small hole.

Billy wondered if he had done this before.

Jane sat with a bow and arrow on her lap, very upset.

It had been easy for Mooloolaba to find Jeremiah’s trail. And now — here was his hiding place.

“Thought I’d find you at the Ngilgi,” said Mooloolaba. “I should’ve come here first.”

He moved forward carefully. Was the old man planning an attack? Was he dangerous? And what if he knew nothing of Billy and Jane?

From behind a gum tree, Mooloolaba watched a young koala making its way toward a cave near the top.

“Ah‑hah!” he said.

“Enough already!” he called out.

“What did he say?” asked Jeremiah.

“I don’t know,” said Billy, watching Sam enter the cave.

“Blast. He could be one of those unfriendly scouts the local tribe told me about. He could be dangerous!” said Jeremiah.

Sam howled and reached for Billy.

“Keep an eye out, Billy, while I put Sam in your bag.”

“It’s all right, Jeremiah,” said Jane, picking up Sam and stroking him.

“It’s not, Jane.”

“Here he comes!” warned Billy.

Jeremiah rushed back to the peephole.

Jane didn’t like this at all. Something was wrong in the way Jeremiah was reacting.

“How do you know he wants to harm us?” she asked.

“He could — with that spear. Do you recognise him, Billy?”

“No. He’s behind that big tree beside the ball of vine,” said Billy.

“He’s Aboriginal,” added Billy.

“Yes, I see him. Too far to make out his face. Damn it, boy — I’ve had enough of this game,” said Jeremiah, panicking and reaching for his bow.

“Billy, do something,” said Jane angrily.

Jeremiah walked outside calmly and looked down.

“Why are you following me?” shouted Jeremiah, raising his bow to release.

Jeremiah felt Billy’s hand take hold of his arrow.

“Don’t!” demanded Billy. “Wait.”

Mooloolaba stepped out and looked up at the caves. He saw the old man had a bow with no arrow. Was he dead?

A dull thud told Mooloolaba the arrow had struck the tree beside him, about forty feet away.

“You trying to kill me?” complained Mooloolaba.

“That’s a warning shot. Are you trying to kill me?” demanded Jeremiah.

Their voices echoed through the caves.

“I’ve speared kangaroo twice as fast as you through these forests, ya ol’ bugger! But I think you’re doing a better job at it than me right now!”

“So… what do you want?” demanded Jeremiah.

“Billy! A boy called Billy! A girl named Jane!” he shouted clearly. “Have you seen them?”

“Billy?… Well why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Jane and Billy looked at each other with relief. They had been right to interfere — this time.

“Wait… are you friend or foe?” called Jeremiah, wondering if the man intended to punish his grandson.

“What? This is the nineteen‑fifties, white fella!” complained Mooloolaba. “My name is Mooloolaba from Buang…”

Billy turned to Jane — both relieved.

“And I am following orders from Captain Smith and the Mayor of Buang,” explained Mooloolaba.

“Mooloolaba! It’s me! Jeremiah Owen!”

“What? They said you were dead?” To himself he added, “I thought I was dead?”

Mooloolaba looked up to see Billy and Jane standing beside Jeremiah. He shook his weary head as a broad grin spread across his tired face.

It seemed too good to be true. The search was over. He had been right to stay with the trapped possum. The danger was over. Captain Smith would be very pleased — very pleased they were all still alive.

 

Love and Home

Paul’s face was stressed and tired. His thoughts were a mess. He had barely slept in twenty‑four hours, and now the ship was moving slowly away from the dock.

Paul pulled the handbrake, causing the FX Holden to skid dangerously on the dirt road. He pushed himself out of the open door and into an awkward, stiff sprint.

“Stop!” demanded Paul.

He could see the ship’s crew busying themselves as he ran through the gate and onto the dock, passing onlookers. The ship could carry over a hundred people comfortably and could do twenty knots in the right conditions.

“Stop! Wait! Neana? Strewth!”

“Too late now, mate. You’ve missed her,” said a young deckhand unhelpfully, pulling a dock rope in.

Neana walked to the side of the ship and looked at the crowd. She noticed a man running along the dock waving.

“Neana, are you there?”

“Paul?” whispered Neana, stunned. She began waving excitedly, hardly believing her eyes. “Paul!”

Her heart leapt.

“Paul!” she cried.

Paul heard her voice and spotted her halfway along the ship.

“Wait! Don’t leave!” he waved. “I love you!”

Neana held her hand over her mouth at the joy his words brought.

“I love you too!” she yelled back.

This was what she had always hoped for.

Neana ran to a ship’s mate.

“I need you to tell the Captain to stop the ship — my… my husband didn’t make it aboard! He’s on the dock!”

“Sorry, Miss. We do not stop ships. You’ll have to wait until Brisbane before you can get off. Terribly sorry.”

“What? Nooo…” moaned Neana.

People stared as she removed her shoes, her hat, then her coat.

“What are you doing, Miss? It’s too high to jump — you’ll hurt yourself!” warned a squire.

Neana ignored him and climbed onto the railing. Some screamed. Some laughed.

“Jump!” some called.

“No, don’t!” others begged.

“Oh no!” exclaimed Paul.

“Oh yes!” laughed Neana.

Paul hurriedly took off his jacket and shoes. It was a thirty‑foot drop into the sea.

“Need a hand, mate?” asked a young soldier.

“Should be right,” said Paul. “I hope.” He placed his items on his jacket. “Mind my clothes? There’s a five‑pound note in it for you.”

“Righto. Safe as houses, mate. Good luck!”

“Come down at once, Miss!” shouted the sailor, reaching for her.

Neana jumped.

Only when falling did she realise how high it was.

Paul jumped after her, pushing down his fear as he smashed into the salty sea, praying there were no sharks or crocodiles.

Neana surfaced laughing like a girl.

“Oh my goodness! We must be crazy!”

She swam easily to Paul, who was capable but not as strong.

They came together in the sea. The passengers, seeing they were all right, gave three cheers.

“I never thought you’d come after me,” smiled Neana.

They swam away from the ship’s propellers.

“You can’t leave me as well,” said Paul, tears hidden by the water. “I’m sorry. You’ll come and live with me. Yes?”

“Yes,” smiled Neana. “We’ll make a great couple, Paul darling.”

They kissed several times, laughing, then swam back to the dock.

As they climbed the ladder, a police constable approached.

“You will both have to come with me,” he said, watching the seawater drip from their clothes.

He led them through the crowd. Some complained. Others clapped.

“This way please! Stand back!”

“Thanks, mate,” smiled Paul, handing the soldier a five‑pound note.

“No worries, fella! She’s a good sort. Worth the jump,” grinned the soldier.

They reached the police station across the road and sat in a cell trying to dry themselves. The local Police Captain arrived.

“Paul Owen!” smiled Captain Jim Daley.

“Just thought we’d go for a little swim,” said Paul.

“Come on,” said Jim, opening the cell and leading them to his office.

“I suppose it’s fair to say this won’t be happening again?” asked the Captain.

“It would,” smiled Paul.

Clothes were brought to them. Neana admired a long red dress.

“I love this dress.”

“You wouldn’t like the woman it came from — very hard,” said Jim.

Paul squeezed into a constable’s shirt and pants.

“Would you care for lunch? My wife Florence would love to hear this story,” smiled Jim.

They accepted gratefully.

Jim and Florence lived in an old white stone building on a hill. They parked and walked through a side gate to a courtyard with magnificent sea views.

Florence arrived with a tray of food.

“Hello! I’m Florence!”

“I’m Neana,” smiled Neana.

“The view is fantastic!”

“I love it. Jim tells me you jumped ship. You must tell me everything,” she insisted warmly.

They talked for a long time. Florence and Jim were mesmerised by the story — and by Billy’s remarkable talent. Florence felt Neana had been harshly treated and promised to help her if needed.

Paul and Neana occasionally held hands, glowing with happiness. Their first lunch together as a couple.

After lunch they toasted happier times — and to Billy and Jane, trusting Mooloolaba to bring them home safely.

Jim offered them accommodation for the night. They declined but asked to rest before buying Gypsy back. Jim and Florence were delighted to help.

 

Neana felt wonderful as Paul opened the passenger door of the FX Holden. They hugged before he closed it.

Neana turned on the radio. “That’s All Right” by Elvis was playing.

“Right,” he whistled, starting the car. “We’ll have to get some more standard, and I need to fit the spare light bulb to the left taillight, as Jim mentioned.”

He stopped when he saw Neana looking at him thoughtfully.

“What is it?”

“You’d make a handsome constable,” said Neana. “Constable Owen.”

Neana took his hand.

“Thank you for giving me the most crazy, rewarding, romantic moment a woman could ever want,” she said gently. “You won’t change your mind?”

“I’m a loyal man. I’ll get the paperwork organised for a divorce from Dale… Will you be my wife, Neana? I’d love that.”

“As I said, Paul darling — we’ll make a great couple.”

They embraced and kissed.

“I can’t wait to be Mrs Neana Owen.”

Paul turned the radio up and drove off.

 

The fire was burning more than Jeremiah usually liked as the fish cooked in the pit. He placed fruit, damper, and nuts out for everyone. There was plenty to eat and drink, and much talk echoed through the cave.

Sam wandered in and out, more independent now.

“You’ll love it once you’re back home,” smiled Billy.

“New clothes,” pointed out Mooloolaba.

Jeremiah looked at his worn clothes.

“A soft bed,” guessed Jane. “I miss mine.”

Jeremiah thought of the cold nights he’d spent by the fire that first winter.

“A woman?” suggested Mooloolaba.

“Hmm. I don’t know. Perhaps,” said Jeremiah.

“So, Jeremiah — you been hunting wild pigs, mate?” smiled Mooloolaba, eating cooked meat off the bone.

“I was chasing a pack of wild pigs that ran by us below,” said Billy.

“Lucky that wild boar didn’t get you,” added Mooloolaba, sipping Jeremiah’s fermented fruit juice.

“It nearly did,” said Jeremiah.

“Yeah?” said Mooloolaba, unsurprised.

“It charged me!” said Billy.

“I thought I was gonna die!”

“Fully grown, hey?” enquired Mooloolaba, frowning.

“Nearly,” said Jeremiah.

“Did you climb up a tree, mate?” laughed Mooloolaba, winking at Jeremiah.

“No,” said Billy, now playing a guessing game. “I’ll give you three more guesses,” he smiled.

Mooloolaba smiled, then the smile faded as he turned to Jeremiah.

“Good shot, Jeremiah,” he said, taking a bite.

“Thanks. But it wasn’t all me,” added Jeremiah, giving nothing away.

Mooloolaba finished chewing, then smiled again. As he looked down, he noticed a tiny amount of dried blood on Billy’s small right toe.

“You kill it too, Billy?” he wondered, surprised.

“Not me,” smiled Billy, laughing.

Mooloolaba now noticed fresh scratches all over Jane’s legs. He looked at her thoughtfully.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that, girl?”

“Daddy showed me,” said Jane seriously.

“You lucky there, mate,” said Mooloolaba, impressed.

“I know,” said Billy solemnly.

Jeremiah now looked toward the cave entrance. If truth be known, he was thinking of Billy’s painting.

“What are you thinking, Jeremiah?” asked Jane, noticing his distraction.

“Oh… it’s going to rain,” answered Jeremiah.

“Yep,” agreed Mooloolaba. “Well, I’m off back home.”

He stood, packed his bag, took another big cut of meat from the mat, and walked away.

“You’re going already?” said Jeremiah. “I nearly killed you!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” said Mooloolaba, still walking. “And I didn’t kill you, so yeah. Keep go’n.”

“Don’t tell them about me!” called Jeremiah. “Okay?”

Mooloolaba stopped at the entrance and turned.

“You bringing them back tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, yes of course. First thing in the morning. I just thought it might be a bit of fun if no one knew I’d be turning up. Is that okay with you? Around lunchtime?”

Mooloolaba turned back, waved, and headed off.

“Make sure at lunch… Tarzan!” he called, giggling as he left.

Billy and Jane smiled at each other. They liked Jeremiah’s secret.

 

A Falling Star

The rainforest trees began twisting in the breeze as rain fell. Jane followed Billy and Jeremiah back up to the cave. At the top, Jeremiah looked down at what had been his life for quite some time. Billy and Jane walked past and headed inside.

He looked at his supply of dry wood in the soaking rain. For a year he had covered it when the rains came. Now he simply left it.

Inside, Billy sat whispering little stories with Jane. Jeremiah thought about how they had saved Billy — and his near miss with Mooloolaba.

Six months of training paid off, he thought. It had been close — too close. Jane’s shot right next to mine. Would I have tried to kill Mooloolaba if Billy hadn’t checked me?

Life was full of unexplained twists of fate.

Where’s Billy’s painting? There will be many sunsets for Billy. Some sunsets are the last for many people each day. Another meal. A child born. Lessons we learn — and some we never understand. Yet in between all these things, you can find beauty in the colours of a jungle, if your heart is open to it.

He smiled.

As things stand, this is a marvellous outcome for Buang and the painting competition.

He placed Billy’s painting back into Jane’s bag.

 

A huge bang from a lightning bolt woke Billy instantly. Sam was gone. Jeremiah and Jane were sleeping — Jeremiah snoring. The fire was almost embers. Billy threw several cuts of wood onto it.

He realised the fire had never gone out since he’d been here.

Billy walked outside. A full moon was rising over the mountains. Leaves rattled and shook in the cool breeze. He sat with his feet over the edge, staring at the spectacle.

Thunder vibrated through the caves. Lightning lit the sky to the south. Billy saw his shadow flash against the cave wall.

He wondered if a truce was called in the forest during storms — all animals frightened, all hunting paused.

Then he heard a booming sound.

A falling star descended from the heavens. A white gaseous tail unfolded across the sky, stretching down toward the forest floor. It blossomed into emerald, then pink. A rustling sound of gas accompanied its passing as it disappeared into the trees.

Billy wondered how long it had travelled to land so close.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled.

Billy knew what his next paintings would be: A falling star. But first — the Capricorn Caves.

 

Time to Return

The full moon rose in front of the FX Holden as they drove. Neana lay against Paul’s side, his hand on the wheel, the other holding her lovingly.

“Did you see the falling star?” asked Neana.

“Yeah… the best one I’ve seen.”

They had been travelling nearly three hours, slow and romantic. They had held hands several times — each one still new and exciting.

Sometimes in the past, Paul had pretended Neana was Dale. But tonight was different. Tonight was real. He was finally over Dale. It had taken years.

They were comfortable in their silence — the silence of love.

The car slowed.

“What is it?” asked Neana.

“I’m tired, darling,” yawned Paul.

“We can stop if you want,” she suggested.

Paul pulled off the road and turned off the engine. He held her face in the moonlight and kissed her.

 

The old bell tower rang eight times as Mooloolaba walked wearily to the end of Mango Street. A light was still on in his house. He wondered if his wife was awake.

He opened the door. It felt good to be home and close this chapter on Billy.

He placed his spear and bag on the floor and found his wife in bed, lying awake. The lamp was dull, her hopes nearly spent. She smiled brightly as he climbed into bed beside her. She felt great joy and warmth at his safe return.

They lay together, quietly reassuring each other that everything was all right.

 

“Billy?” whispered Jeremiah softly. “It will be dawn soon — time to rise.”

Billy loved hearing those words again.

He sat up. Jeremiah and Jane were ready to leave. He checked his bag, gathered Sam, and followed them out.

Jeremiah lit the way with Jane’s lamp, though the sky was lightening. Jane held Billy’s hand for safety.

They made their way down the tricky descent. Billy would miss the Capricorn Caves. He thought of how Jeremiah had appeared from them — like magic.

Sam howled from the bag. Billy let him out. Sam ran to a favourite gum tree and climbed up, settling in a crook of the trunk.

“Come on, Sam! We’ve got to go!” pleaded Billy.

But Sam hardly looked at him.

For fifteen minutes Billy tried everything. Finally he gave up — and with a smile and a wave, Sam’s new life at the Capricorn Caves began.

 

Paul awoke as a small red truck stopped beside them. He assured Mr Williams they were fine. They were under thirty minutes from home.

Paul stepped out to stretch, waking Neana.

“Are we off again, Paul?”

She didn’t get a reply — he wasn’t there. She fumbled with the lock and got out just as Paul emerged from behind a tree.

She sighed with relief and pressed her sleepy face into his chest.

“Good morning,” smiled Paul.

“Good morning,” she sighed. “Don’t ever leave me.”

 

“Come in, Mooloolaba,” welcomed Captain Smith, apprehensive. “Please tell me you found them?”

“I found both Billy and Jane alive and well, Captain.”

Captain Smith sighed with relief. “That’s a relief. Very good, Mooloolaba,” smiled Captain Smith slightly.

From behind his desk he opened a file and wrote in it.

“They are back with their families,” he said. “And are in good health, would you say, constable?”

“Yes, good health and well, Captain.”

Captain Smith continued writing. “…and well. Done!”

He stood and closed the file.

“But they’re not back yet,” began Mooloolaba.

Captain Smith raised an eyebrow and slowly sat back down. He pulled in his chair and reopened the file.

“Right then. Report.”

Captain Smith leaned his elbows on the desk and clasped his fingers together.

“It is a surprise Billy will bring with him to Buang today,” smiled Mooloolaba.

“He has not come back with you?” asked Captain Smith.

“They are on their way now.”

Captain Smith frowned. “Why aren’t they with you?”

“Well, Captain Smith,” frowned Mooloolaba, “they’re bringing a surprise with them, mate.”

“A surprise?” asked Captain Smith.

“Yep… a surprise.”

“And you can’t tell me what the surprise is?”

“It’s a secret… Billy’s secret,” smiled Mooloolaba.

Captain Smith squeezed his fingers slightly tighter.

“A surprise. A secret.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t want to tell me what the surprise is, correct?”

“I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to say. It’s something you’ll enjoy more by not knowing… until lunchtime today. Then you will all know Billy’s secret.”

Captain Smith sighed. “Very well,” he said, writing yet to return to Buang into the file. “It must be some big surprise to be asking this of me, constable.”

“Thank you, Captain Smith.”

Mooloolaba turned to leave.

“Oh, constable,” added Captain Smith.

Mooloolaba turned.

“Seeing you found Billy and Jane, you’ve earned an extra five pounds pay this week. Courtesy of the Lord Mayor.”

A smile spread across Mooloolaba’s face. “I’ll be able to buy that new bed then.”

“Yes. And I’ll be able to pay for my daughter to visit my wife and me for Christmas. Seems we’ve both made good of an unsettling situation.”

“Settled now though, Captain,” said Mooloolaba.

“And both still employed. Dismissed!” ordered Captain Smith.

 

“And they’re home now?” questioned the Mayor with a smile.

“Not yet,” said Captain Smith with relish, enjoying the Mayor’s stress returning slightly.

“Where are they?” asked the Mayor, frowning.

“I don’t know, Lord Mayor… Mooloolaba said something about… a secret.”

“A secret?” smiled the Mayor.

Captain Smith was surprised it brought such a happy reaction so quickly.

“Yes, a secret of Billy’s apparently,” replied the Captain.

The Mayor broke into a mischievous grin.

“Maybe it’s gold. Or treasure. Or…” He whispered to himself, “The gold carriage.”

“Sorry, sir?” asked Captain Smith, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, fine. What time will they be back?” smiled the Mayor.

“Very soon now, I expect. Around twelve, Lord Mayor.”

“Very good, very good,” laughed the Mayor, clapping his hands and rubbing them with glee. “Excellent. Bloody excellent news all round!”

He walked over and stuck a pound note into Captain Smith’s shirt pocket.

Captain Smith removed it and placed it on the table.

“Perhaps a pay increase would be more fitting, Lord Mayor? In writing, of course.”

“Oh… of course. Well done, Captain,” said the Mayor.

Captain Smith saluted and left.

The Mayor sat back, wondering what Billy’s secret could be.

 

Two young girls played in a yard at the beginning of Mango Street. Lucy was two years older than Debby. Their mothers sat inside making baskets for the local market held three times a week.

The girls were eight and six.

They sang:

“Que sera sera… whatever will be, will be… the future’s not ours to see… Que sera sera…”

“I love that new song,” said Debby.

“Me too,” smiled Lucy. “But we have to feed the chickens now.”

“I wonder if Brown Chico has laid an egg today?” asked Debby.

“Didn’t she lay one yesterday?” asked Lucy.

“No she didn’t,” replied Debby.

“Did Doris?”

“Yes — oh yes, she laid two!” said Debby.

“She couldn’t have laid two,” said Lucy. “Chickens only lay one egg a day.”

“No they don’t,” argued Debby. “Doris can.”

Debby skipped ahead swinging the grass basket. Lucy followed with the scraps bucket.

The chickens began chattering as the girls approached. Debby opened the gate. One by one the well‑fed hens hopped out and gathered around Lucy as she emptied the bucket.

Kookaburras swooped down hoping to steal scraps. A large colourful butterfly fluttered past. Both girls gave chase, laughing.

Debby slipped under the fence after the butterfly. Lucy ran to stop her just as Paul and Neana’s car passed into town.

“Good‑bye, butterfly,” said the girls, watching it drift into Mr Posy’s garden.

They skipped away singing again.

“Que sera sera…”

 

“Good morning, Mr Owen,” called Helena from the front door.

“Has Billy returned?” asked Paul anxiously.

Helena threw her arms up. “He’s been found! They’re both well!” she smiled, watching Paul and Neana embrace with relief.

The children would be happy to have a mother again, she thought.

“Good morning, chicken,” smiled Pap, entering Monica’s room with Neana.

“Daddy! You’re back!” beamed Monica, sitting up and hugging him.

She hugged Neana too. Andrew followed.

“What are you wearing?” laughed Monica.

Paul and Neana looked at themselves — still in the borrowed clothes from the police station.

A loud knock came at the door.

“I’ll explain later,” smiled Paul.

“I want Billy to come home,” said Andrew sadly.

“Your wish is granted!” smiled Paul. “He has been found!”

“Where is he?” beamed Andrew as he and Monica jumped out of bed.

“I’m not sure at the moment,” admitted Paul. “But yes — he’s home.”

Monica gasped and ran to find him.

“I’ll get it!” said Helena.

“No, that’s all right — I’ll get it,” said Neana, hurrying to the door.

“Good morning, Neana,” smiled the Mayor. “Glad to see you’re all right. May I speak with Paul?”

“Yes, please do,” nodded Neana, tense.

“Good morning, Lord Mayor,” smiled Helena.

“Yes it is. Good morning, Helena. And I’m glad you’re back, Neana. It would have been necessary to send someone to find you and inform you of the trial’s outcome.”

“Ah… I thought I heard your voice,” said Paul, coming down the hall with the children.

“I’ve explained Neana’s responsibilities after the trial,” said Paul.

“And you accept the terms?” asked the Mayor.

“Yes, of course,” said Neana. “I’m happy to help.”

“Excellent,” nodded the Mayor.

“I hear Billy is hiding around here somewhere, but we haven’t found him yet,” said Paul cheerfully.

“Yes, Paul — that’s why I’m here. Good news from Mooloolaba.”

“Thank God,” smiled Paul, feeling like a changed man.

“It’s wonderful!” beamed Monica.

“Billy will be back by lunchtime today,” said the Mayor.

“And Jane?” asked Neana.

“Yes, Jane too. I’ve already informed her mother.”

“Wonderful! I’m so glad they’re both— lunchtime today?” asked Paul.

“Where’s Mooloolaba?”

“At home with his wife,” said the Mayor.

“So why didn’t Billy come back with him?” asked Paul.

“Yes… I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Mooloolaba said something about a secret. A surprise. That it would be better if Billy told you himself.”

Both men smiled and shrugged.

“Lunchtime today?” clarified Paul.

“Lunchtime,” repeated the Mayor.

Paul picked Monica up. “Isn’t that great? And I’d be honoured if you and your party joined us for lunch today, Lord Mayor. Time for a celebration.”

“Excellent. See you when the bell strikes twelve!”

“Thank you for letting us know,” waved Paul, closing the door.

“Well,” said Paul, reaching out to the small gathering. They all embraced.

“I was really scared for him,” cried Monica.

Everyone shed a tear and hugged again before Helena gently interrupted.

“What would you like for breakfast? You must be hungry.”

“How about scrambled eggs and a big pot of coffee?” suggested Paul.

“No problem, Mr Owen. Lucy and Debby are due any moment with a dozen eggs.”

Paul led Neana into the lounge room.

 

Later, Andrew was given a stack of invitations to Billy’s party. He set off and almost immediately bumped into Don Bacuss strolling toward the barber shop.

“Mr Bacuss!” called Andrew.

“Ah, Andrew. Any word on your brother Billy?”

Andrew handed him an invitation.

“What’s this— an invitation to… they found him!” said Bacuss, reading it.

“It’s great news, Mr Bacuss.”

“Good old Mooloolaba.”

Andrew looked at the barber pole.

“Mr Bacuss?”

“Yes, mate?”

“Why does the barber pole have red and white stripes?”

“I think in the past the barber also did basic surgery. Red for blood, white for bandages.”

Andrew nodded and hurried off.

He stopped at Bob Tibet’s house and knocked. Bob accepted the letter — a request from Paul to travel to the Wards and invite them to Billy’s celebratory lunch.

“Tell your father I can do it,” said Bob.

“Right.”

“I will,” smiled Andrew, running to deliver the next invitation.

 

“You know, Mooloolaba was right!” confided Jeremiah as they looked over the edge of the waterfall. “It’s about forty feet up here.”

Billy stayed well back from the edge.

They left the waterfall relaxed, walking back along the trail. Jeremiah talked about things that had happened to him over the years — hunting, building his escape plan, beautiful flowers, trees he had studied.

They reached the tree where Billy and Jane had slept that first night.

“See? I told you that’s where I left it,” said Jane, picking up the friendship ring Billy had given her from inside the hollow.

They walked out onto the road.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked Mooloolaba to keep my discovery a secret until my return. What are people going to say? I suppose I would’ve turned up eventually. That would’ve been a sight — a real ghost walking through the streets of town.”

“Stop that,” laughed Jane.

Jeremiah chuckled.

“If it’s anything like the feeling I had when we met at the top of the caves, it’s bound to be some occasion,” said Billy.

“Your grandfather won’t stop talking,” whispered Jane.

“Yeah, he does talk a lot sometimes,” giggled Billy.

“Ah, little Monica and Andrew. Such perfect grandchildren,” reflected Jeremiah.

Billy thought: That’s not how I’d describe Andrew.

Both Billy and Jeremiah pictured what awaited them in town. Each step brought them closer. The day was cool, the rains having moved off the coast. Winter was coming.

Jeremiah imagined children asking him questions: What was it like? Why didn’t you come home? He watched the long road ahead. He hadn’t seen a road in so long. He had hardly thought about returning. Maybe he was showing signs of age. Maybe too much fermented jungle juice.

“You dropped something, Jeremiah,” said Billy, picking up a gold‑coloured stone.

“Ah… thanks, Billy. Hey! Do you hear that?” asked Jeremiah. “There’s a car approaching!”

Billy and Jane looked down the long stretch of road.

“I don’t see anything,” said Jane.

“I can hear it again now,” announced Jeremiah dramatically, stepping off the road.

Finally, Billy saw a car approaching. The children ran back and hid behind a giant bunya bunya with Jeremiah.

“I think Jeremiah’s a bit frightened of returning,” whispered Jane.

“He’s done some funny things since we arrived.”

“Yeah. We’ll help him,” Billy winked.

Mr Tibet’s car passed by on its way to pick up Mr and Mrs Ward.

They stepped back onto the road.

A heavy thud sounded — a massive bunya nut crashed to the ground only twenty feet away.

“Gotta watch out for those bunya nuts,” said Jeremiah.

Billy and Jane exchanged a look. They knew.

 

Back to a Hero’s Welcome

Monica, Andrew, Paul, Neana, Helena and Mark were outside in the backyard. Three long wooden tables had been placed end‑to‑end, covered in colourful tablecloths. Bowls of salad, fruit, breads, savouries, snacks, ginger beer and wine created a picturesque spread.

The butcher was setting up. Flowers bloomed. White cockatoos and rainbow lorikeets screeched overhead.

The clock tower chimed twelve.

Paul was starting to worry again. Lunch was ready and kept warm. Helena added the last ingredients to a tropical punch.

Guests began arriving: Alice, Don and Sarah Bacuss, Alves Tomb and Beatrice, Mr and Mrs Posy, and Noelean with her husband John — who had just returned from Brisbane searching for Jane. He was relieved to hear she’d been found.

Mooloolaba arrived carrying his baby boy. Sheila was proud — though annoyed he still wouldn’t reveal the secret. Everyone felt relief seeing him happy.

Will arrived with his family and baby Sue. Then Tom’s family. Then George and Louise.

To a ringing bell, the Lord Mayor arrived — his son Clive swinging the bell relentlessly beside Captain Smith’s ear until Smith confiscated it.

The Mayor’s wife and daughters followed. Kate carried her baby girl with her husband Bruce. Lucy led Clive away to have his face painted.

The Mayor motioned four musicians into the yard — teenagers dressed like Bill Haley’s Comets. They set up in the corner. Pap plugged in the amplifier. A snare drum, double bass, and rhythm guitar joined the lead.

A young man with greasy black hair pushed past Captain Smith — and the band launched into Rock Around the Clock.

The party erupted with joy.

Monica ran out in ribbons and a pink dress. Children danced with painted faces.

Rubin danced into the yard clapping, grabbing Captain Smith and spinning him until Smith turned red.

“I haven’t seen you in such a good mood for a while, Mooie,” said Sheila.

“The day is full of surprises,” he smiled, rocking his baby.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” frowned Sheila.

“You’ll see,” smiled Mooloolaba. “Captain Smith said if I couldn’t tell him, then don’t tell anybody. Just wait. And think of that new bed coming next week.”

Helena offered appetizers. Paul and Neana welcomed guests as a couple. Andrew and Bret sat in the cubby house talking about the Mayor’s beautiful daughter.

Bob arrived with Mr and Mrs Ward through the back gate.

 

Jeremiah, Billy and Jane stood out front listening to the music and chatter.

“They’re having a party,” smiled Jane.

“Come on!”

Billy opened the front door and rushed them inside before Helena saw them.

Jeremiah worried about his clothes. “I can’t be seen looking like this.”

“Shush,” said Billy, dragging him into Paul’s bedroom. “Your clothes are still in the wardrobe.”

Jeremiah pulled out his old clothes, adrenaline shaking him.

“What about this tan suit?” he asked loudly.

“Very nice,” said Jane.

“Billy?” asked Jeremiah.

“What?” replied Billy anxiously.

“Don’t be too nervous. We’ll sort it out. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes. You two go out first.”

Billy and Jane went to his room. He put on clean pants and his red shirt.

“You look very smart,” smiled Jane.

“My mother’s going to die when she sees the state of my dress,” she said, tugging at the torn stitching.

Billy fetched a clean green dress from Monica’s room.

“Thanks,” smiled Jane, changing quickly.

Billy opened the back door.

“Look!” shouted Andrew. “Billy’s back!”

“Billy! Jane!” called the Mayor.

“Oh my baby girl!” cried Jane’s mother, running to her.

Captain Smith signalled the band to stop. Everyone gathered around with smiles.

Billy and Jane felt relieved and emotional.

Jeremiah watched from the kitchen window — all was well.

Paul pushed through the crowd and embraced Billy.

“We know you painted the Sunset!” smiled Paul. “It’s great.”

“You do?” said Billy, amazed. “How?”

“Neana told us everything. She’s so sorry. We’re so sorry, son. It was a misunderstanding.”

“It was?” Billy smiled at Neana, hugging his father.

“You’re not angry with me?”

“Not one bit. Everyone’s here to celebrate your winning painting, your birthday, and your safe return. A hero’s return. I love you, Billy.”

“And to celebrate your acceptance into the Melbourne City Competition,” added Rubin, patting him. “If you do well in Melbourne, then we’re off to New York. Ready for the USA?”

“Can Jane come too?” asked Billy.

“Possibly,” said Rubin.

“Can I hold your painting? You still have it?”

Jane handed it over. Rubin passed it to Mr Tomb, who boxed it safely.

“Happy birthday!” said David. “The school made you this card.”

Mrs Atachon handed him a giant card signed by everyone.

“Well done, Billy,” she smiled.

Jane too was surrounded by well‑wishers — proud she had believed him.

Billy was overwhelmed, but wonderfully so. This was how the Hall should have been.

“So what is this secret Mooloolaba wouldn’t tell us?” asked the Mayor impatiently.

Billy smiled. “I’ll show you.”

He stepped to the top of the stairs.

“Everybody!” he announced. “Jane and I are so thankful for this wonderful welcome.”

Applause.

“Jane saved my life — and she’s my girlfriend now too.”

More cheers.

“But before anything else, there’s one thing I must show you.”

Billy gestured.

Paul’s face tightened with emotion as his father stepped out onto the stairs.

“G’day!” announced Jeremiah, taking a glass of wine from a stunned Helena and raising it.

He looked for his son.

Paul stood smiling as much as a man could.

“Grandfather!” screamed Monica and Andrew, running into his arms.

A huge cheer erupted.

“My God… Dad?” cried Paul. “How? I—”

They embraced.

“I love you, Dad!”

“I love you too, son!”

Billy folded his arms and smiled at Jane.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I’m starving! Jeremiah’s a worse cook than your dad!”

They laughed and headed for the table.

After lunch, Helena brought out a birthday cake. Everyone sang. Billy blew out the candles, feeling happy and accepted.

Mrs Ward began to sing, and everyone joined:

We’re just a little town… But the word’s been getting round… We’re the place to go to see a painting show… So come… along… Say G’day and have some fun And find out who has won…

We’re just a little town… But the bell is ringing out… Every year, it’s the greatest painting show… So come… along… Say G’day and have some fun And find out who has won…