East of Outback (11 page)

She finished her meal. The questions with which she had come to this table had resolved themselves into answers. The plan spread before her mind’s eye, flawless.

She folded her napkin. “May I be excused?”

Mum nodded. Mary Aileen glanced at Hannah’s plate enviously. Mary Aileen was condemned to sit there until she finished her food.

“Papa, there’s a—an, uh—a—an
alternative
. That’s it. The abbess says I may serve a detention, if you prefer. That means I must stay three hours past school each day and not go out at noon or recess, and I’ll receive extra work to do. Papa, please might I serve detention a few days and
then
—”

“No!”

“And
then
you could apply to the abbess. “Twill give you a bit of time to cool off, and her as well. Her even more; the floor will be dried out by then. Please, Papa? Your meeting with her will go so much more amicably, don’t you see? And I’ll not miss any school.”

She hoped she had used the word
amicably
correctly.

Apparently she had. He studied her and she held his eye.

“No child of mine will take punishment she doesn’t deserve.”

Hannah shrugged. “Mary’s child Jesus did.”

Mum hid a smile behind her napkin. Mary Aileen watched intently, with great, liquid eyes.

“I’ll discuss it with your mother.” When Papa said that, it equaled a delayed yes! She’d done it!

She hurried around the table, bumping Mary Aileen’s chair, and threw her arms about Papa’s neck. “Thank you. Papa!” She ran to the stairs.

The first part of her plan had concluded splendidly. Now for the second. She hurried to her room and closed her door behind her. She dumped out her books and stacked them in the back of her clothes press. She dug out the papers, and the notes from her teachers that Mum never saw, the pens and pencil stubs, the dry, rounded erasers, and the compass and protractor she had not yet used this year.

In her bookbag she carefully packed her striped blue dress and the brown cotton one, all the stockings she owned, what underwear she had, the blue and black hair ribbons, her other pair of shoes, and her hairbrush. What else did she need? Books were too heavy, toys too childish. She found no room for Emily, the little rag doll that had been her companion her whole life. She would pack her nightie in the morning. She closed up the bookbag and set it by her little writing table.

Late that evening, as soon as the house settled into its night quiet, Hannah slipped downstairs. Moonlight painted white rectangles on the kitchen floor as it streamed through the windows. The light glinted on two eyes. Smoke the cat hopped up onto the kitchen counter and curled into a watchful ball. In the darkness of the night, the little tortoise-shell cat was always watching.

Hannah climbed up to Mum’s sugar bowl and robbed it of all its coins. Only Smoke knew. In the parlor she opened up the secret compartment in the secretary and took the money Papa kept there for emergencies when the banks were closed.

The next morning Hannah put on her uniform, kissed Mum and Papa goodbye, and hurried out of the house with her bookbag. She hastened past the church, behind the school, down the busy streets to the railway station.

The price of her ticket took all but two shillings. Very well, she would go without food. Undaunted she sat on the cold iron bench beside the equally cold iron posting box to wait. Rain began, misty and soft at first, then hard and pounding.

She suffered less than an hour’s wait for the train, and suffering it was. Did anyone ever sin as Hannah had just sinned? Because of the high incidence of strikes and riots downtown, especially on the waterfront, Hannah was forbidden to walk alone any farther than the school. Here she sat, blocks and blocks beyond where she was allowed to be.

But that was the least of her transgressions. The detention option was a lie, a device to keep Papa away from the school and give Hannah a few extra hours for her escape. She remained, today as yesterday,
persona non grata
to the abbess. She’d lied about the abbess, a woman ordained for God’s work. She’d lied to her own family and Papa in particular, dear Papa who loved her so. What an undeserving worm she was! No wonder God left her with two shillings for a week’s food! She didn’t merit that much.

By the time Samantha glanced at the hall clock, wondering when her errant daughter might return, Hannah had crossed the border from New South Wales into Victoria, the first leg of her long, long journey to Kalgoorlie.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

P
ERFIDY

On a whim, Colin turned aside from Lionel Street into MacDonald Street and followed it the few blocks to the racecourse. He slipped through the gate and walked out to the rail. Long gray shadows stretched out across churned dirt. A waning sun turned the red-ochre track to fire. Colin wandered not up into the grandstand but out to the horse barns in back. Here was his turf, his familiar ground. Silence. No, not quite silence—the flies buzzed, the constant flies. The track sat vacant, between race days now, the race days themselves much farther apart now that Kalgoorlie no longer boomed. Colin thought about his adventures with Papa at Sydney’s racecourse, among its venerable barns. There is a grand excitement among the barns, the owners and trainers, that patrons and bettors will never know. Good times, those.

He left the peaceful, empty racing grounds and continued up into Hannan Street.

Half a block this side of the Exchange he saw a familiar form sitting on a bench beneath a streetlight. He crossed the street to say hello.

Lily smiled at him. “Good to see you.”

He plopped down on the bench beside her. “Good to see you. What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for Dizzy. I’ll let him walk me home when he gets out of the Exchange over there.” She nodded toward the pub across the street.

“Why not come along in? I’m going there right now to have supper with him.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not—” She took a deep breath and started over. “This last week has been brand new for me, Colin. I have a good job, and a nice room with a nice old lady in a comfortable little bungalow over on Dugan Street. All nice and comfortable, Colin, you see? That’s new for me. And I like it.”

“I see. And nice girls don’t go into the pubs?” He smiled. “You’re not the same girl who stole that side of wallaby a couple of months ago.”

“She’s a stranger.” The huge eyes turned to him full force. “You and Dizzy, you changed me. Helped me change, I mean. You were gentlemen. And you treated me like a real person. Dizzy says he won’t do things for me I ought to be doing for myself, and I’m starting to see how wise that is of him.” She brightened. “The landlady and Dizzy are both helping me learn to read and write better.”

“I’m really glad for you, Lily. I’m glad the ‘stranger’ is gone.”

“Dizzy says you sent your mare down below in the mine. He’s quite worried about that. Is she still there? I guess so; here you are, on foot.”

“Just for another week. We took ore to the mill today, so my uncles will have the money for a new horse this week. And the gray horse is so tired from hauling ore out that she needed a rest. Otherwise I would have ridden her up here.”

“Do you like mining?”

Colin shrugged. “Now that I’ve been at it a week it’s a little better. It’s a lot of hard work, but I don’t mind that. They don’t feed the horses enough, though, so I bought some extra feed with my own money. And the first thing we did when my mare went below was drag the dead horse off to an abandoned shaft. They just pushed it in. I didn’t like that much.”

“Mmm.” She wrapped herself in her own thoughts, and changed the subject. “Colin? You grew up in the city among polite society. When is it proper for a nice girl to get married?”

“You mean, what age, or what time of year?”

“Age. Both, I guess.”

“Well, let’s see. It’s all changed now. You see, up until the war, girls were formally introduced into society, and then they were courted a year or two before they got married. But after the war, those formalities were set aside. Now girls get married any time, and sometimes they don’t even get that formal introduction into society. Mum says it all started when women’s hemlines were raised almost to their knees. That’s when it all changed.”

“You mean my dress isn’t proper?”

Colin studied what she was wearing for the first time. It was not exactly a flapper dress, and it looked very pretty on her. It was made of a silky-looking blue fabric, and draped from her shoulders in graceful folds. The waistband came not at her waist but at her hips, like every other girl’s dress. The hem just barely covered her knees.

“Your dress looks very much the same style as my mother and sister would wear, so I’d say it’s perfectly proper.”

“And you’re saying a nice girl can marry when she wants?”

“Pretty much so.”

“Are there any rules for it?”

“Rules? For getting married? I don’t know. I’ve never thought much about getting married. I guess one sure rule is that if you’re a woman you cry at the wedding—unless of course you’re the bride. And don’t sneeze in the punch bowl!” He laughed lightly, but Lily was pensive again.

“Mmm.”

“You sure you want to just sit out here alone, Lily?”

“Yes. Yes, this is fine.”

“Well, uh, then I guess I’d better get going. Diz is probably waiting for me in there.” Colin stood up. “Uh, see you later.
Sure
you don’t want to come?”

“No. I’m fine.” And she smiled again. It was the second smile in five minutes that she offered voluntarily, a drastic change from the waif he’d met two months ago.

Colin waved to her and headed back across the street.

The Exchange Hotel pub rumbled tonight with the hubbub of scores of milling, sweating, jostling miners and shopkeepers. A few well-dressed girls circulated among them; still, Kalgoorlie hardly seemed the den of iniquity its reputation painted. Colin paused a few minutes at the doors, looking for Dizzy. There was no sign of the Perseverance mine’s new cook.

Wait! There he was, bellied up to the bar, laughing and talking with a man in a white suit. Colin threaded between the busy tables and shouldered himself a place—a very narrow place—beside Dizzy at the bar.

“
Buenos dias, amigo
.” It was practically the only Spanish Colin knew.

“Eh!
Aquí está mi compadre! Qué tal
?” Dizzy stepped back a few inches. “Mr. Newport, my frien’ and fellow traveler Colin Sloan, from Sydney. Col, Mr. Newport is assistant manager at the Perseverance.”

Colin reached past Dizzy to shake his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Newport.” The man looked every bit a manager of sorts, with a splendid handlebar mustache that divided his long, lean face. He stood half a foot taller than Dizzy. “Mr. Sloan. Related to the mine owners?”

“Nephew, sir.”

“That explains a lot.” The man nodded curiously and motioned to the barman. A moment later a pint appeared at Colin’s elbow.

Colin felt his cheeks flush. “Uh, I’m sorry, sir. I deeply appreciate your generosity and friendship, but, uh, I don’t drink, sir.”

Someone punched Colin in the right side. He grunted and slammed against Dizzy on his left. “That’s rude, lad,” bellowed a familiar voice. “He shouts you a drink, you drink.”

Flannery, the big Irishman, hovered at Colin’s right.

Dizzy looked positively amused. “Lemme know if you need help on this one, Col.”

What was going on here? Colin looked wildly at Dizzy, then at Mr. Newport, who appeared equally amused, and at the hulking Irishman. Mr. Flannery looked downright hostile. Colin found himself stuttering. “Uh, er, welcome, sir. Join us.”

“Join us, the lad says! Like ye joined the Star, and now y’re looking to move up in the world, aye? Mayhap join the Perseverance next. Ye need a lesson or two in respect, lad, and a bonzer lesson in the purpose for union rules regarding seniority.”

This was all going over Colin’s head. Flannery’s mates were calling to him to relax, but the admonitions only infuriated the man further. Without warning he drew back a big fist and swung at Colin.
A fight?
The last fight Colin could remember being a part of was a childish match at the age of six with his sister Mary Aileen over a paintbox. That ended in a draw. This fight would not end in a draw. With horror Colin perceived that this man could beat him to a bloody pulp.

With the whirl of thoughts and memories, in the same moment Colin ducked away from the blow. The Irishman’s fist caught him a glancing thump on the shoulder and sent him sprawling. Now the huge foot, shod in a heavy brogan, was pulling back to kick him and he was twisted at such an angle as to make him unable to avoid it. Colin’s heart screamed,
Help me!
even as his head frantically sought a way out.

A wiry leg whipped out lightning-fast and hooked Flannery’s ankle. The Irishman flipped onto a table of spectators, wearing a look of utter amazement.

His two chums came boiling up out of their chairs to take over. Dizzy had joined the fracas, so apparently it was in order for Flannery’s mates to offer assistance. Colin had no idea how the rules of bar brawls worked, but Dizzy needed help. Colin scrambled up from the floor, laced his fingers together and used the double fist to wallop the nearest brawler on the back of the neck. The fellow’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.

Dizzy had sunk to a squat on the floor, but apparently had not been struck. As he rose suddenly he had his arms wrapped around the third fellow’s legs. He kept rising steadily and with a mighty heave sent the fellow straight up and over the bar head-first. As the fellow plunged downward on the other side, his boots caught the shelves of bottles and smashed them into the huge mirror. Shattered glass was everywhere.

Flannery was back up and coming toward them; Dizzy flattened him again with a body blow and a solid right. The Irish fell back against the same table of onlookers and collapsed to a sprawling pile on the floor. He put the back of his hand to his nose, and blood spurted all over his white shirt.