Hearts of Gold (2 page)

The town consisted of a straggle of shacks amongst the trees, the grog tent and some other buildings, though the land was still being cleared. She walked the length of the street then walked back again. There was a group of men sitting in the shade of a tree. She approached them. ‘Have you seen Flynn Collins anywhere?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Sarette Maitland. He was my father’s partner.’

‘You’re Jack’s girl? I’m sorry to hear about your pa. He was a decent man.’

She nodded. ‘Somebody stole our things from the camp, including my pa’s gold. We’ve got no water and I can’t see the horse and cart anywhere.’

The men exchanged looks, then one mumbled, ‘Flynn headed out.’

‘Headed out where? He can’t take the horse and cart. It belonged to my pa. Do you know where’s he gone?’

The man shrugged. ‘He didn’t say, luv.’ Fishing around in his pocket he came out with a shilling. ‘Here, this will buy you some water.’

‘He’s taken the bottle.’

The man looked at his two companions. ‘Come on, you two. Last night you were giving her pa a send off. Spare a shilling or two for the kid.’

One of the men spit into the dust. ‘I haven’t got enough money for mesself, let alone any to spare.’

‘Nor me. Perhaps Bessie will give her a job.’

‘She’s just a kid.’

‘Sarette put her hands on her hips. I’m fourteen, and I can work as hard as any man. Where does this Bessie live?’

He jerked a thumb towards the bush. ‘Over yonder. Some men like them innocent. I reckon she’ll get a nice price for you. They’ll be queuing all the way to Southern Cross.’

When Sarette realized what he was talking about, she blushed and didn’t know where to look.

The first man rose to his feet. ‘Nay, lass. Take no notice of him. You come with me and I’ll see if Benstead will let you help him in the store. At least you’ll get fed.’

But Mr Benstead didn’t have any paid work for her. ‘Her father owed us money for provisions when he died. She can work off what he owes.’

‘As long as you feed her.’

‘I didn’t say I’d feed her. She’s not my problem.’

Mrs Benstead came through from the back room, where she’d been listening to the conversation. ‘It’s our problem if the debt’s not paid. It’s only right that she should work it off. And I reckon I can manage to feed her for a week while you takes the wagon in to stock up on goods. She’s only a skinny little thing so won’t eat much, not like that bloody dog you brought home last month.’

‘He’s a good watchdog, and earns his keep.’

And so the deal was struck. It wasn’t much, a chunk of bread and some corn beef and dried apple, which she kept for breakfast. Sometimes there was tinned soup. Sarette found that if she swallowed the dried apple then drank some warm water, the apple would swell in her stomach and make her feel full. Grateful for the food, she worked hard to pay off her father’s debt. She swept the sand away from the store, weighed dry goods, kept the shelves filled and the place as dust-free as possible.

She didn’t go back to her camp at night, it was too far. Instead, she cuddled up to the dog under the flap of the tent. He seemed glad of her company.

Mrs Benstead wasn’t as severe as she looked, and when Sarette’s debt was paid she handed her a sack containing some provisions. ‘The flour’s got a few weevils, but I reckon you’re not too fussy and can cope with that.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Benstead.’

‘You’re a good girl, Sarry. You’ve worked hard and have nice manners. Your dad would have been proud of you. He was a decent man, right enough, not like some of the miners around here. They’d steal your eyes from your sockets before you had time to blink.’

The woman cleared her throat, which made Sarette think she had more to say.

‘I can’t afford to keep you on here, since we can barely make ends meet. But I’ll be the first to say you’re a willing worker. I’ve put a couple of shillings in the bag so you’ve got some water to take home with you. But only because you’ve earned it. Don’t think I’m a soft touch.’

‘Oh, no . . . I wouldn’t want you to think that I’d think that about you, Mrs Benstead.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed a little, then her mouth twisted into a reluctant smile. ‘You’re not as daft as you look, are you? You can take the old water bag that’s hanging on the back veranda. I’ve put the word round that you’re looking for a position, and if anyone needs a reference they’re to come to me for a recommendation.’

The praise was unexpected, as was her generosity. ‘Thank you, Mrs Benstead.’

‘Well, go on then girl,’ she said gruffly. ‘Get out of here. The water carrier’s coming, so you’d best get in the queue.’

Sarette had forgotten how heavy water was. ‘Heavier than gold and twice as precious, so don’t waste a drop,’ her father had often said. Usually he’d fetched it with the horse and cart. Provisions in one hand, water in the other, she made her way back to her camp under the eucalyptus trees, frequently changing hands as her shoulders began to ache.

Finally she reached the track that led to her tent. The horse and cart was nearby. ‘Flynn,’ she shouted, and placing her bags on the ground she hurried forward. She was brought up short when a woman emerged from the tent. She was wearing the blue dress that had once belonged to Sarette’s mother. ‘Who are you?’ she said.

‘Sarette Maitland. This is my camp, and that’s my mother’s dress you’re wearing.’

The woman’s hands went to her hips. ‘Is it now? We bought this claim and everything in it from Flynn Collins. Lock, stock and barrel.’

Dismayed, Sarette stared at the woman. ‘But it wasn’t Flynn’s to sell. He only owned half the claim. The rest belonged to my pa before he died. And the horse and cart was my pa’s too. It didn’t belong to Flynn. He stole it.’

‘Well, that’s too bad. Get off my property.’

‘I’ll go to the police.’

‘Please yourself. You can’t prove any of this is yours, and I have a receipt.’

‘You’re a thief and a liar.’

The woman advanced on her and slapped her several times around the head. ‘Don’t you call me names, you skinny little wretch.’

Sarette couldn’t ward off the stinging slaps and as she staggered backwards her heel caught on a root and she tripped. The woman picked up a branch. Scrambling to her feet Sarette turned and ran, crashing wildly through the undergrowth until she was out of breath and her exposed face and arms were covered in scratches.

After a while she realized she wasn’t being followed. She’d also left her precious provisions behind. She didn’t intend to leave the water, she’d worked too hard for it.

Later in the day she sneaked back to the camp. Her provisions had gone. There was a man there, with a youth, skinning a kangaroo with a sharp-looking knife. Both of them were too big and mean-looking for her to tackle.

She had nothing now, only the clothes she stood up in. As the shadows lengthened she slowly made her way back towards town, though what she was going to do there, she couldn’t imagine.

When darkness fell and she could walk no more she sank to the ground, too weary for tears. The earth beneath her still retained the heat of the day and the air was humid and balmy. Above her, the stars scattered thickly across the sky and Sarette thought she could feel the world turn.

Her stomach rattled with hunger, her face stung from the woman’s slaps and her throat was parched with the need for moisture. It would be a good night to die. Sarette willed it, and the stars began to blur before her eyes and her limbs became lethargic. Darkness crept through her body and she thought she could hear an angel singing. His voice was loud and deep, and she wished he’d shut up, so she could die in peace.

‘Abide with me; fast falls the eventide. The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide—’

John Kern tripped over something soft that grunted with annoyance. ‘Damn and blast, and I was in fine voice tonight too, Hercules.’

His horse, who was following a couple of lengths behind him came to a halt and gently snickered.

John crouched, felt along the bundle, then announced his verdict. ‘It’s certainly a child,’ he told his horse.

The horse nudged a wet nose at the bundle, the force of which rolled it over. It hissed with annoyance. ‘Go away. I want to die in peace.’

‘And a fine night for dying it is, too. I think I’ll die with you. ‘
When other helpers fail and comforts flee, help of the helpless—’

‘Do be quiet.’

He lowered his voice to a whisper and finished, ‘
Oh, abide with me
.’ There was a moment of silence, then, ‘Before you die, could you direct me to my house? I’m lost.’

A muffled sob reached his ears. ‘How can I, when I don’t know who you are and where you live? When I heard you singing I thought you were an angel coming to take me to heaven.’

‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry to get to heaven, my dear. Angels are tedious creatures who sit on clouds, flap their wings and play harps. Besides, they have to be good all the time, and I’m sure that wouldn’t suit you at all. My name is John Kern. What’s yours?’

She gave a watery giggle. ‘Sarette Maitland.’

‘Ah, just the person Hercules and I was looking for before I was lured into the grog shop by a lady with a large bottom and a thirst on her. Well, never mind. You’re too young to know about such things.’

‘What things?’

‘Grown-up things. What were you doing way out here by yourself? I was looking for the horizon.’

‘In the dark? I thought you said you were looking for your home.’

He laughed. ‘Perhaps my home is on the horizon. I lied. What’s your story?’

‘My father’s partner sold the claim and the camp. The woman who lives there now was wearing my mother’s dress, one I was keeping for myself to grow into it. And she beat me when I asked for it, so I ran away, leaving my water and provisions behind. When I went back for them they were gone. Her husband and son looked mean and I was too scared to ask for them. So I left. I was going into town but I think I took the wrong trail and it got dark. I was tired, and I decided to stop and rest. Then I got it into my head to die. I was just going to when I heard you sing, and thought you were an angel.’

‘I saved your life then. Hercules was very clever to find you.’

She decided to humour him. ‘Why were you looking for me, sir?’

‘To employ you, of course. I’d noticed you working around the store, and you reminded me of someone. Mrs Benstead said you work hard, don’t eat or talk much and never complain. I need a housekeeper if you’re willing. The stars look pretty, don’t they?’

‘I used to sit and watch them with my pa. Sometimes one would shoot across the sky and we’d both make a wish. Pa’s wish was to find enough gold so he could buy a proper house and could take me away from here and give me an education. I used to wish that Pa’s wish would come true, so he’d be truly happy. He was so sad after my ma died.’

Poor girl to lose both her parents, John thought, and her looking so much like his own dead daughter that his heart had nearly stopped when he’d first set eyes on her at the store. Not that he’d ever seen Margaret covered in dirt like this ragged little waif, or wearing worn boots that were too big for her. Margaret had been bathed by her governess every day and had dressed in satin and lace. She’d worn ribbons in her hair and the softest of kid slippers on her feet.

And what was he doing, offering to take this stranger in and giving her a home when he’d made plans to dispose of his life? He was too old for children. The grief of losing Margaret had turned his mind. Like Sarette, he’d wanted to die so he’d started to drink himself to death, and he’d almost succeeded, but not quite.

He wasn’t really a believer, but if God did happen to exist, what if he’d sent him this girl, who reminded him so forcefully of the child he’d lost. What if this was his opportunity to redeem himself by saving this little waif?

Claptrap! he thought uneasily. Nevertheless, she needed somebody to care for her. He placed a bottle in her hand and sighed. Conscience was a hard taskmaster. ‘Here, swallow this. Then we’ll go home.’

She must have smelled the liquor on his breath because she asked prissily, ‘What is it?’

‘Ah, a typical female. We’ve only just met and you’re nagging me about my drinking habits.’

‘My pa said only fools drink whisky in the diggings.’

‘I assure you that this bottle contains only water, twice boiled to keep the typhoid at bay. I brought it along for Hercules, but I daresay he can manage without it till we get home. I reserve the whisky for myself, it dulls the brain while it quietly rots away the guts. So your pa was right, and I admit to being a fool. Now we have that settled, drink up or shut up.’

Only
water, he thought, giving a wry smile as she put the bottle to her lips and tipped it. Water was life and death here, and the girl was gulping it down as though she’d decided on living after all and had a private river of water at her disposal.

When she’d emptied the bottle he lifted her on to the horse and mounted behind her. She was slight, weighing next to nothing. He clicked his tongue. ‘Take us home then Hercules. And mind your manners. We have a young lady on board.’

My dearest Magnus,

Today I find myself on the diggings in a place that is called Coolgardie. A large amount of gold was discovered here a little while ago, in an area appropriately named, Fly Flat. So far I’ve sifted a little dust, enough for my day to day needs, but riches still evade me.

The area is a Godforsaken place, dusty and hot, and with sparse vegetation and no water, except what is carted in. As you can imagine the longing for the green hills of home overwhelms me from time to time.

I have pegged my claim and built a temporary shelter on it (one cannot really call it a home), a sketch of which I enclose. As you can see, I show very little promise at architecture.

Magnus Kern chuckled. His uncle John had a sense of humour, one that was evident in his sketch of the ramshackle hut. By the looks of it, the walls were made of sacks sewn together and attached to a frame. There were sheets of corrugated tin for a roof, and tacked on here and there. A veranda was built on the front supported by rough wooden poles, with branches to provide shade. Under it was a stool to sit on and a wooden barrel next to the support, either to store water, or to use as a table, he supposed. A peasant would scorn the offer of a mean hovel such as this in which to house his pigs.