To Love Anew (18 page)

“What do ye think we’ll see today?” Lottie asked, adventure in her tone.

“I can’t imagine.”

“I liked the bird we saw yesterday. I never seen one like that before— all white with yellow feathers on its head. It was pretty.”

“It was at that,” Hannah said. “Rosalyn told me they’re called cockatoos.”

“That’s a funny name.” Lottie kicked a stone into the brush. Hannah watched it fly. It landed at the feet of a black man. She gasped and instinctively caught hold of Lottie.

The man, though small, stood with a spear at his side and looked fierce. Matted hair stuck out from his head, exaggerating his square black face. He stared at them from dark eyes; even the whites looked brown.

Hannah barely breathed. What should she do? If she ignored him and kept walking, would he attack them? Should she try to communicate? She decided it would be best to act cordial. Smiling, she said, “I’m Hannah.” She glanced at Lottie. “And this is Lottie.”

The Aborigine looked from one to the other and then said something in a foreign language.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Hannah was perplexed at what to do next.

The man spoke again and then walked away, seemingly indifferent to Hannah’s mistrust and fear.

“I never seen one of ’em up close like that,” Lottie said when he’d gone. “I was afraid he’d steal us away and eat us.”

Hannah laughed nervously and stared at the place she’d last seen him. “Of course he’s not going to eat us. He meant no harm.”

“But that sailor said—”

“He was only trying to scare us,” Hannah said. “Obviously that man was harmless.” But she wasn’t at all certain that was true. She’d heard stories of Aborigines attacking whites.

“Mrs. Brown will be waiting for us,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, hoping to conceal her own apprehension. Grasping Lottie’s hand, she hurried on.

Whenever Hannah was out and about, she watched for John. Several times she’d caught a glimpse of him, but always from a distance. She’d heard that he’d been assigned to a road crew and could be away for days at a time. Once, he’d spotted her at the same time she’d seen him. He’d waved, but then had been forced to move on.

Hannah thought about him often and wished there were some way to find quiet moments together. But each time her mind went to that place, she’d force it back to reality. There was no reason to associate with John. He was serving a life sentence, and she fourteen years. There could never be a time for them. She might as well get used to living as a convict in this inhospitable land.

New South Wales was nothing like England. Although Hannah found it tolerable, it took some getting used to. There were some things about the country that she actually preferred over what she’d experienced in London or aboard ship. The temperatures could be hot, but the air was cleaner than London. And although conditions in the huts were deplorable, they were still better than the hold of the ship. She struggled most with the hungry bugs, especially mosquitoes. They could make nights torturous and sleep elusive.

Soldiers still made visits to the ladies’ huts, but there were enough women who were willing to exchange their favors for small extravagances that those who weren’t so inclined were left alone. Hannah was thankful she, Lydia, and Lottie had not been bothered.

A camaraderie of sorts developed between Hannah and her roommates. Rosalyn mostly kept to herself, but often shared rewards from her nighttime rendezvous, bringing home blankets, drink, and food. Once she was given a comb, a prized possession in this place.

Marjorie could be sanctimonious and sometimes hurled barbed comments, mostly at Rosalyn, but she also helped with the work and on occasion tended to Lottie’s needs. She was, however, often frightened and always bitter.

On a Sunday morning, their only day to rest, Rosalyn woke late. She immediately dug into her bag. “I’ve something better than that salt beef and dry bread we get.” She smiled mischievously. “Chocolate.” She held up a hunk of the confection. Dividing it, she gave a piece to Lottie. “There you go, luv. It’s a bit soft, but still good.”

Eyes aglow, Lottie bit into it and chewed. “Mmm.”

“Hannah. Lydia. There’s some for you too.” She handed them each a piece.

“Thank ye.” Lydia immediately popped hers into her mouth. She closed her eyes as she chewed. “It’s grand.”

Hannah accepted hers. “Thank you.” She looked at the gift. “Rosalyn, this isn’t worth what you do.” Gently she added, “We don’t need it.”

Rosalyn tilted up her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Just because those blokes lock me up in a hovel doesn’t mean I’m going to live like a savage. I want some of the finer things. And I’ll have them.” She walked to the doorway and looked outside. “One day, I’ll find one to marry.” Her words were confident, but not her tone. She looked at Marjorie. “Ye want a piece?”

“From you? No.”

“Ye think yer so much better than me . . . than all of us. Well, yer not. Yer stuck here just like us.”

“I’m innocent of the charges. My brother-in-law’s lies put me here.”

“Yer not the only innocent ’round ’ere.” Leaning against the doorframe, Rosalyn gazed out. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Please don’t go,” said Lydia.

“I’m not meeting anyone. Just need some fresh air.” She glared at Marjorie.

The sun had gone down and the staccato buzzing of cicadas filled the night air. The mosquitoes were especially voracious and Hannah couldn’t sleep. Moonlight spilled in through the hut window, pushing back the darkness.

A hammock creaked and someone moved across the room. Rosalyn. She went to the door, hesitated a moment, and then stepped outside.

Hannah propelled herself out of her hammock and followed. “Rosalyn,” she whispered loudly. “Rosalyn.”

The tall, dark-haired woman stopped and looked at Hannah. “What do ye want?”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t like using the chamber pot. I prefer me privacy.”

Hannah stared at her. “I don’t believe you. You’re meeting someone, aren’t you?”

“What is it to you?”

“I know you don’t want this—”

“Have I a choice?” Rosalyn whispered back vehemently.

“Yes.”

Rosalyn folded her arms over her chest and stared at the bay where moonlight shimmered. “I can’t live out me life as a prisoner. If I’m not free, I shall die.”

Hannah remembered when she’d considered trading her body for food. The shame she’d felt then rushed at her anew. “I know what it’s like to feel you have no choice. But you do.”

“Go back to your bed.”

Hannah tried a different tact. “It’s not safe. There’ve been attacks by Aborigines. I saw one myself a few days ago.”

“I’m meeting a guard. He’ll see to me safety.”

“Please don’t go.”

Rosalyn glared at Hannah. “Why do ye care?”

“You have value, Rosalyn. We all do.”

Rosalyn stared out into the darkness and then turned to Hannah. “What I do has nothing to do with ye. Just because we’re forced to live in the same hut doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Rosalyn’s words hurt. “I just thought—”

“Don’t waste time on me.” Rosalyn’s voice had lost its hard edge. “I’m not worth it.” She moved on.

Hannah watched her disappear into the darkness.
I’m really
no different from her
, she thought, regret engulfing her.

She wasn’t sneaking off to meet men, but she felt as much a prostitute as Rosalyn. They all were—doing whatever it took to survive, groveling and doing as they were told. And worse than Rosalyn, she’d traded the life of her baby for so-called respectability. She could nearly understand Rosalyn’s actions. Perhaps she was right—why bother with decency?

Late in the afternoon the following day, a genteel lady came to the hut. Hannah had seen her before, but she’d never met her. The stout, kindly looking woman held a large satchel and stood just outside the doorway. “Might I come in?” she asked, her blue eyes gentle.

“Yer welcome to,” said Lydia. She stood and offered her stool to the visitor.

Moving gracefully, the woman crossed the room and sat. “I’m Mrs. Atherton. I live a little way from here. I visit occasionally to see what I can do to help. I know a bit about doctoring.”

“No one here needs anything from ye,” Rosalyn said.

Mrs. Atherton’s eyes moved about the room. “Are you all in agreement?” Her gaze settled on Marjorie. “How about you?”

“I’ve some complaints, but there’s nothing can be done about them. And I’d never consider allowing anyone but a real surgeon see to my needs.”

“I understand your concerns, but there’s only one surgeon and so many prisoners. Most likely you shan’t see him.” Her eyes went to Marjorie’s hand. “You’ve a cut that needs tending.”

“Do you think it’s serious?” Marjorie asked, seeming to have forgotten her resolve about professional doctoring.

“Might I have a look at it?”

“I suppose it would be all right.” Marjorie held out her hand. The edges of the wound were fiery red, the center puckered with infection.

“It must be painful.” Mrs. Atherton cleaned the cut, applied salve, and bandaged it. “Clean it every day. I’ll leave bandages and some of the ointment.”

Marjorie held the hand close to her abdomen. “Thank you.”

Next Mrs. Atherton moved to Lottie. “And how are you?”

“Good, mum, just a little hungry. Wish I got more to eat.”

Mrs. Atherton smiled, but her eyes looked sad. “Perhaps I can help with that.” She reached into a satchel and retrieved a small bag tied shut. Untying the string, she asked, “Would you like a sweet?”

“Yes, mum.” Lottie’s eyes were bright with anticipation.

“There’s enough for all of you.” Mrs. Atherton gave a piece to each of the women.

Lottie had eaten half of hers when she said through a mouthful, “This is good.” She leaned against Mrs. Atherton. “You’re a fine lady.”

“Thank you, child.” She looked at Hannah. “Is this your daughter?”

“No. Her mother died during the crossing.” Hannah rested a hand on Lottie’s shoulder. “We found each other.”

“You’re a pretty little thing. What’s your name?”

“Charlotte, but everyone calls me Lottie.”

Mrs. Atherton dug into her bag. “I think I have a dress here that might fit you.” She lifted out a small pink gown.

Lottie sucked in a breath. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never had such a fine dress.”

“I think the pink will go nicely with your freckles,” said Mrs. Atherton. “I’ve other dresses too. Each of you may have one. They’re in the large satchel.”

The women descended on the bag, except for Rosalyn. They each found dresses—Hannah a white linen, Lydia a green one, and white for Marjorie. Reluctantly, Rosalyn chose a pink gown.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve had anything nice,” Lydia said. “Thank ye.” She held the dress up against her.

“I’ll visit again.” Mrs. Atherton’s eyes settled on Lottie. “There’s a family I know who would love it if a pretty little girl like you went to live with them.” She looked at Hannah. “They’re a fine family. Would it be all right if I inquired?”

Hannah felt the instant sting of tears. She adored Lottie. How could she let her go?

“Of course,” she said. “This is no place for a child.” She smiled at Lottie. “Imagine having a real family.” She tried to keep her tone light.

Lottie frowned and said nothing.

“Good then.” Mrs. Atherton stood. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon. Good day to you.”

16

John and the crew ambled up the road to a waiting wagon. Fatigue had fixed itself in his very bones. He wasn’t sure his legs would carry him. Glancing at blistered, bloody hands, he kept walking.

When he reached the wagon, John climbed into the back and sat, leaning against a side rail. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to rest. Another man’s misfortune had provided the entire crew with a day’s respite
,
for they were required to return to the prison.

Kian Murphy, an Irishman, had tried to escape. He’d been hunted down, put in irons, and marched back to Port Jackson where he awaited punishment. John didn’t want to think about what that could mean for Kian.

“Right poor reason for a day off,” Perry said, sitting beside John.

“You’re right there.” John let out a haggard breath. “Poor Kian.”

“Wouldn’t want to be him, that’s for sure.” Perry rested his arms on bent legs. “Living on the streets I had some bad days, but nothing like he’s gonna have. The gallows would be better.” He was quiet for a moment. “Wish there was some way to save the poor bloke.”

John only nodded. There was nothing to be said and he didn’t want to talk about it. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his mind remained with Kian and he could find no rest. At the end of this day, Kian would most likely be dead. John didn’t know the young man well, but he seemed pleasant enough and not the type to run off. Why had he tried? It was common knowledge there was no escape, not overland anyway.

On the trip back to the gaol, the men were silent. Even Perry turned uncharacteristically quiet.

At the prison John hobbled to his hut and dropped into his hammock. It was the first time in three weeks he hadn’t slept on rocky ground. Longing for sleep, he closed his eyes, but an image of Hannah intruded. He wanted to see her. Was she still at the prison or had she been moved? He’d heard that several women had been transferred to the Female Factory in Parramatta. If she’d gone with them, he’d likely never see her again.

Sleep
, he told himself.
Don’t think.

“In the yard! Everyone in the yard!” a soldier bellowed as he walked along the row of huts.

John groaned and rolled to his side, dropping his feet to the floor.

“That’ll be Kian,” Perry said. “Poor beggar.” He walked to the door and looked outside.

John pushed out of the hammock. “He’ll be made an example of. It’ll go hard on him.”

“It’s depraved, but yer quite right.” Perry remained in the doorway. “Don’t guess there’s a way to escape this, eh?” Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he shuffled outside.

“Hope he makes it through.” John followed, resigned to witnessing a flogging.

John worked alongside Perry. Sweat dripped into his eyes and ran down his back, soaking his shirt. His muscles quaked at the stress laid upon them. Still he continued to swing his pick, digging out rock and earth.