To Love Anew (21 page)

“She’s right,” Hannah said. “You shouldn’t go.”

Rosalyn lifted her chin. “I’m getting out of this place. Being a wife to any one of these gents is better than slaving ’ere.” She strutted away, moving toward the men who openly ogled the women, especially Rosalyn.

“All of you, line up,” a guard ordered. “Let the men have a look.”

Humiliated and angry, Hannah joined the others. She kept her eyes straight ahead and prayed that none of them would want her.

“For those who are new here, it works like this—when a gent fancies you, he’ll drop his scarf or handkerchief at your feet. If you pick up the scarf, you’ve accepted his offer.”

There were a few minutes of quiet while the men considered the women. Finally one of them moved toward Rosalyn. And then another man. They hurried toward her, both dropping a handkerchief at her feet.

One of the fellows looked like a decent sort, but was rather unattractive with an overly large nose and close-set eyes. The other behaved boldly, was brawny and good-looking. Rosalyn sized them both up and then chose the handkerchief of the bold gent.

He raised a fist in triumph and lifted her into his arms. “I got me a wife,” he said, carrying her away.

Hannah felt the sting of tears. What would become of Rosalyn?
Lord, watch over her
, she prayed, fearing Rosalyn would end up paying dearly for her transgressions. Her mind turned toward her own lot, and Hannah pleaded with God, asking that no one come for her. She took a step backward, hoping she’d not be noticed.

A young man approached Lydia. She met his gaze. He looked boyish and carried himself with a swagger. He dropped his handkerchief at her feet, but she ignored it and instead stared at the man. Finally, he snatched it up off the floor and chose another.

Marjorie quaked. Her face looked pinched. Hannah feared she’d collapse. Although attractive, Marjorie was older than most of the women. No one chose her.

One of the last men walked toward Hannah. He was tall with a broad chest and a full beard and long hair. He tried to smile, but by the look of him Hannah guessed he was bad-tempered. He dropped his handkerchief at her feet. She didn’t look at it. He stood directly in front of her for a good while, then finally demanded, “Aren’t ye gonna pick it up?”

“No.” Hannah tried to appear indifferent.

“Pick it up, I say.” Dark eyes bore into hers.

“I shan’t.”

Finally, he snatched it up. “I’ll be back. After ye’ve been here awhile ye’ll be beggin’ me to take ye with me.”

That will never happen.

The men left and the remaining women went to their beds. Some were distressed at not being chosen, others were grateful. Although the sun blazed and heat permeated the cells, Marjorie went to her bed and shivered.

Hannah sat beside her and rested a hand on her back. Lydia sat on the opposite side of the makeshift bed.

Through tears, Marjorie looked at Hannah. “How can this be happening to me? How could my brother-in-law have done this to me? I’ll die here. I know it.”

In spite of Marjorie’s snobbishness and her complaining ways, Hannah felt sorry for her. “Hush, now. It will all turn out right in the end.”

Marjorie pushed up on one arm. “It won’t.” She stared at the cell bars for a long while and then said, “I’d rather be dead than live like this.”

Lydia grasped Marjorie’s hand. “Come on, now. It’s bad, I can’t deny that, but we’ll get out one day. It’s been a year since we left London.”

“One year gone and six left.” Marjorie’s voice sounded empty. “I can’t bear it.” She lay on her side and pulled her legs up against her chest. She stayed like that, eyes closed and silent.

Hannah thought about what Marjorie had said. She was having trouble facing six years and Hannah had another thirteen to serve.
How shall I bear it?
she wondered, momentarily allowing herself to look at the painful, empty years stretching out before her.

She and Lydia moved across to the other side of the large cell. They sat on the floor, their backs pressed against the wall. “This place is despicable,” Lydia said. “She has a right to be distressed.”

Hannah watched the fragile woman. “I’m worried about her.”

“As ye should be. Ye ought to be worried ’bout the whole lot of us.”

That night was dreadfully hot. Doors and windows were left open to let in more air, but mostly all it did was allow in flying pests. Hannah tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. She considered the floor; it would be cooler, but it was too filthy to even contemplate. She heard someone get up and go outside. When they didn’t return, she thought it strange, but fatigue finally dragged her into sleep and its blessed oblivion.

The following morning, Hannah awoke, still sweating. “I thought March was supposed to bring cooler weather,” she complained.

“One never knows,” Abigail said.

A shriek came from outside. A woman ran into the building, hands pressed against her face. “She’s dead! She’s dead!”

“Who’s dead?” Hannah asked.

“That friend of yours. She’s out there. Hangin’ from a tree.”

Hannah and Lydia sprinted outside. Marjorie’s body hung from a tree limb several paces from the building. “Oh, Marjorie. No . . .” Hannah pressed her hands to her mouth.

“Oh luv. Why’d ye do it?” Lydia moved toward the dead woman and grabbed hold of her body. “Someone cut her down!”

A guard ambled toward the tree. “Fool woman,” he muttered as he sawed through the rope and then lowered her to the ground.

Lydia gently brushed the hair off Marjorie’s face. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Hannah stared at Marjorie, her anger growing. “This didn’t have to happen.” Her vision blurred by tears, she stared at the dead woman. “She shouldn’t have been transported.”

“Hannah, ye all right?” Lydia asked. She stood and grasped Hannah’s arm.

“No. I’m not all right!” She wrenched her arm away. “She didn’t have to die.” Hannah whirled around and faced the guards. “This is your fault, you and your kind. You did this!” Hands in fists, she stormed at them. “You humiliate and torture and use us until there’s nothing left! You’ve no right to treat us like dogs!”

“Shut your mouth!” one of the guards hollered. He brandished a sword.

Lydia grabbed Hannah. “She’s distraught. Pay her no mind.” She held Hannah close to her and whispered, “Stop now. Or you’ll be dead too.” Out loud, she said, “Come on, now. Ye’ll be fine. Work will help.” She steered Hannah inside.

Hannah sat on her bed of sheep’s wool. “I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

“Ye can and ye will. I’ll not listen to that kind of talk.”

“But—”

“It’s sniveling and pathetic. And what ye did out there was foolish. Ye want to give those monsters cause to kill ye?”

Hannah stared at Lydia. “There’s no way we can prevail.”

“Yes, there is. We survive. There’s honor in it.”

“I have no honor.”

Lydia grasped Hannah’s upper arms. “Ye have to fight. Trust in the Almighty. He’s greater than them.”

She met Lydia’s gaze. “But he doesn’t care about me. He’s given up on me.”

“That’s foolish talk.” Lydia straightened. “Yer only defeated if ye believe ye are. Fight, Hannah. If not, then ye will die.”

18

Hannah twisted and then pulled the twine. “Ouch,” she gasped as it cut into her skin. She grasped her finger and waited until the sting eased. Turning her palms up, she studied raw, blistered skin.
They’ll never heal.

Before returning to her work, she glanced at the other women at the table. Every one of them looked haggard. Some were incredibly thin. Days of sitting at this table, lack of proper nourishment and sleep, bouts of sickness, loss of hope—all of these worked together to sap a person’s spirit and strength.

Hannah’s back ached from long hours at the bench. Straightening her spine, she rubbed tired muscles. Today, despair threatened to overwhelm her. A sharp wind cut through the loft, and she was cold. Gazing out at the countryside, she longed to look at someplace beyond here. She couldn’t see far, only the nearby hillsides, which were mostly bare and dotted with tree stumps and an occasional farmhouse. It didn’t look as lovely as when she’d first arrived.

Lydia elbowed her in the side. “The guard’s coming,” she whispered. “Ye don’t want to be caught idle. Especially after what ye said to him, he’ll be looking for a reason to punish ye.”

Hannah focused on her work.

The guard’s boots echoed on the wooden floor. He walked toward the back of the loft in Hannah’s direction, then stopped beside her and stood silently for a long moment.

She kept at her work without looking up.

The guard remained silent, then in a booming voice, he said, “Hannah Talbot.”

She jumped and then set her work down and looked at the man.
Lord, I pray for your protection.
The guard glared back at her.
If it’s the lash, then let it be. They’ll not destroy me.

“Sir,” she said and stood.

“Someone here to see you.” He gestured toward the stairs. “See to it.”

Hannah’s first thought was of Lottie. Had she come?
Of course not. I’d not be called away from work to see a little girl.
She hurried down the rotting stairs, wondering if this were all just a ploy so the guard could get her alone.
There’s no reason for that. He can do whatever he likes anyway.

She stepped outside. A man she’d not seen before stood beside a handsome chestnut stallion. He was tall with graying hair and looked a bit imposing but not threatening.

Hannah moved toward him. “Sir, I was told you wished to speak to me?”

The man smiled. “Yes. That is, if you’re Hannah Talbot.”

“That I am.”

“I’m William Atherton. I had a time finding you. Heard you were at Port Jackson, but once I got there I was told you’d been transferred here.”

“I’ve been here more than two months now.” His name sounded familiar. And then Hannah remembered. It was a Mrs. Atherton who had visited at the gaol in Port Jackson.

“Yes. Well, I’m in need of a new housemaid, and I was told you’d make a fine one. Is that true?”

Hannah’s pulse picked up. “Yes, sir. It is.” Her mind swam with thoughts. Was Mrs. Atherton his wife and had she been the one who’d spoken to him about her?

“You’re small and a bit frail-looking.”

“I’ve always been small, but never frail. I’m strong. And when I’ve had enough to eat, I’m actually quite robust.”

His smile was caught up in his gray-blue eyes. “I can assure you those who work for me are properly fed.”

The guard took a step closer to Hannah and Mr. Atherton. “Sir, she’s a troublesome one. Don’t figure you’d want the likes of her working for you. Can’t be trusted.”

“Is that true?” Mr. Atherton asked Hannah.

“No, sir. I’m quite reliable and I’ll give you no trouble.”

“I consider myself a good judge of character.” He studied Hannah a moment longer. “I think you’ll do nicely.” He turned to the guard. “Have her papers drawn up. She’ll be working for me now.” He looked back at Hannah. “That is, of course, if she’d like to. I have a farm near here and I own a logging company. The house is large but not tremendously so.”

Mr. Atherton seemed a good sort. Could she trust him?
He’s my escape from here.
She eyed him a moment longer. Was he being honest about what he wanted from her? Glancing at the guard, she knew it mattered little. She couldn’t stay. He would find a way to punish her for her outburst the day Marjorie died. “I’d be pleased to go with you, sir.”

The guard glowered. “I’ll be back with the papers.” He stomped off.

“I’ll send someone ’round to fetch you,” Mr. Atherton said. “And I’ll have a word with that guard before I go.” He tipped his hat. “Good day.”

Hannah sat in the back of a wagon, hands clasped in her lap. Traveling through the countryside was exhilarating. She could hardly believe she was free of the factory except she hated saying farewell to Lydia. They’d both cried, but Lydia was quick to hearten her. They were the best kind of friends. Finally with well wishes and congratulations Lydia waved good-bye. Hannah knew it wasn’t the end of their friendship. They’d see each other again.

Her thoughts turned to the Athertons. Did they have children? Mr. Atherton hadn’t mentioned any. Apprehension threatened her good mood, but she pushed it aside and concentrated on the beauty of her surroundings.

The wagon rolled over a single dirt lane filled with potholes and mud. It tipped, dropped, and bucked. But the rough ride couldn’t distract Hannah from the pleasure she felt as they moved through forests of eucalypts, cedars, and acacias. Occasionally she’d spot the Parramatta River, which flowed lazily from the west. She imagined picnicking along its shores.

I’m not free,
she reminded herself.
I’m still a convict. Certainly there’ll be no opportunities for picnicking.

The wagon slowed and turned onto a long drive. Hannah could see a house nestled among trees. It had two stories and was somewhat sprawling, but not intimidating. Several chimneys jutted up from the roof, reassuring Hannah that the winter chill was not allowed to settle too severely indoors.

There were a number of outbuildings. Some looked like cottages. She guessed the others to be shops or storage sheds. Not far from the house stood a large barn with a corral housing a mare and her foal.

Hannah was pleased to see rows of fruit trees and a vegetable garden on the north side of the home. An assortment of farm animals ranged about—pigs, cows, sheep, and fowl.

The driver steered the wagon to the back of the house where he stopped. He jumped out and opened the back. Hannah climbed down and grabbed her bag.

“Mrs. Atherton will be waiting for you.” Without another word, the driver climbed back onto the front seat, slapped the reins across the horses’ backsides, and headed down the drive away from the house.

Hannah stared at the back entrance of the home. She wasn’t afraid, but she was nervous. She didn’t want to do anything that would upset Mrs. Atherton. At her discretion her employer could send her back to the factory.
I’m capable and hardworking,
she told herself.
I’ll just do my best.