by Jane Smith
Carly found it hard to reply.
They had spent the few hours of remaining daylight clearing out a room to sleep in. The shed had been used as a warehouse and was full of dusty old crates and rubbish. It was hard and dirty work to shift them, especially when wearing long skirts and a corset. When it was done, Mrs Chisholm and Carly made a little nest for themselves in one of the tiny rooms. Mrs Chisholm had arranged for a mattress – linen stuffed with straw – to be delivered to the shed, and she told Carly that they would share it. It looked lumpy and unsanitary to Carly, but Mrs Chisholm was pleased with it.
When night fell and they got ready for bed, Carly wriggled out of her dress, keeping the shawl around her shoulders while she changed, the way she sometimes got her togs on and off underneath a beach towel when she swam at the creek back home. She was astonished to find layers of petticoat beneath her dress. She unlaced her corset, tossed it onto the dirt floor and sucked in great lungfuls of air. Bliss!
Carly and Mrs Chisholm lay down to sleep, and Carly found that the mattress was even more uncomfortable that it had looked. It was not only lumpy but scratchy as well. Carly gripped the shawl tightly around her shoulders, and Mrs Chisholm pulled a rough blanket up over them. Mrs Chisholm said goodnight and blew out the candle, and complete darkness fell upon them.
Carly lay in the dark and thought of home. Homesickness pressed upon her chest and stomach, exactly where the corset had been earlier. When she had left her family to visit another state, she hadn’t expected to be visiting another century as well! She wondered about Dora: was she worried? She felt a bit guilty about deserting her new friend. She didn’t know how to go back to modern times ... but part of her didn’t really want to. This new world was strange and scary, but it was exciting too. She fell asleep happily, to the rhythm of Mrs Chisholm’s snores.
She woke with a start. Someone was screaming.
‘What’s that noise?’ Mrs Chisholm shrieked. It was still pitch dark in the shed. Loud rustling and squeaking noises scuttled about the room. It sounded like a dog, or a pack of them.
‘RATS!’ Mrs Chisholm screamed.
Carly squealed and sprang to her feet.
Mrs Chisholm was fumbling about in the dark, bumping into boxes and tripping on the mattress. Squeaks and the pattering of dozens of tiny feet echoed from the walls.
‘Found it!’ Mrs Chisholm sang, and there was a tearing sound and a flare of light. Mrs Chisholm held a match to the candle, and an orange glow lit the room.
Hordes of rats romped about in the shadows.
Carly screamed again. Gross! At the farm, rats sometimes got into the chickens’ grain, but the cats and the snakes usually took care of them. She’d never seen them swarming about like this before.
‘Aargghh!’ Mrs Chisholm yelped. Two rats had dropped from the rafters onto her shoulders! She jumped and clawed at her shoulders. The little bodies fell with a whump onto the floor and scuttled away.
Carly dashed about, lifting her feet high to stop the furry creatures from running over them. ‘Mrs Chisholm,’ she cried, ‘we have to get out of here!’
To Carly’s surprise, Mrs Chisholm stopped squealing and let out a bark of laughter. Then she stopped chuckling and stood quiet and still. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We are not going to be outdone by a few little rodents!’
‘What do you mean?’ Carly asked with a tremble in her voice.
‘We have more backbone than that!’
Carly watched as the lady set the candle back upon the box, calmly opened her bag and pulled out a loaf of bread and a knife. She cut the whole loaf into slices and placed them onto a plate in the middle of the floor. Then she took a bottle from her bag and poured water from it into a dish, which she placed on the floor beside the bread. The rats leapt over each other in their eagerness to get to the feast.
‘There,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘That will keep them out of our way. Now, you go to sleep, dear, and I shall sit here with my candle and read a book while I keep an eye on the rats. And tomorrow night, I shall add a touch of poison to their meal.’
Stunned, Carly did as she was told. As she snuggled up on the straw mattress, she caught a glimpse of Mrs Chisholm’s head bowed over her book, and she felt strangely calm and safe. Before long, she was fast asleep again.
‘Rise and shine!’ sang a cheerful voice.
Carly opened her eyes and looked at the dirt floor and the rough timber walls. It took a moment to remember where she was. Then it all came back: Mrs Chisholm, the shed, Sydney of a hundred years ... or more ... ago. Carly lay on the scratchy straw mattress, watching her breath make puffs of mist in the chilly air, and she wondered exactly what year she was living in.
‘Up you get,’ said Mrs Chisholm.
Carly yawned and sat up, clutching the shawl tightly about her shoulders. She had slept surprisingly well.
‘Get dressed and have some breakfast,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘Then we have work to do.’
Carly picked up her corset glumly. She wondered if she could get away with not wearing it, but decided that Mrs Chisholm was too sharp-eyed to fool. She wrapped it around her middle and tugged on the laces.
‘Here, let me help,’ Mrs Chisholm said impatiently.
The air whooshed right out of Carly’s lungs as Mrs Chisholm yanked on the laces. ‘Thank you,’ Carly squeaked in a tiny voice. Then she stepped into her dress and Mrs Chisholm helped her do it up, which was a relief, because there were so many buttons to fasten. How she wished she could have just thrown on a t-shirt and pair of shorts!
‘Now, eat up and then get to work,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘We’ve got to have this place spotless by evening. I’ve got a scrubbing brush and a bucket of water for you. You can start on the room next door.’
Carly could see that Mrs Chisholm had already been hard at work. The walls in the room they had slept in were clean, and every surface had been dusted. There was no sign of the rats. She picked up the bread that Mrs Chisholm offered (a fresh loaf, she noticed – thankfully not the rats’ leftovers!) and started to eat. She’d have preferred a bowl of cereal or – even better – a plate of bacon and eggs, but she didn’t have a choice. A more serious problem was that she was busting to pee. No way was she going to use the pot that Mrs Chisholm offered to her. She’d just have to hang on.
‘Well, now,’ Mrs Chisholm said briskly. ‘I must go out and buy poison for those rats. I’ll leave you to start scrubbing. The Devil makes work for idle hands.’
With that, she was gone. Carly looked around and sighed. How will I ever get this place clean? Her mum always made her do the vacuuming and dusting during school holidays. Carly usually complained about it, but those jobs seemed like picnics now, compared with this one.
She sighed again, undid the little buttons at her wrists and rolled up her sleeves. No use complaining. She bent to pick up the scrubbing brush, and a corner of her shawl fell into the bucket of water. She pulled it out with a huff. The shawl would only be in her way and she didn’t want to get it dirty, so she slipped it off her shoulders.
And the world spun and went black.
‘Have you heard of Caroline Chisholm?’ Dora asked.
Carly waggled her head as if trying to shake water from her ears. ‘Huh?’ she said.
Carly and Dora were strolling down the city street, only a few metres from the crossing where they had paused at the lights. Carly looked down: t-shirt, shorts and joggers. No corset. She patted her hair; it was hanging long and straight down her back.
‘I said: have you heard of Caroline Chisholm?’
‘Um ... yes,’ Carly replied. What was going on? Dora didn’t even seem to have noticed that she had gone. Time seemed to have stood still. Or did I simply imagine the last twenty-four hours?
‘She was a real legend,’ Dora said. ‘We learned about her in school. She used to greet immigrant women when they got off the ships, and she looked after them in a home she set up.’ Dora stopped and pointed to a building. ‘See that plaque there?’
Carly looked where she was pointing.
‘That tells you all about it. The home that she ran for the women used to be right there on that spot.’
With her heart thumping, Carly read the inscription on the round, green plaque upon the wall. It said:
Caroline Chisholm, the emigrant’s friend’, opened the Female Immigrants’ Home on this site in 1841. During a major period of free migration, Mrs Chisholm worked to improve conditions for women migrants on their arrival in the colony.
1841, Carly thought. Well, that answers one of my questions.
‘Do you ever wonder what it would have been like back in those days?’ Dora mused.
‘... mmm,’ said Carly. Then she bit her lip and turned to her friend. ‘If you could go back in time to find out, would you do it?’
‘Heck, yes,’ Dora replied. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Carly nodded slowly. The shawl was still in her hand, fluttering in the breeze. She looked at Dora: her freckles and stiff, red pigtails and gappy teeth; her odd, bright clothes and her open, confident smile. She knew that Dora was a girl she could trust.
‘Dora,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t think I m crazy—
‘Why?’ Dora tipped her head and gazed at her. Her red-rimmed glasses made her eyes big and shiny. ‘Are you OK? You look as if you’re going to puke.’
Carly shook her head. ‘I’m OK. It’s just ... can you take the shawl out of your bag?’
Dora rummaged in her bag and pulled out the crumpled shawl.
‘Now,’ Carly said. ‘Trust me. On the count of three, we both put our shawls on.’
‘OK,’ Dora whispered. ‘But why?’
Carly leaned closer to Dora. ‘You said you’d like to go back in time?’
Dora nodded.
‘Then trust me.’
Dora spread out her shawl and held it up. Her eyes were full of questions.
‘Ready?’ Carly asked.
Dora grinned.
‘OK. One, two, three!’
The world spun again and came back to rest in 1841.
They were standing at the wharves in the middle of a flurry of activity. Great sailing ships sat on the waves out in the harbour, and little rowing boats ferried to and fro. Men in boots and caps and high-waisted pants with braces strode about the docks carrying sacks and boxes, while dirty, ragged children scurried amongst them.
Dora stood, staring at it all with her jaw almost down at her knees. Carly burst out laughing. Dora looked hilarious. She was dressed in a pale yellow gown with a great ballooning skirt, and a white frilly bonnet. Her hair was no longer in pigtails but done up in a bun with a plait looping down under each ear. Her funky, red plastic glasses had gone, and a pair of round lenses held together with wire sat upon her freckled nose.
Dora looked down at herself and back at Carly. ‘Holy moly,’ she said.
The wharf was busy; a ship had just come in and its passengers were filing out across the gangplank. They looked dazed and shaky. When they stepped onto land, most of them just stood and stared, looking as if they’d just woken from a long sleep and didn’t know where they were. Carly knew how that felt. Some of them burst into tears. Were they happy or sad tears? She couldn’t tell.
There were people everywhere: young and old, rich and poor, male and female ... but mostly male. There were people waiting to greet the new arrivals. They stood with hands cupped around their eyes, searching for their loved ones. When they saw them, they cried out and ran and hugged.
‘Ouch!’ someone bumped into Carly from behind. She spun around to look. She saw a tall, chubby man of about forty in a brown suit, waistcoat and top hat.
‘Watch out!’ he snarled. He had a huge moustache and more chins than she could count. Beside him was a shorter, younger man with greasy hair and an even bigger moustache.
‘Sorry,’ she said, although she had done nothing wrong. She turned away. She didn’t like the look of either of them.
‘There’s one,’ Carly heard the tall man say to his friend, as he pointed to the crowd. ‘She’ll do.’
‘No, she’s got friends with her,’ the short, greasy man said. ‘That blonde would be better. She’s all alone.’
The tall man snickered. ‘Alone and poor, by the looks of her. She’ll be desperate for a job.’
‘And she won’t ask tricky questions about the pay either,’ his friend agreed.
‘Pay?’ the tall man replied, and the pair let out ugly barks of laughter. ‘Who said anything about paying her?’
Dora and Carly looked at each other. They didn’t like what they were hearing.
‘STOP, THIEF!’ a voice cried out.
Suddenly people were scrambling and bumping into each other. Carly and Dora clutched each other’s arms.
‘There!’ said Dora, pointing. Carly saw a young woman waving her arms in distress. She was small, thin and blonde, dressed in a plain grey gown and simple bonnet. A little boy clothed in rags was sprinting away from her.
‘He stole my purse!’ the woman shouted.
The little boy vanished in the crowd and the girl dropped her face into her hands and wept. She looked terribly alone.
‘Perfect!’ Carly heard the greasy man say. ‘She’ll want that job even more now!’
Carly looked around in alarm. The two men were pushing their way through the crowd to the weeping woman. ‘Come with me,’ she said to Dora. ‘We have to help her.’
The girls elbowed their way through the crowds. Too many people stood in their way and they struggled to get close to the crying girl. Two men were blocking their way.
‘Carly,’ Dora dug her in the ribs – she barely felt it through the bones of her corset – and hissed in her ear. ‘It’s those two nasty men!’
‘My dear girl,’ she heard the tall man say to the young woman. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘That child stole all of my money!’ she sobbed. ‘Now I have nothing!’
‘There, there,’ said the man.
‘I’ve come all the way from Ireland, and I’m all alone! I haven’t anywhere to stay, and now I’ve got no money to pay for a room!’
‘Excuse me,’ Carly said, but the men wouldn’t let her pass. Crowds pushed and shoved all around them.
‘I don’t suppose you have a job,’ the tall man said. His voice was sickly sweet and oily.
‘No!’ the woman wailed. ‘I have nothing!’
‘Don’t fret,’ the man said. ‘I will employ you.’
‘Would you?’ the girl sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘Would you really?’
‘Excuse me,’ Carly said, trying to squeeze between the two men. They ignored her. The short, greasy one stamped on her foot. ‘Ow!’ she yelped.
‘Come and work for me,’ the tall man went on in his smooth voice, ‘and you will have everything you need. No time to waste; I will take you to my home right now. We can talk about your chores and pay later.’
‘It’s a trick!’ Dora whispered. ‘He’s not going to pay her at all!’
Carly nodded. She thought quickly. If the girl went with this man, he would cheat her. He certainly wasn’t planning to pay her. But if she said ‘no’, she would be homeless. She was alone in a strange city with no money, no job and nowhere to stay. She had no choice. She was desperate. But this was just the type of man that Mrs Chisholm had warned her about! The type of man who tricked and abused helpless new immigrant girls. Carly wouldn’t stand for it.
She grabbed Dora’s carry bag and swung it into the back of the man’s knee, making his leg buckle under him. He tumbled to the ground. ‘EXCUSE ME!’ Carly shouted, shoving past him to the Irish girl.
The girl gazed at Carly in astonishment. She looked only a few years older than Carly and Dora. Her face was pale and thin. Her dress was worn out at the collar and looked as if it had been mended a dozen times.
‘Mrs Chisholm will be waiting for you,’ Carly said firmly. ‘She will find you a good job ... with an honest employer.’ She gripped the girl’s right arm.
‘Come with us,’ Dora added, taking hold of the girl’s left arm.
Carly and Dora steered the girl away from the tall man, who swore and protested. ‘She’s mine,’ he shouted. ‘How dare you!’
The girl blinked and glared back at him. ‘I don’t belong to you – or anyone,’ she said.
‘Well said.’ Dora grinned.
They met Mrs Chisholm on their way to the Home. She was scurrying towards the wharf when they came upon her.
‘Carly Mills!’ she exclaimed. ‘How nice to see you again!’
‘Hello, Mrs Chisholm,’ Carly replied.
Dora’s eyes opened wide with surprise again. ‘Is this really—’
‘Yes!’ Carly whispered to her before turning back to Mrs Chisholm. She had been worried that Mrs Chisholm might be annoyed with her for running out on the cleaning job, but the lady was as warm and friendly as ever.
‘I just heard that a ship came in,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘I was worried that I might have missed the girls. But I see that you’ve already found two for me!’
‘Oh, no,’ Dora began, ‘I’m not—’
‘Welcome, welcome!’ Mrs Chisholm beamed at them. ‘No luggage again? Never mind, come with me. I'll have you settled in and find you jobs in no time.'
Dora raised her eyebrows at Carly, and Carly shrugged. There was no point explaining. If they told Mrs Chisholm that they were not immigrants but were time-travellers from the twenty-first century, she’d think they had lost their minds.
The girls introduced themselves. The Irish girl’s name was Sophie. She told them that she was an orphan and that she hoped to find work as a servant. She was only sixteen. She didn’t know a single soul in the colony.
Mrs Chisholm showed them into the Home proudly. Weeks must have passed since Carly was last there, for the change was astonishing. Each of the rooms had been cleaned and fitted with beds and small cupboards. The gaps between the slabs had been blocked up and the rooms were cosy and comfortable.