by Amanda Deed
‘I’m one of ’em,’ the boy grinned. ‘Daniel’s me name, but everyone just calls me Danny. I’ll walk with ya if ya like.’
Jane had nodded and fell into step beside Danny.
He must have noticed her frequent glances over her shoulder at the stock horse, for he jerked his head back. ‘He’s a beaut, ain’t he?’
She had offered him a shy smile. ‘Yes.’
‘I call ’im Murph. Dunno why,’ he shrugged. ‘It was what came to me when I first seen ’im. He’s hard working though, I can tell ya that.’
Jane looked over her shoulder at the horse again. ‘I love horses.’
Danny stopped walking. ‘Here, give me that basket, and you can lead Murph. It looks like it’s gettin’ heavy there.’
Jane hadn’t needed to hear the offer twice. She handed her new friend the scones and took the rein. Moving closer to the animal, she stretched out a hand. ‘Hello, Murph.’
Murph sniffed at her hand, then allowed her to stroke his nose. The horse had accepted her readily enough, just as most animals did. Jane could always rely on them to accept her.
‘Come on, then.’ She’d given the rein a gentle tug and they headed off again.
Within minutes of arriving in the drovers’ camp, the scones were gone, including every drop of jam and cream. ‘Give Mrs Finnegan a big thank you for us, will ya, Jane?’ Danny’s father, Mr Mitchell, the boss drover, had told her.
From then on, every time the drovers came to Hay, Jane and Danny spent time together, talking of horses and cattle. In fact, Danny made the whole droving experience sound so free and romantic that, over the years, Jane had birthed another dream. A dream of becoming a horse tailer, the one who looked after the horses, and travelled with the drovers.
She opened her eyes from her reverie with a sigh. Girls weren’t permitted to work in droving teams—unless, it seemed, they were Aborigines dressed up as boys. If only God had made her a boy so she could ride with the drovers. But then, if she were a boy, Papa would find her more useful. As it was, she was neither a useful boy, nor a beautiful woman who could win herself a wealthy husband. So what’s the use of me?
3
Jane stared at the roasted hare on her plate. How would she manage to chew meat while the space her tooth once occupied still throbbed? Mashed potato and boiled vegetables she might be able to contend with, but tough meat posed a problem.
‘What are you gawking at, girl? Eat.’ Mother frowned at her across the table.
Jane chanced a glance at her father, hoping he might step in, but he kept his eyes on his food. She swallowed. ‘Might I have some soup, Mother?’
‘Soup?’ Her eyes bulged with affront, her knife and fork poised over her plate. ‘The food in front of you is quite sufficient.’
Jane could hear the quiet sniggers of her stepsisters beside her.
She could not bear to look at the undeserved outrage on her stepmother’s face, but needed to explain. ‘I had my tooth pulled today.’
Mother put her cutlery down with force, her impatience obvious. ‘That tooth again. Well, I hope we will hear no more of it.’ She waved her hand in dismissal. ‘Chew on the other side.’
Jane heaved a sigh, albeit an internal one. What had she expected? Compassion? She doubted if her supposed parent even knew the meaning of the word. Resigned, she picked up her knife and fork and cut a tiny piece of meat. She cast an eye over to Moses, who sat on a perch in the corner. He would enjoy this meat more than she tonight. Several stands had been placed around the house to stop him chewing the furniture. At present, he gnawed at the wooden perch and then swung in big circles around it.
‘Who pulled your tooth, Jane?’ Harriet, her older stepsister asked, but with a mocking edge to her voice. ‘Was it that new barber-surgeon in town?’
Nancy, her other sister, jerked to attention at the reference to Hay’s latest eligible bachelor. A year younger than Jane, and two years younger than Harriet, she mimicked everything her older sister did. ‘Oh, I’ve heard he’s an American.’ Her eyes widened with naive awe.
Jane forked the meat into her mouth so she didn’t have to speak and nodded her confession. At the memory of her encounter with Mr Moreland and the calamity with the laughing gas, warmth spread over her cheeks. The humiliation of the moment still hung about her.
‘He must be handsome. I’ll wager Jane has become infatuated,’ Harriet purred.
From the corner of her eye, Jane saw the sardonic twist to her sister’s lips. She tried to ignore the barb, but instead her cheeks burned hotter.
‘Did he pay you any compliments, Janey-poo?’ Nancy’s teasing lilt dug at her wounded dignity even more.
The two girls giggled and Jane glanced at the door with longing. If only she could escape to her room.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, girls,’ Mother scorned. ‘Mr Moreland would not take the slightest notice of her. Just look at her.’ She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
Eyes fixed on her plate, Jane heard a chair scrape the boards as her father stood to his feet. Please stop this persecution, Papa. She crossed her fingers hard beneath the table cloth.
Papa stood there a moment, then cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, ladies. I must attend to some business before retiring this evening.’
A chorus of ‘yes, Father’ and ‘yes, dear’ met Jane’s ears and then Papa’s footsteps crossed the room, fading towards the front door. He’d let her down again. Why did she ever expect anything else? She clenched her teeth and groaned at the stab of pain in her mouth. The onslaught would grow worse now that he had gone.
‘Poor Jane. You’ll never get a fellow’s attention with that hair.’ The disdain in Harriet’s smooth voice was clear. Along with the words, she tugged at one of Jane’s escaped curls.
‘Or with those terrible freckles,’ Nancy added.
‘Let’s face it. Jane is just too plain.’ If Harriet had used a real knife to cut her, it might have hurt less.
Nancy giggled. ‘Plain Jane, Plain Jane, made a fool of yourself again.’
The sing-song tone rose as Harriet joined with her, repeating their little jest over and over, making Jane wish she could sink through the floor.
Even Moses joined them. ‘Plain Jane. Plain Jane.’ He screeched, then followed it with his ear-splitting laughter.
I will not cry. I will not cry. Turn the other cheek. Turn the other cheek. Jane sat motionless, eyes lowered, waiting, hoping for it to stop.
‘Get that ridiculous creature out of here.’ Mother put her hands over her ears.
Moses, despite joining in the derision, turned out to be her salvation. Jane pushed back her chair and stood to remove her screaming bird, but as she did she saw Harriet’s shoe thrust out from under the table. Too late, she caught her foot on her sister’s and lost her balance, knocking her plate of supper as she went.
The two girls let fly with shrieks of laughter, which encouraged Moses to become louder.
‘Get out. Get out!’ Mother roared, her hands still pressed over her ears.
‘Poor Janey,’ Harriet’s smooth voice mocked. ‘Did you get tangled in your long legs again?’ She let out a feigned sympathetic noise, while her lips twisted with a smirk.
Face burning, Jane picked herself up off the floor, ignoring her bruised hip and elbow and the scattered food. She glared at Harriet before she went to Moses, who willingly hopped onto her wrist. Why was her sister so mean?
‘And when you’ve finished with him, come back and clean up this mess.’
Jane stepped out into the cool night air with not even the mettle left to turn back and acknowledge her stepmother’s words. Outside, the peaceful night noises surrounded her—an owl’s gentle hoot, the rustle of animals settling in stalls, the distant bark of a dog—and the tension eased in her body. She took Moses to his cage and shut him in for the night. He didn’t realise he’d
been repeating an insult, but it hurt just the same. The girls had taught him to say it years ago when she had been sick in bed for a few days.
‘Good night, boy.’ She scratched his neck and locked the cage.
As she turned to leave, two small shadows leapt at her out of the darkness, almost knocking her to the ground. ‘Jem. Zai. Get down.’ The two Terriers drew a soft chuckle from her as they bounded around, their dark, shaggy hair making them hard to see in the moonlight. Jane sat on a log and allowed them to fawn over her. They were just what she needed. A balm for her bruised emotions.
Although Papa did not run sheep or cattle like many surrounding properties, the two working dogs were a happy addition nonetheless. They were her dogs, but they provided Papa with company around the farm, often chasing away flocks of galahs and corellas from the wheat, or nosing out snakes and rats and even rabbits, and Jane suspected he was fond of them. Pets had been the one thing Papa indulged her in—the one issue where he had put his foot down with Mother, Harriet and Nancy.
Mother used to complain when Moses chewed her precious Irish pine furniture. Anyone would have thought she purchased it with her own hard-earned money, rather than inherit it by right of marriage. In truth, it belonged to Papa and Jane, and Papa told Mother in no uncertain terms to be quiet about the matter. He had built several perches to try and help, of course, but every now and then, Moses still gnawed at something he shouldn’t. If Mother mentioned it these days, Papa said to ‘put a cork in it, it’s not hurting anyone’.
Perhaps it was his way of saying sorry for lumping Jane with unpleasant replacements for her dearest mama. Did Papa feel guilty over his rushed marriage so soon after her death? He never said so. He barely even looked at her these days. But when it came to her pets, he always let Jane have the upper hand.
After soothing her with their affection, Jane took Jem and Zai to their kennels where she collared and chained them for the night. She didn’t want them getting up to any mischief during the dark hours with neighbouring stock or stray chooks. Since she was outside, she did the rounds of the other animals—her horse, the cow, goats, pigs and chickens—making sure they were watered, fed and secured for the evening. She spoke lovingly to each one, saying her goodnights, before heading indoors once again.
In the dining room, her supper remained scattered on the floor. With a heavy sigh, Jane bent and collected what she could onto the plate. There would be no replacement meal, unless she went to Aunty Ruby and explained the whole humiliating ordeal. No, this was her food and she had learnt from experience that if she wanted to eat, this mess must be tolerated. She scanned the table to see if any of the others had left unwanted scraps on their plates, but no luck. Jane sat alone at the table and tried to forget that her food had been on the floor.
Price sat at the small desk in his living quarters, a two-roomed apartment above his shop. It was time he wrote home. Guilt gnawed at him. He’d left home without warning and shifted to the other side of the world, believing his family would get used to it eventually. He bit on the end of the fountain pen he held. Mama needed to have his forwarding address, by rights he should send it.
It had been nine months since he’d left. How fast that time had gone. Was Mama angry with him? Pa would be incensed, that was for sure, but Pa could never see reason. Uncle Loren was who he missed right now. Perhaps he should write him as well.
Price lifted a sheet of paper from the drawer and placed it on the desk with a sigh.
Dearest Mama,
It is time I should begin a letter to you, but although overdue, I am yet unsure how you will receive it. I must apologise for my hasty departure and I am sorry for any hurt you have suffered. Please understand, I did what I felt I had to do under the circumstances. I pray you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
Price paused. How much should he reveal to Mama? Papa and his siblings would also read it and he didn’t want to make things worse by sharing the negatives.
As you know, my heart’s desire is to bring the Good News to those who haven’t heard it. Here in Australia—yes, that is where I am—I have found much fertile ground for the seed of hope. Churches are few and far between, and folks are given to drinking and other mindless pursuits. They are friendly folk though, I’ll give them that.
I sailed from New York in July last year, soon after I left home, first making the crossing to Liverpool. From there I caught a fully rigged ship called the Kent’s Bank to Sydney. It was her maiden voyage and a stout ship on which to sail. We arrived in Sydney on February 5th, which was a great relief after being at sea since August.
Price leaned back in his chair and reflected on his days in Sydney. He had spoken to many people, including ministers and farmers who’d come in for the markets, trying to decide where he should settle. Those discussions had led him to Wagga Wagga and then to Hay. He’d spent a couple of weeks in Wagga, getting to know one of the local ministers, Mr Carruthers. It was he who had suggested Hay as a good choice for a mission field. Price doubted that his mother, let alone his father, would appreciate the details of his faith endeavour. He could leave that for the letter to Uncle Loren.
It has taken me a couple of months, but I am finally settled in this town called Hay. The land around here is as flat as any I’ve seen. Good grazing land and fertile for wheat crops, too. Hay is built beside the Murrumbidgee River, a river which is wide like the Patapsco at home, although it looks a whole lot different. The trees, for instance, are eucalypts, and the colour a paler green than our trees back home. Beyond the riverside, flat, open plains stretch as far as you can see, unlike the forest surrounding the Patapsco. Paddle steamers travel back and forth on the river with loads of cargo—wool and grain from the farms going out, supplies for the town being delivered.
From what the locals have told me, approximately one thousand folk live in Hay and its surrounds. A perfect size for what I wish to accomplish. I’ve opened a barbershop and use it to also fix teeth while I get to know the people hereabouts. So far, plenty of folks have needed one or the other of my services and I’ve only been open two weeks.
He paused in his writing again as images of different gentlemen and ladies flicked through his mind, bringing a smile to his mouth. A variety of characters had entered his store. One person in particular came to the forefront of his mind. Miss Jane O’Reilly and her cockatoo, Moses. What a delightful pair they were, even though he had not held a proper conversation with the girl. Price chuckled at the antics of her bird as he often had since the other day. She intrigued him. He tapped the pen on his chin. Where did she live? One of the farms around, perhaps? Or did she reside, like him, above a store? She might be daughter to one of the fellows who worked at the Cobb and Co. Factory and lived here in town somewhere. He should keep an eye out for her. One could not miss the girl with the cockatoo on her shoulder.
Price pulled the fob watch from his pocket. It was getting late. He forced his attention back to his letter and signed off, sending his love and telling Mama that he missed her and the rest of the family. The missive to Uncle Loren must wait. He needed to be up at a respectable hour tomorrow to attend the church service.
There were only two, maybe three churches in town, and as yet he’d been to none of them. As he walked up the few steps into the small stone building the next morning, he hoped he would find a warm and friendly atmosphere. Inside, the parishioners were standing to sing a hymn. Price scowled at himself. Late. Why had he allowed himself to be distracted by that puppy on the way, cute though it was? He shuffled into the back pew and joined in the singing, careful not to disturb the parishioners.
Minutes later the congregation sat to listen to the sermon, a strong message on the consequences of bearing false witness against one’s neighbour—lying, in layman’s terms. Price let his gaze drift around the small gathering, even though he couldn’t recognise anyone from behind. Except … was that the Plain Jane girl, Miss O’Reilly, without
her cockatoo?
He could see wisps of red hair poking from beneath a simple white bonnet. She sat with her back rigid, looking neither to the left nor the right. Her head drooped forward as though she watched the base of the pulpit rather than the minister’s face. Price admired the creamy whiteness of her neck, unadorned by any jewellery, which curved into her round shoulders. Hopefully he would find a chance to say hello after the service.
Price shifted his gaze at last, to those who sat beside her. There were two young women, who could be her sisters, and a lady and gentleman. Were they her family? On second thought, maybe they weren’t. They did not appear to belong together.
Price had assumed Miss O’Reilly’s family were poor. Granted, the man dressed without presumption, but the three women were attired in the latest fashions, with accessories to match. Compared to Miss O’Reilly in her unembellished dress, they were poles apart. Perhaps they were not her family, but friends, or even mere acquaintances.
Before he knew it, the gathering stood as one. He must have missed the call to prayer at the close of the service. He bowed his head while the reverend intoned a blessing over the congregation, and joined in the chorus of ‘Amen’ as he finished. People began to file past him, the first being the minister who then stood at the door to greet each member as they departed.
Price watched as Miss O’Reilly—for it was indeed her as he’d guessed—passed by him, glanced up, then away again, and pressed on toward the doorway. He did not miss the recognition in that instant’s eye contact, nor the slight colour that tinged her cheeks. As soon as he found an opening, he made to follow her, only to be waylaid by the minister standing at the door.
‘Good day to you, sir.’ He held out his hand in greeting. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘Price Moreland, the new barber in town.’ Price shook the reverend’s hand.
‘Well, I hope you enjoyed our service, Mr Moreland.’