This Golden Land

by Wood, Barbara

  But the sailor whom Caleb Merriwether had risked his life to save, had come through the ordeal with but a scratch on his head.

  And now the west coast of Australia lay before them, bright and vibrant like a beacon of hope.

  As Hannah stood on the deck in the golden sunshine, she thought of Neal Scott and their desperate hours together in her cabin as he had held her so tightly, and she had felt his warmth and strength when she was certain each breath was their last. And their kiss, which had lasted an eternity before a scream from Hannah had broken them apart.

  They had not kissed again, during the storm, or afterward when they realized they were alive. Nor had they spoken of that moment. Each needed to think about that night, to examine startling new feelings, and find a way to understand the new life they had emerged into that next morning—because both Neal and Hannah had been changed.

  At Hannah's side, Neal Scott watched the shoreline of Western Australia as it grew more distinct on the sunlit horizon. He thought of the remarkable young woman standing next to him. He had held her in his arms, thinking they were about to die, they had kissed in a way that had been both erotic and desperate, they had clung together and kissed as they thought they were about to die, and everything had changed. Neal was no longer thankful that they were going their separate ways. He did not want to leave Hannah. But he had no choice. He was to disembark here, and she was to continue on.

  There was so much he wanted to say to her, but there had been no opportunity for private conversation after the storm. Hannah's cabin had been so severely damaged that she had moved in with Mrs. Merriwether, while the Reverend had bunked with Neal. The ship had been a beehive of activity, with seaman hammering, sawing, boiling tar, Neal joining them, along with able-bodied immigrant men, repairing the Caprica as she limped toward Cape Town. Hannah had had her hands full assisting Dr. Applewhite with injuries, infections, and hysteria. The only times Neal and Hannah spent a few minutes together were at meals, and that was in the company of others. They would look across the table, eyes meeting, and the hungers born the night of the storm flared between them.

  They stood close together now at the rail, watching the approaching mainland. The other passengers also stood in awestruck silence beneath a vast, blue sky and sparkling sunlight. As the Caprica neared the coast, everyone saw deep-blue ocean turn shades lighter until finally they glimpsed lime-green water embracing white-sand beaches. Beyond, lay a tree covered plain stretching away to mountains.

  But it was the tropical lime-green waters that stopped the breath in every throat. People from damp, misty isles had never seen such a blessed sight, and they prayed that their own destinations of Adelaide, Melbourne and Sydney were as heavenly.

  Standing with the four cabin passengers, Mr. Simms the steward said, "Perth was founded seventeen years ago, and right from the beginning hostile encounters erupted between the British settlers and the local Aborigines. Those blackfellahs put up a mighty big fight to hold onto their land, considering they weren't doing anything with it. The English settlers were planting crops and running livestock, doing something with the land, you see. But the blacks didn't understand. There were some terrible battles, but that's all over with now. Three years ago a local chief died, and his tribe fell apart. They've retreated to the swamps and lakes north of the settlement, and they don't bother anyone."

  When no one commented, Simms added, "You see before you one of the most isolated settlements on Earth. Did you know that Perth is closer to Singapore than it is to Sydney? And the summers here are hot and dry, with February being the hottest month of the year."

  "Imagine," Mrs. Merriwether declared. "February being the middle of summer!"

  "Imagine," Neal Scott said quietly, "three million square miles of land and nearly all of it never before seen by human eyes. Some speculate that there is a great inland sea and that what we think is the coastline of a continent is really a great reef surrounding that sea. Some speculate that the ruins of ancient cities lie in Australia's heart. Atlantis, perhaps. Or unknown races of humankind. Maybe the lost tribes of Israel live there, and they have built a second Jerusalem."

  Hannah trembled with anticipation at the thought of this new world! A land that had been occupied a mere eighty years, with no centuries-old castles and antiquated lords and ladies. A place of new beginnings and fresh starts.

  A tender had been deployed from the mainland, rowed by eight sailors, and as it came up alongside the Caprica, the Merriwethers said their goodbyes. To Hannah, Reverend Merriwether said that, should she ever find herself in Western Australia, she would be welcome at their mission. "We are not there just for the redemption of Aboriginal souls, Miss Conroy. All who seek the truth are welcome."

  As Abigail watched her husband say good-bye to Miss Conroy, she marveled at the change that had come over him in the weeks since the storm. Caleb had lost weight and gained muscle as he had helped with the ship's repairs. His skin was tanned. He was the picture of health and vigor. Her fear of living at the Aboriginal mission had vanished when she had witnessed her husband's act of bravery. She had not known Caleb possessed such courage and fortitude.

  The Merriwethers were second cousins, and when they were children it had been understood that they would one day marry. Abigail had dutifully complied and had given Caleb five children. A respectful affection had existed between them, but no passion. How strange and unexpected, Abigail thought now in excitement as she looked forward to her new life in this sunny land, to fall in love with one's husband after thirty years.

  As their luggage was being lowered into the tender, Mrs. Merriwether took the opportunity to offer Hannah some advice: "You are very bright and highly educated, Miss Conroy. But let me tell you, no man likes a woman who is smarter or more educated than himself. You must learn to hide your light under a bushel, my dear, at least until you are married."

  "But I have not come to Australia to seek a husband."

  "You need one, whether you want one or not," Mrs. Merriwether said, gray ringlets quivering beneath the brim of her bonnet. "A midwife is expected to be married and have children of her own, otherwise it is improper that a young unmarried lady be exposed to bedroom matters. And women will not care a fig for your formal training if you have never experienced childbirth yourself. If you expect to survive here, my dear, you must first marry."

  And then it was time for Neal and Hannah to say good-bye, as his crates and trunk had been lowered to the tender. In a voice tight with emotion, he said, "I'm not used to putting my feelings into words. I can talk endlessly about the earth and all that is upon it, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I am tongue-tied. But before I leave you, Hannah, you must know of the profound impact you have had upon me. Ever since the day Josiah Scott told me the truth of my birth, I have held such a resentment in my heart against my mother. It is unreasonable, I know, but I have never been able to forgive her for giving me up. But you cracked that stubborn wall, my dear Hannah, when you told me about the tear catcher. It has shown me another side to the woman who is my mother and has planted within me the urgency to learn the truth of my birth and my parentage. I will write letters home, to everyone I can think of, government offices, local town councils and even to church registries. I am eager now to know my mother's name."

  He did not voice the rest, the real reason he was going to search for his origins. It was too soon. Some things needed to be spoken at the proper time. The truth was, he had fallen in love with Hannah Conroy. He wanted to marry her. But while he suspected that Hannah herself did not mind that he was a bastard, he knew that others would. Society did not forgive birth out of wedlock. His past would come back and haunt their present, even to the point of harming their children. And so before he could ask her to marry him, he needed to know who he was, he had to know who he was offering to her.

  Neal knew that if went home right now, bought passage one on of the ships anchored in the harbor, returned to England and from there, to Boston, that he could con
duct a more thorough search for his mother, and would have a greater chance of success in finding her. But he didn't want to leave Australia, because Hannah was here. "This is a most difficult farewell," he said to her.

  "Indeed it is," Hannah said softly as she filled her eyes with the sight of tall and handsome Neal Scott. It was exactly six months since they had set sail from England, and she hated to part ways with him. She was tempted to disembark here, but she was also eager to find her place in the new world and begin her midwifery practice. That was the change the storm had worked on her. Hannah had emerged from the tempest filled with new urgency and the thought that not a day must be wasted.

  She looked toward the mainland and saw a young colony—a few warehouses near the pier, military barracks, wooden buildings, scattered homesteads, shacks near the beach. Not the thriving community where she could build a practice and at the same time explore her new interest in healing and disease. And anyway, Neal was embarking on the science vessel and would not be back for a year.

  "I pray you find the answers you seek," she said. Hannah suspected that, although Neal claimed that because he was unfettered and without roots he was free to roam the world and explore mysteries, she did not believe he was free at all, but rather a prisoner of deeply buried hurts. He was not roaming the world to explore mysteries but rather to solve the mystery of himself, to find his place on earth. Until he uncovered the truths about his mother, Hannah suspected, and the circumstances of his birth, Neal Scott would never truly be free.

  She wanted to give him a token of remembrance, something personal from herself that he could carry as a memento of their time together on board the Caprica and perhaps, she hoped, as a reminder of her affection for him. But she was unsure of the rules. Society dictated decorum and the proper etiquette regarding behavior between unmarried ladies and gentlemen. But weren't shipboard friendships different?

  Caught in a moment of not wanting to leave and unable to speak, Neal memorized every detail of Hannah as she stood there in the golden sunlight, to carry with him like a mental photograph: the reed-straight posture, the pearl-gray gown that made her eyes luminesce, the proud tilt of her head, the dark hair swept up into a chignon, the little hat with the dainty black veil that covered her high forehead.

  And as he held her with his eyes, oblivious of the activity on the ship around them, it struck Neal that he and Hannah shared a special bond, other than their life and death experience at sea, and that one desperate kiss. They both didn't quite fit into society. For Neal, it was his illegitimacy, a fact that he must keep secret because otherwise polite society would have nothing to do with him. For Hannah, she did not fit into society's model of a normal young lady, because she read medical books, asked probing questions, and voluntarily placed herself in situations that a proper lady would not.

  A very unconventional young lady indeed. And one with whom, despite a promise to himself that he would never again fall in love, he was in fact falling in love.

  "Miss Conroy," he said at last. "I would like to give you a token of remembrance, if you do not think it too forward of me." He reached inside his tweed jacket and brought out a handkerchief, freshly laundered and folded into a square. As she accepted it, Hannah saw the initials N.S. embroidered on one corner.

  "Thank you, Mr. Scott," she said, tucking the linen into her bag. Then, removing one of her gloves made of soft kid and dyed gray, she offered it to him, saying, "And I hope you will accept this in return."

  When he took the glove, it was as if she had slipped her hand into his, and Neal knew he was never going to let go.

  He wanted to take Hannah into his arms then and press his mouth to hers, right there in front of God, the ship's crew, the Caprica's immigrants and the seagulls overhead. "Although we say good-bye for now, my dear Hannah," he said quietly, "it will not be for long. In a year, when my contract is up, I shall travel on to Adelaide, and there we shall meet again."

  They looked at each other beneath the bright October sunlight, while Perth's harbor bustled about them and the salty scent of the sea filled their nostrils.

  "In a year then," Hannah said quietly, in love, excited and thinking of her father's last words, that she—with Neal Scott—stood on the threshold of a glorious new world.

  ADELAIDE

  FEBRUARY, 1847

  6

  Y

  OU'RE VERY YOUNG, MISS CONROY," DR. DAVENPORT SAID AS HE examined Hannah's certificate and references from the Lying-In Hospital in London.

  "I have recently turned twenty," she said, wishing she could fan herself. It was warm in the doctor's office, and the open window did little to help. Instead of a breeze, all that came in from the street was more heat, dust, flies, and the smell of horse droppings. But Hannah, like the rest of Adelaide's predominantly British female citizenry, would not dream of doing without a tight corset and a heavy crinoline under her skirt. Mr. Simms, the cabin steward on the Caprica, had been right when he said February was a hot month in Australia.

  It made her think of Neal Scott, and wonder how he was doing in Western Australia, where she had heard it was even hotter than South Australia. Four months had passed since they had said farewell at Perth, and in that time Hannah had thought of him every single day. She prayed he was well and that he would be coming to Adelaide, as he had promised, in eight months' time.

  "And you said you are not married?" Dr. Davenport said, peering at her over his spectacles.

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Merriwether's prophecy had come true: no one would hire a young, inexperienced and, most especially, unmarried midwife. "You should lie and say you're a widow," had been the advice of Molly Baker, one of the young ladies with whom Hannah shared Mrs. Throckmorton's boarding house. "No one can disprove it and it will admit you into the sisterhood of wives. Unmarried girls aren't supposed to know what goes on behind bedroom doors. So how can you deliver babies if you don't know how they got there in the first place?"

  Molly had a point, but Hannah could not begin her new life with a lie. "I am unmarried," she said to Dr. Davenport.

  Hannah's marital status wasn't the only obstacle to getting a midwifery practice started. She had discovered that the established midwives in town jealously guarded their territories, making it impossible for a newcomer to attract patients. She had advertised in local newspapers, posted notices on public bulletin boards, and had introduced herself to the town chemists—she had even chatted up nannies who congregated in the city park, asking them to pass her name along. But the few calls she had received, coming by messenger to the boarding house, had resulted in disaster. "You're the new midwife? You're barely out of girlhood. And unmarried, with no children of your own?"

  With her money running low and the rent due, Hannah had gotten down on her knees and prayed as she never had before, this time speaking to her father, asking him to guide her. That night she dreamed again of the cold, gloomy library at Falconbridge Manor, as she had many times, in which he pressed the iodine bottle into her hand, saying, "This is the key," or "Thee must know the truth about thy mother's death." Mysteries that plagued Hannah's sleep and puzzled her in waking hours. But in this last dream her father had said something new: "Thee helped me, Hannah, thee can help other doctors."

  Collecting newspapers and visiting the post office and other public places where notices were posted, Hannah searched for employment advertisements and answered those placed by physicians. But that, too, had proven fruitless as they either wanted a male assistant or a domestic maid. Hannah fell into a category that did not seem to exist.

  Finally she had decided she must take matters into her own hands. With a list of physicians in Adelaide, she had set out to present herself before them, offer her services, and somehow persuade them that they needed her help. Three had already turned her down. "Stop this folderol, young lady, and get married." "I already have a maid." "You should be ashamed."

  Now she sat demurely in Dr. Gonville Davenport's stifling office opposite Light Square, praying that
he was more open-minded than the others. She had even used some of her precious dwindling money to invest in a new wardrobe. On this hot February morning she wore the latest fashion: a drop-shouldered, narrow-waisted gown of lavender silk with purple velvet piping and buttons, the sleeves wide and split to reveal white ruffles. Matching gloves and a dainty bonnet finished the ensemble.

  But she did not purchase one of the new handbags which she thought rather frivolous as they were too small to carry anything larger than a handkerchief. Hannah cradled in her lap a carpetbag of luxuriant blue velvet shot through with shimmering silk and gold threads woven into an exotic design. Her mother had purchased it in Morocco and had used it for her stage cosmetics. Now it contained Hannah's most precious possessions: the instruments and medicines from her father's medical bag; the bottle of Experimental Formula #23, three-quarters filled with the iodine preparation; her mother's prized book of poetry, given to her by John on their wedding day with an inscription that read: "To my Beloved, who is Pure Poetry herself." And finally, from her father's small laboratory, the leather portfolio that held his research notes, the sum of his life's work.

  As Hannah politely waited while Dr. Davenport read her reference letters, she thought of Mrs. Merriwether's warning: "Hide your light under a bushel." The last three doctors had not only been uninterested in Hannah's education, they had seemed, for some reason, to find it offensive and not at all proper. Hannah wondered if this time she should stay quiet.