by Lisa Shea
Robert blinked in surprise, his eyes still on me. “Convict? What’s she done?”
Cooper’s lips drew wide. “None o’ us has done nothin’, sweetie. We’re all innocent.”
Robert made a waving motion with his hand. “What’s she accused of having done, to be shipped out to New South Wales in the hold of that dilapidated heap?”
Cooper gave a barking laugh. “I’ll tell you what I’m accused a’ doin’. I done stole the silver chamber-pot from that fat oaf who tried to put his hands down my dress every time the missus was out of the house. And all so’s my good-for-nothin’ husband could pay off that gambling debt of his. And, don’t ya know it, a few days later, when his debt was paid, the coppers show up at the door to haul me away.” She spit. “I bet that pox-faced mistress of his didn’t wait a heartbeat before she settled ‘erself in my bed.”
Robert rounded on her in shock. “They sent you here for stealing a chamber-pot? Not for murder or prostitution?”
Cooper grinned at that, shifting herself so her curves became more apparent beneath her grimy crimson dress. “You’s think I’m that attractive, eh, luv?”
The sailor gripped her arm tightly, his eyes narrowing. “Hey, she’s mine.”
Cooper’s smile widened. “Calm yourself, boys. I’m not that kind of woman. And, besides, they don’t send those serious offenders out here to be slaves. Probably worry they won’t be quiet-like. Nah, it’s just the innocents they send out here. The ones who stole food to feed their families. The Irish who didn’t toe the line and who spoke up for their rights.”
She nudged her head toward me. “I imagine this sweet lass’s a little of both o’ those, if I had to guess. But she hasn’t said a word the whole trip. Just kept herself to herself.”
Robert’s eyes drew back to me, deep concern in them. “Is that what happened, Elizabeth? Were you grabbed up by the British during an Irish uprising? And sent out here to be exiled, so they could do as they would back in Ireland without any to stand against them?”
I could only nod. It was still more than I could take in, that he was alive and real before me. For all those long, agonizing nights, it was the vision of his strength which kept me whole.
His eyes went back to Cooper. “My name is Robert. What’s your name?”
She proudly puffed up. “I’m Cooper. And this here is Stilton. He and I, well, we’re a couple. Once my sentence is up, we’s gonna get married.” She grinned up at Robert. “Don’t want him weddin’ no convict, after all. But that’s all right - we’ll see each other lots anyway over the next seven years until then.”
Robert’s shoulders rippled with tension. “Seven years?” He looked around at the haggling merchants and laughing sailors which streamed along the docks. “Seven years doing what? Where are you going?” A line of muscle drew tight along his jaw. “Do they have some sort of … a prison facility near here?”
Cooper shook her head. “Nah, for the likes of us? They only send the bad cases off to the workhouses. The ones who refuse to behave. But for the pliant ones like us, they let us work for the settlers. Slaves, sure, but it beats grinding in those hellholes and being stacked up in the barracks.”
She tucked her hand into Stilton’s arm. “So Stilton here, he found us a cushy job over at the tavern. I’s can see Stilton every time he’s in port. Good food, good rum, and a warm bed to sleep in.”
Robert’s mouth pressed into a line. “I’m coming with you.”
Stilton shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s all legal and proper. The documents have been signed.”
We set into motion down the dusty street, my stained, grey dress gaining yet another layer of grime as we moved. But I barely noticed. I was still glowing with amazement that Robert was there by my side.
He was real.
Stilton’s voice took on an eager quality. “Robert, just think of it. These two fine women will soon be pouring ale over at Ramsey’s Place. So we can get as much grog and food as we like, as long as we keep it on the quiet.”
Robert’s eyes flashed in surprise, and he spun to Stilton. His voice was hoarse. “Ramsey?”
Stilton nodded, pointing up ahead. “There it is. I’ve heard it’s the largest place on all the docks.”
I lifted my head. Indeed, the tavern was impressive. The front door was solid oak; a full four-window bank stretched on either side of it. The building was two stories high, weathered wood, plus smaller windows under the eaves. A large sign hung out front showing a heavyset, smiling man with gleaming red cheeks proffering a pair of mugs of frothy ale. He looked jolly and warm.
The front door flew open with a slam.
Ramsey strode out carrying a short, dark man with skin the color of red clay and dense, curly hair. The man wore grey shorts and not much else. Ramsey flung him out against the horse’s water trough, smiling in satisfaction at the sharp crack the slender body made when it slammed into the heavy wood.
Ramsey’s voice was sharp with derision. “And stay out,” he ordered. “We don’t want your kind in here. Get back out to that dust-bowl you call a home. Go throw a spear at a kangaroo or something. We only want respectable men in my establishment.”
Ramsey spit on the ground, turned, and grabbed the door. His voice rose. “Sofia! Where the bloody hell are you, you no-good –” His voice became lost as he stormed back into his tavern, the door slamming shut behind him.
Robert’s face was pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. “No,” he ground out. “Absolutely not. I won’t let Elizabeth be under that man’s control.”
Stilton glanced at Robert in concern. “The papers are already done up,” he muttered. “Ramsey’s her master now. Both o’ theirs. He can do whatever he wants to them. Unless he finds them too stubborn to be broken and sends them along back to the workhouse.” He gave a shiver. “And you don’t want to know what a master can do to a woman, to prove she’s a slave that can’t be broken.”
Robert’s voice was tight. “They aren’t slaves. They’re convicts. And I still find it mind-boggling that this harsh sentence matches the crime.”
“Doesn’t much matter, now, does it?” responded Stilton. “It’s all fair and legal. The convicts serve out their sentence here for seven years before they’re free. Until then, they’re legally the property of whoever it is they’re assigned to. Their master can do anything he wants to them.” He gave a small shrug. “I suppose the convicts can appeal their treatment, as much good as that does.”
Robert turned to him, energy firing his gaze. “Appeal. Who do we appeal to? Who’s in charge of this colony?”
Stilton puffed up with pride. “He’s one of our own, he is. Just appointed, too. Captain William Bligh.”
Now Robert looked as if he couldn’t speak. It was a long minute before the words came out. “Good God. The Captain William Bligh of the mutiny on the Bounty?”
Stilton grinned. “The one and the same. I see you’ve heard of him! Fantastic navigator. Did you know he’s been sailing since he was seven?”
Robert’s face was grey with shock. “The man was mutinied against because of his brutal treatment of his crew. And now they’ve put him in charge of New South Wales?”
Stilton nodded. “He’s the new Governor. Sent to whip the colony into shape, or so’s I heard. They even paid him extra to come out. To lure him into the position. They felt his firm hand was exactly what this sorry place needed.”
We had reached the front of the tavern and Robert dropped to a knee by the small man. He put an arm out to draw the man up to his feet. “Hey there, are you all right?”
Stilton murmured to me and Cooper, “That man’s an aborigine. Native to these parts. None too smart, or so’s I hear. They mostly stay to themselves out in the dust and rocks.”
The aborigine looked up at Robert as he stood. “Thank you, sir. I am Yarramundi. I came out to negotiate a trade agreement between my village and the settlers here.” His eyes shadowed. “It seems most have no interest in talking.”
Robert
looked with concern to his head. “You’re bleeding.”
Yarramundi put a hand to his skull and it came down red. “That will heal,” he stated calmly. “I’ve had worse.”
I bent to rip a strip off the bottom of my already thin dress. I shook it around in the water trough for a few minutes to get off the worst of the dirt and grime. Then I motioned to Yarramundi’s head.
His teeth shone white in his dark face, and he nodded with a smile. “Yes, thank you.”
I carefully wound the fabric around his head, gently layering it over the wound. Then I tied a knot at his forehead.
Yarramundi looked between me and Cooper. “You two must be convicts off the newly arrived ship, yes? Hardly any white women here otherwise. The lack causes a wealth of fights and abuse.”
His brow creased. “You have been kind to me. My advice in return is for you two to get assigned to one of the farming settlements further inland. There’s one near us that has a missionary group. They’re the ones who taught us English. Good people. They hail from Wales.” He nodded. “Get to them. They’ll treat you well, and you’ll be safe there.”
Stilton’s head shook, and now his gaze held concern. “The women are already signed over.” He nudged his head at the tavern. “To Ramsey.”
Yarramundi’s small face shadowed. “I would not wish that sentence on any person. Least of all two such as you.”
Robert’s face firmed. “I will have a talk with Ramsey. Have him rescind his papers. Let the women transfer inland.”
Yarramundi’s face shadowed with doubt. “I doubt Ramsey would let two such as these free, once he sees them. He will have many … uses … for them.”
A ripple of tension went down Robert’s arms. “I will make him see clear to our offer.”
A harsh yell came from behind the tavern, near the stables which lay alongside. “You stupid wench! What are you doing out there? Get in here.”
Robert’s eyes flared. “You all stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He turned and strode toward the far corner of the building.
I hurried after him, unwilling to let him out of sight. I could feel the others moving alongside me, equally curious what was about to transpire.
The alley between the stables and the tavern was deep in shadows, littered with trash, and spattered with spilled liquids of dubious origin. Shards of broken glass glittered in an errant sunbeam. I picked my way carefully, conscious of the numerous holes in my shoes.
There, up ahead, Robert was calling toward the kitchen door. “Ramsey – come on out. We need to have a talk.”
There was a noise to my right.
I glanced over.
The door to the stables was half open. Through the crack I could see a spread of hay. A torn dress. A man’s arm, raised –
Sofia cowered beneath him, half naked.
I spun in place, grabbed a pitchfork, and charged through the door. It took all my self-control to resist plowing those sharp tines into Ramsey’s soft flesh. Instead I whipped the length around sideways to wallop him in the head with the flat of the tines.
He sprawled full across Sofia, howling in fury. He rolled over and stared up at me, first in confusion, then in growing anger. “You trollop! I will make you pay for that!”
Cooper and Stilton’s faces appeared in the doorway, and Ramsey’s gaze went from sharp hostility to bright satisfaction. “Wait, you’re my new slave? You are mine to do with as I will?” He drew slowly to his feet. “You, lady, are going to regret this moment for every second of the next seven years. I will make sure of that.”
A shadow fell across the room and Robert stepped in. His gaze was dark. “I think not.”
Ramsey’s face twisted. “Who the hell are you?”
Robert glanced down at Sofia. “Is Anna here as well?”
She mutely nodded, her eyes round in shock.
“Go get her. Be quick.”
She nodded, grabbed up her dress, and scurried out the door.
Ramsey’s eyes fired with heat. “Whoever you are, you’re going to pay for interfering.”
Robert’s voice was low. “Give it your best shot.”
Ramsey charged.
I flung myself back against the wall as the bodies flew into the hay. Ramsey’s fist slammed into Robert’s abdomen. Robert groaned, then rolled hard to get on top of his opponent. He hit … hit … hit … and Ramsey fell back, unconscious.
There was a motion at the doorway and Robert glanced up, his muscles tensing.
Anna and Sofia clutched each other in the opening, their haggard faces white with shock.
Robert drew to his feet. “We need to get inland. Somewhere safe.”
Yarramundi nodded. “The missionaries will take you in, when I tell them what happened. They will see you safely taken care of.”
Cooper turned to Stilton in concern. “But if I leave the port –”
He smiled, pressing a fond kiss to her forehead. “I was getting tired of the ocean anyway. And this way we can get married right away.” His hand drifted to her stomach. “Get started on those kids while we still have time.”
Robert turned to me.
My voice was hoarse from disuse, from having stayed silent for six long months.
But I found my breath.
“You came for me.”
He gently drew a hand down my cheek.
“I will always be there for you, my love.”
The words shimmered in my soul.
There was a noise …
A motion …
The world blurred …
*
I pulled my caribou-hide coat tighter around my body, the hood keeping the worst of the frigid winter wind from my face. The gods were truly testing our tribe’s strength this season of the long night. Our Hankutchin people had survived countless cycles of long, brutal winters and short, broiling summers. But somehow this seemed the worst in even the elders’ memories.
My stepmother and father were tucked inside our cozy dome-shaped hut, the thick skins keeping out the biting cold. She was undoubtedly weaving a beautiful basket out of tama root and decorating it with porcupine quills. Normally I would have enjoyed sitting alongside her, working on my own weaving and listening to my father’s stories of times long past. But something had me roaming the edge of our winter village. Something had pulled me out of the safety of our shelter and out into the glistening dusk, where the thick snow gently blanketed the earth.
There was a motion to my right and I smiled. Cooper, our medicine woman, must have been checking in on the newborn, for she came from that direction and was heading toward her own hut at the honored center of our community. I waved a greeting to my trusted friend. She grinned at me before tucking back into her own dome.
The flap fell shut, and the deep dark returned.
Once again it was only me, the last glimmer of the pale sun on the horizon, and the ever-present cold.
I wrapped my arms around myself and plowed forward. I left behind the collection of huts which was our winter home. In the spring we would set into motion again, in tune with the salmon and caribou. We would move as they did, taking only what we needed and sharing our bounty with the bear and fox which shared our world.
Our world was always changing, and I enjoyed that. Every day provided a new opportunity. A fresh beauty to appreciate.
My footsteps took me to the edge of a slope and tension drew in along my shoulders.
Some changes were harder for me to embrace.
I looked down the whiteness toward the glimmering lights of Dawson City. A mere three years ago there had been barely a permanent structure in all of the lands we traveled. Just the wandering tribes, the quiet caribou, and the circling eagles. But then a shiny rock had put a fever into the minds of strangers. A bare trickle of hard-eyed visitors had become a deluge. Now it seemed the pale-skin strangers were everywhere, a pox on the land.
A heaviness sank into my shoulders. We had tried to welcome the newcomers. Tried to hel
p them understand how precious each aspect of our world was. Despite our knowledge and skill in our chosen home, they treated us as if we were sharp rocks in a horse’s hooves. Troublesome. Unworthy to even speak to.
I shook my head. They raped the land and left it mangled and raw. Soon there would be no fish left in the streams. No majestic caribou left stepping silently through the glistening snow.
And where would that leave the Hankutchin?
There was a movement to my left, and I turned.
A man stood there, staring at me. The cut of his coat had that same strange, angular shape that most of the strangers wore. It was heavy and burdensome, adding excess weight which would not serve him well. His skin was pale, almost ghostly in the fading winter sun.
But it was his eyes that held me.
Tawny eyes. The color of a warm fire on a cold winter’s night.
Eyes I had seen in my visions.
Cooper had listened carefully to my descriptions of the visions. Each time, she told me to watch for this man. She was certain that he would be important to my life’s path.
And now he was here.
He stared at me as if I were a fire-warmed hut at the end of a long day’s hunt.
He took a step forward.
He tumbled, face-first, into the thick snow.
In his back was embedded a sturdy mining pick.
17 – Yukon Destiny
Robert’s body lay face down in the deep snow. Even now fresh flakes fell from the darkening sky to glisten a tender blanket across his form. I eased to my knees at his side. Gently, I rolled him so that his face was free from the snow without putting any additional pressure on the mining pick which rose from his back like the fin on a fish. I could see now the dark blood which seeped from the deep wound.
“Stay with me, Robert,” I pleaded. “I am here. I have listened to the visions. Stay!”
His face was twisted with pain. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. I have failed you.”
I shook my head. If he wanted to call me Elizabeth, as he did in the visions, then I would embrace it. That would be my new name. My childhood name of Sadzi was behind me now. For I had stepped on a fresh path.
“I’m going to get Cooper,” I told him. “You promise me you will be alive when I return.”