Kerenza: A New Australian

by Rosanne Hawke

  As I finish milking Da sits on a log next to me. He has brown paper bags of seeds and a tiny tree in a tube made out of newspaper. ‘I asked Mr Nietschke to bring these from Swan Reach. You can plant a vegetable garden, Keren.’

  ‘Me?’ I look up in surprise.

  He nods. ‘Here’s the shovel and the fork.’ He points to them leaning against the wall of the canvas shed. I squeeze the last drop of milk from Gertrude’s teats and I carefully pull the bucket out from the stones. Da chuckles. ‘She been giving you grief?’

  I don’t answer in case I cry in frustration, and I set the bucket down where Da has dug a furrow with the pickaxe. ‘See, I’ve started it for you.’ He hands me the seed packets.

  ‘Spinach, onions, carrots. This little plant is an orange tree. They grow along the river, thought we’d try it. We have to look after ourselves out here.’ He pauses as he looks at the ground he’s dug over. ‘You’ll enjoy this. Remember how you was helping me in the garden at home? Everything you planted grew.’

  ‘But the soil in Camborne was dark and rich, but here –’ I break off as the enormity of what he is asking crushes me.

  He smiles. ‘It’s good enough dirt, look.’ He scrapes some soil with his hand. All I can see is red sand. ‘Plants will grow here too, especially when it rains. I’ve poured water in to soak.’ He probably couldn’t even dig it without the water. ‘I can’t do the gardening because I have to get the paddock ready for planting – wheat be our livelihood, Keren.’

  I nod miserably wondering if the wheat will even grow. He kisses me on the head and tramps to the paddock.

  Elowen wants to know what to do. ‘Let me help, Krenza.’

  And so we start a garden.

  10

  I can’t stop thinking about Winnie while Elowen and I are digging holes for the seeds. ‘When we’re finished,’ I say, ‘why don’t you get a basket of cloth scraps, wool and old hankies to make dolls with and we’ll find Winnie?’

  Elowen can’t concentrate after that. She runs off to get the basket ready while I finish the seeding. I bet the men wish rain would fall so they can seed the wheat. The paddock won’t be as easy as a garden.

  Mam lets us take the lunches early so we can make dolls in the scrub on the way back. Elowen won’t let me stop long with the men. Harry looks so tired from picking up sticks that I’d like to stay with him a while. Elowen pulls me away. ‘Come on, Krenza, let’s make the dolls now.’

  I’m hoping Winnie will turn up. It’s a sunny day with no sign of that dreadful wind and dust. We find the clearing where we met her.

  ‘She’s not here.’ Elowen’s voice falls.

  ‘Never mind, we’ll make dolls anyway.’ Then I add carefully, ‘Winnie might need to be our secret.’

  Elowen’s eyes brighten. ‘You mean as if she was a piskie? We wouldn’t tell if we saw one of those. Jacob would laugh at us.’

  I nod at her. ‘Yes, just like that.’ The sun sparkles on the dark mallee leaves and we sit in the shade. The days are getting shorter and there’s a cool breeze from the east, but there’ll be time to stay here for an hour. I show Elowen how to scrunch up cloth to fill the hanky to make a head.

  ‘Now you make the arms and I’ll tie the wool around each one.’

  ‘How does it get a body?’

  ‘You have to stuff it with the scraps of cloth.’

  She pushes the cloth in, and then holds the last two corners for me to tie thread around to make the legs. ‘Then we’ll tie your hair ribbon around the middle.’

  ‘Let’s make a dress, Krenza.’

  ‘Sh.’ I check behind me. Something’s pushing through the bushes.

  ‘Is it Winnie?’ I hear the hope and fear in her voice.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I pull Elowen close to me. I can hear an animal panting, and suddenly it bursts into the clearing.

  Elowen screams, but I jump up. ‘It’s Rouge. She’s a friend.’ Rouge barks once and trots up to me. Elowen pulls back as I pat the dog. ‘See, she won’t bite.’

  ‘Not a dingo?’

  ‘No, you can pat her too.’

  Elowen looks up and bursts into a smile. ‘Winnie, you came like magic.’

  I swing round and see her there.

  ‘Thought I’d better check on youse two.’

  ‘We’re sorry we couldn’t come in the dust storm,’ I say.

  ‘That’s all right. My dad wouldn’t let me come neither.’ She sits down beside us and Rouge. ‘You making them dolls?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Elowen says happily, ‘this is how we do it.’

  Soon Winnie has a hanky doll of her own. ‘It’s bonza.’

  Elowen giggles. ‘You talk funny.’

  ‘Sh!’ I’m horrified, but Winnie grins at her.

  ‘I learn English at the mission school, but it isn’t what Gran speaks to me.’

  ‘What does she speak?’ Elowen asks.

  ‘Ngawait. None of their mob left here now. My grandad was the last one. Gran’s mob still live by the river but.’

  ‘I’d like to see the river,’ Elowen says.

  ‘It’s too far,’ I say.

  Winnie disagrees. ‘Only twenty miles. Not far.’

  ‘There’s no track,’ I say.

  ‘No need for English track.’ Winnie’s eyes are bright like stars. Her smiles are catching, and soon we’re laughing.

  ‘Do you know Rouge?’ I ask Winnie.

  ‘Sure I do. C’mon, I’ll show you where I camp out when I’m here, though we move around a bit to catch rabbits.’

  She and Rouge lead us to a clearing I haven’t seen before. I look up in awe – the trees make it look like a chapel. The light shines as if through green glass.

  I get two surprises: the first is the camping man. He looks pleased to see me again. ‘Brought some visitors, Rouge?’ he says.

  The mare shifts her feet and the man murmurs, ‘Easy, Maggie.’ There are rabbit pelts hanging on a tree. He invites us in as if the clearing is his parlour. ‘Have a cuppa,’ he says. It’s different with Winnie, and I don’t hesitate.

  ‘You’ve got a nice dog,’ Elowen says.

  Winnie gives Rouge a scratch. ‘She’s a beauty, hey.’

  The man pours tea from his billy into two mugs. ‘Youse’ll have to share.’ He hands one to me. Then he says to Elowen, ‘Rouge is a heeler, a cattle dog, the most intelligent dog there is. Rounds up anything.’

  ‘Anything?’ I echo.

  ‘She rounded up youse, didn’t she?’

  I grin.

  ‘She’s the result of years of cross-breeding. Even has dingo in her.’

  ‘Dingo?’ Elowen looks at Rouge as if she will attack her, but I know how happy Kitto would be to see Rouge.

  Jacob would say something awful like dingo blood will make her a rogue dog and kill ‘chooks’. But anyone can see Rouge isn’t a bad dog.

  ‘The dingo in her gives her the toughness to survive out here, and she doesn’t bark muck.’

  Rouge is lying next to me and she watches every person as they speak. ‘The heeler has been a breed here since 1890. She even likes horses as Dalmatians do. She’s Australia’s national dog, aren’t ya, girl?’ Rouge lifts her head and lolls her tongue at him. It looks like she’s laughing.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Elowen asks the man.

  ‘You can call me Clarrie. Now tell your brothers not to clear too much land.’

  ‘Why?’ she asks.

  ‘If you take too much the wind will blow the soil away – change everything. Already there are dust storms since you settlers have arrived.’

  I can imagine Da saying we have to grow crops to make a living.

  ‘How do you know Rouge and Clarrie?’ I say to Winnie. And I get my second surprise.

  ‘Clarrie’s my dad.’

  I would never have guessed. They don’t look alike at all.

  ‘Do your parents know you visit us?’ Clarrie asks.

  I glance at Elowen and shake my head. ‘We like having a secret.’
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  ‘They mightn’t want youse coming here, hey?’

  I don’t want that to be true, but I can remember when Jacob said to be careful of the strange man with the wagon. Nanny always warned us about gypsies in Cornwall. Was Clarrie a gypsy? ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Mebbe youse better check. But all your family is welcome.’

  ‘You’re nice,’ Elowen says to Winnie as she and Rouge show us the way home. I look back to see Clarrie settling down for a rest, his hat over his eyes.

  11

  Harry’s eyes are heavy-lidded as he sits by the fire after dinner. He’s so sick of picking up sticks. His hands are just as sore as the men’s hands. Mam’s often rubbing phenyl on his cuts, and Da’s back aches at night. She even bound up Uncle Malachi’s hand when he hurt it.

  Kitto still thinks clearing land is a game, but they probably don’t give him hard jobs, for his hands aren’t cut like the others’.

  Harry says to Uncle Malachi, ‘I want to do a different job tomorrow.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with picking up sticks, boy.’ It’s a growl. ‘All these jobs have to be done to clear the land.’

  ‘Can’t I do something else just for a while?’

  It’s Jacob who thinks of it. ‘Next thing you’ll be asking to build the house or dig the well.’

  He laughs at him, but Harry brightens. ‘That’s it. We can dig the well, Dad. Then we wouldn’t have to cart water from Hampton Well every week. That wastes the day.’

  Da and Uncle Malachi both frown.

  Kitto pipes up. ‘I want to help.’

  Mam is quick. ‘‘Ee are not going down a well. So don’t be asking again,’ she adds when his mouth opens to protest.

  Uncle Malachi glances at Da. ‘Mr Nietschke told of two young Cornish tackers digging a well near Loxton a few years ago. The Carthews – they were Jacob and Harry’s age – the older one was a girl, Emily. That place is still thriving. They’ve got a fine herd of horses.’

  ‘I could run a farm,’ Jacob says, but Uncle Malachi doesn’t hear him.

  Da’s thinking of the well. ‘They’d need a horse, ropes around the boys in case of cave in.’

  ‘We’ll put planks of wood down the sides as we go.’ Harry’s more excited than I’ve ever seen him.

  Uncle Malachi stares at him as if deciding. ‘You’ll need to know where to dig.’

  ‘Not too close to the animals,’ Da warns. ‘We don’t want their muck getting into the water.’

  ‘Can we have Bobbie when we dig the well?’ I say then.

  Everyone looks at me, and Da says, ‘What is it you think you’ll be doing, young lady?’

  ‘I –’ My voice falters a moment. ‘I’ll stand at the top and pull the buckets up.’

  ‘Me too,’ Kitto says.

  ‘And me?’ Elowen squeaks.

  ‘No!’ Mam’s voice is like thunder as she stares at Elowen. ‘‘Ee’ll not be going near any well. Now, get to bed.’

  Elowen shrinks and Mam relents a little. ‘I’ll be needing yer help.’ She frowns at me.

  I watch as Elowen drags herself to our canvas bedroom and I think What if there isn’t any water? People easily dug wells in Cornwall, but it hasn’t rained here since we came. The river is so far away – how can there be water underground?

  The next morning after the animals have been attended to, Da is out with a forked branch, walking back and forth, his gaze on the ground.

  ‘What are you doing, Clemo?’ Uncle Malachi strides over to him.

  ‘Our granda could always find water like this.’

  ‘A baby could find water in Cornwall,’ Uncle Malachi murmurs. ‘We should let God show us.’

  ‘He will be showing us if he’s given me the gift.’ Da glances at Uncle Malachi. ‘We be Cornish, bro, and we know all good gifts come from above.’

  Uncle scratches his chin and jumps when the branch suddenly points to the ground as if it has lead in its tip.

  Da drops it like it’s a hot stick from the fire. He looks just as shocked as Uncle Malachi. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘Good Lord.’

  I sense Mam behind me. ‘I won’t be counting my chickens afore they’re hatched.’ She glances at me, her lips tight. ‘And ‘ee’re not going down the well, so don’t be getting any ideas.’ She steps back into the kitchen. I follow her and she hands me the tin bowl to collect water from the barrel for the dishes. ‘Then ‘ee can whip the cream for butter.’

  I’m so annoyed that, before I can check myself, my thoughts come rushing out of my mouth. ‘You never let me do anything interesting. It’s just work, work, work. Milking mean old Gertrude, the sweeping, washing, wringing, helping with ironing. Now I tend a garden too and you haven’t taken me to see Valmai Nietschke either. Why didn’t you make Wenna come?’ Everything comes spurting out.

  ‘Bite your tongue, missy. If ‘ee don’t mind me I’ll be askin’ Da to give ‘ee the strap.’ Her mouth is firm and I feel like saying she could have stopped Da and we could still be at home, and we wouldn’t even have to dig a well or make butter, but I grab the washing up bowl from her and stride outside. How would I explain my behaviour to Da if she tells him? How to explain that Mam doesn’t care?

  Outside I swish the Sunlight soap in its little wire cage too hard, making the water bubble over the edges on to the table, but I don’t make bubbles for Elowen. I bet Winnie doesn’t have to do lots of jobs.

  Elowen stands by with the tea towel, a wary look on her face, and I feel sorry she should be scared of me when it’s Mam I’m cross at. ‘Here, chicken,’ I say, and hand her the first plate.

  Then Jacob and Harry appear with shovels and pickaxes. I stop to watch them, and Mam’s voice echoes from the kitchen, ‘Get those dishes done, Kerenza, then after the butter, the oven needs cleaning.’ It’s as if she can see through the canvas.

  It’s hard to concentrate when I wish I was helping the boys, but we finish the dishes and take them into the kitchen.

  The cream is waiting in a bowl. I take the egg beater from a hook and turn the handle. Elowen watches the cream splash up the sides. Any bits that fly out she licks up like a cat. It takes ages to thicken, and I can hear the boys shouting instructions to each other, but just when my arms are too sore to turn the handle the cream turns into butter. I put a tea towel over it and reach for the brush to clean the flue. Soot flies all over me and Elowen runs out. Mam takes pity on me and doesn’t make me do the black leading as well.

  When I emerge the boys are already digging.

  ‘This might only take a week.’ Jacob wipes his face with an arm and puts his hat back on.

  ‘Okay, Harry, my shot now.’

  Harry’s red in the face and looks happy to stop, and I get them a drink from the water bag. They’re already below the surface. ‘Better get the buckets ready,’ Jacob says to me. ‘We’ll try going down together. One will dig, the other shovel into the bucket.’

  ‘When will you put the planks down?’ I ask.

  ‘When we get lower.’ Jacob’s watching Harry. ‘It’s hard yakka, but it’s going beaut, so we’ll keep digging for now.’

  I imagine a pickaxe ending up in one of their heads in such a confined space.

  ‘Our ancestors were miners,’ Jacob says. ‘This is easy as winking.’

  The next day the boys’ heads are below ground level and they can’t throw the dirt up any more. Kitto and I lower the wooden bucket on a rope. I also throw the boys a rope each to tie around their waist. I tie the other ends to the closest pine tree.

  The bucket is heavy to pull but I’m surprised at how strong Kitto is becoming. He helps me drag it up. ‘Are there any knockers down there?’ he calls.

  Jacob shouts, ‘Forget all that fairy tale stuff. You’re in Australia now.’

  Kitto looks crestfallen. ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘And don’t let the bucket catch on the sides,’ Jacob warns. But we can’t help the bucket from scraping against the inside as we drag on the rope. Mam and Elowen have
gone to take the men’s lunches. I didn’t even have to ask, and I’m thinking I haven’t apologised for shouting at her. And that’s just when it happens.

  We bring up the next bucketful and it catches on a small rock in the wall of dirt. It dislodges.

  ‘Watch out!’ I shout. The rock misses the boys’ heads but the dirt behind it falls as well. More sandy dirt follows and it’s like watching waves rolling into a rock pool. Finally it stops.

  Kitto rubs his eyes free of grit. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Harry!’ I can’t see either of them for the dust. I try pulling one of the ropes. ‘You pull the other,’ I tell Kitto. His rope comes up easily but there’s nothing on the end. One of the boys didn’t tie it around himself. My rope won’t budge, not even when Kitto helps. There’s not a moment to lose.

  I race to Bobbie, untie his reins and run him over. I tie the rope to his harness and lead him away from the well. His first steps are fine, then he falters.

  ‘Come on, Bobbie. You can pull trees down – surely you can pull boys out of a well. ‘Pull!’ I chant as I drag at his halter. ‘Pull. Pull!’ He stamps forwards, one step at a time. Something gives and he marches forward.

  ‘It’s Harry!’ Kitto shouts from the well. ‘He’s fine.’

  There’s a cough. ‘Kerenza?’ Harry’s voice sounds choked and the tears jump to my eyes. ‘Let me down again. I can see the shovel handle. I have to dig Jacob out.’

  I back Bobbie up. ‘Tell me when Harry’s feet are on the dirt, Kitto.’

  ‘Now,’ he says. ‘Whoa!’ Bobbie stops on Kitto’s command.

  I look over the edge of the hole. It’s only a few moments but it feels longer before Jacob’s head appears.

  Harry uses his hands to flick the rest of the dirt off him. I throw the other rope down and Harry ties it around Jacob’s middle. ‘Pull us up quick – he’s not breathing.’

  I urge Bobbie forward again. ‘Pull, Bobbie, pull.’ I don’t dare think about those words: he’s not breathing. Harry must be mistaken.