by Bonnie Leon
“Don’t go,” Rebecca said. Then she surprised herself by adding, “I could use some company.”
Callie looked puzzled.
“Would you stay and visit? I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone yet, except family of course.”
Still wearing a look of surprise, Callie sat on a straight-backed chair, Rebecca’s dress and petticoat resting in her lap. She stared straight ahead, clearly uncomfortable.
Rebecca bit into a piece of toast. “I suppose it can get lonely here—being so far from everything, I mean.”
“Ya believe this a lonely place?”
“Well, it is kind of . . . stark.”
“Douloo is what it is.”
“Have you lived here all your life?”
“All me life on the flats, but ’ere only since I was ten, mum.”
“Please call me Rebecca. I’d like to be friends.”
Callie’s eyes widened.
“I know it’s probably not customary for people like us to be more than acquaintances, but it is allowed, isn’t it? I mean . . . Daniel and Woodman like each other.”
“Yais. They like each other well enough. Woodman is ’ere a long time, since he was a lad. But they not be mates.”
“But . . . I thought . . . Well, after seeing them together yesterday, it’s clear Daniel thinks highly of Woodman. They must be friends.”
“Blacks and whites can’t be friends.”
Rebecca felt let down. She decided to change the subject. “How did you come to live here?”
“Long time ago me father traded with Mr. Thornton.”
“You mean he traded you?”
“Yais. A good trade, it was.” Callie almost smiled. “Me dad needed tools, Mr. Thornton needed a housemaid.”
“How could a father do such a thing?”
Hurt flickered across Callie’s face. “It was very good. I have a fine life, eh? I ’ave good clothes, a house, and good food. Mr. Thornton been good ta me. He says I’m worth a fair bit.”
Rebecca choked down a bite of egg. How could a church elder trade a life for tools? She’d never understood men who felt they had the right to trade away human lives. It had happened in America—even in New England, but she’d not expected it here. This was something Daniel hadn’t shared about living at Douloo. She set down her knife and fork, her appetite gone.
“Mrs. Thornton, she’s a good lydie. I’m glad ta live ’ere.”
Rebecca nodded and tried to think of something else to say. They seemed to share no common ground. “I met Daniel while he was in Boston settling Elton Thornton’s affairs.”
“Yais. I heard ’bout that.” Callie glanced at the clothing in her lap. “I feel bad for Mrs. Thornton. She’s real sad. Worse than when Elton had ta go.”
“I thought Elton wanted to move to America.”
Anxiousness touched Callie’s face, like someone caught telling tales. “That’s not for me ta talk ’bout, eh.” She stood. “I got work ta do. G’day.” Before Rebecca could object, Callie hurried out of the room.
A woman’s screams and a child’s wailing carried up from the front yard. Oh, Lord, what now? Rebecca crossed to the open window. Leaning on the sill, she gazed down. A black woman, her bare feet raising dust, ran toward the house. Shrieking in an unfamiliar language, she clung to a convulsing child. Falling at the foot of the front steps, she blurted out, “Mrs. Thornton! Help! Help me bybie!”
Rebecca heard footsteps tramp across the veranda; then Willa appeared on the steps. She hurried to the woman and child. “Lord, have mercy.”
The black woman held out the little girl to Willa, who examined a spot on the child’s arm. “May I have her?” she asked, gently taking the youngster. Cradling the skinny little girl in her arms, Willa prayed and sang, then prayed some more. When the child vomited on the front of her dress, she paid no heed but continued to pray.
Finally the child quieted. A hand pressed to her mouth, Rebecca watched and pleaded with God to spare her life.
Though the girl went limp and didn’t move for a long while, Willa continued to cradle her, rocking and singing. She gently ran her thumb over the child’s forehead, brushed aside a wispy curl, then kissed her cheek.
Silently the mother picked up the little one and walked away. Willa remained on the steps.
Rebecca backed away from the window. “No,” she said, wiping away tears. It had been so brutal, so swift. How could a child die such a death?
After quickly dressing, Rebecca hurried downstairs and out to the veranda. Willa sat on a cane-back chair. She’d changed her gown and seemed serene.
“I saw what happened,” Rebecca said. “What was it? Has some horrible disease come to the station?”
“No.” She rocked. “It was a funnel-web.”
“And what’s a funnel-web?”
“A funnel-web spider. The poor child had no chance.”
“A spider did that?” Pressing a hand against her abdomen, Rebecca dropped onto a chair. She felt faint. “What kind of place is this?” she asked, not stopping to think how such a question might sound. “Yesterday I was nearly bitten by a deadly snake, and today a little girl dies from a spider bite?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I assure you, it’s quite unusual. I’m not going to pretend it never happens, but . . . rarely do people get bitten.”
Rebecca glanced about, suddenly afraid that one of the poisonous spiders might be lurking on the veranda. “What do funnel-webs look like?”
Willa didn’t answer right away, then said quietly, “They’re quite large and nasty looking, actually. Their bodies are black, about the size of a man’s thumb. They’re easy to spot.”
Rebecca shuddered.
“They’re rather slow-moving creatures, so it’s not difficult to kill them. In fact, Woodman likes to have a go at them whenever one’s found.”
Rebecca managed to nod and gave the porch another look.
“We’re careful to keep the house clear of them.”
Rebecca promised herself she’d never climb into bed again without checking between the sheets.
Callie appeared, carrying a tray with a teakettle and two cups and saucers. She set it on a wicker table between the women. Her face was an emotionless mask, all but her eyes. Rebecca was certain there was sorrow in their black depths. “Did you know her, Callie?”
“Who, mum?”
“The little girl.”
“Yais. She was a good little girl.” Her eyes misted, then resolve set in, expelling tears. “Now she’s in a fine place.”
“Heaven?”
“No. No blacks in heaven.” She walked back inside the house.
Willa filled a cup. “Sugar?”
Rebecca felt the shock of Willa’s quiet tone sweep through her. Did she believe blacks had no place in heaven?
“Rebecca, are you all right? You look troubled.”
“I’m fine. But . . .” She wondered if she ought to say anything. After all, she’d barely arrived, and to voice an opinion over something divisive seemed disrespectful.
“What is it, dear?”
“I just think that blacks do have a place in heaven . . . like the rest of us,” she said quietly.
“Of course they do. But they don’t believe that. I’ve tried to convince Callie, but she refuses to listen. Now I wait on God to do the convincing.” She smiled.
“Yes. I suppose that would be best.” Rebecca’s eyes swept over the flower garden, the yard, and then beyond to the barn. Everything seemed silent and empty. “Where is everyone?” she asked, accepting a cup of tea from Willa. “Daniel was gone when I woke up.”
“He and the others are inspecting cattle. There’s been an outbreak of red water up north. My husband’s very careful with the stock. Daniel’s a great help to him.”
Two black women crossed the yard and entered the cottage where the aborigine mother had disappeared with her daughter.
“Daniel didn’t tell me you had black servants. They look different from the ones in the S
tates.”
“Oh, how is that?”
“Their skin is darker, and they’re smaller.”
“They’re indigenous. They weren’t taken from Africa.”
“Are they dangerous? That man . . . Jim, he said . . .”
“Oh, Jim. I dare say, he likes to stir up trouble now and then. Don’t listen to a bit of what he has to say.” Willa sipped her tea. “The blacks are our servants, not our slaves. Unlike in your country, we pay them.”
“In America the Negroes are free, and they earn wages. They were liberated after the war.”
“Really?”
Rebecca thought Willa’s eyes didn’t agree, so she continued, “Yes. The law says they’re free. I’ve always considered slavery abhorrent.”
“I must say, I’ve never been comfortable with the aborigines’ plight either. It pains me. I’d like to see them truly emancipated. I see their distress every day.”
“I’ve always believed the Holy Spirit speaks to us about such things,” Rebecca said. “When I’m feeling unsettled about something or have a sense of assurance inside, that’s him. He speaks to all his children, don’t you agree? Even women and blacks?”
Willa smiled. “Yes. I believe he does.” She fingered a button along the bodice of her dress. “Not everyone would agree, however.” Worry touched her eyes. Then, returning to the subject of the aborigines, she said, “Here at Douloo we treat our blacks well.” She gazed out over the open spaces beyond the house. “There are stories . . .”
“Stories? Could you tell me?”
“They’re too horrible to speak of.”
Although frightened by what she might hear, Rebecca wanted to know. “I feel out of place here. Maybe knowing more about things, even the bad things, might help.”
“I doubt that.” Willa set her cup on its saucer. “Some people, even in this district, hate the blacks. They kill them whenever they can, even the children.”
Rebecca sucked in her breath. “Why?”
With a haunted expression, Willa said, “They’re afraid. When I was a child in Melbourne, I witnessed a massacre—even the women and children. It was dreadful.” She wet her lips. “Around here, though, most people treat their workers decently enough.”
Callie reappeared. “Will ya be needin’ me, mum?”
“No. We’re fine, Callie.” Willa turned back to Rebecca. “In truth, we need each other—blacks and whites.”
Callie stood in the doorway.
Willa glanced at her. “No. That’s not quite right. The blacks were doing quite well before we came along. We’re the ones who need them.”
Before Callie retreated indoors, a look of affection passed between her and Willa.
“Callie told me her father traded her for tools,” Rebecca said.
“Indeed. That’s quite right. Callie’s a half caste. Her real father was white. I’d say the man who raised her was delighted to profit from his wife’s indiscretion.”
“What kind of people would trade away a child?”
“The kind who must survive.” Willa’s voice was firm. “The aborigines live a life of necessity and practicality. Most of the men value their wives and children, but there are some who see them as less than dogs.”
“How horrible.”
Willa’s brow creased. “In our society how much value have we? Are we not our husbands’ property?”
For a moment Rebecca was taken aback. “Why, yes . . . I suppose you might say we’re ‘property,’ but Daniel would never . . .”
“No. Daniel wouldn’t. But if he chose to, he has the right.”
Rebecca suddenly felt vulnerable. She’d always lived safely under her father’s protective shield. He’d never have allowed harm to befall her. Even so, she’d always known that many women in Boston society were viewed as little more than ornaments.
She looked directly at Willa. “I don’t suppose our position is all that much different from Callie’s, then.” She picked up her cup. “And how does Mr. Thornton feel about such things?”
“About me or the blacks?”
“Both, I guess. Daniel has said very little about him.”
Willa refilled her cup and offered Rebecca more tea, which she declined. “Bertram’s a puzzle. He views the blacks much like the rest in the district do—as a necessary possession. But then there’s Woodman. He and Woodman grew up together—they’ve been friends since they were lads. Bertram trusts him and on occasion even seeks out his advice.”
Willa smiled. “And me? Well, he loves me and would never mistreat me. However, he takes his responsibility as husband and father quite seriously . . . too much so at times. Because of that, he can seem harsh—but never misinterpret that sternness as cruelty. He’s always well meaning.”
Rebecca hoped one day she’d be able to look beyond her father-in-law’s severe exterior and see his heart. She’d begun to wonder if he had one. She wasn’t at all certain he’d ever accept her presence at Douloo.
Willa set her tea on the wicker table, sat back, and clasped her hands. “Now then, I’d like to talk about the party.”
“There’s going to be a party?”
“Yes. We’re having one in your and Daniel’s honor—to celebrate your marriage. People from all over the district will be here. You’ll meet our neighbors.”
Rebecca scanned the open plain. “But you have no neighbors, not that I can see. They must be coming a great distance.”
“It’s not so far as you believe.” Willa smiled. “Miles may separate us, but our lives are intertwined; we take care of each other.” Her eyes flashed with affection. “Our friends have been anxious to meet you. We’ll have a grand time. There will be music and dancing and, of course, first-rate food.”
Rebecca felt anxiety bloom. Would these sturdy flatlanders accept an outsider? She wasn’t like these people. I don’t fit, she thought, and wondered if she ever would.
11
Rebecca wandered toward a covered pavilion, where an aborigine servant busily swept. Dust lingered in the air and tickled Rebecca’s nose.
“It will look lovely once we get the decorations hung,” Willa said, joining Rebecca.
“I’m sure it will.”
Willa watched Callie set out dishes and flatware on a table while Lily settled one of two candelabra in the center. “No. No. That will never do.” Willa walked to the table. “Perhaps if we set them here.” She moved the candelabra farther apart, then stepped back and eyed the arrangement. “Yes. That’s much better.” She offered Lily a smile, then returned to the house.
Although dressed in a lightweight cotton gown, Rebecca still felt overly warm. How will I adjust to this insufferable heat? If only there were a cooling rain.
The unsettled feeling in Rebecca’s stomach intensified. Guests would be arriving soon. She was about to meet longtime Thornton friends and neighbors. What would they think of the American woman who had married into the most prominent family in the district? Scrutiny would be acute.
Rebecca wandered the grounds, wishing she had something to occupy her mind other than the upcoming gathering. What if people knew about her father’s financial indiscretions and thought the worst of her? It is true. I did marry Daniel out of need. She gazed at her husband, who stood among a group of men tending a side of roasting beef. Had she been wrong to marry him? Now neither of them would ever know true love.
Daniel and another man rotated the beef. Juices hissed as they dropped into a fire pit below, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. He glanced at Rebecca and smiled. She smiled back, feeling a little less insecure. He is handsome, she thought. I’m sure Meghan Linnell is very distressed. I wonder if she’ll be here tonight. Certainly not. The idea of meeting the woman who had meant to marry Daniel was unsettling. Rebecca hoped she would choose to stay away.
Just as Rebecca found her way back to the table, Willa returned carrying a vase filled with roses from the garden. She smiled at Rebecca, then studied her daughter-in-law more closely. “I dare say,
you seem a bit pale. Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. A little nervous.”
“Try not to worry.” Willa set the flowers on the table and approached Rebecca. “The people who will be here are friends. They won’t bite, really.”
“That’s good to hear. Do they know?”
“Know what, dear?”
“About why we were married?”
“Oh, there is always speculation, but you’ve no need to worry. You and Daniel have done nothing wrong.”
Rebecca glanced down at her skirt. “I wasn’t certain this would be appropriate attire, but I couldn’t bear the idea of wearing one of my heavy gowns in this heat.”
“It’s just right. And the soft green suits your complexion.” She studied Rebecca a moment. “You’re quite lovely, you know.”
Rebecca felt a flush of pleasure and embarrassment. “Thank you.”
“At the next opportunity we’ll have you fitted for new dresses more appropriate for our warmer climate.” She glanced at a seam of clouds lying in the distance. “We dare not hope for some cooling rains, eh?” She smiled.
“That would be pleasant. I must admit to not being used to the heat.”
“When I first arrived here I was quite overcome by it, but one adjusts.”
“It seems the temperature isn’t the only thing I’ll have to adjust to. Everything here is unlike Boston. I’m not sure what I’ll talk about with your guests. I know very little about your country.”
“I dare say, they’ll be curious about yours.” Willa took Rebecca’s hand and patted it. “Just be yourself. You’re a lovely person and obviously very bright. You’ll make a fine impression. I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I could be so confident,” Rebecca said, taking a steadying breath.
Guests started arriving, and Rebecca was reminded of the many cotillions she’d attended in Boston. Even then she’d much rather have hidden in the library unseen than socialize. Not that she didn’t enjoy people, but she disliked the pretentiousness that seemed to accompany such gatherings. Maybe this will be different, she thought. After all, this isn’t Boston.