‘There’s a Welsh camp over at Madman’s Gully. Why don’t you and Blossom go and ask the priest at the church if he’s seen Fisher. He knows everything that happens around those parts. And it’s not too far from here.’
This news lifted Poppy’s spirits. Not only might she find Fisher, but she could also ask the priest if he had seen Gus.
‘Come,’ Mr Auldwinkle said. ‘Let me draw you a map and you can go there tomorrow. But first, you are both coming home for dinner. And Blossom, my girl, you need a long soak in a big tub.’
8
The Swap
AS the two girls walked the track to Madman’s Gully, Blossom talked excitedly about the dinner at the Auldwinkles’ the night before and how kind they were. But Poppy was only half listening. She was deep in her own thoughts about Fisher and Gus as she held the Tear Jar in the palm of her hand.
The path meandered along a creek bed, between spindly trees and deserted mine shafts. Then they saw a sprinkling of white tents in the distance. Poppy quickened her pace.
The first tent they came to smelt disgusting. Flies buzzed everywhere. A long table was smeared with blood and carcasses hung from meat hooks. Lying on the ground in a pile were the heads, feet and skins of the animals that had been slaughtered. Poppy looked at Blossom whose face had turned green.
A fat man came out, wearing a filthy white apron. He carried a joint of meat in one hand and a large cleaver in the other. They asked where they could find the church and he gestured up the path. Then he flung the meat onto the table and severed it with a single chop, blood splattering everywhere.
The girls jumped back, and hastened away up the path.
‘Look,’ Blossom said in distress. ‘A spot of that awful blood on my new clothes.’
Poppy laughed.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘Just two days ago you were starving and in rags, Bloss. Now you can worry about a spot on your clothes.’ She patted Blossom’s shoulder. ‘It’s funny how quickly life can change.’
The hut had a large cross on the front wall. It seemed empty, but Blossom called out and a voice replied in a heavy Welsh accent. A man with a thick black beard appeared from the back, his white shirt-sleeves rolled up. A smile appeared amongst the darkness of his beard.
‘Aye aye, what can I do for you children?’ he asked, brushing dirt from his hands.
Poppy told the story of Fisher, his theft, and what Fox had said about the Welsh miners.
The priest was thinking.
‘Old Fen was braggin’ t’other day ’bout somethin’, what was it now?’ He frowned, then brightened. ‘You know, I do believe it was a dog, a real clever mutt, he said. You’ll find his tent where our Welsh flag, the red dragon, is flyin’ high above the camp. Last I seen, the dog was tied to the flagpole.’
She could hardly believe it! Could it really be her darling dog, Fisher?
Poppy’s heart hammered as she and Blossom hurried along the track towards Old Fen’s tent. As they drew closer, they stopped behind a tree and peeped out. Four tents surrounded the bottom of the flagpole.
Then she saw him. Fisher was lying with his chin on his paws. Joy surged through Poppy and she ran over to his side. Fisher jumped up, wagging his tail and yelping with excitement.
‘Oh, Fish, I’ve found you at last.’ She put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
‘I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. Can you forgive me?’
‘He’s beautiful,’ Blossom said, reaching out a hand to touch Fisher’s head.
‘Oi! Youer asking for a belter, the two of ye, if ye don’t get away from that dog,’ shouted a gruff voice.
Blossom froze and Poppy stood up to face a man who came striding towards them, a scowl on his dark hairy face.
‘He’s my dog,’ Poppy said, stepping in front of Fisher. ‘He was stolen from me by Professor Cutpurse and I’m taking him back.’
The Welsh miner put his hands on his hips and laughed, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth. ‘I don’t care who ’e used ter belong ter, ’e belongs ter me now. I paid good money for ’im.’
‘I’m not leaving without my dog,’ Poppy said. She didn’t feel scared. The anger inside seemed to give her courage.‘I’ll buy him back from you.’
At this, the miner laughed more boisterously than before. ‘Well, even supposin’ I did agree ter sell ’im back ter ye, what ye goin’ ter pay me with, lad? A bag full of pebbles?’
‘No.’ She thought desperately for something she could bargain with, but she had nothing. Suddenly, she clutched at the pouch around her neck, and without thinking blurted out, ‘Gold. I’ll pay you with gold.’
Blossom and the miner both stared at Poppy.
‘I have a nugget here and I’ll pay you with it,’ Poppy said. After all, Fisher had found it, it was really his.
The miner was suspicious. ‘Let me see it first an’ maybe we can come ter some agreement.’
The man inspected the small lump of gold carefully. He seemed satisfied. ‘Wait ’ere a minute,’ he said, and went inside the tent. He came out shortly with some scales, placed Poppy’s gold on the metal dish and weighed it. ‘This is more than I paid fer yer dog,’ he said. ‘How ’bout I deduct the food I be given ’im an’ give ye some change?’
Poppy was taken by surprise.
‘Ye untie yer mutt while I get the money.’ The man tossed Poppy a key and she undid the padlock on Fisher’s chain.
Fisher pranced about like a puppy.
9
Little Gwion
THE girls left the Welsh camp by a different route, Fisher racing ahead of them, then running back excitedly.
Blossom laughed at his antics.
In a small clearing, where the path dipped into a gully, they came upon a tent large enough for someone to stand up in. In front of it, a girl, about nine years old, sat cross-legged on the ground, busily sewing. The girl looked up as Poppy and Blossom approached.
‘Hello,’ said Poppy. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Meg,’ replied the girl.
‘What are you making?’
‘Them’s veils fer the diggers,’ she replied. ‘My gran’, she’s ill, an’ she got nobody ter work fer ’er but me.’
‘Where are your parents?’ Blossom asked.
‘My mother and father died one afta t’other.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Now it’s just me an’ Gran.’ She smiled a sad smile, but her eyes widened as a low voice came from the tent.
‘Send that one in. The girl.’
Meg looked startled. She turned to Blossom. ‘Gran wants ye,’ she said, and tried to smile, but her brows creased.
Blossom started forward, but the voice came again, low and urgent, ‘Not that one, t’other.’
‘T’ain’t but one girl out here, Gran,’ Meg said, plaintively.
‘She knows. Send her in, I say.’
Meg looked apologetically at Poppy. ‘She’s ill, like I said …’ and tapped her head.
Poppy waved her hand, telling Fisher to stay. He whined.
‘Quiet, Fish, it’ll be all right.’
She went up to the tent, lifted the canvas flap and stepped in. The sudden darkness blinded her for a moment. The first thing she saw, as her eyes adjusted, was a low fire, the smoke rising to a hole at the top of the tent. Over it sat a pot, suspended from a tripod of sticks. As Poppy watched, a hand with spidery fingers reached out of the gloom into the light, holding a long spoon. The hand placed the spoon in the pot and began to stir, slowly, counterclockwise. The steam carried the fragrance of boiled plants.
‘So, my Little Gwion, can ye help me stir my pot?’ the voice said.
Poppy could now make out an old woman, the owner of the arm.
‘All right,’ Poppy said, with a shrug. She didn’t know who Little Gwion was, but Meg outside had said her gran was a bit mad. She squatted down by the fire, accepted the handle of the spoon, and began stirring.
‘No!’ the voice was like the crack of a whip. ‘T’othe
r way.’
Poppy shifted and stirred the pot counterclockwise, afraid of making the old woman angry.
‘Good, Little Gwion, keep that up ’til I return.’
When Poppy looked up, the old woman had vanished. She stirred for what seemed like hours, until a change of air in the tent told her the old woman had returned. Something was added to the pot, and the spoon handle taken from Poppy’s tired hand.
‘You search,’ the old voice said.
Poppy felt a chill run down her back. ‘Yes, but …’
‘Youer search will end … soon.’
‘I found my dog already,’ Poppy said.
A harsh laugh sounded. ‘Youer dog? No, youer real search, the search fer youer life,’ the voice continued. The spoon dipped into the pot, and came out full of steaming liquid. ‘Taste this, Little Gwion, an’ tell me what you see.’
The liquid was hot, but Poppy took a sip. She fought hard not to spit it out. Bitter! Bitter with an undertaste that reached deep into her guts and made them rebel. Poppy swallowed, and waited.
Nothing happened.
‘What …’ she started to say.
‘Be silent!’
As if the voice held a spell, the scene in front of Poppy vanished. Instead of the tent, the fire and the old woman, she was faced with a moonlit scene. Naked trees lifted their bare branches upward towards a full moon, as if wild dancers had been cursed into frozen poses. Poppy gasped as she looked around. She was in a cemetery. And one grave stood open, waiting …
The scene faded. She was back in the tent. Why had this old woman shown her a cemetery? And who was the grave waiting for?
The woman refused to answer any questions about Poppy’s vision, except to say, ‘Dig, dig. That’s where yer’ll find him.’ Then she softened, and laced a twig of rosemary through the buttonhole of Poppy’s shirt, before pushing her gently out through the flap.
Poppy felt weird, not really herself. ‘Did you see where that old woman went when she left the tent?’ she asked Blossom as they walked out of the gully with Fisher running on ahead.
Blossom looked confused. ‘No one left the tent,’ she said. ‘I would have seen. I was right there.’
That’s strange, thought Poppy. She looked behind her, feeling as if she was being followed, but saw nothing.
‘What did the old lady want?’ Blossom asked. ‘You were in there a long time.’
‘She told me my search would end soon,’ Poppy replied. ‘Then she gave me something to drink and I had a kind of daydream. I was in a cemetery in front of a grave …’
‘Grave! Stop, Poppy! I don’t want to hear any more,’ Blossom said, with a shudder.
10
The White Mask
POPPY and Blossom sat down on a rock by the creek. It had been raining and the banks were flooded. In her hand Poppy carried a paper bag. She opened it and took out a small pie.
A smile lit Blossom’s face. ‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said.
‘It’s my birthday today,’ Poppy said, quietly. ‘If things had gone the way Gus and I had planned, he would have come to Bird Creek and rescued me by now. And we’d have a home and …’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Bloss, what’s the use of a promise? What’s the use of anything, anymore?’
Blossom moved closer to Poppy and put her arms around her friend. They sat staring at the swollen creek.
After a while, Blossom cleared her throat. ‘I have something to tell you,’ she said.
‘What is it, Bloss?’
There was silence at first, then Blossom spoke. ‘This afternoon, when you were away on an errand, Mrs Auldwinkle came into the shop.’
Poppy turned to face Blossom.
‘I really like Mr and Mrs Auldwinkle and Octavius is so sweet,’ Blossom said.
‘Yes, they are kind people.’
‘Mrs Auldwinkle told me she always wanted more than one child but couldn’t have any after Octavius was born. She said she really wanted a girl.’ Blossom sounded apologetic. ‘Then she said that they want to adopt me.’
‘Adopt you! Bloss, that’s wonderful.’
‘No … but Poppy, you knew them first. It’s just that they want a girl. Maybe we can tell them –’
‘No! Don’t do that. Gus and me, we’re going to have a home one day. And I’ve got Fisher. You deserve a family of your own.’ She put her arms around Blossom and squeezed her. ‘I’m so happy for you.’
Poppy was thrilled for her little friend. But in a dark corner of her heart, she wondered if she would ever find her own family.
Fisher led the way over the bridge at Spring Creek and along a track.
Poppy wanted to search all the Chinese camps around. Someone just might have seen Gus. This camp was about an hour’s walk away.
There was a mixture of tents and shacks. Vegetable gardens dotted the nearby hill. At the end of the main street, Poppy and Blossom could hear music and high-pitched singing. Then they saw Chinese symbols painted on banners and a large blue tent with red and yellow flags flying.
‘Mrs Auldwinkle talked about a travelling Chinese opera,’ said Blossom. ‘I wonder if this is it.’
‘Let’s take a look,’ said Poppy.
The performance was just ending and the people were leaving. But there was no sign of Gus.
A flap of the tent lifted and one of the actors came out wearing a heavily embroidered costume. Sticking from the back of his clothes were four red flags. His eyes were heavily outlined in red and black, and his face was covered in white paint. He looked fierce.
He stood in front of a small mirror and began removing his makeup. But he suddenly glanced up and saw Poppy. ‘What you do there?’ he asked. His tone was friendly.
Poppy walked over. She tried to remember the Chinese words she had been taught by Jimmy Ah Kew’s bride, Lai Lai. What were the words again? ‘Dui m ji, dai buk.Excuse me, Uncle. Ngo gor gor … ni gin …gor quoi mo ah? I was wondering if you have seen my brother,’ she said awkwardly, taking off her hat so that he could see her face. ‘He looks like me, but he’s a bit older.’
The actor gave a surprised laugh at hearing her speak Chinese. He thought for a moment, scratching his head. Then his face grew serious.
He looked at Poppy, his head to one side. ‘There was boy, look like you … He work for gold. Not know name.’
Poppy held her breath, waiting for the man to go on. But the expression on his face made her tremble.
The actor sighed. ‘He dead … fall down mine …’
Blossom gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Dead?! No, that can’t be … Are you sure?’
‘He bury in cemetery two day ago.’ The actor looked at Poppy and Blossom with sympathy. ‘Look for new dug grave in Chinese part. He there.’
Poppy felt her legs weaken. The sky swam about her as the vision of the open grave returned.
Poppy woke up, her head on Blossom’s lap. ‘Is it true?’ Poppy asked. ‘Is Gus really dead?’
Blossom looked down at Poppy, her eyes red and swollen.
All these months, Poppy had been searching for Gus and this is where it had led her … to his grave. She looked around for Dangamai, the crow, spirit of her mother. Where are you, Napu? The crow had followed her on her journey, always pointing the way forward. Why aren’t you here? she wondered.
Poppy got to her feet. ‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘Where to?’ Blossom asked.
‘I have to see for myself. I have to see where he is buried.’
‘I’ll go with you.’
‘No! Go back to the bookshop, Blossom.’ She took Blossom’s hand in hers and looked into her eyes. ‘You tell Mrs Auldwinkle that you want to live with them and be their daughter.’
‘But Poppy, I don’t want to …’
‘This is your chance, Bloss, to have a home and be with people who love you.’ Then she turned to Fisher, ‘Come on, boy,’ and ran down the track, tears streaming down her cheeks.
11
The Vacant Grave
I
T was dusk as Poppy reached the cemetery. She stopped, breathing rapidly. The gates were of black iron, and the two plants that had been growing on either side were now dead, their bare spindly branches dry and brittle.
She forced herself to take that first step into the graveyard.
Fisher whined. He hadn’t moved.
‘Come on, boy.’ Poppy beckoned.
Fisher looked at her, then sat down.
‘All right, fine. Stay there. I’ll do it myself.’ She turned, hoping Fisher would follow her, but he didn’t.
The light of the fading day had become an eerie mixture of blood-red and yellow as she took a winding path between the headstones. She could just make out the writing on some of them. Most were new. Some were carved with angels and crosses. Others were more simple. A name, a date, and where they had been born, or where they had died.
One grave had five children buried there, all from the same family.
A few steps on and Poppy saw an empty grave on her left. A long-handled shovel, abandoned by the gravedigger, was thrust into the fresh mound of earth beside the hole. She heard a snuffling, tweaking sound coming from deep in the pit. Sidling over to the edge, she looked in. Something was moving down there. It was a small echidna, running helplessly back and forth across the bottom. It must have fallen in, and now was trapped and hopeless. Just like me, thought Poppy.
She picked up the shovel, and slipped over the side into the grave. It was deep! The sides were above her head. In the almost-dark, she scrambled for the echidna. At last she cornered the frightened creature, scooped it up with the shovel and placed it gently over the side. It waddled off as if nothing had happened.
Then Poppy tried to climb out herself. But each time she got a handhold, the walls gave way, crumbling in and down upon her, threatening to bury her. She tried standing on the edge of the shovel, but she was still too short. It was now pitch-black in the grave, and the sky above a rectangle of dark grey. She took slow deep breaths to calm herself and to think.
Poppy Comes Home Page 4