Hannah

by Raymond Clarke

  ‘Who are you, sir?’ John’s eyes hardened.

  Rosie answered, eyes fixed on the visitor. ‘It’s Bart Stubbins, John, Bart from the Canada. Remember I told you about him. He helped me so much on the ship.’

  ‘Ah, that you did and I remember. So you’re the Bart Stubbins.’ John Williams advanced with hand outstretched. ‘I’ve heard so much about you from Rosie.’ He clasped Bart’s free hand between both of his and squeezed firmly. ‘You’re very welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Bart replied. ‘You’re very kind.’ His eyes sought out Rosie’s. ‘It’s so good to see you well and happy, Rosie. I’m so glad.’ His eyes appeared to moisten and he lowered his head, voice faltering.

  ‘Oh, Bart,’ she cried, tears suddenly forming. She turned to her husband. ‘May I hug him, John?’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ John said. ‘I realize how good he was to you on the ship.’

  Rosie stepped down into Bart’s outstretched arms and they clung together, weeping one moment and laughing the next. When he released her, he stood back to better view her face. ‘It’s been a long thirteen years,’ he said, voice hoarse.

  ‘Has it been that long?’ Rosie dabbed at her eyes with a lace hanky.

  ‘Come inside, Bart.’ John laid a hand on Bart’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about your rig. My man George will handle them. We’re just about to dine. You will join us, won’t you?’ He turned to Rosie, aware of the excitement in his wife’s eyes. ‘I’m sure you and Rosie have a lot to talk about the old times. Come.’ Without any further ado, Bart between them, they shepherded him into the prestigious dining room of Foster Grove.

  ‘And Bart, do tell me,’ Rosie motioned the Aboriginal maid to remove her plate. ‘What are you doing now? How come you’re in Sydney Town?’

  ‘I’m Second Officer on the Harmony, Rosie. Wet berthed in the cove yesterday.’

  ‘Is it a convict ship, Bart?’ asked John.

  ‘Yes, John. We brought some more lost souls here, I’m afraid. ‘It’s my last convict ship, though,’ he added, thoughtful. ‘When I return to England, I will go on the Atlantic run to the Americas, after I get . . .’

  ‘After you get what, Bart?’ John asked, after a pause.

  ‘After I get married.’ Bart risked a discreet glance at Rosie. ‘I am engaged, you see, to a girl from the north of England—’

  ‘Oh, Bart,’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘I’m so happy for you. You deserve every possible happiness.’ Tears welled up again as she turned to her husband. ‘John, dearest, Bart kept me alive on the Canada. If it wasn’t for him, I would not be here today. Oh, God, why do I always cry when I see my friends?’ She wiped at her eyes with a fresh silk handkerchief the maid discretely passed her.

  ‘You do because you’re such a caring person,’ John said and looked to Bart.

  ‘She always was.’ Bart searched Rosie’s lovely teary face. I still love her, he thought, after all these years. I have no doubt I always did and always will until the day I die. ‘What happened to the two Hannahs?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘You just missed one of them. She came through here last week, Hannah Stanley and her husband, Daniel Clarke.’

  ‘And they had seven happy and healthy kiddies sitting on a dray and in a sulky.’ John chuckled. ‘They have a fine family.’

  ‘I’m so glad for her. She was such a good friend to Rosie and the other Hannah? What news of her?’

  ‘Hannah Porter? We don’t know.’ Rosie shook her head sadly. ‘After being in Newcastle prison, we heard she married and went to New Zealand but nobody really knows. It’s very sad.’

  ‘Bart, would you stop the night?’ John asked. ‘The spare room is prepared.’

  ‘No, thank you, John, you’re very kind.’ Bart leaned forward on his chair. ‘I had better get back to the ship. I do have a Captain who hasn’t got much of a sense of humor.’ He chuckled, glancing at Rosie. ‘He is far stricter than Captain Ward ever was. Do you remember him on the Canada?’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled and briefly closed her eyes. ‘How could I ever forget?’ One particular scene flashed through her mind, the morning that she and Bart cuddled in the corner near the poop deck and Captain Ward suddenly stood over them, wry smile on his lips and asked in that soft, meaningful, voice of his. ‘I trust you’re not on duty, Mr. Stubbins.’ She looked across to Bart and they shared a smile. He remembers, she knew, and her heart leaped.

  ‘I really have to go, John and Rosie.’ Bart stood and reached for his hat. ‘I do have to be back before dark.’

  ‘I’ll call George.’ John rose. ‘He’ll bring your rig around.’ He turned to Rosie. ‘I’ll see you out the front, dear.’

  As his footsteps faded, Bart turned to Rosie. ‘Are you really happy, Rosie Posey?’ he asked, eyes entreating hers.

  ‘Yes, Bart, I am,’ she replied, hand to mouth. ‘No one has ever called me that except you and the two Hannahs.’

  ‘I’m so glad for you, Rosie,’ he said softly. ‘You deserve the best that life can give after all you’ve been through.’ He fiddled with his bicorn, eyes only for her. ‘He’s a fine man, your John Williams.’

  ‘Yes, he is that. Oh, Bart, I do love him, you know, but you will always have a place in my heart.’

  ‘As you are always in mine, sweet Rosie, and will ever be. You know that I love you and that will never change no matter where life takes us.’ In the uneasy silence between them, Bart cocked his head. ‘Ah, I hear horses outside.’ He held out his hand to take hers, caressed her fingers and drew her to him. He kissed her cheek, lips lingering so close and tempting to hers that he felt her sweet, familiar breath before he released her and strode away, out the open door and onto the porch. He stood near the waiting John Williams but turned for a last look back at the girl he loved in the doorway. ‘Goodbye, Rosie. God look after you in all the happy years to come and thank you.’ He shook hands with John, climbed up on his sulky, and shook the horses into a swift canter. Rosie waited for him to turn back and say a final goodbye and he did with a wave of his bicorn before he turned the corner and was gone.

  John Williams watched until only a tiny plume of dust heralded the sulky’s departure before returning to the dining room to find his wife weeping.

  ‘Oh, John,’ she gasped, looking up at him. ‘Please don’t be angry. It’s just been so long—’

  ‘I know, Rosie.’ He sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me. He was a good friend at a different time and a different place.’

  ‘Oh, John, you are so understanding. You and Bart are two of a kind, so thoughtful, so protective and so loving.’

  ‘But I haven’t got his beautiful blue eyes, have I?’ John said, smiling.

  ‘Ah, you noticed, eh? There’s hope for you yet, John Williams.’ She held him close knowing how lucky she was that a rich, kind settler had claimed her for his own rather than some drunken, lecherous soldier or convict on that fateful day of the selection. She owed him so much, this fine man. Indeed, she owed him her very life.

  One day, in her old age, she would tell her grandchildren how it all began, her life in the colony of New South Wales. She would tell them about England and the Canada too and particularly about a certain handsome young midshipman who risked his captain’s ire by shouting his love for her across the wharves of Sydney Town on that fateful day in September 1810 . . .

  CHAPTER 16

  SOUTHERN HIGHLANDS OF

  NEW SOUTH WALES

  1827-1852

  In the summer of 1827, the Clarke family settled into a run-down pioneer shack on a fourteen acre holding just out of Sutton Forest, part of a larger property called Clapham. The grantee, Anthony Latreille, seemed to be in Sydney most of the time and was rarely sighted. The duties as overseer were not without responsibility but Daniel found the work of supervising paid labour easier and less stressful than a farmer’s lot at South Creek.

  Hannah was not without regret about leaving South Creek but she
put it all behind her and got on with making a clean and comfortable home for the family. They extended the house, the owner providing materials and Daniel the labour. The children stayed happy and healthy and Hannah, always busy, was particularly pleased to visit and make friends in the nearby districts of Bong Bong, Throsby Park and Moss Vale. In later years as the area developed, she would take one or two of the children on a longer trip to the villages of Bowral and Berrima.

  As 1828 loomed, word was received that Charlotte had given birth to a son, called Richard after the father, and that all was well.

  ‘My first grandchild,’ Hannah proudly told everyone.

  ‘And I am an auntie, don’t forget, ‘Mary Ann pointed out. ‘You know, Mummy, I think I will have plenty of babies to make more aunties and uncles.’

  Hannah smiled at her twelve year old. The other children called her the little mother with good cause. She ran the family and had her father wrapped around her little finger. ‘Your time will come soon enough. Don’t rush it, Mary Ann,’ she counseled.

  Their first winter in the Southern Highlands was more severe than they anticipated, much colder than the Hawkesbury. Westerly winds and sleet dragged on and the coming of spring seemed only a pipe dream. Finally, it came and the children vanished outdoors, impromptu.

  Hannah grew to love the changing foliage of the trees with the advent of the seasons. ‘Watch the Cootamundra wattles, Mrs. Clarke,’ the store-owner in Berrima told her. ‘They’ll tell you spring is due when you see the sprays of golden flowers come out.’ She remembered this when she came home and every day during the long winter, she had watched for the golden blooms. They seemed to come out almost overnight, a spectacular sight which she could see from the kitchen window. There were other fine trees on the block, too, giant eucalyptus like at South Creek but others like silver birch and a lone beech tree that shed their leaves in the winter and reminded her of the trees of the Kent countryside . . .

  In February 1829, Hannah gave birth to the first of the four children that she would bear at Sutton Forest. They named him Thomas, after Daniel declined Hannah’s offer to name the baby after himself. ‘No, Hannah, let the boy have his own name.’ He held the baby aloft in admiration. ‘Look, Mary Ann, you’ve got a baby brother.’

  ‘What, another boy?’ Mary Ann pretended to be annoyed. ‘I wanted another sister.’ She tugged at her brother’s little leg. ‘Still, he’ll do, I guess. Besides, I will certainly teach him to behave himself.’ Her parents shared an unspoken amused glance.

  They baptized the child in the All Saints chapel the following month and the entire Clarke family attended. Daniel cast a proud eye over his and Hannah’s brood as they sat watching the service. For once, they are quiet, he thought, even Mary Ann and the perpetually noisy William. His gaze rested on his fourteen year old daughter and he wondered how long it would be before some man laid claim for her. It was not a pleasant thought to dwell on.

  Daniel sat watching his children and trying to work out their ages. He could remember most birth dates but had to guess the years. Hannah, though, could quote them all, the births and baptismal dates, even the dates they did this and that, school attendance, the little traumas of their childhood, indeed everything. She was a marvel at memorizing things. Let’s see, he thought, counting on his fingers, Mary Ann is definitely fourteen, the twins Hannah and Robert must be eleven — they’d be twelve in August — and John James, almost as tall as Robert, would be eight and dreamy Elizabeth would be seven in July. Then there came the ones who were under five. William was four, he thought, Lucy would be three and the newcomer, little Thomas, currently getting water poured over him and objecting strongly, was still in zero year. Eight children, nine counting Charlotte.

  His thoughts flitted to the eldest child. She was always in his thoughts. Reports had come to him that the marriage was in trouble with on-going arguments. He had warned Edsell once when he visited his property impromptu that if Charlie was unhappy, he would ask her to leave and come home. Strangely, both Charlie and Edsell said, on that occasion, that they only had slight differences and all was well. As there was no indication of violence, he had to accept their joint assurance and take his leave. Before he departed, they proudly displayed their one-year old son, his grandson, Richard junior, whom he was pleased to see. He drove away in the sulky not completely convinced that Charlie was happy and contented but what more could he do? If she was in trouble, she would send him a message. That was the arrangement. No news was good news. At least, he had to believe it was as he shook up the old horse and headed home . . .

  As the years went by, the family grew to love the highlands with its cold winters, the frolics in the snow, the fresh call of spring and the hot summers with the scent of eucalyptus in the clean, fresh air. The family also grew in number with the entry into the world of another boy called Henry in April 1831, two months short of Hannah’s 43rd birthday.

  On a hot summer’s day in 1832, Daniel returned to the house to find Charlotte sitting quietly with her mother at the kitchen table. ‘Hullo, Charlie.’ He wiped his boots on the jute bag matting at the doorway, while noting a missing child and husband. Daniel entered the room, gaze swinging from his daughter to his wife and back to Charlie. He pulled up a chair and sat. ‘What’s up, well?’ ‘

  ‘You might as well know, Dad. I’ve left him.’

  ‘Have you now.’He tried to catch Charlotte’s eyes but her hair was still as long as he remembered and shrouded most of her face. ‘Bejasus, girl, put your hair back so I can see you properly,’ he demanded.

  ‘Daniel, take it easy,’ Hannah warned.

  Charlotte stood and swept her hair back with a swish of her head. ‘There, Dad,’ she said. ‘Now you know.’

  Daniel looked at the bruise on her cheek and froze. His eyes flicked to Hannah then back to his daughter. ‘How long?’ he asked, voice unsteady. ‘How long has this been going on?’

  We’ve been fighting for years,’ Charlotte said.

  Daniel thumped the table with a huge fist. ‘The last time I saw you, Charlotte, you and Edsell told me all was well. Was that a damn lie, was it?’

  ‘After you left, Dad, the violence started. When he slapped me, I hit him back twice as hard. I wasn’t going to let the bastard beat me. I’m sorry but I was too ashamed to tell you. He reported me and I had a short stop in the Female Factory at Parramatta.’

  ‘Oh, my God, you never told us.’ Hannah glared, face twisted with rage. ‘That rotten Female Factory. What the hell are you on about, Charlie? You are a damn disgrace.’

  ‘Take it easy, Hannah.’

  ‘Don’t tell me to take it easy, Daniel Clarke. She’s my daughter, not yours. She watched her husband wince and instantly felt ashamed. ‘Ah, Daniel, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ Charlotte said and burst into tears. ‘I don’t know what to do now . . .’

  Daniel shook his head in bewilderment. He waved a hand in Hannah’s direction. ‘Jasus, Hannah, what type of mongrel would do this?’

  ‘She can’t go back,’ Hannah said calmly. ‘She will stay here with us.’

  ‘Of course she can’t go back to him. I won’t let her. That’s for sure.’ He rose to his feet slamming the chair back to the table. ‘If my memory serves me right, I told you both this marriage would not work. Remember? But did you listen to me? Of course you didn’t.’

  ‘Daniel, let’s not worry about the blame game now.’

  Daniel ignored her. ‘There’s blame all right and he’ll know about it when I go and see him. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll get the sulky out this minute—’

  ‘Daddy, don’t. Please . . .’ Charlotte moved around the table to him. She stretched out her hands. ‘He’s not there now. The police picked him up for something else that he did. Look, it is not all Richard’s fault. We are both to blame. We just grew apart. I told him I didn’t love him.’

  ‘But why didn’t you let us know earlier? Aren’t we your family?�
� He asked.

  ‘I just didn’t want you to get into trouble.’

  ‘What trouble would I get into for just protecting my own daughter?’

  ‘Because it is not worth the worry, Daddy. The marriage is over and I’ll never see him again.’ She came to her father and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Please, Daddy, let it go.’

  Daniel’s gaze went to Hannah. He watched her nod and sighed. ‘Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age. But if I ever see him again, he’ll know about it.’

  Hannah smiled. ‘Oh, she’s here to stay so now is the time to move on. Daniel. Now, do you want to see the baby?’

  ‘The baby? Of course I do. You have it? Where—’

  ‘Mary Ann has taken her for a walk,’ Charlie said softly.

  ‘I should have known she would, our Mary Ann and babies!’ His eyes misted and he stretched out his arms. ‘Come here, Charlie, come here, my daughter.’ He held her close, pressing on her golden abundance with his cheek. ‘Welcome home,’ he whispered. His eyes sought Hannah and he welcomed her nod. The golden one had come home.

  Charlotte proved to be an acquisition in the household, sharing the work load of the younger children with Mary Ann, and seemingly happy to be back with the family. And they got on well together now, these two. Hannah recalled how they used to fight like cats and dogs once but now they were as thick as thieves, always together, chortling, telling each other girlish secrets behind cupped hands and racing the sulky into town to shop. Hannah used to get tired just watching them. They were so full of energy.

  In the spring of 1831, a visitor accompanied Mary Ann and Charlotte home. A coy Mary Ann introduced him to her parents. ‘Dad, Mum, this is Ben Matthews.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Daniel offered his hand to find it gripped firmly. At first glance, he liked the tall, fair-headed man with the open, smiling face though he didn’t particularly like the way Mary Ann clung to his arm. ‘And just what do you do?’ he asked.