by Sofie Laguna
‘But you only have a few weeks to go and I want you to take care of yourself. When your time is nearer I’ll bring Olive Diggs from town to deliver the baby. I’ve heard she’s the best midwife in Parramatta.’ Tom turned back to Grace. ‘Carry the water up from the creek while I’m gone, and milk Moll. Is that clear?’
‘You think I’ll break the milking stool ’cause I’ve gotten so fat!’ Beth teased.
‘I’m serious, Beth. I don’t want to worry while I’m away.’
‘Of course, Tom. But there’s no need – I’ll do nothing but put my feet up the whole time you’re gone.’
‘Good!’ Tom smiled.
‘And I don’t want to worry while you’re away with Jerry,’ said Beth. ‘Don’t stand under any trees when they’re falling, and watch Jerry doesn’t drink too much whiskey when he’s driving the wagon!’
‘Yes, my dear. Jerry and I will return safe and sound next Sunday.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. But that’s enough talk of our time apart. Tonight I’ve made something special for your dessert from those big pink Rosella flowers that you see growing in the bush. Mulgo showed them to me.’
Grace cleared the bowls while Beth drew hot damper from the coals. She cut three slices of the crusty bread and placed one in each bow1. Grace took the small enamel jug from the kitchen bench and brought it to the table. She enjoyed helping Beth serve the supper; it made her feel useful. Each day she was growing more used to working with her mistress. And Grace had noticed other changes in herself. She felt stronger – it didn’t tire her to carry heavy firewood or loads of wet washing up the hill from the creek. She could walk for miles, without her legs feeling sore or weak. When she looked down at her arms, they looked stronger, too, and her skin had turned the colour of golden toffee.
‘You can do the pouring, Grace,’ said Beth.
Grace poured the sweet pink syrup over the steaming damper. She glanced at Beth in admiration, and noticed that Tom was doing the same.
THE next morning, as Grace left the house to bring in more wood, she saw a man riding a small horse-drawn wagon towards the property. She rushed back inside. ‘Master Tom, I think your neighbour is here to collect you.’
He nodded at her from where he sat at the kitchen table, swallowing the last of his tea. He picked up his hunting rifle and canvas bag of supplies, and went outside.
Beth came out from behind the hessian curtain, still in her nightdress. ‘Grace, can you fetch some damper for the men?’
Grace took the loaf outside where Tom was loading his gear onto the wagon. A man with a thick red beard came out from the other side and adjusted the leathers on the grey horse.
‘Grace, this is Jerry.’
Grace bowed her head. ‘Yes, sir – yes, Master Tom.’ Why do I always forget how to speak when I’m around him? Grace blushed.
‘Good morning, Grace.’ Jerry smiled warmly at her. ‘Feeling a long way from home out here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We all do at first.’ Jerry climbed up onto the wagon.
Tom secured his things on the tray before speaking to Grace. ‘You’re to leave Glory alone while I’m gone, Grace. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Master Tom.’ Grace felt herself blush all over again.
‘You ready, Master Tom?’ Jerry grinned and pulled his wide-brimmed hat low on his head, picking up the reins. His grey horse pulled at the bit. How I wish I could feed the horse some turnip before he goes! Grace thought.
Beth came out of the hut wearing her work dress. ‘Hello, Jerry!’
‘Morning, Beth.’ Jerry lifted his hat as he greeted Beth.
‘Take care of my husband while you’re gone, Jerry, and I’ll reward with you with the finest supper in the land when you return.’
‘I’ll hold you to that, Beth!’ Jerry grinned, jamming his hat back down onto his head.
Grace watched as his horse pulled at the reins, eager to begin the journey. I wish I had my own horse and a wagon for my things, Grace thought, envying Jerry.
‘Goodbye, Tom!’ Beth embraced her husband. ‘Take care, my love.’ They held each other for a long moment before parting. Beth wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Go on you two, get going before we need to serve you supper!’
Jerry clicked his tongue and tapped the reins against the grey’s dappled back. ‘Get up there, Billyboy!’
Grace stood beside her mistress and watched Billyboy pulling the men away in the wagon. When they had disappeared over the hill she followed Beth inside.
‘Time for some spring-cleaning, Grace. Let’s turn our little home inside out,’ said Beth, tying her apron around her stomach.
‘But you know you’re not to work too hard,’ said Grace, taking the apron Beth offered her.
‘Oh, don’t you listen to Tom.’ She put a hand on her belly. ‘The baby is still a long way off. We’ll start with the floors and work our way up.’
Grace felt uneasy – she knew that things could go wrong with babies. She remembered the night her neighbour in London, Ma Honeywell, had nearly died having a baby that had got stuck inside her. One of her other daughters had to race across town and fetch the midwife to help the baby out. And Ma Honeywell was used to having babies – how many did she have? Eleven? Grace had lost count. Remembering Ma Honeywell’s screaming that night made Grace feel nervous.
But Beth was her usual energetic self. She and Grace gathered up the sacks that covered the hut’s dirt floor, took them outside, hung them over the fence railing and beat them until the dust rose up in clouds. Beth sang as she worked and Grace hummed along with her cheerful tune. Though the work was hard, the spring sun was shining, warming her body, and she felt light and happy. Tom is gone for a week! Grace thought. A whole week.
As she was following Beth inside, carrying the clean sacks, she saw a dark-skinned woman standing by a tree near the fence. Her heart raced. One of the natives, she thought. A child clung to the woman’s legs.
‘Beth, Beth!’ Grace called.
‘What is it, Grace?’
‘I think you had better come back outside.’
Beth stuck her head out the door. ‘What is it?’
Grace nodded in the direction of the woman by the tree.
‘Ah, Mulgo!’ Beth waved, before going back inside. She came out a moment later with a small cloth bag. ‘Come with me, Grace.’
Grace followed her mistress towards the woman. She felt shy looking at someone with so few clothes on, but Beth didn’t seem bothered at all.
The only thing Mulgo was wearing was a cloak over her shoulders that looked like it was made of squares of possum fur. Grace had seen possums running along the fence when she had gone out at night. On Mulgo’s chest and on the tops of her arms Grace noticed a pattern of tiny marks that looked like scars. The pattern reminded Grace of ripples on water and she could see that the marks had been put there on purpose, as if they had a special meaning. Over her shoulder Mulgo carried a string bag.
As they drew closer, the little boy hid behind Mulgo and peeked out at Grace. He giggled, his dark eyes watchful and mischievous. Grace saw that the woman held a bunch of red and orange flowers that looked like round red hairbrushes.
‘Mulgo!’ said Beth, holding out the cloth bag. ‘Some sugar for you!’
Mulgo smiled back and Grace noticed how white the woman’s teeth were against her dark skin. Her legs and arms and back all look strong, thought Grace. And she wouldn’t grow pink in the sun like Beth and I do.
Mulgo’s little boy held onto his mother’s leg. He looked at Grace and grinned, his eyes bright, his cheeks as plump and smooth as dark plums.
‘More sugar.’ Beth shook the bag.
The native woman’s eyes flickered over Grace.
‘Mulgo – this is Grace,’ Beth said. ‘Grace. She’s your friend too.’ Beth put her arm around Grace.
Mulgo looked at Grace for a long moment before taking the bag of sugar. She then turned to Beth and held out the brush-like
flowers.
‘What have you got there?’ asked Beth.
‘Bool,’ Mulgo said, nodding towards the tree.
Beth stepped closer. Mulgo pointed to a knobbly bowl shape in the trunk of the tree. It was filled with water and two of the brush flowers floated in it. Grace wondered why the flowers were sitting in water.
Mulgo cupped her hand and, using it as a ladle, she dipped it into the bowl in the tree. ‘Bool, Beddi,’ she said, before bringing her hand to her mouth and drinking. ‘Bool,’ she said again.
‘Come on, Grace,’ said Beth. ‘She wants us to do the same.’
Beth and Grace stood beside Mulgo and dipped their hands into the tree’s bowl. How clever, thought Grace. No need for washing up! She cupped her hands and drank. The cool liquid surprised her – it was as sweet as honey. She wiped her hand across her mouth. ‘Delicious,’ she said.
‘It’s the nectar from the flowers, Grace,’ said Beth, dipping in her hand for another drink. ‘Even better than the lemonade sold on Clare Street!’
Mulgo looked at Beth, smiling, and held out the flowers.
‘Take them, Grace,’ said Beth.
Grace took the prickly flowers from Mulgo as Beth gave Mulgo the sugar and Mulgo’s little boy chased a butterfly across the garden.
‘Beddi,’ said Mulgo, raising her hand before walking away.
Grace looked at Beth. ‘Beddi?’ she said. ‘Is that what she calls you? I like that.’
‘To you I am Beth!’ Beth laughed. ‘Let’s take these inside.’
Grace watched as Mulgo walked away. She wondered what it would feel like to carry a special meaning in the marks on your skin, and to cross the ground in bare feet, and to not feel the stones or the prickling grasses. She mustn’t even be afraid of snakes, Grace thought. Tom spoke about the natives as though they couldn’t be trusted, but Grace was only curious.
Back inside the house, Beth placed some of the flowers in a jar of water and arranged them on the kitchen table. In the shaded light of the hut, the red and orange brush flowers looked warm and bright.
Beth put the remaining blossoms in a shallow tub of water. ‘This afternoon we’ll drink our own bool, Grace. As a reward for our hard work. Now let’s go wash some clothes.’
‘Yes, Beddi!’ said Grace.
‘Beth, if you please!’ laughed her mistress.
AS Beth and Grace carried the dirty clothes down to the creek in baskets, Beth spoke about the natives. ‘Some of the settlers have real trouble with them stealing corn and the like – there have been some awful shootings. It don’t seem right to me, when they have only spears and we have guns. I don’t see why we can’t all get along and even learn a few things from each other.’ Beth shifted her basket of clothes to her other hip. ‘That’s not how Tom feels, though. He thinks the same as most of the other settlers and he doesn’t want me to have anything to do with Mulgo, even though she gave me that wonderful bush medicine. She shows me how to use the leaves and berries that grow around here, too. She can turn bloomin’ stinging nettles into spinach! If that’s not clever I don’t know what is!’
Grace didn’t like to think about the natives being shot; she hoped Mulgo and her son would always be safe.
When they reached the creek, Grace copied Beth, taking off her boots and stockings and sitting on the stones that lined the bank. She dangled her feet in the water, wriggling her toes as it ran, cold and clean, up to her ankles. Beth showed Grace how to lay the dirty clothes out on the smooth rocks and rub them with soap. Grace rubbed until her arms ached.
Beth was easily out of breath, as if the baby inside her left no room for air. ‘I always work hard when Tom is away,’ she said as she scrubbed. ‘It makes the time go faster.’
When all the clothes were clean, Grace and Beth loaded them back into the baskets for the long walk up to the house. The baskets were much heavier now that the clothes were wet. Beth put her hand on her lower back, and looked up the hill.
‘I can come back down for the second lot, Beth,’ said Grace.
‘No need for that. I’ll be fine. I might look as big as Moll but I can still walk!’
‘But Master Tom said . . . ’
Beth turned to Grace. ‘Master Tom – why do you call him that?’
Grace looked at the ground, pulling at a long piece of grass.
‘Grace, is that what Tom told you to call him?’
Grace tore up the piece of grass. ‘Yes.’
‘When did he ask you to do that?’
Grace’s heart beat harder. ‘He didn’t tell you?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
Grace dropped the torn grass, noticing the green stain it left on her fingers. She sighed. ‘It was when he found me touching his horse. I know I shouldn’t have done it, Beth. I know it was wrong – I only wanted to be close to Glory!’ Grace bit her bottom lip. ‘He found me with her and he was angry. That’s when he told me to call him Master Tom.’
Beth sighed and sat down heavily on a large rock, resting her basket of wet clothes on her knees. ‘Oh, Grace . . . ’ She shook her head. ‘There’s so much you don’t know about Tom.’ Beth patted the rock beside her and Grace sat down next to her mistress, wondering what she meant. ‘He had no family back in England. He was an orphan and a chimney sweep, until he got too big to fit up a chimney. Then his master threw him onto the streets. He was a common thief – like the rest of us.’ Beth put her hand on Grace’s knee. ‘He never had anything to love. That’s why that bleedin’ horse is everything to him. He always wanted a horse of his own.’
Just like me, thought Grace.
‘He wants to be Master Tom,’ Beth went on, ‘to be in charge and to leave the past behind – but I can’t have you calling him that. Next he’ll ask me to! Just call him Tom and I’ll talk to him about it.’ Beth looked up at Grace, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. ‘You don’t need to be so scared of him, Grace. He just takes a bit of time. And stay away from that flamin’ horse of his. He’s just silly about her.’ Beth stuck out her arm. ‘Now help me up so we can climb this stupid hill and make ourselves some lunch.’
Tom and me are not so very different, Grace thought as she got to her feet. Maybe that’s why he always seems angry with me. Maybe I remind him of the things he wants to forget.
Grace remembered the chimney sweeps back in London, pushed up so many narrow chimneys by their masters that their bones never grew straight. As Grace walked back up the hill with her mistress, she thought about Wattle Park and the sheep and the cow and the chicken pen and the hut. Tom has done all this and he has a horse of his own. His life is very different to the way it was in London. Grace realised she wasn’t so scared of Tom returning home now that she knew where he had come from.
For the next three days, Beth and Grace worked hard. They dug in the vegetable garden, pulled up weeds, cleaned the house, collected firewood and sewed by the fireside in the evenings. The only chore Beth didn’t share with Grace was tending to Glory. Grace watched as Beth led the mare to different parts of the cleared green hillside and hobbled her so that she might feed on the fresh spring grass without straying.
After lunch the next day, Grace fetched the milking stool as Beth walk across the field carrying a bucket of maize towards the caramel-coloured cow.
‘Come on, Moll, come on, girl, it’s milking time,’ she called. Moll stuck her nose in the bucket and followed Beth as she walked back to the fence where Grace stood. Next she attached a rope to Moll’s halter and tied her to one of the fence palings with the bucket of feed on the ground in front of her. She tethered one of Moll’s back legs to the fence, too.
‘Does she like to be milked?’ Grace asked, as Beth placed the milking stool close to Moll’s swollen udder.
‘Well, I’m not sure she likes it when I do it,’ Beth answered. ‘I’m not very good, even though Jerry showed me – did you know he grew up on a farm? He’s the one who teaches me and Tom everything we need to know. But I never seem to get the hang of it.’
Beth sat down on the stool. ‘Come down here beside me and watch. See? You don’t have to be afraid because her back leg is tied so she won’t kick you – or the bucket – if you squeeze too hard.’
Grace crouched next to her. Cows smell a little like horses, she thought. Hay and warmth and grass.
Beth wrapped her hands around two of Moll’s teats and squeezed. ‘You pull from the top down, see, and if the milk won’t come you give it a push with your hand, like this.’ She knocked her hand up against Moll’s udder. ‘That’s what the calves do with their muzzles if their mother’s not letting down the milk.’ A thin squirt of milk came shooting from one of the teats into the bucket. ‘You pull one at a time, like this . . . ’ Beth pulled on Moll’s teats. ‘But when Jerry does it he gets three times the milk that I get.’ Moll snorted as she chewed her dinner. ‘You have a try, Grace.’
Beth heaved herself up so that Grace could sit on the stool. If only Hannah could see me now, Grace thought, milking a cow! She would probably try and squirt me with the milk! Grace leaned in against Moll and put her hands on the cow’s teats. She pulled. Nothing came out.
‘From the top down, remember. Like you’re forcing the milk through with your fingers,’ said Beth bending over to have a closer look.
Grace squeezed the teats from the top down and two long squirts of milk splashed into the bucket. Grace squealed. ‘It worked!’
‘Keep going, Grace. Keep going!’
Grace kept squeezing, resting her head against Moll’s warm, wide stomach as she worked. Milk splashed against the tin sides of the bucket.
‘She likes you, Grace. I think you might have found your true calling.’
‘I think I have, Beth!’ Grace kept milking and the two white streams entering the bucket became thicker and stronger. Beth leaned against the fence humming a soft tune, and Grace fell into a rhythm made up of Beth’s song and the milk hitting the pail. Squirtsquirt, squirtsquirt, squirtsquirt.
Then Grace heard Beth moan beside her. She turned to see Beth bend forward and clutch her belly. ‘Beth, what is it? Are you all right?’