Agatha nodded. “I’ve always loved Goliah. I wanted nothing more than to marry him from the day we met. So when I heard you were still here on this island,” she shrugged, “I suppose I got curious. Wondered why you wouldn’t go back to life among your own people?”
Finella blew on her tea. Her people were not where she could find them anymore. She wondered how much she could tell this warm stranger with the green eyes.
“I couldn’t imagine another sea voyage on my own. Coming in was the worst ordeal I’ve ever endured. Losing my father and burying him at sea.” Her stomach tipped at the memory.
“Poor Finella.” Agatha set her cup down on the ground and pulled her chair closer. “How ever did you manage?”
“I kept thinking about George and my life here with him. George promised he’d help me find the name of a man. A thief, who dropped a tattered Australian newspaper page when he ran off with my mother’s brooch and knocked her to the ground. She died wishing she knew the thief’s name, and George thought, maybe…if he saw the scrap he might…”
Gum leaves danced in the tree limbs above them, but all Finella heard was the memory of a prayer she’d offered each day on a ship between the world where her life had altered forever, and the world where she hoped a remedy might be found in a name.
One name. That thief’s name.
But that possibility had been buried with George, too.
“I thought about it everyday. As soon as we would wake, I’d pray God would keep me safe until I reached Phillip Island. And each night, I’d plead with God for a dreamless sleep and good speed to shorten our journey. I knew if I could hold myself together until we sailed into these waters,” she pointed to the horizon, “I’d be where I was always meant to be.”
She tried not to look at the fold in Agatha’s forehead. Didn’t want to remember how it felt to be pitied as the groomless bride.
“What a horrible double blow. To lose so much. And there’s no one in England you can return to?”
“My aunt used to live with us, but moved to be with her cousin in London.” She tried to imagine Aunt Sarah at this crude camp taking tea from a blackened billy. “Her ship’s due sometime after Christmas. And then, we’ll return to England together.”
Agatha’s frown deepened. “And that’s what you want? To return with her?”
Finella set her cup down beside Agatha’s. Molly poked at the cold charcoal of last night’s fire with a long twig. Finella had never seen her venture so close to a fire, dead or roaring. Not by herself. Not even on the coldest night. Her heart soared at the sight.
“I promised to look after Molly until Aunt Sarah’s arrival. I needed to be useful, and somewhere to lodge. Shadrach needed help with his sister.” She shrugged.
For a long time she’d though their pairing had been inevitable, for Molly’s sake.
“Perhaps he’ll listen to reason and let me take her. With me. I’m wondering whether God allowed me to come all this way to rescue her. For years, I imagined I’d help George with his congregation, but perhaps, that’s why you’re here Agatha, and I’m here with Molly.” She searched the preacher’s wife for affirmation. For approval and blessing.
“You think you’re here to rescue Molly by taking her away from the only other person she loves?”
Tiny flames seared Finella’s insides. “Is that so wicked? To want to care for a motherless girl?”
“It’s not wicked, Finella. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.” Agatha pressed her hand with the lightest of touches. “I’ve heard a story about Shadrach Jones and a certain promise to Mr. Gleeson. I don’t take words of gossip to heart, ever, but I do watch people. And I’m very good at it. What I’ve seen of his interaction with you hints at a man already very much taken by the woman caring for his sister and home.”
Finella wriggled on the uneven chair. What did church-folk see when she and Shadrach sang hymns together, with Molly between them? Surely not the looks he sent her way when they were alone? She looked away to cool her blush.
The chair listed like a ship and she wished she could right it before it slipped on the soft ground. But Agatha Ashe had her fixed as surely as a sailor with his winching ropes. And she worked those lines with a well held pinch.
“And in case you’re wondering about my observations of you, I’ll tell you this much.” Agatha’s frown lines set into the warm creases of a smile. “It’s no longer about what George Gleeson could offer you. Or what your father wanted for your future. There’s something else to consider now. Much bigger than all of that. And you’re fighting so hard against everything Shadrach Jones represents, if you’re not careful, it will cost you both him and Molly.”
27
The egg gatherers finished their outdoor supper under the warble of magpies and the clang of forks on tin plates.
Finella played with her food, certain she ate less than a magpie ever could. The knot in her throat, and matching one in her stomach, only grew with the passing hours. She watched the sky where the sun teased its imminent dip. And still, Shadrach did not appear.
“I reckon he’s found a new rookery. One further off.” Sharpie considered Shadrach’s absence. “I’m not surprised he worked through lunch, having to catch up after yesterday’s delay, but I didn’t think he’d last ’til sundown. Must be determined to win, no matter what.”
Agatha had no trouble finishing off her meal and Molly’s plate must have been generously served because she’d eaten it all and shook her head when Finella offered her the remainder on her own plate.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“Brother should have it.”
“He can have it.” Finella set the plate in her lap. “If he ever gets here.”
“Why don’t you take it to him.” Agatha winked. “It’s obvious he’s making the most of daylight hours. Why don’t you bundle up some of Sharpie’s bread as well?”
Finella cocked her head at her new friend. Preacher’s wives weren’t supposed to make mischief, were they? A twitch in Agatha’s mouth did little to allay Finella’s doubts.
“If I did something like that, he’d misinterpret my actions and think I was pining for him back here at camp. I’m here to care for Molly. If he wants to miss his meals for a crate of muttonbird eggs, that’s his folly.”
“It may be your folly.” Agatha leaned in. “What would George want you to do?”
“George would say to go.” Molly nodded.
The lighthearted ambush came at Finella from both sides.
“You’re using Molly and a dead man to make your point?”
Agatha laughed. “It’s a plate of food, Finella. Not your heart in a velvet box.” She pointed to the sky. “There’s about an hour left of good light before he’ll be back. By then, the food will be stone cold. Do the man a favor. He did stop his work to help you yesterday.”
“He helped his sister.”
“Who would not have been here if you didn’t pester him to allow it. Didn’t you say Shadrach let you come so we could become acquainted?”
Finella stared at her and hid her smile. “Yes, a little too closely I see. You’ve used almost everything I’ve told you to support your argument.” She collected the plates and stood. “If Sharpie’s agreeable, I’ll take a portion to Shadrach and be back to help Molly into bed.”
“No rush. I’ll settle Molly to bed. That’s just enough time to find him before he whisks you away for your sunset walk.”
Finella’s skirt sliced through the dusty air on her way to Sharpie’s fire. How had Agatha armed herself with such an arsenal in one afternoon? One minute they’d been talking about the Women’s Missionary Union, and the next, Finella found herself spilling far too many details of her life with Shadrach and Molly. Agatha certainly knew how to dig for truth. That was a gift. But returning that information with such precision was a craft Finella hadn’t anticipated.
“Here you are.” Sharpie met her with a cocky grin and cloth covered plate. “Take this
to Shad and tell him the day’s hunting was the best ever. Cape’s teeming with eggs this year.”
He winked at her and swapped his heavy plate for her half empty one.
Finella looked over her shoulder at Agatha. The preacher’s wife ducked and turned to Molly.
“Did Mrs. Ashe put you up to this?” She snapped back and fixed a stare on Sharpie.
“Just thinking of Shad, that’s all.”
Finella lifted the edge of the cloth. Steam rose from the serving, and a big piece of damper soaked up the juices of the stew.
“‘I’m sure Shadrach will be pleased you’ve thought of keeping food for him. Even though he missed the bell.”
He handed her a fork. “Get. Going.”
She awarded him the briefest of smiles, snatched the fork and walked away before he could boss her around anymore.
Crowded by the schemes of others, it felt good to walk alone. Along the narrow track, tall grass brushed her knees and she took care to negotiate the slippery path to the burrows.
With her back to the sun she scanned the wide hills for Shadrach. Nothing caught her eye in the open ruggedness of this side of the island. To her right, the ocean rumbled below. To her left, tussock grasslands pelted by ocean winds welcomed only the hardiest of creatures. And these, she knew, bunkered into the earth.
She shivered and searched the hills. She’d hate to walk all the way up again if he were not there.
Where is he? How do I find my way to Shadrach Jones?
Step by hesitant step, she descended the hill. She didn’t need to see him up close to know for sure he sensed her approach. His head snapped and his shoulders turned to her.
Did she even want to trust him? Is that why she tramped her way through muttonbird burrows? Was she looking for a sign from Shadrach, or a sign from her own heart?
*
Shadrach juggled the last dozen eggs into a bundle he made out of his coat, and peered at Finella. What on earth was she doing away from camp, sliding down the hill? And whose eye was on Molly because it sure wasn’t Finella’s? She picked her way down the hill like a skittish billy goat.
Fear kicked him in the stomach. What if Molly needed him again? But no. Finella was in no real hurry. He imagined she might wave and yell out if some urgency brought her down.
But down she came. He would’ve liked to watch her all day, but he searched for a place to set his eggs. She’d chosen her side of the line last night. She may as well have signed her name in the sand with that long stick and poked him in the eye with it for good measure.
But this island had a way of erasing marks in the sand. Perhaps, tonight’s sunset…
A long whoop interrupted his thoughts. Still clutching the eggs in his coat, he rose to his feet.
With a louder scream, Finella slid down the steepest section of path, tripped on a long root and raced down faster than a girl ever should.
She held something to her chest and her feet moved as if they had a mind of their own.
“Careful,” he swung his bundle to one side and raised his free arm like a rail, hoping she’d grab for it.
It did neither of them any good. Momentum carried her into his embrace with full force. Together they took a few steps in a clumsy dance, and he steadied them both by bringing his other arm around and holding her tight.
Eggs smashed and trickled between them. First his coat fell away, followed by the clang of tin and the slop of something fishy.
She tried to step back but he held on. “Interesting way to step off a cliff.” Wide brown eyes looked up at him. He tried not to smile. “This isn’t the first time I’ve rescued you from yourself. You’re making a habit of needing me.”
For a moment, he didn’t care how she got there. Just that she was, and unlike their introduction on the pier, she held her head high.
“I brought you your supper, but I think it’s on my shoes.” Her face crumpled and he loosened his grip.
“Fork?” She offered the cutlery on her palm with a twisted smile. He took it. Anything to hold her hand, even for a second.
She brought him his supper? It killed him to look away, at the mess of stew and bread that lay between them in the dust. Along with his last dozen eggs, scrambled and soaking into his coat.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Her apology faded. He dragged his coat up by a sleeve. Broken shells and yolks dribbled into the creases of wool and slopped onto the ground.
She’d brought him his supper.
“I did wonder what I’d do with this last dozen. Crate’s already too full but I see that’s been sorted for me now.” He tapped the fork against his leg. This could be fun, if he played it well.
She wiped her shoes on the nearby grass. “I’m sorry, Shadrach. I really do feel like an uncouth bull in a china shop.”
She looked anything but. Almost undone by the wind, brown locks framed her red cheeks, flushed by her sudden catapult down the hill and the loss of his supper. He wanted to lift her up and swing her around, but he held his ground.
“I don’t know, Finella.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”
She flushed deeper and he moved away to shake the remaining eggs from his coat. And hide his smile.
“A man works all day. Then loses his dinner and precious eggs all in one quick slip down the hill. You’ll need to make amends.”
Finella picked the plate off the ground and wiped it on the grass where she’d cleaned her shoes. “And how would I do that?”
He stole a quick look at her but she wasn’t looking back. “I’ll have to think about it while we take our walk. You do remember you owe me one more?”
She straightened. “I remember.”
She held his eyes a little longer but before either of them could speak again, a spill of sand hissed from the track Finella had only moments ago slid down. It crumbled and took with it the thin walkway and some of the surrounding scrubland.
Shadrach pulled her close.
“Did I do that?” Breathless and unbelieving, her voice held a measure of panic.
He didn’t like the look of that slope. He’d seen sand drifts before, but never this wide and he had no idea how far across the hill the danger hid.
“It’s my fault just as much as yours. I probably got it started and you may have set it off when you tripped over that root.” He scanned the rookery. “No one comes this far. I can see why. There weren’t too many burrows here anyway.”
“How will we get back?” She stayed where he’d pulled her. Close.
Nothing on either side of the lost track offered a foothold now. The surrounding slope even less of a possibility.
“Not the way we came. We’ll have to walk along the beach.”
“Can we do that?”
“If you’re game to risk the tide?”
He picked up the egging crook from where it leaned against a rock. “Come on. Let’s head back to camp along the shore.”
Finella added the plate to the already overflowing egg crate and gathered the twine loop from one side.
He took the other loop. “No need for me to tell you to be careful where you step now, is there? With your ability for dramatic entrances.”
They fell into step together, juggling the load between them.
“No need. But you’d best be on your guard, Shadrach Jones.” She smiled, at last. “Because you never know what might come next.”
28
Finella wasn’t sure why she teased. But it felt good to match him while they walked the beach with their shared load. She remembered the ribbons of purple and scarlet that first evening when Shadrach brought her to Phillip Island. How she thought the sunset welcomed her home, to a husband and future. Had she been wrong to think that? For months she thought she had. But now…
She readjusted her grip on the twine handle.
“Too heavy?” Shadrach asked.
“No, I’ll be fine. I had no idea you would collect so much today.”
She liked the way he looked at her when he said that. The way he spoke about one thing when his eyes meant another.
“Did you find out all there is to know about your new friend, Mrs. Ashe?” Shadrach pushed a drift of seaweed out of their path with his crook.
“She’s too clever, I know that much.”
“Why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?”
“Because in getting to know Agatha Ashe,” Finella grinned, “I discovered she’s quite astute. For every detail I learned about her, she extracted five about me. She’s the possessor of an uncanny way of unearthing more than you intend to admit.”
“Sounds like Mrs. Lawson. She knows what you’re thinking because she plants it in your head.”
“Has she been a stand-in mother to you and Molly?”
“Mother-hen, busy-body, keeper-of-secrets, fuss-pot…” He listed the roles Finella knew well. Hadn’t Aunt Sarah assumed them in her own life?
“Ah, but we all need someone to fuss over. We can’t blame Mrs. Lawson for wanting to do that. At heart, we’re all a little like your muttonbirds. Nest making and burrowing for warmth. Why, even you find yourself making Molly a fancy rabbit blanket.”
Shadrach’s pace slowed. “Muttonbirds don’t fuss as much as you think they might. They let their young fend for themselves. For weeks on end.”
“Yes, but they’re away. Getting food. And they bring it back to the young. Don’t they?”
“Well, in the beginning they fly back to their chicks.”
“You see. Feathering their nests. It’s as natural for birds of the air as it is for us. And you, Mister Blanket Maker, are no different.”
“Muttonbirds eventually leave, Finella.” His words filled the space between them. “They leave, when their time is up.”
“They’re migratory birds. I know. They have another home, somewhere.” She cocked her head. “Is that so strange?”
“They don’t all go. The chicks don’t leave.”
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