‘Of course you have.’ She heard Grandma’s tones in her voice. ‘I walk up there nearly every day. Mr Harris has given me permission to walk wherever I like on the plantation.’
‘Even them sheds?’
‘Mr Harris has never mentioned the sheds. He certainly did not forbid me to go there.’
Mr Murphy looked at her speculatively. ‘All well and good, and maybe you had a right to go wanderin’ up there. But what are you doin’ down here, with a darkie? White girl and a black boy. There’s goin’ to be some talk about that.’
Hannah fumbled mentally, trying to find a reason why she was here, with Jamie, on a Sunday afternoon. Suddenly she realised she was still holding the flowers.
‘Do you know what day of the week it is, Mr Murphy?’
‘Of course I do, girlie. It’s Sunday.’
‘Possibly you know that a man died when we were shipwrecked here?’
He seemed cautious now. ‘I heard of it.’
‘I don’t suppose you ever put flowers on graves, Mr Murphy, but people like Mama and I do. Mama and I put flowers on the beach every Sunday. While she is away I do it for her, and Mr Harris gave me permission to pick flowers any time I wish.’ She briefly offered a mental apology to Mr Vandergeld, for it had never occurred to her to take flowers to his resting place. ‘The Zebediahs know, of course, as we have to cross their land. Mrs Zebediah’s son saw me today. He’s been explaining what was happening up there and why I shouldn’t interfere, as you undoubtedly overheard.’
Mr Murphy looked dubious.
‘If you decide to spread gossip about me, Mr Murphy, I will go straight to Mr Harris,’ Hannah continued. ‘I am doing no more than my duty on a Sunday afternoon. Now will you please excuse me?’ She turned her back on him, her trembling hand still holding the flowers.
Jamie followed her. Mr Murphy and Boodle did not.
Mrs Zebediah was waiting for them in the orchard. ‘Hannah love,’ she began.
Hannah shook her head quickly. Mr Murphy might still sneak up on them to see exactly how well she knew the Zebediahs.
‘I can’t stay,’ she said quickly. ‘Mr Murphy thinks — I hope he thinks — that I’m just taking flowers down to the beach in memory of Mr Vandergeld. I’ll be here tomorrow though,’ she promised.
And from now on she’d go even higher up the hill before she crossed behind the Murphys’ house, so Boodle didn’t hear her, and Mr Murphy wouldn’t follow her to see if she really was strolling around the plantation or coming here.
‘He gets five shillings for every man he catches,’ said Mrs Zebediah starkly. ‘But your ma and pa being friends with Mr Harris — I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to follow you, or see any reason why he should. He’s not one for hard work, that Murphy. But he’s going to be watching for you now.’
‘He’s not going to find me.’
‘You did good back there,’ said Jamie quietly.
Hannah nodded at him, knowing she must not linger any longer in case Mr Murphy was watching. She wanted to hug Mrs Zebediah. She wanted to be hugged too. She wanted to sit in the warm kitchen and eat banana fritters and talk about books, until what she had just seen turned from a nightmare into reality; still tragic, but something you lived with because you had to. But Mr Murphy would see. Instead, she must walk alone down the track to the beach, leave the flowers, and walk back alone to the silent house Mr Harris had provided for her family.
The house that felt no longer like home.
CHAPTER 25
A DUTIFUL DAUGHTER
31 Crest Road, Mosman, Sydney
4 October 1901
Dear Hannah,
Thank you for your last letter. I am so sorry to have been such a bad correspondent. I write the letters but forget to post them, or find I have run out of stamps and the post office is shut. I hope that you are well, and Papa too. He said in his last letter that many pupils have bad colds. Do make sure you get plenty of sunlight and do not read too late at night. I do not want you to get sick too!
I am glad the weather is turning warm and is so pleasant. Could you pack away any woollens when they are no longer needed with more of the sandalwood chips?
Now for the best news of all. I will see you soon! I have booked passage for us on the Lady of Spain back to Port Harris. I don’t want to trespass on Mr Harris’s generosity again by asking for the automobile to pick us up from the train. The ship is owned by a friend of your Uncle Ron’s and he assures me the captain is able and that the disaster of our arrival was caused by taking on too much cargo and not balancing it properly, which I gather from your uncle is important. It leaves next Monday and we should see you by Wednesday evening of next week.
I have had another letter from Mrs Zebediah, full of news from the farm. It is amazing to think that she could not write at all at the beginning of the year. She says they have six calves this year so far, four cows and a bull. I’m glad as it means she will have no shortage of milk for her butter and can make more cheeses too. Others may sell vegetables and fish, but Mrs Zebediah’s butter really is the best in Port Harris. I admire her very much.
May the time pass quickly before I see you again.
Your loving mother,
Mama
***
‘You’ve grown so much!’ Mama stepped back from their first hug on the veranda to look at Hannah again. Mama and Angus had walked up from the wharf, but their luggage would be delivered by horse and cart when the ship was unloaded.
‘I’m not really any taller,’ Hannah said.
Angus was though, and already racing over to the school to see Papa and all his friends. The end-of-school bell would be going any minute.
‘Maybe it’s just that you’re so brown. You haven’t been going out without a hat, have you? You must take care of your complexion in this climate, Hannah. I’ll give you some cucumber lotion.’ Mama began to laugh. ‘So much has happened and here I am waffling about cucumber lotion. I’ve missed you so much, darling.’ She hugged her again.
‘Angus looks well.’
‘Angus has as much bounce as a real monkey. If he’s not back at school tomorrow I’m going to go mad.’ She took Hannah’s hand as they went inside. ‘Mrs Murphy has left for the day, I hope?’
‘Yes,’ said Hannah, as Mama took out the pins that secured her hat and veil. If Angus was so well why hadn’t they come back earlier?
But she was glad Mrs Murphy had gone, and not just because she didn’t want to share seeing Mama after so long. Mrs Murphy had never mentioned that Hannah had been seen with Jamie, which meant Mr Murphy hadn’t told her — probably in case he got ticked off by Mr Harris for threatening the schoolmaster’s daughter, and granddaughter of the fifth-richest wool producer in New South Wales. Yet she knew it had been a narrow escape. She thrust Mr Murphy into a small dark corner of her mind. Mama was home! And Angus!
‘I hoped you’d be back today,’ she said. ‘I made a chicken stew.’
It was one of the best dishes Mrs Zebediah had taught her, using coconut milk instead of cream, which would go off in the heat. She hadn’t been to the farm today or yesterday, in case the ship arrived earlier than expected.
‘I’m sure it will be delicious. All we had on the ship was corned beef for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Corned beef on toast for breakfast, corned beef sandwiches for lunch, and corned beef with boiled potatoes for dinner. I’ve decided that corned beef is a crime against beef and I’ll never eat it again.’
Mama had changed, thought Hannah, looking at her wonderingly. Or maybe she was just happy to be back.
The luggage arrived right before they sat down to dinner — just the trunks they had left with. Hannah had expected Mama to buy all sorts of things to replace the furniture sent down from the Harrises’, but apart from some new outfits, a packet of real coffee for Papa (the only coffee for sale in Port Harris was bottled coffee essence) and a hat with cherries for Mrs Murphy, she’d brought very little.
It was a lovely meal. Mama
and Papa chatted about Uncle Ron and Aunt Helen, and the concerts she’d been to.
‘And I saw a snake!’ announced Angus. ‘It wasn’t nearly as big as the one at Mr Harris’s.’
Angus had eaten two plates of Hannah’s stew and three helpings of jam tart. But Mama still insisted he go to bed after dinner.
‘I’ll sleep on the trundle bed in his room,’ she added to Papa and Hannah. ‘Just to make sure the journey hasn’t made him ill again.’
Papa looked startled, but nodded slowly.
The next morning, Mrs Murphy swept Angus into a hug, and exclaimed over her new hat.
Angus bounced off to school early, to escape more hugs, show off his new catapult and let everyone look down his throat to see he had no tonsils.
Mama smiled at Hannah. ‘Time to study by the river again, my girl.’
Mama saddled up Smokey and tightened the girth. ‘It will be good to see Mrs Zebediah again. You must have been so bored here by yourself.’
‘I . . . I did go out to the farm. Just sometimes.’
Mama stared at her. ‘What? But I told you to tell Mrs Zebediah about Angus at the market.’
‘But you didn’t say I couldn’t go to the farm.’
‘I didn’t think I needed to,’ said Mama. She sounded truly upset. ‘You didn’t say anything about the farm in your letters.’
‘Because you said it’s a secret.’
‘It is, and for good reason. Hannah, you can’t wander about the countryside by yourself. It’s so easy for gossip to spread. What does Mrs Murphy think you were doing?’
‘Going to see Mrs Frogmore. Sometimes I said I was going shopping.’
‘Did anyone see you going out there?’
Hannah hesitated. But she’d fooled Mr Murphy; and she hadn’t actually been going to the farm, or even on it, when he’d challenged her. ‘No. I won’t go out by myself again.’
‘You certainly won’t,’ said Mama.
Boodle barked with more than his usual frenzy as they passed. Hannah shivered at the thought of Mr Murphy up there watching, hoping for another five shillings and another man to deliver to the whip.
Jamie ran to meet them, and helped Mama down. ‘Mum hoped you’d be here today, Mrs Gilbert. She’s made banana cream pie.’
‘My word, how exotic! It’s very good to see you, Jamie.’ Mama reached into the saddlebag and brought out a parcel of books. ‘These are for you, from Sydney. The Complete Works of Shakespeare — every house should have those — and the bigger book is about the craft of shipbuilding. I don’t know if you’ll ever want to make a fishing boat, but the man at the bookshop assured me you’d find everything you need there.’
‘Thank you! Mum, look!’ Jamie yelled, as Mrs Zebediah came out of the kitchen.
She and Mama hugged, then Mama reached into her saddlebag again. ‘This is from Sydney, with my love.’
It was a leather-bound compendium with the best white writing paper, pens, spare nibs, pencils and an eraser.
‘It’s beautiful!’ exclaimed Mrs Zebediah. ‘Though I don’t know who I’ll write to now you’re back home.’
Mama’s smile dropped for a second, then returned. ‘I’m sure it will be useful. And this too.’ It was a silver teapot, with matching milk jug and sugar basin.
Mrs Zebediah stared. ‘This is far too good for the likes of me.’
‘Nothing is too good for you, Mrs Zebediah,’ said Mama quietly.
It was strange to have Mama sitting with them at the kitchen table again. She sipped her tea from the new teapot and nibbled banana cream pie while Mrs Zebediah asked about Angus and the voyage and Sydney.
Jamie turned to Hannah. ‘“The Charge of the Light Brigade”!’ he said triumphantly.
‘“The Forsaken Merman”,’ she replied smugly.
Mama looked at them, startled. ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘We have a competition,’ Hannah explained, ‘to find the most tragic poem of all. You say yours first,’ she ordered Jamie, ‘and Mama and your mother can decide. Is that all right, Mama?’
Mama looked uncertainly at Hannah again, and then at Jamie. ‘Yes, say your poems.’
Jamie lifted the book and opened it at the page he’d bookmarked. He read poems aloud now as Hannah and Mama did: standing up, hands clasped in front, with clear diction and expression.
‘Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred,’ he began.
‘. . . Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.’
Jamie paused dramatically, and lowered his voice.
‘Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why . . .’
His voice rose again.
‘Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred . . .
‘Six hundred men dying for nothing,’ he declared when he’d finished. ‘Bet you can’t beat that.’
‘A remarkable choice for someone who has only learned to read this year, and beautifully recited. Your reading has improved enormously, Jamie. I’ve never known anyone to learn so quickly,’ said Mama. ‘But those men died doing their duty. Do you really think duty means nothing?’
Jamie considered. ‘No. But following an idiot’s order ain’t — I mean isn’t — duty. It’s just obeying. The men’s real duty was to their families or friends, or to do something useful. Duty would have been the courage to say, “Stop! This is stupid.”’
Mama looked at him as if she was thinking about more than the poem. ‘That’s a good point,’ she said at last. ‘And I agree with you. One should never obey just because other people think you should — though I should warn you that many people, even most, would be angry if you told them that. Hannah, you chose “The Forsaken Merman”? It’s one of my favourites,’ she added to Mrs Zebediah.
Mrs Zebediah smiled. ‘It’s been better than going to a play listening to these two read or say their poems while you’ve been away.’
‘“The Forsaken Merman” by Matthew Arnold,’ said Hannah. She put her hands together in front of her. She didn’t need the book; she knew this one by heart.
‘Come, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below!’
She glanced at Mrs Zebediah, and realised from her smile that once again she had left the world of farm chores and butter-making.
‘Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.’
‘That’s it,’ said Mrs Zebediah softly. ‘That’s just how the sea is in a wind.’
Hannah continued the poem about the human woman who married a merman, but couldn’t stay with him, or her children, although she loved them all, because she belonged to the land. Night after night the children and their father would come to the beach and call her. But although she cried for them, she could not return. The last lines of the poem were the saddest she’d ever read:
‘She left lonely forever
The kings of the sea.’
Hannah waited in silence when she’d finished reciting; that silence that always comes after great poetry as people’s minds stumble back into the present.
‘See,’ she said at last to Jamie. ‘My poem is sadder.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘Maybe the human woman decided to go back to the sea caves one day.’
‘And leave her life — her real life — to live in a world that wasn’t hers?’ asked Mama quietly.
‘She could have taken her children with her,’ said Mrs Zebediah.
Mama looked at Mrs Zebediah strangely. ‘But by then it was too late. Their home was the sea caverns. The mother should have taken her children up to the land before they fell in love with the sea’s white horses.’
‘I think your poem is the saddest, Hannah love,’ said Mrs Zebediah. ‘Don’t you, Jamie?’
Jamie g
rinned and reached for another piece of pie. ‘Might be.’
Hannah grabbed the plate and held it away from him. ‘Admit it! A human mother weeping for her mermaid children is sadder than men riding into battle to be killed even though they knew it was a silly order.’
‘Now then,’ said Mrs Zebediah mildly.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ agreed Jamie. ‘But having to obey orders even when you know they’re stupid is sad as well, but in a different way.’
Mama gazed from one to the other as the orange and black cat twined around her ankles, her expression hard to read.
‘We’d better begin the lessons,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’d like to get home early in case Angus isn’t up to a full day at school. I thought we might do some maths problems today, as you seem to have had so many weeks of reading.’
‘Could we do them outside instead of in the dairy?’ asked Hannah. ‘We’ve been going down to the beach to read most days.’
Mama looked startled. The beach would have difficult memories for her, thought Hannah. And she would certainly object if she discovered Hannah had been climbing trees down there.
‘It looks different now,’ Hannah said hurriedly. ‘Peaceful.’
‘The beach then,’ said Mama reluctantly. She reached into the saddlebag and handed Mrs Zebediah a small bundle of newspapers. ‘I nearly forgot these. Weeks old, I’m afraid.’
Mrs Zebediah laughed. ‘Better news three weeks old than none at all. We never knew so much happened in the world before, did we, Jamie?’
‘I want to see the Taj Mahal,’ said Jamie. ‘And an elephant, and read the words at the base of the Statue of Liberty.’
‘You’ve already read them,’ Hannah pointed out.
Mama was still glancing curiously at Jamie. Of course, Hannah realised, Jamie had hardly spoken to her at all before Mama left.
‘But not where they were written,’ he said. ‘Give me . . . Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free . . . They’re grand words.’
‘Lessons,’ Mama reminded them. She followed them down the track to the beach as they ran ahead of her.
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