‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Mama.
CHAPTER 26
DOING WHAT JANE WOULD DO
Hannah sat very still until she heard the automobile drive away. ‘Mama, is . . . is that true? Can they really make a law like that?’
Mama looked down the corridor to check Mrs Murphy was in the kitchen and out of hearing, then sat on one of the veranda chairs and sighed. ‘Possibly. Probably. Restricting immigration to white people was one of the main reasons many people voted for Federation. The Islanders and Chinese are not unionised. They work longer hours and for lower wages than the unionised workforce.’
Hannah thought of the sheds on the plantation. ‘But that’s because they have no choice!’
‘Probably. Yet it happens. I don’t agree with the White Australia policy — I think instead we should legislate for everyone to have a living wage. But I think this law will be passed, and before they pass a law to give women the vote too.’
‘But you said “restricting immigration”. The men who work for Mr Harris are already here.’
‘On contracts. They can be sent home. Deported.’
‘But their home is here! The contracts are renewed over and over. Most were born here or have lived here nearly all their lives!’
Mama looked at her sharply. ‘Who told you that?’
Hannah put her chin up. ‘Jamie.’
‘He had no right telling you about . . .’ Mama’s voice faltered.
‘About what life is really like?’ questioned Hannah bitterly.
Mama was silent. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘You’re old enough . . . you have a right to know about things like that now.’
‘Like how men like Mr Harris make their money? Mama, Grandpa and Great-Grandpa didn’t make their money like that, did they?’
‘I don’t really know how they made their money,’ said Mama softly. ‘Aboriginal stockmen are paid at Ferndale — your grandfather refuses to pay their wages into the government funds where the men never see their own money. But your great-grandfather began his property using convict labour: men who weren’t paid, just given rations. I think . . . I expect . . . things were done to make money that . . . that you and I might not approve of. But I can’t say what they were because I never knew.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘So much is kept from women.’
‘Like you tried to keep it from me.’
‘Yes. As I tried to keep it from you. If we are telling the truth to each other now, you need to know this too: you have to stop seeing Jamie.’
‘But he and I are friends! I don’t care that he’s got dark skin. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone like I do with Jamie.’
She wanted to say that he alone could comprehend what it was like to want to leap from the page your life was written on into a dozen, a hundred, a thousand other pages. But Mama might not have understood.
‘It’s because you are such friends,’ said Mama gently, and suddenly Hannah realised Mama did understand and that was the problem. ‘It’s because you don’t care about the colour of his skin. I’m proud my daughter doesn’t feel that way, but it makes me terrified for you too.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Hannah in a small voice.
‘I knew it was a risk having you and he study together. I told myself it would be all right as long as no one found out. And even if someone did discover us out there, it wouldn’t have been too bad. Oh, a few people would have gossiped if they’d found out I was giving a dark-skinned boy lessons with my daughter present, and Papa would certainly not have liked it. But teaching a farm boy to read is charity. And you and Jamie didn’t even seem to like each other.’
‘I didn’t really know him till after you went to Sydney,’ said Hannah.
‘I made very sure you didn’t have time alone with him. Hannah, I’m sorry I called you stupid. This is my fault — entirely my fault. I taught you not to care about the colour of a person’s skin. But I didn’t teach you what would happen if people around here knew a white girl was friends with a coloured boy.’
‘I know what would happen. They wouldn’t talk to me, just like people don’t talk to Mrs Zebediah. I don’t care! I hate the girls around here. They’re stupid!’
‘No, that isn’t all that would happen. People would be angry. Very angry.’
‘I don’t care!’ repeated Hannah.
‘It isn’t you they’d attack,’ said Mama softly. ‘It would be Jamie and his mother.’
Hannah remembered Jamie’s cut face the first day he’d come to the house for lessons, the stains that hadn’t all been tomato on his shirt. ‘They’d beat him again.’
‘Much worse,’ said Mama. ‘They beat him simply for wanting to go to school. How do you think they’d react if they knew he’d not only learned more than they have, but was friends with the schoolmaster’s daughter?’
Hannah was silent. Mama had warned her how Jamie might even be killed if people knew he was getting a good education; how Mrs Zebediah’s house might be burned down. She had forgotten. Had wanted to forget.
‘Hannah, if a scandal like that broke, you could go to your grandparents. Your father . . . well, he would be as furious as everyone else. People might laugh at him, but basically they’d be on his side. Jamie has nowhere else to go.’
‘He could come to Ferndale with me.’
‘And leave his mother to face all the hatred by herself? Or force her to leave the farm and all she owns, all she has ever known, because you and Jamie have made it impossible for her to live here?’ Mama paused and added, ‘I don’t think even your grandparents would accept him at Ferndale if they knew you and he were friends.’
‘But it’s not right!’
‘Of course it’s not right. But we have to live with the way the world is while we try to change it. Saying “it’s not right” changes nothing. And if you were the one who made your friendship public, the consequences would be as much your fault as those who attack the Zebediahs.’
Hannah sat silently. Jane Eyre wouldn’t have worried what people thought. She’d have walked along the main street holding Jamie’s hand.
Or would she? Jane Eyre accepted hardship for herself, but she didn’t get other people into trouble. She had even given up Mr Rochester because it was the right thing to do, even though it had broken her heart and she’d nearly lost her life in doing it.
Yes, Hannah thought. Books whittled down life to its essence and showed you what was right, even if it was hard. If Jane Eyre could sacrifice her love to do what was right, Hannah Gilbert should be able to sacrifice her friendship. But it hurt. How had Mr Rochester put it? Like bleeding because something had been pulled from your heart.
‘Mama . . . if that law is passed will they deport Jamie too?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t suppose anyone has worked out exactly what the law is going to say yet. I don’t know if Jamie has a birth certificate — if his birth is registered here it might make a difference. But we must wait and see.’
‘He said they wouldn’t let Mrs Zebediah register his birth. But there must be something we can do!’
‘Yes,’ said Mama, ‘don’t make gossip. Don’t get the town angry. Because if you do that, Jamie will be the first person the Port Harris police fling onto the ship to take away.’
CHAPTER 27
PAPA DECIDES
It was almost dark by the time Papa came home. The flying foxes had already flapped past, shrieking anger or anticipation — it was impossible to tell with flying foxes — on their way to raid mango or orange trees. Hannah had been worried, but Mama had pointed out the lamplight still shining from the schoolhouse through the trees. Papa and Angus must still be there. At last the sound of Mr Harris’s automobile muttered up the dark road. The light in the schoolhouse flickered as it moved from window to window, then out the door, and across the paddocks and the orchard.
Mama moved the white sauce with parsley onto a hotter part of the stove and began to stir it again, then checked the hunk of corned beef sit
ting in its hot water.
‘Hannah, would you mash the vegetables, please? I can’t believe I’m eating corned beef again. Angus!’ Mama bent and hugged him. ‘How do you feel?’ She felt his forehead. ‘You’re cool, but I think you’d better have your supper in bed. It’s delicious corned beef.’
‘Mr Harris came to the school when everyone was leaving. He yelled at Papa,’ Angus said quietly. ‘Mr Harris said I had to stay too, and he . . . he said all sorts of things. Things . . . things about you, and Hannah.’
Hannah paused, a pan of pumpkin in her hand. Had Mr Harris heard about her and Jamie? No! She had an image of Mr Harris leading a mob of men to burn down the Zebediahs’ farmhouse, and tying Jamie up between the posts to whip him.
‘I’m sorry you had to hear things like that,’ said Mama matter-of-factly.
She glanced at Hannah and nodded at the pumpkin. Hannah began to mash it again. Surely Mr Harris would have said something to her earlier if he’d known she’d been at the huts with Jamie.
Mama kneeled down to Angus. ‘People say things they don’t really mean when they’re upset. Mr Harris was very upset today. Now hurry and wash and get into your nightshirt, and Hannah will bring dinner to you on a tray.’
Slices of corned beef, but no parsley sauce as Angus didn’t like it, mashed potato and mashed pumpkin and buttered cabbage. Hannah squeezed a glass of orange juice too, and took the tray in to Angus.
‘What did Mr Harris say to Papa?’ she asked quietly.
Angus shrugged.
‘What did he say about me?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Hannah placed the tray over his knees. If Angus didn’t want to talk he wouldn’t. ‘There’s baked custard for afters.’
‘I don’t like baked custard.’
‘Would you like a mashed banana with brown sugar?’
‘Yes, please, Hannah.’
She stopped at the door. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said, though she wasn’t exactly sure what she was reassuring him about.
‘I don’t like Mr Harris,’ said Angus. ‘I thought I did, but he was different today.’ He took a bite of his corned beef.
Mr Harris is the same as he’s always been, thought Hannah. It’s just that today he showed us the monster under the smile.
‘All he said about you was that you should be teaching us, not Gwen, and that you were a stuck-up little snob. What’s a snob, Hannah?’
‘Someone who thinks they’re better than other people.’
‘I think you’re better than other people. Can Monkey have dinner too?’
Hannah placed Monkey on the bed beside him.
Mama and Papa had already begun eating when she slipped into the dining room with an apologetic ‘Excuse me’. The corned beef was tough, even though Mama had sliced it thinly. Hannah couldn’t help comparing it with Mrs Zebediah’s savoury fish stews, or the pancakes they hadn’t managed to eat for lunch. But she was hungry and at least the vegetables and sauce were good, even if mashed pumpkin looked like something a cow had coughed up.
‘Mr Harris called in after school,’ said Papa at last, balancing a piece of beef, a shred of cabbage and some potato on his fork. He swallowed, then added, ‘He wants some changes made.’
‘He came here first, and Angus said he spoke to you,’ said Mama. ‘What changes has he demanded?’
Papa looked down at his plate. ‘He insists that you come back and teach sewing, music and the French language. He says that is what he promised the parents, and that is what my application told him I could provide.’
Mama glanced at him angrily. ‘You had no right to promise I would teach anything.’
‘I have every right. I am your husband!’
‘A husband, not a keeper.’
Papa put his down knife and fork. ‘You taught at Lyrebird Creek.’
‘I chose to teach at Lyrebird Creek. I liked the pupils, and many of the parents became my friends. I don’t wish to teach here, especially not because I have been ordered to by Mr Harris.’
‘Then you refuse? I may lose my job over this,’ Papa added. ‘And lose any chance of a decent job if I am dismissed from here.’
‘No, I am not refusing,’ said Mama tiredly. She put down her knife and fork, even though she had only eaten a few mouthfuls of potato. ‘I will be at the school tomorrow for sewing, and music for anyone who wants it. Hannah will be there too.’
Papa blinked, surprised she had given in so easily. ‘You still expect her to study with the older boys?’
‘No. She’ll teach the Infants, just as you wanted. I presume you offered her services in your application to Mr Harris too?’
Papa said nothing.
Mama took another forkful of potato, then put it down again. ‘Mr Harris is . . . worried about the proposed law to deport his workforce. He must take his anger out on someone. We have no choice just now but to try to placate him.’
‘Mr Harris has every right to be angry that my wife and daughter turned their backs on a school they should be proud to be part of.’
‘I’ve said we will be there tomorrow morning.’ Mama now took a forkful of meat and chewed it, over and over.
Papa looked from her to Hannah. ‘And we will hear no more talk of teaching Hannah yourself?’
‘It is obvious that Hannah needs the companionship of girls her own age,’ said Mama quietly. ‘She needs better schooling than I can provide too.’
‘I am glad you realise that at last,’ said Papa.
But Mama hasn’t said I’ll get that at Port Harris, thought Hannah, nor has Papa said I will be taught anything here. She remembered Mama’s words earlier: You’re not going to stay in Port Harris long. But where would they go? Could Papa really find a better job so soon?
Mama stood and began clearing the plates. ‘Hannah, would you mind serving pudding, please? I have letters I’d like to write tonight.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ said Hannah.
Should they tell Mrs Zebediah and Jamie about the threat, Hannah wondered, as she mashed Angus’s banana. She would have to be at school tomorrow but they would see Mrs Zebediah at the market on Saturday. Although half the town would be listening then. She could run out to the farm on Sunday, but Mama would notice if she were gone that long.
Maybe it was all a fuss about nothing. State parliaments argued about a lot of things, and the new national parliament probably would too. They might not even pass the law, or make it so that all who lived here could stay. Mr Harris might get no more workers tricked into signing his contracts, but he could still work his fields for years with the ones already here.
No, she shouldn’t worry Mrs Zebediah. And Mama was right: Jamie and his mother would both be at risk if he was seen with Hannah again. Her reputation would be at risk too, but as she would never ever marry anyone who thought she shouldn’t have a dark-skinned boy as a friend that didn’t matter.
And one day soon her family would be gone from Port Harris. And she might never find anyone who loved to explore the world with their mind again.
CHAPTER 28
LIFE THROUGH THE MIRROR
‘Is it true?’ Mrs Zebediah asked quietly, as she wrapped their quickly killed and gutted fish in newspaper.
Hannah felt a sudden longing to be hauling in the net with Jamie again, or to watch the dolphins leaping through the waves, or to be anywhere but in the crowded Port Harris market.
‘The new law proposing that the sugar workers be deported?’ Mama didn’t pretend not to understand, though it was impossible to see her expression under her wide hat with its veil.
‘Yes. Everyone is talking about it.’
Of course they are, thought Hannah. How would Port Harris exist without sugar? And how would the sugar be grown without underpaid workers?
‘It’s true that people are talking about making that a law,’ Mama said. ‘But it hasn’t happened yet. Even if it’s passed, they might allow people who are here already to stay.’
‘But what about Jamie?
’ Hannah could see the effort Mrs Zebediah made to keep her voice low.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mama frankly. ‘But I think it is . . . even wiser than before . . . if Hannah and I don’t come to the farm for a while. If it became known we went out there . . .’
Mrs Zebediah gave a bitter smile. ‘I know all about what people will do when it’s a dark boy with a white girl. The last thing I’d ever want in the world would be to see that happen to Hannah and Jamie.’
‘But you wanted us to be friends,’ said Hannah, surprised.
‘I thought maybe if he studied with you he would learn to write a good hand and speak like you. If you and your family knew him and liked him, you might help him find a job away from here,’ said Mrs Zebediah. ‘He never had a chance before to talk to anyone except me and some of his father’s friends. I thought talking to you would be good for him, show him there’s other places than Port Harris. He’ll never have a chance if he stays here.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you two were too different to become friends the way you have.’
‘Does Jamie understand why I can’t come to the farm?’ asked Hannah softly.
‘I explained,’ said Mrs Zebediah, and said nothing more.
Which probably meant that Jamie didn’t understand, or that he thought Hannah was a coward for not openly being his friend. Maybe she was. Maybe this afternoon she should run out there.
‘And two pounds of your butter too, please,’ said Mama. She turned to Hannah. ‘And then this afternoon we must do some piano practice. You have become rusty in the last few months.’
A good girl would say, ‘Yes, Mama.’ Hannah might not be a good girl, but she could think of nothing else to say. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said.
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