Wild Lands

by Nicole Alexander

  ‘But Mrs Carter always does.’

  ‘Well, I’m not Mrs Carter. Go inside now.’

  ‘But Fred said that the teacher would die. If she dies I’ll have to go with the rest of them who’ve convicts for parents and learn a trade. They take you away, they do, to some big building, then when the learning is done they send you out to work. Them that you work for own you, they do. My ma and pa they had an awful fight about me getting lessoned by the Reverend. My pa was against it ’cause there’s no food or bed and me mother got a black eye. I got me lessons. But if the Missus dies, and there ain’t no school, me pa will send me out, he will. She won’t die, will she?’

  Kate didn’t want to talk about what would happen when her mother died. It was taking every ounce of her strength just to get through the morning. ‘There’ll always be a teacher here, Thomas,’ Kate replied. ‘Haven’t I been teaching you these past few months? Now go inside and tell the others to start finishing the hats we were making.’

  The boy couldn’t look more pleased. He ran off towards the schoolhouse chanting, ‘I was right, I was right.’

  Although partially obscured by the fruit trees and the spreading branches of the large fig, the Reverend’s cottage appeared almost quaint. Inside, in the room that looked directly across to the convicts’ huts, her mother lay on a bed, waxen-faced. Kate often thought of the woman Lesley Carter had once been. The image that came most often to her now was of her holding Kate’s father’s hand and giggling. Giggling. Such laughter seemed to have crumbled forever. Her mother had never worn the white gown with the lace collar and cuffs to any grand receptions, but in the ten years they’d lived here she’d slept each night in a warm bed that was off the ground and never once went hungry. Kate took a deep breath. Her heart was beating too quickly. It wasn’t fair. Her mother was only thirty-eight years of age.

  Smoke was streaming from the cottage chimney, twirling into a sky grown clear and bright with the rising sun. The Reverend had done well for himself. He now had a lucrative farming enterprise of four hundred acres. Fields were planted to wheat and corn every year, and there were cattle and sheep. The cabbage-tree hat business was ongoing, with the schoolhouse providing a new source of labour, a boon with the decreasing number of convicts available as workers. The Reverend was not a wealthy man, but he wanted for nothing. And Kate and her mother had also been provided for. Kate wished she’d been a better daughter, a more loving child, for Madge was right – Lesley had done her best for the both of them.

  Reverend Horsley came to Kate in the schoolhouse as lessons ended. She assumed the worst, however his attention went immediately to the pile of cabbage-tree hats stacked on a rear bench. He lifted each finished item and checked the quality of the work. Small fingers made for intricate weaving of the palm fronds. The Reverend’s charitable school of plain education aligned itself nicely with Governor Macquarie’s original model, for the children’s lessons also included the learning of useful industry.

  The children ran past Reverend Horsley as he approached, a sword jingling at his side, his pistol obvious against the black cloth of his suit. ‘She lingers,’ he explained to Kate, allaying her fears. He clasped the King James Bible to his chest. ‘But I am not here to talk about the dying. I am here to discuss your future.’

  Kate’s throat went dry. She was not ready for this. Surely he would give her a week’s grace to think on her situation, especially as her mother was yet to depart this world.

  ‘You are to be complimented on your willingness to assume Mrs Carter’s role as schoolmistress at my humble institution. You seem capable of handling the duties required of the position.’

  ‘I have been assisting my mother these many years,’ Kate answered carefully.

  Crumbs littered his whiskers. They hung amidst the coarse hairs as if being stored for future meals. ‘Yes, and the free education you received at her side during that time has been of great benefit to you. You are skilled with the pen. I thought perhaps you would undertake the writing of my sermons as dictated by me, as your mother did.’

  Kate felt a surge of relief followed by awkwardness. Carefully closing the book that she’d been reading aloud from during lessons, she placed it on the table that was used as a pulpit on Sundays. ‘I don’t share my mother’s religious inclinations,’ Kate replied. ‘But, if you would spare me that role I would be pleased to stay on as teacher here. The children are quite advanced for their age and –’

  ‘You are a non-believer?’ His nose twitched. ‘But you attend our services, you have prayed side by side with your mother.’ His voice rose. ‘By these actions you have professed to be a good Christian soul.’

  ‘I have professed nothing, Reverend. I simply do as I am told and try to live my life honestly,’ her gaze met his, ‘as expected.’ Kate could tell by the expression on his face that her answer had not pleased him, but it was the truth.

  The Reverend placed the bible carefully next to a bundle of birch sticks on the table. The swatch stung the skin painfully when applied with some enthusiasm. Kate had never used it, although her mother had been quite fond of the punishment. ‘I did not realise that temptation was rife within our household. I am remiss, my child. I have done you a disservice.’

  ‘Not at all. I believe that there is a right way and a wrong way to live one’s life, but I don’t believe in an all-knowing God and I certainly don’t believe in your church’s beliefs. What is the point, after all?’ asked Kate.

  The Reverend grasped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

  ‘God did not save my father from an early death,’ Kate continued. ‘Nor it appears will he intercede on my mother’s behalf. We only have ourselves to rely on, Reverend. The insubstantial will not feed us or clothe us or care for us when we are ill, no matter how glorious you make him sound, no matter how terrifying. I do believe that for some the idea of such a figure may be a comfort, and I certainly agree that the reciting of words at burial must be done, if only to bid farewell to our loved ones and offer our respect. But if your perception of a good Christian soul is reliant on your beliefs then I am certainly not a member of your flock and I never professed to be one.’

  ‘I understand entirely, Kate.’ His tone grew silky. ‘You have your mother’s enquiring mind and with regard to her own gradual understanding and acceptance of the faith she herself required tutorship. We spent many an hour together in fellowship.’

  ‘I have no doubt,’ Kate replied sarcastically.

  ‘One’s faith is extraordinarily important.’ He edged slowly around the table. ‘The Great Almighty offers guidance, hope, salvation. I am the way,’ he said loudly, ‘the truth and the light.’

  The children playing at the rear of the building paused briefly in their game to look at the two adults.

  ‘I can help you. You must let me help you.’ The Reverend held her gaze, the intensity of which was quite mesmerising. He clasped Kate’s hands between his. ‘I have great admiration for you, Kate. You are your mother’s daughter, strong-willed, bright, but sensible enough to know your place in the world, to understand your shortcomings, to know where you belong.’ He paused, tightening his grip. ‘I have always favoured a woman’s obedience and duty. These characteristics are so much more attractive than fleeting beauty. And I see in you a strength that your mother didn’t possess. A strength that would allow you to sit with me and talk of our Lord with an open mind.’

  Kate pulled her hands free of his clammy grip.

  ‘But such instruction is for another time. For now we have other matters to attend to.’ The Reverend cleared his throat. ‘In short I am delighted to offer you the positions of schoolmistress, housekeeper and your mother’s room in my household. And all that that entails,’ he finished bluntly, wetting his lips.

  ‘My mother is not yet dead.’

  The Reverend tilted his neck skyward to the bark ceiling. ‘God’s will be done.’ Above them a large furry spider scurried along a wooden beam. ‘In truth I have for som
e time found her bed cold.’

  Kate’s fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. ‘I am not –’

  ‘Miss, Miss Carter.’ Young Thomas Prescott was grim-faced as he ran down the aisle.

  ‘Think on this, Kate. Where else will you go? Who will take you in?’

  ‘There are black kids outside, miss. See?’ A grubby finger pointed through the open shutters, to where two young Aboriginals sat cross-legged in the grass. The pair were close enough to hear lessons. ‘They’re not allowed to do learning, are they? Not with us.’

  ‘We are not up-country, Thomas,’ Kate reprimanded. ‘We call them natives or Aboriginals, remember?’

  ‘Well, my pa will tan me hide if I go schooling with blacks.’ Thomas wiped a ragged shirtsleeve across a runny nose. ‘Please, miss, send them blacks away.’

  The Reverend clasped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Your parents are convicts, Thomas. It is not up to you to tell your betters who can or can’t be schooled here.’

  ‘Well, blacks is blacks.’

  Reaching for the swatch of birch, the Reverend thrashed the boy’s bare legs. ‘Then don’t come back.’

  ‘Reverend Horsley,’ Kate complained.

  Thomas kicked the Reverend’s shin and ran out the door. Kate lifted a hand to her mouth, hiding the smile on her lips.

  ‘You are too soft on them,’ he replied, wiping a sheen of moisture from his brow, although the exertion appeared to have invigorated him. ‘The lower classes need to be kept in their place if there is to be any semblance of normal society. England is dependent on us to ensure that this colony retains the dignity and societal norms that are expected in the civilised world. You’d do well to remember that, Kate, for you yourself carry the stain of convict association.’

  Kate’s jaw tightened. ‘I have no interest in your offer,’ she replied brusquely.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘How could you expect me to accept it, after the way you have lived with my mother? You, who profess your Godliness, you, who tell me that I carry the stain, as if you were better than me, than my mother.’ The breath caught in her throat. Kate thought he would strike her for the Reverend’s hand lifted and then just as quickly he lowered it to his side. Kate had been witness to his beltings before. The man was not averse to hitting woman or child. She had no idea where she would go, but she wasn’t staying with this man a moment longer.

  ‘Your mother has been well cared for.’

  ‘My mother only decided to stay in your employ because she was scared. Scared to go out alone with a young child to fend for. Do you think that I would agree to live as my mother has lived? My mother’s family were free settlers, my father, although convicted for forgery, a crime he did not commit, rose to become a respected farmer in his own right. Do you think I would allow myself to –’

  ‘Our arrangement was not uncommon. You know that, Kate,’ he placated.

  ‘Have you forgotten how my mother slaved for you these past ten years? She has assisted in the writing of your sermons, has been your housekeeper and run the school, for which she received no more benefit than a new dress every two years. And you who depended on her for so much could not go so far as to give her your name.’

  ‘You have grown disrespectful, Kate,’ he responded. ‘I think it best if you go indoors and attend to your mother. Perhaps in her final hours she will remind you of your good fortune …’ He hesitated. ‘Your mother was not the virtuous creature you speak of, my girl, or did you think she was faithful to your father’s memory between his passing and your arrival on my doorstep?’

  Kate’s mouth opened and closed. She didn’t believe it.

  ‘Her doings were not unknown to me, and still I provided for her and you. And you accuse me of not taking her as my wife? Beauty is a curse, your mother traded on hers. So be it.’ The Reverend lifted the prayer book to his chest, his collar yellow where it rubbed against the folded skin of his neck. ‘I will leave this matter to another time, when you are not so overwrought, when common sense has returned. Go to your mother,’ he urged, ‘stay with her until the end. Forget your duties until she slips from this world to the next. But while you sit by her side, ask her, for both our sakes, if her time here has been happy. She will answer yes.’

  ‘Kate … Kate?’

  Madge was breathless. The woman halted abruptly on seeing the Reverend and stood rooted to the spot in the dim light of the schoolhouse. ‘I beg your leave, Reverend sir, but I’ve news. It’s your mother, Kate,’ she faltered. ‘She’s gone.’ Madge moved towards them, twisting a dirty apron between her hands. ‘I would have come for you but there was no time. I only went in to see if she wanted a little water. She was awake, so I propped up the pillows, but her eyes never opened, not even to blink. But she asked for you, she did, said a few words and then the breath left her.’ Madge let out a little puff of air. ‘Just like that and she was gone.’

  A band of tightness circled Kate’s chest.

  ‘Kate, did you hear what Madge said?’ the Reverend spoke loudly. ‘Your mother is dead, may she rest in peace.’

  ‘What, what did she say?’ asked Kate breathlessly.

  Madge pressed her mouth together, rolling the skin until her lips all but disappeared. ‘She said to tell you that she was sorry.’

  An air of expectation seeped from the Reverend. Flicking through the pages of the bible, he placed the book in Kate’s hand. ‘John, chapter five, verses 24 to 26. “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.”

  ‘Shall not come into condemnation, think on it, Kate.’ The bible was swiftly removed and the Reverend strode down the aisle. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements, however the body will need to be washed and, Madge, you will, from this moment onwards, speak to Miss Carter with regards to all meals.’

  Kate sat heavily on one of the benches. She felt as if all the air had left her body, that she would never breathe again. The older woman approached silently, an eyebrow lifted. ‘Well, that’s that then. At least she went quiet. Not a whimper.’

  It was difficult to believe that her mother was dead. ‘I should have been with her.’

  ‘Rubbish. You sat with her last night and the night before that. And besides, Lesley Carter wasn’t the type to put up with mollycoddling. She was a survivor, your mother.’ Madge sniffed. ‘Well, a woman has to be. But in the end when your time’s up I reckon it makes no difference if there’s someone holding your hand or not. Once you’re on the way to the boneyard there’s no stopping the journey.’

  Kate didn’t agree. No matter what Madge said she knew the comfort that could be given by the touch of a hand. She’d seen it in her father’s eyes. ‘Do you think my mother was happy here, Madge?’

  The cook turned up her nose. ‘Happy? What’s happy? For some it may be a good meal, others a place to sleep, for meself any year without a thrashing is a boon. You’ll be right. Set yourself up in the cottage. Do as he says. There are worse places than this. You’ll see things will turn out like a good baked loaf.’

  Kate waited until Madge had left and then sank to the ground and began to sob.

  To where ’neath glorious clustered stars

  The dreamy plains expand –

  My home lies wide a thousand miles

  In the Never-Never Land.

  ‘The Never-Never Country’ by Henry Lawson, 1906

  Chapter 4

  1837 July – on the western side

  of the Blue Mountains

  The two men stood on the sloping earth where the dense trees rose from low ground between grassy hills. The land below was damp from recent rain and would be hard to burn, so they concentrated on the hill, knowing that the southerly wind would drive the flames into the grass and towards the scrub some distance beyond. The area had not been burnt since this time last year and Bidjia was keen to entice new growth in the spring. His people nee
ded food and the fire would encourage the leaves and grasses to sprout. The tender young plants would attract animals and increase hunting opportunities, as well as stimulating yams and other food sources.

  Forming a nest of dry grass, Bidjia sat cross-legged on the ground. In his hands he held a stick, which he began rotating into a notch cut into a piece of softwood. The stick twirled quickly between his palms. He held it close to the nest and the heat borne of his handiwork caused a dark fleck to fall on the dry grass. His son, Jardi, picked up the smouldering pile and waved the grass gently through the air. A flame appeared.

  ‘Where is your brother?’ Bidjia asked his son.

  Bronzewing had only returned to them last night and already he was disrupting the day. Two of their clan waited on the edge of the scrub some distance away. Once the grass was fired, the game would rush to escape it and head straight for the hunters.

  And once smoke appeared, the whites would know where they were.

  The younger man shrugged and pointed to the thick trees behind them.

  ‘Find him.’ Bidjia watched as his son walked swiftly away, he was in no mood for delays. The white settlers were a half-day’s walk away, but with their horses they could travel quickly over the land. It was as it had been on the great waterhole side of the blue hills. The strangers came slowly at first, but once the road across the mountains was built by the men in chains, the whites came in great numbers, claiming land, building dwellings and disrupting the old ways.

  The Lycetts, the ones who had come to build their hut near Bidjia’s clan in the folds of the hills, were friendly enough, but they brought sheep with them and Bidjia had already been warned many times that a firing of the grasses would not be tolerated. Such disrespect was unknown to him. The whites did not own this land and the sheep fouled up the waterways for man and beast alike, ate the grass to the ground and stomped the rest to dust.

  Jardi’s white brother darted through the trees, circled him swiftly and dived, cuffing an ankle so that they both fell to the ground. ‘I thought I had missed you.’ Jardi accepted the older man’s hand and was pulled to his feet. ‘Now I’m not so sure.’