Unnoticed

by Amanda Deed

  Unnoticed An Australian Cinderella

  Published by Rhiza Press

  PO BOX 1519

  Capalaba QLD 4157

  Australia

  © Amanda Deed, 2017

  Cover Design by Production Works

  Layout by Rhiza Press

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Creator:Deed, Amanda, author.

  Title:Unnoticed / Amanda Deed.

  ISBN:9781925563085 (ebook : epub)

  Target Audience:Cinderella (Tale)--Australia.

  Australian fiction.Subjects:

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Unnoticed

  beauty for ashes

  Amanda Deed

  Dedication

  To lovers of fairy tales and of happy ever afters, this one is for you.

  Acknowledgements

  As always, I would like to acknowledge my family who stir my imagination and bring me laughter every day. And to lovely friends who make me giggle and do life with me – the ups and the downs. You are my inspiration.

  I would also like to thank Rochelle and the team at Rhiza Press for all their hard work, encouragement and their vision for Australian fiction.

  A special acknowledgement to Kevin and Sandy Clark, and Hayley Ashdown and her family for their significant contribution to SECC Missions in return for having their names in this novel. Thanks for supporting such an important cause.

  And of course, I must thank the one who makes it all possible, the giver of the gift, the master storyteller. Thank you, Jesus.

  1

  May, 1877

  Hay, New South Wales, Australia

  ‘No, Moses, you can’t come with me.’

  The large cockatoo let out a loud screech and flapped his wings in protest.

  Jane groaned and put a hand to her cheek as pain knifed through her jaw. She didn’t have the strength to argue with him today. ‘Oh, all right then. Come on.’

  Moses hopped from his perch to her shoulder and bobbed his head up and down, as though gloating in victory.

  ‘Cheeky boy.’ Jane could not help smiling at her avian friend. He rarely left her side, even when she wanted him to. Today, she could not convince him to stay home. And yet today, Moses would be a hindrance rather than a comfort.

  Jane glanced at her tatty skirt and smoothed it against her thighs. Alas, it was the better of the two she owned, apart from her Sunday dress. She picked up her hand mirror and checked her hair in its scratched reflection.

  Ugh.

  There was not much she could do with her red hair but tie it in a knot and hope it stayed there. Unruly and untameable was how her sisters described it. Ugly was the word Jane used. Everything about her was ugly. God, why didn’t You make me beautiful?

  She sighed as she placed the mirror back on the trunk that doubled as her bureau. She could do nothing to improve her appearance, and knew she would look ten times worse by the time she’d walked the two miles into town. Jane pressed a hat over her red mop and headed out.

  The sun rode high in the azure sky as Jane trudged along the dirt track to the township of Hay. The temperature, although nearing winter, was warmer than usual for May. Hopefully it didn’t signify another year of drought; the last two years of dryness had been difficult enough. By the time she arrived in town, Jane would be perspiring and covered with a thin layer of pinkish dust. It might have made more sense to walk along the winding river bank in the cool shade of the massive gums, but then it would have taken twice as long.

  Moses sometimes rode along on her shoulder but often he flew off to a nearby tree for a few minutes at a time, catching up when she had walked too far ahead.

  Jane pressed a hand to her aching mouth once again. She’d tried everything for the pain: chewing cloves or pieces of onion, why, she’d even tried the old Irish remedy of rubbing a dead horse’s tooth on her cheek. Old Darcy, their wizened station master, had told her that one. None of the cures had worked and her toothache grew worse every day. Indeed, the level of pain was now enough that it forced her to visit the dental surgeon, though her palms grew clammy at the mere thought of it.

  ‘Moreland’s Mos.’ Jane murmured the name of her destination as her feet crunched on the dusty road. The new barber in town doubled as a dentist, so she’d been told. Mr Moreland had set up shop only a few weeks ago, but Aunt Ruby said the menfolk were more than happy with his service.

  ‘And he is an American, too,’ her aunt added, as if that fact enhanced his skill. ‘Go and let him look at that tooth.’

  It wasn’t just the men who appreciated Mr Moreland either. Jane’s two sisters had mentioned him several times. From the snippets of gossip she’d heard, he sounded rather handsome—and unattached—which made him the centre of conversation amongst the town’s young ladies.

  Jane had not yet seen or met Mr Moreland. She rarely ventured into the small township, unless need forced her. Every time she set foot in a public place, she could feel the eyes of every person on her. They whispered behind her back and she was sure laughter followed in her wake. From the moment she passed the first building, she always longed to complete her errands with haste and return to the solitude of the farm.

  It was Jane’s reluctance to be around people that forced her to suffer in silence until she could stand the pain no longer. Getting her tooth examined—having a strange man look in her mouth and do who knew what—was the last thing Jane wanted to do. She had argued many a time with her aunt over it.

  Mother, or Stepmother, didn’t care a whit though. ‘Stop your complaining,’ was the most involved she got. Papa was always

  out in the fields and her sisters laughed behind their hands at her. Old Darcy, with a twinkle in his eye, had offered to knock it out for her and waved a pair of menacing looking pliers in the air. Jane had shuddered at that, but giggled in spite of herself.

  The main street of Hay stretched before her and the familiar feeling of shame crept over her. ‘Moses,’ she called. The bird flew to her at once and perched on her shoulder with a squawk. Strange, that an animal could give her comfort during times of unease. Perhaps it was the two pounds of weight pressing on her shoulder, or the grip of those strong talons. Jane always drew a sense of security from his presence. Nevertheless, she kept her head down as she passed the first of the stores and made her way to the new barber-cum-dentist shop.

  Jane hated the way people stared at her. Why couldn’t they just ignore her? She could almost hear their derisive gossip. ‘Look at that awful hair. And see the hole in her shoe. Why, her skirt more resembles a rag than a dress.’ How Jane wanted even one nice gown—something she could wear with pride. But, even a pretty ensemble wouldn’t fix her face, or her wayward hair, or the size of her feet. Jane swallowed. Her enormous feet poked out like a dead tree on a barren landscape. Even if she fastened her skirt low on her hips, the hem still didn’t come near the ground. Too tall. Too ugly. Out of place.

  Moreland’s Mos stood on the other side of the street. Jane glanced over at the red and white striped pole and bile swirled in the pit of her stomach. She rubbed her moist hands down the front of her skirt to dry them and kept walking. She trod several yards further along the street before she drew a few breaths, turned around and headed back until she drew opposite the barbershop again.

  Two men stood out the front of the store, deep in conversation. One of them leaned against the door jamb, his hands thrust in
the pockets of his trousers. He wore no coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up past the elbow. The other man, small in stature, had a tobacco pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth and animatedly gesticulated as he spoke. He moved from one foot to the other in constant motion, sometimes kicking at the skirting or scuffing at the ground.

  ‘Ants in your pants.’ Jane remembered her dear mama scolding her as a child when she wouldn’t stand still. The sudden memory brought fondness mixed with terrible sadness. She missed her mother so much, even now. At times it hurt like physical pain. Jane was sure her life would be quite different if only Mama had not died. She had been the sweetest, funniest soul Jane had ever known—the one person she knew for certain cared for her.

  With a sigh Jane dragged her thoughts back to her mission. She needed to summon the courage to cross the street. Watching the two men, she suspected the one standing in the doorway must be Mr Moreland, unless of course, the proprietor was inside his shop.

  Just as she stepped into the street to cross, the man glanced her way. The butterflies churned again and she pivoted back to the sidewalk and kept moving. The sudden change in direction caused Moses to lose balance and he flapped his wings to steady himself, his feathers slapping the side of her face.

  ‘Sorry, boy.’ Jane reached up to scratch his head.

  The ache in her tooth throbbed once again, making her groan under her breath. Jane pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to fend off the pain. This was silly. She must face her fears and get it done. Motivated by another twinge, she hurried across the street, then turned back toward the barbershop. This time, I’ll do it.

  Jane smoothed her shaking hands against her stomach and approached the salon. Another man passed, coming from the opposite direction. As he neared the store he tipped his hat to the two men.

  ‘Bobby. Clark.’ The man nodded a greeting, but didn’t pause in his stride.

  The man in the doorway, Bobby she supposed, greeted him in return. ‘Mornin’, Fred.’

  Jane could not mistake the American twang in his voice. So then, the barber’s name was Bob, or perhaps Robert Moreland. Slowing her steps, she sucked in a few deep breaths.

  Mr Moreland straightened from the doorway as she drew close. Jane glanced up at him. He stood exceptionally tall, and he wasn’t merely handsome as she’d heard. He was downright gorgeous. An image of Daniel—Danny—streamed into her mind’s eye, along with a surge of guilt. Panic raced through her body and she dropped her gaze to the ground, hastening her steps to pass the barber. I can’t do this.

  Price Moreland needed to learn about cricket, or so it seemed. Kevin Clark had returned from Melbourne two months ago, and he still talked of it whenever he could find a willing ear. Price reckoned every man along the Murrumbidgee River had heard the stories, and now it was his turn, being that he was new in town and all. Not that Price minded. He’d learnt a little of cricket from British friends at home in the United States, but not enough to become enamoured of it as many Australians appeared to be. Especially Clark.

  The carter had walked 250 odd miles to Melbourne, hitching a ride on a dray here or there, just to watch the Grand Combined Match against players from England. Although in his words, ‘our team was mostly made up of Brits, too.’

  ‘What? They brought players for both sides?’

  ‘Nah.’ Clark shook his head, showing Price just how ignorant he was. ‘Immigrants.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Shoulda seen Bannerman. Played all the first day an’ part of the second. He made a hundred an’ sixty-five runs, an’ he woulda made more, ’cept that Ulyett injured ’im with a delivery. We won that test, though. Shoulda heard the crowd.’ Clark spoke around the pipe, which dangled from the corner of his mouth. It made him hard to keep up with sometimes, added to his Australian accent, and Price had to concentrate hard to understand.

  He nodded, although to be honest, he didn’t follow. ‘Sorry, Clark. I don’t understand the ins and outs of cricket.’

  Clark guffawed, slapping his thigh. ‘That’s funny. Good one, mate.’

  Price grinned, but shrugged his shoulders. ‘What did I say?’

  Clark pulled the pipe from his lips and looked at him with an intense expression. ‘Bobby, ol’ cobber, listen careful. One team is in for an innings until they are all out. Then they swap over an’ so on.’ He emphasised each word this time. Did he think Price was a child in school?

  Well, that explained the unintended pun. Sort of.

  It was then that a girl captured Price’s attention. She’d walked past on the other side of the street, but now turned back again. A huge white bird with a yellow crest sat on her shoulder. She appeared to be tall, although she hunched over with her eyes on the footpath.

  ‘Who’s that girl?’ He indicated with a thrust of his chin.

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘The one with the bird.’

  Clark glanced over his shoulder, once again sucking on his pipe. He blew out the smoke before turning back to answer. ‘That’s Plain Jane. Least, that’s what everyone calls her ’round here. Bit of a sad story there. Mother died when she was a young thing an’ ’er pa up an’ married an old crow before the body was cold in the ground. She’s an odd one, walkin’ around with that overgrown parrot everywhere. Bit on the shy side, too. People reckon she’s cuckoo, you know.’

  ‘Do you mean insane cuckoo or eccentric cuckoo?’

  Clark shrugged. ‘Dunno. Never gone near her, meself.’

  This ‘Plain Jane,’ whatever her real name might be, crossed the road further along the street. Price saw that she cradled her jaw and grimaced. ‘Well, whatever the case may be, she’s got the toothache, that’s for sure.’

  Footsteps approached from his right, and Price turned to see Fred Hayley. Mr Hayley was a busy man. His business as a farrier kept him in demand from everyone who owned a horse, which was, of course, most of the town. By the time Price and Clark had nodded brief greetings to him, Plain Jane was no more than a few yards away.

  Price straightened from the door jamb, sure she wanted to ask for his services. But the strange girl glanced up once, then brushed past him to continue her way along the main street. In the moment of eye contact they shared, he saw a vulnerability that made his heart soften. She’s scared, poor girl.

  ‘Listen, Clark. I’ll have to catch up with you later. I believe I have a customer.’ Price followed the girl down the street with his gaze. He might have to run after her. She couldn’t be left to suffer the degree of pain she exhibited.

  ‘No worries, mate. Ya should come an’ watch us play a game some time. Then ya might learn somethin’.’

  Price turned back to Clark with a grin. ‘Perhaps I will.’

  Clark knocked the dregs of his pipe out against the pole and ground it into the dirt with his heel before swaggering off toward the Royal, whistling as he went. He would likely down a pint or two of ale before he headed back to the river port to unload the next steamer of its cargo.

  Price shook his head. That hotel must be a busy place. People came and went from the pub at all hours. Didn’t they have anything better to do? Like work, for instance. Or spend time with their families. His heart went out to them. If only they could see the hope he’d found in the Good Lord.

  With a sigh, he swivelled around to see if the Plain Jane girl was still nearby. Ah, there she was, further along the street and just turning back in his direction once again, her head dipped and her eyes on the ground. He waited until she was near enough to hear him without having to raise his voice, then stepped into her path.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ He tipped his hat in greeting.

  Plain Jane jerked to a stop, but did not lift her head. Instead she brought her hands together and wrung them with apparent anxiety. The bird on her shoulder appeared to eye him with distrust and its crest fanned out as it hopped from one foot to the other.

/>   ‘I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be in pain there. Would you mind if I take a look at that tooth?’

  Silence greeted him for a moment, but he saw colour infuse her cheeks. ‘Yes please.’ Her face lifted then, but only enough for her eyes to meet his chin. ‘That is, if you are Mr Moreland, the proprietor.’

  ‘Yes ma’am. Price Moreland’s the name. At your service.’ Price bowed with a flourish and a grin. He pulled open the door of his store and gestured for her to enter.

  Plain Jane glanced toward The Royal, her hand indicating that direction. ‘But didn’t that gentleman call you Bob?’

  She didn’t move to come in and seemed to be fixed to the spot until he settled the matter of his name. Price chuckled. ‘A funny thing about you Australians. No one calls a fellow by his proper name. I’ve been called Stretch because of my height, and Yankee, although strictly speaking I’m from the south. I’ve even been called Tex, though I’ve never been to Texas. Mr Clark thought it was real amusing when he found out my name was Price. At first he called me Tuppence, then Quid and at last Bob. I believe Bob’s what folks call a shilling, though personally I don’t see the connection.’

  The young woman responded with a short nod, then took a few tentative steps into the shop. She removed her hat, revealing a mess of red curls, partly secured by pins, but rebelling against them in wilful abandon. Price watched as her eyes darted here and there, unsure of her surroundings, twisting the hat in her hands. Her eyes stopped on the adolescent who swept the floor.

  ‘This is my assistant, Mr Sullivan.’

  The young man paused and leaned on his broom with a nod.

  ‘Patrick, this is Miss …’ Price turned back to the Plain Jane girl. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.’

  She looked from one to the other for a moment before she collected herself. ‘O’Reilly. Jane O’Reilly.’

  Price offered her a smile. ‘Well, Miss O’Reilly, let me take your hat for you.’