Ocean's Trial

by Carlton, Demelza

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  Part 6

  Part 7

  Part 8

  Part 9

  Part 10

  Part 11

  Part 12

  Part 13

  Part 14

  Part 15

  Part 16

  Part 17

  Part 18

  Part 19

  Part 20

  Part 21

  Part 22

  Part 23

  Part 24

  Part 25

  Part 26

  Part 27

  Part 28

  Updates

  About the Author

  Ocean's Trial

  Demelza Carlton

  This book is for Mum, who always wants to see more historical fiction set in Western Australia, so I figured it was my turn. History even helped by breaking a bridge for me.

  Copyright © 2014 Demelza Carlton

  Lost Plot Press

  All rights reserved.

  One

  He died because you left him, my traitorous heart whispered.

  I wouldn't ask again. We'd searched for wreckage for three weeks, before even the captain gave up hope and our coal stocks ran dangerously low. Every morning since the ship had arrived in port, I'd asked at the newsagent as I bought the daily newspaper. Always the same question.

  "Any news of the Trevessa?"

  Every day for a week, Mrs Capper shook her head sadly.

  This morning, I didn't want to meet her pitying eyes and believe that William was lost.

  I laid my paper on the counter and wondered where she was.

  "Are you going to buy those comic books?" the elderly lady thundered. I heard a squeaky sound. "Then get out of my shop before I tan your hides!" Two small children bolted out the door, pursued by Mrs Capper, brandishing a rolled-up newspaper. Once the children were out of sight, she smiled for me. "Good morning, Maria. Just the morning paper?"

  I nodded, placing two pennies on the counter.

  She took my coins and tucked them into her till. "Aren't you going to ask?"

  This time, I shook my head and tucked the folded paper under my arm, shuffling dejectedly out of her shop.

  "The lifeboats reached land. The papers are full of it – the telegram reached London last night."

  I lifted desperate eyes to her face. If she toyed with my heart, buoying my hopes only to dash them... I slapped my newspaper on the counter. "Show me," I begged.

  The paper crackled as she turned the pages and dragged her finger down the columns until she reached a well-spaced headline that spanned two columns. "There. You can read it yourself."

  So close. I stroked the page that could tell me William's fate – or it would, if I could only read the words. "No. I can't. Please..."

  Now I saw her pity, but it didn't lance my heart the way it had yesterday. She shook out the page and squinted at the close print. "Nothing stirs the human mind more acutely or fires the imagination to greater heights than a thrilling story of heroism and endurance at sea..." She continued until she found the names of those who'd died before the lifeboat reached land. "What is your sweetheart's name, Maria?"

  "McGregor. William McGregor." My voice surrounded his name like a caress, wishing the words were the wonderful man himself. The man who'd saved me, protected me, fought for me and loved me. Whose lifeboat had been separated from mine when the stormy swell tore us apart.

  Her finger traced the letters as I held my breath. "Someone named Jacobali. What sort of strange foreign name is that?"

  I remembered three dark-skinned men, grinning at me as they festooned the mess hall with red-painted toilet paper streamers for the chief officer's birthday party. That was the night before the ship sank. All three had been named Ali. I wondered which had been Jacob Ali. Now I'd never know. "Who else?" I managed to say, forcing back tears.

  "A...Nagi. Another foreign name. Both firemen, it says. Coloured men, probably." She gave a sniff.

  Firemen worked the boiler room. All the men who'd worked with the boilers were the same colour – black from coal dust, tinted red and orange in the firelight. I carefully noted her strange comment, intending to ask Aunt Merry about it when I reached home.

  "Where are they?"

  She peered at the paper. "Rodriguez Island, it says. Sounds foreign, too. Oh, wait...the paper says it's in the Indian Ocean, somewhere near the colony at Mauritius. That's almost as far away as India!"

  The other side of the Indian Ocean – as far from me as the ocean could cast him. What were the chances he'd cross that vast distance to return to me?

  "Your sweetheart's alive, girl! Why aren't you grinning from ear to ear?" Mrs Capper demanded.

  I forced myself to smile. "I'll do that when I see him again. I am...relieved and happy." I hoped she didn't notice my hesitation as I fought to find the right words. Three weeks of intensive English lessons with Aunt Merry had helped, but my vocabulary was woefully limited – even with my memory. I'd begun to relive my experiences with William, a little each day and more when I lay in bed, avoiding sleep. Remembering every kiss, every caress and every word that I hadn't understood at the time, but was coming clear the more I learned.

  He'd said he loved me and wanted no future without me. He'd wanted me to be his wife, but I hadn't understood what he was asking then and he'd known that, swearing he'd ask me later when I could answer. Never knowing that later might never come.

  I maintained my smile as I bade her farewell, folded my newspaper under my arm, and headed home to tell Aunt Merry the good news.

  William was alive. If only he didn't believe I was dead.

  Two

  I almost cried with relief as I trudged home. For the first time, I felt no irritation at my flapping bloomers or constricting bandeau, nor the long skirt that tangled around my legs with every step I took into the stiff southerly breeze. I didn't even notice the fresh, Antarctic temperature of the wind, I was so happy. I could love a man without killing him, for William lived.

  "So the news is true and your man is among the living," Aunt Merry greeted me from the front veranda.

  I nodded and opened the screen door to head inside in search of breakfast.

  Merry's arm barred my way. "Now, we didn't spend all those weeks locked in a cabin to keep you hidden from the crew, practicing your English for you not to speak to me. Tell me, Maria."

  I swallowed. "A lifeboat reached some islands on the far side of the Indian Ocean. Two men died, but the rest lived. Including William. I know no more than that, Aunt Merry. Perhaps if you read the newspaper, you can tell me more than I know."

  She lifted her arm to permit me to pass, but she followed me inside. "I think you know more than you've told me, Maria. I need to know what happened to you if I'm to continue to help you and so will everyone else. All anyone knows is that you're my niece – and we both know that's not true."

  I remained silent as I cut some bread and spread Aunt Merry's homemade mulberry jam in a thick, purple layer across the slightly stale slice. My teeth crunched through the crust and the tart sweetness hit my tongue. I'd never tasted anything this good.

  Merry poked the coals in the wood stove and added some kindling. She shifted the kettle to the spot over the newly kindled flame before spooning fresh tea into her immaculate teapot. "We're almost out," she said softly. "Can you go to the Chinese grocer's this week to get some more? The way you drink tea, we'll be using a tin a week."

  I nodded. She'd provided me with food, shelter, clothing and the ability to communicate in her language. The least I could do was run errands for her – an
d hope she would soon tell me how I could repay my debt to her. But not with my secrets. No, I couldn't tell this kind woman about my past.

  She bustled about, brewing tea in silence. As she set our cups on the table, I realised the huge differences between us. Like her delicate china cup and saucer, Merry's impeccable appearance contrasted strongly with my tin mug and layers of ill-fitting clothes. As she poured milk into her cup, turning her dark brew into a creamy, opaque light tan, mine remained a translucent, murky brown. "You should try it with milk," she admonished, but I shook my head and lifted the cup to my lips. I could manage to drink it like this, but the milk seemed to intensify the muddy flavour that made me feel ill.

  Merry enthroned herself at the head of the kitchen table. "This time, I think you know enough English to tell me the truth – and I'll know if you're lying. Let's start at the beginning. Where are you from?"

  I gulped a mouthful of tea, letting the hot liquid burn its way down the inside of my chest. "From the islands of Cocos. Far to the north, near India."

  She nodded slowly. "A colonial girl. That would explain your queer notions of clothing and your complete lack of English." She sipped her tea. "Who was your father?"

  My father? This question swam perilously close to my secrets. "A cable-man at Cocos," I said finally. "Telegraph cable."

  Another nod. "His name? Tell me his name and yours."

  I shook my head. "My name is Maria. That is all."

  "What about your mother?"

  "She...lives. Will not see me. I am disgraced. She sent me away." I filled my mouth with tea before I could say any more.

  Merry's eyes widened with surprise. "What did you do?"

  I smiled faintly. "I loved a man. A fish-man. A good man, but he could not swim. There was a big storm and his boat threw him into the water. The boat sank and he died."

  Her eyes held more tears than mine, though a tear for Giuseppe already trickled down my cheek. "A fisherman. You're a fisherman's widow?"

  Widow. William had used this word to describe me, but I didn't know it. "I don't know the meaning of this word. Widow?"

  "When...when your husband – the man you love – dies, then you are no longer his wife. You are a widow. A widow is a wife whose man has left her."

  I nodded. "Fish-man...no, fisherman's widow. Yes."

  She leaned across the table and captured my hand. Her fingers were smaller than mine and roughened from hard work, but her grip was surprisingly firm. "I'm sorry, Maria. To lose the man you love is a hard thing. How long ago did he die?"

  "Two years," I said. It was longer than that – Giuseppe had drowned in a summer cyclone and we were in the middle of winter now – but the wound was still fresh. "He called me Maria Stella Maris – his lady of the sea, who would always save him. And I couldn't. I couldn't save him from the sea." My tears spilled over, as if my salt-water heart had burst, and I pressed my face to the table so she wouldn't see my weakness.

  "It's all right. You couldn't save him. No one can fight the ocean."

  A smile crept to my lips and laughter struggled to escape. I'd fought the ocean and lost, but still I fought. Each battle was a test, the ocean's trial of my strength, for one day, I would win. I pressed my forehead harder against the wood, hoping she didn't see my fierce grin.

  "How did you come to be aboard the Trevessa?" Merry pressed. "You weren't on the crew or passenger manifest. Stowaways can go to prison. That's why we hid you from the crew of the Trevean – to keep you safe – and why I told the Customs officers that you were my niece. I will tell no one, but I need the truth."

  I lifted my head but kept my gaze on the reddish-brown timber surface – the same colour as the floorboards beneath the table. "A man helped me. William. William McGregor. He promised to take care of me. To make a home for me." I met her eyes, to show her the truth in my words. I had no need to lie about William. He was a good man and I hadn't killed him.

  Merry's sweet smile seemed to warm me from within. "Then I'm sure he'll cross the ocean to find you, when he can. He'll need to recover from his ordeal and he'll take the first ship back to Fremantle when he finds out that you're alive. We must send a cable to him to tell him the good news. They're expensive, though. I don't have the money for it, but if you sell these, you should have enough to send a message..." She reached behind her head and undid the clasp on the pearl necklace she'd worn to church that morning. The strand dropped neatly into her waiting hand and she held it out to me.

  "No," I said, pushing it away. I couldn't take her prized pearls. She had given me enough. More than I could ever repay. This would place me even deeper in her debt. I couldn't accept that.

  Her expression hardened. "Did he hurt you? You denied it before, but I saw the marks on your body. You were beaten by a man with larger hands than yours. Is that why you don't want him to know you're alive? Did this McGregor take you by force?"

  "NO!" My emphatic shout shocked me. I paused to catch my breath and my composure. "William helped me. He protected me from those who wanted to hurt me. Other men...tried. And failed. On the night the ship sank, there was confusion. Chaos. Two men used it to overpower me. They dragged me into a lifeboat – away from the others. One man...he had a knife. I fought them and in the waves, the lifeboat tipped over and we were thrown into the water. I held tight to the boat. One man drowned." I drew in a breath. "The other...he was bleeding from the blade. Blood in the water summoned sharks. Many sharks. I...pushed the lifeboat over and climbed in while the sharks...the sharks...ate him. When daylight came, I looked through the lockers, to see if there was anything left for me to eat or drink. I found milk and a sail, then I slept. And the Trevean found me." I closed my eyes tightly. "William saw the boat tipped over. He saw the sharks. He wanted to come to my aid, but the captain and crew held him back. He would have died if he had. He will not come looking for me because he believes that I died that night. Your money will be wasted and your message will not work, for he will not believe it. The Maria he knows didn't speak enough English to send such a message. He must see me to know I live."

  "Sell the pearls and send the message," she urged. "Please, for me. Tell him to come to Fremantle so he can see you again." Merry pressed the pearls into my hands, still warm from her skin.

  I wavered as the desperation in her eyes touched my heart. She wanted our story to end happily, when shipwrecks never do. I knew this better than anyone.

  "All right. But I'll pay you back for this, I promise. I cannot take more of your charity, Aunt Merry. I'll work and earn the money to repay you for your kindness. While I wait for William to come for me."

  She bowed her head. "I understand. But what will you do? What work do you know?"

  "I know fish and I know the ocean. That is all," I said forlornly. For all my hopes, I already felt lost. Her world was still painfully new to me.

  "I think I can help you find a job. A job for a girl who knows fish and the ocean. But you will need a name. Your father's, your husband's...as I am Meryl D'Angelo, you must have a last name, too."

  "I can't tell you," I replied. "I'd hoped..."

  She laughed. "Speranza. Hope in Italian. If you won't tell me your real name, you will be Maria Speranza, the young fisherman's widow who lives in hope." She shooed me toward the door. "Go now, get a good price for my pearls and send the telegram. The sooner he hears you're alive, the sooner you'll be in his arms again." She squeezed past me, pulling on her gloves before donning a hat. "I need to speak to some friends to see if they can help you." Merry hurried out the front door.

  I had a goal, a hope for the future. And a name to go with it. Maria Speranza, the widow who lived in hope.

  And for the first time, I did.

  Three

  A bell jangled as I entered the pawnshop. The bespectacled woman at the counter squinted at me, her eyes flicking up and down my body as if assessing me for sale. She seemed fixated by my bare feet.

  "It's Sunday. We're closed," she announced.

  Someth
ing in the way her eyes wouldn't meet mine told me she was lying.

  "But I must trade these for money today," I replied, placing the pearls on the counter before her.

  She picked up the necklace and scrutinised the clasp. "Where did you steal this?"

  "I did not –"

  "Hold your tongue or I'll call the police. They'll arrest women just as easily as men – especially for stealing something as valuable as this. Any job is better than gaol – even yours."

  Mystified, I asked, "My job?"

  "You might be wearing a dress instead of just your underthings, but I can tell one of the whores from The Palms no matter what she's wearing. No self-respecting woman would go out without shoes, gloves and a hat, nor without her dress buttoned up properly so her bosoms aren't showing."

  I glanced down. The buttons over my breasts had indeed come undone and I fumbled to fix them.

  "I don't know what could drive a girl to sell her body, but it's honest work that won't land you in prison, girl. You're safer on your back, earning enough money to live until you can find a lonely, single man who can take you away from such a life. Other girls have done it. Stealing things that don't belong to you will send you lower than you are already. If you ever want a respectable life, take those back where you got them and get back to the whorehouse before the Madam wakes up and finds you gone." She pushed the pearls back to me and pointed out the door.

  More confused than ever, I stumbled out of the woman's shop and into the street. The Palms was some sort of hotel with red lights where there appeared to be a party every night. The women who attended these parties seemed to enjoy draping themselves over the male guests. I hadn't seen anyone express this sort of familiarity anywhere else in Fremantle – in fact, people barely seemed to touch in public at all.

  I walked to the corner and turned onto Bannister Street, where The Palms was. There were no red lights on now; the place was surprisingly quiet. I stood on the cold paving outside, wondering why the pawnshop woman had sent me here.

  "Are you looking for a job?"