As Joe spun around, Poppy slipped past him and walked away smiling. She had won a small victory. But deep down, she felt rather sorry for Joe.
THE next morning, Poppy hobbled out of the stable into the sunshine and found Fisher sitting beside Tom who was drawing in a sketchbook.
Tom nodded a greeting and kept on drawing, filling in a figure with pen and black ink. The painting was of a group of men in silhouette carrying spears and branches of bushes to hide behind while they hunted a kangaroo.
‘So you did the drawings in my room,’ Poppy beamed. ‘They’re beautiful. It feels as if they could run off the paper at any moment.’
Tom chuckled.
‘How did you get to be so good?’ she asked, leaning against the stable wall in a splash of sunshine.
Tom dipped his pen in ink. ‘You just do it, over and over. Don’t worry you no good. Get good soon enough,’ he replied.
Just do it, don’t worry you no good, Poppy repeated in her head.
She bent down and stroked Fisher who was snapping at flies.
‘Hello, Kal. Morning, Tom,’ Noni called from across the yard.
Tom and Poppy both greeted her in return.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ Poppy asked. Noni was wearing her good town dress with a bonnet and gloves.
‘Mama and Papa are taking Joe and me to Tocumwal to buy our birthday presents. I’m so excited.’ Noni clasped her hands and jiggled up and down on the spot as she spoke.
The word Tocumwal and the memory of the policeman turned Poppy cold. She looked away so Noni wouldn’t notice.
‘Noni!’ came Mrs Bell’s voice. ‘Are you ready, darling? Your father and Joseph are waiting in the buggy.’ Mrs Bell approached them.
‘Coming, Mama.’ Noni turned back to Poppy. ‘When I return, Kal,’ she said, ‘you can show me how to recognise animal tracks. Oh, and Mother says you can come to our birthday party. Isn’t that just splendid?’
‘Ma’am, ‘Tom said. ‘All right I take boy to blackfella camp?’
‘Of course, Tom,’ Mrs Bell replied. ‘Now come along, Noni.’
Then she and Noni walked off arm in arm, the sounds of their laughter bouncing off the stone walls.
‘Wait here,’ Tom said to Poppy as he packed away his painting equipment.
Ten minutes later, she heard a cart coming around the side of the stable. Tom gestured to her. ‘Get on,’ he said. ‘Boss wants me take food to camp over at creek.’ He put out his hand and pulled Poppy up onto the seat beside him.
‘Can Fisher ride in the back?’ Poppy asked.
Tom frowned at first then nodded, and Fisher settled himself between the sacks and boxes.
The wagon jolted along the rutted track. A koala, with a joey clinging to its back, grunted from the fork of a tree. A flock of galahs, grazing in one of the paddocks, flew into the forest, a cloud of pink and white. Poppy was suddenly reminded of the group of Aboriginal people the squatters had hunted down. She hesitated then asked Tom about them.
‘Did they get away or were they … all killed?’ She held her breath, wanting and yet not wanting to know the answer.
Tom was silent a moment. He took a long shuddering breath. ‘Stealing, they call it. My land. My sheep. You take, I kill. But everyone know, Sharing is Law,’ he said. ‘You have now, you share. Maybe tomorrow you have nothing, someone share with you, eh? But white man not share. We share our land, but they not share their sheep. They say we steal. They kill.’ He sank into angry silence.
Poppy didn’t dare say anything more. The wagon bumped and rocked down a narrow track.
Two dogs that looked like dingoes barked as they approached the camp. Fisher jumped out of the cart and ran up to them.
The dogs sniffed and circled each other, stiffly, then wagged their tails like old friends.
A man came up the path. He stood tall and straight, his beard flecked with grey.
Tom greeted him in a language Poppy didn’t understand.The man pointed to her.
‘Ngani nhalaya?’
Tom spoke then he turned and said, ‘He want to know who you are. I tell him you live at big house. Come, say hello.’
Poppy clambered over the side, leaning on her stick. The man looked at her with clear, direct eyes. Then a woman joined them. She had a warm face and Poppy imagined her Napu standing there. She had never known her mother. Could she have looked like this woman? It was then Poppy noticed a bandage around the woman’s arm. She was the one who had been shot! Poppy was so happy she wanted to rush up and hug her. They had escaped the white men on their horses.
‘Kalinya maan,’ the woman said softly, stroking Poppy’s face with long fingers.
Poppy felt as if she should understand. It sounded like she was saying her name. But wait. I’m supposed to be a boy and Kalinya means pretty. Poppy tugged the brim of her hat down.
‘Aunty say you beautiful girl,’ Tom said, eyes laughing at her. Several other members of the group had come over by then.
‘Girl!’ Poppy said. ‘I’m no girl, I’m a boy.’
Tom translated and one man shouted ‘Yathapka!’ They all laughed.
Tom smiled at her, a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Poppy hadn’t seen him laugh like this in all the time she had known him.
‘Don’t need pretend here,’ he said. ‘When I see you caught in trap, I know. But up at big house, they not know. And not my business to tell them.’
Aunty smiled and took her hand, and tears sprang to Poppy’s eyes. She looked away. It had taken so much effort to keep up her disguise. Perhaps, at last, in the company of these people she could speak the truth and be herself – Kalinya, mission girl from Bird Creek.
‘Mulanmuk ngina?’ Aunty said, making movements with her hand like she was putting food into her mouth.
Poppy nodded.
Aunty led her to the fire and sat her down. They were in a clearing and there was the sound of a stream. Behind was a humpy made from logs, bark and branches. Poppy smelled meat cooking but where was it coming from? There was nothing on the fire in front of them. She looked around.
On one side of the clearing was a large tree trunk lying angled on a mound of clay, with smouldering coals at one end.
Aunty beckoned Poppy to follow her. She lifted a large piece of bark, covering a hole in the tree, and gestured for Poppy to peer into the hollow log.There was meat inside.
‘Gaiyimar,’ Aunty said, shaping her hand into a kangaroo. She replaced the bark over the opening and covered it with clay.Then she added wood to the coals at the end and fanned it. It caught, the fire flared and the smoke passed up through the log, coming out the other end.
When they returned to the fire, Tom had unloaded the cart. There was sugar, fruit, flour and eggs laid out on a woven mat on the ground. And a sultana cake that Mary had baked.
As they sat down, the dogs began barking. Then Fisher appeared through the undergrowth, a big fish in his mouth.
‘Smart baka, eh?’ said Tom, chuckling and rocking back on his heels.
‘Come here, Fish. Good boy,’ Poppy said. ‘Fisher kept me alive all those days on the road, didn’t you, boy?’
Fisher dropped the fish at Poppy’s feet.
‘This is for you, Aunty,’ Poppy smiled. ‘A present, from Fisher and me.’
Aunty’s eyes lit up. ‘He good. My baka, no good.’ She pretended to give her dogs a kick, but they only ran two steps then looked back, tails wagging.
The fire was warm, the tea strong and bitter. Aunty broke off pieces of Mary’s sultana cake and shared it around. Poppy sat back, watching the men’s faces as they talked.
This is how it should be, with a home and a family. She sighed.
Poppy was far away in her thoughts when she realised that everyone had gone silent and was looking at her.
‘A mission boy,’ she heard Tom say.
Poppy stared at him.
‘They say a boy. He stay a while. Name Moyhu.They say he look like you.’
�
�That’s my brother!’ Poppy was on her feet now using a trunk to support her. ‘How long ago was he here?’
‘They say not long.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
Tom turned to Uncle then back to Poppy.
‘He say, Wahgunyah.’
Poppy pushed herself away from the tree and limped towards the cart. ‘I have to go now, Tom. I have to find him.’
‘You go off on road again with that bad leg, you die. It still weak.’
Tom was right. Poppy held back tears. For the time being, she would not be leaving Summerhill.
POPPY and Noni came through the stable doors, their faces flushed with sunshine. Poppy had been out watching Noni in the paddock taking her pony, Fifi, over jumps.
‘When your ankle’s better I’m going to teach you to ride, Kal.’ Noni grinned.
Poppy didn’t like the sound of that. Horses were big, and unpredictable. And that wild-eyed Gideon looked at her suspiciously every time she passed his stall. Even with a piece of apple, Noni couldn’t coax him to be nice. ‘I don’t know why Papa keeps him,’ she had told Poppy. ‘He’s a nasty horse and no amount of training will rid him of that. The only person he trusts is Tom.’
‘Why did your father buy him, then?’ Poppy had asked.
‘He was a birthday present for Joe. Joe saw him at the horse sales and pestered and pestered. He imagined himself on this magnificent horse. He didn’t care how bad tempered he was. Just like my brother to want to show off like that. Ha! Gideon’s the only horse Joe hasn’t been able to ride and he’s too proud to admit it.’
‘You mean no one can ride him?’ Poppy asked.
‘No. Not even Tom. Can you pass me that brush?’ Noni said as she slung Fifi’s saddle over the gate.
As Poppy reached across for the brush hanging from a hook on the post, she noticed the door to her room ajar. That’s strange. I always close it when I leave, she thought.
Climbing down off the stall fence, Poppy took up her walking stick and limped through the stable to her room. Fisher trotted ahead and pushed open the door with his nose.
The hinges whined. Fisher’s head dropped and he growled, a low menacing growl.
Poppy rushed forward.
When she reached the room she saw Joe sitting on her bed. Her heart leapt to her throat. He had emptied everything out of her satchel onto the blanket and was now fingering the Tear Jar, about to take off the lid.
‘Stop! ‘Poppy shouted, lunging at him as best she could on her injured leg. ‘Give it to me!’ She grabbed the precious Tear Jar, gripping it in one hand. She was so angry she wanted to hit Joe with her stick. But she stepped back, breathing slowly to regain control.
Joe grinned. ‘What is that?’ he asked. ‘And this?’ He held up the seed, the tiny red heart the crow had dropped into her palm at Bird Creek.
At that moment Noni entered the room. Her eyes narrowed when she saw what Joe had been up to. ‘How dare you go through Kal’s things!’ she yelled.
‘Are you too stupid to see it? There’s something strange about him.That jar, this seed, and this letter with strange symbols written all over it.’ Joe whipped the letter from his trouser pocket.
Poppy gasped.
‘Give that back, Joe!’ Noni shouted.
‘Why? Is it some kind of black magic? Are you a devil worshipper?’ He stepped forward. ‘Is Kal even your real name?’
Noni looked from Joe to Poppy. For a moment she wavered, unsure. Then she said, ‘That’s none of your business. I’m going to tell Father.’ And she ran from the room.
Poppy hurled herself at Joe but she was slow with her bad leg and he dodged around her. Then he too ran out into the stables, leaving Poppy breathless with rage. How could she ever have felt sorry for this hateful boy?
When she finally caught up to him he had stopped at the manure pile. Two narrow brick walls held all the horse manure from the cleaning of the stables. It must have been collected not long before, because the manure was fresh, steaming, soft and stinking.
Facing Poppy with a malicious grin, Joe held one arm back, her precious letter suspended over the pile, daring her to come and get it.
Poppy edged forward but there was nothing she could do. If she got too close, Joe would drop the letter.
A low growl came from Fisher. Then he suddenly lunged forward, his front paws landing on Joe’s shoulders, pushing him backwards into the slop. Poppy grabbed the letter from his fingers just in time.
‘Joseph, what is going on here?’ Mr Bell approached with long strides, Noni at his heels.
When Noni saw her brother struggling to pull himself out of the manure pile, she burst out laughing.
Poppy had to stifle a grin.
Mr Bell took Joe’s clean hand and hauled him up, taking care to keep away from his manure-covered son. ‘Noni told me what you did. You have no right going through someone else’s belongings.’
Joe glared at Noni. ‘I don’t trust him, Father. That letter looks like some kind of black magic.’
Mr Bell glanced across at the letter in Poppy’s hand. ‘It’s written in Chinese, Joseph,’ he said. ‘Nothing sinister about that.’
Poppy stepped forward. ‘Can you read Chinese, Mr Bell?’ There was an urgency in her voice.
‘No, but I’ve seen enough Chinese notices pinned up at Tocumwal to know what language it’s written in. I see you have Jimmy Ah Kew’s seal on that letter of yours.’
‘Jimmy Ah Kew?’ Poppy said.
‘He cleared some land for me. He often puts up advertisements at the post office looking for men to work for him up in Wahgunyah.’
A smile came upon Poppy’s face. Jimmy Ah Kew. Jimmy Ah Kew. It was as if a wind had blown away the dust and leaves and sent them swirling, leaving a clean shining pathway for her to follow. ‘That’s where I was heading, Mr Bell, when I got caught in the dingo trap. I’m going to work for him in Wahgunyah.’
Mr Bell nodded. ‘He’s a good man,’ he said. ‘He’ll work you hard, but he’s a fair man.’
‘You could stay and work for us, couldn’t he, Papa?’ Noni offered, hopefully.
‘That’s up to Kal.’ Mr Bell turned to Joe. ‘All right, young man. You’re coming with me.’ And he took Joe by the ear and marched him up to the big house.
FISHER lay his head on the bed, whimpering softly.
Poppy rolled over. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You want your breakfast.’
He thumped his tail on the dirt floor.
Poppy dressed, picked up her walking stick and hobbled through the stables. Gideon’s ears were pressed flat against his head, a warning for her to keep away.
‘What happened to you, Gideon?’ she said to the horse. ‘Did some people treat you mean? You have a beautiful home. You are fed well and you could have lots of friends if you wanted to. Poor Gideon,’ she sighed.
Poppy told Fisher to wait outside while she went into the kitchen where she now ate all her meals.
Standing in front of the stove, Mary was stirring a great pot with a wooden spoon.
‘Morning, Miss Mary,’ Poppy said.
The housekeeper jumped and spun around, gravy dripping off her spoon onto the stone floor. ‘Don’t sneak up on me like that, child. You just took ten years off my life.’
‘Sorry,’ Poppy said. ‘Do you have any scraps for Fisher?’
Mary stepped away from the stove, wiped her hands on her apron and nodded towards a tin on the floor. ‘That’s for your dog.’
It wasn’t much, just a few offcuts, mostly fat really, but Poppy didn’t dare ask for more. Mary could be quite fearsome at times. Poppy walked outside and laid the scraps on the ground. Fisher snapped them up greedily, then looked up waiting for more.
‘That’s all for now, Fish.’ Then in a whisper she said, ‘I’ll try and sneak you some of mine.’
Poppy went back inside and sat at the table.
‘Have you washed your hands, boy?’ Mary took Poppy by the wrists, turned her hands over and insp
ected them. ‘My goodness you are a skinny lad. Aren’t you almost the same age as Master Joe?’
Poppy nodded.
‘No wonder Miss Noni says we should fatten you up. They mustn’t have fed you much where you came from. I’ve never asked where that might be because I don’t think it any of my business. But I hope you’re not in any trouble. The master and the missus are good, kind Christian people.’
‘I’m not in any trouble, Miss Mary, really I’m not,’ Poppy replied hastily. ‘And besides, me and Fish are leaving as soon as my ankle is better. My brother is waiting for me. He found a big lump of gold and has built a house on a hill looking over a valley.’ Poppy didn’t feel bad any longer about saying something that wasn’t entirely true. It was just moving the future backward to today.
Instead of porridge for breakfast like Poppy was used to having at Bird Creek, Mary ladled rich brown pieces of meat with carrots and potatoes onto a plate.
The stew was delicious and tender. Mary told her she’d been cooking it since the early hours of the morning. Poppy mopped up the gravy with fresh bread and was about to hide some slices in her pocket for Fisher when the housekeeper turned around and frowned at her.
‘Kal! Come here!’ a voice outside called.
It was Joe.
‘Get along with you now,’ Mary said, taking the plate over to the trough. ‘Young master is calling and you know he got no patience.’
What could he want? Poppy wondered. But she knew whatever it was, it could only mean trouble.
When she opened the kitchen door she saw Joe holding the reins of two horses. ‘I thought you’d like to go for a ride,’ he said. ‘I saddled up Gideon for you.’
Poppy’s stomach clenched. She eyed Gideon who was stomping and biting the bit. Foam flecked his mouth and his nostrils flared.
‘I … I … I don’t know how to ride,’ Poppy said.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. It’s very important that someone rides Gideon. He gets bored if he doesn’t get exercised.’
‘You ride him, then.’ She looked Joe straight in the eye. ‘Noni told me how he keeps throwing you off. Come on, Fish.’
Poppy at Summerhill Page 3
