by Mary Arrigan
‘No,’ Grandpa insisted. ‘Cook, yes. But,’ he paused, and shuffled a bit, ‘Patrick wouldn’t like the other work,’ he muttered. ‘Not now, when we have help.’
Well, his mention of Papa silenced all of us. I looked at Mama and tried to remember her as she was before all our troubles, with her hair neat, her clothes clean and elegant, her hands white and her face serene. Now the sun had etched deep lines in her face, her hair had faded to a brownish-grey, and her shoulders were stooped from work and anxiety. For the first time I realised she was worn out. I was shocked, and I also felt guilty. Papa’s last words to me had been to look after Mama. I wanted to reach out and hug her. But I couldn’t – I would have felt awkward. Mama had never been the hugging sort – except when I was ill.
‘He’s right, Mama,’ I said. ‘We’re managing well enough. We have a routine and the work is not so bad.’
May picked up on my words. ‘That’s true, Mrs Maher,’ she said. ‘We’re doing well, me, Esty and Mike. We keep John Joe supplied with gravel at the creek while Mr Maher hammers away down the shaft.’
Mama sniffed. ‘Well, if that’s how you all feel,’ she said, getting up from the log seat John Joe had made for her. ‘I’ll just take my old bones to bed.’
I looked at Grandpa’s face. It was stamped with uncertainty and embarrassment.
‘You’re right, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘Mama is exhausted. She’ll come round to our way of thinking.’
‘Do you think so?’ he asked. ‘She wasn’t cut out for this, Esty. She’s had enough hardship during the past couple of years. But,’ he added, looking at me with a grin, ‘you’re a fiery madam who can take all life’s knocks and bounce back. I know that, for sure.’
‘And that’s the truth,’ said May. ‘It’s thanks to you we’re not all lying dead in a hole in the ground back home.’
Now I was embarrassed by their words. ‘Instead, we’re half-dead from shifting muck from a hole in the ground,’ I joked.
It was much later that night that I heard hushed voices outside. I peeped under the canvas and saw Grandpa and John Joe silhouetted against the dying campfire. I strained to hear what they were saying, but could only make out disjointed words – Peter Lalor … protest … licence fees … corruption … I was too tired to make any sense of it. Besides, we had found our first gold and good things were happening.
‘All’s right with the world, Papa,’ I whispered to the Southern Cross, partly visible through the top flap we left open at nights to let in the cool air.
But my optimism was soon to be shattered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Some days later, Mike cut his hand on a piece of jagged stone. He tried to staunch the flow of blood by tucking his hand under his arm.
‘Go up to our tent, lad,’ urged Grandpa. ‘Ask Mrs Maher to clean and bind that wound. Go on, now,’ he added, when Mike began to protest. ‘Can’t have you bleeding to death in our digging.’
Mike did as he was told. We were surprised when he didn’t come back before we finished for the evening.
‘Must have been a bad gash,’ said Grandpa, as we made our way through the camp. ‘Knowing your Mama, she’s probably feeding him some of that delicious dinner I’m smelling.’
But when we reached our tent, there was no sign of Mike.
‘Where have you hidden the boy?’ asked Grandpa.
‘What do you mean?’ Mama looked puzzled as she set out dishes on the wooden table Grandpa had made. ‘What boy?’
‘Mike,’ said John Joe, washing his hands in the basin outside the tent.
‘Mike?’ said Mama. ‘What about him?’
‘We sent him to you,’ replied Grandpa. ‘He cut his hand and I sent him to you to clean the cut and bandage it. A lad like that wouldn’t know how to deal with an injury.’
Mama ladled out the stew. ‘He didn’t come,’ she said. ‘But perhaps he came while I was in town. I went in for fresh vegetables and bread. Oh, and I met Rose. She took me to their place and gave me some mutton left over from yesterday. She refused to take any money – she said the mutton has to be used up before it goes off.’
‘So where did he get to?’ Grandpa interrupted, looking around.
‘The little rascal,’ laughed May. ‘He’s probably skived off and is lazing around somewhere.’
‘Hm. Didn’t strike me as the lazy type,’ Grandpa grunted, as he dipped his spoon into his stew. We forgot about Mike as we ate the welcoming meal.
As soon as it was dark, John Joe took his leave again.
‘Off to see the fine ladies of Ballarat?’ sniffed May.
John Joe laughed. ‘Nothing so flighty, May,’ he said. ‘Women don’t belong where I’m going.’
‘So is it bare-knuckle fighting or something nasty like that, then?’ May went on. We’d heard that such sports were held in the seedier parts of the camp, especially near the sly-grog tents.
‘There might be fighting involved in time to come,’ John Joe answered enigmatically. ‘Fighting for justice, that is.’ A knowing look passed between him and Grandpa.
Grandpa shook his head. ‘There must be a better way,’ he began.
‘No, Mr Maher,’ said John Joe. ‘The diggers are meeting.’
‘Oh, give it a rest, John Joe,’ I put in. ‘We’ve been working so hard, can’t we just take it easy? This will all end, you’ll see.’
‘We’ll all see, Esty,’ he said, ‘soon enough.’
Grandpa went off to smoke his pipe with some of the nearby diggers whom we’d got to know. Most of them had left wives and families in their own countries until they’d made enough money to bring them over to Australia. They teased Grandpa for having three women to look after him – especially Mama with her cooking. I was surprised to see that she had taken up sewing again.
‘What are you making?’ I asked, when we’d cleared the dishes away.
Mama shook out a short length of fabric. ‘A flag,’ she replied.
‘A flag?’ said May, leaning closer to inspect. ‘What do you want a flag for, Mrs Maher?.’
‘It’s a flag for the top of our tent,’ said Mama. ‘Have you noticed that all the other tents have flags? They have different designs on them, so that the post can be delivered.’
‘Are we expecting post, Mama?’ I asked. ‘Who’d be writing to us?’
Mama smiled, as she bent over her needlework again. ‘I’ve written home,’ she said. ‘I sent a letter from the Post Office a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Did you?’ I exclaimed. We hadn’t talked about home much. I suppose we wanted to forget the misery we’d left behind, and we felt guilty because we’d escaped all the horror there.
Mama looked up at me. ‘I’ve written to Mrs Casey because you told me so many times on board ship how good she was to you.’
‘But Mama,’ I said gently. ‘Mrs Casey can’t read.’
‘I know that, Esty,’ Mama replied. ‘I’ve sent it to Mr Egan, your grandpa’s friend at the Burgesses. I know he’ll take the letter to her and read it. And I know he’ll write down her news to send back here to us. So that’s why I’m making this flag – to identify us.’
‘And what address did you put on top of the letter, Mama? What will they write on the envelope to reach us here?’
Mama smiled and held out the fabric. ‘See?’ she pointed at a half-finished symbol. ‘The bridge on the road to Lord Craythorn’s,’ she said with pride. ‘The bridge you had to cross to get our passage here. Don’t you think a bridge is significant? We’ve crossed the bridge of a whole ocean. So the address I put was Mahers, Bridge End, because that’s what will be embroidered under the design. And that’s what will be on the envelope when a letter comes: Mahers, Bridge End, Sovereign Hill, Ballarat, Colony of Victoria, Australia,’ she said, holding out the needlework in front of her.
Mrs Casey: memories came flooding back to me and I shivered. I wanted to shut that part of my life away. But if I were to hold on to one memory, it would certainly be Mrs Casey.
> ‘By the way, May,’ said Mama. ‘Speaking of letters, I have something for you from the Bakers.’
‘For me?’ said May, her eyes wide with surprise.
Mama picked up her bag and took out a letter. May looked at it for a moment before taking it.
‘Go on, May,’ I said. ‘It won’t bite.’ I was as curious as she was.
‘Why is Rose writing to May?’ I asked teasingly.
May put the letter in her pocket and grinned at me. ‘It’s for me to know and you to find out,’ she said.
‘Aren’t you going to read it, May?’ Mama put in. ‘It’s from Adam,’
May looked from Mama to me. ‘In my own good time,’ she replied. ‘Just because you taught me to read, Esty, doesn’t mean you can see my private correspondence.’
Mama and I both laughed.
Grandpa came back and tapped out his pipe on a log.
‘Those four English boys,’ he chuckled. ‘Beans and bread, beans and bread. No wonder they think we’re spoiled over here. Your cooking is the envy of the camp, Kate.’
Mama smiled and looked up from her sewing. ‘Well, why don’t we invite them to supper tomorrow evening?’
‘Splendid,’ said Grandpa enthusiastically. ‘I’ll get some money and you can buy an extra bit of mutton – and this time Rose must let you pay. Don’t worry,’ he went on, as Mama began to protest about the cost. ‘There’s still money left from our find. We haven’t touched the licence fee money.’
He bent down and crept under the wagon to the hidden place where we kept our money box. Mama turned back to her sewing.
We jumped, when Grandpa swore and began to frantically search underneath the wagon, shaking it and tapping the axles.
‘What is it, Father?’ asked Mama, dropping her sewing. ‘What’s wrong?’
I could see, even in the firelight, that Grandpa’s face was white.
‘It’s gone,’ he said. ‘Our money’s gone!’
Chapter Twenty-Six
We lit torches and searched the area all around the camp, but there was no sign of our precious box. It was May who spotted the faint bloodstains beside one of the wagon wheels. We looked at one another, stunned. Mike!
‘I can’t believe he’d do that,’ whispered Mama. ‘I can’t believe Mike would rob us.’
Grandpa eased himself on to a log and covered his face with his hands. ‘It’s gone,’ he said. ‘No matter who took it, our money is gone.’
‘Maybe if we look further,’ I said. ‘We could ask…’
Grandpa shook his head. ‘No good, lass,’ he said. ‘I’ll go across to the tent he shares with his brother, but I don’t hold out much hope. If Mike has stolen it, then he’s hardly likely to stay around.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. But Grandpa put out his hand to stop me
‘Best if I deal with this alone, Esty. We have to be careful we don’t make wrongful accusations.’
‘But, Mr Maher,’ May butted in. ‘There are bloodstains around the wagon. It stands to reason that Mike came to have his cut dressed, found nobody here and helped himself to the money. He must have seen you take money from the box to pay his wages. How else would he know where we keep our cash?’
Grandpa shook his head again and moved away through the maze of tents and huts. Mama, May and I were too shocked to do anything except keep up a search that we knew in our hearts would be fruitless. Finally, Mama eased herself up on to her feet.
‘There’s no point, girls,’ she said. ‘The box didn’t accidentally fall from its hiding-place and walk away. It was taken.’
The three of us waited silently for Grandpa to come back.
‘Maybe Mr Maher has found that lad,’ May said eventually. ‘Maybe the young thief thought he’d get away with it…’
‘No, May,’ said Mama wearily. ‘If he were clever enough to steal, then he’d be clever enough to get away as far as he could.’
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ I said. ‘Here he comes.’ I knew by Grandpa’s stooped, defeated gait that the news would be bad. He shook his head as he drew near.
‘As I thought,’ he said, sitting down. ‘His brother says he hasn’t had sight of him since he left for work this morning.’
‘Perhaps he’s covering up for him, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘He could be hiding Mike somewhere…’
‘No,’ Grandpa put in. ‘I believe him, Esty. He’s puzzled, just like us. He seems a decent sort and I believe him.’
‘Well, I suppose he’s not responsible for his brother,’ said Mama. ‘Still, family loyalty is a strong thing, Father. People will say anything to protect their own.’
‘I’m telling you, Kate,’ said Grandpa with a hint of annoyance, ‘the boy was telling me the truth. Trust me, I’ve been long enough on this earth to know the difference between truth and lies.’
‘Indeed, Father,’ replied Mama gently. ‘But you also trusted Mike, didn’t you?’
Grandpa gave a sigh. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘And I made a mistake, it seems. Look, why don’t we all get some rest? There’s little point in pondering this … this catastrophe. Go!’ he shouted, when Mama tried to say something.
Mama was visibly shocked, as were May and I. In all my life and through all of our ups and downs here and in Ireland, Grandpa had never once raised his voice like this. Silently, Mama made her way to the tent. May looked as if she wanted to say something, but changed her mind and followed. I looked at Grandpa, his face furrowed in the light of the fire. I wanted so much to comfort him, but what can you offer a man who has just lost everything? So, with a brief backward glance, I followed the others.
‘He’s not angry with you, Mama,’ I said. ‘He’s just upset with himself. This is the most awful thing that could happen.’
‘I know, Esty,’ Mama sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen to us now.’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Maher,’ said May. ‘We found some gold. We’ll surely find some more before the next licence fee is due.’
‘Thank you, May,’ Mama forced a smile. ‘That’s our only hope. I can’t bear to think what will become of us if that fails.’
I was too numb to try and give her an answer. Anyway, there was none to give. I waited until I thought the other two were asleep before stealing out of my bed and picking up my shawl.
‘Where are you going, child?’
I froze. ‘I’m just going outside for a moment, Mama,’ I replied. ‘It’s so stuffy in here, and I can’t sleep.’
‘You want to talk to Grandpa, is that it?’ Mama whispered. ‘Perhaps he’s best left alone, Esty. He’s angry.’
‘It’s all right,’ I whispered back. ‘I’ll just see how he is. If he sends me away, I won’t argue.’
Grandpa was staring into the fire, his arms resting on his knees, his hands clenching and unclenching. I said nothing, just sat down beside him.
‘This is a bad thing, Esty,’ he murmured. ‘A bad, bad thing.’
‘We might find more gold,’ I said, echoing May’s optimism. ‘We still have time, Grandpa.’
He turned to look at me, and I was shocked to see the despair in his eyes. I wanted to hug him and make everything all right – but that was just being childish.
‘That’s the trouble,’ he said, with a slight shake in his voice. ‘The Commissioner has stepped up the licence inspection to twice a week.’
‘Twice a week!’
Grandpa nodded. ‘This is why the miners are meeting every evening, to protest at the crippling fees and the increasing demands, and the fact that they have no vote and therefore no rights. That’s where John Joe goes all the time. He keeps me informed. There’s going to be trouble, Esty, and I worry about your safety and your mama and May. And now this…’ he gestured towards the wagon. ‘It’s all hopeless. It’s my fault. I should have split the money up into smaller sums and put them in several different hiding places.’
‘It’s not your fault, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘How were you to know Mike was a thief?’
Grandpa was shaking his head. ‘I didn’t know, Esty. How could I have known, or even suspected? You knew the lad. He seemed honest and hard-working – one of our own, an Irish lad.’ He shook his head again and looked into the fire. ‘Robbed by one of our own.’
A voice cut into our subdued conversation.
‘Why are you two up so late?’ It was John Joe, guiding his horse into the small compound where we kept both horses. ‘It’s past midnight.’
Then he sat and faced Grandpa. ‘The diggers are getting furious, Mr Maher,’ he said. ‘Some want immediate action – a full confrontation, but Peter Lalor is insisting on a peaceful protest to get our message across to the authorities. Me, I’d prefer to go in with my fists and make them listen to us.’ He leaned closer to Grandpa. ‘Are you listening, Mr Maher?’
Grandpa raised his eyes wearily and looked at John Joe. ‘We’re finished, lad,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We have nothing.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Grandpa’s anger was nothing compared to John Joe’s. When Grandpa told him of our loss, he jumped up in a rage and clenched his fists.
‘I’ll search for him, Mr Maher,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll find him and drag him back. He’ll pay for this.’
‘Sit down, John Joe,’ said Grandpa, as John Joe made a move to get his horse again. ‘There’s no point. He’ll be well gone by now and there’s no knowing which direction he’s gone in. Besides, it’s more important that you’re here to work with us. More than ever, we’re relying on making a find before that lot come here again for the licence. After that…’ He sighed, and gazed into the fire.
We went to the diggings before daybreak the next morning in the hope of making a find. Grandpa had warned us not to mention our loss to anyone. ‘There are thieving rascals out there,’ he said. ‘People who’d be glad of our predicament and try to buy us out for a pittance. We’re not giving up yet,’ he added grimly.
With every tap of the hammer and with every gravel-washing at the creek, we held our breath. But by late evening there was no find. John Joe wanted to keep on working. He said he’d work through the night, but Grandpa insisted that it was more important to rest.
