Meet Poppy

by Gabrielle Wang

  From her sleeve she took out a small cylinder of Lucifer sticks wrapped in a handkerchief, removed one and struck it against the rough bottom of the tin. Then she looked around the cellar for the chest of drawers Gus had told her about. There it was, over by the far wall behind the pillar.

  Poppy worked quickly now. Using her shoulder, she shoved the chest of drawers out of the way. She could feel a slight breeze blowing in her face. It was coming from the trapdoor.

  The bolt was stiff at first, but then it slid across easily, and with a sharp pull the door opened.

  A rush of air blew into the stuffy cellar. Now all she had to do was be patient, listen, and wait until dark.

  At last, everything above her was quiet. Poppy guessed the time was about ten o’clock because that’s when Alice and Charley went to bed. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She crawled through the trapdoor and into the well. Then, standing on tiptoes, she carefully lifted the wooden lid and climbed out.

  Moonlight washed over Poppy as she breathed in the cool night air. She opened her arms. She felt different, like a girl who had lived her whole life inside a dark box, and now it had been magically opened.

  Poppy gazed up at the stars. The sky had never looked this big before. An owl hooted, hoooo woooo, reminding her there was no time to waste. She needed to carry out the next part of her plan.

  The washhouse was a cold stone building with a long trough. Poppy lit the paraffin lamp beside the trough. Shadows stretched and danced on the walls and ceiling.

  ‘Goodbye, Poppy,’ she whispered, looking into one of the small mirrors that sat on the mildewed ledge. Taking a knife from under her shawl, Poppy lifted it to her head and began hacking at her hair.

  It was a bad haircut, the knife was blunt. But good enough to pass for a boy, she thought. Poppy would be less likely to attract attention as a boy, particularly while travelling alone. And people might be less likely to take advantage of her, too. Poppy could only hope. She looked in the mirror again and smiled. It could have been Gus staring back at her. She had never realised how alike they were.

  ‘Hello, Kal,’ she said, practising her boy voice. ‘You are a handsome fellow. Just call me Master Kal, if you don’t mind.’ She put on a lopsided grin.

  With a broom and shovel, Poppy swept up her hair and buried it in the vegetable garden. Then she walked to the Spirit Tree, where earlier that day she had hidden Bartholomew’s clothes in Charley’s old leather satchel. Inside it she had placed a canvas water sack, a loaf of bread, cheese, carrots, the Tear Jar, the little red heart seed, several coins she had taken from Mother Hangtree’s desk drawer, the letter with strange Chinese symbols, and now the knife and cylinder of Lucifer sticks.

  Poppy changed quickly.

  How odd it feels to wear pants, she thought, as she bent down to roll up the cuffs. It was as if her legs were wrapped up like two tight parcels. She put on a shirt, vest, jacket, socks and heavy lace-up boots. Luckily she and Bartholomew were roughly the same size. Lastly, she tied a red kerchief around her neck and placed a hat on her head.

  ‘Time to hit the road, Kal,’ she whispered as she picked up her old clothes and hid them behind some bushes. Then without looking back, Poppy set off down the driveway towards the open track.

  POPPY hurried under the archway of towering gums, down the rutted track. She kept her eyes fixed on the way ahead, while her ears listened for pursuers behind. The moon shone like a beacon above, and it was as if she fled over white silk between the tall trunks of the gums. On both sides they stood, like ghostly columns leading to a Pharaoh’s tomb.

  Soon she was out of the trees and treading under the black dome of the sky. The moon smiled down on her. It seemed almost close enough to touch. She stopped and looked up. Above Poppy’s head hung four bright stars in the shape of a diamond. With her finger, she drew an imaginary cross between them.

  In The Book of Knowledge it said that no matter where you stood in the Southern Hemisphere, this group of stars called the Southern Cross always pointed south. It was the sky’s own compass. And so, like the three wise men following the star to Bethlehem, Poppy decided to use the Southern Cross to guide her to the goldfields in the east. Gus had said he would go to Beechworth, so that’s where she was headed.

  Her plan was to reach Echuca on the Murray River where paddlesteamers carried supplies to towns near the goldfields. If she followed the waterbirds, she was sure to find the river. How often had she seen them flying like white ribbons in the sky? How often had she wished she could follow them?

  Poppy thought of Blossom and Juniper and little Daisy. She thought of all the children at Bird Creek – her brothers and sisters. As tears sprang to her eyes, she bit the insides of her cheeks until they hurt.

  She knew that if she was going to make it to the goldfields, she would have to be brave and smart and learn quickly.

  You have to keep your mind in front of you, not behind, she told herself.

  Poppy travelled all through the night. She wanted to get as far away from Bird Creek as she possibly could. Even dressed as a boy, the police might still be suspicious of her and guess that she was a runaway from the Aboriginal orphanage and send her back.

  By the time the sun’s rays appeared on the horizon, Poppy was exhausted. At last she could sleep. She stepped off the track, climbed into a hollow under an old log, and fell fast asleep.

  When she awoke, the sun was directly overhead making her feel hungry and thirsty. She drank from her waterbag and ate a slice of bread with cheese. A flock of geese, their necks outstretched, honked overhead.

  How wonderful it would be to fly with you, Poppy thought with a sigh. She stood up, placed her satchel over her shoulder and headed in the same direction.

  The track meandered through forests of gums. Shadows danced under her feet while the air throbbed with the shrill song of cicadas. Sometimes a breeze blew down the track and Poppy would take off her hat and spread her arms, letting the cool wind wash over her. Remembering what Gus had told the children about the sap-sucking bugs on the gum leaves, she scraped off the delicious honey flavour with her teeth. She thought of Gus and where he might be now, and how he might have walked along this very same track. She could almost feel the warmth of his footsteps beneath her.

  At the sound of rumbling wheels, Poppy glanced over her shoulder. A man was driving a wagon drawn by two huge grey bullocks. Oh no, too late to hide. She moved to the side of the track, keeping her eyes straight ahead of her.

  As the wagon passed, Poppy held her breath. But to her relief, the driver paid her no heed. The man was fast asleep! He wore a red bushy beard, a blue serge shirt and an old hat with holes in the rim. The reins were loosely wound around one hand and his chin was resting on his chest.

  Poppy’s eyes lit up as an idea came to her. The back of the wagon was loaded with sacks and barrels. But there was still enough space for a small thin girl and her worldly possessions.

  Quick as a bandicoot, Poppy caught up to the wagon and scrambled onto the back. Not even people coming up behind can see me, she thought as she slid down behind two sacks.

  Soon the rocking motion of the cart sent Poppy off to sleep again. This time Napu was cradling her in her long brown arms. And the turning of the wheels was Napu’s soft voice winding through her sleep.

  But that voice became louder and harsher, and she awoke to the words, ‘Oi! What the divil are ye doing there?’

  Poppy sat up startled, rubbing her eyes. The wagon driver was peering down at her, his long red beard tickling her face. She scratched it away and sat up.

  ‘Frank O’Reilly don’t give nobody a free lift, not even these blasted flies.’ He slapped at a fly that had landed on his cheek, then flicked the dead body away.

  ‘Um … sorry, sir.’ Then remembering that she was supposed to be a boy, Poppy changed her tone of voice. ‘Mister, I was just heading for the river, I didn’t mean no harm. I’ll get off here. And thank you for the ride.’

  Poppy cl
imbed out of the wagon, put her satchel over her shoulder, and began walking, hoping the man wouldn’t call her back.

  ‘Stop there, boy!’ he shouted. He drew the wagon up alongside her. ‘Ye’ll not get away as easy as that, me lad. No, indeed. Ye owe me fer how long I carried ye.’

  Poppy’s heart sank. She had nothing to pay him with, only the few coins she had taken from Mother Hangtree’s desk.

  He patted the seat beside him. ‘A bullocky’s life can be a lonely one, lad. Get up here and pay me with some local scandal, ye must have some.’

  She looked up at the man, suspiciously at first. Then she saw his open smile and his eyes that spoke the truth.

  ‘Me name’s Frank O’Reilly. Where do ye hail from, lad? Are ye a mission boy, then?’

  ‘I grew up on one but now my big brother is going to find gold and build a house and I’m gonna go live with him,’ Poppy replied. She liked the sound of Frank O’Reilly’s lilting voice. It was as though he was singing a song.

  ‘Live with yer brother, eh? ’Tis good to have a family. What’s yer name, then?’

  ‘Kal, sir,’ Poppy answered.

  ‘And where ye be headin’, Kal?’

  ‘I need to get to the Murray River then travel east to the goldfields, where my brother is.’

  ‘That be a long walk fer a slight young lad,’ Frank O’Reilly said, looking at her more closely.

  Poppy scratched her face just in case he looked too closely and could tell she was a girl. ‘I’m gonna get one of them paddlesteamers,’ she said. ‘Do you know which town I should get off at?’

  ‘Let me see now.’ Frank O’Reilly stroked his beard. ‘The first town you come to is Tocumwal, the only place for miles. But it’s on the other side of the river. If ye be wantin’ to go to the goldfields at Rutherglen and Beechworth, then ye’d be needin’ to get off at the port of Wahgunyah.’

  ‘Can you spell that for me, Mister?’

  Frank O’Reilly sat back and laughed. ‘I’m afraid old Frank never went to school. Just remember, Wah … gun … yah.’

  Poppy repeated the words in her head.

  ‘I’ll not be goin’ as far as the river but I can take ye almost there. I’m bringin’ these supplies to the train, which will carry them all the way to Melbourne town. The railroad will put us ol’ bullockies out o’ business, that it will,’ Frank O’Reilly said. ‘Do ye want to come with me, lad? It sure be a sight to behold.’

  Poppy had read about trains and seen an illustration of one in The Book of Knowledge. It looked like a big metal snake with a huge head. But as much as she wanted to see one with her own eyes, she had to follow her plan. She had no time to lose if she wanted to find Gus.

  ‘No, thank you, sir. I have to meet my brother, who’s waiting for me.’

  ‘Oh well, maybe next time then.’ Frank O’Reilly began tapping his foot and whistling a tune.

  ‘Where’s that song from? It’s nice,’ Poppy said.

  ‘Ireland. It’s me homeland.’ Frank O’Reilly sighed. ‘It’s a grand place and I miss it something terrible.’

  ‘So why don’t you go back there? Nobody’s making you stay here.’

  ‘Half the people in Ireland have starved to death, poor souls, includin’ me mudder and fadder. That’s what brought me here in the first place.’

  Poppy wanted to tell him that she had no parents either. But she kept it to herself and watched the clouds gathering up ahead.

  ‘Come on ye ould tings. Get along with ye.’ Frank O’Reilly slapped the reins.

  Some hours later they came to a crossroad.

  ‘Whoa,’ Frank said and reined in the bullocks. ‘I’ll be headin’ that way now so I’ll set ye down here. The river’s over there a bit.’ He reached beside the seat and pulled out a strip of dried meat. ‘I won’t be needin’ this no more. So take it. ’Tis a long way ye have to travel.’

  ‘Thanks, Mister,’ Poppy said.

  ‘For a wee small lad, ye sure have a heap of courage. Take care now, ye hear?’

  Poppy climbed down from the wagon. She waved goodbye to Frank and set off in the direction of the river.

  POPPY had never seen a river before. She thought it would be still, like the duck pond at Bird Creek. But the Murray was alive, like a thick green python slowly moving through the land.

  She took her boots and socks off and ran towards it. The soft brown mud of the riverbed soothed her aching feet. Water swirled around her calves, tickling her skin.

  If only Mother Hangtree could see me now, Poppy thought with a laugh. She bent down and scooped up a handful of water to drink.

  At the sound of excited whooping and shouting, she straightened up. Two boys ran barefoot down the embankment. One had brown hair, but the other boy’s hair was as white as a cockatoo’s. And he had the palest skin. Poppy couldn’t stop staring at him.

  Both boys stripped off their shirts. The cockatoo boy spat into his palms then ran to a rope hanging from a branch. He grabbed hold of it and swung out over the water. When the rope reached its furthest point above the river, he let go, dropping like a stone. The other boy swam out laughing and calling his friend. It sounded like he was saying ‘Snowy’.

  Poppy held her breath waiting for cockatoo boy to come up. But he didn’t. She counted … one … two … three … four … What if he had hit his head on a rock or log or something? She began to worry.

  The other boy didn’t seem to care too much about his friend. He swam around in circles and did somersaults.

  Then all of a sudden that boy too looked like he was in trouble. He flailed his arms around as if he was being dragged underwater. Was there some monster in the river? Poppy backed out quickly and ran along the bank to where the boys had left their shirts. After a moment, she saw bubbles. Then both their heads broke the surface at the same time. The boys spurted fountains of water into the air and laughed.

  Relieved to see them safe, Poppy was about to walk away when cockatoo boy spotted her. His face turned angry.

  ‘Hey, you! Get away from our clothes! Your kind don’t belong ’round ’ere. It’s our river. Didn’t you see the sign? No Blacks Allowed.’

  Poppy was shocked at first and looked to where the boy was pointing. There was no such sign. He was lying.

  ‘You can’t own a river,’ she said.

  ‘Who do ya think ya talking to?’ Cockatoo boy started wading towards her. ‘Git! We don’t want you ’round ’ere.’

  ‘My dad’s a policeman,’ said the brown-haired boy, picking up a stone. ‘And he’ll hang ya for stealing if I tell him to.’

  When Poppy heard the word ‘policeman’, she panicked. The boy might be lying, but she didn’t want to have anything to do with the police. She walked away quickly, picked up her satchel and boots, and ran along the riverbank.

  ‘Coward!’

  ‘Sissy!’ she heard them call after her.

  Then a stone struck her on the back of the leg and she stumbled. The boys laughed.

  Another stone whizzed by close to her ear. And another.

  Poppy’s cheeks burned.

  As she sat in the long grass inspecting the large bruise that had come up on the back of her leg, Poppy remembered what Napu had told Gus. ‘Many white men hate Aborigines, and Chinese too.’

  She wondered how people could grow to be so mean.

  Poppy wasn’t hungry, the boys had chased that away too. She walked to the water’s edge and placed mud on her leg to soothe away the pain.

  That’s when she noticed something way up the river. She shaded her hands over her eyes, squinting into the sunlight. Could it be a paddlesteamer?

  Forgetting the pain in her leg, Poppy set off at a hurried pace. She would have to be careful. Instead of taking the track that followed the river, she threaded her way through the trees, keeping well out of sight.

  As she drew closer to the vessel tied up at the wharf, she could see men unloading furniture, boxes and sacks. This must be Echuca, she thought, hiding in the bushes. She would wai
t until dark, then she would jump on board and hide.

  The sun dipped below the horizon. Poppy buttoned up her jacket, pulled her cap low over her ears and hugged her knees. She stayed that way for hours, shivering from the cold, until the last man had gone home and all lay quiet and still.

  A blanket of mist hung over the water as she walked along the track towards the boat.

  Coming up alongside it, she could just make out the name painted on the wood – The Lady Emily. Poppy liked that name. It sounded like one of the rich ladies from Mother Hangtree’s novels. There was a handpainted sign, too, with the words ‘Echuca to Wahgunyah’. Her heart gave a little leap of joy.

  The boat appeared to have two decks, and she could just make out a small cabin on the very top. Now all she had to do was find a place to hide.

  The glow of a pipe through the fog and the strong smell of tobacco made her freeze. Someone was on the gangplank. She held her breath and shrank back slowly. Probably a nightwatchman, she thought. How am I going to sneak on board now?

  Then she saw a rope dangling from the back of the boat. But the fog was too thick to see what it was attached to. Poppy quietly crept forward.

  When she got closer she saw that the rope was tied to the front of a barge covered with canvas. This was the perfect place to stow away.

  She stepped forward and lifted a corner of the canvas to peer inside. It was pitch black and smelt of whisky or some kind of alcohol. Sometimes Mother Hangtree’s breath smelt like that, too. But at least Poppy would be warm and safe in there. She crawled through the opening.

  Poppy felt her way in the dark between tables, chairs, sacks, barrels and bales. When she came to an armchair she stopped, feeling the silky soft fabric. She climbed into it and sat like a princess on her throne. Closing her eyes, Poppy listened to the lapping of waves. And the river sang the sweetest song.

  Poppy was awoken by the thumping noise of engines, and a jolt. She heard the cargo around her creak and shift. Sliding off the armchair, she lifted a corner of the canvas.