by Karen Wyld
‘What will happen to them?’ sobbed Mrs Thomas, clinging onto her husband’s arm.
‘There, there,’ Pastor Thomas said. ‘We’ll find where they were taken. Then we’ll help their parents write letters to the authorities. In the meantime, we’ll keep teaching and praying.’
Pastor Bertrand looked at the couple, and snorted. ‘Hopeless, both of you. I’ve taken time out of my important work at the mission to do what you should have done. Give the good townsfolk’s children a sound Christian education without those grubby brats taking up space.’
Then, with help from the sergeant, Pastor Bertrand evicted Pastor Thomas and Mrs Thomas from town.
Meanwhile, Brigid had urged the girls out of the shadows and onwards, towards their hut. There she took down their patched suitcases from the top of the wardrobe and started to fill them. Victoria helped, collecting both the essentials and little treasures they’d accumulated. Busily recounting the joys of Susie’s party, Maggie didn’t noticed the flurry of activity around her. When her mother steered her to the fireplace and started to smear ash on her arms, Maggie woke from her stupor.
‘Stop it,’ she protested. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Stand still, Maggie. Just trust me.’
‘No! You’re making me all dirty. And ruining my party dress.’
‘Keep still.’
Something in her mother’s voice convinced Maggie to comply, so she stood still as her mother rubbed ash all over her arms, legs, neck and face. Even as tears made tracks down her now-sooty face. She stood still when Victoria picked up the smallest suitcase and headed for the back door. Brigid walked towards Maggie and took her hand. Maggie pulled her hand away when she realised they were leaving once more.
‘We have to,’ sighed Brigid.
Maggie shook her head until the party ribbons came loose. ‘We have a home now.’
‘Not any more,’ said Victoria.
Maggie glanced over at her sister, then back at her mother. ‘Mumma, why?’
Brigid replied, ‘We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.’
Maggie followed reluctantly, still not understanding. As they walked outside, she saw their kitten playing under a bush.
‘I have to get kitty,’ cried Maggie.
Brigid scanned the street, worried they were running out of time. It wouldn’t be too long before someone realised her daughters were not with the others, in the back of that old truck. She knew Maggie was waiting for a reply. Picking up the kitten, Brigid turned away from freedom and walked back down the street. The girls followed their mother in silence, hiding when she indicated, rushing when necessary, until they were back at Susie’s house. They crept down the side of the house, into the backyard, and Brigid knocked on the back door. Susie opened the door, and turned to her mother, who was standing in the kitchen.
‘I am so sorry,’ cried her mother. ‘I didn’t realise something like this would happen. I just wanted all the children to have fun.’
Brigid said, ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘It’s just awful. Why are these people so hateful?’
‘I’m sure they’re no different from people in the city you come from.’
A tiny meow reminded Brigid of the kitten she had tucked into her coat.
‘I need to ask you a favour,’ Brigid said, holding up the kitten.
The woman noticed the twin’s faces as they stood in her backyard surrounded by battered luggage.
‘Of course,’ she replied, taking the kitten. ‘Where will you go?’
‘Somewhere safer,’ replied Brigid.
Susie’s mother nodded, tears forming in her eyes, her own desire to leave this town now stronger.
Brigid crept towards the front of the house. The town’s streets were filled with the most righteous and the downright curious. She took her daughters’ hands and led them to the train tracks on the eastern side of town. She quickly found a place to hide – the narrow gap between a large rainwater tank and the station platform. As they waited, the girls leant against their mother, and soon fell asleep. Just as the sun was setting, Brigid saw grey steam rising in the north, like a fierce dragon rushing towards them. Brigid gently woke the girls and, rubbing sleepy eyes, they all stood up. When the train stopped, no one noticed three ticketless travellers climb up into a carriage to hide among freight.
When the girls were once more asleep, Brigid gazed out of the open door, watching shadowed country flashing past as the train made its way south. She occasionally pulled her daughters closer, whenever they called out in sleep. She guessed that in their dreams they were reliving the events of the day, trying to find some reason for the cruelty shown towards their friends.
Sometime in the night, Brigid felt a subtle difference in the train’s motion. She realised it was slowing. Looking out the door, she saw the first light of day. Thinking this was as good a place as any to disembark, Brigid gently roused the girls. When the train stopped, they were ready. Brigid threw out their cases and then jumped. Signalling in silence, she caught Maggie, then Victoria. They quickly picked up their suitcases and moved away from the train, hiding behind a clump of dried-out bushes. From there, they had a good view of the front of the train. An old male camel stood on the train tracks, refusing to budge. The train driver and other rail workers were trying to coax him off the track. He refused to budge; head held high, he carried on chewing the cud. The bull camel turned his head and caught sight of the three hiding in the bushes. The camel shook his head vigorously, his plant-flecked slobber showering the men. Victoria was sure the camel winked at her, before he casually got off the track and ambled away.
Once the train had left, Brigid urged the girls to get up. It was time to walk – again. Victoria took a deep breath, gathering both familiar and unknown aromas. She’d missed the freedom of open spaces. Maggie stifled an occasional sob, thinking of the kitten left behind and friends she’d never see again. When the sun was halfway through its day’s journey, they came to a clearing nestled by stony ridges. They put down their cases, and Maggie collapsed in exhaustion on top of them. Brigid and Victoria gathered kindling. Although hunger gnawed at all three, they were soon asleep beside a crackling campfire.
It’s a good thing you’re a potato. That makes your daughters potatoes too. Otherwise, they’d have been taken back there.’
‘Granny? Is that you?’
‘Yes, Birdie.’
‘I don’t want to be a potato. And I don’t want to walk any more.’
‘Ask the bird to take you home.’
‘The bird left, Granny.’
‘Find another one, lass. Or don’t. The choice is yours.’
SIX
Curled up beside dying embers was how they were found. Victoria was the first to sense they were not alone. Opening one eye just a fraction, she scanned their impromptu campsite, noticing that the day was almost over. Upon seeing the figure silhouetted in the sunset, she was careful not to move or make a sound. Victoria felt a subtle shift in her mother’s breathing and knew that she was also stealthily measuring this intruder. The man stood a few metres away, hat in hand, as if waiting to be invited into their camp, perhaps eager to warm his hands at their dwindling fire. Having assessed him, Brigid rose to her feet. The man smiled in an exaggerated manner and lifted a hand to wave a greeting. Victoria also stood up, and patted dust off her clothes as she gave him a stern side-stare.
Brigid noticed her daughter’s glare and, with a partially suppressed grin, sent her off to find wood for the fire. Brigid added a few handfuls of dried grasses to the embers and blew gently, before adding twigs. Nodding towards a large rock, Brigid invited the man to sit down. As he did, his eyes registered the rifle that lay an arm’s length from Brigid. She noticed him eye it off and, with a slight lift of her chin, gave him a hard stare. He awkwardly steered his attention elsewhere. She put water in a blackened pot and placed it on the glowing coals. When it was almost boiling, she added a handful of loose tea leaves. She then poured steaming ho
t liquid into three enamel mugs.
‘We have no sugar or milk.’
The man nodded as he accepted a mug. ‘Ah, just what I needed. Thank you.’
‘Mumma, who are you talking to?’ asked Maggie as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.
Brigid turned around and smiled at her. ‘Hey, sleepyhead.’
Maggie walked over to the fire just as Victoria returned with an armful of branches. They picked up a mug each and sat down next to each other, Maggie looking curiously at the stranger while Victoria glared at him.
The man chuckled. ‘Fine watchmen you have there.’
Brigid loaded the fire with branches. ‘A watchful eye is necessary out here.’
‘Yes, most certainly.’
‘And a stranger is best watched closely, until they become a friend.’
His face reddened. ‘Where are my manners? I am Omer.’
‘I’m Brigid. Maggie and Victoria,’ she responded, pointing to each daughter.
With a broad smile, Omer nodded at the girls. Only Maggie returned his smile.
Turning back to Brigid, he said, ‘This is a good cup of tea, and a most warming fire. A nice way to end a hard day’s work. Let me repay you, please. You must have supper with my wife and me.’
‘Thank you for the offer, but we must get going. We need to find somewhere to make a new camp, near water, before it gets too dark.’
‘It’s very dry around here, there’s no fresh water nearby. Come to my place and I’ll fill up your containers while you have something to eat.’
Victoria jumped up. ‘Maybe we can find a waterhole, Mum. You know I’m good at finding those. Let’s get moving.’
‘No. I can’t walk any further today,’ moaned Maggie.
‘You can so walk. You have to,’ insisted Victoria. ‘Stop being such a baby.’
Maggie stuck her tongue out at her sister, before turning to Brigid. ‘Mumma, please.’
Omer said, ‘My place is really not far from here. My wife would never forgive me if I didn’t extend a warm welcome to you and your daughters. We could even make up a comfy bed for the night.’
Brigid observed Maggie’s attempt to hold back tears, and reflected on what her daughters had been through the day before. She looked at Omer. ‘We gratefully accept your offer of water and a meal.’
Victoria gave her sister a glare, before kicking dirt onto the fire. Omer helped her extinguish the fire as Brigid gathered their luggage. He offered to help carry the suitcases and, once everyone was ready, led them across the dry plains.
A short time later, they saw a rusted corrugated-tin shed planted among a sea of holes in the ground.
‘I don’t normally like people coming here,’ Omer admitted. ‘Except for trustworthy folk, such as yourselves.’
‘Is this a mine?’ asked Brigid.
Omer nodded. ‘Opals. Well, sometimes opals. Mostly I dig up dirt and pebbles. Still, I dig, I hope, and I dig some more.’
The girls’ eyes widened as they imagined treasure lying all around them, scattered in the dirt. Instead, they saw what appeared to be the outline of gigantic warrens.
‘What lives in those holes?’ asked Maggie, nervously.
Laughing, Omer said, ‘Nothing to be frightened of. Maybe a few bugs, an occasional snake. I made those holes, not a creature. It’s getting late. If you like, I can give you the grand tour tomorrow. For now, let’s get that supper I promised you.’
He led them to a battered ute and soon they were bumping their way across a darkening landscape, heading towards Omer’s house. It was long enough a drive for Maggie to fall asleep.
‘Get up. You’ve made my arm go numb,’ demanded Victoria as the car stopped.
Maggie stretched, before peering out the window, into the night. Omer leapt out, and held the passenger door open. The girls followed their mother as she walked towards a stone cottage. Omer rushed to open the front door for them.
As they all walked in, a woman called out, ‘Where have you been? Supper is ruined, again.’
‘We have guests,’ announced Omer.
A small woman appeared at the end of a narrow corridor. Removing her apron, she walked towards them.
‘Bethel, this is Brigid and her daughters, Victoria and Maggie. I’ve invited them to share a meal with us. That’s all right?’
Bethel smiled. ‘Of course. Please, make yourselves comfortable while I set the table.’
‘Can I help?’ asked Brigid.
Bethel nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Brigid caught Omer’s eye, concerned that perhaps it was not a good time for visitors after all. Omer shrugged and walked over to his wife. He gave her a gentle hug. She smiled up at him, and wiped away a tear.
‘Omer, you can entertain the young ones until supper is served,’ said Bethel.
Once in the kitchen, Brigid asked, ‘Are you sure we’re not inconveniencing you?’
‘No, not at all.’
Brigid raised an eyebrow, still confused as to why their appearance had caused this woman to cry.
Bethel noticed Brigid looking at her. ‘Please, don’t be so concerned. That little tear before was from happiness, because I enjoy the company of guests. Your daughters, they are so lovely. The green-eyed girl, she reminds me of someone.’
Brigid asked what she could do to help. Bethel showed her where the crockery and cutlery was kept, before stirring a pot on the stove.
Meanwhile, Omer led the girls outside. Maggie squealed with delight when he asked if they wanted to help feed the animals. Both girls smiled broadly as they scattered grain for a straggly collection of hens, and stood back hesitantly when a few hissing geese appeared. As the last ray of sun disappeared on the horizon, Omer shut the animals up for the night.
After supper, everyone sat in the small parlour in contented silence. From the shelf above the fireplace, Omer took down a wooden pipe and filled it with tobacco. He then sat back in a worn armchair, while thin wisps of smoke filled the air above him. The sound of a creaking armchair broke the silence.
Brigid had stood up. ‘Thank you for such a lovely meal. We really must be leaving now.’
A small groan escaped Maggie’s lips. She was quickly silenced with a stern look from her mother.
Bethel raised an eyebrow. ‘Go? Where?’
‘South, I guess,’ replied Brigid.
‘Oh no, you must stay the night. It’s pitch-black outside. And the nights are so cold here.’
Brigid looked out the small window, and then glanced back at her exhausted daughters.
‘No, we can’t put you out,’ she said.
‘Mum, can we stay just for one night?’
Surprised, Brigid asked, ‘Why, Victoria? You love sleeping under the stars.’
Victoria shrugged. ‘I’m tired. And it’s so nice and warm here.’
Brigid hesitated, then shook her head.
Omer put down his pipe. ‘Stay, I insist. We have plenty of room, it really is no trouble. I could do with the girls’ help in the morning, with the animals, if you don’t mind.’
Bethel added, ‘I’ve already made up a bed for you and your daughters.’
‘Please, Mumma,’ pleaded Maggie. ‘The goats were asleep when we went outside, and I really really want to meet them. And Omer told us there’s newborn kittens hiding in the hay, so new they haven’t even opened their eyes. Please say yes.’
Brigid sighed. ‘Just the one night then. We must be on our way by late morning.’
Maggie smiled, happy that they wouldn’t be sleeping outside that night, and even happier that she’d get to see kittens in the morning.
Omer asked, ‘How about I tell you a story? And then you must tell me one in return. That’s how stories go; they must be swapped or else.’
‘Or else what?’ asked Victoria.
‘Or else the stories turn to dust,’ replied Omer solemnly.
Bethel smiled, knowing how much her husband loved to share stories. She picked up the sewing kit that sat at her feet, and began t
o thread a needle.
‘Do you agree to this deal? A story for a story?’ he asked.
Victoria and Maggie both nodded, before settling comfortably on large cushions in front of the fireplace. Brigid sat back down, sinking into the overstuffed chair, and slowly the warmth of the fire began to quieten her restless feet.
Omer leant towards the fireplace and tapped his pipe on the hearth. Shifting slightly in his seat, he cleared his throat.
‘As you have probably guessed, the good wife and I are not originally from here,’ he said. ‘No, like many who live here, our homelands are far away. It had not been my intention to disembark from the boat I arrived on. A little bird told me I should, so I did. I’d been wandering both land and sea for a few years, trying to put the sounds of gunshot behind me. Those were days of hunger and despair. With feet dressed in rags I pushed on, always seeking work in exchange for a few coins or a modest plate of warm food. Amidst the horror of war’s remains, the senseless destruction of humanity, hope still existed. It was the kindness of strangers that gave me the strength to go on. There was nothing, no one, left at home for me to return to. As much as I wandered, I found no place to call home, no sense of belonging. One cold evening, I sat at an unwashed table in a dank tavern by an unfamiliar sea, with just enough coin in my pocket for one more ale. When a gent sat himself across from me, offering me a chance to earn money, my ears pricked up. The next morning, I watched the shore disappear from the deck of a ship. It was not my first sea journey, but it was the only ship I’d worked on that carried goods and passengers. It was to be my longest and last journey: travelling to the great southern lands.’
