Mary's Guardian

by Carol Preston

  ***

  When the rain finally stopped they buried Jimmy in a small grave behind their hut under the branches of the gum tree. Mary wandered aimlessly through the days that followed, turning to William occasionally to cry in his arms and beat her fists on his chest, but for the most part she was silent and lost in her grief. Ellen tried to comfort her but felt her very presence, large with the promise of new birth, was more a hindrance to Mary’s recovery than a help. William spent hours digging at the soaked ground, clearing a new field. The physical work helped him vent his rage. He let his tears fall to the ground as he worked and watched for opportunity to offer some solace to his heart-broken wife.

  It was a month before Mary could stand outside the hut with him and look across their fields.

  ‘We’re cursed, Will. I told you so. Half of what we planted has gone, washed down river. They didn’t tell us about the flooding, did they? They’ve given us a swamp to live on. It’s a wonder we weren’t all swept away. It’s a miracle we’ve survived at all.’ Her voice rang out into the still moist air, her breath puffs of steam in the coldness that had closed in around them.

  William let her rage. This was no time to try and curb her natural pessimism and he knew much of it was still her grief speaking. He had to push himself to be hopeful. He’d not demand the same of her, not yet.

  ‘I doubt anyone knew it would be like this, love,’ he said after a few minutes. ‘Even those who’ve been here a few years say they’ve not seen it up that far. But the water fell away quickly once the rain stopped. Once we’ve learned the river’s ways we’ll adjust.’ When she remained silent beside him, casting her eyes about sadly, he went on. ‘We’ve still half the corn and it’s not too damaged. But we shouldn’t have planted so close to the river bank. We shouldn’t have cleared so many of the trees close to the water either. I’ve talked to James again. He’s had to learn new things too. But we can see now that we need to leave the rest of the trees near the bank so the land doesn’t erode. And he says we should also leave land right by the water so the Aborigines have access to the yams on the banks…’

  ‘An’ that’s another thing,’ she interrupted. ‘They didn’t tell us there were to be maraudin’ blacks out here…who’ll slaughter an’ eat us all. Ellen told me she saw some down by the river the other morning. Nearly frightened the life out of her.’ Mary stopped abruptly and dropped her head. ‘At least she has a life left in her…oh, Will, I can’t bear it.’ She sobbed into his shirt as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, his own tears dripping into her curls. He waited a long time before he spoke again.

  ‘I don’t want you to be worried about the blacks, love. They’re not cannibals. They hunt small animals and dig for yams. If we don’t stop them from what they need to do to survive, I’m sure they’ll leave us alone.’

  She pushed back from his chest and rubbed her arms briskly as she began to shiver with the cold. William guided her back into the hut. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked when he’d followed her inside. ‘Joe told Ellen they’ve already been stealin’ corn from the farms further down and there’s been trouble on more than one allotment. They could kill us all. We’re so far from the towns now that they’re not likely to be afraid of the soldiers. They must know we’ll not be able to protect ourselves.’

  ‘They’ve retaliated against some of the stupid men who’ve shot at them, Mary. That’s all. I’ve heard terrible stories of what some of the settlers have done to them. We’ve got to respect their ways and learn to live in peace with them. It shouldn’t be that hard.’

  ‘Maybe not for you but some of those settled along the river are ex-mariners who don’t give a tinker’s cuss for respecting the blacks. There’s others too lazy to get out of their own way, let alone do the work needed for farming. What on earth were they thinkin’ to give grants to some of those good for nothin’ types?’ She was pacing around their hut now, her agitation growing.

  ‘Sit down, lass. You’re making me dizzy with your storming up and down. I’ll make you some hot tea.’

  William glanced around the small room as he busied himself. It was warm and cosy. He was thankful he’d built it far enough up from the river that the flood water had not reached it. He hadn’t said so to Mary but he now planned to build something more solid even further back. The talk was that the river might rise even higher than the twenty feet it had come up this time, though he’d not tell her that just now. All the government stores that had been set up on the river landing had been washed away and some of the men were getting together to rebuild a storehouse in a safer place. It would take time for them all to know the river’s habits but he was determined not to let their early disappointments dispirit him. Even despite their terrible grief, he had to find the strength to go on, had to find a way to keep Mary’s spirits up.

  ‘That Reverend Marsden was right, you know,’ Mary said after a few moments of quiet. ‘Remember what he said about us convicts?’

  ‘I’d sooner not. It was a sad day when he arrived in the colony, if you ask me. Richard Johnson was twice the man and more godly by far. Samuel Marsden’s made no secret that he thinks all convicts should have been hanged, that we’ve no moral fibre. But whatever he thinks is of no concern to us now. We’re no longer convicts…remember that?’

  ‘He was the one who said we were all cursed, that’s what I remember and I think he’s right.’

  ‘Now that’s enough.’ William stood over her, ready to stand against her words. When he looked at the depth of pain in her eyes he softened his voice. ‘Since when have you listened to a man of God?’ He tried to smile. ‘Though, as I said, I have my doubts about that one’s connection to God. He’s out here for himself if you ask me. Got his eyes set on his own land. Johnson set his sights on building a house of God right from the start and he’s done that now, despite the disinterest of the Governor. He wants to see us better ourselves. And he believes we can…with God’s help. He’s not into condemning us outright like Marsden is. So it depends on who you listen to, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And what makes you think that God will help us, when He won’t even let us keep a child? Why would He take our baby boy?’ Mary’s eyes flooded with tears again and she grabbed at her ragged skirt to wipe them.

  ‘That was not God’s doing, Mary. Jimmy got the fever. It was no one’s fault. I’m so sorry, lass, but we’ll not give up on having children, any more than on making this farm work.’

  He held her through another bout of tears and when she went limp in his arms and dropped into her chair, he made her a cup of hot tea and then stepped outside into the fading light. He looked up at the heavens and took a deep breath. The evening was drawing on and the mosquitoes were multiplying. He slapped at his arm as he felt the first sharp bite and pushed his boot into the embers of the small fire he tried to keep alight outside the hut. Smoke puffed into the air. It was the only thing that kept the swarms of vicious insects at bay. He was wondering what he could say to turn Mary’s thoughts from her pain when he saw his next door neighbour pushing his way through the low hanging vines at the back of their hut.

  ‘Joe? Is everything all right?’

  ‘Like you, Will, I’m still assessing the damage from the flood…but it’s Ellen. She’s gone into labour. I know it’s a big ask but do you think Mary would come?’

  ‘Of course she’ll come and help, Joe. Wait till I get a lantern. It’s getting dark on that track now.’ As he turned he saw Mary stepping out of their hut.

  ‘I heard,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the lantern. Come on, Joe. We can’t be losing another little one. God help us, eh?’ She glanced at William as she brushed past him, nodding to Joe to lead the way back to his hut.

  The words wouldn’t come but William knew she was telling him she would fight on with him. For all her complaining, it was not in her to give up, if for no other reason than to show the officers and governors of the colony that they’d not get the better of her. He smiled to himself with relief and followed he
r tattered skirt along the narrow track.

  Robert Wright was born in the early hours of the next morning, his wail jolting his father and William from their half sleep around the fireplace outside the hut. With the sound of new life William uttered thanks into the night sky. The darkness had softened to a pale grey as the first rays of morning began to reveal the tops of the she-oaks around them. Stars still flickered in the shadow of the clouds and a pink hue had begun to emerge. William hoped the beauty of it was a sign from a God. He’d not paid enough attention to the Almighty in his early years, he knew, but now he was sure that if the latter part of his life was to be better than those years, he could not rely on his own determination and resourcefulness. There was much that he couldn’t do in his own strength. He knew he needed the guidance and favour of someone bigger than himself.

  ***

  Over the next twelve months William built a sturdier hut further back from the river. He gradually dug and planted twelve half acre lots of corn, wheat and maize. He made the trek back to Parramatta and used the last of their savings to buy baby hogs, tools and seed to add to the issue he’d been given with the land grant. Some parts of the track were still almost impassable by cart due to the thick forests and creek crossings and so he was relieved when a sturdy Government store was completed at the river landing at Green Hills, just south of the lots along Mulgrave Place. Some supplies were brought from Sydney now by boat to be exchanged for the harvest of the farmers and there were a growing number of small crafts delivering materials and goods to the settlers. There were now over four hundred settlers along the banks of the river, their lands extending nearly thirty miles along both sides of the river and, despite their difficult start, William was proud to be among these first families given a chance to be successful farmers. The word was that the authorities in Sydney were pleased with the potential of the crops from these farms, in spite of the fact that some men given grants had proven to have little motivation for farming. There were frequent reports sent back to Sydney, of debauchery, drunkenness and fights with Aborigines.

  ‘They’re not as bad as some make out,’ Mary said one morning returning from the store.

  ‘Oh?’ William looked up from the garden, where he was carefully cutting their first cabbages. ‘Who’s not as bad?’

  ‘The aborigines,’ she said, matter of factly. ‘When I left early this morning I saw a few of them down by the river bank. On our plot, they were. I was just walking along, enjoying being out in the sunshine and suddenly there they were.’ Her voice softened.

  ‘Were you frightened?’

  ‘No…well, maybe at first, ‘cause they startled me. Seemed to appear out o’ nowhere, they did. I think I froze to the spot. But they just stood and looked and after a bit I didn’t feel afraid at all. I could see their eyes, Will. You know, I think it’s them that’s frightened. I recognised that look. Like they’re afraid they’ll lose their means of surviving. Like they’re scared they’ll be chased off or worse, and this is all they know. I remember that feeling. Back in England, that’s how we lived, Will…remember?’

  ‘I do, lass, and we’ll not be living like that again. So what did you do?’

  ‘Nothin’. I think I was just smilin’ a bit, rememberin’, you know, and then they turned and went on their way.’

  ‘Good. I want them to feel safe on our land. They need to hunt and gather by the river. They’ll not harm us if we let them be, I’m sure of it. It’s those who insist on chasing them off, keeping them from their food, who have trouble. I saw that young Gilberthorpe down the way throwing rocks at them last week. They reared up at him, of course. Waved their spears around in the air, though I suspect they were trying to indicate that they were simply hunting.’

  ‘What happened?’ Mary’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Nothing to speak of. They apparently talked amongst themselves for a few minutes and then left. They’re not looking for trouble, love, just food. It’s men like Gilberthorpe who are the problem. And I’m quite concerned about this new administrator, Captain Paterson. I hear he’s sending a detachment of sixty Privates of the Corps to be stationed out here, to control the hostilities between blacks and whites, they say. He’s ordered the shooting of troublesome blacks and that any caught should be hanged on gibbets as a deterrent to the others. I think that’ll make it worse. I’m not sure this one’s any better at governing than Grose was.’

  ‘Ellen heard the new Governor’s arriving soon.’

  ‘I’m glad. I don’t think these military men have been good for the colony. Reverend Johnson has had no qualms about condemning the practices of Grose and Paterson and their military tribunals. He really let fly last time he was here for a church service. Called them extortionists.’ William mimicked the flare of the preacher. ‘Said they’ve been the ruin of the colony with their liquor trade. Anyway he’s pretty happy about this Captain Hunter coming. He believes he’ll restore civil government.’

  ***

  By half way through 1795 Mary was pregnant again but found it very hard to believe she’d bear and raise a healthy child. Especially when, in August, the river flooded again and twenty-five feet of swirling water swept away many of the settlers’ huts, storage barns and crops.

  William stood at the door of their hut days later and looked out at the muddy receding waters. Broken furniture; sacks of produce; planks that had recently been someone’s wall; along with drowned animals and uprooted trees, pushed and bumped together as they were dragged back to the main flow of the river. The landscape looked like a war zone. During the worst of the flooding, Joe and Ellen had had a foot of water through their hut. It had taken William and Joe days to do the needed repairs and dry out the few bits of furniture and bedding they’d been able to salvage. William was thankful their new hut was high enough to escape getting water inside.

  ‘And what’s left of the crops this time?’ Mary moaned from their bed. She’d been much sicker in her pregnancy this time and could hardly put her feet to the floor till well into the morning.

  ‘Some,’ he murmured, scanning the garden plots and plantings beyond the hut. ‘There’s much of the land I won’t plant again. No use if this is going to be a regular happening. And it looks like it is.’

  ‘And what’ll be left? About half of the land we had, I’d say.’ Mary’s voice was flat.

  ‘Fifteen acres of good land is better than I’d ever have expected to own, lass. It’s enough to feed us and sell a bit. We’ll make do.’

  Mary snorted. ‘And what did you tell me Lieutenant John Macarthur has given himself? Increased his original hundred acres over at Parramatta to two hundred and fifty, didn’t you say? Where’s the justice in it all, Will?’

  ‘Macarthur’s raising some good crops of corn, wheat and potatoes for the colony though. He has over a hundred goats and nearly as many hogs, I heard, as well as all kinds of poultry. Let’s give him his due, eh?’

  ‘Easy when he has an army of people to do all the work, of course. And a grand house for his missus with servants’ quarters an’ all, I heard. And let’s not forget the vineyard, eh? And all close to the barracks so he can pop home and see his wife and …his baby son.’ Mary’s voice slowed as she caught a lump in her throat.

  ‘We won’t ever be as grand as that, lass, but we will have enough, including a baby son. Now, you just rest up. I don’t want to hear any more of this negative talk. You concentrate on keeping well for our child, eh?’ He perched himself on the edge of their bed and gently wiped away the tears that had run slowly down her cheek. ‘Keep heart, my love. Keep heart.’ He watched as her eyes began to close and she drifted into sleep and then he stepped back outside and got on with his work.

  ***

  In February of 1796 Mary gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.

  ‘You had less trouble with these two than I had with my last one,’ Ellen said, handing the baby girl to Mary. ‘Look at you. Hardly out of breath.’

  ‘They did come quite easy, Ellen.’ Mary said,
looking chuffed with herself as she examined her daughter.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Ellen said, ‘and so’s this one. Though he’s tiny.’

  ‘Are you ready for me?’ William stuck his head in the door. ‘Cause I can’t wait any longer.’ He strode across the hut without waiting for Ellen to reply. She always wanted everything spick and span before Joe was allowed to her bedside, but William knew Mary had no such concerns.

  ‘Oh, my,’ he gasped, taking his baby son in his arms. ‘He’s so little.’ He beamed down at the newborn, his eyes filling.

  ‘This is the way to do it, eh, Will?’ Mary giggled. ‘Two at a time. And they’re small because they both had to fit in the same space as one.’

  ‘Of course they did,’ he grinned, not taking his eyes from his new son. ‘So what will we call them, then?’

  ‘I thought we decided we’d call this one after Joe,’ she wrinkled her nose at Ellen cheekily.

  ‘Oh, Joe would be chuffed,’ Ellen said, ‘but are there no family names you’d choose?’ Both William and Mary went quiet. ‘Sorry,’ Ellen went on quickly. ‘I’m not thinking, am I?’

  ‘William didn’t know his parents at all,’ Mary said softly, ‘and I have no idea what my father’s name was.’

  ‘What about your Ma though, love?’ William ventured, though he knew that Mary didn’t like to think about her mother. ‘I know she died in the workhouse when you were young but what was she like? Do you remember her at all?’

  It took a few minutes for Mary to answer. ‘She was sweet-natured, I remember,’ she said after taking a deep breath. ‘Too sweet-natured, I think. She couldn’t stand up for herself. That’s why she died, I reckon. She didn’t make enough fuss about getting her share.’ Mary’s eyes glazed over and she resumed exploring her baby daughter’s face and hands.

  ‘What was her name, love?’ William asked gently.

  ‘Elizabeth.’ Mary’s voice could barely be heard.