Mary's Guardian

by Carol Preston

  ‘Then why don’t we call this one Elizabeth, eh? I know you’ve balked at the idea of calling a daughter Mary, though I’d happily have that name.’

  ‘Well, we certainly can’t be calling these two Joseph and Mary, can we? People will think we’re daft.’

  ‘Since when have you worried what people think? All right then, we’ll call them Joseph and Elizabeth, eh?’

  Mary took a few moments to speak. ‘All right. Let’s call them Joseph and Elizabeth.’

  A pretty smile spread across her face and William’s heart jumped. He thought how lovely she was when she was happy. He looked down again at his baby son and silently thanked him for making his mother so happy.

  ‘He’s a healthy one, eh?’ he said, beaming at Mary.

  ‘Jimmy was healthy too,’ Mary whispered as she stroked the other baby’s head.

  ‘This one’s got the fighting spirit, lass. I can see it in his eyes.’

  ‘Balderdash. You see nothin’ in his eyes but your own reflection.’ She smiled as she spoke.

  But as the weeks passed it became clear that only Elizabeth was thriving. Joseph paled and thinned as his sister blossomed and plumped and before he was three months old it was obvious he was not going to survive.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, Will. He’s withering away before my eyes.’ Mary was becoming distraught.

  ‘I can see that lass but it’s nothing you’re doing wrong. Look at Elizabeth. She’s bonny. You’re doing everything right. It seems to me some are just not meant for this world. We have to prepare ourselves.’ He gulped back tears and inwardly called out for God to help them get through another tragedy. He was afraid Mary might not survive further loss. And the thought of losing another son was more than he could bear to think about.

  It was only the radiant health of Elizabeth and her beguiling smile that enabled Mary and William to keep from sinking under the weight of their grief when two weeks later they rose one morning and found Joseph lifeless in his basket. And so a second son was laid to rest under the large tree on their plot.

  ‘They’ll be together, at least.’ William wept by the small cross he’d pushed into the ground beside the first.

  ‘You think they’ll know each other? Jimmy and Joseph?’ Mary’s face was devoid of expression, her eyes dark and sunken.

  ‘I like to think of them in heaven together, Mary. I like to believe we’ll see them again one day.’

  Mary nodded but did not speak. She hugged her baby girl to her chest and walked away. William followed her, praying that the hope of seeing her babies again some day would keep his wife from going insane.

  Chapter Ten

  The following year, when Mary had another pregnancy that barely got started before it ended, she was again distraught.

  ‘I’m not able to bear you a son, Will,’ she whispered one morning as they lay in bed. ‘I’m not able to give you the heir you want. All your work will be for nothing. There’s Ellen with another little one and me losing more than I bear. What’s the use of trying for more?’ She gently pushed aside his arms and rolled away. ‘You should find yourself another woman, is what you should do. There’s boat loads of ’em still coming, you know.’

  ‘Stop that talk at once,’ William demanded.

  ‘But you’d have to be quick,’ she went on, disregarding his fierce frown. ‘The free settlers want ’em all for servants. Think they’re going to be gentry out here, they do. Ruddy men! An’ Ellen told me that some of the new convict women have been assigned to look after up to ten men in the cottages at Parramatta. You know what that’ll mean for ’em, don’t you? When there’s good men like you about…just trying to make a decent life and raise sons. It’s a cryin’ shame.’

  ‘I said stop that nonsense,’ William ordered loudly. ‘I’ll not have you talk like that. We’ve lost another child and we’ll do our mourning. We’ll not talk of more loss and pain as if that could fix anything.’ He dragged her into his arms and they wept together until they heard eighteen-month-old Elizabeth stir in her crib beside them. She gurgled cheerfully, oblivious to their grief.

  ‘I’m grateful to have you, Mary, my love,’ William said softly into her red curls as she tried to rise and see to their daughter. ‘You’re faithful and good. You’re a fine woman and I’d want no other.’

  ‘You mean it?’ she cried, laying back.

  ‘You know I do.’

  ‘Yes, I do know it. I don’t always understand it but I do know it. I’m sorry.’ She leaned into him and sniffed back more tears. ‘I’ll be all right. Look at our Elizabeth there, happy as a lark. She gives me hope, Will.’ She sat up and checked that Elizabeth was still covered.

  ‘Right. Then let’s enjoy what we have,’ William said firmly. He rose up on his elbow and made a cooing sound at Elizabeth. When she gazed up and flashed him a bright smile his own face relaxed into a grin.

  ‘Well, at least I’d not do what that young John Fenlow’s woman down-river did,’ Mary said a few minutes later as she began to dress.

  ‘And how do you know about what she did?’ He feigned a frown.

  ‘Ellen told me.’

  ‘She’s full of all the gossip these days, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well, everyone’s talking about it. A woman lying down for their convict worker, that’s not something too many people can countenance and not talk about, is it?’

  ‘No one would know if Fenlow hadn’t caught them in bed and shot him dead.’

  ‘So you do know all about it, as well?’

  ‘When a man’s sentenced to hang for murder, it’s hard to hide the fact.’

  ‘Hmm, not a man to be cheating on, that John Fenlow, I wouldn’t have thought.’ Mary shuddered.

  ‘Well, he’s paid for his revenge now, hasn’t he? It doesn’t pay to let your anger get away on you, does it now?’

  ‘That meant for me, is it?’ She stopped pulling on her boots and looked into his eyes. ‘I’ve been more than restrained lately, haven’t I? Hardly let fly at all.’

  ‘No, you’ve been too ill and sad just lately and I’d rather see your old self by far.’

  ‘I’ll try, Will. I promise.’

  ***

  The summer of 1798 came with a vengeance. In spite of careful preparation and the anticipation of fires, William noticed smoke coming from further down the river one morning and sensed there’d be families in trouble. He was throwing buckets into his cart when Joe appeared.

  ‘Did you smell it, Will? It’s coming from along to the north there.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen some smoke, Joe. Let’s go and see if we can help.’

  He yelled his intentions to Mary and the two men jumped into the cart and headed across the fields. When they arrived at the far end of the river before the bend they saw the flames racing through a plot of corn which was as high as a man’s shoulder and just beginning to dry off.

  ‘That’ll go like a racing horse,’ Joe yelled, ‘and the wind’s sending it towards those huts.’

  ‘I can’t see anyone out. Surely they can smell it even if they haven’t been out back yet.’

  ‘We can still get around this side of the huts and get to the front to warn them. There’s nothing we can do about the fire, though. Not with this wind and the dryness of the corn.’

  ‘Everything’s pretty much tinder dry,’ Will agreed, as he urged his horse on. ‘This is the second summer we’ve had with temperatures over a hundred degrees. It’s been enough to turn us all to kindling. I’d be surprised if this is the only fire that we have.’

  ‘I’ve tried to keep all the ground around our hut really clear of anything that might ignite. We can only pray we’re spared.’

  ‘Let’s hope these two have kept their ground clear. That’s coming mighty fast.’ William looked across at the billowing smoke, flames now shooting out from the face of the fire and leaping into the air, hungrily licking at the heads of corn.

  As they approached the front of the huts they could hear women and children
screaming. Two young men were running towards the burning field with buckets.

  ‘Are they daft?’ Joe yelled. ‘They’ll be suffocated before they get near the flames.’

  ‘And a few buckets of water will be useless.’ William pulled on the reins and yelled for the men to come back as his horse reared up and came to a stop.

  William jumped from the cart and went after the men.

  ‘Hey, stop,’ he shouted above the roar of the fire. ‘You’ll do no good.’

  One of the men turned and yelled for William to help.

  ‘No,’ William shouted again, almost catching up to one man. ‘You can’t do anything about it, can’t you see? You have to get out of its way. Save your family, mate. Don’t be a fool.’

  Both men stalled in their gallop and turned back to hear what William was saying. Their faces were white with shock. ‘Our crops!’ one called, his head spinning first to the blazing field in front of him and then back to where his wife stood, their three children huddled around her.

  ‘He’s right,’ the other yelled, his eyes wide with panic. ‘We can’t fight this. I’m going back. My wife’s got a baby in our hut. It’s heading that way.’ He dropped the bucket he was carrying and ran back towards his home.

  Joe had already moved the cart further down towards the woman with her children. He was urging them to get in. When William and the second man joined them they quickly hitched up his cart and horse and began to throw whatever goods and possessions they could fit in beside the children, who were whimpering loudly, their mother trying to calm them.

  In less than half an hour the two carts were parked under trees well out of the line of fire. The two families, along with William and Joe, sat and watched forlornly as the flames tore across the remaining field and engulfed the small huts.

  ‘It’ll fizzle out when it reaches the river,’ Joe said sadly, ‘but it looks like it’s taken everything in its path, I’m afraid.’

  The two young farmers and their wives were speechless, clinging to each other and shaking their heads. There was little but smoke now, spewing into the air as the last of the flames ran across the grassy knoll that sloped down to the river.

  ‘First the floods and now fire,’ one of the men finally uttered, his voice dull and broken. ‘That’s it for me. I can’t do this any more.’ He pulled his wife close to him and stroked her hair. Her face was streaming with tears. ‘We’ll go back to Sydney, eh, love? I’ll get a job.’ She nodded wordlessly. He looked at William, his face dark with despair. ‘We nearly lost a little one in the last flood. I’m not risking my family any longer.’

  ‘I can understand how you feel,’ William said wearily. ‘It’s been a hard few years. We’ve all felt like giving up at times. You have to do what’s best for your family.’ He patted the man lightly on the shoulder, his heart going out to him.

  ‘Thank you,’ the other man turned away from consoling his wife and spoke to William and Joe. ‘We’d have been lost if you two hadn’t come along. It took us by surprise. We didn’t see it coming.’ He shook his head, still trying to recover from the shock. ‘I doubt we’ll stay as well. My wife’s not coping. I can’t keep putting her through this.’

  William and Joe offered their tents for the families to use while they sorted out what they wanted to do. Other families quickly came forward with clothes and food, all of them knowing it could as easily have been them in the same situations. On the other side of the river a family had been seen being rescued by boat when a similar fire had ravaged their farm. A few days later William went back to the bend in the river to see if anything could be salvaged for the devastated families, who were now tented in one of his ploughed fields, preparing to return to Sydney Cove. There was little that resembled the cosy huts that had so recently nestled peacefully on the banks. Just two gutted frames and large patches of blackened straw.

  It was no consolation when word came that the fires had been widespread throughout the colony, reducing a lot of the grazing pastures to rubble. Many of the fresh water ponds had become brackish and scarcely drinkable, again threatening the survival of the settlements around Sydney.

  ***

  The community along the Hawkesbury breathed a sigh of relief and thanks when the rest of the summer passed without another breakout of fire, and dared to rejoice when the rains started again in the March of 1799. They knew how vital their crops were, not just for their own families but for the whole colony.

  However, as William peered across his fields after the first three weeks of the rain, his heart began to sink. What had come as such a relief after the heat was now most certainly going to cause more devastation. The bare, dry land around the banks of the Hawkesbury was succumbing to the torrents that were quickly rising and beginning to flow across the fields. Even now he could see hogs and goats swimming for their lives, struggling to stay out of the swirls that would carry them downstream. When he saw a stack of wheat covered with poultry being swept swiftly away, he called out to Mary. On the other side of the river they could see the water rising up around the huts and barns until only the roofs of some were visible. Boats were dragged sideways as men struggled to steer them, trying to reach the disappearing banks to rescue women and children.

  ‘This is going to be worse than the last, Mary. I saw the Government store washed away a while ago. We’re going to have to move up to higher ground. I think it could cover right to the ridge.’

  ‘But we’ll lose everything, Will.’ Mary was close to panic. ‘The chickens and hogs? What will we do about them? And all the crops. I can’t bear this. Not again.’ Her voice was rising to a shrill pitch and she began thrashing about the hut, grabbing at pots and pans, bedding and food.

  ‘Keep your head, lass. We’ll put all we can in the cart and you can take it up onto the ridge.’ William ducked his head back inside their hut and drew her into his arms. ‘The natives were trying to warn us, you know. I saw them yesterday, waving their spears about and shouting. I wondered what they were trying to say. Well, now we know. You get Elizabeth packed up. Take a few other things but don’t wait too long. I’ll put some tools in the cart and bring it right to the door. I want to go and check that Ellen and Joe are right to move. Some of their stock was penned quite low and I don’t want Joe risking himself trying to save them.’

  ‘Please be careful,’ Mary pleaded, knowing it would do no good to try and dissuade him from going out in the thunderous rain. This was to be their life: going from one disaster to another. She would just have to accept it. After all, when had life been any different? She watched William disappear into the blackness of the afternoon as he pushed against the wind and rain, making his way towards Joe and Ellen’s hut.

  She could hear the roar of the water now, rising up to the top of the bank, lapping over the ruts and dips in the land and swirling around everything in its path. There were shouts and gunshots coming from further down stream, where some settlers were signaling for help. She sent up a quick prayer to a God she realised she thought little about until times like this. Please, don’t let me have to be rescued by boat. She shuddered at the thought and drew her shawl around her shoulders. She never wanted to be in a boat again. Since the long journey from England she’d often dreamed of those nights when she’d lain awake, terrified at the thought of drowning and of ending up in the endless blackness of the ocean, at the mercy of the waves. She could still feel the horror of those times when she’d woken in her cramped, nauseating cell, a lather of perspiration, rigid with terror, haunted by images of herself thrashing about in the water uselessly. No, she would never get in a boat again. If she couldn’t walk somewhere, or ride, then she wouldn’t be going. That certainly put paid to any idea she might ever have had about going back to England, a thought which sometimes returned when she felt she could no longer continue to struggle with this unforgiving land. She pulled the door closed against the sights and sounds of the rising waters and quickly ascertained what she could take with her, making herself concentrate on g
etting Elizabeth and herself to safety.

  William was right, she reminded herself, as she grabbed at their blankets. At least here they had their freedom. No one was trying to chase them down and haul them before a magistrate. The officers in the colony and some of the free settlers who considered themselves above those who’d come as convicts would always look down their noses at the likes of William and Mary. But, out here on the Hawkesbury, even with all its challenges, they were free of disparaging eyes and haughty stares. And they didn’t have to steal to survive. They could grow their food on their own land, shrinking though it might be. They could lay their heads on their own beds at night in the peace of their own home, at least when it wasn’t getting washed away. They’d just have to rebuild what got lost in the waters and replant whatever crops were deluged. Yes, there were things to be thankful for.

  Mary tried to smile as she lifted her daughter onto the bed and gathered what would fit into their cart. William’s way of thinking was rubbing off on her. She opened the door again, praying the rain would ease so she could more easily find her way up to the ridge. But she knew by the sound of the beating downpour that it would go all day and night. In the morning they’d be looking down from the ridge on a huge lake of muddy water, choked with the remains of many of the farmers’ livelihood. But, most of the families here would salvage what they could and start again, hopefully learning as they went that the river could not be ignored, nor was it to be tamed. Rather it had to be understood and respected. The natives had obviously always known that, just as William said.

  ‘We’re a bit slow o’ mind, we Brits,’ she mumbled to Elizabeth. Dear little pet was always smiling, always in good humour. ‘Must take after your Pa,’ she whispered as she put a rough blanket around the child’s shoulders. ‘But your Ma’s learning, isn’t she, now? We’re not to be beaten, my lamb. We’ll raise you to a better life than we ever knew. Somehow, we will.’ She headed out into the squalling wind and rain with an armload of pans and plates. She and Elizabeth would be drenched by the time they got to the ridge but she knew young Andrew Thompson would let them shelter in his sheds. He was probably out on the river now in his boat, risking his life to help some that had no means of escape. It was what he always did. Coming back into the hut she bundled Elizabeth into her arms, covered her with as many blankets as she could, blew out the small candle on the table and headed back out.