by Bonnie Leon
Hannah couldn’t believe what she’d heard. He couldn’t possibly expect the women to disrobe in front of him and the other men.
“Do as you’re told or I’ll lay a bludgeon across your skull.”
The soldiers shifted their muskets uneasily. One young man couldn’t even look at the women.
A rotund woman stepped out of a nearby building. “Enough of that. You blackguards. I’ll have ye reported. Yer to offer them some discretion and ye know it.”
The one in charge glared at the woman, but lowered his musket.
The woman marched up to the prisoners. “I’m Matilda,” she said as she removed the women’s leg irons. “Ye ’ave a need, ye ask for me.” After unlocking the last manacle, she straightened. “Now, inside with ye. Yer badly in need of a bath.”
She followed the women inside the building. “Take off those rags and wash yerselves. Make sure to use soap.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Yer not fit for decent company.”
The women moved into a washroom. There were barrels of clean water, bar soap, and towels.
For a moment, the women eyed each other, suddenly shy over exposing themselves.
“Well, I got nothing to be embarrassed about,” said Rosalyn, stripping.
The others followed suit. The idea of being clean overriding inhibitions, Hannah gladly shimmied out of her dress.
She washed her hair and then scrubbed every curve and crevice of her body, breathing in the scent of soap. As the filth fell away, she felt renewed.
Lottie needed help getting the soap out of her hair, but otherwise she was quite adept at washing herself.
“There are dresses for ye,” said Matilda. “Ye’ll each have two. Every week ye’ll wash the dirty one and put on the clean.” She pulled sacklike dresses out of a bag, handing one to each woman. “Not fancy, mind ye, but clean.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said, accepting hers. She pulled one over her head and pushed her arms into the sleeves. The material was coarse and the dress hung loosely, but Hannah didn’t mind. It was clean. She combed the tangles out of her hair with her fingers.
“Mum, ye look pretty.” Lottie smiled at Hannah.
“So do you.” Hannah tweaked the little girl’s nose.
Matilda hustled the women into an adjoining room. “Ye’ll wait ’ere for the surgeon.”
Hannah, Lottie, and Lydia sat together, leaning against a wall. The solid floor still tipped and rocked, but not as badly as before. Hannah stared at the windows. She hadn’t seen any in so long. They allowed air and light inside. Such a little thing, yet it meant so much.
Clasping her hands in front of her, Marjorie joined them. “Do you think they’ll have us put back in irons?”
Lydia shrugged. “Why? Where would we go?”
Marjorie held her shift away from her. “This dress is utterly impossible. It has no style whatsoever.”
Lydia closed her eyes in an exaggerated way. “That’s the least of our worries.”
A small man with a tiny mustache and a stern expression stepped into the room. “Everyone stand in a line.” Hands clasped behind his back, he waited while the women did as instructed.
When the last woman found her place, he stepped to the first. “You have any complaints?”
She shook her head no.
“Bend forward.” She did as told and he examined her scalp. “Straighten up. Open your mouth.” He examined the inside of her mouth, her throat, and her teeth. After that, he palpated her neck and then said, “Cough.” He checked the skin on her arms and legs then moved on.
Most of the women were emaciated from lack of proper nutrition and illness. Some had oozing sores about their ankles from the irons and a myriad of other skin infections. Many had rasping coughs.
As the surgeon moved along, he took notes and offered ointments or liniments to some. A few he separated from the group, asking them to stand by the door.
Keeping hold of Lottie’s hand, Hannah waited her turn and wished there were some way to avoid the degrading examinations. But of course there wasn’t.
When he’d examined each one, he looked at Matilda. Nodding at the women he’d set aside, he said, “See they get to the infirmary.” Without another word he walked out.
A few moments later, soldiers appeared and marched those deemed healthy out of the building. The women were steered toward derelict huts. Several were ordered into each. Still holding Lottie’s hand, Hannah prayed they’d stay together.
The one in charge pointed at Hannah, Lottie, Lydia, Marjorie, and Rosalyn. “You five! In here!” He grabbed Rosalyn’s arm and shoved her toward the door. She shrugged him off. Instantaneously, he backhanded her across the face. “I know your kind. If you want to live, you better smarten up.”
Rosalyn didn’t look at him. Holding her body erect and without saying a word, she stepped into the hut. Hannah followed her, wondering why she insisted on being so pigheaded.
The hut had a dirt floor, five woven rope hammocks, and a chamber pot. Its two redeeming qualities were a door that could be left open and a window.
“This isn’t so bad,” said Lydia. “It’s better than the hold of the ship, I’d say.”
Rosalyn dropped into a hammock. She touched her cheek. It was already bruising.
Lottie crossed to her. “Are ye all right?”
“Yeah. He didn’t hurt me.”
“He will,” said Lydia. “Ye bring trouble on yerself and on the rest of us.”
“What’s that?” shrieked Marjorie, her eyes fixed on a corner of the room.
A huge brown spider as large as a woman’s hand was fastened to the wall.
“It looks like a sea crab.” Marjorie stepped backward as far from it as she could get. When she backed into the opposite wall, she startled.
Lottie huddled close to Hannah. “I never seen a spider that big.”
“It’s easily taken care of.” Rosalyn swung out of her hammock, walked up to it, and removed a shoe. With a swift blow, she smashed it. “No matter how big it is, it’s still just a spider.” She ignored the mashed remains on the wall and returned her shoe to her foot.
“Aren’t you going to clean it up?” Marjorie asked.
“Must I do everything?” Rosalyn eased into her hammock, folded her arms behind her head, and closed her eyes.
“But it’s ghastly.”
Wearing a smirk, Rosalyn looked at Marjorie. “Then I’d say ye ought to get rid of it.”
“Oh!” Marjorie exploded.
Lydia picked up a stone from the floor and scraped the remains off the wall, then tossed the rock out the door. “If we’re to be housemates, we’d best learn to get along.”
Lottie fell into a hammock. Wearing a smile, she pushed one foot against the floor and swung back and forth. “This is fun.”
Although feeling like a lost soul, Hannah offered the little girl a smile. Weariness enveloping her, she took the hammock next to Lottie. She closed her eyes and sleep quickly overtook her.
15
Marjorie scooped out the last of her porridge with her fingers. “The very least they could do is give us proper utensils. They make us eat like animals.”
“We don’t need yer complaining today,” Rosalyn said.
“At least we’ve something to eat,” Lydia said in her usual cheery voice.
Hannah dropped the last bite of biscuit into her mouth. It was dry, but filling.
“Do ye think we’ll work for the Browns again today?” Lottie asked.
“I should think so. We’ve been there a week now. Mrs. Brown seems well pleased with us.”
Hannah was happy to work for Mrs. Brown. She and Lottie scrubbed floors, washed clothes, and helped with other household chores. None of it was overly taxing, and working helped the days go by. She’d also been asked to do some sewing, which Hannah thoroughly enjoyed.
“I rather like it there.” Lottie smiled. “Mrs. Brown’s nice. Sometimes she gives me treats.”
“She is nice,” Hannah said, thankful
that she and Lottie had been assigned to someone who treated them with courtesy. Mrs. Brown had married a soldier who’d been assigned to Port Jackson. She’d decided to accompany her husband rather than wait for him in England.
The Browns had three children, a set of twin boys and an infant. The boys were lively, and Mrs. Brown had her hands full trying to keep up with them and her new daughter, which is why Hannah and Lottie had been assigned to her.
Lydia hadn’t been so lucky. She worked for a family who lived on the outskirts of Port Jackson, and it seemed they had little respect for convicts. They threatened to beat poor Lydia over the least infraction and worked her so hard that at the end of each day she dragged in exhausted with barely enough energy to eat. She’d fall asleep immediately after her evening meal.
Marjorie and Rosalyn had both been assigned to local businesses where they sorted and packed goods and kept the establishments clean. They were treated decently enough, but of course Marjorie managed to find reason to complain.
“It’s time we were off,” Hannah said to Lottie. She settled her eyes on Lydia. “I’ll keep you in my prayers today.”
Lydia smiled. “Thank ye. I’ll be fine. A bit of hard work never hurt anyone, I always say.”
Hannah and Lottie didn’t have far to walk. The Browns’ home was less than a mile from the gaol. Hannah still worried, though, about hazards and would keep watch for any kind of threat, especially Aborigines. She’d seen a few about town but had never had an encounter. There were other dangers as well. More than once she and Lottie had come across snakes warming themselves in the midst of the path, and there were a number of different kinds of lizards. Hannah didn’t like snakes or lizards.
“What do ye think we’ll see today?” Lottie asked, adventure in her tone.
“I can’t imagine.”
“I liked the bird we saw yesterday. I never seen one like that before— all white with yellow feathers on its head. It was pretty.”
“It was at that,” Hannah said. “Rosalyn told me they’re called cockatoos.”
“That’s a funny name.” Lottie kicked a stone into the brush. Hannah watched it fly. It landed at the feet of a black man. She gasped and instinctively caught hold of Lottie.
The man, though small, stood with a spear at his side and looked fierce. Matted hair stuck out from his head, exaggerating his square black face. He stared at them from dark eyes; even the whites looked brown.
Hannah barely breathed. What should she do? If she ignored him and kept walking, would he attack them? Should she try to communicate? She decided it would be best to act cordial. Smiling, she said, “I’m Hannah.” She glanced at Lottie. “And this is Lottie.”
The Aborigine looked from one to the other and then said something in a foreign language.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Hannah was perplexed at what to do next.
The man spoke again and then walked away, seemingly indifferent to Hannah’s mistrust and fear.
“I never seen one of ’em up close like that,” Lottie said when he’d gone. “I was afraid he’d steal us away and eat us.”
Hannah laughed nervously and stared at the place she’d last seen him. “Of course he’s not going to eat us. He meant no harm.”
“But that sailor said—”
“He was only trying to scare us,” Hannah said. “Obviously that man was harmless.” But she wasn’t at all certain that was true. She’d heard stories of Aborigines attacking whites.
“Mrs. Brown will be waiting for us,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, hoping to conceal her own apprehension. Grasping Lottie’s hand, she hurried on.
Whenever Hannah was out and about, she watched for John. Several times she’d caught a glimpse of him, but always from a distance. She’d heard that he’d been assigned to a road crew and could be away for days at a time. Once, he’d spotted her at the same time she’d seen him. He’d waved, but then had been forced to move on.
Hannah thought about him often and wished there were some way to find quiet moments together. But each time her mind went to that place, she’d force it back to reality. There was no reason to associate with John. He was serving a life sentence, and she fourteen years. There could never be a time for them. She might as well get used to living as a convict in this inhospitable land.
New South Wales was nothing like England. Although Hannah found it tolerable, it took some getting used to. There were some things about the country that she actually preferred over what she’d experienced in London or aboard ship. The temperatures could be hot, but the air was cleaner than London. And although conditions in the huts were deplorable, they were still better than the hold of the ship. She struggled most with the hungry bugs, especially mosquitoes. They could make nights torturous and sleep elusive.
Soldiers still made visits to the ladies’ huts, but there were enough women who were willing to exchange their favors for small extravagances that those who weren’t so inclined were left alone. Hannah was thankful she, Lydia, and Lottie had not been bothered.
A camaraderie of sorts developed between Hannah and her roommates. Rosalyn mostly kept to herself, but often shared rewards from her nighttime rendezvous, bringing home blankets, drink, and food. Once she was given a comb, a prized possession in this place.
Marjorie could be sanctimonious and sometimes hurled barbed comments, mostly at Rosalyn, but she also helped with the work and on occasion tended to Lottie’s needs. She was, however, often frightened and always bitter.
On a Sunday morning, their only day to rest, Rosalyn woke late. She immediately dug into her bag. “I’ve something better than that salt beef and dry bread we get.” She smiled mischievously. “Chocolate.” She held up a hunk of the confection. Dividing it, she gave a piece to Lottie. “There you go, luv. It’s a bit soft, but still good.”
Eyes aglow, Lottie bit into it and chewed. “Mmm.”
“Hannah. Lydia. There’s some for you too.” She handed them each a piece.
“Thank ye.” Lydia immediately popped hers into her mouth. She closed her eyes as she chewed. “It’s grand.”
Hannah accepted hers. “Thank you.” She looked at the gift. “Rosalyn, this isn’t worth what you do.” Gently she added, “We don’t need it.”
Rosalyn tilted up her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Just because those blokes lock me up in a hovel doesn’t mean I’m going to live like a savage. I want some of the finer things. And I’ll have them.” She walked to the doorway and looked outside. “One day, I’ll find one to marry.” Her words were confident, but not her tone. She looked at Marjorie. “Ye want a piece?”
“From you? No.”
“Ye think yer so much better than me . . . than all of us. Well, yer not. Yer stuck here just like us.”
“I’m innocent of the charges. My brother-in-law’s lies put me here.”
“Yer not the only innocent ’round ’ere.” Leaning against the doorframe, Rosalyn gazed out. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Please don’t go,” said Lydia.
“I’m not meeting anyone. Just need some fresh air.” She glared at Marjorie.
The sun had gone down and the staccato buzzing of cicadas filled the night air. The mosquitoes were especially voracious and Hannah couldn’t sleep. Moonlight spilled in through the hut window, pushing back the darkness.
A hammock creaked and someone moved across the room. Rosalyn. She went to the door, hesitated a moment, and then stepped outside.
Hannah propelled herself out of her hammock and followed. “Rosalyn,” she whispered loudly. “Rosalyn.”
The tall, dark-haired woman stopped and looked at Hannah. “What do ye want?”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t like using the chamber pot. I prefer me privacy.”
Hannah stared at her. “I don’t believe you. You’re meeting someone, aren’t you?”
“What is it to you?”
“I know you don’t want this—”
“H
ave I a choice?” Rosalyn whispered back vehemently.
“Yes.”
Rosalyn folded her arms over her chest and stared at the bay where moonlight shimmered. “I can’t live out me life as a prisoner. If I’m not free, I shall die.”
Hannah remembered when she’d considered trading her body for food. The shame she’d felt then rushed at her anew. “I know what it’s like to feel you have no choice. But you do.”
“Go back to your bed.”
Hannah tried a different tact. “It’s not safe. There’ve been attacks by Aborigines. I saw one myself a few days ago.”
“I’m meeting a guard. He’ll see to me safety.”
“Please don’t go.”
Rosalyn glared at Hannah. “Why do ye care?”
“You have value, Rosalyn. We all do.”
Rosalyn stared out into the darkness and then turned to Hannah. “What I do has nothing to do with ye. Just because we’re forced to live in the same hut doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
Rosalyn’s words hurt. “I just thought—”
“Don’t waste time on me.” Rosalyn’s voice had lost its hard edge. “I’m not worth it.” She moved on.
Hannah watched her disappear into the darkness. I’m reallyno different from her, she thought, regret engulfing her.
She wasn’t sneaking off to meet men, but she felt as much a prostitute as Rosalyn. They all were—doing whatever it took to survive, groveling and doing as they were told. And worse than Rosalyn, she’d traded the life of her baby for so-called respectability. She could nearly understand Rosalyn’s actions. Perhaps she was right—why bother with decency?
Late in the afternoon the following day, a genteel lady came to the hut. Hannah had seen her before, but she’d never met her. The stout, kindly looking woman held a large satchel and stood just outside the doorway. “Might I come in?” she asked, her blue eyes gentle.
“Yer welcome to,” said Lydia. She stood and offered her stool to the visitor.
Moving gracefully, the woman crossed the room and sat. “I’m Mrs. Atherton. I live a little way from here. I visit occasionally to see what I can do to help. I know a bit about doctoring.”
