by Janet Woods
Taking up the gold pan she scooped up some mud and allowed the rain to half fill the pan. She began to swirl it around, and soon became absorbed in the occupation. She’d panned enough gold dust to fill a quarter of a teaspoon when instinct told her she was being watched.
Hair rising on the nape of her neck she strolled casually back towards the hut and picked up the pistol.
Someone called out, ‘Hello, the camp.’
She went outside, the pistol held at her side. Opposite the door beyond the campfire site was a ginger-haired man of about thirty. He had a sly look to him.
‘What do you want?’
‘My name’s Jimmy. Can you spare something to eat.’
She had made a loaf and a pot of soup before it rained, but there was only enough for herself and Mr John.
He took a couple of steps towards her. ‘Is your man home, missy?’
‘No, he’s . . .’ She realized her mistake when he smiled, and she said hastily, ‘He’ll be back any minute.’
Sarette pulled up the gun when he took another step forward. ‘If you come any closer I’ll shoot you. Move back, and I’ll give you some bread if you’re hungry.’
‘Thank you, miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Jimmy said humbly and backed off. She lowered the pistol and was about to turn back into the hut when she was seized from behind by a second man. Her heart nearly exploded from fright and she gave a loud yell before a hand was clapped over her mouth. The gun was wrenched from her hand and thrown into the bush, where it went off with a loud report that set the birds into the sky, crying out in alarm.
Dragging her into the hut they threw her on the bed and looked around. First, they helped themselves to the stew, spooning it into their mouths, then they ate the bread, washing it down with the water that ran off the roofing sheets. Afterwards they ransacked the place, throwing her mother’s things into the mud and grinding them in as they tromped all over them. Jimmy slid the matchbox containing her gold into his pocket.
Sensing an opportunity, she leaped off the bed and tried to dodge through them. The dark man grabbed her by the arm and jerked it up her back. ‘Where’s your gold?’
She gave a loud yell when he twisted her wrist. ‘Let me go, you’re hurting me.’
‘Let her go, Col.’ When Col did as he was told, Jimmy pushed her back on the bed. ‘Stay there and you won’t get hurt. Where’s the gold?’
Fear filled her, drying her mouth so she could hardly speak. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’
‘We heard that John Camly had made a big strike.’
‘This is John Kern’s claim. D’you think we’d still be here if we’d found a lot of gold?’
‘She has a point,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before her man comes back.’
Col’s eyes raked down her and his eyes changed. ‘Not just yet. She’s a nice-looking piece. She owes me a little something for aiming that gun at me.’
A snatch of a hymn came to her ears and Sarette experienced relief. All she had to do was keep them at bay until John got here. She opened her mouth and let out a piercing scream.
Col gave a bit of a grin and punched her in the midriff. When she collapsed, gasping for breath, he threw her skirt up over her head. ‘There, that shut her mouth. Look at that sweet piece of pie. Hurry up, so I can have my slice of it.’
Sarette kicked out with her remaining strength, only to have her legs seized and pulled apart. Someone grasped the front of her drawers and pulled. There came a clanging noise and the full weight of a man’s body dropped on her. She shuddered, pulled down her skirt and struck out with her fists. The unconscious body was dragged off her. It hit the floor with a thud.
John handed her the rifle. ‘Keep that on him, and shoot to kill if he moves.’ Taking a rope down from a nail he tied the unconscious man’s wrists together.
She eyed the iron skillet on the floor then gazed at the man again. ‘What are you going to do to him?’
Sarette gasped when John told her, ‘I thought I might hang him. After that I’m going to shoot his companion. If I bury them in the bush nobody will ever know.’
Col said, ‘Without giving us a chance? That’s murder.’
‘So it is. You didn’t give my niece much of a chance, did you?’ Sarette didn’t know whether John had meant what he’d said or not, until he winked at her.
‘We wouldn’t have killed her. Aw, come on, mister. My brother never got anywhere with her. She gave him a flirty look and he was just giving her a bit of a kiss.’
‘You lying scum. I’d rather kiss a dead lizard.’ She grabbed up the skillet and was about to take a swing at him when John said in a voice she didn’t care to argue with, ‘Put it down.’
‘We was hungry that’s all. She was scratching for gold over there. We asked for food and she gave us some. She looked so pretty and we thought she gave us the come on. Sorry if we upset her. We didn’t mean to.’
‘Is that true, Sarry?’
She shook her head and said fiercely, ‘It’s true that I was scratching for gold. I thought the rain might have turned some up. They stole the food. But he tried to . . . to force me, and he punched me in the stomach, and they turned everything over and stole my twenty per cent. It’s in his pocket. It took me over eighteen months to collect it, and if I don’t get it back I’ll shoot his legs out from under him.’
‘He’ll give it back. Won’t you, young man?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The man turned out his pockets, so did his brother when he came round. Tied together by one set of joined wrists at the back and another at the front, the pair looked like a sorry sight. Tying their ankles together John took them outside and pointed them towards town. ‘Coolgardie is that way. When you scum reach there, go to Warden Finnerty’s house, tell them what you’ve done. I’ll be right behind you with my rifle in a minute or two. And if you step on my claim again you’ll be shot out of hand. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they said together, and shuffled off sideways like a couple of dancing crabs.
‘I doubt if we’ll see them again,’ John commented.
‘I thought you were going to escort them in.’
‘I don’t see the point. They should be able to figure out a way to get those cords off. There are a lot of people coming in now the train service is here, and it won’t be long before the adjoining land is pegged. ‘It’s nearly time we left.’
She just laughed. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
The next morning when the sun came up the air smelled fresh and clean. Sarry was busy cleaning up the mess. She’d been badly shaken and the innocence in her eyes had been replaced by sadness. John had heard her crying during the night, and hadn’t known how to help her.
He’d come to a decision though. He doubted if those men would come back for Sarry. But if not them, then others would try. She had reached that age of desirability when she was peachy with innocent youth and ready for plucking. He couldn’t fight them all off. He was too old. He had to get her out of here, take her to a place that was more civilized. He would tell her tonight.
The sun shifted a little in the sky. From habit he placed his pick in the wheelbarrow and set off. It was a pretty day. The trees shook off the moisture from the downpour in rainbow-coloured drops, the sun shafted beams down through the branches. In the distance John saw a patch of yellow. His eyes narrowed in on it, identified it, then mesmerized, he found himself drawn towards it, his heart pounding in his chest and hardly daring to hope.
There were several nuggets strewn about on top, and sticking out of the soil, a chunk of quartz, uncovered by the punching force of the rain. How lovely it looked.
As he drew nearer he began to shake as though he had a fever. ‘The ridge! At long last!’ He couldn’t leave now. He’d work it until it ran out, then he’d leave, taking Sarry with him.
He began to hack at the quartz, ignoring the pain that haunted his stomach. He’d grown used to it. By the
end of the week his muscles ached, his spine seemed set to break in two, and he was suffering from extreme fatigue. To his disappointment the quartz reef hadn’t contained any gold.
John hadn’t drunk anything but water for a week and he felt out of sorts. He tipped the bottle up, took a swig and kicked at a chunk of quartz that seemed to be mocking him. The toe of his boot went under it, lifted it and sent it flying through the trees. Where it had rested was a pitted yellow patch. Placing one end of the pick under it, he loosened it from its bed in the earth and lifted it out.
Gold in the rough shape of a heart appeared from under the dirt, a nugget so large it must have weighed at least sixteen pounds. This was it! More than he’d ever hoped for. He named it Sarry’s heart. It was for her, though she wouldn’t know it yet. John wanted to shout out his good luck, but didn’t dare in case he was overheard. He wasn’t even going to register his find, though it would be breaking the law not to. But he couldn’t remember ever respecting that, and was too old to do so now.
He laughed, kissed it and said, ‘You beautiful, beautiful thing.’
Wrapping the nugget in his coat he placed the bundle in the wheelbarrow and trundled home with it. He handed a couple of the smaller nuggets to her. ‘Here’s your twenty per cent, Sarry girl. That’s it. I’ve had enough of the diggings, so get ready to leave in the morning. Don’t take anything we can’t carry on the train.’
While she exclaimed over her twenty per cent he carried his coat inside and placed the nugget in his trunk. It would weigh heavy, but he didn’t care.
As John knew she would, she resisted the scheme, reluctant to step out of the narrow little world she was used to.
‘Then what?’ she’d scoffed, looking displeased with the whole idea when he’d explained it to her. ‘It’s not much good being turned into an English lady unless it will help me earn a living.’
It was worse when he sold Hercules along with the claim, outside of the railway station. It was then that she realized that they really were leaving, and John knew that she was scared of losing everything that was familiar to her.
‘He’ll miss us.’
‘Nonsense. He’s a horse. As long as he gets his daily hymn along with his food, he’ll be quite happy to transfer his affection to the person who feeds him.’
Bursting into tears she threw her arms around Hercules’s neck and wailed, ‘I don’t want to leave him.’
John knew he’d have to be hard with her. ‘Then stay.’ Hefting his trunk on to his shoulder with some difficulty, he began to amble towards the train. He got into a carriage, leaving the door open in case he’d have to jump out again, and gazed back at her, wondering if she’d choose Hercules over him.
The young couple who’d bought the horse along with the claim gazed awkwardly at one another. ‘I’d better carry your trunk to the train for you,’ the man said eventually, and picked it up.
Sarette looked from one to the other, then said to the woman, ‘You’ll look after him, won’t you? And you won’t forget to sing hymns to him?’
‘Of course. You’d better hurry else you’ll miss the train. Your man looks right annoyed at being kept waiting.’
John kept the frown on his face and tried not to grin when Sarry glared at him and said, ‘He isn’t my man. I hate him.’
She gave Hercules a last hug and ran for the train when the whistle blew. Taking the seat opposite him she folded her arms over her chest and looked fierce as the train lurched forward and began to gather speed.
After a while he winked at her.
As John knew she would, she decided to forgive him.
‘What’s Fremantle like?’ she said.
Five
June 1897
Fremantle, Western Australia
The train journey had been uncomfortable, but when it was over Sarette would have been the first to admit to John’s wisdom of selling Hercules, for completing the three hundred and fifty mile journey by horse and wagon would have been even more uncomfortable.
John had slept. When he woke she gave him something to eat, for she’d made a loaf of bread the night before, hollowed out the middle and had filled it with sliced bacon covered in pickles. To go with it were eggs pickled in vinegar that she’d brought from Benstead’s store, and to wash it down, some water.
After the rain the countryside was pretty, carpeted as it was with multicoloured wildflowers. But she knew the land would soon go back to its dry, scrubby self and the unforgiving sun would evaporate the moisture and bake the earth’s skin to a crust.
The first sight of the ocean was unexpected because she couldn’t remember seeing it before. So blue and so large it was, reaching to the horizon where it joined an even bluer sky, and on it a ship with sails fatly puffed with wind, and another with chimney stacks blowing smoke. Yet despite that, the air was wondrously clear and fresh without the wind-blown dust from the goldfields to spoil it.
‘Look at all the water,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a marvel it is.’
John smiled at that. ‘You’ll be sailing on it for several weeks.’
She laughed at that, for she thought he must be teasing. Nothing could be that big.
When they reached Fremantle John booked them rooms in a hotel that seemed to be in the thick of things. There was a public bar underneath and as the evening progressed the patrons became rowdier and rowdier. But they’d eaten a good dinner earlier, and she was tired, and the roomy bed with its soft mattress was both a novelty and inviting, since she’d never slept in a real bed before.
But Sarette found it hard to get to sleep, and she tossed and turned in its softness before she felt weary enough to give in to the novelty of it. She was worried about John Kern. He looked tired, and now and again he pressed a hand against his stomach.
The next morning she asked him, ‘Are you ill, Mr John?’
‘It’s nothing, just something I ate that disagreed with me. Those pickles, I expect.’
‘Promise me that you’ll stop drinking rot-gut whisky and go and see a doctor.’
‘Stop nagging girl. You’re not my wife.’
‘If I was your wife I’d make you do what you were told. If you don’t see a doctor I’ll find one and bring him to see you.’
‘All right, I promise I’ll see a doctor,’ he’d grumbled.
He honoured his promise.
She was just readying herself for a walk around town when he arrived back, a wide smile on his face. ‘The doctor said it’s nothing serious. You were right about the rot-gut though.’
She couldn’t help but give a smug smile at that, but it was wiped from her face when he chuckled and added, ‘He prescribed medicinal brandy instead.’
She gave him a dark look. ‘What sort of doctor did you go to . . . a witch doctor?’
‘One who knows the nature of men.’
She snorted. ‘You’re incorrigible, John Kern. Do I have to do any lessons today? I thought I might walk around town and look at the shops, so I can write about Fremantle in my journal. I thought the railway station was rather grand, and I thought I might go over to Cliff Street and make a sketch of it.’
‘Better still, I’ll buy you a postcard. My dear, you’re seventeen, and have learned all you needed to have of a formal education months ago. You’re far from stupid. Just keep your eyes and ears open and your reading and writing up, since it will broaden you even more and give you something to discuss with others. Now you need to learn to be a lady . . . and don’t make that ugly face at me. It makes you resemble a prune. We’re not on the diggings now, and although you’re not entirely devoid of manners, better will be expected of you if you wish to function in polite society and marry well.’
‘I could marry you. Then I wouldn’t have to go to that stupid school, or learn any manners. And I wouldn’t have to leave you – not ever.’
He looked taken aback for a moment, then stuttered, ‘On the first score, if I ever decided to settle down I’d certainly expect my wife to be socially acceptable. Sec
ondly . . .’ He shrugged when he realized what she was about. ‘I know that you’re scared, Sarry.’
‘But I’ll miss you,’ she wailed.
‘And I’ll miss you.’ He took her by the shoulders and gazed into her eyes. ‘I’ve never known you to lack courage. Do this for me, Sarry girl. It will only be for a year, then I’ll join you in England.’
‘Why won’t you come with me now?’
His eyes flickered away, then came back to her. They had a slightly yellow tinge to them. ‘I’m going to Melbourne first. I have some business to finalize. I’m sending my trunk with you to save me lugging it around.’ He kissed her cheek and let her go.
‘I could come with you to Melbourne, then we could go to England together.’
‘Enough, girl! When I took you in I didn’t give you permission to run my life. I’m going to book your ticket on a clipper, and I’ve found you a travelling companion who will act as your chaperone. We’re to have tea with her later, so you can meet. You can practise your manners on her if you can be bothered to display that you have some . . . and you can take that sulky look off your face and accept the inevitable.’
‘Sorry, I was worried about you.’
‘Don’t be, my dear. I’ve lived a long time and I know what I’m about.’
Still smarting from the sharp reminder of her status, she murmured, close to tears, ‘I don’t need a chaperone.’
He took her by the shoulders, his voice softer. ‘Remember what happened in the goldfields. A girl your age can’t be too careful. But it works two ways. Mrs Kent is nervous of travelling alone. She’s a mature lady, a widow who has lost her husband and is returning to live with her relatives in England. She has a pleasant nature, and you’ll be doing her a favour, since having you to look after will help take her mind off her own troubles.’
It took all of John’s will to hide his pain from Sarry as he escorted her around the busy little town, with its many fine buildings. Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee was being celebrated. Here and there they saw the occasional window display with the queen looking out at them surrounded by some dusty-looking bunting.
