‘He was a good soldier, I be thinking.’ Toby stood. ‘But maybe he was not much of a man.’
Daniel pursed his lips. ‘Aye, I believe you are right.’ He cocked his head to listen. ‘I think I hear Mary Ann.’
‘Excuse me, Toby, our daughter calls.’ Hannah scurried to the hut and they watched her go in silence.
‘They don’t come much better than your Hannah,’ Toby said, when she was out of earshot. ‘But I guess I don’t have to tell you that.’
Daniel smiled. ‘No, you don’t but thanks. I never get tired of hearing it.’
Toby mounted his horse. ‘See you next week, my friend.’ He waved to Hannah who stood in the doorway with Mary Ann in her arms, turned his horse and galloped away down the track.
Daniel watched until Toby was out of sight before he went inside the house. Hannah sat on the easy chair breast-feeding hungry Mary Ann. If there was any indication of Mercer’s death triggering bad memories for Hannah, he couldn’t see any. He watched her cooing to the babe while Charlotte stood by her side watching her sister with enthralled interest. It was a pleasant scene, he thought. What a pity time couldn’t stop and life like this could last forever...
The summer of 1816/17 had been the hottest they’d known and dry until well after Christmas. Isolated lightning storms thundered across the skies in January and continued into February when the rains came. The Hawkesbury — indeed the whole colony — came to a standstill as the downpours continued for days, then extended into the second week, seemingly without end. They couldn’t work on the farm and the family, housebound, irritable and impatient, resigned to staring out the open windows, waiting and praying for the rains to cease. One day, they were ecstatic at the sight of a little blue in the sky but it quickly clouded over and the downpour continued.
Every morning, Daniel swished through the mud and slush to lay hay on the ground of the stable for the horse and the two cows. Their hens roosted in the branches of nearby acacias, bedraggled and forlorn. There was no more he could do for them and they would lose them all if the rain didn’t stop as it was impossible to dry feed them. Blue huddled in his kennel, curled up into a ball, dreamy brown eyes staring into space when he wasn’t sleeping. Daniel brought him a lump of salted beef at the end of each day and stooped to pat the damp coat, while the water dripped incessantly off his saturated hat. ‘Good boy,’ he’d praise absently but his thoughts and gaze were on the rising creek. Every hour he watched the level with trepidation. It was now well over the bank and spreading. It seemed that every time he looked, another landmark became submerged in the turbid water.
They were isolated, cut-off from the outside world. Daniel knew that. Every time he tried to have a quiet conversation with Hannah in the close confines of the hut, it seemed either Mary Ann was crying or Charlotte was putting on a tantrum, stamping her feet and yelling. The roof was leaking too and he had to put pots on the floor to catch the drips. Their beds were soaked and nothing could be dried and they half dozed on uncomfortable chairs and listened to the drumming and roaring of the rain and wind on the roof. Daniel rubbed at his sore eyes. He tried to hide his irritation at nature’s turn of events and stay calm for the family but suddenly he snapped. ‘Damn it,’ he shouted, glaring at Charlotte. ‘Shut up, Charlie. For God’s sake stop that yelling and acting like a baby. What’s the matter with you?’
‘It’s Blue. That’s who. I’m worried about him. You’ve left Blue out in the cold and he’s all wet and shivering.’ Teary-eyed, she held her father’s gaze. ‘You’re cruel to my dog. I want Blue in here with us right now—’
‘Charlotte.’ Hannah strode across the room and took Charlie by the ear. She twisted it, ignoring the child’s scream. Even Daniel looked alarmed. ‘That dog . . .’ she pointed outside, ‘is not coming into this house so . . .’ Her eyes hardened. ‘You had better get used to it. Do you understand me?’ A muffled reply came from Charlotte’s bent head. ‘What?’ Hannah bellowed. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘YES, I hear you.’
Hannah released Charlotte who sank into a chair, bending her head into her hands, the golden abundance of hair shrouding her face. She continued to cry, every so often raising her head to eye her father. Daniel sighed. He threw aside the three month old copy of the Sydney Gazette that he’d read from cover to cover at least four times and moved across to his six year old daughter. He put his arm around her and lifted her onto his lap, mussed the top of her head with his chin and spoke softly. ‘Your mum’s right, you know. We all know how you love Blue but we can’t bring him in here when it’s so wet. It’s crowded in here now, isn’t it, princess?’ He put a finger under her chin and raised the child’s head until he could look into her deep, dark eyes. ‘Now isn’t it?’ He repeated.
Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Daddy,’ she whispered, hugging him, tears coming.
‘Don’t spoil her, Daniel.’ Hannah eyed the pair. ‘Charlie, you come over here and keep stirring this pot until I tell you to stop. Come on, get up.’
Daniel released Charlotte and stood. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, Hannah. She’s still only a child—’
‘It’s you who was shouting at her, Daniel Clarke, not me,’ Hannah pointed out. She waved one arm towards the stew in the pot. ‘Use that big wooden spoon, Charlie.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I did yell at her and I shouldn’t have. It’s this blasted rain, rain, rain but mostly it’s not being able to do anything. That’s the worst part.’ He walked to a window and looked out as he’d done for the umpteenth time that morning, searching the sky to the east. ‘The water’s up to the stable now, Hannah,’ he warned. ‘I may have to shift the animals soon if this keeps up.’
‘But where would we put them? ’Hannah gave a wan smile. ‘If you asked your kind-hearted daughter here, she’d tell you to bring them all in here, the horse, the dog and the goat. Ha-ha.’ She stroked Charlotte’s hair fondly while her daughter winced, expecting a slap. ‘You know, Daniel, we should have built a shelter somewhere higher, further to the west and away from the creek.’
‘We will when this is over,’ Daniel said dryly. ‘Who in their right mind would have forecast weeks of rain like this.’
‘I know. Come and eat.’ She patted a sniffling Charlie on the shoulder. ‘You too, girl, come on, you’ve done a good job there, Charlie, now eat, I said.’ The Clarke’s sat to eat stew on moldy bread as the rain continued to hiss on the roof.
Daniel stirred at first light and raised his head to listen. A rainless silence greeted him. Could it be? He reached for his boots, upended and slapped them to rid them of insects and spiders and shoved his bare feet into them. He rose and stumbled to a window. ‘Hannah,’ he bellowed. ‘It’s stopped. The bloody rain’s stopped.’ He turned, urging her. ‘Come and look. ‘He made room for her at the window. ‘See that beautiful blue sky to the east and also down in the south.’
Hannah’s tired face beamed. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, let it be true.’ She swiveled, motioning to a wide awake Charlotte. ‘Charlie, come here, love. Come see the blue sky.’ She hefted the child onto her hip and kissed her robustly. ‘There,’ she said. ‘See? The horrible black clouds have gone.’
‘And the sun will come out soon, won’t it, Mummy, so Blue and I can play.’ The lovely dark eyes twinkled in anticipation.
‘Yes, Charlie. The sun’s coming up. There’s light in the sky. Isn’t it lovely?’ Hannah put her remaining arm on her husband’s shoulder and winked. ‘It is lovely, isn’t it, Daddy?’
‘Aye,’ he said, grinning. ‘La di da, very lovely. Now, let’s have an early breakfast.’
‘I don’t hear anyone arguing against that.’ Hannah playfully pinched Charlotte into an uncontrollable giggle while Daniel looked out in appreciation at the lightening sky. There was just so much work they had to catch up on...
It took months to recover from the great flood of 1817. The maize crop and vegetables were destroyed and the block overgrown with thick grass. Snakes, flushed out of their
holes, slithered everywhere. They found one in the stable too which Daniel killed. They had to be very careful with the horse and cows and Blue could be bitten as he roamed far and wide, sniffing at old, familiar smells and happily lifting his leg. The biggest danger, though, apart from the snakes, was the bush ticks. Every evening, Hannah and Daniel checked the children closely. The dog was particularly susceptible and one night they found two, bloated with blood, behind one of his floppy ears.
Their food had diminished to almost nothing during the long wet and they began to shoot kangaroos. The first time that Daniel brought a kangaroo home to skin, he thought Charlotte would object and put on one of her animal-loving tantrums. To the contrary, she watched, grimacing every so often but excited and interested too, as his knife sliced the hide of the big grey. She was growing up, this daughter of his — he never ever thought of her as being John Dixon’s child. She was a real bush kid in the making. He didn’t know whether he was glad or sorry.
Soon, their life returned to normality although the Great Flood continued to become the topic of conversation every time they visited the town. Hannah was making her butter again, the blacks were quiet and Daniel was selling his reaping hook and axe-clearing services to the rich settlers up to a few days a week. There was no shortage of work on the big spreads. Toby resumed his weekly visits and amused them with his colorful — often greatly embellished — stories of the men and women settlers of the Hawkesbury. South Creek returned to its quiet, work-oriented lifestyle.
One cold, sunny winter’s morning, the Clarke family prepared the dray for a trip to Windsor. Daniel helped a pregnant Hannah up to a seat and endeavored to round up Charlotte and the running toddler, Mary Ann, when a smart-looking sulky appeared on the road outside their block. They watched the two striking black horses turn onto the track and sweep towards them. Hannah shaded her eyes to study the figures in the expansive sulky. There were two adults and two children. The woman looked familiar. Could it be . . . ‘Oh, my God,’ she exclaimed, eyes misting with emotion. ‘It’s Rosie, it’s our Rosie.’
Hannah jumped to the ground, running forward, eyes wide open with excitement. ‘Rosie,’ she screamed with joy. ‘Is it really you?’
She waited until the sulky had come to rest before reaching up to grasp a white gloved hand. Rosie stepped down, hoisting her long blue skirt to reveal high-heeled shoes with elegant gold buckles. ‘Hannah, my dearest, dearest friend.’ She advanced with open arms, encompassing Hannah and drawing her into a fierce hug. They remained that way for a silent minute, the world standing still for them, as the unrestrained tears welled and mixed down their cheeks.
‘How I’ve dreamed of this day and seeing you again,’ Rosie spluttered against Hannah’s long brown hair. ‘I missed you so.’
Hannah loosened the embrace and stood back. ‘Let me look at you, Rosie O’Donoghue or should I say Rosie Williams. Oh, God, you’re beautiful and that dress.’ She glanced up at John, in the buggy. ‘Hullo, John. It’s so good to see you again.’
John Williams stepped down and kissed Hannah on the cheek. ‘It’s always a great pleasure, Hannah.’ He turned to Daniel, hand outstretched. ‘And you, Daniel.’
The two convict girls looked at each other, laughing and sharing their exhilaration at the reunion. Rosie grasped Hannah’s hands and led her into an Irish jig while the men stood back and watched with emotion the frolic of these very special women who shared their lives. ‘They’ve been through so much together,’ John said. ‘They’ll always be soul mates.’
‘Aye,’ Daniel replied, thoughtful. ‘As long as they live, I be thinking.’
After a while, they all went into the house, squeezing into the confined space, women, men and children. Even Blue tried to poke his nose through the door until Daniel ordered him out and he retreated, peeping over his shoulder forlornly. The children became the centre of attention. Rosie and John couldn’t believe how much the golden one — as Rosie called Charlotte — had grown and she fussed over dark-haired Mary Ann, taking the toddler on her lap and singing an old Irish ballad to the awe-struck babe. Hannah couldn’t get over the look on Mary Ann’s face. She must be wondering if this pretty lady is one of God’s angels, Hannah thought, as she watched the child’s eyes widen, intent only on Rosie’s pretty face.
‘And you’re pregnant again,’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘Oh, John, she’s beating me,’ she complained, smiling at her husband and indicating Hannah who sat with an arm around the two Williams youngsters, Clarissa and Prudence.
‘Can I keep these two?’ Hannah enquired, cocking her head on one side. ‘What do you think, Daniel? Do you want an instant addition to our family?’
‘Aye, we’ll keep them,’ Daniel grinned, ‘but can they milk a cow?’
Rosie pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘Not blooming likely, I’m afraid. We’ve got other people to do that and, besides, John spoils them too much. Don’t you, darling?’ She shot an amused glance at her husband who rolled his eyes. ‘They’re going to be little ladies of leisure if he has his way.’
‘Hmm,’ Hannah said, changing the subject. She rose and took her friend by the arm. ‘Come with me, Rosie. We’ll walk around the block. I want to show you the place and talk. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘No, no kids, this time. Sorry,’ she added, as all four children made to join them. ‘And . . .’ She smiled at the men, ‘will you also excuse us, gentlemen?’ Arm in arm, the two convict women walked outside where Blue, happy to see anybody, trotted up, tongue lolling. Hannah reached down to pat him. ‘Good boy, Blue,’ she said.
‘Ah, you’ve got a running creek, too,’ Rosie said, pointing into the weeping willows. ‘That’s handy.’
‘Yes.’ Hannah grew thoughtful. ‘Look, Rosie my love, let me tell you a story about that creek. Two years ago it was. The wild blacks came up over that bank one moonlit night and . . .’ she looked fondly at Blue. ‘This here bag of fleas warned us and—’
‘My God,’ Rosie gasped.’ How terrible. And what happened then, Hannah?’
‘Ah, that’s another story, my friend, one that I’m about to tell you.’ She took Rosie’s arm and together they walked down to the weeping willows . . .
The mountains presented a fine mantle of snow and freezing west winds shrieked through the forests of the Hawkesbury the night of the 29th August 1817 when Hannah gave birth for the third time. The twins decided to expedite their arrival much to the chagrin of midwife and local identity Peggy Catchpole, called out in the middle of the freezing night.
‘Hey, Hannah,’ Peggy exploded, marching through the door at midnight and flinging her long woollen scarf on a chair. ‘Your timing could be improved. Why couldn’t you have waited till dawn, my love? It’d give my old bones a chance to thaw out.’
Peggy laughed but Hannah could only manage a wan smile, her face screwed up in pain. Henrietta stood by the bed and wiped her brow. ‘Right, Daniel and all you children, out you go,’ Peggy bellowed, motioning with her hands, ‘into the next room or wherever.’ She winked at Daniel. ‘You’ve done your work, mister, now got.’ He nodded, eyes flicking anxiously to Hannah, but steered a reluctant Charlotte and the curious Mary Ann away into the parlor.
The first to arrive was a girl with lighter hair than Mary Ann but the same hazel eyes and slightly turned up button nose. ‘Oh, golly,’ Hannah exclaimed as the squawking babe was shown to her. ‘It’s another girl.’ Her eyes filled with tears, thinking of Daniel and his yearning for a son and heir. She watched Henrietta take the baby to clean and wrap. A pain shot through her, tearing at her loins. ‘Oh, dear God, Peggy, it’s—’
‘The other one,’ Peggy said calmly, ‘now push, Hannah, push.’ A head appeared, darr-haired, other than the first. ‘Push again, one, two, three. Push. Yes, that’s it. The shoulders are out now. Yes, it’s coming. Stop pushing. Relax. Take deep slow breaths. Oh, glory be—’
‘What’s up?’ Hannah gasped. ‘Peggy? What is wrong?’
‘Well, I would sa
y there is nothing wrong.’ Peggy smiled at Hannah’s fearful, sweaty face. ‘This one here . . .’ She dangled the second baby from the ankles and gave him a smack on the bottom. This fine little one has got a spout on him so . . .’
‘It’s a boy,’ Hannah shouted in delight.
The dangling boy emitted a strong cry followed by another stronger protest. ‘He’s got a good pair of lungs, this one,’ Peggy observed. ‘Wait until I snip this little bit here. No, don’t be alarmed, Hannah, not that one. There we go. Here, Hen, another one for your assembly line.’ She took the swaddled bundle of girlhood from Henrietta and placed her on Hannah’s chest. ‘There, here’s your daughter number three.’ She eyed the baby closely. ‘She’s the dead spit of you,’ she declared.
‘Then God help her,’ Hannah chuckled, peering into the tiny, wizened face.
‘What are you going to call her?’ Henrietta asked.
‘I’ll call her Hannah after me. I want her to keep the name long after we’ve gone . . .’ her eyes filled with tears and she looked up. ‘Will someone call Daniel?’
‘Yes, when the boy’s ready. Ah, there he is, the big strong lad. Thanks, Hen.’ Peggy placed him on the other side of the mother. ‘There, the perfect twins, one of each. Now I’ll call the fellow that caused all this trouble.’
When the family came in, they gathered around the bed, silent, eyes agog. Daniel kissed Hannah on the lips. Together they shed a few tears, heads touching. ‘Thank you, ‘he managed. ‘You’re unbelievable, two of them. I can’t get over it.’
‘And this one is our boy,’ she said proudly, pushing the cover back from his face. ‘Look, he’s got blue eyes like yours.’
Daniel held a tiny finger in wonder. ‘He’s strong,’ he said softly.
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