Mrs. Lawson smiled, as if she knew the answer. “Heartfelt gratitude unlocks the goodness of life, my girl. Love, is the key.”
18
October 21
Shadrach rests for a second full day. The rest of the weary. No longer tossed by fever, it’s now the replenishment of strength his body craves.
And so he sleeps, with Molly at his side in the skillion. I have no fear she will wander. She could not be more attached if I employed his rope to keep her there.
The rain hems us in again. Less furious than in days just passed, but equally determined. It seeps from heaven, everyday. Floods his crops and trees, and turns tender green shoots into emerald leaves. The rain barrels overflow and trickle into streams which find the sea.
And here underfoot, we tread on broken cuttlefish. On cockleshells and mother of pearl and other extravagant gifts, for which I have not yet thanked the giver. Instead, I watch as he pays the price for his extravagance.
*
“You look like the Queen of Sheba.” Finella teased.
With her back against the open skillion doorframe, Molly reposed across a threshold of rolled blankets like a blissful regent. Feet up against the jamb, she picked from shells nearest the doorway, scooped handfuls into the length of her apron and examined her favorites in the welcome sunlight.
Finella sat against the outside wall on a chair. She had to jiggle its legs into the ground under the path of shells to set it straight, but when she did, it was the perfect place to sit and trim her hair. She untangled its knots, and exchanged her brush for scissors.
Short snips dealt with any split ends, and a breath of wind blew the wisps away. They danced across the yard and disappeared.
“I think this is the first day since I’ve been here, we’ve had such a warm afternoon. I could get used to this.” She stretched her legs and crossed them at the ankles. Sunshine splashed off the shell path and warmed her from her scalp down to the toes she wriggled in her shoes. Clean shoes. If she didn’t count the crushed shell fragments on her soles.
“Look at this one.” Molly held her palm to Finella. “There’s a rainbow inside.”
“That’s mother of pearl. What are you going to do with them all? Your collection’s outgrown your tins.”
Molly shrugged. “I just like to have them. They’re pretty.”
“Not as pretty as you.” A raspy voice from the skillion joined their conversation.
“Brother!” Molly tumbled from the door in a spill of skirt and shoes. “Why did you sleep so long?” She crawled to him faster than Finella could stand up and lean into the doorway.
She poked her head in, not surprised to see Molly draped across her brother.
“I slept so long because I knew when I woke up, I’d get a sweet good morning from you.” A weak smile lit the face they’d watched twist and turn for days.
“Silly. It’s not morning. It’s afternoon.”
“It is? I slept all day?”
“All day and all night. And all day and all night.” Molly counted using her thumb and three fingers.
“That long?” He scratched his chin. “Really?” He looked around the room to where a jug of water rested on a crate near his feet. He peered at the ceiling and then turned to the doorway. He squinted and blinked at Finella.
She remained in the doorway, rooted to the spot by the goosewing that banged in her chest. “Welcome back. You left us there for a few days.”
“So I’m told.” He coughed, and Molly sat up to pour him a drink. A cover of bristles darkened his face and a pillow crease marked his neck.
Finella had watched that same spot on his neck for days. Watched it pulse while he slept. She couldn’t do that anymore, not with him staring back at her as if he knew all along.
“I’m glad you two were here to look after me.” He took a long gulp but kept his eyes on Finella.
“And look, Shad.” Molly pointed to the door. “There’s sun today. No rain.”
“So I see, Miss Molly.” Stuck on Finella, his gaze pushed. Like a finger on a day old bruise.
“Does your head hurt?” Finella stepped closer, dropping the scissors into her pocket.
“I could do with some of that damper of yours, Finella.”
A tremor caught in her throat. He did it to her every time he said her name. Spoke it like a question. Like a hook that dangled between them.
“There’s damper and soup and Mrs. Lawson’s scones.” Eager to give him anything they had, Molly made a list. “And tea.”
“Mrs. Lawson was here?”
“Don’t you remember?” Molly scrunched her nose at him. “She helped us carry you. She left after Finella promised to stay.”
Shadrach stood. He arched his back and rolled his shoulders. And came to life right there where Finella had prayed he would.
“Finella said that, did she? Promised she’d stay?”
He looked at her as if he’d woken with the sparks of life in his possession. He may as well have gathered her by the shirtwaist and nicked the rib under her skin with something beautifully dangerous she hadn’t felt before.
She ignored the sensation but it trembled inside her with a will all its own. Half fear, half delight, she juggled them both.
“Come along.” If she weren’t careful Molly would fill his head with all manner of nonsense. “Come, sit outside for a spell.”
He took over Finella’s vacated seat. Eyes closed, he sighed. “With all this sun, a fellow would think he’d died and woken up in heaven.”
Molly united her apron. “Want me to get you a scone? They were good. We saved one.”
He opened an eye. “Only one? Poor old Shadrach, sleeping off a fever and nightmares. And you only save me one?”
“We…” Molly didn’t really have an answer. She shrugged and looked to Finella.
“What she means is, we needed to keep our strength up. So, we ate them all. Except the one we saved for you.” Finella smiled.
Satisfied, Molly nodded, and ran across the new shell path to the house. Finella watched her every step. Watched the door bang behind her. Studied the shingles on the roof for longer than necessary.
When she looked back at Shadrach, he’d opened both eyes. They rested on her face and followed strands of her hair where the wind teased it from her shoulders.
She had to say it. Couldn’t keep it unsaid any longer. She crouched beside him, balanced on the balls of her feet and gripped the leg of his chair.
“You could have died.” She whispered, hoping Molly would not bound out of the house too soon.
“And you, look so good with the sun in your hair.”
“Shadrach.” She took a deep breath. “Listen. I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Tell me.”
He crooked a finger around her freshly trimmed hair and twisted.
“You worked until you collapsed. Completely. Do you know how dangerous that was? What would Molly have done if I were not here?”
“But you are here.” He wound his finger a little more and drew her in. “So, I guess it was worth it.”
Finella’s legs trembled. She grasped his trouser cuff to keep from overbalancing.
“What I’m trying to tell you is, this…” she looked over his new paths, so much more than a gentleman’s coat to soak up a puddle. “I never expected this. It’s so, it’s such—”
One more corkscrew turn and he brought her forehead to his.
Her breath snatched and she pushed against his knee, ever so lightly with her fingertips and backed away. “Thank you, Shadrach. You more than made the courtyard safe. You made it a place Molly will never tire of exploring.”
He let go of her hair, but his face didn’t change expression. His eyelids lowered. A beat slammed in the hollow of his neck, and she couldn’t tell which ran faster. Her pulse or his.
Molly returned, tin plate in hand with the prized scone. Broken in two she’d crowned it with more plum jam than a scone ever needed. Her lips glistened with s
igns of the same treatment.
“Mmm…” Shadrach dipped into the ruby pool and licked his fingers. “I could get used to this. Eating outside, with the sun on my face.”
“Just like Finella.” Molly dragged her blanket and set it down beside him. “She said the same. In the sun.”
Lifting her head to the sky, Molly closed her eyes and flung her arms wide. “I could get used to this. You said it, Finella.”
“I never opened my arms like that. I sat perfectly still with my hands in my lap and held onto my scissors.” Finella stood and straightened her back.
“Perhaps you should try opening your arms, someday.” Shadrach wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, winked, stretched his arms and locked them behind his head. “You should try lots of new things, Finella. You never know what you might like.”
She shook her head, afraid her blooming smile would match his if she were not Aunt-Sarah-careful.
But she’d all but given up that kind of careful, hadn’t she?
And so, her smile took root.
*
“Is Elijah Moore our new preacher?”
Shadrach tightened the reigns on Old Lou who carried them away from the little white church to the soft track home.
“No, Molly. He’s a visiting reader. From Melbourne. Until we find a preacher of our own.”
“Good.” Molly sounded satisfied. She wriggled on the wagon seat between him and Finella. “He talks like his name. More and more.”
Shadrach laughed. “Perhaps you would like a new preacher with the name John Little-John or John Quick-Sticks?”
“Quick-Sticks.” Molly clapped. “Can we get him?” He leaned into his sister, glad to make her laugh in the dappled sun under a canopy of blue gums.
“We should never talk about God’s servant like that.” Finella ducked an overhanging tree branch, but he saw her smile. “Mr. Moore spoke very well.”
“Have you heard his wife? No wonder the poor chap talked without taking breath. Probably never gets a chance to utter more than three words at home before Mrs. Moore’n’Moore takes over.” Shadrach nudged Molly for more giggles.
It felt good to be out. After weeks of being shut in by rains, a trip to church buoyed his spirits.
Even Molly’s altered Sunday clothes didn’t bother him so much. While still not impressed with her curled hair, he did give in and allow some fussing. It was the least he could do for the pair after their days of caring for him. But he did prefer Molly’s hair braided.
Finella’s he liked anyway she thought to fix it. Even better unfixed.
“Well, I have news regarding the position of preacher.” Finella interrupted his thoughts with melancholy voice. “As it turns out, Mr. Spencer pulled me aside this morning and told me there’s a young preacher from Sydney who’s applied for the position. He wanted me to be one of the first to know.” Her words faded.
Shadrach looked at her over Molly’s runaway curls. “He did?”
Mr. Spencer normally slaughtered meat in his butchery, but today the chairman of the church board offered a juicier morsel to chew on.
“He did. He said the church elders received a letter and they’re keen to meet with this candidate. Apparently his references have impressed already.”
Shadrach’s jaw tightened as if it had a will of its own. “Does he have a family?”
“Mr. Spencer didn’t say.”
He thought of all her boxes. Unpacked and waiting a suitable home, and the empty church house she thought would be hers.
That’s all he needed. One suitable preacher had almost married her, and that would have been fine with him. He smacked Old Lou from her meandering with a smart flick. But not anymore. And not while he could do something about it.
19
“We have too many eggs.” Finella cradled the day’s offerings. “‘Let’s make some batter puffs.”
Molly didn’t budge from the bed where she sat sorting shells. She divided them into color groupings, and the blanket sparkled with blue mussels, sandy colored cockles, and her most precious, a line of delicate sage and pink sea urchin shells.
“Come see how I cook them, Molly. It’s not hard at all. Have you eaten batter puffs before?”
The young girl shook her head. Remnants of yesterday’s church curls flopped against her shoulders with each shake.
“If you love jam, this is what you need to mop it up.”
Molly’s legs slid to the floor at the promise of jam.
Finella kept her smile in check. She placed a pan over the fire with a measure of water and butter.
“Why don’t you stir this with my wooden spoon while I get the flour?”
Molly pressed her lips together and turned her head away.
“All you have to do is stir.” Finella dangled the spoon over the pan.
“I like to wash.”
Finella dipped the spoon into the frothing mixture. “Yes, and it’s a sterling job you do at the basin. How about I lift this from the fire, and you can stir it over here?”
Finella swung the heavy pan to a small trivet on the table. Closer than she thought, her knee bumped the table leg, and the three eggs she’d set aside rolled toward her. They stopped at the edge of the trivet where Finella labored over it with her pan.
“Oh, oh.” No good smashing the eggs, even if there were too many. Finella swung back to the fire.
The weight of the pan dipped and twisted her wrist. Iron clanged against iron. The base of the pan hit the fire cradle with a thud, and scalding butter-water splashed out, onto her apron, her thumb and the fire itself.
“Ouch.” Finella ignored the rude hiss of steam and brought her hand to her lips. This was not how to deliver a cookery lesson.
She dipped a corner of her apron in a jug of water. “I think I may have shown you how it’s not done, Molly.” She wrapped the red skin with the cold hem.
But Molly was not even watching.
She huddled between their two beds, shoulders trembling, arms wrapped around her knees.
“Molly?” A jolt, like the stab of a hot poker pushed Finella to reach her. “Did the boiling water splash you, too?”
The girl rocked from side to side, her eyes shut tight.
“I’m sorry I frightened you with the pan.” Finella pulled her close. “Look, my hand burned a little, but I’ve dabbed a wet cloth on it. Please don’t be afraid anymore.”
Molly rocked faster. She hummed a soft wail, wordless and mournful and no amount of coaxing prized her from her spot.
Eyes scrunched, she sat on the dirt floor and rocked until the light faded, and Finella’s legs cramped from sitting beside her on the cold clay.
There would be no batter balls today. Shadrach would have to contend with a hasty supper of eggs and bacon and perhaps, Finella prayed, console poor Molly from whatever tipped her into quiet agony.
*
Molly refused to eat at the table.
Finella passed Shadrach a plate of toasted bread and wondered how he could squeeze into such a tiny corner with Molly.
But only for a moment.
Either one of them would crimple and pucker anywhere they had to, to comfort their girl. Shadrach folded his legs and shared the small space beside Molly, who sipped on a mug of tea between gulping hiccups.
When she was done, Finella helped her into her nightdress and tucked her in with a quick prayer. Only then did they sit at the table for their own meal.
Finella’s stomach had little room for food. She’d even forgotten to throw a cloth over the table. She passed Shadrach his food.
Weariness etched his face in shadowed lines. “Some days she does so well, I forget what she’s been through. Then she has these moments, where she slips into her own world.” He twisted his neck to look at her where she slept. “She may not even remember this in the morning.”
Finella hardly bothered with her plate. Instead, like Molly, she sipped on sweet hot tea.
“I shouldn’t have pushed her. She was happy wit
h her shells.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You weren’t to know.”
“I want to know. So I don’t tip her over like that again.”
He pushed his plate aside and laid his fists on the table. They flexed and relaxed a few times before he eventually left them as fists.
“She was only four. We lived on the Ballarat goldfields, then. If you think this place is bad, you should have seen that tent city.”
He shook his head, and Finella’s mouth dried at the mention of Ballarat. The infamous gold town where those who lusted for gold were often sent home empty handed, lusting for more.
“Our dad had been gone for a few months. We had no idea where he disappeared to most times. He left Mum with just enough gold dust to feed us on next to nothing ’til he turned up again. When he felt like it. We always hoped he’d arrive with a sack full of nuggets to buy us real food. But he never did.”
He pulled his tea closer. Finella didn’t dare imagine Shadrach as a hungry boy. The grown man, broad shouldered and long limbed had already hollowed something out of her. He wrapped his palms around the mug and she concentrated on his words, wishing she could ask questions of her own.
“One night, our father came back full of drunken stories. His mates knew of a lucky strike further north. Wanted us to pick up pegs and move off. Again. My mother’d heard it a hundred times before. But, she’d buried my brother, Daniel, in Ballarat and she wasn’t budging, not for any whisper of gold.”
“Did your father get mad?”
“He yelled and kicked at the floor ’til he choked on the dust. Said we’d go if he had to yank her hair and drag her all the way.”
He looked into his mug.
Icy shivers crawled over Finella’s skin. What kind of monster had they lived with?
“You have to understand, my dad was always trying to outrun his own memory. I once heard him tell another miner he’d been transported from England at seventeen for larceny. That’s the day I learned for sure he’d been a convict.”
Shadrach’s father? A convict? She cupped her elbows but no matter how she folded her body, she couldn’t escape the cold.
Carry Me Home Page 14
