He may have said much more. Or nothing at all.
Finella closed her eyes against the sting to her cheek, and her face radiated with the double-sided slap of loss and replacement. Even with her lids closed she could still see the back of the elegant head to which Goliah Ashe cast a fond smile. Blonde, like her husband, the object of his affection wore a small elegant hat of velvet sage and matching dress.
Finella opened her eyes for a better look. He had a wife. Not that he shouldn’t. The man was entitled to a wife. Did she expect him to be a bachelor? She examined her gloves. No, she’d known for weeks someone would eventually take George’s place. But it wasn’t confirmation he was already married that made her stomach twist.
Mrs. Ashe offered the touch of a woman. The perspective and tenderness only a wife could add to her husband’s duties. Finella swallowed the bitterness in her throat. It refused to budge. Like a messy knot, it filled her chest and stole her calm.
A preacher’s wife says as much with her presence, as he does with his words. Aunt Sarah had much to say about the life of a preacher’s wife. She’d probably wasted more breath on the subject than any other.
Too bad for Finella, the instruction she’d held onto for so long, now amounted to nothing more than beautiful disappointment.
*
“You’re not coming, Finella.” Shadrach leaned over the wagon and pulled tight on a cord around his largest canvas roll. Any tighter and he’d be nursing rope burn. “You are to stay home and look after Molly.”
“Please Shadrach, I don’t see why we can’t join you. If it’s an island tradition, Molly and I shouldn’t miss out,” Finella followed, her begging the first real conversation they’d had since she’d found her letters in his skillion. And while he’d even settle for her sour company, he had much to accomplish this day, and none of it included her.
Even in the morning shadows, her doe eyes found him. A pull in his gut warned him to look away. If she didn’t get out from under his feet he’d undo the rope and use it to tether her to his nearest fencepost.
He reached for the last of the hay filled crates and held it between them.
“You’re an islander now?”
“I live here, don’t I?” She lifted her chin but in her eyes he saw the offering of something she’d held back for days. Something mellow, light, and amiable. “I guess I am an islander, now.”
She guessed? He didn’t care for guessing. He wanted her sure as the ropes he tied to his gear. He wanted her. Absolutely and unconditionally. But she wasn’t even talking to him. Not properly.
“I said ‘no’. Now move.” He shouldered past and dumped the crate into the dray with a dawn-breaking thwack.
“We won’t get in the way.” She matched his steps to the barn, where Molly whispered to Old Lou. “We could help you.”
From the rafters he got his spare lanterns.
“How? Until yesterday you didn’t even know what an Egging was.”
He waited.
“I know now. Thanks to your very hesitant explanation.”
Shadrach reached for two coiled lengths of fencing wire and a long sapling rod. “I didn’t think it would interest you. And frankly, didn’t think you’d care to spend your time in a tent or scramble the Woolamai hills for muttonbird eggs.”
“I. Well…” Hands on hips she tried again. “For starters, I thought I could cook for you.”
He marched to the door. “We camp round the fire. For a fistful of coins, Old Man Sharpie does most of it for us anyway.”
“I could guard your eggs.” She followed. “Make sure no one steals them when you bring them to camp and you’re off hunting again.”
“Steal them? Everyone’s too busy at the burrows. Who would think to steal someone’s eggs?”
“You’re stealing them. From the muttonbirds.”
For a second he tried to dismiss how right she was. He brushed the thought away as quickly as the pink in the sky chased the blue dawn.
“You’re not convincing me.”
“Shadrach, please? Molly and I would like to be a part of the Egging party.” She took a deep breath and continued. “If we can help, we want to. If there’s nothing we can do, then so be it. We’ll gather wildflowers.”
As if to compete with the waking day, she prattled on. “We won’t interfere with you. I heard from folks at church yesterday, you won last year. You’ll want to win again.”
She was almost right. Two years in a row he’d claimed the winner’s crown, but it was the money he made from selling muttonbird eggs he counted on.
“I know it will be different with Molly along, but it would be so good for her to see it. And me.”
The lanterns bumped against his shin. He couldn’t think of one single thing he wanted less than to worry about Molly wandering the cliffs. A breath of wind caressed the loose hair at Finella’s neck.
And he certainly couldn’t think of one single thing he wanted more than to spend time with Finella. If she were willing.
He juggled the sapling and wire.
“Woolami’s a rough beach. There’s wind and cliffs. It’s nothing like Red Rocks. Most likely one of you, or both knowing my luck, will get blown away.”
Finella stepped back and held her hands up in surrender. “We shall remain wherever you think it’s safe.’”
She complied all too soon and too eagerly. Shadrach pushed the thought of kissing her far from his mind. If she really wanted to be safe, she should have stayed in England.
“Why do you want this so much?” He tossed the coils into the wagon and secured the lanterns and rod. “And don’t tell me it would be fun to camp in a tent at the edge of a cliff because I know you.” He turned to face her. “Camping’s a step down from this farm. You do realize that?”
She dug her hands into her apron pockets and shrugged. “I didn’t get to talk to Agatha Ashe as much as I’d like at church. She and Mr. Ashe will be there, too. They invited me to take tea with them, at the camp.”
“Agatha Ashe?”
Finella nodded. He could almost see her hold her breath.
Goliah and Agatha Ashe were her sort of people. Refined. Dedicated to the kind of life she’d hoped for. No wonder she was ready to trade a bed for their company.
Light spilled into the sky through the beach banksias where blue wrens shared their morning song. Shadrach shook his head. He should have known something fancier beckoned. Not that he blamed her. He and Molly had been her only company for months now. But that didn’t mean he would give in without a trade of his own.
He crossed his arms. “If I let you two come along, it will be on my terms.”
Her eyes lit with a glint he hadn’t seen in days.
“I accept.”
“You haven’t heard them yet.”
Hands still in her apron pocket she twisted them in the folds. “You won’t tie us to a gum tree while you hunt?” The glint grew into a tease.
“Not quite.” He kept his voice low and hoped the pounding of his chest stayed well hidden. “You will stay at camp. The whole time. And you get to come only if you promise to spend half an hour with me each evening.”
Her smile faded.
He hurried on.
“One quick beach walk. Every sunset. For both nights we’re there, starting tonight. The rest of the time is yours to do whatever you and Molly wish as long as you stay safe.”
“That’s a little unfair.”
“No.” He dragged an oilcloth over the wagon. “Unfair is being accused of stealing letters when you didn’t. Of bumping against a wall of silence when you try to explain yourself.”
“You don’t think we’ve had this talk enough already?”
“I think you’ve had your say, and plenty of it. But you’ve not let me reply.”
She smoothed her apron. “Fine. I agree. One half hour each day. For you to talk.” She turned toward the barn. “Molly, he agreed. Come help gather our things.”
Molly appeared like a loyal pup.
/>
“It won’t take us long to pack.” Finella rested her arm on Molly’s shoulder. “Were you planning on leaving soon?”
“I planned on leaving an hour ago, but your pestering slowed me down.”
The girls hurried to the house. The wind whipped at their skirts, and the crunch of their footsteps softened to a faint crackle before the hut door closed with a soft bump.
“Then again, a small delay might be a fair price to pay, Miss Finella. If we get talking time. Question is, will you be listening?”
25
Finella searched the cluster of tents. An icy blast of coastal wind hammered the campsite and she laced her fingers through Shadrach’s taut tent ropes for balance.
Through the trees and beyond the low hills, cliff tops gave way to the ocean drops where huge waves smashed in a wreck of foam. Cape Woolamai might be the island’s highest peek, but even from her vantage point Finella couldn’t find what she looked for.
No other skirt thrashed against the wind this morning. She hoped Agatha Ashe might brave the gusts and arrive soon. Her tenuous, unpacked truce with Shadrach hadn’t delivered all she expected. It had delivered more. And she needed to divert her mind from the walk she’d promised, or suffer a belly of nerves the rest of the day.
“Mrs. Ashe isn’t here.” Shadrach threw the last of the blankets into the tent. “I just heard. The Ashe party arrives tomorrow.”
Finella tore her eyes from the pink cliffs.
“Tomorrow?”
He nodded. “Agatha’s sick. I heard they’re coming tomorrow now.”
His hair stuck up from where he’d run his hands through it after he’d finished pitching the tents. One large enough for her and Molly where he also jammed all his egging gear, and a small one on the other side of the tree, only wide enough for his bedroll.
“Where’s Molly?”
“Here.” Molly inched out of his tent backwards. “Smells funny in there.”
“Good.” He helped her up. “Stay in your tent then and we’ll both be happy.” His face matched the cloudy sky.
“I think tea’s a very good idea.” Finella rummaged through a wicker basket for the billy to steady her jittery hands. With an absent Agatha Ashe, she’d have a long day to sit through before sunset. “And if I can find where that pan of batter balls is we can have a bite to eat as well.”
“When do we get the eggs?” Molly tapped Shadrach’s odd assortment of gear with her toe.
“You don’t get to hunt for eggs, Miss.” He tugged at her braid. “You’re only here because Finella thought it might be good for you to watch. I never agreed to either of you getting in the way. There’s people here from all over the district. So stay put.”
He took the billy from Finella. “That log will make a fine enough spot to sit. I’ll get this on the boil while you make yourselves comfortable. There’s nothing you won’t hear about if you sit near the cook pots. Sharpie’s just setting up now. Don’t get in his way.”
He moved toward the fire.
“He’s mad at someone,” Molly balanced her foot on a rock and tried to see beyond the tents.
Finella found the tin cups and jar of sugar. “You and I will explore when the egging starts. Until then, we’ll do what Shad wants and not bother him.”
And hope dear Mrs. Ashe arrives in time to make this trip worth the effort.
Finella folded their quilts as best she could and laid them at the foot of the tent while campers milled and helped each other stretch canvas into makeshift shelters. Some she knew from church, but many faces she hadn’t seen before.
Soon enough Shad returned with a bubbling billy.
“When does the Egging start?” she ventured.
He filled her mug from behind a coil of steam.
“This morning is for setting up camp. Someone’ll ring a bell soon. Then you won’t see much of me around here until the sun goes down.” He filled another cup and handed it to Molly.
Finella’s heart plummeted at the mention of evening. The thought of walking with him along the beach did not appeal to her now, anymore than it did this morning. He and George had negotiated about her as if she were a chattel. Couldn’t he see why that would make her mad? How could he expect her not to find that deceitful?
She blew into the hot tea and wrestled with how much grief he’d caused. Or was it how much she didn’t trust him?
She didn’t know anymore.
Molly leaned into Shad’s shoulder. But his eyes soon found Finella.
She cradled her cup like a shield, but he watched her with a long dark look, enough to shower her in his misery. Enough to reflect her own.
She tried to look away, but it was as if there were nothing between them. Nothing but the promise of sunset.
*
“Ladies and gentlemen. Hooks at the ready.” Perched on an upturned crate, the man they all called Sharpie held a bell above his balding head.
Finella kept her eyes on Shadrach, poised with a crate of his own in one hand and the long sapling pole she remembered from this morning. It now sported a mean looking wire hook. If a photographer were to capture the scene before her, he’d have trouble getting them to stand still. Grown men to school lads and every age in between jostled like horses about to bolt.
With iron and wood, wire and twig, the motley group stood armed for the hunt. Youths hopped from one foot to the other, eyeing the bell then each other to make sure no one stole a head start. At the sound of the clang, the campground almost emptied, and dust settled on those who remained.
Molly clenched her dolly to her chest. “Where will they go?”
Finella drew her closer and they linked arms.
“Over to the burrows, I think.” She tried to remember what Shadrach called them. “Rookeries. Where the birds keep their nests.”
They followed the newly vacated path for a clearer view of the sloping hill.
“And where are the chickens?”
“You mean muttonbirds? They live way out there.” Finella pointed to sea. “If you look as far as your eyes let you, you’ll see where the sky meets the water. That’s the horizon. Somewhere out there, is where the muttonbirds fly. When the sun goes down, they come back to their nests.”
“What do they do all day?”
“Well, I guess they eat fish.”
“And where is their house?”
“Their burrow is their house.”
Molly busied herself with her doll. “I had another house. With Mum. Now I have one with you and Shad.”
Finella tried to ignore the ache that brought. She could not be a part of you and Shad, and Molly should not become used to pairing their names. Especially with Aunt Sarah so close to arriving.
Finella pointed to a group thrusting rods into the side of the hill. “See how they drag their hooks out? Oh, and look. There’s an egg, now. See?”
She turned Molly’s shoulders so she could peer down on the first jubilant find, egg in the hand of the finder, held high while his group cheered him on.
“That must be the first one of the day. My, that was quick. I can’t imagine they’ll whoop and whistle for every one.”
“Where’s Brother? Does he have an egg?”
Finella searched the rookery. Shadrach had started his hunting further away. Squatting at the opening of a burrow, his arms and shoulders worked to a rhythm. Each time he found an egg, he placed it in his hay filled crate and moved onto the next hole in the hill. Reach, drag, scoop. Reach, drag, scoop.
He worked fast. She’d give him that. No wonder the islanders knew him as the best. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but puff a little with pride.
They strolled to the end of the track along the cliff edge, where a good vantage spread before them.
“This is as far as we can go, I guess.”
At their feet, Finella recognized a ground cover of little noonflowers. So far she’d collected pink and orange varieties. Today, waves of purple lay strewn across the hill as far as the eye could see. Is
landers called it pigface but she preferred the little noonflower. Aunt Sarah would, too.
“Here’s a new color for my Everlasting.” She knelt and patted the grass for Molly. The girl flopped onto her back and closed her eyes against the afternoon sun.
Finella sat beside her to examine the tiny petals. Like many of her seaside succulents, these too held water in their leaves. She pinched a leaf and snapped it in half with her thumb.
Molly wriggled for a soft spot in the side of the hill. Their day had started earlier than usual, and Molly would be looking for her nap soon enough.
“We should keep walking or we may end up napping on this bluff and not be able to sleep tonight. Who knows what noise there’ll be around the camp fire and for how long.”
“I’m already tired.” Molly closed her eyes against the sun shifting from behind a cloud.
Finella peered at the men on the rookery. Was she thinking of Molly’s wellbeing or her own? Surely she wasn’t planning a smooth bedtime for Molly. For what? Her walk with Shadrach?
She played with the succulent leaf until its juice dripped into her palm. The sun still hung in the heavens, and while it did, she’d ignore the worry she nursed for the end of day.
*
“We’ve walked a long way.” Molly puffed and sat on a large rock. “Did Brother say we could come this far?”
“We can still see the egging. And tents.” Finella shaded the sun from her eyes and hoped seeing the camp, also qualified as still being at camp. “I thought this track would take us back the long way. I guess I took a wrong turn.”
“Can we go back please, Finella? I’m tired. And I want to know how many eggs brother caught.”
Wind burnt cheeks and loose hair were not the only telltale signs of fatigue. Her eyelids drooped and Finella recognized a sleepy Molly when she saw one. She poked a flap of grass against a mound in the hillside with her toe. “Is this a muttonbird house?”
Carry Me Home Page 18
