Finella inspected the gentle rise. “Is there an opening?”
Molly knelt and thrust her hand in. “I think it is!”
“Molly, don’t. You can’t hunt for an egg without a hook.” Finella pulled her back.
“Eggs don’t hurt. Our hens leave them for me at home.” Molly leaned closer.
“These eggs are cared for by a mother and father bird. I expect they may not like you disturbing them.” Finella held her hand out. “Up you come.”
“If there’s no bird in there why can’t I put my hand in? You said they fly over the ocean.”
“What if it’s not a muttonbird at all? What if it’s a snake? Shad told us to be careful.”
“It’s not a snake. I can hear something. A bird.” Molly pressed her cheek to the burrow entrance. “A chirp! Can you hear it?” She poked at the grass until it parted like a curtain. “It is a bird. See?”
Finella gathered her skirt and perched on her toes. Her foot slid and a quick wobble toppled her into Molly’s back. Neither of them had time to regain their balance before they fell into a heap.
Molly laughed at the undignified upending. Finella joined in.
“I guess you’re meant to have that lie down, after all.”
“You pushed me.” Molly accused with justified surprise.
“I didn’t mean to, Love. I slipped and you were a soft place to fall.”
Molly’s face crumpled and she let out a high-pitched wail. She yanked her hand from the ground where it had broken her fall and shook it. “Ouch. Oh.” She twisted her mouth, and turned to Finella, eyes wide open as if she’d been slapped.
“What’s wrong?” Finella knelt beside her.
“Bad thing. It stings. Like fire.” She jumped to her feet and flicked her hand against her skirt, as if to rid herself of whatever had sunk it’s teeth or tail there.
Finella held Molly’s other hand so she wouldn’t run off and wrestled with her own skirt to stand up. Please God, don’t let me see a snake.
On the ground, giant ants the size of a grown man’s thumb, scurried in all directions from where Molly lay only moments before.
Molly let out another shriek. “Make it stop.” Tears spotted her cheeks and she shook in an awkward dance, while Finella brushed wildly at the girl’s sleeves.
“We need to get back to the tents. Someone’s bound to have packed a lotion for stings.” A louder wail drowned Finella’s suggestion and she held her breath while Molly crouched and hid her sore hand in the pit of her arm.
“Let me see.”
Molly could barely stand still long enough for Finella to spot the angry welt on top of her hand, already red raw and puffed. The poor girl shook like a marionette on a string. Her shrieks carried over the hilltop to the egging parties, where some lifted their heads at the sound.
Finella pulled her into a tight embrace, and whispered in her ear. “I have something to make you feel better, back in our tent. But we must go. Now.”
Between gulps of breath and sobs, Molly shook her head and inspected her hand. And nothing moved her on until a familiar voice carried over the hill.
“I knew it. I knew something like this would happen. I knew it in my gut.” Shadrach stormed across the cliff, each foot stomp in time to his aggravated words. His voice silenced Molly’s crying and sent a racket of quivers through Finella.
Jaw fixed, eyes narrowed, his handsome face flashed a mix of anger, impatience, and loyalty to both her and Molly, and it carved a path right to them.
He knelt in the groundcover and snatched a handful of leaves. “Show me.” He reached for Molly’s trembling hand and snapped a leaf directly above the bite mark.
Clear juice dribbled onto Molly’s fingers. He snapped leaf after leaf and doused her hand until she blinked at him through her tears.
“Fire’s… gone?”
He pulled his hat off and fanned her with it.
“Should be.” Clipped and cool, his words hardly matched his mission. “Takes no more than a second to soothe with pigface. If you know what you’re doing”
He turned to Finella. “Anything bite you?”
She shook her head. “I saw them, though. Biggest ants I’ve ever seen.”
“Jack Hoppers, probably. Jumping bull ants. Take a running leap to get at you if you’re in their way.” He let go of Molly’s hand. “You’ve scored yourself a lovely bite mark for your troubles. But if you take a bunch of pigface back to camp, Finella will dab more on when you need it.”
He stood and turned to Finella. “Think you can manage to follow those instructions?”
She nodded. She’d only played with the same leaves herself a little while ago with no idea they were good for anything. What else had she misjudged?
“Did you get many eggs, Brother?” Molly sniffed.
He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.
Finella waited for him to cross his arms over her chest, farm-gate style. But he didn’t.
“Not enough. Jack Trilloe’s nephew, Tom Darley’s breathing down my neck. Last year, he was just playing at this, but he’s matching me egg for egg now and if I have to leave my spot to rescue you two again he’ll take me over, good and proper.” He fixed Finella with a stare. “So make sure I don’t have to.”
“Shadrach, we didn’t mean to stray. I thought a nice long walk …” Finella didn’t know how to finish her sentence. I thought if Molly slept soundly, you and I could walk the beach and, maybe, unravel the ache we’re carrying.
Even in her head that made her squirm. His fierce march across the cliff wasn’t for her. He’d abandoned the hunt for his sister. Their agreement had always been Finella would care for Molly and Shadrach would be free to work, but most days those lines blurred. Naturally.
Why was it so hard then to believe Shadrach would naturally cross over whatever lines George had established? That his feelings for her went beyond his promise to a friend.
“Look, you need to take Molly back to camp and let me do what I came to do.” He slapped his hat back on and marched across the hill. Long strides put distance between them until he stopped and turned. “And I mean it Finella. Get moving. When I see you next it had better be outside your tent.”
Finella watched him leave, and a new ache grew in her heart.
She had agreed to care for Molly. And their arrangement included nothing of love.
But her love for the child had grown without slackening, and was greater than she could ever have imagined.
Arms wrapped around each other they walked back to camp. Two companions, thrown together by life’s misfortunes.
Why was it easier to love Molly than Shadrach? Both were children of the same convict. Both had changed her heart so deeply she knew she’d never be the same.
But where Molly asked for nothing, Shadrach asked for everything.
And that would change her destiny.
26
“69, 70, 71. Pathetic.” Shadrach pushed his crate of muttonbird eggs to the foot of Molly’s bedroll.
“Is that enough, Brother?”
“Molly? I thought you were asleep.” He stuffed the last layer of hay over the box. “Did I wake you?”
“Not you. The music’s too loud.”
He lay beside her and looked at the sky through a small rip in the canvas ceiling.
The egging party gathered by the fire for a singsong under a canopy of burnt orange and dusky pink.
“You don’t like the accordion?”
“I do. But I’m tired.” She turned her cheek to his shoulder and closed her eyes. “What’s your number?”
“My number…? Oh you mean egg number. 71.” It killed him to think he’d brought in less than any other egging day.
“Is that bad?”
“It’s not wonderful, but I have tomorrow to catch up. Is that hand still throbbing?”
“A little. My eyes are sore, too.”
“No wonder, with all your wailing. Nothing a good sleep won’t fix. Let’s make p
lans for a better day tomorrow. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Her breath warmed his neck and he knew if he didn’t get up he’d fall asleep right there on the edge of Molly’s bedroll.
“You’re the best hunter, aren’t you?” She whispered, and he knew if he waited another minute she’d be fast asleep and he wouldn’t need a reply.
But he wasn’t that kind of man. He’d promised to care for her and that meant answering her questions. He sat up and rolled his tired shoulders.
Was he the best hunter? Last year he’d secured over one hundred eggs in his tent by the end of day one. But this year Molly slept in his spare tent. And out by the fire, a certain Finella Mayfield messed with his thoughts. Right now, they had nothing to do with muttonbirds or their eggs.
“Time will tell how good a hunter I am, Sunshine.” He kissed her forehead. “Time will tell.”
*
Twilight settled over the camp like a blanket. Unfamiliar and mournful, the song of the concertina whimpered, and folks who’d long ago left England for Australia lamented in a blend of wistful harmonies. A snap of timber underfoot announced a footstep and Finella felt a hand pull her close.
“Time for our walk.” Shadrach was not asking. He was telling.
“I thought you might wish to stay for the singing.”
He didn’t even glance at the gathering. It was as if there were no other beat.
“You thought wrong.”
He laid his hand on her back. “Now, watch your step, and follow me.”
The steep path wound through beach scrub and with each turn the sound of the ocean grew louder and clearer. They reached the bottom in a hurried slip of shoes against sand, to the smash of waves against the shore.
A furious wind struck Finella’s ears. It whipped her skirt. Wrestled her hair and wrecked her well-hidden discord.
She pulled her shawl tighter. “I didn’t know about this path. I thought the one we were on this morning lead to the beach.”
“You weren’t meant to go to the beach. Or the cliff edge.” He frowned.
“Well, we didn’t make it to either, so you needn’t worry.”
The sun kneeled on the horizon. A fiery ball at the edge of its end. Shadrach stuck his hands in his pockets and walked. Finella followed.
“I shouldn’t have spoken harshly today.” He kept his voice loud, but it held some resignation. “I panicked when I heard Molly cry. Happens to me whenever she’s distressed.”
“Is that an apology?”
“Is that what you need from me, Finella?” He stopped and tugged at her elbow. “Do I need to say I’m sorry to make things right between us?” Wind gusts pushed against his trouser legs but he ignored the sandy tempest around them.
“Are you sorry?” She wasn’t sure he was. Offering an apology was not the same as meaning it.
“About the way I spoke today, yes. I’m sorry and ashamed. But we know there’s more than that between us.”
She lifted her hem a little, just enough to keep the froth in the end of the waves from touching her.
“You stole my letters. You took pieces of me I never intended for you. Not accidently, but on purpose and in order to manipulate me.”
He moved between her and the wind.
“I never saw it as stealing, Finella. Never thought you would see it that way, either. You have to understand I made a promise to a man who gripped my hand on his deathbed. Not to just take them, but to read them. Would you have denied him?”
He grabbed her hands. “Like this.” He squeezed hard. “George made me promise to look after you. Why does that make you so cross?”
Fire spilled across her chest and up into her cheeks. She shook her hands free.
“I’m cross you made plans for me. You and George. Even before I’d ever set foot in this country, you altered plans my father made.” She pushed against his chest. “Was there ever a time when God thought my days should not be decided by dead men?”
Aunt Sarah would have much to say about her raising her voice, but Finella didn’t care. She would scream if she had to. No one else could hear them.
“There’s no dead men deciding for you now.” Shadrach yelled back and sidestepped a long piece of driftwood at their feet. He dragged it across the wet sand until a wonky line appeared. “Make your choice Finella.”
He threw the wood away and stood on one side of the line, arms spread wide. Finella couldn’t tell if it was defeat or defiance.
“There’s only you and me, now.” He poked the sand with his foot. “I’m here. The one George thought, no knew, would care for you. If you’re not afraid to let me love you.”
He motioned with both hands to where she stood. “And you’re there. Just you. No man, dead or alive, is deciding anything for you anymore.”
Her heart beat louder than the crashing waves. If only he knew how much this frightened her. How the thought of being a farmer’s wife and loving him in return rubbed out all her father’s dreams, and Aunt Sarah’s years of training.
Not just any farmer. The son of a convict.
She blinked against the wind, or was it her tears?
Shadrach waited, fists clenched, but Finella’s words caught in a place she couldn’t dip into. Not without letting go of more than she knew how.
As if nailed to the sand, her toes stood just shy of the groove he’d made. A push of the tide splashed over her shoes, and filled the line with sea foam. Trickles ran back to the sea, while the remainder soaked into the sand, erasing his mark.
Neither of them moved. Only the sun dipped and fell like a curtain onto a darkened stage.
“I guess our time is up, then.” Shadrach ushered her to cover the steps they’d already taken, his anger gone as sure as the setting sun. “Let’s get back to camp. Before it’s too dark to know what either of us is doing.”
Under the hem of another dusk, Finella stepped alongside the man who’d taken her to the brink. And almost pushed her over.
November 25
Cape Woolamai
Agatha Ashe plays the role meant for me like a freshly tuned pump organ. Pressing through whatever ailed her yesterday, she carries on beside Goliah and warms the heart of everyone who sees her. It’s not her smile I envy so much, as her attentiveness to Goliah Ashe and his congregation. The way she anticipates his move and follows his lead. She is so suited to the task. I wonder why God chose to take that from me and it shames me to wrestle Him for what I’ve already lost.
*
Isaac Sharp lumbered into the campsite with another load of wood. Each time Finella saw the man, he was either hauling logs or burning them.
He poked at an iron grate laid over the fire pit. “Not running a restaurant Miss Mayfield. Breakfast comes at the bell. Not hours after.”
Finella’s cheeks flamed to match the pit, and she grimaced at Molly. Agatha Ashe, standing just behind the young girl, mercifully adjusted her hat and kept her eyes on the cliffs.
Finella tucked a loose coil of hair behind her ear and hoped the hasty pinning would not unravel alongside her own internal dishevelment. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Sharpie. Molly overslept and I’ve only now managed to rouse and dress her.”
Truth be told, she hadn’t cared to bump against Shadrach so soon after yesterday’s walk. The ring of the bell had only served to keep her where she lay, staring at the canvas, listening to Molly’s deep breathing.
Sharpie fussed with the fire. She came at him from the other side, hoping rumors about his quick temper remained untrue.
“I don’t wish to trouble you when you’re already so busy. But I would work quickly if you let me make us a pot of tea.”
“No one touches Sharpie’s fire. Don’t care what the rest of ya do back home, but out here, I’m the cook and if ya don’t like it, then you’re welcome to eat plum pudding in your tents.”
Finella backed off and bit down a smile. She’d seen Sharpie pass treats to Molly all afternoon yesterday, with the barest nod and wink. If hi
s bark was not worse than his bite, she didn’t know another soul who could best him.
He wagged a finger. “I’ll make the tea if you don’t mind, and you can take it over there where I won’t have to listen to ya babbling.” He pointed to where a cluster of chairs and an old trunk served the men who’d played cards the night before, not far from where the singsong had taken place.
Finella exchanged sheepish grins with her companions. “You’re the boss.”
“Too right, I am,” he muttered against a clash of lids on pots.
Finella thanked him and moved away.
“For all his sharp edges, I think Sharpie’s more of a soft one,” Agatha Ashe whispered. They settled into a dappled spot near the burnt out logs of last night’s fire.
“Now, that was a quick observation.” Finella smiled at her new friend.
“Well, Goliah has asked me to observe. To see people as they really are. Because sometimes we all appear less or more than who we think we should be.”
“Sharpie’s the boss.” Molly joined in. “He told me to talk to him whenever I’m hungry.”
“Ah, but you’re hungry almost all the time, aren’t you, dear girl?” Finella pulled the end of Molly’s thick braid from where it had caught in her collar.
“I am right now.” Molly rubbed her belly. “I wanted breakfast Finella, not just tea.”
“Well, here ya go then.” Sharpie arrived to rest a plate of buttered damper, three tin mugs and a steaming billy on the trunk.
“And you’ll get your other meals along with the rest of them if ya turn up when the bell rings.” He jabbed Molly’s jaw with a pretend blow.
“We promise to be here, Sharpie.” Agatha Ashe helped with the cups. “Especially if it looks as delicious as this.” She offered Molly a piece of damper.
Finella poured the tea. “I don’t know why this tastes so good, perhaps because we’re taking it outdoors.”
“Or the company.” Agatha smiled. “I’ve wanted to get to know you since Goliah told me you arrived here for your wedding, only to meet with something altogether different.”
Finella’s smile slid into a sigh. “I guess it’s a strange predicament to be in. A bride arrives to no husband, but stays on anyway.”
Carry Me Home Page 19
