She said, “There are changes afoot. I see it. I see the flames and more heat than you could ever imagine.”
She thought herself a seer. Most paid no attention to her, because she hadn’t been right beyond the obvious in all the times she’d made predictions. But I’d proven myself a listener in all those sad, dead days.
“How can we stop it?”
“There is no way. These things are set in motion.”
“There’s always a way. Dream again, Edna. I’ll stay with you.”
I did, holding her cold hand as she slept.
“We must,” she said. “We can’t. I can’t make another. Not after your father.”
“My father chose that.” It had been two years since my father died from the failed preservation.
“We do need another. Someone grand, beautiful and worthy.”
“Grace,” I said. She was the most beautiful creature who ever lived. “Grace would fare well,” I said. “I’d rub her with lanolin every day, keep her smooth.”
Edna looked at me through lidded eyes. “No one ever loved me that way.”
“I will care for you both,” I said. “If we preserve her, as is, she will keep our verbal history alive. She will tell your story. Your bravery. Your beauty as a young girl.”
Edna had been a handsome young lady, with a good solid chest, a tiny waist. Lips thin and beautiful.
Now, she looked like a child, her appearance matching her intelligence. Her breasts were gone, and all her hair had fallen out.
“She will tell of the way you were misunderstood, mistreated.”
Thus, I convinced Edna to proceed.
This time it was a success.
Grace breathed slowly, deeply.
I said, “Marry me,” but Milton Carlisle’s evil influence was too strong.
“No,” she said.
I used all in my power, but nothing would change her poisoned mind.
“I love Milton.”
The Banns would be posted in church on the Sunday (even though Grace, still suffering under her preservation, would not be there.) We were all in church, as we ever were on Sundays.
I remember little of the vicar’s sermon; he was not a riveting speaker. Milton Carlisle gave a reading, as if all blessings were upon him. Perhaps the congregation were asleep and dreaming. I certainly was. Dreaming, perhaps, of a different ending, where I had rolled the rocks instead. I awoke to find the church rocking. Or so it seemed. And a great noise came from outside; something I’d never heard.
“It’s a wall of water!” the baker’s wife screamed, running back into the church. I never could ask where she’d been, why she’d been outside.
There were only tiny windows in the church. We raced to the door and saw a wall of water, twice the height of the steeple and rising.
We barricaded the door, pushing the pews up against it where we could, and we huddled together, praying.
“Milton Carlisle did it!” people called out. “He moved the rocks! It’s an act of God.”
The church was washed off its foundations. If the builders hadn’t died, I would have tracked them down and punished them for their incompetence. Tied them to a stake by the beach and allowed them to slowly drown as the tide came in.
The church collapsed into the ground, sank like other villages before it, leaving the congregation to scrabble for purchase, trying to keep their heads above the gushing water that so quickly filled the church.
The priest was silent; killed in an instant. The mayor was silent; always a weak man, he couldn’t lead even now. The school teacher was silent; crushed. Milton Carlisle? For a big man his lungs were small. He drowned with the rest of them. The baker’s wife too, with dough from the day’s bread still under her fingernails.
I was the only one left to lead, but I was sunk so far down it took three days to climb out.
I climbed over dead friends, to my great shame. I didn’t carry a single one out of that pit. My terror of falling deeper and deeper into the pit of hell, had me climb, climb, climb. My mother was lost to me, although I called and called. Some nights still I lie awake wondering how long it took for her to die. One month? Two?
I didn’t bury the bodies that floated up. I didn’t have the strength for that. God forgive me, I burned them.
I heard scrabbling noises. I thought it was rats, that there were so many of them the ground seemed to move, wave-like.
Then I heard a tiny call for help.
I dug through the rubble, moving rocks and bricks, wary of glass and other sharp objects.
There, I found Phillip, a fourteen-year-old, who was expected to do well in the world. The boy was bloodied, torn, mute. We went to my home, through the silent, silent streets, and we found bread hard but not moldy, and some apples still crisp to the bite. I cleaned Phillip’s face, gave him dry clothes, comforted him.
When he was settled, we went to see if the floodwaters had reached Edna. Bedridden, as always, she never came to church.
She was drier, if that was possible. Not hungry. Never hungry.
“You were right,” I said. “We have drowned. We could not stop it.”
She tried to shed tears for our lost town. I hadn’t seen her so frustrated before; all she wanted to do was cry, and she couldn’t.
“We are the only survivors,” I said.
“No. There are more. I dreamed that, Burnett,” she said. “Your true loves across the ages. Your destiny. There is me,” she said. “And there is Grace. And there is my girl, Harriet. She is safe.” If Edna was capable of searching for survivors, she would have.
Grace was resting in her home, unaware. She was always unaware; it was one of her graces. I lifted her up and held her close to my chest. She smelled faintly of sour dough, but I didn’t mind at all. I could not believe my fortune. Me and Grace! Alive! I carried her to Edna.
“You go hunting,” she told Phillip and me, and we walked through the village until we found two final survivors: Harriet and her five-year-old brother Eugene.
They were in the back of the bakery. They had gorged themselves on lumps of sugar.
“Did you steal this sugar?” Phillip asked.
Harriet was outraged. “We did not! We left coins behind!” She always did have strong morals. Never did wrong, that one.
What did Edna and Grace talk about together while I was searching for Harriet? Such a long talk.
We rested at Edna’s house for a day or two, but I knew by my nose that we couldn’t stay much longer. In my heart, I understood the town was no longer safe. I could feel the house rocking and soon it would all sink, that is, if it wasn’t destroyed by marauders.
“Salvage what you can from the rubble,” I said. Grace was too weak to gather much. Harriet gathered broken pieces of china, saying, “I’ll make a mosaic. We learned how to do it at school,” and I didn’t have the heart to stop her. I collected my own watchmaking tools and those of the others as well. As many as I could carry.
We collected jewels and jewelry, knowing it was better with us than with thieves and scavengers.
There were many tears, saying goodbye to Edna. “This is how it has to be. There is no choice,” she said. We left her in the greatest comfort we could give her and began our long walk
We barely spoke. We noticed things like the birds singing, and a wolf footprint in the dust. We knew we would not set foot in our town again. We looked back now and then to seek the smoke rising as strangers moved through our beloved streets, setting fire to all they didn’t want. Did we seek revenge on those who burned the village down, destroyed it in their search for salvage? No. Seeking revenge is a sure way to shorten life.
How did we come to choose Australia as our final destination? I read the shipping news, and the soonest to depart was The Frederick, bound for Perth. It transported mostly workers for the Australian Agriculture Company, and that seemed to confirm the choice. No convicts would be on board.
Harriet didn’t agree with the deci
sion. “You are taking us to an island full of thieves and murderers.” She didn’t think we belonged amongst them, or not herself, at least. Even at twelve years old, she was the harshest judge of character I ever met. She was already fiercely independent, and I had no concerns about her welfare. Perhaps, in time, she would grow to love me.
1827CE
The Frederick
We traveled to Portsmouth, buying new clothes: hats and veils for the ladies and good shoes for the boys and for myself.
My beloved Grace was feeble and more bad-tempered than previously. She was slow and would prefer to be in bed. But she managed. Marvelous woman. Her smile never left her face. In theory, she would outlive all of us.
She looked old beyond her sixteen years, at least thirty, and we decided to present her as my widowed sister, the children hers. I still loved her, but my hope for a marital future had passed.
Phillip and I signed up as crew members. Phillip, a tall, broad boy who could easily pass for twenty, would do the heavy lifting. I’d never been any stronger than God made me and was glad to have Phillip along to carry the load. Harriet and Grace were the ladies, and Eugene would play on the decks and keep us all entertained with his antics. He was a lively boy, innocent and without guile. Harriet kept him in place, as she did with all of us, to the extent that if she did not approve of a companion, she would draw us away, hissing that this person was not worthy of conversation.
So very determined.
We were in the crew’s quarters. We made many new friends there, men of all types, all hired on for the Australian Agriculture Company. The company itself sounded like a pot of gold in a land of opportunity. So, I said to the overseer, “Will they hire me once we land? I’m not cut out to be a sailor. I like dirt, not water.”
“I can see that in your grimy face,” the overseer said. He was one of those types who think only those born like him were worthwhile. Nobody higher, nobody lower, nobody older, nobody younger. I played the chameleon and became what the man wanted to see, and before long had work lined up in Perth.
Grace stayed mostly in her cabin over the long and tedious journey. Her proudest possession was a jar with a mysterious substance in it, which was intriguing to all. The roll of the ship made walking difficult for her, so she mostly kept indoors. I tried to keep her company. Tried to make her happy, at least momentarily.
When she did step out, she wore veils and made some kind of magic with her face.
A preserved person can watch a spider build a web for five hours. They can listen to the grass rustle and hear stories of the past and future, conversations and praise.
For them, time passes differently.
Harriet roamed the upper decks. I asked her to keep away from the men; she was well of age, and lively enough to gain their attention and I wanted none of them near her.
Fortunately, she came to the attention of a gentleman and his young wife: William Barton and Mary Louisa. Charming, charming pair. If we’d known such blood in Little Cormoran, it would stand to this day. Pure quality.
Mary Louisa Barton was kind and only eighteen. The couple had been married days before departure, and she was now far from family and friends, so she was keen for a young companion.
I felt that Harriet deserved such company and could learn from this gracious lady. I had words with her about privacy, though. “You mustn’t discuss Grace and how long we expect her to live. This would lead to considerations of madness, or criminality, and as such they may no longer be interested in our company.”
That I could not bear.
The men below deck teased me mercilessly for my friendship with “upstairs.” They said, “Anything for a good job!” but they didn’t really mind. They knew they’d be looked after if ever it came to that. I was known as a man of courage, conviction, honesty and strength.
We disembarked in Fremantle; our new friends did not. “Come and find us for work,” William Barton said, “If you ever come to New South Wales.” They were traveling on, another long journey.
Mary Louisa gave a very special item to Harriet; a most unusual cameo. A top-hatted man holding his head forward, lighting a pipe.
And for me, a glass ball. Purple, with red bubbles., with William Barton himself giving me a magnificent etching by Joseph Banks.
A generous man indeed.
1839CE
Time passed. We found work in Perth and some companions, but we were never truly settled. Harriet was a wonder; always had been. Looking after Grace and Eugene while also going out to work for long hours. Eugene was feeble-minded, we discovered. Harriet did what she could for him, but he could not complete his schooling. Could never sit still. They had him working on the docks, because he could manage that, so long as someone told him what to do.
I was not a weak man but did find physical work unpleasant; fortunately, there is always the need for paper work.
It was a man who’d once traveled through Little Cormoran (although he did not remember its name) who told us of a place we might explore. “I know you were all good at clocks,” he said, and I barely contained my fists at the flippancy. “You know there’s a place way up North, with a half-built Time Ball Tower? Strikes me might be the place for you. For a bunch of clockmakers.”
I had long discussions with my collected family from Little Cormoran. While I allowed them a voice, the decision was mine in the end and it was never in doubt. I wanted them with me.
We were a village.
Harriet was keen to go. She was not happy in Perth. “They have the morals of alley cats,” she said.
We considered leaving Grace behind but how to explain her condition? Who to leave her with? She was still functioning quite well. She’d been acting as if she were ordinary: eating, sleeping, doing the things ordinary people did. So, while she had started to feel a stiffness in her bones, she was not yet a husk. She tapped at her chest often, as if willing her heart to continue.
Harriet would hear nothing of leaving her behind and the boys would not allow it, either. They relied on Grace for words of wisdom they didn’t ask of me. I tried to impress upon the boys that I was of a similar age as Grace and therefore she was no wiser than I, but still they went to her.
Harriet took on most of Grace’s care. She wouldn’t have it otherwise. Phillip helped as much as he could, but we all sensed the rebellion in him. He wanted his own life but had no idea of how to make one. This imbued a sense of anger and frustration in him, so we never knew when he might lash out. He was a strong young man and his propensity to violence had protected us on a number of occasions, but at the same time I had concerns about his stability and his level of loyalty to the family. I was never certain he would not turn his anger upon us.
It was a very long journey. Along the way, Harriet collected beautiful stones and pebbles to make art. She had a magic eye for such things. She became fascinated with the stories of flickering lights, seen in the outback, although we never saw them ourselves.
I feared the idea of the dryness; how would it affect his Grace? We were told stories of people dying in the desert, of thirst, of exposure. We planned well. I hired a number of natives as guides, and I found himself enjoying their language, their stories, their humor.
This set me apart from many of the other men, but I considered myself set apart anyway.
On the journey, we re-invented themselves, changing our family name to Barton because we admired that family so much. William was a man of great power, with a great future. Mary Louisa was beautiful and intelligent and so very kind.
I hoped this would draw us together, and it did.
Too much so.
I was proven right as ever and always before. Phillip was antagonistic from the start, wanting the power to lead the group but lacking the intelligence and the resources. I outdid him in all arenas except for one; Harriet adored him.
To what extent, we did not realize until we were ten months into our travel.
We should have known he
would press himself on Harriet.
It was Grace who broke the news. She was breathless with excitement, although she breathed very slowly, of course.
“I’m not sure how far along but I think she should stop and rest until the baby is born,” Grace said. She said that she envied them. That she’d never loved anyone such. Nor had she been so loved. Did she notice the hurt she inflicted? Surely it was not deliberate, her forgetting how much I had adored her when we were young? I felt momentary fury at Monty Carlisle, who had caused such destruction for the sake of her love. And yet she’d forgotten Monty’s love as well.
I confronted Harriet and Phillip and there was a terrible scene. Phillip refused responsibility and ran away. We do sometimes wonder if he made it somewhere safely, but I have grave doubts. He was not the most resourceful of men.
Of course, it was all my fault according to the ladies. Eugene missed Phillip terribly, and seemed to blame me also.
I grew used to the idea of a baby. Harriet carried the first-born citizen in our new town!
It was many day’s travel (many days when Harriet wept) before we reached our destination. Even then, we weren’t sure we had arrived. There was one single road traveling in to what appeared to be the town center, but there were so few buildings, and it was dusty, with a sense of lifelessness about it. But there, out on the marvelous rocks that made me think of Little Cormoran, was the half-built Time Ball Tower. It stood, blocky, tall, reaching for the sky. It was a message; here, time is yours to manage.
I felt a sense of homecoming on seeing the tower.
The town of Wilson was almost dead. You could say it had never really been alive.
“You’re the first visitors in many months,” the shopkeeper said to us. Her shop was almost empty. “We haven’t had a delivery in six weeks,” she said. “I only stay open because I’ve got nothing else to do. I’ll sell you any produce I’ve got.” She lifted some potatoes. “These are good, from a local man. His wife knits, if you need anything like that. She does a lovely baby blanket.” She said this with a side glance at Harriet. Harriet was full of glow as she ever was.
Tide of Stone Page 6
