A Distant Dream (12 page)

It had been the girls coming in with the eggs they had collected, which had startled her out of her reverie and for a moment she had felt quite ashamed of herself for wishing the little baby dead.

*

The tin tub lay in the yard, waiting for Bessie to add some water from the rain butt. A wicker basket stood alongside it, full of dirty clothes waiting to be washed. Of the children there was no sign. The boys had gone and supposedly the girls with them, then Bessie heard the high spirited cries of excitement coming from the almond grove.

She saw red when she heard the noise from them. Someone was going to pay for this, they all knew that they had jobs to do before they could play in the grounds. Her temper brimming over she walked between the rows of trees until she saw that the children had captured a small echidna, an animal like a hedgehog, which was trapped in a hollow beneath one of the trees. Bertie had a stick and was poking at the small creature and the girls were screaming with alarm as the frightened animal tried to escape. The boys, scared upon seeing the vexed looking face on Bessie, who came running out of the orchard ready to give them a cuff around the ear because of their clamour, escaped to the barn where they hid behind a haystack until the coast was clear, but Molly being the smallest and not quick enough to run for cover, found herself lifted in the air and tucked under the irate woman's arm.

Hannah, ever protective of her little friend, ran along at the side of Bessie, shouting that it wasn't Molly's fault that they weren't getting on with the washing, that the boys had persuaded them to go and have a look at the creature, strange so it was. It wasn't until they reached the yard that Bessie let go of her prisoner and did so with such a force to knock the wind from her. Molly stopped her screaming in distress, stumbled over the wicker basket and fell face down into the metal tub, hitting her head.

For a moment the two of them stood there feeling stunned, whilst Bessie stared in disbelief that the child was lying still and wasn't crying. Hannah, caught in the moment, waited for her friend to climb out of the tub and run to her for comfort, but Bessie went to lift poor Molly and cradled her in her arms. The blood that had been rushing from the head wound stopped suddenly and with a little sigh, Molly's life was over, never again to be a burden to the woman who held her, never again to be a little friend to the sorrowing girl who stood close by.

With tears rushing down her poor thin cheeks, her heart beating madly and her fists balled in readiness to give the mammy a good drubbing as payment for her crime, Hannah heard a familiar voice shouting across from the side of the cottage where Clarence was tethering the horse and cart.

“For heaven's sake, will yer stop pickin' on the girls, Bessie” he said, walking towards them with a scowl upon his face. “They can help me unload the grocery. I just got there before they sold out of – Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What in the Hell has happened here?”

He ran then, kicking out at the chickens that had rushed across the yard, thinking that he might have some scraps to feed them with, past the dog who was barking madly on the end of his rope and the pig in his enclosure, who was staring at the scene. He reached his wife, who was trembling with fear at what had just happened and where poor little Molly lay prostrate in her arms. The child was deathly white. Her eyes were closed and there was an ugly gash on her brow, her hair hung down in tangled tresses and she wore one boot. The other, the lace having worked loose (which had been a major factor in the poor girl's fall), lay abandoned in the grass nearby.

“She fell over the basket,” Bessie whispered, her face full of anguish. She was feeling full of trepidation in case Filbey didn't believe her tale. She turned around to Hannah, with her hand out toward her in mute appeal. “I didn't hit her, did I? It was like I said, she fell over the basket and hit her head.”

Hannah nodded, still feeling angry, still ready to put all the blame on this horrible woman who was nothing like the mammy she would have chosen for herself.

“But it was you who dropped her. Yer dropped her so hard that she tripped over the basket and fell into the tub. We were going to start the washin' and it wasn't her fault.”

It was said in an accusing voice and said with all the bitterness that Hannah had kept inside her heart, because of their treatment. There'd been no love, no hugs nor kisses for her and Molly, which she had seen Aubretia give the new baby and the boys. They'd been made to work in the house and yard, until they'd dropped asleep exhausted every night, in exchange for their meals.

Clarence listened, his heart beating loudly at the thought that his wife may well have killed the child resulting from her temper. Not intentionally, but there had been a lack of kindness to anyone since they'd arrived on Australian soil.

His eyes brimmed with tears as he stroked little Molly's shoulder. She hadn't asked to be brought along to the colony. She would still be alive if she had gone away with Maggie or left to live in the hamlet with Aunt Tess, her relative. They had interfered and had snatched the child from her homeland, determined to bring her up as their adopted daughter. Now none of that was going to happen; Bessie had seen to that.

“It could be the end of a hangman's rope for yer” he said in warning. “Either that or yer make a run for it, before someone finds the body and calls the troopers in.”

Why had he
j
ust said that?
He wondered
. Was this his chance to get rid of Bessie and have Aubretia and her children all to himself?

“No, Filbey, it was an accident. For God's sake tell him Hannah, it was an accident like I said.” Bessie passed the body over to a dubious looking Clarence, as her arms began to shake.

Hannah stared back at Bessie, warring with her conscience and with loathing in her heart.
Who would believe the word
of an orphan girl? She could say it was an accident, partly true, as Molly had fallen out of the mammy's arms and tripped over the basket, but the mammy had been cross and they'd been frightened, but wait, what was she hearing now from the dada, it seemed he'd suddenly had a change of heart?

“We can't have the troopers stickin' their nose into what's happened here, not after what Aubretia told me about what they did to that poor bugger who was shot fer runnin'. We'll take the child and put her in the shelter and then we'll think on what we can do.”

It had been strange how the Filbeys had just upped sticks, saying that they had a mind to go back to
Ireland as Bessie hadn't taken to the new country and it was taking a toll on her health,
thought Aubretia, as she stared out of the window at her eldest boy, who along with his brother was dragging a hessian sack full of potatoes, newly dug up from their vegetable pit. She had been surprised that her son was capable of such ingenuity, but recently it had become obvious that he had learnt his skills from Mr. Filbey, who had been such a nice man.

It was a few weeks before, one afternoon when she had decided that enough was enough and it was time she stopped treating herself as an invalid. Clarence had stood in the doorway, gazing upon her and the baby as they sat on Bessie's timber bed. He was looking rather pale and agitated if the truth was told. She couldn't ask him in, it wasn't done unless his wife had been with him, but it seemed that the flint faced Mrs. Filbey had disappeared, along with Molly and Hannah. At least she hadn't heard any movement from them, she had only been aware of her boys that morning, when Bertie had asked if he could make some toast.

“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Aldridge” Clarence had said gently, wishing that he could hold this moment forever as he looked upon her. “As you probably know, the wife hasn't been ‘erself, what with one thing and another. Now the youngster has gone down with somethin' and we've a mind to take her up to the city to see a doctor there. We'll find a place to stay until she's better, then we might hot foot it back to Ireland. It was my dream, not theirs, to make a new life here.”

“Oh. Oh, I'm sorry to hear it, Mr. Filbey.” Aubretia had felt startled when she heard his words. He had seemed so determined to have the place, giving her time to get over the birth before the formalities of ownership was required. “You were making such a good fist of things, you've cleared a lot of the land, tended to the growing of the produce, helped with the marketing and even the addition of another room. I had thought that your intention to buy the place would have set me free from my obligations here. Now I must make arrangements for mine and the children's future.”

“No – No, you'll be right here, don't even try to sell the place to someone else. Bessie's built up a good little business on the front there, the grove is producin' well, the boys can keep it all goin' until you can get a bit of help. Don't go back to England. Take advantage of the work that's been done. Like yer said, there's the new room, the scrub we've cleared to make a paddock and there's enough logs in the shelter to see you through the wintertime. Stay at least until the spring, when the seed I've sown in the acreage will begin to grow.”

A
nd perhaps I may pass this way again and you'll still be here, dear Aubretia.

*

They might not have survived that winter if it hadn't have been for the money that Aubretia had found slipped under one of the
palliasses
, when she had shaken it to plump up the straw after the Filbey family had gone. There were five white pound notes, folded neatly underneath. With the money, the eggs from their hens, the pickled meat, the preserves of bottled fruit that Bessie had prepared and the pit which Clarence had dug to prevent the early decomposition of their vegetables, it had all sufficed to keep them going, though the winter hadn't been that severe.

She had taken the death certificate that the coroner had produced as proof of William's demise, to the land title office. It was more to stake her claim on the property as his widow, should she decide to sell it at a later date. She was approaching the decision to provide a living for her sons and herself at the property rather than becoming dependent on William's family back home. She had looked at the place with new eyes after receiving two offers from settlers who had recently arrived, especially when one man had said quite bluntly that a woman couldn't run the place effectively, which had spurred her on to think that she could. She had asked at the grocery store to see if they knew of a diligent worker, hesitant to employ an Aborigine again and hopeful this time for a married man, someone to drive the horse and cart if needed, with a wife who could help her with the children. The man could do the heavier work that running the place involved. She found her support in Bill.

Bill McMahon was a hard worker with a wife and three young children – boys of a similar age to Bertie and Ralphie and a little girl aged two. They'd had an itinerant lifestyle since arriving at Port Adelaide three years before from Liverpool, as Bill, a restless soul, always wanted to see what was around the next corner. He was a jack of all trades but had managed to support his wife and family through taking any work that he was capable of. It had mostly been labouring, in fields or on city building sites and he had once toyed with the idea of making his way to Victoria's goldfields, but his wife had soon talked him out of that.

It had been Mrs. Poskitt who had put out the word. Still visiting Aubretia, as was her wont after being the midwife at little William Aldridge's birth, she had felt dismay when the new mother had declared that she was going to run the place as a business and not go back to England, as formerly she had said she would. The couple, known as the Filbeys, the wife seemingly a delicate creature, had gone back on their word of buying the property and scurried off back to Ireland, which had left the poor widow in the lurch. There was no way that this young woman could cope with running the place, besides raising three children without the support of a husband, according to Mrs. Poskitt; someone must be found to give her a hand.

The McMahons had been living at the settlement, with the intention that Bill would try to get a job in the slate quarry. Failing that they would make the journey to Encounter Bay, where he could try his hand at making his living as a whaler. They'd had their possessions loaded on a handcart in readiness; a change of clothing, tin mugs, plates and a billy-can, their canvas shelters, floor mats and their woollen blankets.

Bill was a thin and gangly person, originally from Scotland, but had married a lass from Lancashire. He was strong as an ox and wore a permanent smile on his face. The fact that he had made it to the new country, with so many opportunities to be found for him and his boys and the love of his good wife and daughter, constantly amazed him. He presented himself one morning to the widow, having been told of the job by Mort, the boss man at the settlement, and found her to be a likeable creature. After searching the acres for somewhere to park himself and the family, he chose the ground just beyond the almond grove. It had shelter from a stand of red gums and was near the creek which was beginning to fill with water again, after a few downpours of heavy rain. His wife Dorrie, who was relieved that perhaps at last her husband might just put down some roots in this wondrous place called Willunga, was happy to assist the widow in anyway she could.

*

It was the following spring, when Catherine McMahon, a sweet little three year old who liked to go walk about, found the shelter where Clarence Filbey had decided to bury Molly's body. It was in need of a new support, having a tendency to lean whichever way the wind was blowing and Bill had meant to ask Aubretia if there was any point in keeping it, given that it wasn't used for storage.

Catherine crawled inside and sat on the old
palliasse
, watching in fascination as a small lizard ran up and down a branch that was part of the collapsed in roof. A movement outside caused her to peer around cautiously; it wouldn't be unusual for her mother to come looking for her.

Instead, her gaze met the blue eyes of another little girl who was standing outside. She was dressed in a white calf length dress, a pair of black boots with the laces undone and her long, brown hair, partly plaited, had a trailing blue ribbon.

“‘Ello,” Catherine said, in the Lancashire accent she had inherited from her mother, feeling pleased that she might have found a playmate as her two brothers were older and didn't have any time for her. “What's yer name?”

The little girl smiled sadly and didn't say anything.

“Would yer like to play tag?” It didn't matter that the little girl didn't speak; they could still play with each other.

The little girl nodded and soon Catherine was running around the yard, hiding behind the pigsty, giggling behind the hen house, whilst waiting for her new friend to follow. But she hadn't. When Catherine went back to the shelter, the little girl had disappeared.

“Just look at the state of yer”, Dorrie, her mother had exclaimed, when a few minutes later she had appeared from the almond grove, looking around irately for her wandering offspring. “Yer look as if yer've been dragged through a hedge backward. That dress was clean on this mornin', it was supposed to last until Sunday this time. What are yer doin' anyroad, mankin' about, away from where I can see yer? Don't let it ‘appen again, our Catherine, or you'll get a skelp around yer lug.”

Catherine set off ahead of her mother. “A skelp around the lug” was what her elder brothers got if they crossed their mother. She wasn't keen on having a sore ear herself and she could always come and look for her friend another day.

*

The young woman who walked along the Aldinga Road one Febuary morning a few years later, was unrecognisable as Hannah, the girl who had been plucked from the Irish orphanage and sent across the seas to the new colony. The year was 1854 and Hannah, now seventeen, at least she thought she might be seventeen but she couldn't be sure as she didn't have a birth certificate, had her brown hair pulled back into a wispy bun, which helped to emphasis her pale face and high cheekbones. Slim now, rather than skinny looking, and dressed in a simple, brown frock and black boots as befitted a girl from the working classes, she was making her way to the property that had briefly been her home.

That fateful day all those years ago when the Filbeys had fled the scene, taking a frightened Hannah along who had also been in shock at what she had witnessed, had stayed in her mind like a nightmare. Seeing Molly, her forehead gushing, then white as a sheet when her spirit had left her, her grubby frock tangled up around her legs and one of her boots missing, could hit her hard when she wasn't thinking, causing her to shake and tremble at her thoughts. As the years had passed and had become a distant memory, she wondered if she had dreamt it all and Molly was alive and well.

Bessie Filbey had been quiet and very withdrawn for most of that journey to the city. They had been fortunate in that as they had emerged from the property early that morning and headed towards the village, a cart driven by a farmer who was taking his bags of wheat to a flour mill at Noarlunga, stopped and asked had they wanted a lift? He was only going as far as Noarlunga, but they were welcome to climb aboard, even if they were going further. Clarence, who could have gone to the settlement and asked if there were any wagons setting off for Port Adelaide that morning, leapt at the chance. Although Molly's little body had been buried under the shelter at the dead of night, he wasn't going to hang around the property longer than he had to.

They had arrived in the city later that day, early enough for Clarence to find a good class hotel on King William Street, where he had left a still scared Bessie with a still stunned Hannah in a bedroom there. He planned to find Sir Rodney and throw himself on his lordship's mercy, (explore all avenues in Adelaide first rather than having to throw the towel in) tell him that their daughter had died having been bitten by a venomous spider and that Bessie, grieving for their small child, was pining to go back home. The rest had seemed a bit of a blur to Hannah but a couple of days later, Mr. Filbey had taken her to the orphan depot. Mr. Filbey, somehow she could never have brought herself to think of him as her dada, had a long conversation with the superintendent. He'd said goodbye, told her to behave herself and walked away.

She'd been sent to work, first into the Catholic household of an Irish banker, who had a wife and four children and hailed from Dublin. She was sent to assist the nursery maid, whilst the lady of the house had her lying in. The work was hard, with unpleasant jobs, mostly the emptying of chamber pots, washing of soil cloths, keeping the children clean and tidying the nursery, given to the girl who seemed to have been robbed of her senses. Then one day she was no longer needed and she was sent to the depot again.

The superintendent, despairing that she was never going to place this child in a permanent position, a bit of a dolt if the truth was told and only fit to do the lowest of jobs, had sent her later to Willunga to join a group of Irish girls, presently accommodated at the government reserve, until they'd found a place of work.

Hannah hated it. It was reminiscent of the orphanage in Crossmolina, where girls, young as they were, had all sorts of cat fights. Picking on the weakest, jeering at a girl with a speech impediment, pointing fingers at a girl who perhaps had a deformity, with Hannah sometimes also at the butt of it, as she was as quiet as a mouse. There was a group of girls, young women really, who had been sent to look for work at the farms in the area, as due to the sudden exodus of labourers who were tempted to find their fortunes in the Victorian gold fields, the farmers were having difficulty with their harvesting.

The girls were a raucous lot, led by a flame-haired hoyden called Mavoureen. From the sounds of sniggering that came from the corner of the room where they did their chattering, some of the girls were already earning their money by lying on their backs. Hannah hadn't a clue what they were talking about, but there seemed to be one or two young fellows always hanging around the house.

That morning, the Matron, a gentle mannered woman who had her charges' interests at heart, was being berated by some member of the local council whilst Mavoureen, hands on hips,was using language that was most unsuitable. Hannah was able to slip away unnoticed in order to try to find a peaceful corner away from the heated debate indoors.