The Florentine Quilt

15. Amelia

15

AMELIA

WALHALLA, 1900

CORAL: Enhances intuition, guards against negative energies

W alhalla is not unlike any market town. The vibrant community is full of the bustling swell of pioneers from all parts of the world who have settled here since the 1860s. The only difference is that, tempted by opportunity, people cannot fail to be changed by the challenges of the mines, the climate, or the difficulties in building a new life from scratch.

I have embraced the routine of my new household, and it gives me joy to see the delight on Thomas’s face when greeting our family each night and hanging his cap on the peg after a day’s toil. I am returned to my husband in all manner of a dutiful wife, and content to be so. There is much comfort to be found in his arms.

My weekly visits into town to gather supplies acquaint me with the storekeepers: butchers, bakers and the like. Past experience proves acceptance takes time, and so I aim to be sociable with the womenfolk here and hope we might share our experiences of building new lives as Australians . It is an unusual sentiment for me, for I have never before felt the need for inclusion. But perhaps so far from home, and separated from everything I know, I am more inclined to rely on establishing new friendships.

The Penryns have become our family. This morning, I leave Alice with Ivy and her daughter Mae , with the promise to fetch flour in return of the favour. The walk into town will relieve my restlessness; a strange stirring in my veins today compels me to run.

The beauty of a new land is the prospect of a new identity. You can become whoever you profess, and no one will deny the truth. One cannot be judged for past actions, though I expect I will keep my gift of the sight to myself until prudent. For now, I am none but Amelia , wife of the amiable Thomas Treloar , who works the Long Tunnel Extended Mine .

Thomas is weary from extra shifts undertaken since working the vein of a recently discovered lode. The mine manager insists they toil all the hours God sends. It makes no difference whether ’tis day or night; miners burrow like badgers in the darkness with only lamps to brighten their tunnels beneath the surface.

Ahead of my errands I draw a card, having become accustomed to the practice once more when in private. For no good reason, I’m quite teasy this morning. But the card foresees an auspicious beginning and I clap my hands. The Chariot is a revelation. It signals a victorious man: a prince in a winged chariot who confidently overcomes opposition.

Dear Thomas .

On his half-days, he works his new enterprise; a small mine he owns shares in with two fellow miners. At first, they had encountered difficulty gaining the licence, but now the group are confident of a breakthrough. The card suggests with perseverance the venture will be successful. Our move to this colony is proving a success.

I cross my fingers and hold them tight. It never pays to get ahead of oneself.

With St Piran’s day a mere five days hence, I intend to bake a saffron tea treat in honour of the patron saint of miners. He is believed to have discovered the tin that showers its riches on the mines of Cornwall . Saffron cake is filled with dried fruit, and the fine reddish-gold threads give it its rich colour and bitter, yeasty flavour. ’ Tis a Cornish mining tradition I intend to continue.

I travelled here with ten corms of saffron wrapped in brown paper and secured in my baggage, and then stowed in the deep hold of the ship. Our seasons are opposite, but the climate here is perfect for cultivation and, if planted with care, a carpet of violet crocuses will sprout in my garden plot by next St Piran’s day. Then too my first batch of saffron stigmas will be dried, bottled and ready for use. Although expensive, today I hope to purchase saffron from the general store.

The storekeeper’s wife, Mrs Oliver , is sweeping the veranda with a large straw broom, her face pinched in concentration as she works a mud-dried spot on the edge of the steps.

‘ Good day, Mrs Oliver .’ My voice is cheery and expectant of her weekly gossip. She is a great one for remembering the names of every customer—and their business.

‘ Oh —’tis you.’ She turns her back and walks briskly inside.

I stop in surprise; my mouth so wide ’tis possible March flies will be trapped inside. I look about, but I’m alone on the step; I cannot understand why she has spoken in such a manner.

I push through the slammed door, briefly comforted by the store’s cool interior and reminded by the fragrant scent of beeswax polished into the woodwork that to all appearances the store is an establishment of note. I place my wicker basket on the counter.

Mrs Oliver whispers behind her hand and her husband’s face turns the same colour as the plums he is packing.

‘ Be quick about it, Mrs Treloar , we are busy this day.’

Heat rises on my face as I hand him my list. The Olivers continue a low-toned conversation with their backs to me. Every so often one glances over a shoulder, but, as other customers arrive, I note the lack of cordiality is directed only to me.

Finally , with growing discomfort in the pit of my stomach, I reach for my purse to pay for my purchases. ‘ Thank you, Mrs Oliver . Good day?—’

I turn to leave, and her mouth twists into a line so thin her lips disappear. Her nose points to the ceiling, high and haughty.

‘ Have you heard news of our good fortune, Mrs Treloar ?’

Like the screech of a banshee each word pierces my ears. And I know it is not her voice in reality but sign of the otherworld.

‘ My niece has arrived here from Cornwall ….’

‘ How lovely, Mrs Oliver ,’ my tight smile falters behind a deep breath, ‘you must be delighted to be reacquainted.’

‘ Indeed . Her father, my dear brother Lewis , runs his own store in Penzance . Did you know it?’ A smug expression slides across her face.

A lump catches in my throat and I work to control calm into my voice—far from how I feel.

‘ Is that so?’ I am blinded by a whirl of colour behind my eyes. Warning . Danger .

‘ My brother is a proud man and came into his fortune. Not only in business, but also with his daughter. Perhaps you know of my niece? Made herself a fine marriage, she did. And a young son too…’

‘ I do not recall….’ I hang my head. I have to leave….

Mrs Oliver jerks at her pinafore and secures it at the waist. Eyes like prune pips stare at me with distaste. ‘ Indeed , is that so? Her husband is the new mine manager at the Long Tunnel Extension . Your husband works there, does he not? Might he have spoken of him? Mr Jago Carrick ?’

Her glare burns into me, but I will not give her the satisfaction. Despite the shock, I slow my breathing and force my body to relax. Then I mask my face with an open and interested expression, though it pains me to do so. ‘ Indeed ....’

‘ They arrived some weeks ago and live in the manager’s residence, the large stone manor house by the creek. Beautiful , it is. The finest house in town. She has done well for herself, our Mariah . Quite the fine lady, she is now.’

Blood pounds in my ears. I cannot breathe; stifling heat closes in on me like a shroud. ‘ If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Oliver , I must collect my daughter.’

With barely a breath of air in my lungs, I retreat through the door, passing people going about their daily lives but not seeing them. This cannot be true….

I veer off the roadside to gather my thoughts towards the banks of the creek where I forage twigs and fallen leaves for my healing. Hidden behind a row of manna gums, I am out of sight of those on the nearby track. I strip off my boots and stockings. The earth is cool as dirt sifts beneath my toes, grounding me. I enter the stream and the rough stones scratch the soles of my feet, but I’m immediately refreshed by the water lapping my ankles.

A powerful man. How did I miss it? The card spoke of Jago , not Thomas . But why here? I drop to the bank with the sound of water rippling beside me and cover my face with my hands. If Thomas works for him, Jago knows I’m here too….

And yet, I knew this day would come.

G reater than the surge of the tide on a full moon, the memory of my last meeting with Mariah fills me with dread. Thoughts ravage my mind and pain claws at my heart. I picture her self-satisfied expression, and a knot coils in my stomach. Thomas will be broken for certs if he learns of our connection. And what of Mrs Oliver ? Judging by her demeanour, I expect she knows of my shame. Though I am wholly surprised, that given the cost to her too, Mariah shares confidences with an aunt she can only barely have recalled.

Before I collect Alice from Ivy and her brood, I slip into our cottage to see what lies ahead. My heart is racing, and I steel myself to focus. One , two, three cards for assurance, and with my selections in a line, the first card drawn is the Six of Swords .

The message hits me like a cold wind atop an open field.

The ferryman sails across the water and away from pain and loss. A shrouded woman is hunched under cover in the boat, with her back to him. Turning away from emotion in the past. The waters will not be smooth sailing; confrontation is ahead. Resting my head in my hands, I take a deep breath. A child is pictured too.

Two of Wands offers two courses of action. A choice and a plan. The message reveals acceptance of what is done and passed, and the need for a decision. Fear of what it foreshadows turns my stomach.

I brace for the third; the portent showing the path ahead. But before the face is turned, I see in my mind that it is a card of little favour.

The Devil . Jealousy and obsession enslave and surround me. It signals a relationship, one that began well and is binding, and yet, will bear no joy.

My life with Thomas is the only truth and relationship I care about. My hands are clammy. I place my palms on the table, steadying the wild thoughts that overrun my intuitive connection. My heart beats faster.

To make clearer what I have seen, I turn one more card.

The High Priestess . The card shows a woman—me—stepping between two worlds, holding the scroll of knowledge in my hands. Undisclosed information is in my grasp—a sacred truth beyond the material world. Something is hidden from view, but I am encouraged to trust in the old ones. All will be revealed. ’ Tis time to plant seeds to harvest for the future.

I do not need the cards to see the truth. Our lives are entwined on a path that must be taken. Yet , actions beget consequences. I pack the cards away beneath the mattress.

The sign of the child scares and unsettles me most. I see in my mind’s eye me placing a baby in a crib, kissing the downy head, never to lay eyes on it again. I have tried to close such memories from my heart, filling the empty space with my sweet Alice . I remember, and it has to be enough. A child’s birth is never forgotten, nor is the depth of a mother’s love.

U nder the velvet cloak of night, I slip off my nightdress and stand naked before my husband in the shadow of the moon. I take Thomas into my arms and love him fully, holding his body against mine. I freely offer him the love and passion I committed and promised on our wedding day. The light in his eyes glows bright with love, and although I do not deserve it, nor his kindness and care, I take it anyway. This is how it is meant to be. The life we are born to live, the path chosen for us, is one of union and perseverance. The mistakes I made were not Thomas’s to bear, and now I offer contrition. He is a good man, a fair man, and the love he bears for Alice and me is beyond reproach.

He does not deserve any less than my whole, true self. I love him tenderly, blocking from my thoughts the caresses of another, the way his dark body covered mine when we moulded as one. I focus instead on trailing kisses the length of Thomas’s body, witnessing the delight my touch, my body, my lips bring to him. Ever thoughtful of my contentment, he turns his attentions to me.

As sure as foliage seeks the sun and showers to grow, I need Thomas now. I must have his love, his comfort and his protection. He holds me tight in his arms; his touch and tenderness are a testament to his love as he guides me with gentle strokes to a shuddering peak. My body responds like a parched flower starved of dew.

Tears fill my eyes in the darkness while Thomas sleeps beside me. The path ahead will be turbulent. But I vow to love and tend to him, to afford him the best of health and a happy home. And I will use everything in my power to be a true and faithful wife to him.