13. Amelia
13
AMELIA
MELBOURNE, 1 JANUARY 1900
SARDONYX: Promotes self-control, virtuous conduct, marriage stability
O n the first day of a new century, the shrill screech of a whistle signals our arrival at Railway Pier in the Port of Melbourne .
It’s been quite the adventure. Our voyage took us past the great rock island of Gibraltar and the bustling ports of Marseille and Naples before we anchored in Port Said . Alice was impressed by the huge lighthouse there, towering above us on the wooden pier. But most of all she was taken with the sight of the Egyptians in flowing robes and women with naught but their eyes on view. Once we reached the eastern coast of Africa and sailed to Ceylon , the temperature finally grew warmer and the sea was relatively calm. It took another week to navigate the breadth of our new homeland, with passengers embarking in Fremantle before we crossed the expansive Bight .
Glad to leave our sea legs behind, we are in Melbourne at last. The press of bodies on the dock is a shock after the intimacy of our cabin. I urge Alice through the crowd amassed to welcome the Ortona ’s first voyage and clasp her hand tightly. We follow the porter towards the railway station. If all is well, we will reach Walhalla —and Thomas —by twilight.
With a squeal of wheels and mechanical ingenuity, our train shudders and shunts from the platform while, on the pier, people are still collecting their bags and striding to various points like an army of ants. Are the newly arrived as eager as I for a new beginning?
The excitement momentarily clouds my apprehension at thoughts of our Treloar family reunion.
Alice wriggles beside me on the seat with eyes like gooseberries. This strange new landscape is alive with luminous colour, and the heat is stifling. We leave the city and settle into our journey, following the coastline. A vast expanse of open space abounds as the landscape flashes by, already so light and bright and different from our homeland.
I miss my husband’s friendly countenance; the way tiny lines etch creases in the corners of his eyes when he offers his slanted smile. I love the cheek of him, the wink in greeting when he comes through the door with his arms open wide to me. I have never minded the dust on his clothing and the smell of the earth in his hair. Every breath of Thomas is what I know. He is home to me.
Thomas will find me much changed. He never witnessed my body growing heavy and round with child. Now , my limbs are brawny, my breasts and hips full. I have the shape of a woman. While brisk clifftop walks and carrying buckets of water have strengthened my body, ’tis motherhood that has taught me not to be selfish, foolhardy. I have another to care for, to nurture and guide in the ways best.
While the oceans have separated us, our lives have been lived independently. My good fortune is to have had Alice’s fine company. Her gentle chatter and sweet singing voice fill my heart with unbridled joy. Yet it is hard not to see her father in her. ’ Tis his soulful eyes that are ever watchful, mimicking my movements and imitating my speech…his high cheekbones and strong jawline that frame her face.
When we board the carriage of the second train, Alice presses her nose to the glass. Bushes the colour of dampened hemp pass by the window at great speed as we traverse inland from the coast. Instead of hedgerows, tall trees with knotted boughs line the wayside, with narrow, finger-like leaves that point to the ground and split bark that sheds like field grasshoppers emerging from their skins. The undergrowth is strewn with discarded leaves and twigs; the dead refuse browned and parched and dried out in the unrelenting sun.
So far, we have left behind sand the colour of flaxen hair and traversed flat, open plains and a shoreline of tangled scrub. The landscape is ever-changing: stark yet bright, with clear light such as I could never have imagined. Newly established settlements and stretches of cleared land flash past until, caught in the hypnotic rhythm of the train, I momentarily close my eyes.
‘ I’m thirsty, Mama .’ Alice’s tiny fingers pull on my arm.
I awake with a start, remembering where I am. Hot and dusty from the arduous journey, my body aches with unease ahead of our reunion. I hope we will arrive at the terminal soon. A kind smile from the elderly lady opposite is directed at Alice . She nods with concern in her eyes.
‘ Here , lass.’ The Scottish brogue is rough and coarse to my ears, but her tone is soft. Holding out a small flask covered in leather, her fingers are gnarled and withered, and her hand is shaking. ‘ Give the wee bairn a drop o’ this.’
‘ Thank you.’
Alice takes the small cup attached to the flask, drinking greedily, her cheeks blooming pink like a downy rose. ‘ Not so fast.’
‘ Dinnae fash. She’s a bonny wee lassie. Where are ye both headed?’
I concentrate, finding her accent a test. ‘ We are to meet my husband. He came ahead from Cornwall and works the Long Tunnel mine at Walhalla .’
‘ Aye , right ye are. I ken many a Cornish miner made his way here. ’ Tis a long way o’er the hills. Ye still have a way to go.’
Since gold was discovered in the 1850s, many have searched beneath the earth’s surface for its riches. Thomas spoke of the thriving mine companies who sought the might and knowledge of Cornish miners—those whose families had worked the tin and copper pits for generations. Thousands continue to flock here, lured by wealthy bosses who line their pockets with handsome profits off the backs of their labour.
‘ I admit, ’tis further than I anticipated.’
‘ Aye . But must be worth his while. Many come for the mines and make their homes here. From countries far and wide, they tarry. Ye’ll notice the difference here—far from the Celtic Sea . I find linens best for the heat, ye ken?’
I smile at her kindness and think back to packing my trunk, folding the lacework and linens sewn in preparation for our journey. I have a fine collection to make our house a home, imagining Thomas has had little time for domestic niceties.
I made a quilt for our marriage bed, to cover our two bodies parted for so long. Embroidered with Cornish folktales, it serves to remind Alice of the stories of her homeland too. Suddenly , my mouth is dry, and I catch my breath. Danger has the bitter taste of a sour cherry. I sense smoke, and see the quilt blackened and destroyed. The fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
‘ Are ye well, lassie? Here , have a wee sip too. Looks like ye have seen a ghost.’
I have indeed. I cannot explain the knowing. But refreshed by the contents of the flask, I’m returned to the now, and my present is clear again.
Alice soon falls asleep on my lap and chestnut ringlets spread like question marks across the blue cambric of my travelling suit. What awaits us in this new land? Here , far from the shores of Land’s End , Penzance and the Isles of Scilly , far from the call of selkies and the sea. My stomach twists and flutters. I shall miss the call of the ocean and the wind hurdling through the trees. Will the voices of the past still speak to me here?
There is one voice I dream of: one I will never forget. I close my eyes and picture him. I blush, recalling his tender touch, the scent of earth on his skin and taste of the ocean in his breath. ’ Tis a sin that cannot be forgiven, though there was little I could do to escape him, nor he me. Our lives are ever entwined. His name alone makes my heart surge. Jago Carrick . For I love him more than life itself.
I promise to be a faithful wife. In time, Thomas and I will have more children, if what I see before me is true. However , despite my best intentions, something deeply unsettles me. I have foreseen difficulty. There may come a time to reap what I have sown.
Alice wakes and whimpers like a hound. There’s a flutter in my stomach; she too is discomfited by what awaits us.
‘ Hush , Alice ,’ I soothe, patting her head, ‘back to sleep, my sweet.’ I wave my hand across her face like a fan, cooling her reddened cheeks with a breath of hot air. ’ Tis an unbearable temperature, and I long to quench my thirst with a glass of elderflower or minted tea with sugar—anything to relieve it.
At last, we pull into the siding and the guard makes the announcement.
‘ Next stop Toongabbie . Last stop for supplies before Walhalla !’
A small timber cottage nearby is framed by a sign overhead: Toongabbie General Store . Men and women gather outside the doorway, shaded from the sun under a sloping tin roof.
The cottages here are made of timber and appear far less sturdy than the thick walls of stone and clay I know. Surely , as in the story of the Three Little Pigs , they will blow over at the first sign of a wily wind or a storm? I wonder how stable our new home is and hope it sturdier than the canvas miner’s tents that sprang up during the Gold Rush .
The sky changes from sapphirine blue to mauve while we are helped on to the mail coach, bound for Walhalla . Drawn by a team of four horses, it bounces and sways along the final leg of our journey, reportedly following the reverse route of the armed gold escort. I hold on tight, fearing the steep rise and then sheer drop alongside the narrow track. What a wild and dangerous place this is! Then the landscape changes dramatically as steep hills angle down into a deep valley. ’ Tis cooler here, with knee-high ferns that burst from the undergrowth and tangle on either side of us, the vivid green foliage forming a shady canopy overhead. Alice snuggles closer and rests her head on my knees.
I hear the rock crushers groaning in the background well before we reach them. The crushing machines, or stamps, are essential to the industry that drew us here. When the coach wends the final sharp bend, a clearing opens up and, in an instant, the town of Walhalla is revealed. I hope the soil is fertile. I intend to proceed with my seedlings, planting and growing what I can for my tinctures.
Nestled in a narrow valley, Walhalla’s thriving community is dotted throughout the sidings of undulating hills where puffs of smoke rise like clouds above the chimney stacks. The surrounding forest—or bush, as it is known—has been ravaged of trees. The mines are ever greedy to feed the burning smelters or fell timber to provide material for new settlers to build their homes. The smell of sawed timber shavings and the clang of hammer upon nail signal the ongoing construction.
The wide cloudless sky is streaked in amber and rose by the time the mail coach pulls in front of the Star Hotel . Deep in my skirt pocket my cards taunt me. There’s a soothing beauty to the deck although the design is worn and faded. I’ve not laid a spread since the port, uncertain how such superstitions are viewed here.
But I know Thomas will forbid it. He has never cared for the practice. Matters of the other worlds are best left for when my husband is down mine.
N ed Penryn’s hunched shoulders sway in time with the rhythm of his steps. I drag one foot in front of the other, with Alice’s hand held tight to encourage her along the road. He chatters about his wife, Ivy , and how she has prepared our garden beds ahead of my arrival. His brown eyes crease in good humour when he stops to let us rest, taking the opportunity to speak of her with affection. They met and married in St Austell , and then shortly after followed the Cornish mining diaspora to the shores of the bright new world.
Ned trudges ahead with cap in hand, swatting flies from reddened, sweat-covered cheeks. He warns of a long, steep climb to our house on the Right - Hand Branch at the edge of the prosperous town.
I ask if the soil here is fertile.
‘ Ripe for planting, it be. Ye’ll reap a fine harvest if ye begin dreckly. Our Ivy says there be a planting moon in a few nights. Ye have a bit of work ahead of ye, but Cornish maids be strong and able. I’m sure Thomas will praise ye efforts.’
‘ How is he? My husband?’
‘ All the better for seeing ye, I expect. He’s worked hard to make it right. Make sure ye thank him well…for his efforts.’ He winks at me and I drop my head at his intended meaning. Heat burns my cheeks.
A picture of naked skin and flailing arms and legs flashes in my thoughts. Beads of perspiration across a strong broad chest. A sharp turn to my stomach forces me to push the image away quickly. It was long ago. I hold my head high and affix a smile to my face.
My heart beats intensely and the rush of blood throbs in my ears. With each step closer to Thomas , I am filled with trepidation. Will he be the amiable man I recall? Is he much changed by his experiences? I know I am.
And then there is Alice . I pray he grows to love her, as I do.
We make our way past a large waterwheel, one of several, that spills water from the creek to treat the gold tailings. While the mines of Cornwall dig deep below the rockface of ocean cliffs, I wonder the extent of the tunnels beneath the valley here, where Thomas and his fellow miners pick and plough for gold.
Two cottages are set into the hillside at the end of the track. Stretched beyond them are but a few treetops waving like wands in the hot breeze. The creek that snakes through the town is visible below the steep rise, and the sound of water trickles.
‘ Not much now, but Stringer’s Creek flows with proper speed when snow melts,’ Ned comments. ‘ We took higher ground for our homes. Be a long walk to creek, but for best if the banks burst.’
‘ I did not know it snowed here.’
The idea seems incredulous on such a fine day, but situated between two mountains, and having experienced the elevation of the coach’s steep climb, it makes perfect sense.
Under her bonnet, Alice’s little face bears a frown. I lift her to my hip and grubby fingers grip my blouse. She has not walked this far for some time, restricted by the confines of the ship’s deck. Tired from skipping the first part of the path, she is now surly and irritable. Russet curls bob when her head swivels from side to side, taking in all she sees.
Finally , I see him and laugh aloud when Thomas hurdles the picket fence, his arms wide in welcome. His cheery smile is as familiar as my own name.
‘ Here at last, me luvver. Thank ye, Ned , for fetching my family, and to Ivy for sparing thee. Proper job.’
Ned retreats without a word, leaving Thomas to welcome us in private. My husband looks well, but furrowed lines I do not recall mark his forehead, and his fair hair is feathered with grey.
‘ What a sight you be. Thought of your smile be what keeps me going. I fretted I forgot how fair ye be. Now , my bird, introduce thee daughter?—’
‘ Alice , say hello to your papa,’ I prod Alice gently, feeling her anguish while guilt twists in my stomach. What will he see in her?
I hear my heartbeat echo in my ears.
‘ Some beauty, she is.’ Thomas studies her for a time. ‘ And yet?—’
I hold my breath. I do not know what I will do if he rejects her.
‘ Nay ,’ He smiles with affection, ‘she be the image of you at her age.’
Suddenly , the thought occurs to him. He turns back to me and frowns. ‘ A small ’un, though, for four years, she be….’
The excuse catches in my throat while Alice peeks from behind my skirts. I incline my head and give a stiff nod. ‘ Good things come in small parcels, sweet Alice . Come here now, and your papa will show thee our home.’
He offers me his hand, urging us through the open door. The house looks well cared for, albeit without a woman’s touch, and I well-note his efforts to tidy. The room is bright and light-filled with a cathedral-like pitched ceiling. Thomas catches my gaze.
‘ Helps in the heat. Changes for us all, my bird. Takes some getting used to, eh?’ He smiles and glances to his feet. A blush floods his face: an awkwardness that marks us as strangers. Our reacquaintance will take time.
‘ What do ye think?’ He stands back proudly with his arms folded. Alice looks from one to the other. I smile, thankful for his thoughtful efforts. My gaze sweeps the room and I marvel at the size of the stone fireplace in the centre of the main room, and a fire stove big enough to cook a feast fit for a king. He has remembered I love to bake. I clasp my hands together, realising how much thought went into his planning.
‘ You’ve filled our home with thought and love.’ I lower my eyes. He is a true, dear friend to me. Nothing in this new land will threaten our bond. ‘ Thank you, Thomas . ’ Tis perfect.’
I wander to the vase of wildflowers on the table and inspect them more closely. Like dew droplets, the sweet, clove-scented buds are the prettiest shade of pink.
‘ Lilly Pilly ,’ Thomas supplies. ‘ Some call them medicine berries.’
I smile; he is already foraging this land for me.
All of a sudden, Alice bursts into tears. Today has been too much for her.
‘ She be teasy as ’n adder!’
‘ Just tired, is all,’ I reply and take her into my arms. ‘ She is generally a good-tempered child.’
Grateful for the chair beside the hearth, I rock her back and forth, whispering into her hair. Thomas squeezes my shoulder with a smile. ‘ All right, my bird?’ He reaches for Alice , but she draws her hand away.
‘ Leave her be, for now.’
A moment later he returns with a grin. ‘ A gift for thee, Alice .’
The small doll has a porcelain head, feet and hands, and a painted face with eyes staring wide. The body is made of calico. Long , nut-brown hair is tied with a lilac bow that matches the one on the hips of her pretty smock while white lace-trimmed pantaloons peek below the hem. Alice’s mouth looks set to catch a fly.
‘ Oh , Thomas , what a fine gift. Where did she come from?’
‘ A woman in Melbourne town, there be—with shop decked out like a fairy dell, filled with trinkets and treasures the likes I never did see.’ He grins. ‘ She be some proper strange ’un. Had the way of the piskies about her. But what vellan would this father be, to deny his daughter a dolly?’
Later , I carry Alice to the child-sized cot in the smaller of the rooms and cover her with my quilt. She grasps the fabric and draws it to her nose with the dolly tucked under her arm. Her little hands gather into fists and cover her face while she sleeps.
With no further distractions, Thomas draws me into an embrace. The rough brush of stubble grazes my cheek, and he turns his lips to mine. I open my mouth to his, breathing in his taste and caress. But the shock of his masculinity, his need expectant and like granite between us, causes me to falter. I break away with a gasp and my body shaking.
‘ All right, me luvver?’ He frowns.
‘ Aye , I am sorry. It has been a long journey.’ I cover my shock with a tight smile. He is my husband—how can I deny him?
His hand cups my chin and his eyes shine with passion. There is kindness reflected too.
‘ Been too long since we shared a bed, my bird. I understand thee be shy. Come to me when thee settle some. I never want thee afraid of me—though, in truth, I be lying to say I am content to wait.’
‘ Thank you, Thomas .’ I step back and try to mask my relief. My body is twitching with uncertainty. He is expecting his good wife as amenable as ever. A woman of virtue and grace.
I must shelter him from what I have done and who I have become.
That night, I close my eyes to sleep, recalling my last spread of the cards.
The Tower showed the upheaval and disruption I have experienced. The second card, the Star , advised that this new life, this path was right for our future: a secure beginning. Our union foreseen.
It was the last that caused concern: the image of a heart speared by three swords declares pain inflicted by actions and words. The Three of Swords doused my optimism.
However , it can also be read as offering hope for powerful healing too …
I lie awake in the darkness and cannot deny the constancy of my thoughts.
Are the swords that pierce the centre of the heart a sign of what is set to wound mine?