River Child

RIVER CHILD CAROLYN LOGAN On the twenty-second of October, 1829, Sarah Bodkin arrives in the Swan River Colony, determined to make a new life for herself and her four-year-old brother, Tommy. They are orphans, having lost both their parents on the voyage out to Australia. But this does not dampen Sarah’s determination. ‘I can make things happen,’ she tells herself. Soon after landing, Sarah sails up the river to Perth and falls in love with the untamed charm of her new home. She also makes her first contact with the Aboriginal woman, Bilu, who will introduce Sarah to the nature and beauty of this strange, yet fascinating new land, and its people. But Sarah’s intense relationship with Bilu, and with Bilu’s mysterious son, Warlu, will also threaten both her sanity and her life.

Cover illustration by Marion Duke, acrylic on paper.

Carolyn Logan was born and grew up in Iowa, in the Mid West of the United States of America. After several years as a secondary school art teacher in Honolulu and San Francisco, she married and subsequently taught in primary schools in Peru and Denmark. After making her home in Perth, Western Australia, she worked as a librarian, teacher and editor. Now she is living in Fremantle WA and is a full time writer. Her books include The Power Of The Rellard, The Huaco Of The Golden God, and Secrets Of The Way (Fremantle Arts Centre Press).

Photograph by Victor France.

RIVER CHILD

RIVER CHILD CAROLYN LOGAN

FREMANTLE ARTS CENTRE PRESS

First published 1995 by FREMANTLE ARTS CENTRE PRESS 193 South Terrace (PO Box 320), South Fremantle Western Australia 6162. Copyright © Carolyn Logan, 1995. This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher. Consultant Editor Alwyn Evans. Designed by John Douglass. Production Coordinator Linda Martin. Typeset in Goudy Old Style by Fremantle Arts Centre Press and printed on 67 gsm Domtone Antique by PK Print, Western Australia. National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data Logan, Carolyn F. River child. ISBN 1 86368 124 8. I. Title. A823.3

The State of Western Australia has made an investment in this project through the Department for the Arts. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the relevant copyright, designs and patents acts, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publisher. eBooks Corporation

acknowledgements

The author thanks Varuna, a writers centre: the Eleanor Dark Foundation Ltd in Katoomba, NSW, for its encouragement and its residency program which gave her time and space to write the first draft of this story; the Royal Western Australian Historical Society, including the Diary of Anne Whatley; the Roe Family papers at the J S Battye Library of West Australian History; J L Burton Jackson, Not An Idle Man, a biography of John Septimus Roe; Caroline Furness Jayne, String Figures And How To Make Them: A Study Of Cat’s-Cradle In Many Lands; and Stewart Cownie. Acknowledgement is also due to Andrew Lewis for drawing the knots which appear at the head of each chapter.

chapter one THE FISH HAWK

1 June 1829 Captain Stirling, in a letter to his brother, ‘I have ... established two ... towns, one ... Fremantle at the entrance of the river ... the other on the north bank. ... about ten miles above. The latter is called Perth.’ 22 October 1829

The Atwick, three hundred forty-one tons, carrying seventy-two passengers, arrived in Fremantle.

SARAH BODKIN ‘Not allowed up here,’ Bosun growls. I ignore him and make my way forward. I know that passengers are supposed to stay down in the waist of the ship but I can’t see anything from there, at least not until we’re almost on it. I must see it when it comes up over the horizon. The Swan River Colony. My new home. No, our new home. Tommy and me. Nothing yet. Bosun Thomas says I won’t see much because the river is barred with a sandbank and for all my trouble I’ll see only sand-dunes. But that’ll be enough for me. Our new 9

home. I have to see it, as soon as possible. ‘Don’t go,’ Anne said. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left her alone below. I know she needs help with little Joanna and baby Mary, and I’ve left Tommy with her, too. But I must have room to think, to plan. Leaning against the railing, I can see to the edge of the world and my mind seems so clear. I can work out what I must do to save Tommy. To save me. It’s just us two together now, Tommy and me. Poor Mum is dead. Fraser dead. Thinking about it stops the breath in my throat and I have to take hold, be firm with myself. No tears, I whisper, clenching my teeth. No tears. Well, there aren’t any tears for Fraser; it’s good riddance to him. But I want to cry for Mum, my poor sad Mum, but now’s not the time. I have to give Fraser his due, he got us all on this ship, bonded himself and Mum as servants to Dr Whatley and his wife, Anne, and got me and Tommy included as family. No, I wouldn’t be here waiting for the Swan River Colony to rise up out of the sea if it weren’t for Fraser. But we’re not included now. The bond is broken. With Mum and Fraser dead, Dr Whatley says he can’t keep Tommy and me. He replaced Mum and Fraser with Woods and his wife, Dorothy, bonded on in Cape Town. ‘Go back home,’ the doctor told me, but I refused, begging him to let Tommy and me use the rest of our passage which was booked to the Colony. I want to try our luck here, in this new place, Tommy and me, together. Dr Whatley agreed. It could have been poor Tommy, all alone. Fraser didn’t want me, I could see him struggling to hold back the words, ‘Leave Sarah!’ He wanted to be rid of me, wanted to throw me out, send me back to Boas. Oh yes, I knew what Fraser wanted. But I couldn’t let him bring Tommy out here and leave me there. ‘You need me,’ I told him. ‘You know Mum can’t work, not with another babe coming. She’s weak and sick. But I can work. You need me out there.’ But Fraser stayed stubborn so Mum cried and begged, I heard her in the night, heard them on the other side of the 10

curtain, her crying and him hitting at her with his tongue, with his fist and then doing that other thing to her, grunting and moaning and Mum whimpering. Then, in the morning, Mum whispered that it was all right, I was to come out with them. Oh, the shame of it. I won’t cry. No. I take my cat’s cradle string from my pocket and weave it back and forth, sliding my fingers under the loops and pulling them through. I concentrate hard on the design I’m making, sing the tune that goes with it until I have the pattern stretched fine and complicated between my two hands. Then I let it go and the pattern unravels into a single loop that catches in the wind, and the memory of Mum’s pleading whisper fades. I watch the gulls wheeling overhead, screaming and crying. Above the gulls is another bird, gliding, with wings outstretched. It looks to me like a hawk and I watch the huge bird while my tears dry in the wind. Perhaps my soaring hawk is an orphan. Like Tommy and me. Sarah Bodkin and Tommy Fraser, orphans. Orphan is an ugly word, a dreadful back-ofthe-throat, spit-it-out word. But that’s what we are, the two of us, since that storm took Fraser. But for ten years before that, I was only a half orphan, living with Boas in her school, with my mum away working in that big house but still loving me. Dear God, help me forget Boas and her stick. I never told Mum what a monster Boas was. I could have, when she visited me. Twice a year she came. My birthday and Midsummer’s Day. I’ll give Mum that, she didn’t leave me there all alone the whole year through. But I never told her about Boas. The breeze has a land smell to it and we’ll sight the coast soon. I must stop this dwelling on the past, I must look ahead and make a plan. I must think what to do. I begin again with the string, a complicated pattern that I made up for Tommy. It ends in a knot that looks as if it will never undo, but which falls apart at a touch. ‘You’re right clever with that string, Miss Sarah.’ 11

I turn to find Bosun Thomas standing at my elbow and can’t help smiling at this nuggety man with bushy grey eyebrows and sharp eyes buried in wrinkles. Those eyes are fixed squarely on me. He’s going to tell me to go below. ‘You should be down with the rest of ’em,’ he says. ‘I can see better up here.’ I start another string figure, so that I won’t have to look at him. ‘Leave that game,’ he growls. ‘Look, girl, I mean you no harm. I want to help you.’ I let the string hang loose and look for my hawk. He’s high up. Still soaring, holding his place up there in the sky. What is he doing so far out to sea? ‘Now, I’ve been watching you, I have. You’re wrestling with something, that’s plain to see.’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Maybe!’ The bosun clicks his tongue in exasperation. ‘You need help. And I can help you.’ I shoot him a quick glance. ‘Now, just swallow that pride of yours for a moment, lass. I know your circumstances,’ he goes on. ‘Damn stupid man, that Fraser! A real fool. Staggering up on deck with a storm blowing fit to turn her upside down and getting himself washed over the side. Nothing left. Not a cap nor a boot.’ Bosun Thomas knocks his clay pipe smartly on the railing and the dottle shoots out. A gull dives for it. ‘Fraser should never have been above deck that night. So stupid. And then your mum gone.’ I look the man straight in the eye. ‘What do you want to tell me, Bosun? I should be getting below.’ ‘Now don’t get your back up, Miss Sarah. Just filling in the background, so to speak. Dr Whatley took on new bond servants in Cape Town. Woods and his wife, Dorothy. A sour woman, she is.’ ‘Keeps herself to herself.’ ‘And now you and Tommy are becalmed, so to speak. You aim to go back after a look around the Colony? Back home?’ ‘Never.’ I feel my jaw tighten. 12

‘Didn’t think so,’ mutters Bosun. ‘Well, then you need a situation. Need a family that will take you on as a servant.’ My heart is beating faster. ‘Yes. I can do that. Do you know one?’ ‘No, but the captain will.’ Bosun lays a finger on the side of his nose and winks. ‘A word from him in the right place and you’ll be set.’ I hadn’t thought of speaking to the captain. Bosun Thomas is doing me a favour. He points with his pipe to a faint smudge on the horizon. ‘There she is. Land. Coming up fast. Now’s your time, girl. Speak to Captain Davies. He’s down in the cabin, doing the papers. Say your piece before he comes up on deck.’ ‘Do you think he’ll listen to me?’ ‘Say straight what you want. He likes straight talking.’ The bosun touches my arm. ‘Say you want to work for a good family. Get him to put in a word for you with one of the gentry.’ I gather my string into a ball and slip it into my pocket. ‘Thank you, Bosun Thomas,’ I say. ‘You’re very welcome, m’dear,’ and he touches his cap with a finger. CAPTAIN DAVIES ‘Not according to this, you’re not nineteen years old.’ Captain Davies resented this interruption. He tapped the passenger list and glared at Sarah Bodkin. ‘Your father put you down as sixteen.’ ‘He was my stepfather.’ She kept her back straight and looked at him calmly. ‘He lied, Sir.’ Captain Davies impatiently shoved the list aside. This girl has spirit, he thought. No simpering, no pretence of genteel shyness. But she’s much younger than nineteen, that’s as plain as a pikestaff. ‘Any rights you had to a place with Whatley’s went overboard with Fraser. You realise that?’ 13

‘I know, Sir. That’s why I’m asking you to speak for me when you go ashore. I want a position with a good family, Sir. With gentry.’ The captain chuckled to himself. She was a one, all right. Her tone just this side of arrogance, those eyes so dark and sharp. ‘Simplest would be to send you back home on the next ship out. Can’t have dependent females and small children in the Colony. I advise you to sell up what you’ve got left after your fa ... after Fraser let your livestock and some not his own go over the side with him. That should pay your way back to your family.’ ‘Tommy and me, we have no family.’ ‘None at all? No grandparents? Uncles? Cousins?’ ‘No. We’re orphans.’ She made it sound like an honour, a medal to be worn with pride. Captain Davies studied the young woman before him. She’s going to be a beauty, he thought. Crisp dark hair, good skin, clear eyes that peaty colour that shows gold or blue or green, depending on what’s going on inside their owner’s head. Tall for a woman, with a straight back and long legs. He stroked his beard and pretended to study the papers on his desk. At last he looked up. ‘Just exactly what do you want me to do?’ ‘Speak for me! Find a family for me. I’m a good worker. Surely they need workers in a new colony.’ ‘Most have bonded their servants on before sailing. People they know, with recommendations.’ ‘I have good training, I’m strong and I ...’ The captain shook his head. ‘Sir!’ Sarah leaned forward, one hand gripping the edge of his desk. ‘Someone must need me and all I want is for you to find him.’ Suddenly, the captain of the Atwick was fed up with all this, tired of the strained look in those peaty-coloured eyes and the odour of genteel poverty emanating from the worn shawl and patched skirt. It was nothing to him, he thought. He had a ship to unload, and the landing here at Fremantle was treacherous. 14

It looked like a storm out there to the west and he had plenty of his own problems without taking on Sarah Bodkin’s. ‘If I have the opportunity, then I’ll speak for you but I can’t promise anything,’ and he dismissed her with a wave. SARAH BODKIN Back up on deck, I pull Mum’s shawl closer. I can smell her in it, her spicy hair and smooth cool cheeks. I won’t let myself cry! I won’t! In a minute I’ll go below and help Anne, but first I’ll think about what the captain said. Oh, please God, let him speak for me. Just a chance, that’s all I need. Then I can make it happen, make a life for me and Tommy. I’m good at making things happen. Like when I was at the school and I waited for Mum down the end of the lane where Boas couldn’t see me. When I was ten it was. I was so happy. I was leaving the school. Mum wanted me with her, she was coming to get me but she was so long coming that I was afraid and happy at the same time. I felt the happiness in my chest, my heart like a warm pudding full of good fruit. ‘My mum is coming for me,’ I sang, over and over, but she didn’t and I knew that Boas was waiting for me up at the school so I played a little game. I told myself that the hundredth time I sang ‘My mum is coming’ she would be there. I sang faster and faster and louder and louder and it worked! On number ninety-nine, with me screaming ‘My mum is coming’ at the top of my lungs, there she was, dragging her boots through the dust up from the station. But he came with her. Fraser. I took one look at him and the warm pudding feeling drained away, leaving a dark empty space in my middle. Just as sure as I had known that Mum would come on my hundredth singing out, I now knew that I had to be wary of this man or I would find myself back with Boas. What a silly girl I was. I should have known he would be with her. Of course her new husband would come along to fetch her daughter. Emmanuel Fraser. His name leaves a foul taste in my mouth. 15

I’ll never forget how Mum smiled up at him. ‘Sarah, meet my new husband,’ she said. ‘Meet my death’ is what she should have said because that’s what Fraser was. Her death. After I went with them, in those six years, he almost killed her. Babies, never leaving her alone, baby after baby. ‘He’s a man, he wants a son,’ Mum told me. ‘You’ll find out these things.’ I should have been glad about the babies. It was because of them that I could be with Mum. Fraser would only let Mum’s bastard daughter live with him if she cooked and cleaned and nursed his wife as she dropped dead baby after dead baby. But not Tommy! He was a stayer. Bellowed loud and clear when he was born, four years ago now on the second of April, eighteen twenty-five. Mum’s breasts went all hot and hard and she was so sick that from the beginning, Tommy was mine. What a sweet baby he was, his hair so soft, his blue eyes so clear that I could see straight down into them. He was my baby. My Tommy. My love. I won’t think about Mum’s funeral and the captain reading out of his Bible about loving God. I love Tommy more than anything. Even God. And I won’t let anyone take him away from me. It would be the end of me, just like in the end Fraser was the end for Mum. I had to tell her he was gone. I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her he’d been washed over the side. Mum clutched at her belly and tried to scream but no sound came out, and the cords on her neck stood out and her eyes were terrible. Then the babe came and it was dead and Mum just gave up. Damn that Fraser! The captain read out a service over Mum. They tied the babe in her arms and slid them off a plank over the railing. They hardly made a splash. What’s this? The crew are calling out, making a to-do with the ropes and pulleys and the sails. All my thinking of the past and I missed my first sight of the Swan River Colony, that grey smudge of a cloud on the horizon. I’ll go below and 16

get Tommy, bring him up so that he can see his new home. I look up and there is my hawk, hovering far above me and the ship. I wave at my orphan hawk and ask him to take a message to heaven. To Mum and God. ‘Please. Let two poor orphans find a home.’

17

chapter two THE HOUSE

22 October 1829

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Dr Whatley brought to the Colony 2 goats, 2 turkeys, 3 geese, 1 rabbit, 5 fowls, 3 guinea fowls, 3 ducks; plough, cart, harrows; lime, seeds, plants; beef, pork, rum, flour; wheat, barley, oats, etc. October1829

VISITING SAILOR’S DIARY Fremantle was a mere encampment, every person being either in a tent or temporary hut: its site is a level spot, consisting entirely of sand, and the bush or forest extends to within a very short distance of it. A worse spot for a town could hardly have been selected. .....

18

It was raining and the belongings of the Atwick’s seventy-two passengers were unloaded straight onto the beach at Fremantle. As the barrels and boxes and packing crates, the goats and guinea fowls and geese spread out over the dunes, dampness crept in. That first night the passengers sheltered in tents pitched beside their sodden gear. Sarah, crammed in with the Whatleys, cradled Tommy in her arms until he cried himself to sleep. Then she rocked baby Mary so that Anne could hold Joanna, who was frightened by the thunder of the surf on the beach. All through the night the rain continued to fall, sinking into the flour and plastering down the guinea fowls’ feathers. The next morning, the sun rose bright behind the sandhills, raising steam from the tents and the bundles and boxes. The passengers stumbled out bleary-eyed and blinking in the harsh sunlight. Dr Whatley set out to assess the situation, taking Woods with him and leaving the women to bring order to their muddled camp. Sarah took Tommy and climbed to the top of the dunes to spread out their bedding and wet clothes to dry. From there they had a good view of the settlement. ‘Is this home?’ asked Tommy, shading his eyes. ‘This is Fremantle. Perth will be our home.’ Sarah gave her shawl a solid shake. It felt good to be off the ship and standing on firm ground. The sun warmed her shoulders and she closed her eyes, lifting her face to its brightness. ‘Dr Whatley says that Perth is further up the river.’ ‘It’s all tents,’ said Tommy. Sarah opened her eyes. ‘And so it is,’ she agreed. Spread out below was a higgledy-piggledy arrangement of tents of all sizes and colours, with goods piled here and there and livestock wandering freely. ‘Not all tents. There’s a house,’ and she pointed at a small hut huddled amongst the canvas. ‘That’s not a house,’ argued Tommy. ‘It’s all sticks and muds.’ Sarah laughed at Tommy’s description, which was close to 19

the truth. The walls were roughly hewn slabs of wood set closely side by side, but because of their irregularity, there were gaps, and these spaces were filled with sticks and plastered with mud and straw. There was one window with three panes of glass. The roof was made of more wooden slabs with the bark left on and was held down by heavy poles tied with rope. At one end of the house was a rough stone chimney which suddenly emitted a dark puff of smoke which dwindled to a thin skein of white vapour. Tommy frowned. ‘It’s a very small house. Will our house be so small?’ ‘Fremantle’s only begun,’ said Sarah. ‘They’ll build bigger houses soon.’ She bent to spread out the last rug, ‘And our house will be just the right size for you and me. Just right.’ Tommy frowned. ‘Mum won’t be in our house?’ ‘No. Just you and me.’ Sarah hugged Tommy close to her side. ‘Look! There’s the bosun.’ Bosun Thomas was talking with a group of men outside a tent where it looked as though they were selling grog. Life in Fremantle appeared to take place outdoors, with women stirring pots over fires and men chopping wood, and children running everywhere. Camp ovens steamed and the aroma of freshly baked bread drifted up the dune and roused a growl from Sarah’s stomach. She realised that she was very hungry. Supper last night had been biscuits and cold tea. ‘Look!’ Tommy’s grubby finger pointed at two figures threading their way through the crowd. ‘It’s Dr Whatley. And Woods. Hallo!’ he shouted, waving both arms and jumping up and down. The doctor lifted his head and spotted little Tommy. He waved back with one arm. In the other he carried a large loaf of bread and something wrapped in his kerchief. ‘Breakfast!’ he shouted, and Tommy raced down the dune, with Sarah not far behind. ‘It’s no good here in Fremantle.’ Whatley and Anne and Sarah were sipping their second mug of hot tea beside the fire 20

which Woods had built near their trunks and boxes. ‘Some families have been waiting here for weeks, camped on the dunes. I want us to go upriver as soon as possible. I’ll start making arrangements today.’ ‘Don’t we have to wait here until our land grant comes through?’ asked Anne. ‘No. All the grants are done in Perth. That’s where the office of the Surveyor General is. He’s an ex-navy man named Roe.’ ‘Then the sooner we leave here, the better,’ said Anne Whatley, hugging baby Mary closer. ‘It’s not a good place. So damp and exposed.’ Whatley frowned worriedly. ‘From what I’ve heard today, Perth may be no better.’ ‘At least this man Roe is there. You can go and see him. The sooner we have our own home, the better.’ ‘How do we get to Perth?’ Sarah chose her words carefully. She didn’t want to be left behind here in Fremantle, perched on the beach with Tommy and her one box of possessions. ‘You can do it by land, but several people said that the track is rough and long. It’s best to go by boat up the river.’ Whatley touched his wife’s shoulder. ‘I think it’ll be easier for you. For us,’ he amended and nodded to Sarah. Sarah breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The Whatleys weren’t going to leave her and Tommy behind. ‘I’ll send Woods and Dorothy by land,’ the doctor continued. ‘They can start tomorrow, with the livestock. I’ll have to hire a boat to take us. It’s very expensive.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Do you have any money?’ Sarah was already pulling out the little cloth bag she wore suspended on a strong cord around her neck. Fortunately, Fraser’s small hoard of cash money had been hidden in the bottom of the family’s wooden trunk, not in his pocket when he went over the side. ‘I can pay my share, Dr Whatley,’ she said and began to count out the coins. ‘How much is it?’ Whatley held up a hand. ‘Don’t give me your money now. 21

We’ll figure out your share when the exact fee is settled.’ Sarah weighed the bag in her hand. It wasn’t heavy and would be even less so after paying her share of the boat hire. Dr Whatley nodded at the bag in her hand. ‘How are you off for cash money, Sarah?’ ‘Enough, Sir.’ ‘The reason I ask is that things seem to be much more expensive here than at home.’ Sarah turned away to stuff the bag down inside her dress, and Fraser’s heavy wooden trunk caught her eye. It held everything that she and Tommy possessed, including Fraser’s clothes and bag of tools. Fraser’s shirts and one coat could be cut down for Tommy, but of what use to her were his tools? The fewer reminders of Fraser in her life, the better, she decided. ‘Where can I sell Fraser’s tools?’ Anne and Dr Whatley looked at her in surprise. ‘Don’t you want to keep them for Tommy?’ suggested Anne. ‘They’re his, now that his father is dead. He’ll need them when he works the land.’ ‘He’s only four,’ Sarah protested. And, she thought to herself, I mean to see that he grows up to something different than life as a farmhand, like Fraser. ‘The money will be more use to me now.’ She turned to Dr Whatley. ‘What do you think?’ ‘The tools make the trunk heavier.’ Whatley was obviously thinking of the boat trip up the river. ‘If you can get a good price, and judging from what I paid for one loaf of bread and a morsel of cheese, you will, then it would be better to get rid of them before we go. I’ll be off, now.’ Dusting his coat-tails and straightening his hat, the doctor set off to hire a boat. ‘Did you hear that, chickie?’ Sarah whispered to Tommy, who was happily devouring his second piece of bread and cheese. ‘Soon we sail up the river.’ After settling Anne and baby Mary for a nap, and leaving Tommy and two-year-old Joanna making sand cakes beside the 22

tent, Sarah set out. She left all Fraser’s tools in the trunk except for his smallest kindling axe which she wrapped in her apron. Although Fremantle, viewed from the sand-dune, had appeared to be a cluttered hodgepodge of tents and huts, Sarah’s inspection revealed that the little town had sorted itself out quite sensibly. One area was given over to a market where one could buy a range of goods, from fresh bread to squealing piglets. It was here that she discovered a grimy tent with an array of tools laid on the sand before it. The axes and shovels, forks and hoes were guarded by a dark man with small shifty eyes. Sarah picked up a hand axe that looked much like the one she carried in her apron. Several men, who were examining the tools and turning them in their hands, stopped and stared when she asked the price. At first the vendor ignored her; when she insisted he finally snarled a sum at her over his shoulder. It was much more than she had expected. ‘And this?’ she asked, pointing with her toe to a small saw. Again, she was surprised at the amount. Sarah went on asking the price of the other items and the shiftyeyed man, whose name was Paddy, grudgingly supplied these until one of the onlookers, a tall man in a yellow hat, touched her elbow. ‘You got some of these to sell, Miss?’ ‘Yes, only better quality,’ replied Sarah. ‘Who’d believe a lass?’ snorted Paddy, scowling at them. ‘Much better quality.’ She didn’t know if this was true, but it was one in the eye for the shifty Paddy, who was so ungracious. ‘See,’ and she pulled Fraser’s kindling axe from beneath her apron. Paddy grunted in disgust and spat in the dirt. ‘Rubbish!’ ‘Are you interested?’ Sarah asked Yellow Hat. The man inspected the axe closely, turning it this way and that and trying the edge on his thumb. ‘Indeed, I am,’ he replied. ‘I’ve more tools to sell, down on the beach,’ said Sarah, and several of the men followed her back to the tent where they 23

fingered the axe and saws and hoe, asked the price and muttered to each other. Finally Paddy arrived and bought the lot for far more than Sarah would have dared to ask. ‘Leave this selling for us that knows what we’re doin’,’ Paddy growled at her. ‘Get off, now,’ he shouted as a young boy, who looked to be his son, loaded the heavy bag into a wheelbarrow and trudged away. Sarah stowed the coins in her little bag, very pleased with herself. Now she would have enough to pay Dr Whatley for her share of the journey upriver as well as money to keep her and Tommy until she found a position with a good family. After one day in Fremantle, she had decided that she wanted her family to live in Perth and was setting off to tell Captain Davies when Tommy reported that the goat had got loose and Anne wanted Sarah to fetch it. SARAH BODKIN God in heaven, why did you bother with goats? That is, if you did create them and they didn’t just spring up out of the ground, begotten through plain cursedness from thorns and prickles. And Anne Whatley’s Bluebell is the most cantankerous and contrary creature in the world. I’m sick of dragging my skirts through the sand looking for her. I wonder, does Fremantle mean sand? I’ll rest here, on this hillock. Get my breath back. Maybe old Bluebell will come to me. What a cosy looking little house, huddled in amongst those bleached looking trees. One of Tommy’s stick-and-mud houses. Strange how the trees all lean the same way. Must be windy here. I could build a house like that for Tommy and me, if I had a little bit of land. It’s only slabs of bark and sticks, straw and mud. But rough as it is, it has a cosy look to it. I would like that, Tommy and me in our own house together. I could go out and work days, in the big houses in Perth, and do sewing at night and keep Tommy safe by me. I will never send 24

Tommy to Miss Boas or any place like that. I’ll keep him safe. Something about this little grey house reminds me of that other house, the one Mum took me to when I was four? Five? I remember I had new shoes that pinched and a heavy bonnet that chafed my neck in the bare spot between my plaits. I moaned and grumbled but Mum wouldn’t tell me where we were going. We went by coach and then walked to the house like this one, almost hidden, it was, in its garden. An old woman lived there. She had a hairy mole on her chin and scowled horribly. She gave us a cup of tea with plain bread. ‘Ye must take her up there,’ she hissed at Mum. ‘She wants to see,’ and she rolled her eyes at me. Mother straightened my bonnet and we walked along a lane and through a field of yellow daisies to a big house. We stopped at the edge of the smooth grass that lay like a lake before the house and Mum gave me a little push. ‘Go a bit closer and then stand still,’ she ordered and I stumbled forward in my new shoes. The house had two rows of windows, all blank except for one in the top at the corner. It had the curtains pulled back and a face in it, looking out. Looking at me. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, I just knew that the eyes in the face were watching me. I turned to Mum, ‘Who is it?’ but she only shook her head, motioning me to go on. Suddenly, I was angry. Angry at the long hot journey, angry at the chafing bonnet and the pinching shoes, enraged that this face could stare down at me from the high window without me knowing who it was or why. I began to walk quickly towards the house, picking up speed with each step, until I was running flat out across the grass. Mum shouted at me to stop but I ran on and on until a low stone wall stopped me and I could see who was looking at me out of the window. It was a woman, a woman with dark eyes and hair and a ribbon around her throat. She lifted her hand and pressed it, palm out and fingers spread, against the glass. 25

The two of us stared at one another, me on the grass below and she with her hand and face against the glass. Suddenly, she smiled and gave a little wave. A fountain of joy bubbled up in my chest and I grinned and laughed, hopping up and down and waving madly back at her. Suddenly an arm in a dark sleeve reached out and drew the curtain across the window, leaving it blank like all the others. Mum was angry and grumbled at me all the way back but no matter how much I begged, she told me nothing about the woman in the window. I switched tactics. ‘Is he my father?’ I asked. Mum stopped in the middle of the yellow daisies and frowned at me. ‘Who?’ ‘The man who pulled the curtain.’ ‘I told you to stand still,’ she growled, as if that explained the arm, and, grabbing me by the hand, she dragged me to the coach station. Soon after that a letter and money came and I was sent to stay at the school with Miss Boas. And now, here I am, sitting on a sandhill on the other side of the world from the woman in the window, whoever she is. Well, I don’t need her and him that was behind her, that wanted to shut me out. Tommy and me, we don’t need anything from that big grey house. I’ll make a house here for Tommy and me, little and cosy and grey like this one here. I’ll sew cunning curtains for the window and lay out a path to the door with flat stones and dig out a vegetable patch. Tommy and me alone. I’ll keep him safe. And now, I’d better find that Bluebell.

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chapter three CANOE ON WATER

29 October 1829

SARAH BODKIN I won’t apologise for not loving you God, but I do respect you for making this broad river and those hills and the sky above. It is so beautiful. It’s also peaceful, here on the boat. It’s hard to remember the bustle and strain it took to get us here. Transporting our gear from the beach to where the boat was moored was hot work for the men that Dr Whatley hired. I felt for them, dragging their feet through the heavy sand with the flies biting at their sweaty faces and necks. Finally, everything was loaded and we began this voyage up the river. It’s costing me four pounds five shillings. A substantial fee and one which I thought would mean a reasonable vessel, but I was wrong. It’s a mongrel of a boat, a hodgepodge of colours and sticking out bits of rough wood. Anne was shocked at the sight of it. ‘Will it hold all of us?’ she asked the captain, Amos by name. He’s a dark, smelly man with one eye permanently screwed shut beneath a terrible scar that makes a knot of his left eyebrow. 27

‘Oh, aye, Missus,’ he assured her and grinned, displaying bare pink gums. ‘Where’s his teeth?’ Tommy blurted and little Joanna began to cry. ‘Pirates took ’em,’ laughed Captain Amos. ‘Don’t you worry, little man. This boat’ll take you to Perth as safe as can be.’ The boat is actually an oversized, flat-bottomed punt, knocked together from what looks to be bits salvaged from shipwrecks. There is a rolled-up sail and a mast, and three men and the captain as crew. There is even a railing at the back showing faint patches of blue paint. ‘This came off the Leopard,’ Captain Amos said, slapping it with the palm of his hand as we climbed aboard. ‘She went down in a storm.’ It’s cooler out here on the river. The men are rowing and the sail is flapping softly. I think that when we get past these rocky cliffs, the breeze will catch and fill the sail. Anne and I, with the children, are sitting on top of our gear in the middle of the boat. I am holding Tommy, burying my face in the sweet perfume of his soft curls, stroking the curve of his rosy cheek. I forgive Fremantle its heavy sand and Bluebell her contrary nature as we glide over the water. The sky arches high above; the light pouring down from it is clear and hot. Where this pure light falls on the river, or gets caught in the trees and bushes lining its course, it transforms colour into bright movement. The trees sparkle, their leaves like glass. The river becomes a brilliant mirror. The smooth surface, closer in where the water is shallow, is broken by the breeze and the light is lost. Captain Amos points to these shadowed waters and tells us that when the river is low, they unload the boats and drag them there on long ropes. ‘Sometimes we’re up to our necks in the water. And if the breeze don’t come up,’ he goes on, ‘we rows or drags all the way.’ ‘Is it deep?’ Dr Whatley is at the front of the boat, looking down into the clear water. 28

‘Some places deep, some not.’ Captain Amos screws up his good eye and glares out over the river. ‘But she’s like all water. Dangerous when she wants to be. Where’s yer grant, Sir?’ ‘Up past Melville River waters, I think,’ replies Dr Whatley. ‘We have been promised frontage on the River Swan.’ ‘Best learn how to swim, if you’re going to be on the water.’ ‘Swim?’ The doctor turns and looks at Captain Amos, who nods. ‘Aye. Swim. Like the fish.’ The doctor shakes his head. ‘I’ll stay out of the river. I’ve never fancied myself as a fish.’ Sitting so close to Anne, I feel her shiver. ‘I couldn’t bear to go into the water,’ she says. ‘The very thought of swimming terrifies me.’ Captain Amos shrugs as if to say that swimming is not an option for women anyway, and leans hard on his oar. ‘They’s times when the water takes you, unawares. But you can beat her, maybe, if you can swim.’ I press my cheek against Tommy’s soft hair and gaze out over the river. What would it be like, I wonder, to swim through the water as easily as I move in the air and sunshine? Would I float on top, like our boat, or could I sink down into the depths and become a fish? ‘You see the blacks in the water, swimming,’ Captain Amos says. ‘Where?’ Anne shades her eyes with her hand. ‘Not now, they’s none about now that we can see. They’re probably sleeping in the shade or watching us from the bushes,’ says Captain Amos. I can see that Anne wants to ask him more but suddenly the breeze is up and the sail has to be hoisted. Now we’re moving out into a wider reach of water. Melville River, the Captain calls it. ‘The Swan River starts above Perth, where there’s islands,’ he informs us. Flowering trees and bushes grow down to the water’s edge; 29

some trees striding out into the water as though to meet us, while others have fallen and the river drags through them in long, silent currents. A black swan sails out from the reeds, followed by a string of grey cygnets, paddling frantically to keep up. ‘Look, Tommy!’ I gently turn his head in my hands so that he can see the swan. ‘See its red bill?’ ‘How strange,’ murmurs Anne. ‘I’ve read reports of these black swans. They look so unnatural. Black. Not white.’ Tommy points and his fat little finger follows the bird as she glides back into the reeds, the cygnets bobbing behind her. ‘She’s beautiful.’ I close my eyes and a tiny swan gleams on the inside of my eyelids. In the beginning, here in this place, was the swan white? Was it somehow transformed from white to black, perhaps by the river’s high white light? I like this notion. I decide that I want this light to transform me. I open my eyes to the gleaming river. I can feel myself changing already, leaving behind Boas, Mum dead with the babe tied in her arms, the curtained window in the big grey house, leaving all that and changing into a new Sarah, a bright shining Sarah with dark gleaming feathers. Shadows move where the bush gives way to a stretch of white sandy beach. I shade my eyes and stare hard. There’s something moving there. An animal, or one of the dark people that Captain Amos says live along the river? A bird darts from shadow into light and flashes a brilliant green before it disappears. I catch my breath at the colour. Here the birds are like flowers; brilliant, exotic flowers. Tommy begins to grizzle and Joanna is whining so I take out my string and tell the story of the house, holding out my hands so that they can see the little rooms and the jug in the kitchen. ‘Now make the love knot, tell the love knot story,’ insists Tommy and my fingers weave the string into the beautiful princess with the long hair. ‘Where is she?’ Joanna asks, peering at the string between my fingers. 30

‘There she is. That’s her curls,’ and Tommy points to the loops that are the hair of the princess. ‘Now make the witch,’ begs Tommy, hugging himself in anticipation. Joanna’s eyes grow large as I pull the loops through to make a witch with a long nose and a mouth that opens and shuts. ‘She’s a bad witch,’ warns Tommy. ‘Don’t get too close. She ties up the princess,’ and I make the tight knot that binds the princess. ‘Try to get her loose,’ Tommy urges Joanna, but her little fingers tug to no avail. ‘I can let her loose because I love her,’ and Tommy leans forward and kisses the knot. With a twist of my wrist, the string falls loose and the princess reappears, her long hair blowing in the river breeze. ‘Do it again,’ orders Tommy and Joanna sits on my lap as once more I weave the story of the princess who is released by love. This time Joanna kisses the princess free just as Captain Amos announces that we will be pulling up on that long sandy spit yonder for a break. The sun is directly overhead and the men rig up an awning. We eat the last of the Fremantle loaf and cheese, washed down with water. When we set off again, Anne says that she has a headache, so I play with Joanna and Tommy, singing and chanting ‘pat-a-cake’ and weaving more cat’s cradles. Joanna’s little fingers tremble as she lifts the loops over my fingers, and Tommy gets impatient and takes the string away from her, wadding it up in a knot that he holds, like a flower, to my hair. At last, the little ones fall asleep. I stroke Tommy’s back as he lies across my lap. Baby Mary snores against Anne’s shoulder and little Joanna dozes against her father’s arm at the front of the boat. We are halfway along on our voyage up the river, moving out under sail onto an even wider expanse of water. On the horizon is a line of hills, greyed by distance. As the day wanes, the water, the trees, the distant hills all glow with a deeper and richer colouring. ‘Not long now,’ Captain Amos calls out. 31

On the left there is a high bluff supported by sheer limestone cliffs. Its summit is thickly covered with tall trees and at its foot, where the river turns in a smooth sweep, there is a narrow beach. ‘Look! A black lady,’ Tommy sits up and shouts, and suddenly we all see her, a dark woman looking out over the water at us. She stands slim and tall and naked. Her breasts are like rich dark fruit. She has curly hair, her arms and legs are slender. ‘Hunh. One of the blacks,’ says Amos. The woman lifts her arm and waves, her smile a flash of white in her face. I am filled with a sudden gladness and laugh out loud from the pure joy of smiling back at her, just as I did when that long ago face smiled in the window of the grey house. Without thinking, I lift my arm and wave. ‘Don’t!’ Anne puts a hand on my arm to stop me. ‘Who is she?’ Tommy waves as well. ‘They’s wild, them blacks,’ growls Captain Amos. ‘Is she a wild witch?’ Tommy tugs at my skirt. ‘Is she?’ ‘No, she’s not a witch. And she can’t hurt us.’ I draw away from Anne’s hand and lift my chin as I gaze back at the black woman. Again, she waves. BILU I greet you! Welcome bright one. My hand lifts your hand. Your spirit leaps over the sunbright water, Reaching out to me. My spirit eye greets your spirit eye. Welcome bright one. SARAH BODKIN I find that I am holding my breath, straining to see the woman’s face, her eyes. Suddenly Captain Amos shouts, ‘Get away there!’ and she vanishes into the flickering shadows under the trees. 32

I let my breath out in a big sigh. ‘Are there many of them?’ Anne asks, clutching baby Mary close and staring hard at the trees and bushes, the empty beach and the wooded bluff. Amos spits disgustedly in the river and tells us that he doesn’t know how many blacks there are out there. He goes on to say that there are more of them blacks than us Christian white folk and that they are like that woman, ignorant and naked. The men carry spears and clubs, he adds. ‘Will the black lady hurt me?’ Tommy whispers. ‘No. She’s gone away, love,’ I whisper back but I keep my eyes on the trees, searching for her as we glide under the bluff into Perth Water. 1829 Springtime

DIARY OF A NAVY SURGEON Perth ... he found ... in the springtime of 1829, adorned only ‘with lofty trees and a variety of lovely flowers. Perth, the embryo capital has, as yet only the appearance of a straggling tented field — the Governor has got a commodious wood house nearly finished and the Government officers are commencing to follow his example.’

SARAH BODKIN ‘There she is,’ Captain Amos shouts, waving his arm at the scattering of tents and huts. ‘Oh,’ Anne sighs, ‘I thought it would be bigger.’ I see that Perth is spread out over a long ridge covered with tall trees. The smoke of the camp fires rises straight in the air. Singing and laughter ring out clearly over the shallow water. ‘Oh, look, Sarah. The flowers,’ smiles Anne. She leans forward and points out the flowering trees and bushes. ‘It’s springtime here, I have had two spring flowerings this year. How strange.’ She calls out to her husband. ‘A much prettier sight than Fremantle.’ ‘Chickie! Our new home!’ I whisper to Tommy. I wonder if 33

Captain Davies is here in Perth. I tried to find him in Fremantle but it was all such a rush that I had to give it up. Perhaps he’s already spoken about me to someone and is waiting for me to arrive in Perth to tell me. Suddenly I am filled with a rush of confidence. I’ll find my family, with or without the help of Captain Davies. A long, thin jetty staggers out through the shallow water. Men and boys are wading out to help us unload. I see that Woods is one of them, waving his hat. Captain Amos is shouting, Dr Whatley waves and Tommy begs to stand with him at the bow. Anne is studying the scene before us; the tents and the huts, the people milling about, the other boats and the towering hill on the left. I know that later, she will write down what she sees and thinks in her diary. Huddled in our Fremantle tent, I watched her as she wrote about the terrible landing and the rain on the beach, about the sand and the flies. She read bits of her writing out to me. ‘Why do you bother?’ I asked. ‘It’s a good discipline,’ she replied, carefully blotting the last page. ‘It helps me be a better observer of my life and also,’ she smiled down at the little book, ‘it helps me when I write letters home, to my family. My diary remembers the days for me.’ I don’t have a diary and orphans do not write letters to their families. But I’ll remember this day forever. I’ll remember how Tommy and I sailed up the river through the clear light that seems to draw the water up into the sky. I’ll remember the dark woman with the white smile, lifting her hand to wave to me from beneath the brooding hill that dips its feet in the water. I’ll remember Captain Amos spitting in the river and how the dark woman’s breasts lifted as she waved. I’ll recall how I felt after she vanished into the trees. The tents and the fires will stay in my mind and I’ll never forget that I was sure my good family was waiting for Tommy and me. All of this, I’ll remember. Forever.

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chapter four BEAKY BIRD

June 1829

DIARY OF SURVEYOR GENERAL, SEPTIMUS ROE Arrived at Swan River ... and commenced immediately to survey the harbour, anchorages, approaches and adjacent coast and country. Explored the Swan and Canning Rivers ... Memorandum: One sickly Surveyor the total of my staff! 18 November 1829

SARAH BODKIN It’s exactly twenty days since we arrived here in Perth and I haven’t found a place for Tommy and me. Captain Davies stopped by our tent last week and my hopes rose, but it was Dr Whatley he wanted, not me. One of his sailors is sick and the doctor is treating him. Has the captain forgotten? I tried to catch his eye so as to have a word with him and remind him but he didn’t even glance my way. Oh, I am so anxious but I can’t push myself forward. I must be patient. Dr Whatley says that there are extensive repairs to be done on the Atwick so Davies will be here for some time. Dr Whatley’s grant of land has not been assigned yet. There 35

are so many people wanting their land. I heard the doctor complaining to Anne that there are only Mr Roe and one helper to do all the surveying and assigning. So the Whatleys must camp here in Perth until their grant comes through. Thankfully, Dr Whatley said that Tommy and I can stay with them until then. Woods and his wife, Dorothy, have their own tent and fire, and I have built a little annex using our wooden chest and a bit of canvas. I help Anne with the work. Dorothy is lazy and then good by turns, it seems. I don’t think she’s a good servant but then, that is the Whatleys’ choice. They need Woods and have to take his wife as well. I pay for our food and my little hoard of cash is dwindling. Food is very expensive here but, fortunately, I’m not a big eater. Tommy needs the food more than I do. I want him to grow into a tall, strong man. The reason I don’t have a position is not that there’s no employment. There is, and I’ve been offered two positions which I turned down. Anne spoke sharply with me about it, but I won’t bond myself to someone I know is cruel. I learned my lesson about cruelty from Boas. The first was Mrs Farnham, one of the ladies who comes to call on Anne. She’s not high gentry like Lady Stirling and Mrs Roe and Mrs Leake, but she and her husband and grown-up sons are well situated, with a large grant of land coming soon. Until recently, she came every day to sit in the shade of the awning that Woods put up and chat with Anne. I sat close by with my sewing, waiting to be sent to fetch cups of tea. Mrs Farnham’s favourite topic was to complain about her servant Emma. She went on and on about how annoying Emma was and how she talked back and was ‘full of consummate impudence.’ If I had a diary I’d write that in it, ‘full of consummate impudence.’ As it was, I made a string figure of Mrs Farnham. She has a face like a beaky bird; and Tommy and little Joanna laughed when I pulled a string in the middle and the beaky mouth opened and shut and I squawked, ‘Consummate impudence.’ 36

One day, Mrs Farnham whispered to Anne that Emma was in a family way. ‘But who?’ Anne whispered back. I listened hard, bending my head over my sewing. Poor Emma. What would happen to her now? ‘One of the sailors on the ship,’ Mrs Farnham’s mouth was a thin line under her beaky nose. Anne said that the girl should be sent back home on the same ship and Mrs Farnham agreed, but the next day she reported that the captain of the ship, on which poor Emma got into trouble, ‘declined the honour’ of taking her back home. And the sailor said that Emma lied. ‘She’s here to stay but she must be taught a lesson!’ Mrs Farnham squawked and she decided that solitary confinement was the ‘best mode of punishment.’ Mr Farnham and ‘the boys’, great grown men with beards, knocked up a small hut on the other side of the river for Emma and rowed her over there every night, after she had finished her work. Poor Emma, all alone in the dark across the river. She must be terrified of the dark because at night I hear her calling and calling like some poor lost bird. This had been going on for a week or so when Mrs Farnham suggested that I come and work for her because ‘Emma is so lazy now.’ I refused and gave no excuse, and Anne is upset because Mrs Farnham has not been to call for over a week. I’ve avoided having anything to do with poor Emma because I don’t want people to think that I’m like her, that I could fall into a family way, and anyway she is so sad and simple, there’s not much to talk about with her. Then there was Mrs Agett, whose poor Amelia got burnt in a fire. Mrs Agett blamed Amelia for the fire which burned the tent and some of Mrs Agett’s clothes that were hanging on a rope outside. But several of us saw the wind blow straw into a fire and then up against the tent, and ran to help. What a todo! Amelia was badly burned and will be scarred for the rest 37

of her life. Mrs Agett charged Amelia but Mr Leake, the head magistrate, said that the girl was not guilty. The Agetts let her go and another family took her on. Mrs Agett came and asked if I would go and work for her. She said Tommy couldn’t come with me, so I said no. Even if she’d let Tommy be with me, I couldn’t abide her, such a cruel woman. I lie awake at night and listen to poor Emma’s calls and wonder when I will find my family. 20 November 1829

The Roes were among those who had trouble with their servants. In November, their 20-year-old servant girl, Maria Studson, refused point-blank to do anything at all. .....

Roe slipped his gold watch from its pocket and flicked it open. He’d had about enough of this Captain Davies of the Atwick, who said his ship was delayed in port for repairs. The man had perched long enough on the canvas stool in the tent that temporarily housed his Survey Office. It was hot and gettig hotter as the day wore on. He wanted to get back to his work; there was an incredible amount to be done. Roe’s job was to survey and map the whole of the territory, determine the quality of the soil and its uses and categorise the land. He was to site towns, ports, roads, bridges and public works, and all this in a place where the land and its inhabitants were very different from what he knew. And, of course, he was to assign land to the settlers. Governor Stirling was after him to hurry on this but he would do it his way. Roe thought, the right way. As his thumb stroked the smooth gold case, it reminded him of his conversation with his wife, Matilda, that morning. ‘Roe, what did Stirling say when you spoke to him about Maria?’ she had asked as he slipped the watch into his pocket. 38

‘He agrees that Maria is useless and told me to go ahead and hire someone else.’ ‘You will have to find someone soon, my dear,’ Matilda said. Roe knew that Matilda, well advanced in her first pregnancy, was uncomfortable. Shortness of breath and swollen ankles and feet were keeping her anchored in their tent. True, Mrs Stirling and Mrs Leake and the other ladies visited her, but Matilda’s temper, short at the best of times, was made worse by her physical discomfort and their primitive accommodation. So, it was up to him to find a woman to replace Maria. Matilda was very particular, and even though their home was only a tent and a sleeping annex knocked together from packing cases and canvas, she demanded a high level of service. It was going to be difficult to find someone who would suit Matilda, Roe thought. Very difficult. He’d better begin now. But first, he had to get rid of this man. He looked up and stared coldly at Captain Davies, who leaned forward and smiled. ‘Sir, I know I’m taking up valuable time but this place,’ Davies pointed through the tent flap, ‘this Colony shows so much promise!’ Roe knew what was pinning the captain to that uncomfortable stool. Greed. Davies was like all of them, greedy for land. Everyone in the Colony wanted land and wanted it right now. Roe, himself, wanted them on the land as soon as possible. The new Colony had to be fed. Crops had to be planted and stock suitably pastured before winter set in. True, most of the settlers had brought with them preserved food supplies, but these would not last forever. Indeed, Roe was of the opinion that they would be lucky if supplies lasted the year out. ‘You must understand,’ said Roe, ‘that I just can’t hand out grants of land. A proper application must be made. And

39

before the individual grants can be assigned,’ he continued, ‘there is a great deal of work to be done.’ ‘Surely, Sir, the individual grants come first.’ ‘One man,’ Roe lectured Davies, ‘not even one family alone, can carve out a living from this territory. There has to be a supportive community for each grant, otherwise it’s useless. Land must be set aside for schools, churches and parks. Streets and roads must be surveyed, public buildings, and the grants must have access to water. Water! That is going to be a major problem,’ Roe again took out his gold watch and consulted it. ‘That is my job, Sir, and I am eager to get on with it.’ But Davies did not take the broad hint; he shifted his cap from one knee to the other and leaned forward. ‘Surely, Sir, a country this lushly forested must have water. Exploration will find streams, rivers ...’ Unknowingly, Davies had hit on Roe’s greatest love — exploration. The opportunity to search out the riches and secrets of this unknown territory made up for the more tedious aspects of his position as Surveyor General. Roe tucked his watch back into place and began to sort through the papers on his desk. ‘Yes, there are streams. Rivers. Stirling and I led a small party upriver last month.’ He pulled out a map and unrolled it with a f lourish. Captain Davies rose and leaned over the desk, his eager gaze following Roe’s finger as it traced a thin line on the map. ‘We started here, and followed the Swan upstream to the mouth of this branch.’ Roe’s finger tapped three times on a thin line that snaked out from the Swan. ‘Ellen’s Brook, we named it. It’s a few miles below the escarpment, and since this was only a foray, so to speak, we left the scarp for later investigation and came back downstream to the junction with the Helena River.’ Again the tapping finger. ‘And has that land been allotted to anyone?’ Roe straightened and smiled wryly to himself. This Captain Davies was persistent. ‘Yes. Ninety-one thousand, five 40

hundred acres on both banks of the Upper Swan distributed in two days.’ He lifted his hand and the map rolled up with a snap. Captain Davies’ eyes gleamed. ‘Sir, what would be my chances of securing land?’ ‘Make an application, Captain Davies.’ ‘Well, Sir, what about the trees?’ Roe lifted an eyebrow. ‘Trees?’ ‘Logging is what I have in mind, Roe. Felling the large trees and turning them into timber for houses. People can’t live in tents and mud-daubed huts for long. They want proper buildings made from wood and brick. I’m interested in wood and brick.’ ‘Go on, Captain,’ said Roe. ‘I noticed numerous outcrops of limestone as I sailed up the river. A practical man can produce mortar from that limestone. In the swampy areas around here there must be deposits of clay, for the bricks.’ ‘There are clay deposits upriver,’ agreed Roe. ‘You’ll need to make a proper application to cut timber and burn lime, Captain.’ ‘And if I do, what do you think of my chances?’ ‘I think your chances are very good.’ Roe smiled at the captain. ‘Now, Sir, if you will excuse me ...’ Captain Davies held out a hand. ‘Thank you, Sir, for your time and advice.’ ‘Pleased to be of service, Captain,’ replied Roe, watching the captain lift the flap of the tent. Just as he was about to duck his head and step out, he paused and turned back. Confound the man, thought Roe. Is he never to go? ‘I understand you’re looking for a servant,’ said Captain Davies. ‘A woman.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Roe, ‘but I’m surprised that you’re aware of my servant problem.’ The captain shrugged. ‘In Perth word gets around. I know of someone that might suit.’ 41

‘Tell me more, Captain,’ said Roe. ‘There’s a young girl, came out on the Atwick. Her stepfather and mother were bonded to Dr Whatley but the stepfather got himself washed overboard in the storm that did all the damage. A day or two later, the mother died in childbirth. The girl, Sarah Bodkin is her name, wants to stay here and hopes to find a position as a servant.’ The captain smiled wryly. ‘“With a good family”, she said.’ ‘I’ve met the doctor already. Like everyone else, he wants his grant right now. Now for this girl, I should think she’d want to return home, to her own family,’ observed Roe. ‘A new colony is no place for a young woman alone.’ ‘She says that she’s an orphan.’ ‘Does she seem to be a ... a reasonable person?’ Roe asked. After dealing with an hysterical Maria, Roe had decided that reason and sanity were essential qualities in a servant. Captain Davies shrugged. ‘As reasonable as the next person, I suppose. I don’t want to take more of your valuable time, Sir ...’ ‘No, no. Sit down, Captain. I want to hear more of this Bodkin woman.’ Davies said that he knew only what he had seen of her on the ship, ‘But she took good care of her poor mother,’ he told Roe, ‘and of the Whatley woman, whose baby arrived during the voyage as well. She seems to have had a lot of experience with birthings and babes. Dr Whatley speaks highly of her. A tall, strong, upstanding lass, she is. She does a fine job of looking after her Tommy.’ ‘Tommy?’ Roe’s eyebrows lifted. ‘She has a child?’ Captain Davies cursed himself for his loose tongue. It would have been better not to mention Tommy until the girl secured the position but he’d been carried away with his own magnanimity. ‘No, not her child. Her young brother.’ ‘How young?’ Davies studied the curve of the tent above Roe’s head. 42

‘Four, maybe five years old. A bright lad, very cheerful. No trouble.’ Roe knew that Matilda would not want a young child about, taking her servant’s attention away from her and her family’s needs. Especially not with her own baby due so soon. ‘She really is very suitable, Sir. Neat and tidy in her person and speaks well. Intelligent. She’s not ...’ the captain searched for words to tell Roe what he suspected about this Sarah Bodkin, ‘she’s not ordinary. There’s good blood there. Comes from good stock, I shouldn’t be surprised.’ He smacked his knees with the palms of his hands. ‘I think she’d do you and Mrs Roe just right.’ ‘How old is she?’ ‘Nineteen,’ replied the captain, mentally shrugging off the fact that Sarah was only sixteen. ‘Though she looks younger,’ he added, as a sop to his conscience and Roe’s powers of observation. ‘If the Whatleys are in Perth, Sarah Bodkin is here, too. Mind you,’ the captain nodded, ‘she may already have a position.’ Just then Roe’s assistant, a young man by the name of Sutherland, pushed his way into the tent and dumped his equipment on the ground. ‘Boiling out there, Sir,’ he puffed and wiped his streaming face on his sleeve. Sutherland gave Roe the excuse he needed to get rid of Davies. ‘Right you are, Captain. Come back later and we’ll see about your applications,’ and he fairly pushed Captain Davies out of the tent. ‘Got a message for you,’ he informed poor Sutherland and straight away sent him off in search of the Whatleys with orders to fetch back to him a Miss Sarah Bodkin.

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chapter five MAN WALKING DOWN A VALLEY

Sarah was boiling up soap in the kettle, preparing to tackle a heap of laundry, when a weedy young man stepped around the corner of the Whatleys’ tent and told her she was wanted at once by Septimus Roe, Surveyor General to the Swan River Colony. ‘For what?’ Sarah snapped, brushing her hair out of her eyes. It was hot, Tommy was dragging at her skirt for attention and she was in no mood to be given orders by this young man. ‘You better look smart, young lady,’ he snapped and turned on his heel. ‘I’ll not be following anyone, unless they tell me what for,’ Sarah barked, and gave the kettle a good rattling stir with the heavy ladle. Sutherland stopped, sighed, and turned back to face Sarah. ‘Would you be looking for a position? As a servant?’ Sarah carefully laid down the ladle. ‘Would it be with the Surveyor General’s family?’ Sutherland nodded. ‘Indeed, I am,’ said Sarah, untying her apron. ‘Why didn’t you say that to begin with?’ 44

‘I’m wanting my tea and a smoke,’ complained Sutherland but Sarah didn’t hear, she was too busy pushing Tommy into the tent and telling Anne that she was off for an interview. ‘With the Surveyor-General,’ she shouted over her shoulder and rushed to join Sutherland. ‘Up yonder,’ said Sutherland, pointing up the slope. ‘In that bell tent. It’s our office, until the proper one is built. They’ll be over there.’ Sarah was not interested in future government offices. ‘Why does he need a servant?’ ‘T’other one went mad.’ ‘Mad?’ Sarah stopped in her tracks. ‘Are you having me on, young man?’ Sutherland, hot and tired and more than a bit upset at being sent off on what was, after all, a personal errand for Roe, glared over his shoulder at Sarah. She was standing with hands on hips, eyes blazing. She’s a bonny lass, he thought and took pity on her. ‘Mistress Maria did not find the heat and the flies and living in a tent to her liking. And,’ he added, ‘she was afraid.’ ‘Afraid! Of what?’ ‘All this.’ Sutherland waved an arm at the towering trees that dwarfed the tent city strewn over the slope above the river. ‘“So big. So empty,” she said, over and over. And she was afraid of the blacks. Called them filthy heathens, said the soldiers should stop them parading around naked, chase them back into the bush.’ Sutherland snorted to show what he thought of this nonsense. ‘She was more used to cobblestones and bricks. And she was lazy. Anyway, she put on a show and Mrs Roe, who’s no fool, wouldn’t have a bar of her. She’s out.’ ‘Well, I’m not afraid,’ said Sarah. She smoothed her hair, wishing that she had taken a moment to tie a fresh kerchief around her neck. She tidied herself as best she could as she followed Sutherland. ‘Tell me about him, Septimus Roe. Is his a good family?’ ‘Very good family, indeed,’ agreed Sutherland and decided 45

to introduce himself. ‘I’m Sutherland. Roe’s chief assistant.’ This information did not cause Sarah even to glance in Sutherland’s direction; her dark eyes were fastened on the bell tent gleaming white in the sun. They were nearly there and she was walking so fast Sutherland had to trot to keep up. At the tent, Sutherland lifted the flap and barked, ‘Sir, this is the Bodkin person,’ and went off for his tea and a pipe. Taking a deep breath, Sarah ducked her head and stepped through the flap. Standing behind a large table was a gentleman of more than average height who held himself well. He looks to be a soldier, Sarah thought, taking in the straight shoulders and neck. He had a long nose, a high forehead, dark hair and a short beard. She wondered if he had lost the sight in his right eye, because he did not seem to be looking at her through it. Both eyes were large and of a particularly clear blue colour. Roe asked her to be seated and Sarah lowered herself carefully to the canvas stool. He began by offering his condolences on the death of her parents. ‘It is terrible to lose your mother and father like that,’ he said. ‘Fraser was my stepfather,’ Sarah stated. ‘How did you come to know about him, Sir?’ ‘A Captain Davies mentioned that you were looking for a place.’ Sarah smiled to herself. Davies had not let her down after all. ‘And your father?’ prompted Roe. Sarah lifted her chin. ‘Dead.’ Roe took in the firm line of her jaw and decided that this was all the information he was going to receive as to this young girl’s paternal parentage. It was not important, really. There were many out here who hoped to start a new life, leave the old behind. But whoever her father was, he had passed on to her fine bones and a handsome face. She’d never be beautiful, Roe thought. She was too tall and powerfully built for beauty. But she would always be noticed. And she wasn’t one to show her feelings in front of strangers, a trait which he admired. 46

Keeping her face as calmly blank as possible, Sarah sat out Roe’s scrutiny and, at the same time, examined the tent. She noted the neatness of his desk. None of the drawers were open; not so much as a corner of paper was in sight. It was the same with the wooden chests. They were all closed except for the one which stood open beside the desk, half full of neatly stacked files and papers. Spread out before Roe was what looked like the beginnings of a map. A neat and tidy man, she thought, and wished that she had insisted on washing her face and hands before following Sutherland to this interview. Roe asked what level of schooling she had reached. He could not abide stupid women. It was the opposite that had attracted him to his wife, Matilda; he admired her intelligence and keen interest in practicalities, and although he realised that a smattering of learning could not overcome dull stupidity, he did want a servant who could at least read. ‘Sir, from the age of five years I was with a Miss Boas in her School for Orphans. I can read to an advanced level and write with a clear hand. I can cipher well enough and do plain cooking and needlework.’ ‘Very good,’ smiled Roe. ‘How long were you with this Miss Boas?’ ‘Five years, Sir, and then my mother needed me. I worked in my stepfather’s household and cared for my ... for everyone,’ she finished. She had almost said, ‘for Tommy.’ Sarah took a deep breath. She would have to introduce the subject of Tommy very carefully, she thought, remembering Mrs Agett. ‘My mother was of a weak constitution and needed my help.’ ‘You nursed your mother during her confinements?’ ‘Yes, Sir.’ Roe thought that this was in her favour, as Matilda was so soon to give birth. But Maria had been most suitable in these respects as well. And look at the trouble she had caused. This securing a new maidservant for Matilda was proving to be more difficult than he had thought. Roe went to stand at the entrance of the tent. A cloud of 47

dust hung in the air, flies droned heavily against the canvas. Down towards the river, more tents were going up, their owners struggling and cursing the stiff, heavy canvas. Out on the river, a laden boat was approaching the long, spindly dock and several small boys were running through the shallows, waving their hats and calling out. Women, sleeves rolled high and hair flying, laboured over steaming wash kettles and cooking fires and ovens. It was a bustling, busy scene; in stark contrast to the empty bush beyond. ‘What do you think of this place, Miss Bodkin?’ he asked. ‘Do you think you can cope?’ ‘Cope, Sir?’ Sarah blinked. ‘Yes.’ Roe seated himself behind his desk. ‘The Colony is only five months old but already it has become evident that some people are not suited to this life.’ ‘How do you mean, Sir?’ ‘There are grumblings and disagreements about the land. There are fears of the blacks and difficulties with servants who are not fulfilling their contracts.’ Roe sighed and waved away a persistent fly. ‘We’re far away from civilisation. Do you think you can look after my family in such a place?’ ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to do the work, Sir,’ Sarah stated. ‘I know it’s difficult and that there is hardship. Water to be carried, cooking over an open fire and ...’ Sarah saw that this was not what Roe wanted to hear. He was frowning and rubbing the ball of his tight thumb along the tips of his fingers, glancing away from her to the map before him. Sarah sat up straighter. She had to convince him that she was suitable! What to say? Would he never look up from that map? On the stiff paper, she thought she recognised the curve in the river where it went around the cliff before it swept into Perth Water. ‘I’m strong, Sir, and willing to do any work that will give me a good home.’ She folded her hands together firmly so as to still their trembling. ‘I want this place to be my home, Sir.’ She saw that she now had Roe’s full attention. ‘I’ve kept my 48

eyes open the short time that I’ve been here.’ The memory of the slow magical journey up the river washed over her and suddenly she smiled at this worried man with the kind blue eyes. ‘This is the place for me, Sir. This is my home. And,’ she added, ‘I’ll make you and Mrs Roe and the babe very comfortable and happy.’ Roe studied Sarah for a moment in silence. He liked what he saw. Eager, strong, capable; the type of servant that was needed in this Colony. But she hadn’t once mentioned the young brother. Did she want to keep him with her or did she have something else in mind? I’ll let Matilda deal with all that, he thought. He rose to his feet. ‘A long speech and an interesting one, Miss Bodkin. But it’s Mrs Roe who has the final word. Come and meet my wife,’ and with a flip of the canvas flap, the Survey Office was closed for business. 1829 SERVANTS’ RATIONS A proposed scale of rations was drawn up ... were to get one pound of salt beef or three-quarters of a pound of salt pork a day along with one pound of biscuit ... women were to get two ounces of tea and half a pound of sugar a week. ROE FAMILY REMINISCENCES The terrible Thomson temper — I believe it to have been inherited from Matilda Roe ... a fiery temper and sharp tongue — but very practical and kind beneath her crusty exterior.

MATILDA ROE Matilda Roe smoothed her heavy maroon skirt over her round belly and listened to her husband’s report. The girl was waiting outside the tent so he spoke quietly, leaning close to her ear. ‘I’ll leave you to make the final decision, my dear,’ he said. ‘But I think this Bodkin woman will do.’ 49

‘Have you made a firm offer?’ ‘No. That’s up to you, Matilda.’ Roe lowered his voice even further. ‘One thing you should know. There’s a young brother. She’s not mentioned him at all.’ ‘I don’t want a small child about the place,’ Matilda stated firmly. ‘It’s up to you, Matilda,’ said Roe. ‘I’ll bring her in.’ He lifted the tent flap and stepped out, frowning slightly in the bright sunlight. Watching him, Matilda felt again that little catch of breath which was her concession to the love she felt for this man. She thought it unseemly for her, married almost a year and about to become a mother, to feel something that she associated with young girls and silliness, but there it was. She loved Septimus Roe. He was a strong, caring man. But he was not good with ser vants. The experience with that wretched Maria had devastated him. Matilda turned her attention to the young woman who now stood before her. ‘My husband tells me you’re looking for a position,’ she said, mentally noting that the girl was much younger than Septimus had said she was. ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Sarah gave a little bob and glanced up at Roe who stood beside his wife. Matilda laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘Miss Bodkin and I will talk now, dear.’ ‘Fine,’ and, relieved that Sarah seemed to have successfully negotiated the first hurdle, Roe strode out of the tent and off down the slope to his office. Matilda invited Sarah to be seated and began questioning her. It didn’t take long for Matilda to realise that she had a bargain in this Sarah Bodkin, and for Sarah to know that she had found her good family. The details of the contract were settled quickly and included a wage of two pounds for one year, as well as rations of salt beef and pork, biscuits, tea and sugar. However, it was Tommy who almost foundered the whole interview. ‘How old is your brother?’ Matilda asked. 50

Sarah sat absolutely still for a moment, only the sudden f licker of her left eyelid betraying her reaction to this question. ‘Four years old, Ma’am. Going on five. His name is Tommy.’ ‘What are your plans for him?’ ‘I want him with me, Ma’am.’ Noting the nervous eyelid, Matilda decided that Sarah was desperate. ‘You will have to make other arrangements,’ she stated firmly. ‘He’s so young, Ma’am,’ Sarah protested, then stopped and swallowed hard. ‘It may be difficult to find someone to tend him while I’m working.’ ‘That’s for you to sort out.’ Suddenly, Matilda felt the child in her belly move and with that slow, secret surge, a pang of compassion also stirred. Was she being too hard on this girl? Even though she was very good at hiding her emotions, Sarah Bodkin looked about to burst into tears. Matilda took a deep breath. ‘Make other arrangements for now. We should be in our permanent quarters soon and then, perhaps ...’ Matilda paused. Sarah leaned forward, hands pressed tightly together. ‘Yes?’ ‘If your work proves satisfactory, then we will reconsider.’ ‘I’m sure you’ll find me more than satisfactory, Ma’am.’ ‘We’ll see,’ snapped Matilda, her compassion fast draining away. It was very hot in the tent and her back was beginning to ache. ‘What are your living arrangements at the moment?’ ‘Dr Whatley has given Tommy and me space next to their tent. They’re waiting for their grant.’ ‘You may stay with them for the moment. But I’ll need you here, with me, after my babe is born. You’ll sleep in the small tent at the rear of the annex.’ ‘When are you due, Ma’am?’ asked Sarah. ‘A month, perhaps two.’ Matilda rested her hand lightly on her round belly. ‘When will you be wanting me to begin day work?’ ‘Tomorrow.’ Sarah’s direct manner would take getting used 51

to, thought Matilda. One day soon, she would have a look at this Tommy. But she wouldn’t have him here, in the tents. Too crowded and close. Matilda leaned back in her chair. Her back ached even more and she was suddenly very tired. Sarah took a good look at the woman and fetched a stool, gently lifting Matilda’s booted feet to rest on a cushion. ‘Would you like me to make a cup of tea?’ ‘That would be very pleasant.’ In a moment, Sarah had stirred up the cooking fire, filled the kettle and was laying a tray. Matilda sighed and closed her eyes, easing her toes in her boots. When the girl brought the tea, she would ask her to undo the boot laces.

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chapter six BIRD’S NEST

SARAH BODKIN I’ve got to get away and think what to do! Oh, why didn’t I tell her that Tommy had to be with me? Why didn’t I say it? She’s my ‘good family’, oh yes, that’s plain to see, and Mr Roe looks to be a kind man, but even if she is a lady, she’s a hard one. Why was I such a coward? ‘We’ll see,’ she says, her eyes snapping and hard, and I let her say, ‘You will have to make other arrangements.’ What arrangements? Oh, God, what am I to do, I can’t lose Tommy. Not now. Not here. It has to work out. The Roes are gentry and I want to be with them and Tommy will be with me. I will make it happen! Where am I? How far have I come? Now I’ve lost myself, rushing away from her tent, into the bush. Running away. I can’t run away. I must go back, there’s the laundry to finish. I must tell Anne about the Roes. But I’ll stop here awhile and catch my breath. All that running, my hair’s all which ways. I mustn’t let Anne see me like this. I must be calm when I talk to her. Because ...

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because Anne is the one who can help me. Yes, that’s it! She can take care of Tommy, keep him while I show Mrs Roe what a good worker I am. Dr Whatley likes Tommy, he talks to him and he’ll let him stay with them until they go upriver. But I won’t think about that because I can’t let Tommy go away upriver with the Whatleys. He’s my little baby, my little boy. But there is surely time enough. It all depends on the grant. It may be weeks. Months! I’ll have time to convince Mrs Roe before Whatleys go upriver. Yes, I’m sure I’ll have time. I can make it happen. Tomorrow, she wants me there tomorrow. I must get back to Anne, finish the laundry, explain to Tommy. I can’t run away, must go back. Mrs Roe finds out, she’ll think me as crazy as that woman she let go, running through the bush with my hair in my eyes, crying, stumbling through the trees. Getting lost! Sarah Bodkin, stop this right now. I’m not crazy. I’m not lost. I’m just afraid that I’ll lose Tommy. I can find my way back to him. The river. I hear it through the trees. I’ll wash my face in the cool water, tidy my hair and rest a bit. Then follow the river back to Tommy. It’s muddy here so close to the water. The reeds are thick, I’ll bear left, that’s the way to go back to Tommy. Oh! How wonderful. A spring of cold water. So quiet and green and cool here under the rocky cliff. Cool water for my face, my arms, my throat. So peaceful, so quiet — so cool — so ... Who? Who is it? BILU Bright one. I greet you. SARAH BODKIN Oh my God, one of them. A black! What’ll I do? Hurt me? Will she hurt me? What is she saying?

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BILU Bright one. Fear clouds your face, stops your heart, closes your throat. SARAH BODKIN She’s holding out her hand! What does that — oh! She looks like ... is she the woman I saw from the boat? BILU Bright one. On the water you saw me and I you. SARAH BODKIN She’s coming closer! Help! No one here. Her hand, there’s something in her hand, I’m so afraid! Run! BILU Your warm blood is hiding in your heart. Bright one, let loose the teeth of your fear. I greet you. ..... Later, Sarah and Bilu would laugh together about that first meeting. Bilu would imitate Sarah, crouching wide-eyed in the mud by the spring, frozen in fear. Sarah would mimic Bilu, standing with her hand held out and together they would dissolve in laughter. But on the day, Sarah was more terrified than she had ever been in her life. She had been afraid of Boas and her stick but this black woman, appearing out of the shadows, what would she do to her? What did she have in her hand? What was she saying? Sarah had been happy to wave to the woman from the safety 55

of the boat. But here, the dark woman was too close. That outstretched hand surely held danger. ‘What do you want?’ Sarah managed to quaver. The woman stood quietly, repeating the same words over and over and gradually their meaning seeped through Sarah’s armour of fear. BILU Bright one. I greet you. SARAH BODKIN She doesn’t mean any harm, Sarah decided and brushed the hair out of her eyes, rose to her knees and held out her hand. The woman moved towards Sarah, repeating the soothing words again and again. Her skin gleamed in the scattered sunlight that fell through the trees. She smells like a fire, Sarah thought, as the woman leaned down, held Sarah’s hands in her and gently laid a warm egg in it. Relief washed through Sarah and she sat down in the mud with a thump. ‘An egg? You’re giving me an egg?’ Her voice cracked in relief. The woman smiled and pointed to the egg and then to Sarah. A gift, thought Sarah. The egg is a gift for me. Now the woman squatted down in front of Sarah and held out her hand. ‘What?’ Sarah asked and tried to draw away but the woman continued to smile and hold out her hand. Sarah tried to return the egg, but the woman drew her hand back and then held it out once again. She wants something from me in return, Sarah decided. But what? Sarah slid her hand into her pocket and found her ball of string. Carefully laying the egg on the ground beside her, Sarah began weaving the string back and forth between her trembling fingers. The woman crouched closer and watched intently. When 56

the string design was complete, Sarah held it out and the woman carefully fitted her fingers into the loops, lifting the string figure from Sarah’s hands and holding it up to her face. She grinned through it at Sarah. ‘Foof!’ she said, and the string fell free. Sarah expected the woman to hand her the string and ask for more, but to her amazement she began to weave the string back and forth between her slim dark fingers. Dr Whatley had told Sarah that the natives were ignorant savages. Anne had said that they were dangerous and sneaky, and Captain Amos said they were not to be trusted. But this woman, who did not seem to be the least bit dangerous or ignorant, let alone savage, was weaving an intricate design with Sarah’s string. A design that was not only complicated but could move. ‘Crlip, crlip, crlip,’ chirped the woman and a loop slipped across the design, looking for all the world like a little bird hopping along the branch of a tree. ‘How do you do that?’ Sarah held out her hands. The woman snatched the string to her breast. Then she carefully rolled it into a ball and slid it into a small woven bag which hung over her shoulder. Her dark eyes gleamed and a smile tilted the corners of her mouth as she rummaged for a moment in her bag. She has another surprise for me now, thought Sarah. It was strange how familiar this person had become to her in so short a time. Finally, the woman pulled out a different string and handed it to Sarah. It was round and smooth between her fingers. It’s made from some part of an animal, thought Sarah, as she fingered the loop. She tried it out with a simple cat’s cradle and the woman laughed and imitated her with Sarah’s string, which she now considered her own. When they finished, the woman nodded and touched Sarah’s pocket. ‘Put it away,’ she seemed to be saying and Sarah rolled the sinewy string up in a ball and slipped it into her pocket. Now the woman cocked her head and seemed to be listening

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to something. Sarah listened too, thinking there might be more blacks coming, but heard only leaf rustle and birdsong. Then, as she became used to the bush sounds, she heard what she thought was flowing water. The river must be close by. With a wave of her hand, the woman urged Sarah to follow her. Later, Sarah was to wonder why it never occurred to her to run away. Whatever the reason, that first day Sarah happily clutched the egg in her hand and trailed the woman through a stand of shaggy-barked trees and around tall reeds. The woman stopped and carefully parted the reeds. Hidden there was a nest with three eggs which matched the one in Sarah’s hand. Now the woman pointed out to the river which flowed beyond the reeds. Silently gliding towards the bank and the nest was a black swan. ‘Is this her nest?’ Sarah asked. The woman drew Sarah back and pulled her down beside her. The reeds screened them from the bird. In the silence, Sarah was aware of the rustling reeds and the soft breathing of the woman beside her. Then the swan came waddling up the bank, climbed up on the mound and fussily settled herself on the nest. ‘She’s so beautiful,’ whispered Sarah. The bird’s dark feathers glowed with an iridescent blue sheen set off by the brilliance of her red beak. ‘Beautiful,’ Sarah whispered again and the woman smiled and nodded, as if she understood. ‘Come,’ she signalled, and Sarah imitated her careful stride back through the reeds to the spring. There the two women stood and looked at one another. ‘Bilu,’ the woman said, touching her breast. For the first time, Sarah noticed the scars that adorned the woman’s shoulders and breasts. She also saw that the woman was not young. There were lines around her eyes and a tinge of grey in her dark hair. Now she touched Sarah’s chest, just over her heart and lifted her eyebrows. Sarah pointed to herself. ‘Sarah.’ She stretched out a hand 58

to the woman, almost touching the row of scars above her full breasts. ‘Bilu?’ Bilu grinned and nodded, obviously pleased with Sarah. ‘Sabah?’ she said and again laid a gentle finger on Sarah’s chest. Sarah lifted her free hand and closed it over Bilu’s warm fingers. ‘Yes. My name is Sarah,’ she said, and smiled into the woman’s dark eyes. ..... Sarah was showing Tommy and Joanna the egg, telling them about the swan and its nest when Anne burst into the tent. ‘Where have you been?’ Anne was upset. ‘Dorothy’s disappeared and Woods has gone off as well and I couldn’t find you anywhere.’ ‘Can I have the egg for my tea?’ Tommy asked. ‘What happened?’ Anne was nursing baby Mary against her shoulder. ‘Who did you rush off to see? What took you so long?’ ‘Me want egg! Me want egg!’ chanted Joanna. ‘Where did you get the egg?’ Anne asked. ‘Sarah, for goodness sakes ...’ ‘Septimus Roe and his wife. Mrs Roe. That’s where I went.’ Tommy frowned. ‘If I eat that egg, will I turn into a black swan?’ ‘She gave you an egg?’ Anne gaped in astonishment. ‘No, the egg was ... I found it in a nest, down by the river.’ Sarah decided not to say anything about Bilu. In the time they had been here, Anne had developed a real fear of the natives. When they occasionally strolled through the camp, she dragged Joanna behind her into the tent and remained there until they had disappeared into the trees. ‘Me be swan,’ laughed Joanna. ‘I’m going to be the swan,’ insisted Tommy. 59

Joanna burst into tears and buried her face in her mother’s skirts. ‘Tommy, go outside and play. Take Joanna with you,’ ordered Anne. She settled herself on a stool. ‘Now, Sarah, tell me what happened.’ ‘The Roe family need a woman to work for them.’ ‘Surely they brought servants out with them?’ ‘They did, but she, that is the woman they brought with them, turned out to be ... unsuitable.’ ‘Unsuitable? How?’ ‘It doesn’t matter, because it means that I get the position with the Roes. They are a very good family.’ ‘How wonderful for you.’ Sarah could see that Anne was truly happy for her. ‘This is exactly what you wanted for you and Tommy. The Roes, well! You are lucky.’ ‘Mrs Roe is in the family way. A month or two before the babe arrives. She wants me to start tomorrow, for the day work.’ Sarah wondered how to bring up the subject of Tommy. ‘That’s very soon, but then, if the other woman has ...’ Anne gave Sarah a searching look. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ ‘I can sleep here, with Tommy, she said, and go up early in the morning. I’ll dress him before I go, Anne. He won’t be a bother.’ ‘But won’t you take ...’ Sarah interrupted, afraid to let Anne go on. ‘I’ll cook his tea when I have my short time off in the afternoon. Mrs Roe said I could have a break then and ...’ Firmly, Anne interrupted Sarah’s rush. ‘What’s this about Tommy?’ Sarah stared at Anne for a moment and then blurted, ‘She says I can’t have Tommy with me.’ ‘Oh.’ Anne absently patted the baby. ‘But Sarah, what will you do with him?’ ‘She said I have to make other arrangements.’ 60

‘Well, yes, I can see that but what arrangements are you ...’ ‘It will only be a short time, until the Roes are in their house. She said that he could be with me then.’ ‘Sarah. What are your arrangements?’ ‘Will you keep Tommy until then? Until the house is finished and there’s room for Tommy?’ Anne’s face went blank and Sarah wished that she had held her tongue and waited for Dr Whatley to return. Anne had reservations, that was obvious. Sarah took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. ‘You don’t have to give me an answer now, Anne,’ she said. ‘I’ll finish off the laundry and when Dr John comes home, we can talk again. About Tommy.’ ‘Yes,’ replied Anne, turning away. ‘Dr Whatley will decide.’ That evening, Sarah presented her proposition to the Whatleys. Woods and his Dorothy had returned and been sent to their annex. The fire burned low. The babies slept and overhead the stars glowed in the sky. Sarah’s mind had been working furiously while she struggled with the laundry. Now, with the clean clothes folded neatly in the chests, she marshalled all her powers of persuasion. ‘Mrs Roe wants me only for the day until her babe is born. That will be in two months, maybe a bit more. So, I’ll be able to sleep here with Tommy and dress and feed him in the morning. I’m sure I can slip down during the day. My food ration will take care of Tommy and ...’ Dr Whatley put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder, stopping her in mid-sentence. ‘It’s all right, Sarah. We have come to love Tommy almost like one of our own.’ Sarah glanced at Anne, but the woman’s face was in shadow. Sarah didn’t think that Anne Whatley loved Tommy. She tolerated him and would continue to do so, Sarah hoped, because her husband was fond of the little boy. ‘But you must realise that when we go upriver, you’ll have to make other arrangements,’ Dr John continued. ‘Yes. I understand. It won’t be for long. I promise. Mrs Roe 61

said they’d be in their house soon.’ Sarah hoped this was so. ‘Thank you, Dr Whatley. Thank you, Anne.’ Later, she lay awake beside the softly breathing Tommy and listened to the call of the night birds and the breeze through the trees. For a moment she thought she heard Emma calling from her little house across the river and she shivered. ‘It’s only a bird. Lonely in the night,’ she told herself, and slept.

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chapter seven BIRTH OF A CHILD

25 December 1829

ROE FAMILY REMINISCENCES They were still living in tents ... when on Christmas Day 1829 Matilda Roe gave berth [sic] to a daughter. Her parents called her Sophia ... there was some kind of ceremony, when Roe stood at the flaps of the tent with the infant in his arms and the blacks filed by, dressed in war paint and feathers and each gently touched the tiny white child. One can imagine the mother’s fears as she lay in the tent and watched. .....

A Christmas baby, that was what little Sophia decided to be. Her arrival on the first Christmas celebrated in the Swan River Colony threw the day into disarray for everyone concerned. Mrs Roe began her labour in the morning, just as the celebrations were livening up. In certain tents and huts and down beside the river, liquor was flowing copiously and the 63

festivities were loud and boisterous. Captain Stirling and his good lady were hosting a more sedate affair under an awning erected beside the almost-completed Government House. Roe put in an appearance there, then hurried back to his wife. Sarah was sitting beside the fire outside the tent. ‘Not long now,’ she said. ‘The doctor said it would be very soon.’ ‘He said that at midday,’ grumbled Roe. ‘Sometimes it takes longer with the first.’ In the short time Sarah had been with the family, she had discovered that Mr Roe was a man who liked things to happen right away. Delay upset him and this waiting was galling for him. But Sarah knew that Roe’s show of bad temper hid his concern for his wife. Good thing she’s not a complainer, thought Sarah. There had hardly been a moan from the depths of the tent. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea, Sir?’ ‘No. It’s too hot for tea.’ Roe unwound his neckcloth, wiped his face and continued to pace between the fire and the closed flap of his tent. Sophia was born in the evening, just as the breeze came up the river. ‘She’s a good size, Ma’am,’ Sarah told Mrs Roe, after bathing the baby. Little Sophia was plump and pink, with a fringe of fair hair. Her father could not take his eyes off her; Sarah left him nursing his new daughter while she went out for a breath of air. That was when she heard the breeze stirring in the trees on the hill above, and looking down at the river saw a riffle of light move over the smooth blue water. She tied back the flap to let in the coolness for Mrs Roe. Now she would have time to give Tommy his gift, Sarah decided. This was her last night with him for a while and she wanted it to be the best. Tomorrow she’d be moving into the little annex at the rear of the Roes’ camp. She hurried down the hill but Tommy was nowhere to be seen. ‘He was here, a moment ago,’ said Anne. She was sitting in front of their tent, fanning herself with a kerchief while

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baby Mary slept on her lap and little Joanna played with her new dolly. Sarah ducked into the tent and lifted the little wooden horse from her trunk. Captain Amos, of the river boat, had carved it for her. He had stopped her one day, outside the grog tent, as she hurried back from a meeting with Bilu, and asked her about Tommy. ‘Bright lad, he is,’ grinned Amos. ‘Here. Give him this from me.’ It was a wooden whistle, with three finger holes. ‘Did you make this?’ Sarah ran her fingers over the smooth wood. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Amos shrugged. ‘The boy might like it.’ Tommy had been enchanted with the whistle and Anne complained that he blew the same tune constantly. As Christmas approached, Sarah hunted out Captain Amos and asked him to carve a horse for Tommy in exchange for one of Fraser’s shirts. When it was finished, Sarah rubbed it with red dirt for colour and glued on bits of her own hair for the mane. ‘I hope he likes it,’ she thought now as she left the tent. ‘He’s probably down by the river,’ Anne suggested. ‘He wants to find another swan’s egg.’ Sarah set off, wrapping the wooden horse in her apron. Since she had been working with the Roes, Tommy had taken to wandering away from the tent and into the bush. Anne Whatley did the best she could but often left Tommy to Dorothy Woods, and in Sarah’s opinion, Dorothy was useless. Sarah knew she would keep Tommy close by, if he were with her. Tommy was so little, he could easily slip into the river. He must learn to swim, she thought, as Captain Amos had advised. Perhaps Captain Amos knew how and could teach him. ‘Tommy!’ she called. ‘Tommy Fraser!’ Someone called out drunkenly from a hut and she hurried on. Closer to the river, it was dark under the trees and Sarah felt a wave of panic rise in her throat. Where was Tommy? She had told him she’d 65

come back before he went to sleep, promised him a special gift. Was he running from her, punishing her because she went off and left him every day? ‘Tommy! Where are you?’ she screamed. She surprised a bird nesting on the ground and it flew up in her face, striking her across the cheek with its wings. That sharp blow fully released Sarah’s fear and she found herself running blindly towards the river, crying and screaming Tommy’s name. She stumbled and fell and leaped up again to run even faster, now out of control, panic stricken, until she stumbled knee-deep into the river. As she stood in the water, gasping and sobbing, she was attacked by a cloud of vicious mosquitoes. She threw her apron over her head and waded back to the shore where she sank down and wept. He was lost. Tommy was lost. ‘Sarah!’ A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked away, scrabbling in the mud on her hands and knees. ‘What! What!’ ‘Sarah, it’s all right. It’s me, Sarah. Dr Whatley.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come along, Sarah.’ ‘I can’t find Tommy,’ Sarah sobbed, grabbing his hand and holding fast to it. ‘I can’t find ...’ ‘He’s with Anne. At the tent. Come.’ And Dr Whatley led her back to Tommy. The little boy was sitting quietly, frowning at the fire. Dr Whatley and Anne took the children and left Sarah alone with her brother. ‘Were you afraid I was gone forever?’ Tommy asked. ‘Yes, I was,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t want you ever to run away again.’ ‘You’re always away,’ said Tommy. ‘At the Woes.’ He could not pronounce ‘Roe’ properly, no matter how much Sarah coached him. ‘You’ll be with me at the Roes’ soon, when they’ve finished building their house.’ Tommy sighed and continued frowning at the fire. ‘Happy Christmas, Tommy,’ whispered Sarah as she laid the 66

little horse on his lap. Tommy’s frown cleared and he hugged the horse close. ‘Is it my own?’ he asked. ‘Not Joanna’s?’ ‘Yes, your very own.’ Tommy proceeded to gallop the little horse around the tent, and when Sarah tucked him into his bed, the horse had to be tucked in beside him on the pillow. ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ he whispered. ‘Happy Christmas, Tommy,’ Sarah whispered and sat with him until he fell asleep. Boxing Day 1829

SARAH BODKIN I’ll have a moment to look at the river before I boil up the kettle and make breakfast for Mr Roe. The sun’s just up. Mr Roe always begins his mornings early, even when it’s the day after the birth of his first daughter. I hear him now, moving quietly inside the tent so as not to wake Mrs Roe. I try to shrug off my feeling of uneasiness. Maybe it comes from leaving Tommy asleep, knowing that when he wakes up I won’t be there. But it’s not just Tommy. There’s a strangeness in the air this morning. I feel as if something powerful is about to happen. But what could it be? This morning looks no different from every other morning. It’s not unusual for there to be a faint mist on the river that swirls and drifts in the slow breeze. The birds are always raucous at this hour, calling and singing, making a to-do in the bush. I’m learning to recognise their calls. Bilu imitates them and points out the bird to me. Her eyes are sharper than mine when it comes to spotting birds and animals. I’ve been meeting her at the spring. I’ve taught her all my string figures and she’s teaching me hers. We don’t talk, we can’t really talk to each other in words although I’ve picked up a few of hers and she mine, but not enough for talking. But she is a comfort to me. 67

I’ve told no one about Bilu. She’s my secret. No, today nothing looks or sounds different and yet a tremendous expectation is building in me. Perhaps it has to do with the river. Yes, I can see something moving down on the water. A shadow is gliding out from below the bluff, floating across the water like a long thin bird. I shade my eyes with my hand. It’s a boat that looks like a long chip of wood. Someone’s standing in the stern, stroking the river with a paddle, or is it a pole? Hah! It’s Bilu! Yes! I recognise the line of her shoulders, the set of her head. Suddenly, I know that Bilu is coming here to the Roes’ tent and that she has a purpose in coming here. How can you know this? a part of me scoffs, but I know. I stand beside the fire and wait for Bilu. There’s a child sitting still as still in the bow of Bilu’s boat. Bilu has never brought a child with her, we’ve always met alone, just the two of us. I wonder about the child as Bilu brings the little slip of a boat into the reeds well downstream from the main jetty. I can’t see her now, she’s hidden by the bushes and tall reeds. But I know that she’s walking purposefully up the hill towards the tent. ‘Sir?’ I call out softly. Roe lifts the flap and steps out into the light. He looks happy, but his eyes are ringed with tired shadows. Yesterday was a long day for him and I’m sure he sat up into the night watching over his wife and new daughter. ‘Good morning, Sarah.’ He’s carrying the babe in his arms, wrapped in a light shawl with the corner tipped over her face to protect her eyes from the sunlight. ‘Look, Sir.’ I point down the hill. ‘She’s coming to see the babe.’ ‘Who?’ Roe looks out towards the river, frowning slightly. There are not many people about at this early hour, especially after the Christmas celebrations, but Bilu and the child are more than halfway up the hill and can be seen clearly. 68

Roe turns to me in surprise. ‘The black woman? Is that who you mean?’ I nod. ‘How do you know she’s coming here?’ I shrug, unable to explain my certainty. Suddenly Bilu lifts her arm to wave at me and after a moment, I wave back. ‘Do you know her?’ asks Roe. ‘Yes. Her name is Bilu.’ Roe stands very straight, watching the two blacks closely. ‘What do they want?’ he whispers and I’m surprised at the tremor in his voice. Is he afraid? Most of the settlers do fear the blacks; Anne frightens herself often, wondering how many there are out there, hidden in the trees, waiting where the firelight gives way to darkness. I had thought that Septimus Roe was not afraid of anything. Bilu stops a short distance away. She is wearing three feathers in her hair, pinned at the front. She is painted with white and reddish mud. She nods and greets me. I smile and say, ‘Good morning, Bilu.’ I’m surprised that she doesn’t greet Roe first and I think he wonders about that, too. Mrs Roe calls out, ‘Who’s there?’ and Roe tells her that one of the native women has come to see the new baby. Then he uncovers little Sophia’s face and beckons Bilu and the child forward. Bilu steps right up to Roe and puts her dark hand on Sophia’s head. She asks a question. Roe looks at me and I shrug. Bilu repeats the question. ‘Sophia,’ Septimus Roe states, making the ‘i’ say its name. ‘Her name is Sophia Roe.’ I know he got it right because Bilu nods and smiles. ‘Fie-a.’ ‘So-phi-a.’ Mr Roe draws the name out slowly. Bilu tries again. ‘Sfie-a.’ Mr Roe nods. ‘Yes, Sophia.’ Bilu turns to the little girl beside her. ‘Mina,’ she states and the child holds out her hand to Mr Roe, opening her fingers to reveal a blue stone. 69

Roe takes the stone. ‘Thank you,’ he says. Then Mr Roe does something that reminds me that he is a kind man; he places the stone on the shawl just under the baby’s chin. Suddenly Sophia opens her eyes and cries out. ‘I’ll take her now, Mr Roe.’ It’s Matilda Roe, standing just inside the tent, holding out her arms for her daughter. Roe hands the baby to her and Mrs Roe gives me a straight look before the tent flap drops into place. Bilu grins and pushes Mina towards me. The little girl holds out her other hand. Lying flat in her pink palm is the love knot from my story, which I taught Bilu how to weave. It is beautifully fashioned from a string made of finely plaited grass. Carefully, Mina lays the knot in my outstretched hand and runs to stand beside Bilu. I smile down at the little woven knot, which Tommy loves best of all. Then I look closer, my smile fading. This knot is different from mine. The weaving makes a shape that is out of balance and tight. Nothing could undo this knot, least of all a kiss. Suddenly, I’m afraid. I want to throw the knot on the ground, kick it into the brush. I wonder why Bilu has given me this dreadful thing. I am trembling as I look up, seeking warm reassurance in Bilu’s dark eyes. But she’s gone. The dark woman and the child have vanished. BILU Bright one. We bring a small water stone for the pale child of the white stranger. The knot is for you. It holds our question. Who is this man who walks our land like a woman searching for yams or a hunter for the lizard? What story does he weave with his string and stick across our mother/father 70

marking her/him? Bright one you meet me your eye glad in my eye your spirit leap up happy to mine. Bright one Who is this man? What does he want from our mother/father? From our land?

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chapter eight TORTOISE

3 January 1830

(Roe’s) first major exploration outside Perth began in January 1830. Roe and James Stirling sailed in the schooner Eagle on the evening of the 3rd for Geographe Bay.

MATILDA ROE Matilda Roe knew that her husband had to go on this expedition, indeed, was most eager to go, but it was hard to see him marching so jauntily off down to where the boats waited. After all, she thought, his first-born daughter is only a week and a day old. Last night, in the light of their lamp she had watched her husband as he traced out for her the empty spaces on the map that this journey would fill. Roe had a steady hand with the pen and she thought that his maps were beautiful. ‘We’ll sail from Fremantle and proceed south along the 72

coast. I plan to take a group inland to explore, but I’m not sure precisely where we’ll land. Somewhere here perhaps, or here ...’ he tapped his finger along the line that marked the coast. ‘What will you be looking for?’ ‘Rivers, bays that can be used as ports, good soil.’ Roe’s blue eyes shone eagerly. ‘More people will be coming out to the Colony. And those that are here need to spread out. We need to fill this empty land.’ ‘You will be careful?’ ‘Of course.’ Roe smiled and patted Matilda’s hand. ‘I’m a careful man.’ ‘Yes, I know. It’s just that ...’ Matilda paused. ‘What is it, my dear?’ ‘I feel that you were not careful when that black woman came, the day after our Sophia was born. You let her touch Sophia.’ Roe sighed and shook his head. ‘I can’t explain that, Matilda. At the time, she seemed harmless. And Sarah appeared to know who she was and ...’ ‘What about Sarah?’ interrupted Matilda. ‘How could Sarah know a black? That’s strange.’ ‘Matilda, I don’t know. Afterwards, Sarah seemed to be as shocked by the incident as you were. Even more so, in fact.’ It was that wad of hair or string the little girl put in Sarah’s hand that did the damage, Roe thought to himself. He’d watched as Sarah had slipped it into her pocket, her hand trembling so much that she almost dropped it. Matilda lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I asked her about the black woman and the child. She said that she’d seen her once or twice.’ ‘But where?’ Roe lowered his voice as well. ‘The men walk about quite openly. So much so that some people accuse them of acting as if they were lords. But not the women.’ ‘That was my exact question. Where? But Sarah wouldn’t say. In fact, she was rather short with me.’ Roe studied his wife’s face. She had a fragile look about her 73

eyes, the aftermath of childbirth, he thought. And she looked worried. ‘Are you happy with Sarah? Does she do her work properly? We could always look for another.’ ‘She’s a good worker,’ replied Matilda. ‘And she’s so good with Sophia. I’m happy with her work. No, it’s not Sarah’s work, it’s the idea of her knowing one of them.’ Matilda glanced out through the open flap of the tent. ‘They always seem to be out there.’ ‘The woman and child? Surely ...’ ‘The blacks. Hiding in the trees, skulking around. I hear them at night.’ ‘Matilda, you must not worry so. We’re well protected.’ ‘I know, I know,’ Matilda put up a hand to stop him. ‘I know that it’s my own silly fear that fills the trees with blacks. I know they’re sleeping in their huts or whatever they use. I know they really aren’t just outside our tent but ...’ Roe took his wife’s hands in his. ‘Matilda, this talk is ...’ ‘When I wake up in the night, it’s so dark and still. That’s when I hear them. Creeping through the trees. Peering into the tent. They must ...’ ‘Matilda! Stop this talk right now.’ Roe’s tone of voice was firm. ‘It will do no good.’ ‘No! Let me finish.’ Matilda drew her hands away and folded them firmly in her lap. ‘The blacks must hate us. Coming in here and pushing them out. And it’s you that’s doing this, you’re the one that divides up the land. You’ll be exploring what they must think of as their own property.’ ‘They don’t think like that, Matilda. And that’s my job. I’m the Surveyor General. And an explorer. Whenever I go out, I’m always prepared to meet with hostility. Always. They’ll never catch me unaware, never find me not ready for attack. Don’t worry about that.’ Matilda sighed and nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’ Roe sat back and tapped his finger on the map. ‘And we don’t know, there may not be many of the blacks down to the south. It’s difficult to tell just how many there are in one particular 74

area. They seem to move about and then,’ he gave a short bark of a laugh, ‘they don’t wear much so it’s difficult to tell them apart.’ He leaned over the map. ‘I’m hoping that we find fertile country here.’ He stroked the empty space with the tips of his fingers. ‘We’re using up our stores of food very quickly. If we find good arable land and farmers settle in, our food worries will be over.’ Matilda listened quietly to her husband’s eager words. This is what he really loves, she thought. This venturing out into the unknown. I must not hold him back. I must hide my fears for him; never again mention them. This is his life and therefore mine as well. So, the next morning, Matilda’s goodbye was cheerful and unmarred by tears. Her white handkerchief waved Roe briskly down to the boat. There were many other handkerchiefs besides Matilda’s fluttering as well, some delicate with lace, others a plain linen square. The fluttering handkerchiefs provided a brave and feminine farewell for a detachment of the 63rd Regiment, which rattled and stamped itself along to the spindly dock, the soldiers looking down their military noses at the contingent of ‘gentlemen’ volunteers who were to accompany them. What the latter lacked in spit and polish, they more than made up for in enthusiasm. Finally, the last man and his gear were loaded and the little flotilla set out onto the smooth face of Perth Water, making for Fremantle and their ship. Matilda sighed and made her way back home, pressing her hand against her aching breasts. Sarah was waiting for her with a screaming, red-faced Sophia in her arms. ‘She’s very hungry, Ma’am, and going on with her singing.’ This was what Sarah called Sophia’s loud demands for milk. ‘She’s got a lovely strong voice, Ma’am,’ Sarah went on as Sophia continued to yell. ‘Shouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t turn out to be a singer. Shush! Shush!’ she hushed as she waited for Matilda to undo her bodice. ‘There now, little chickie, there’s your mum and your milk,’ and she 75

placed the baby in Matilda’s arms. Matilda winced involuntarily as Sophia sucked eagerly at her breast. ‘Does it hurt when she feeds, Ma’am?’ Ordinarily Matilda did not allow personal remarks to pass between herself and her servants, but during the last two months Sarah had proven to be a great help with her sore back and breasts, her swollen ankles and aching shoulders. Sarah knew how to take care of a pregnant lady and a new mother, there was no doubt about that. So Matilda was inclined to unbend a little in her conversations with Sarah. ‘Yes. It’s a bit painful.’ ‘I’ve got some unguent you can rub on, after Sophia is finished. You should be glad, Ma’am, that little Phia sucks so strongly. Keeps the milk flowing.’ ‘Sophia. Her name is Sophia,’ insisted Matilda, emphasising the long ‘i’ sound. ‘Phia sounds so common.’ ‘She’s a lovely baby. A good feeder. You must drink more yourself, Mrs Roe. Beer is good for the milk.’ Matilda shuddered. ‘Not beer. But I’ll appreciate the unguent.’ Sarah nodded, thinking that Mrs Roe may as well have it. Her own mum wouldn’t need it now. ‘I’ll make you a cool drink. Captain Amos brought some limes up from Fremantle yesterday.’ ‘That will be very pleasant, Sarah. You must thank Captain Amos on my behalf.’ ..... Sarah smiled wryly to herself. She had no intention of telling Captain Amos that his limes ended up flowing down Mrs Roe’s thirsty throat. Captain Amos despised ‘them folks’, as he referred to the gentry. He could say nothing good about men like Stirling and Roe who administered the government 76

of the new colony. But despite his ferocious appearance and harsh words, he was a gentle man and had taken a particular liking to Tommy, bringing the boy a carved toy or a special shell when he came up the river. Sarah knew that Captain Amos was fond of her, as well. He brought her the occasional gift of food, such as the limes which were a special treat in the hot summer. She accepted the gifts but did not encourage him. Tommy was enough family for her. She was not interested in a man for herself. Not after seeing what Fraser had done to her mother. Now Sarah busied herself making the lime drink, and when Sophia was satisfied and bubbling her little burps on Sarah’s shoulder, Matilda Roe sipped it gratefully. Sophia sighed herself asleep and Sarah gently laid her in her little bed. ‘You have a long sleep now, you hear?’ she whispered to the baby, then went to help Matilda remove her boots and stretch out on her bed. Matilda’s head sank gratefully onto her pillow. ‘You’ll be in the annex?’ The annex was Sarah’s corner off the back of the last packing case that bounded the Roe’s territory. It was in sun most of the day and the evening breeze missed it completely. It was a hotbox and Sarah spent as little time in it as possible. ‘We need more water. I’ll fetch it.’ Sarah had a special errand in mind today. ‘You can go see the boy tonight. Let Sutherland fetch the water. I want you here.’ Matilda’s eyes were closed but she sounded very much awake. Sarah slid her hand into her pocket and touched the woven knot that Mina had given her. It was a dark, heavy weight in her apron pocket. She had to find Bilu and ask her about it. ‘Sutherland’s busy and anyway, he doesn’t like going to the spring. I’ll only be a short while.’ ‘What about your sewing?’ Matilda’s dark eyes opened and their sharp gaze fixed on Sarah. When she first came to work for Matilda, Sarah had offered to alter one of her dresses. She 77

did such a good job that now every spare moment was filled with sewing for Mrs Roe’s wardrobe. Sarah did it gladly, thinking that here was another way she could bind herself to the Roes and bring closer the time when Tommy would be with her. But today she had to find Bilu, had to find out the meaning of this knot. ‘I’ll be sewing beside Sophia when she wakes, Ma’am. You must rest. New mothers need to rest.’ This last statement was delivered in a calm, authoritative tone of voice, even though Sarah was filled with impatience. Snatching up the bucket, she turned and almost ran along the faint path that led eventually to the spring under the limestone cliffs. Bilu will be there, Sarah told herself. I’ll give this knot and its heavy dark mystery back to her. But Bilu was not waiting for her at the spring and although she called and called her name, the dark woman did not step smiling from the trees to greet her. So Sarah turned the bucket upside down and sat down to wait. SARAH BODKIN It’s the only thing I can think to do, sit here and look at this strange knot of string and wait for Bilu. I wonder, where does she go when she’s not here, waiting for me? Where does she live? Eat? Mr Roe says there’s a camp, up on top of the hill. But I’ve always met her here and down by the river. Maybe she’s down there, fishing. I’ll go and look for her there. But first, a drink of water. Ah, the water’s so cold, right out of the heart of the rock, so ... Who’s there? Was that someone, hiding back in the trees? ‘Bilu?’ No. Bilu would come out into the light, not frighten me like this. ‘Who is it?’ But no one answers my call and I stand beside the spring, listening to the silence. After a while, I know that whoever it was has gone away and I’m alone. Without thinking, I pull the knotted string from my pocket, 78

thinking to pass the time with it. It feels so dangerous. And I feel so silly! How can a little bit of knotted grass string frighten me so? But sitting here on Mrs Roe’s bucket, I remember something that frightened me in the same way. Boas’ stick. I had this same feeling about her stick. The first time I saw it, she was holding it in her two fists. I’m afraid of that stick, I thought. Oh, my eyes sting, it’s the tears. God, take it away, take this terrible memory, even worse than Mum’s face when she cried. Oh, where is Bilu? Why isn’t she here? I need her. I feel good when she looks at me. Boas had dark eyes, like Bilu’s. But they didn’t make me feel good. Stop this, Sarah! I will never see Boas, ever again! I have a good family here, with little round fat Phia, and soon Tommy will be with me to kiss her toes and tickle her fat little tummy and make her happy. I must stop thinking about Boas and her stick. It’s all over. And the dreadful knot in my pocket won’t stay dreadful when Bilu explains. Maybe I should think about it, remember one last time about Boas. About Boas and her stick. At first the story was that Boas carried her stick for the horses. She was a grand horsewoman as a young girl, the story went. Until she fell. She was beating her horse to make it go faster. Well, if I were a horse, I’d throw her off and stamp on her, which is what the horse did. She never rode again. Her back mended but it was crooked. But Boas kept her stick. She punched and poked ‘her girls’ savagely with it, in the ribs, on the shoulders, the arms ... back ... hands. But the most terrible thing ... I need another drink of water before I can go on with this. This is hard, this memory. Hard as the rock under my knees as I bend over the spring, cup my hand and dip it into the water. After drinking, I lean back and look down at my cupped hand, the drops of water glinting on its palm. 79

I look at the palm of my hand and I see ... The black swan’s egg Bilu put there, greenish white, warm in the palm of my hand and that is good. I look and I see ... The hard black stick that Boas laid in my palm the day she said ‘It’s time you learned what your little purse is for.’ The look in her eye, the one she looked out of because her other eye wandered off, not seeing anything; the look in her real true eye fixed on me was as wicked as the eye of a snake. ‘Lie still,’ she hissed, heaving up my skirt and pulling at my stockings, ‘and it won’t hurt.’ She lied. It did hurt. There was pain and blood, I could hardly stand, after. Don’t you ever do that to me again! I screamed the words in my head but I was afraid to say them aloud. I knew it would mean more of the stick. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ growled Boas. ‘You’ve no one but me.’ She was right. Mum couldn’t have me, not where she was in service. I wanted to tell her when she next came to visit. I almost said, ‘Take me away,’ but I knew Boas was somewhere close by, her wandering eye chasing some invisible thing and her evil eye fixed on me as she smacked her stick on the palm of her hand. ‘I’m happy here,’ I told Mum. What a liar I was. I should go back to the tent but I can’t, not while my eyes are all red and burning from the tears. I’ll go down along the river and hunt for Bilu. If she’s not there, then I’ll go back. BILU Bright one bring your bound-up fear to the mother river let this dark thing that clouds your eye wash away in the mother’s tears Bright one. Come. ..... 80

Bilu was kneeling on the sand, holding a tortoise, as Sarah staggered onto the beach, her face streaked with tears. ‘Bilu. Help me,’ she croaked, holding the little knot before her in both hands. As she stumbled towards Bilu, pleading with her to take away the knot and the stick, she did not notice the dark young man watching from behind the reeds.

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chapter nine TWO FISH

‘Sophia is awake.’ Matilda Roe was standing outside the tent when Sarah returned. Sarah lowered the full bucket gently to the ground. ‘I’ll fetch her.’ She tried to keep her face turned away from Mrs Roe. She was feeling strange and she was sure it showed in her eyes. ‘You were away a long while. Did you see the boy?’ ‘No. It was so hot, I couldn’t walk fast.’ Sarah wiped her hands on her apron, her fingers lingering over the empty pocket. What had happened to the knot? The last she remembered was holding it out to Bilu, crying, ‘What is this dreadful thing?’ Did Bilu have it now or had Warlu picked it from the sand and kept it? ‘I went to the river. It’s cool there.’ ‘You must be more careful,’ scolded Matilda. ‘You shouldn’t wander about on your own. The blacks are all around.’ She peered more closely at Sarah. ‘Your hair is damp.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Sarah and ducked into the tent to bend over Sophia who, unbelievably, was again hungry. Sarah lifted the baby and buried her face in her soft neck. ‘I’ll give you a cool

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bath after your feed, chickie,’ she whispered and delivered her to Mrs Roe. Then Sarah retreated to her annex and took up the sleeve she was altering. Matilda wanted it to be in the new leg-ofmutton style but Sarah didn’t think that there was enough fabric to do that and still have enough for a full skirt. Never mind about that now, she thought. She would use this time to think about what had happened at the river. Especially the last part, after she came out of the water, after she ate the roasted flesh of the tortoise. She let her mind go back to Bilu and the river. To him. Warlu. Sarah’s fingers trembled as she drew the needle neatly in and out. She remembered stumbling onto the beach, driven by fear and terror. ‘I thought it was all behind me, but it wasn’t,’ she whispered. Boas’ stick had sent her staggering onto the beach and into Bilu’s arms. Had sent her to Warlu. To the river. SARAH BODKIN Bilu speaks gently to me, taking that dreadful knot out of my hands and pointing with it to the cliff above or maybe to the sky. I shake my head and try not to cry. I am so cold. I rub my hands on my arms, shivering, my teeth chattering. But my face is burning, my tangled hair is plastered to my forehead and neck, falling into my eyes. Bilu touches my face and feels the heat. She stops trying to explain about the knot and undresses me. All the while she is drawing off my chemise, my apron and skirt, my stockings, she murmurs to me, stopping now and then to stroke my face. Her warm dry hands calm me and the shivering stops. I stand naked. Bilu turns towards the reeds and a young man steps out onto the beach. ‘Warlu,’ she says. She touches his shoulder. ‘Warlu.’

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He is young and has Bilu’s bright smile. He lays two fish down beside the tortoise and sets about making a fire. Bilu takes my hand and we walk into the river. At first I wade in only to my knees. I stop there and look out over the water. Close to the opposite shore a small boat is bucketing along towards Fremantle. It has a red sail. Can they see me, the sailors on that boat? I cover my breasts with my hands and follow Bilu into the cool river. The water rises over my belly, my breasts, to my shoulders. Suddenly, there’s nothing under my feet and my head bobs under. I close my eyes and hold my breath, waiting for Warlu’s arms to lift me through the water to the sunlight. I know he is in the river with me. I smile as his arms lift me and my face floats out of the water. ‘Shhh. Shhh,’ croons Bilu as I float on his arms. Bilu touches my breasts, my nipples, with the tip of a finger. She lightly drags her fingernails down over my belly. I give myself up entirely to Bilu and Warlu and the river. I’m not afraid, even when he takes his arms away and I sink down, down, down. I open my eyes and the sunlight is floating above me on the water. My hair floats up around my face. Warlu lifts me up and lets me sink down. Again and again, his arms lift me through the water to the sun and air and then allow me to sink beneath the surface. Finally, I roll away from him and dive down through the water, stroking it with my fingers, catching a long floating weed, dragging my hand through sand, stirring up a dark cloud that engulfs me. A hand draws me up but I am not yet ready for sun and air. Once more I dive down and lay on the sand while Bilu swims above me. Her shadow passes over my naked body which glows a pale green. I could stay here forever. Forever. I am at peace here, washed clean of Boas and her stick, drifting free of Mrs Roe and her refusal of Tommy. I am like a knot which has come undone and floats free. 84

I lay on the bottom of the river for a very long time, my hair fanning my cheeks, the sand caressing my shoulders. Just as my breath is about to run out Warlu comes to me and pulls me up into the sunlight. Bilu is waiting for me and we wade back to the beach. I feel heavy and sad and the water drags at my legs and feet. I wrap myself in my skirt and sit on the sand with Warlu and Bilu. We eat the flesh of the tortoise and fish which he has roasted on his small fire. I have never tasted sweeter fish. ..... ‘Sarah!’ It was Mrs Roe, lifting the flap of the tent. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Startled, Sarah’s hands began to tremble and she took a deep breath, willing them to be still. ‘Is it Sophia? Do you want me to see to her?’ ‘No. Mrs Leake has come to visit and I’d like you to make tea. Oh,’ she turned and nodded at the sleeve on Sarah’s lap. ‘Bring your sewing with you. She wants to see it.’ When Mrs Leake’s cup was empty, she patted a low stool beside her. ‘Sit here, Sarah. Now, Mrs Roe tells me that you are an accomplished seamstress.’ Sarah, still in a daze from her afternoon in the river, could only stare. ‘Well?’ Mrs Leake’s eyebrows rose. ‘Show her the sleeve, Sarah,’ suggested Mrs Roe, and the sleeve was duly examined and discussed. Sarah explained how she was altering the cut so as to achieve the effect of fullness with a limited amount of fabric. ‘You’re clever with your needle, my dear,’ said Mrs Leake. ‘And you,’ she leaned forward and nodded to Mrs Roe, ‘you are fortunate to have her in your employ.’ Mrs Roe smiled and Sarah looked down at the sleeve.

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1829 FASHION NOTES Leg-of-mutton sleeves also came in ... with moderately full skirts, stiffened out by petticoats underneath. These sleeves were tremendously full at the top ... but tight from elbow to wrist ... .....

That evening, Sarah rocked Tommy on her lap while she told Anne about Mrs Leake’s visit and the examination of the legof-mutton sleeve. ‘So what is it all about?’ Anne’s voice was eager. ‘Do you think Mrs Leake wants you to sew for her?’ ‘I don’t know when I’d have time for more sewing,’ Sarah sighed. ‘My day is full enough now.’ ‘It would be to your advantage,’ said Anne. ‘Mrs Leake and her husband are friends of the Stirlings. She could recommend you to them. You could set yourself up as a dressmaker.’ ‘But I have my place now, with the Roes.’ Anne gave Sarah a look. ‘You could have Tommy with you, then.’ Sarah’s mind whirled. Could she set herself up as a dressmaker? She remembered the little house in Fremantle. Of course! She and Tommy could live in one like that and while he learned his letters, she could sew leg-of-mutton sleeves all day long. Just then, Dr Whatley returned and Anne bustled about, giving him his supper. ‘Do me a story,’ Tommy demanded, and Joanna climbed up and sat on her other knee. Sarah drew out Bilu’s string and began the love knot story. ‘No, no!’ said Tommy, clutching at the string. ‘Don’t like that story. Don’t like the princess.’ So Sarah told the story about the little bird. Bilu had shown her how to make the little hopping figure between her hands and Tommy and Joanna were fascinated. So were Anne and 86

Dr Whatley, and Sarah had to repeat the moving string figure several times. ‘Where did you learn that?’ asked Anne. She leaned closer and rolled the string between her fingers. ‘What is that string made of?’ ‘Oh, just look at my fingers!’ Sarah cried, holding out her hand. ‘All rough from needle pricks.’ Anne dropped the string and Sarah rolled it up and tucked it away while Anne inspected her fingers. ‘You need a thimble,’ Anne stated. ‘I’ll dig one out of my sewing box tomorrow. Surely the Roes don’t have that much to stitch up.’ ‘I only do what she asks,’ said Sarah. Dr Whatley cleared his throat. ‘Have you asked Mrs Roe about Tommy?’ ‘Yes, Sir.’ Sarah hugged the sleepy boy closer. ‘But with Mr Roe being away on expedition, not much work has been done on the house. Mrs Roe goes up to look at it and comes back very discouraged. And Tommy can’t be with me until we’re in the house.’ Dr Whatley and his wife exchanged a glance and suddenly Sarah felt afraid. ‘What is it?’ ‘We’ve discussed the problem and decided that we can take Tommy with us,’ said Dr Whatley. Sarah felt as if she had been struck in the stomach. ‘Take Tommy?’ she gasped. ‘What are you talking about? Take him where?’ ‘Take him with us, when we go to take up our land grant. We received word today. We’ll be going up as soon as protection can be arranged. I gather we’re to be assigned someone from the regiment. I’ve asked for Hall, he’s reliable. Has trouble with his lungs, and I’ve been ...’ But Sarah did not hear what Dr Whatley had been doing for Hall’s lungs, her mind was whirling in a storm of fear. Tommy going upriver! No! 87

‘I don’t want Tommy to go,’ she interrupted Dr Whatley. ‘But you can’t have him ...’ Panic deepened Sarah’s voice. ‘No! I’ll talk to Mrs Roe again. Tomorrow, first thing. I’ll ... I’ll explain, tell her Tommy must come and be with me because you’re going away.’ And Sarah did speak to Mrs Roe first thing, holding her hands tightly at her waist and hoping against hope. But the answer was still the same. ‘Not until we are in our house, Sarah.’ Matilda Roe’s lips were set firmly in an expression that was becoming very familiar to Sarah. ‘Not until we are in our permanent quarters. Until then, you will have to make other arrangements.’ 1 February 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY It was noon before we were ready to embark. Hall was sent on a few days before to burn some of the ground, and to take care of the stock that was sent on to the grant. John and I and the children, with Dorothy and Woods, left Perth and proceeded up the Swan, but having a heavily laden punt, and a sluggish wind, we got on very slowly. When we reached Glover’s where the flats commence, the men were obliged to get out and push the boat. A small party of natives trailed us from the bank, and began chasing after us for ‘good-good’, but fortunately we got into deep water in time to escape them — they cannot swim. 22 February 1830

SARAH BODKIN When I read Anne’s letter, I know that those natives are having a great joke, making fun of Anne. They swim like fish. I should know. I’ve been swimming again with Bilu many times. Alone. Warlu hasn’t been there and there is no sign of that dreadful knot that Bilu gave me. Bilu asks me about Phia and rocks her arms as if she were holding a baby. I wonder 88

about this. She’s never shown any interest in Phia since Boxing Day, when she blessed her. I love sinking into the river. And now, I can swim. Not as well as Bilu, but I swim. And when I do, I am a swan. A beautiful black swan. I laugh at Anne, writing in her diary and then in my letter about the blacks that cannot swim. But I’m grateful to her for sending me news of Tommy. Even though Anne doesn’t love Tommy, it’s kind of her to write to me. Oh, my eyes! The tears! They burn so. It hurt so to send my Tommy away but it’s the only thing I could do. I gave Dr Whatley the money from Fraser’s tools. He didn’t want to take it but Anne said that he should. She said that it was enough. For a while. On the day they left, Tommy turned his little face away from me and refused to say goodbye. I tried to make him smile with my new string story about a kangaroo but he pushed me away. As the boat moved off, he buried his head in Anne’s lap. Little Joanna didn’t look happy about Tommy taking over her mum’s lap. Nor did Anne. My last sight of her was with her lap and arms full of blubbering babies. Well, I thought, it’s not going to be a very happy voyage up the river for Anne Whatley, that’s plain to see. That’s another day I will never forget. How could I forget standing on the jetty and waving my brother away up the Swan River? They had a small boat for the journey and I worried about it taking on water. What if it sank? Why didn’t they wait for Captain Amos? He would have looked after Tommy. Amos would be better than that Woods, sitting on the boat beside his wife Dorothy, staring around like an idiot. He wouldn’t care if Tommy fell overboard. They could all go over the side and he would still sit there, staring and staring. I said to my Tommy, ‘You must sit still so you don’t fall into the water.’ There have been two drownings here in the Colony so far; one a child. I should have taught him to swim. 89

It’s so easy. But if I had, Tommy would have told Anne and she would want to know how I had learned, and how to explain that? Now, too late, I think that I could say that I taught myself. As the boat drew away, Anne urged Tommy to wave and finally he turned and waved his hand and oh, it made my heart hurt so to see his little face so sad. I tried not to but I wept and my face got all hot and streaked with tears. I couldn’t let Mrs Roe see me so sorry looking so I went to the stream at the bottom of the gully that runs down just below Government House, to wash away the tears. Warlu was there, standing in shadow, the dark green shadows of the castor oil plants. WARLU Bright one. Eyes dark with sadness. SARAH BODKIN He’s so dark and yet bright at the same time. In the sunlight, he seems to shine. He calls to me. ‘Sabah! Sabah!’ He wants me to come to him. For a moment, I hesitate. What if someone should see me? But then my feet take me to him. I see that he’s wearing that knot, the dreadful one. He’s wearing it on a cord around his neck. I touch it. ‘What is this?’ I ask with my lips and my eyes. He covers my hand with his and then lays the palm of his hand above my heart. ‘Understand?’ his eyes ask. I shake my head. ‘No!’ I wish I hadn’t asked the question. I don’t want to know. Again Warlu places the palm of his hand on the knot and says a word, a strong word. Slowly his hand lifts and the palm is turned towards me. Again he rests it over my heart. ‘Phia,’ he says. ‘Phia.’ ‘Phia?’ My heart gives a great leap in my chest and I run 90

away from him and his saying Sophia’s name, stagger up out of the gully to the Terrace. When I turn and look down, oh dear God, he is so bright, his skin shines with such colour and the knot is a blaze on his chest and I am so afraid. What has the knot to do with baby Sophia? He vanishes into the dark green shrubs and I’m alone with the sun in my eyes and the empty river before me. ..... Yesterday was a day for messages. Anne’s letter arrived. It’s been three weeks since Tommy sailed up the river. Three long weeks. Anne writes that Tommy is safe at ‘Hone’s Green’, that’s what Dr Whatley has named their new home. It’s the name of the place back home where his people live. Anne writes that the new Hone’s Green, where Tommy lives, is close to the river. I also received a message from Bilu. A twisted knot, left on my pillow. It’s different from the one she gave me when Phia was born. It’s round and opens out. There’s something small inside, like a curled up worm. I’m afraid of this knot, too. I’ve not been well, especially in the mornings. It’s because I miss Tommy so. Also, we have been having very hot days. At night, the sky is red from the bushfires. Roe says that they are set by the natives to clear out the old dry bush. Ready for spring rains and new growth. I burned Bilu’s worm knot in our fire.

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chapter ten TWO WOMEN FIGHTING WITH STICKS

SEPTIMUS ROE ... from Port Leschenault ... Roe led a group of the ‘gentlemen’ volunteers ... to the Collie and Preston Rivers. The country they crossed in the area of the Collie River ... was superior to any they saw during the 50-mile trek. Roe wrote of ‘beautiful open forest country, swelling gradually in hill and valley and abounding in excellent timber growing in good soil.’

1 March 1830

SARAH BODKIN I wish I had a diary like Anne’s, so that when Tommy comes back, I could read out what happened on the days when he wasn’t here with me. ‘Mr Roe is still away on his expedition,’ I’d read and Tommy’d ask, ‘What expedition?’ and I’d tell him about Mr Roe and the soldiers and the other men going out to look at the land. Oh, I miss Tommy so. It’s making me ill. I can’t eat properly. I’m sure that’s it. It has to be. My longing to hold 92

Tommy and stroke his curls is sickening me, making my body weak. My fear of the river at Hone’s Green and the dark bush around Tommy is making my head whirl. Please God, look after him. This is what I pray over and over, especially on Sundays, sitting beside Mrs Roe with Sophia in my arms. From my accustomed seat in the little church, I peek out through a chink in the wall, which is only rushes plastered over with mud. Under our hot sun the mud has dried and cracked and bits have fallen away. I can see down the hill to the river, glinting in the sun. God who made the river, I pray, don’t let Tommy go near the water. Keep him safe at Hone’s Green. If I could believe God was answering my prayer, I wouldn’t feel so sick. 7 March 1830

SARAH BODKIN Bilu left another of the worm-in-the-bud string figures on my pillow. She comes like a dream in the night. The little worm thing is bigger and has two eyes. I burned it. I’m busy with little Phia. She is a delightful baby. I am sewing for Mrs Roe. She says that soon we will be in the house. The weather is changing, not so hot. That’s why I can’t eat in the morning and keep it down. It’s the change in the weather. BILU Bright one it lies curled in your belly secret child of river spirit. Bright one man with blue eye away there beyond river on to other river away that way. 93

Bright one what does he seek? MATILDA ROE The house is gradually taking shape. Septimus has picked a splendid site for our new home. They’re breaking up the packing cases tomorrow for the floor in the sitting room and front bedroom. It’ll move faster when Septimus returns. I walk to the house every day. It’s cooler. I want to be in the house before the winter rains come. Sarah and Sophia accompany me to inspect the house. Sophia is a rosy, happy child. Her father will be surprised at how she has grown. Sarah, I wonder about Sarah. She’s very pale at times. I suggested a tonic for her stomach, to settle it, but I’m not sure if she followed my advice. I hope I will not have another Maria on my hands. Last night I heard Sarah calling out in her sleep and she sounded so desperate that I went to her. She was in a real lather, hot and sweaty and quite wild-eyed. A bad dream, she said. Tommy in the river. Perhaps I should have let her keep the boy with her. But with Septimus away, I need her day and night. For Sophia. Oh, I miss Septimus so. SEPTIMUS ROE The district around the Preston river, they found, was not so fertile as that about the Collie ... despite this ‘no soil can be finer than that on its immediate banks, and the country through which it winds from the south-east is more uniform and easy of access.’ The men were greatly encouraged by what they had seen. Indeed, Roe was among those who took up land there. 8 March 1830

SARAH BODKIN If I were writing in my diary today for Tommy, I’d describe 94

Mrs Roe and Mrs Leake walking along the Terrace to inspect the progress made in the building of the Roe house. I would write about how delightful it is to be trailing along behind the two women, carrying Sophia in my arms. She is a lovely baby, eyes so bright. She leans back against my arms and stares up at the sunlight flickering on the leaves of the trees. Mr Roe has named it St Georges Terrace. He’s laid it out as a wide street, with tall trees on either side. It’s pleasant walking along beneath the trees, my shadow flickering in and out of the shade. Down the hill on the right, the river sparkles in the sun. This is a busy street, many houses going up. They’ve begun work on Dr Collie’s house and also Mr Broun’s. This will be the finest street in Perth, Mrs Roe told Mrs Leake. All the best homes will be here. We cross the brook on the new footbridge, our feet thumpthump-thumping on the wood. I make up a little song about the sound of our feet. I sing it for Sophia but it’s really for Tommy. I’ll sing it for him when he comes back. I turn my head and look down into the gully beneath the bridge. This is where I ran the day Tommy went away. It’s almost choked with castor oil plants, very dark and wild looking. I dread seeing Warlu standing there, his hand out to me and the knot blazing on his chest. But there’s no one in the gully, hiding among the castor oil leaves. I bounce Sophia to hear her gurgle and follow the ladies. The Roe house will be almost at the end of the Terrace, on a rise which gives a good view of the river. There will be a garden going all the way down to the water’s edge. While Mrs Roe and Mrs Leake talk, their bonnets almost touching and their skirts dragging in the sand, I look down at the river and think how cool it would feel on my bare skin. I shiver at this secret thought and hug Sophia closer. Mrs Roe and Mrs Leake have turned and are looking at me. Did they see me shiver? I smile and lift little Phia’s hand in a wave to her mummy. I smile and smile at the women. Mrs Roe has noticed that I can’t eat in the mornings. She 95

wants me to drink a tonic. I’m afraid of what I don’t want to know. A tonic is no use. That I do know. When I get very afraid, I imagine I am swimming and then I dive down through the water and fall asleep on the sandy bottom. Forever. I can’t write that in my pretend diary. Can’t tell that to Tommy when he comes home to me. I hurry to join the ladies and we inspect the house. The walls are in place and it’s possible to see where the rooms will be, to judge their size and their relationship to one another. I stay close behind the ladies, listening to Mrs Roe tell Mrs Leake what the rooms are for. I want to know if there’s a place for Tommy in the house. I want to tell Mrs Roe that Tommy won’t take up much room, that he can sleep on a pallet beside my bed and his little clothes will go in the trunk with mine. He’ll play quietly, either in our room or out in the garden. There’s room for a large garden in back of the house. Mrs Roe tells Mrs Leake that Mr Roe is considering building a workplace there for himself. Well then, I think, Tommy won’t bother Mr Roe. He can play in the bushy garden while I’m in the house. When I have a bit of time to spare, he and I will go down to the river. I’ll teach him how to swim. Just as Bilu taught me. And Warlu. That day we ate the flesh of the tortoise and fish. It was delicious and sweet. And then ... SARAH BODKIN’S DREAM She is sewing a little dress, embroidering a love knot on the tiny collar, when Mrs Roe comes in and snatches it out of her hand and begins to rip out the embroidery. ‘No! No!’ Sarah cries, trying to snatch back the dress. Mrs Roe becomes Boas and punches Sarah in the stomach with her stick and she wakes with a deep pain stabbing her in the belly, low down. 96

Mrs Roe is standing beside her bed. ‘A dream, nothing but a dream,’ Sarah tells her and when Matilda has gone away, back to her own bed, Sarah lies with her hand on her belly and hopes that tomorrow the bleeding will come. ‘Surely it will come tomorrow,’ she whispers into the dark night. But the next morning when she looks, there’s no monthly blood. 1829 FASHIONS A kind of coat called a ‘Sack’ was worn by either men or women, hanging loosely from the shoulders.

SARAH BODKIN Mrs Roe and Mrs Leake sit in the shade to rest and talk after inspecting the house. I sit a little way away, making string figures for Sophia. She grabs the string and stuffs it in her mouth. I can hear what the women are saying. They make no attempt to lower their voices. It’s as if I were deaf or not even here. Mrs Roe is talking about the celebratory service to be held in the church. It’ll be an evening service, with candles. Mrs Roe is concerned because the church is so very small and built of rushes. She’s worried about fire. I’ve learned that Mrs Roe is a very careful person. Very careful. The candles will be lovely in that small church with the dark bush all round and the stars shining down. Lovely. Mrs Leake says that she’d like to have one of those new Sacks to wear to the service. She’s sure that it’ll be cool enough in the evening for such a garment. She describes it carefully and I wonder how she knows what the Sack looks like in such detail. According to her, they can be worn by either men or women. Maybe Mrs Roe will want me to sew one for her. She’s a small woman and walks with her head up, which gives her a gallant air. She would look smart in a Sack. Then I laugh to 97

myself, thinking that Mr Roe will not be pining after such a garment. He’s a very down-to-earth man and prefers his blue coat with the red collars and gold crown buttons. It’s while I am laughing about Mr Roe in a Sack that I remember what Anne said about being a seamstress and sewing for the other ladies. About having Tommy with me. I don’t want to be a seamstress, all alone at night in my little hut like poor Emma, whose baby died before it was born. But I could do extra sewing, earn money to send up to Tommy. Suddenly, I am struck by a new idea. I can pay room and board for Tommy. Pay Mrs Roe! I decide that I’ll ask Mrs Roe if I can sew a Sack for Mrs Leake. I can do it at night, when Phia is asleep. Mrs Leake will pay me for the Sack and, if it’s good, I can sew for the other ladies. Sacks and leg-of-mutton sleeves and whatever they want. I’ll have money to pay Mrs Roe and Tommy can come home and not have to wait for the house to be finished. And maybe, when I have enough money, I will be brave enough to build me a little wattle-and-daub house for Tommy and me and ... Sophia begins to cry. I walk with her, pointing out the trees and birds and flowers. The foliage and undergrowth are dry after the hot summer and there aren’t as many flowers as there were in October. Sophia’s a delightful child and if I didn’t love Tommy so much, I would love her. She’s bright, holds her head as still as still, drinking everything in with her big eyes. I stop when I can no longer see Mrs Roe and Mrs Leake although I can still hear the men working on the house. I step into the bush, to show Sophia a bright blossom. Suddenly, Warlu is standing before me. I have come too far. He stands in a patch of sunlight, the knot gleaming on his chest. I’m not afraid of him. It’s myself I fear. I want to touch him, put my hand on his chest and feel his heart beating beneath my palm. I want to slide down into the water and feel 98

him holding me against the death that waits there, feel him pull me up to the sunlight. Sophia cries because I am hugging her so hard. Warlu grins and holds out his hand. In the palm is a shell. I take it and hold it up for Sophia to see. Then Warlu does something that fills me with fear. He tries to take Phia out of my arms. ‘No!’ I protest, hugging her tightly and backing away. Then Warlu says a long string of words and points at the tree and the river and then at Phia. He can’t have little Phia! I scream at him, ‘No! Get away! Don’t touch her, get away!’ Phia is howling at the top of her lungs. Warlu talks louder and tries to tear the baby from my arms. I turn and run, stumbling, telling myself that I must not fall, that I must save Phia. I run through the trees and along the Terrace to the halffinished house. I see Mrs Roe. She and Mrs Leake have turned to look at me. I look back and Warlu is gone. I stop running and pat little Phia’s back until she is quiet. I walk slowly, collecting myself, my thoughts. What does Warlu want with Sophia Roe? Why did he try to steal her from my arms? ..... The day after Warlu tried to take Sophia, Sarah approached Mrs Roe with her sewing proposition. She had dug deep in her trunk for the shift she had made for her mother and the tiny dress she had made for Tommy. Smoothing the soft linen with her hands brought back for Sarah the long hours of sewing under Boas’ wandering eye. She remembered the woman’s constant stream of criticism and ridicule. ‘Stupid Sarah,’ Boas had called her. ‘Simple, stupid Sarah.’ 99

Well, in the end, thought Sarah, she turned me into a good seamstress. My stitches are even and fine and my tucking is superb. I have the word of Boas on that. A very grudging word, it was, too. ‘Do me a good turn for once,’ Sarah muttered to the memory of Boas and took the garments to show Mrs Roe. Matilda was impressed. ‘These are very fine.’ Sarah decided to start with the Sack. ‘I could sew one for you for the church service.’ ‘That’s very thoughtful, Sarah,’ said Matilda. ‘And for Mrs Leake, as well.’ Matilda Roe looked at Sarah sharply. ‘Why for Mrs Leake?’ Keeping her voice low, Sarah poured out her plan, how she would sew for the other ladies and use the money that they paid her to pay Mrs Roe for Tommy’s lodgings. How Tommy could sleep on a pallet and play in the garden and later, Sarah could build a little house and ... Matilda Roe was so affronted at what she understood to be bribery and a desire to leave her employ that it took her a moment to collect herself. When she did, Sarah was silenced with one sharp word. ‘No!’ ‘But Ma’am ...’ ‘You have made a contract to work for me and that does not include sewing for anyone else, not even Lady Stirling. Is that clear?’ Matilda did not wait for a comment from Sarah. ‘The boy is not part of the contract and will come to live in my house only if I choose to let him. And I must warn you, I fear that his presence will be disruptive and take you away from your proper duties to this household.’ It took all Sarah’s strength to stand silent and calm before Mrs Roe’s tirade. When the woman had finished, she bobbed her head and turned to leave. Matilda’s voice stopped her. ‘You would never survive here as a seamstress. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes, Ma’am, I understand,’ answered Sarah, and left the tent.

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22 March 1830

SARAH BODKIN Little Bonny Dutton, who lived with his parents at Preston Point a few miles from Fremantle, has been reported lost. Roe brought the news upriver with him when he returned from his expedition.

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chapter eleven A SPEAR

26 March 1830

LETTER FROM ANNE WHATLEY My dearest Sarah, Tommy sends you his love and wants me to tell you that he has begun learning his letters. I did not set out to teach him but he is such a bright and curious little boy and wanted to know how you would understand what I was saying in this letter so I gave him your name to trace. The ‘S’ is the wrong way around and he neglects the second ‘A’ entirely but I enclose the scrap of paper upon which he has, with much much love and care, written your name. He also wanted to be sure that I thanked you for the wooden cart that you sent up with Sergeant Hall. He has hitched the horse to it and created roads for them all around the property. Your Tommy is quite fearless and plays happily in the bush. Joanna has become more fearful because ... Sarah! Four natives have come and are standing about four yards from the doorway, for door, alas, as yet there is not. 102

They came quietly and there they stand without speaking a word. I dare not leave off writing lest they should think I am frightened. Later: I was obliged to leave off to take up my old friend the lockless gun, and slipping on a hat and a jacket, walked out the door looking fierce. One — a very ill-looking old fellow — made a step or two towards the cottage, but the workmen coming back relieved the situation. SARAH BODKIN In my dream, it is snowing. The air is filled with floating flakes of light but when I lift my arms I realise that I am underwater, spiralling through light and shadow. All around me are dark shapes and shadows and I do not want to know who or what they are. I am happy to continue spinning and diving and sliding through the water. A baby floats towards me, one of Mum’s poor, twisted babies. It is struggling with the birth cord which is twisted around its neck. Its face is blue. I struggle to untangle the cord and free the infant but I can’t move. The water has turned cold and thick. It is turning to ice. I hold up the infant and see that it has my face. It stares at me through the thick icy water. ‘Where is Tommy?’ the baby shouts. ‘Where is Tommy?’ 27 March 1830

EXCERPT FROM SARAH’S LETTER TO ANNE WHATLEY Mr Roe has come back with Captain Stirling. Baby Sophia is growing brighter every day. Give my Tommy a kiss and tell him I miss him and he is not to go near the river, he does not swim ... 27 March 1830

DIARY OF ANNE WHATLEY I am very sorry to hear yesterday from Sergeant Hall that Bonny Dutton is lost. From many circumstances it seems but too certain that the natives have carried him off. He 103

was a very fine interesting boy, about four or five. Several men have gone in pursuit, but as yet they have found not a trace of him, except that a native was seen with a piece of cloth like Bonny’s frock, and when asked for the white piccaninny he pointed towards the blue mountains; but ten to one that he knew what was meant. One of the men sent in quest of Bonny Dutton fired at some natives, who, in return, set fire to part of Perth and speared several bullocks.

SARAH BODKIN ‘Tommy!’ Sarah cried. Her throat was on fire and she had to struggle to make herself heard. ‘Tommy where are you?’ She was wandering through the bush, her feet on the track that Tommy had made for the little wooden horse and wagon. She could hear the wagon, creaking and rattling as it trundled through the dry bracken and shrubs ahead of her. Then she was running beside the wagon, the tall ponderous wheel towering over her. Her throat and chest hurt as she struggled to gain on the wagon and reach the front where she was sure that she would find Tommy, perched on the high seat, holding the reins, clicking his tongue at the wooden horse. But there was no one on the driving seat. No one at all. The reins were tied to a post, the wooden horse clip-clopped all alone. All four feet were hopping up and down at the same time. Its long dark mane lifted with the movement of its strange gallop. Sarah groaned and struggled to get ahead of the horse but when she ran out from under its fierce painted eye, she found that there was no track. Bushes snatched at her, held her back. She cried out as thin, needle-sharp twigs clutched at her face and eyes, scraped along her bare arms and back, over her breasts and belly. She looked down and saw that she was naked. Her belly was full and round. ‘Tommy!’ she screamed and tasted smoke. Somewhere, there was fire. The fire might get to Tommy! She couldn’t let 104

that happen. He was so small, he might not know to run from the fire. ‘Tommy! Tommy lost!’ she called, only what came out of her mouth was a howl, because now the sky was red with burning fire. They were burning Tommy, they were going to eat him! They danced towards her from out of the fire. Black shadows with long thin arms and legs and spears tipped with lightning. She could smell the roasting flesh and she lunged up in her bed, a scream locked in her aching throat. Sarah sat trembling for a moment, the bedclothes clutched to her chest, sobbing and gasping. Then she lifted her head and sniffed. The fire was close. She could smell it! She leaped from her bed and ripped aside the tent flap to reveal a red sky to the north, in the direction of the lakes. Smoke was drifting from that direction. All around people were staggering from their tents, shouting and dragging on their clothes. Men were running off in the direction of the fire. ‘Tommy!’ Sarah gasped. He was lost in the fire, she had seen him! Sarah ran, following the shouting men. She ran past terrified women, clutching their shawls and their children. She came to a group of soldiers who put out their arms and tried to stop her but she ran through them as if they were ghosts. Completely caught in her nightmare, Sarah stumbled on towards the real fire that was threatening the settlement. Suddenly she tripped and fell. She couldn’t stop herself, her hands and knees sliding, her shoulder bumping against the spear rising straight and black from the dead bullock’s smoking hide. The acrid smell of burning flesh spurred her on. ‘Tommy,’ she gasped and struggled to her feet. Now there were dark shadows running with her, shouting, waving spears. She ran on as in her dream, running towards the fire where she was sure that Tommy was burning, his curls alight, wisps of smoke rising from him as he clutched his wooden horse and wagon and called to her.

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She heard him. ‘Sarah! I want you! Sarah!’ ‘Tommy, I’m coming!’ she screamed back to him. ‘Sabah,’ he called again and she saw her name dancing in the flames, the backward ‘S’ writhing like a snake and flaring brightly before it coiled back down into the fire. ‘Sabah!’ Tommy called again. Where was he? Where? Frantically she searched for him, for Tommy, his boots and his trousers lost in drifting smoke, his hair alight. Sarah dodged more soldiers who were beating at the fire with bags and tree branches. One tried to grab her nightgown but she tore it from his hands and ran on. When at last a pair of arms caught and held her, she screamed and clawed at them, struggling and weeping until finally she felt her face pressed against bare skin and recognised the smoky smell. It was Warlu, his arms strong as he dragged her away from the flames, hands gentle as he brushed the sparks from her hair, the ash from her eyes. All the while he worked over her, he murmured her name, the sound of his voice calming her. ‘Sabah.’ Over and over. ‘Sabah.’ At last Sarah’s vision cleared and she was out of the nightmare. She saw that it was Warlu and not Tommy who called to her. She smelled the smoke, heard the crackling of the fire through the brush and the soldiers swearing at it as they worked. Sarah began to weep. She wept while Warlu walked her into the darkness, coaxing and hurrying her through the dark bush. She sobbed as Warlu led her on a hidden path around the tents and fires until they reached the river. She continued to cry as he bathed her face and arms, her breasts and shoulders, her lacerated feet and legs, and although the sound of his words was soothing, still she sobbed. ‘Tommy. Tommy,’ cried Sarah. ‘Toomy,’ Warlu crooned, stroking the hair back from her forehead. 106

‘My brother, my little Tommy. I dreamed he was lost, lost like Bonny, lost in the fire, lost, like Bonny, they took him, Bonny. They took him.’ At last she stopped crying and looked into Warlu’s dark eyes. ‘Boony,’ he repeated, but he was only echoing her. He didn’t know where Bonny was. He knew nothing of Bonny, had not been one of the natives that tracked and snatched the little boy from the bush next to the river at Preston Point, bundling him into a small flat boat and gliding away with him down the Swan. If that is what happened. If little Bonny did not drown in the river, all alone. ‘I was dreaming,’ she told Warlu, knowing he couldn’t understand her words any more than she knew what he was saying, ‘but it was so real and oh, what if Tommy is lost to me?’ Again, she wept and Warlu soothed her with his soft words and the cool waters of the river until she wept no more and lay quiet and calm. Then Warlu slipped away into the shadows and left her there. It was almost daylight when Sarah returned to the Roes’ encampment. It looked like all the inhabitants of Perth were awake, which suited her because she was able to slip through the excited crowd, attracting little notice. Sarah paused on the Terrace, watching as the soldiers brought in two natives, one bleeding from a gunshot wound in his side. ‘Serves them right. Stole little Bonny, they did,’ a woman yelled and Sarah shivered. The natives’ arms were bound and the soldiers pushed them along roughly. The wounded man fell heavily and struggled to rise. No one helped him. He lifted his head and stared around wildly, legs scrabbling on the ground. His eyes were wide with terror. ‘Let him die, there on the ground,’ shouted a man. ‘No.’ Another man stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. ‘It was only a bullock, man. And we don’t know they took the boy. We ...’ 107

‘We could’ve been roasted in our beds,’ shouted another. ‘They stole that child. That poor little Bonny!’ ‘Move on!’ yelled the sergeant. ‘Out of the way.’ The wounded native was yanked to his feet and marched off in the direction of the hospital marquee. Grumbling, the people moved away. ‘What’ll happen next?’ one woman wondered aloud. ‘They’re all around us, all around.’ She began to weep. ‘Come on, then, Mother.’ A man threw a rug over her shoulders and led her away. In the sky above the lakes, clouds of smoke drifted seawards as the last of the fires flickered out. Sarah held her head in her hands and leaned against a tree. What was she to do? Her dream said that Tommy was lost. The wounded man had reminded her of Warlu. 29 March 1830

COLONIAL SECRETARY’S OFFICE RECORDS ... that the child belonging to Mrs Dutton was still missing, I am directed by His Excellency to offer a reward of twenty-five pounds ... to be paid after the child’s restoration to its parents. And as there is no evidence or just grounds for believing that the child was taken away by the natives, I am further directed to caution those individuals, who may go out in search of the child, from committing an outrage against the aboriginal race ... on pain of being prosecuted and tried for the offence as if the same had been committed against any other of his Majesty’s subjects. 30 March 1830

SEPTIMUS ROE ‘Sarah, may I speak with you a moment?’ It was several days after the spearing of the bullocks and the fire. Sarah was outside the tent, preparing to do the laundry. Mrs Roe and baby Sophia were still sleeping. 108

‘Of course, Sir.’ Sarah stood quietly beside the large kettle, waiting. Roe had thought about it while he dressed and had decided that the best way to begin this conversation was to plunge straight in. ‘Last night, I saw you with one of the natives. He seemed to be leading you away from the fire. He had his arm around you, supporting you. He was ... appeared to be ... talking to you.’ Sarah stood quietly and gazed straight back at him. Roe waited a moment, hoping that she would speak. At last he went on. ‘Sarah, who is that native?’ The girl did not speak but began to shake her head slowly from side to side. ‘Is he related to the woman who brought Sophia the blue stone?’ Sarah’s head continued to shake slowly from side to side. It was obvious that she could not speak, her throat was working and she had gone pale. Roe hoped that she was not about to burst into tears. ‘You don’t know? Is that it?’ At last the girl stopped shaking her head and took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’ ‘Yes? Yes?’ Roe frowned. ‘You know him?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘He belongs to that woman’s family?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I see.’ Roe studied the girl. What to do? She was a servant in his household and he felt responsible for her. She was young and a good worker. But to be so familiar with the natives. It was strange. And dangerous, both for her and for his family. ‘I must ask you to have no further contact with the natives, Sarah. Do you understand?’ Sarah nodded, looking down at the ground. ‘Especially with the native men. It’s not ... not seemly. Am I making myself clear?’ 109

Sarah looked up, eyes blinking back tears. ‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘Sir.’ ‘Good.’ Roe folded his hands under his coat-tails and turned to gaze down at the river, shining in the morning sunlight. He kept his back to Sarah as he spoke. ‘Mrs Roe and I discussed this incident and we must have your solemn word on this. You must promise that contact between you and this woman and anyone else in her family will never happen again.’ He glanced over his shoulder to see how she was reacting. Sarah’s face was even paler. She lifted her hand and rested it lightly on her apron. He noticed that her hand was trembling. ‘Of course, Sir,’ she said. ‘Fine.’ Roe looked down at his boots. ‘And you? No health problems? You are quite well?’ ‘Well?’ Sarah seemed taken aback by this sudden change in the conversation. ‘I don’t know ...’ Her voice trailed off and she folded her hands over her belly. ‘The heat, perhaps?’ Roe wanted this interrogation to be over. He should have left this line of enquiry for Matilda, but he was concerned about Sarah’s health. In the past weeks she had lost her high colour and developed blue rings under her eyes. Matilda reported that Sarah was not eating well. ‘Yes, Sir.’ Sarah took a deep breath and nodded. ‘The heat.’ ‘Well, it’ll be cooling off soon,’ said Roe, and set off down the hill to his official tent and the business of the day. He felt the force of Sarah’s gaze on his back as he strode along but when he lifted the flap and looked back up the hill, the girl was busily stirring the kettle. Steam rose all about her. 31 March 1830

PART OF A LETTER FROM SARAH BODKIN TO ANNE WHATLEY ... thank you for your letters, they are much appreciated. Your house sounds very homely and comfortable. Kiss Tommy for me and tell him not to go into the bush alone ... and to stay away from the fire ... We will be moving to the 110

Roes’ new house soon ... it is very large ... tell Tommy there is a room for him. 2 April 1830

It was just beginning to grow dark when Matilda went to Sophia’s cot and found it empty. The men began at once to search and it was found that Sarah Bodkin had vanished as well ...

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chapter twelve TREE WITH WOMAN HIDING

ROE FAMILY REMINISCENCES Before they moved up the river to their permanent home, the baby was actually stolen. When Matilda gave the alarm a search was quickly organised, but no sign of the child could be found and the searchers came to the reluctant conclusion that the natives had killed her and they decided that as soon as there was a full moon they would raid the blacks’ camp and punish them for their crime. 2 April 1830

SARAH BODKIN As soon as I found the tangled knot in Sophia’s cot, I knew that it was a message for me. It told me that Warlu had taken Sophia away, perhaps like little Bonny Dutton had been taken. It told me that this dreadful thing had happened because I refused to understand what Bilu needed from me, paid no attention to her messages. So it was up to me. I would have to break my promise to 112

Roe. Phia was with Bilu and Warlu in their camp up on the hill and I was the only one that knew it. So I was the one who could get Phia back. If I hurried, Roe need not know where his child had been and I would be safe. If I failed, all was lost. Tommy, my dream of a home. All lost. Without stopping to think that my disappearance could link me to Phia’s and the soldiers might follow, I grabbed up the knot and ran out of the tent and up the hill. Find Phia! Bring her back! The words repeated themselves over and over in my mind. Bring Phia back and Mrs Roe would be happy with me. Bring Phia home and Mr Roe would stop asking me if I was ill. Everything would be like it was before, with me waiting to send for Tommy to come down the river and live in the Roes’ new house. Almost the way it was before, but I couldn’t think about that now. BILU Bright one he walks with killing sticks over our Mother land his feet/their feet leave a dark spore that kills our Mother kills us. Bright one come to me anger and blood and fire are between us and your clan our Mother is disturbed. Bright one your clan breaks the Mother’s law, spills the blood of her children on her breast. Bright one come. .....

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The light of the waxing moon fell in sheets of pure white light and the shadows lay dark and heavy. The figure of the young woman seemed to flicker as she stumbled from moonlight to shadow, struggling up the steep slope. At times she dragged herself up on hands and knees, clutching at branches and scrabbling over rocky outcrops. Blood streaked her hands and arms, brambles tangled in her hair and tore at her skirt but still she struggled on. Her eyes were wide and staring; she seemed to be in the grip of a nightmare vision that drew her up and up towards the tall trees that crowned the hill. Behind her in the camp, fires flared and threw showers of sparks into the darkness as the men milled about. There was an air of indecisiveness as they gathered in knotty groups that unravelled at a shout and formed up again around the next fire. They avoided the eyes of their women, most of whom sat or stood with arms folded, holding themselves tightly against the night. The soldiers pulled on their uniforms and checked their gear as they hurried to assemble on the grounds below Government House. Already Septimus Roe and Stirling were conferring urgently on the House verandah with the captain of the regiment. Oblivious to the scene behind her, Sarah hurried on. Suddenly she lost her footing and began to slide back down the hill. She gritted her teeth and growled in her throat, clawing at rock and root until, at last, a low bushy branch held and did not tear away. She hung onto it grimly with both hands and lay breathing heavily, pressing herself against the hill. She closed her eyes and the blood thundered in her ears. ‘Please God, don’t let it break, don’t let it break,’ she whispered as her heart and breathing grew quiet. Gradually, she became aware of the sounds around her. There was the hoooo of a bird, the crackle of dried brush beneath her, a sudden rush and rattle of foliage as a breeze slid through the trees and down over the side of the hill. Beyond that, there were faraway sounds that she thought were men shouting. Were 114

the soldiers following her, forcing their way up the hill? The image of Bilu holding out the love knot rose in Sarah’s mind. They’ll shoot her! Shoot Bilu, she thought. They’ll leave her bleeding like the man they’d shot for the bullock. I’ve got to get to her first. She has Phia. Sarah pushed herself up on her knees and took stock of the situation. She had made the mistake of tackling the hill directly at its steepest point instead of taking the longer route north and using one of the tracks that the sawyers had made as they dragged timber down the hill. She was almost at the top so she must keep on going, no matter how difficult it was. She looked up at the almost full moon and that was when she saw him. At first, she took him for a dead tree, blasted by fire. She looked away, searching for another branch to pull herself up with and then, out of the corner of her eye, saw the tree move. She cried out as the shadow drew closer. When he stepped into the light, she saw it was Warlu. He climbed down towards her, his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. ‘Where is she?’ she hissed. Warlu was directly above her, holding out his hand. ‘Sabah,’ he said. ‘Where is Phia? Phia and Bilu? Where?’ Warlu pushed his hand at her and repeated her name. ‘Sabah.’ ‘Sophia? Phia?’ Sarah insisted and at last Warlu nodded. ‘Fi-ah,’ he said and pointed back up the hill. Sarah took his hand, which felt hard and warm in hers, and he pulled her up behind him. Their progress was easy now. Sarah wondered at his ability to lead her so quickly through the tangled vegetation that before had barred her way. Their path wove back and forth but always upward. At the summit, Sarah dragged her hand from his and turned to look back, searching the dark foliage below for soldiers on their way up the hill. But that was silly, she thought. The soldiers would be hidden in 115

the shadows as they followed her. ‘Quickly! Quickly! Phia. Bilu,’ she whispered to Warlu. ‘Yes! Hurry,’ his hand seemed to say as they almost ran through the darkness between the trees. Sarah concentrated on the hand that was pulling her deeper and deeper into the bush. Her first glimpse of the native camp was deceiving. It appeared to be small and far away. It was in a natural clearing with wisps of smoke hanging over a wink of a fire. But then, as she and Warlu drew closer, Sarah saw that there were many fires. Around the fires, the shadows revealed themselves as several large groups of people. Most of them were sleeping in a tangle of legs and arms and dogs. Sarah suddenly felt very afraid. She had never seen so many natives gathered in one spot. Would they waken and rise up against her? She tried to drag her hand away from Warlu but he held it tightly and led her through the camp to the central fire. It burned very brightly despite the fact there were only a few sticks on it. Beside the fire sat a familiar figure. ‘Bilu!’ Sarah cried and ran to the woman. ‘Phia! Where is she? What have you done with her? The soldiers, they’ll come and shoot you!’ Bilu’s warm hands gripped her shoulders, stopping the panicked flow of words. ‘Sabah,’ she said. ‘Sabah.’ Sarah stared into the face of Bilu. How could she make her understand? ‘Phia?’ Sarah whispered hoarsely, gripping the woman’s arm. ‘Sophia? Is she here? Sophia?’ Bilu lifted a hand and gently stroked Sarah’s hair back from her forehead. Then she turned Sarah to face a bushy shadow some distance from the fire. ‘Phia,’ Bilu pointed at the shadow. ‘Where?’ The spot Bilu was pointing at looked like a bush. Would these people leave a baby under a bush? Bilu gave Sarah a little push and she stumbled towards the shadow. As she drew closer she saw that it was a low leafy structure and in 116

the low doorway sat a young woman who lifted her head briefly to smile at Sarah and then looked down at the baby in her arms. The baby was Sophia. Sarah fell to her knees and put out a hand to touch the child. Sophia lay sleeping in the woman’s arms, her cheek pressed against the dark breast, a drop of milk glistening on her chin. ‘Phia,’ whispered Sarah and the baby gave a little snort and sighed. She turned her head and groped with her mouth for the nipple. The woman chuckled and, with her hand, guided it into the baby’s mouth. Sophia suckled mightily for a moment, paused, let it go and slept. The woman lifted her eyes and looked at Sarah. She said something and touched the skin of the sleeping baby, gently drawing her finger along the fat little arm, the thigh, down to the foot, with its pink buds of toes. Sarah held out her arms. ‘She’s mine. Give her to me.’ The woman drew back, retreating into the shadows of the little shelter. Sarah crawled after her, grasping at Sophia, but Bilu stopped her. ‘No! No! Let me have her,’ Sarah cried, struggling against the woman. But Bilu was strong and wiry. She lifted Sarah to her feet and led her back to the fire, where she pushed Sarah to the ground. Now Sarah was truly afraid. ‘Bilu, please,’ she begged. ‘I have to take Phia back! The soldiers will come.’ She imitated shooting a gun at Bilu and the woman drew back. ‘You must understand!’ Sarah grabbed Bilu’s arms and shook her. ‘They will hurt you if you don’t give me the baby! Please,’ she pleaded. Again Bilu pushed her down beside the fire. Gulping back her tears, Sarah looked around. Some of the others were awake now, watching her. She could see their eyes gleaming in their dark faces. The image of the woman in the leafy hut, stroking the soft white flesh of baby Sophia, rose in Sarah’s mind and she felt sick. 117

What did she know of these people? Nothing, really. There had been rumours; tales of cannibalism had drifted among the tents even before little Bonny was lost. ‘They eat their own,’ some of the stories ran. Sarah had turned away, refusing to listen because she couldn’t believe that Bilu, the woman who gave her a black swan’s egg and the freedom of the river, could commit such an atrocity. But why had Bilu and Mina come to see Sophia when she was born? Had they been planning all along to take her away? Or had Bilu been forced to do it because of the men captured for killing the bullocks? Was she to be treated as they had been, bound up and dragged through the camp? Again, that terrible nightmare flashed into her mind; Tommy lost and burning in the fire and the smoking hide of the dead beasts. ‘Tommy,’ Sarah whispered and pushed herself to her knees. ‘For Tommy. I have to get Phia back. Take Phia down the hill to her cot. For Tommy. Tommy.’ Struggling to stand, Sarah looked up at Bilu. ‘I have to take Phia back,’ she said firmly. Bilu held out a shell filled with liquid. She held it to her own lips and then to Sarah’s. ‘Drink,’ she seemed to be saying. Sarah pushed the drink away, struggling to stand. ‘No. Phia!’ Bilu smiled and nodded. ‘Phia,’ she said, then gently touched the shell to Sarah’s lips. ‘Phia.’ ‘You’ll let me have her?’ Sarah caught Bilu’s hands in hers. ‘You’ll let me have Phia?’ Bilu smiled and nodded, pressing the shell to Sarah’s lips. Finally Sarah sipped at the warm liquid. It opened her tight throat and gradually, warmth spread through her body. Sarah had not realised that she was so cold. ‘Ah!’ she breathed as Bilu tipped the shell up for the last drop. ‘Ah!’ she sighed and sank to the ground. She was weary, almost faint with tiredness. Her head felt light and airy. When she opened her eyes, the fire seemed to have taken on a richer glow. A blue mist was rising in the trees and all sounds were fading. 118

Bilu’s brew has put me to sleep, Sarah thought. Oddly, she was no longer afraid and her sense of urgency had eased. She stared at the glowing coals, the empty shell in her hand. ‘I’ll rest a moment and then take Phia back,’ Sarah whispered as Bilu took away the shell and sat down close beside her. The woman began stroking the girl’s arms with the palms of her hands. ‘Yes. I’ll sleep. But only for a moment’ said Sarah and, raising her head, laid it in Bilu’s lap. ‘Then I’ll take Phia home.’ She stared at the winking coals in the fire until her eyes fell shut. ‘Tommy,’ she whispered. ‘Stay away from the fire.’ Then she slept. ..... It was well past sun-up when she woke, and for a moment Sarah lay and looked up at the sky through the trees, remembering nothing of the night before. These trees are very tall, she mused. Their trunks rose thick and powerful from the undergrowth. Birds darted in their leafy upper reaches and Sarah let her gaze follow their flight. Such colourful birds in this grey-green wood. Sarah turned her gaze from the treetops and saw beside her a whisper of a fire. On the other side sat Bilu. She was crooning softly as she wove a string figure, her long slim fingers quick and clever as they pulled and flipped the string. How strange, thought Sarah, to wake and see this woman playing at cat’s cradle under the tall trees and the coloured birds. Then she remembered and sat up. ‘Phia?’ she asked, and Bilu lifted the web of string for Sarah to see. It was a complicated design, new to Sarah, but she couldn’t allow Bilu to distract her again. ‘Phia?’ she repeated urgently and Bilu smiled and nodded, dropping her hands. The loops fell away and the design was lost. 119

Sarah leaned forward. ‘Where is she?’ Again Bilu nodded, this time towards the nearest leafy shelter. When Sarah bent down to look inside, she saw Mina lying beside the sleeping Sophia, fanning the baby with a leafy branch. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Sophia Roe was safe. Sarah could take her back to her mother. Now. Today. Before the soldiers came with their guns. But when Sarah knelt and tried to lift little Sophia in her arms, Bilu was there to stop her. Bilu and Warlu. That was when Sarah realised that she and baby Sophia were prisoners in the blacks’ camp on the hill.

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SARAH BODKIN They didn’t use force. Warlu merely stood guard by the leafy shelter where Sophia lay sleeping. Sarah knew that it was impossible for her to snatch up the child and run away through the thick bush. Sarah’s whole body was suddenly flooded with a wave of desolation and she fell to her knees, weeping uncontrollably. The tears poured from her eyes, cascading down her face to fall on her hands which lay limp and useless in her lap. Eventually, the tears dried up and the wrenching sobs faded. Sarah wiped her face on a corner of her skirt and looked around. Crying was no good. She had to think. If she couldn’t get past Warlu, she would work on Bilu. But how much time did she have before the soldiers came and shot Bilu and Warlu, and found her, Sarah Bodkin, in the native camp with the baby Sophia. ‘I must hurry,’ she whispered. ‘But what to do?’ Sarah approached Bilu who was sitting calmly by the fire, 121

pounding a root out into a fibrous mat. As Sarah knelt beside her, Bilu turned it over and began to pound the other side. The sunlight raised bronze highlights on her shoulders and breasts, the curve of her cheek. Hanging on a cord around her neck was the knot Mina had given to Sarah on Sophia’s birthday. That knot again! Sarah peered at it closely. Yes, it was the one she had mistaken for her own love knot. Did the knot hold the secret of Sophia’s release? If Sarah understood what the knot meant, would Bilu let her have Sophia? As if she heard the questions ringing in Sarah’s head, Bilu ceased her pounding and looked up. Sarah touched the knot. ‘What does it mean?’ she asked. ‘What?’ Bilu looked down at the twist of fibre. Then she lifted her eyes and spoke in a low voice, repeating one word, over and over. ‘Oh, this is ... I don’t know what you mean!’ Sarah reached out for the knot. ‘This is mine,’ she said. ‘Mina gave it to me. What do you want it to tell me?’ Bilu clasped the knot and Sarah’s hand tightly in her own and again spoke, repeating the one word. ‘I don’t understand!’ Sarah cried in frustration and Bilu fell silent, dropping her hand to her lap. Sarah touched the knot, pointed to herself and then to the humpy where Sophia lay sleeping. ‘Tell me,’ she pleaded. Bilu pointed to the humpy and, mimed a child sleeping. Then she pointed to the sun and with her hand, seemed to be pulling it down to the west. Again she mimed sleep. ‘Tomorrow? I’ll take her home tomorrow?’ Sarah repeated Bilu’s sign language and then stood, picked up a pretend baby and walked a few steps away from the fire in the direction of Perth. Bilu again nodded and then did something that surprised Sarah. She removed the love knot from her own neck and 122

solemnly threaded the string over Sarah’s head, letting the knot drop to Sarah’s breast. Sarah was amazed at how heavy it was. ‘Sabah,’ Bilu said and repeated that unknown word. Next, Bilu touched Sarah’s breasts, sliding her hands down until they rested on her gently rounded belly. Again she said that word as she circled her hands over Sarah’s belly. Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered, pushing Bilu’s hands away. Bilu once again touched the knot with the tip of a finger. Bilu knows, thought Sarah, remembering the worm-in-thebud knots. ‘Phia,’ Bilu said and, taking Sarah’s hand, led her away from the leafy hut where Sophia slept and Warlu watched. MATILDA ROE ‘Have they found her?’ Matilda’s usually neat hair hung loosely about her face. ‘Has he sent the soldiers?’ As Septimus Roe lowered the flap of the tent behind him, he thought that instead of making her look younger, as it usually did, her dishevelled hair gave her a haggard air. ‘No. Stirling hasn’t sent soldiers.’ During his career at sea, Roe had become used to long sleepless hours on watch. But this last night and today had been the longest hours of his whole life. Neither he nor Matilda had slept since Sophia and Sarah Bodkin went missing, with Septimus away conferring with Stirling and Matilda pacing back and forth, her small body wrenched by dry sobs. Several of her friends had come to sit with her but she would not be comforted, would not go to her bed. ‘But why?’ Matilda’s red-rimmed eyes bored into his. ‘Sarah took her to those blacks and the soldiers must rescue her!’ Matilda’s body was seized by the wracking sobs again and she clung to her husband, who wrapped her in his arms and rocked her gently. ‘Stirling wants to wait until ...’ 123

‘Wait!’ Matilda shoved him away and stood trembling, fists clenched. ‘Wait? That’s my baby, they’ve taken my baby and you must get her back!’ ‘Matilda. Listen to me.’ Again Septimus Roe folded his wife in his arms, and this time led her to the bed. ‘Sit here with me,’ and he pulled Matilda down beside him and held her close. ‘Now, we don’t know that Sarah took Sophia. She may be out there searching for her.’ ‘We do know,’ Matilda flared up. ‘She’s angry with me because of the boy. Sarah took ...’ ‘Shhhh, shhhhh,’ hushed Roe. ‘Lie down, that’s it,’ and he lay beside her, holding her close. ‘Stirling wants to surprise them. He intends to send a small unit up the hill at night. But we need full moonlight for that.’ ‘How soon?’ The question was a soft whisper. ‘Tomorrow night.’ Gradually the dry sobs abated and, at last, Matilda fell into an exhausted sleep, cradled in her husband’s arms. Roe continued to stroke her hair gently as he stared at the canvas wall of the tent, eyes dark-ringed and desperate. ‘God, keep her safe,’ he whispered. ‘Keep her safe.’ ..... Bilu and Sarah walked for some time through the trees, threading their way from sunlight and shade. Sarah noticed that Bilu moved like a shadow, unscathed by the bush while her own clothing and hair seemed to catch on every twig, branch and bramble. She was continuously pulling herself loose from something. Finally, as Sarah struggled to release her skirt from a prickly bush without tearing it, Bilu came back to her and began to remove Sarah’s clothing. It reminded Sarah of that first time down on the beach by the river, when Bilu and Warlu had taught her to swim. Was that where Bilu was taking her? To 124

the river? Bilu gently drew off Sarah’s clothes until she stood clad only in her bloomers and chemise. The woman fingered the simple lace at the neck of the chemise and began to loosen the ribbon. ‘No,’ said Sarah. She didn’t want to walk naked under the trees. She ripped the string off her apron and tied her hair back from her face. She bundled up her clothes and pushed them into the fork of a small tree. Ready, she nodded to Bilu and, again, they set off through the bush, Sarah now moving as neatly and quickly as Bilu. It was getting on towards late afternoon and the shadows were long and mellow. Once Sarah thought she heard the sharp bark of an axe biting into wood, and men’s voices. For a moment, she considered running away, dashing in the direction of the voices and begging the men for help, but then she looked down at her state of undress and thought of baby Sophia, asleep in her bower. She had better stay with Bilu, she thought, and followed the woman as she veered away from the distant sawyers. Sarah noticed that they were continuing to go downhill and, at last, she heard the unmistakable sound of flowing water. She stopped in her tracks, suddenly afraid. What would happen to her this time at the river? Bilu came back to her and gently took the girl’s hand. She held it tightly as they scrambled down a steep bank, emerging suddenly onto a muddy flat choked with tall reeds. These did not deter Bilu. She pushed her way through, dragging Sarah behind her, and at last they stepped out onto a narrow beach. The river lay at their feet, bathed in the light of the lowering sun. SEPTIMUS ROE ‘What do you think, Roe? Has this servant of yours made off with the baby in a fit of pique?’ ‘I would be very much surprised if that’s the situation, Sir.’ Roe and Stirling were seated together in Stirling’s office. ‘I’m 125

worried as to her safety. She may have tried to save Sophia.’ ‘It’s certainly strange. No trace of her. And I was so hoping she’d solve this mystery for us.’ Stirling rose and began to pace between his desk and the window that looked out over the river. ‘I don’t want it to be the natives. Relations with them are precarious, to say the least.’ ‘I don’t want it to be the natives, either,’ said Roe. ‘Well, as for your little Sophia, we’ll know tonight if she’s in their camp on the hill. I’m sending out a small force. They’ll start when the moon is up.’ ‘I’d like to go with them, Sir.’ ‘No. Impossible.’ Stirling flipped up his coat-tails and seated himself behind his desk. ‘You’re too important to the Colony.’ Roe stood. In the last two days, he had aged considerably. ‘In that case, I’ll get back to Matilda.’ SARAH BODKIN Sit. Bilu wants me to sit facing her on the sand. Pay attention. Sarah. Pay attention! You have to understand! I can reach out and touch her knees with the tips of my fingers. She lifts the knot from my neck and lays it on the sand between us. She points first to the knot and then scoops up a handful of water from the river and sprinkles it in a circle around it. She does this three times, each time repeating the same words and then looking at me. ‘Do you understand?’ she is asking. ‘Do you understand?’ Knot and river. Does she see them as the same thing? Can one somehow become a symbol for the other? I close my eyes and see the knot unravel and flow, as does the river. I see the river, twisting back on itself, as does the twine that makes the knot. I open my eyes and scoop up a handful of water which I let fall gently on the knot. The bright liquid rolls away to sink into the sand and I shiver, although there is no breeze. Bilu’s pleasure in my understanding is warm and I stop shivering. Now she dribbles a bit of sand onto the knot and it falls into the little valleys between the twisted threads. I shake my 126

head, not understanding, and she does it again, this time sweeping her arm in a wide circle to indicate the hill above us. Not just sand, she is saying. Earth. The knot is the river and the earth. Then she opens her hand and there is a tiny spark nestled in a clutch of dry moss. Well! She has been carrying that little spark with her all this time and I didn’t know it. So, the knot is also fire. In that knot she gave me river and earth and fire. ‘Take off your chemise,’ her hands tell me and soon we both sit bare breasted. Bilu’s dark hand holds a sharp cutting stone. She makes a small cut between her own breasts and lets the blood fall on the knot. She hands me the cutting stone and I draw blood from over my heart and add it to Bilu’s on the knot. Blood. I remember the blood on Boas’ stick. How it bound me so terribly to her. I gaze down at our blood on the knot. Bilu and Sarah. Another binding. BILU Bright one. You hold the river child in your belly. SARAH BODKIN My head spins. The light is strange. I am in the river, diving down, Bilu with me. Warlu’s arms lifting me from the water to taste the sweet sweet flesh of the tortoise! No. Bilu lifts me, sits and cradles me like a child, rocking me, crooning to me like a mother to her baby. I hug myself, hands protecting my belly. In my belly is the child of the river. She knows. ‘No!’ I wail. ‘No no no no!’ ..... It was almost dark when Sarah woke. While she slept, Bilu It 127

It was almost dark when Sarah woke. While she slept, Bilu had gathered a batch of the bulbous roots that grew in the muddy edge of the river, beyond the sandy beach. She sat up. Her bloomers were damp. The river, she had gone into the river. It wasn’t a dream. None of it was a dream. It was all true. Bilu gathered up the bulbs and signalled for her to follow. Sarah pulled on her chemise and pushed through the thick reeds, her eyes on the dripping water plants slung over Bilu’s shoulder. Walking through the shadowy bush seemed to mimic Sarah’s dive into the water. Just as she had sunk deeper and deeper beneath the green water, so she now was diving deeper and deeper into the shadows of the bush, moving down into the darkness that rose from the earth itself and gathered in green leafy pools. Bilu retrieved the bundle of clothing and Sarah pulled on her skirt. Back at the camp, Bilu nodded to a bushy shelter where Sophia was again sucking hungrily at a young woman’s breast. Her own baby lay sleeping in a scoop of wood beside her. As Sarah bent over her, Sophia loosed her grip on the nipple and looked up, eyes dark and serious as she inspected Sarah’s face. ‘Phia?’ Sarah whispered. The baby gave a ghost of a smile and then turned her open mouth hungrily into the dark breast, kneading it with her fat fingers. Someone called out softly and Sarah looked up to see the men of the camp slip out of the shadows and approach the fires. Warlu was carrying a long thin weapon and had a furry animal slung over his shoulder, which he presented to Bilu at her fire. Then he came and took up his post beside Sophia’s humpy. Little Mina drew Sarah to Bilu’s fire and handed her a circle of twine. Sarah sang songs and drew the string through her fingers, weaving the stories. As darkness fell, Sarah knew that she would not be allowed to take Sophia back to Perth just yet. Her time here in the camp was not quite over.

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..... SARAH BODKIN He calls me Sabah and that is my true name. Sabah, running through the moonlight under the trees, swimming in the silver water. Sabah has no memory of Boas, of her stick. She drifts away in the silver water. Gone. Gone. I am Sabah, at one with the water and the moonlight. How can I stay Sabah? Can’t. Sabah must be Sarah. Sarah must take Phia back, Sarah with the child of the river in her belly. What will Sarah do? What will happen to Sarah and the river child and to Tommy? Sabah does not know. ..... That night, as the moon rose, Sarah gave the knot to Bilu. ‘Warlu,’ she said. She wrapped baby Sophia in her shawl and followed Bilu through the trees to the logger’s track. There Bilu disappeared and Sarah continued down the track, face lifted to the moon rising over the eastern hills. Never once did Sarah look back. ROE FAMILY REMINISCENCES Then one night as they were sitting around their campfires Matilda suddenly sprang to her feet, saying, ‘I heard my baby cry!’ ... baby back in her crib and quite unharmed though very dirty ... and quite contented so her mother believed that she had been fed by a black woman and she disliked the thought very much ...

‘I’ve brought Sophia Roe back,’ Sarah told the soldier. There were more soldiers and men running, shouting questions. But she shrugged them all off, striding purposefully until she met 129

Mr Roe stumbling towards her, his face haggard and drawn with fear and fatigue. ‘Sophia?’ he whispered. ‘I’ve brought her back,’ Sarah said. Roe’s hands trembled and from his lips there came something between a sigh and a groan as he gathered the baby in his arms. ‘Shall I put her under arrest, Sir?’ The sergeant gripped her arm firmly. ‘No. Leave her alone,’ said Roe, over his shoulder as he walked off. ‘You heard him!’ Sarah tried to pull away but the soldier gripped her even more tightly. ‘What do you take me for, Missy,’ he growled. ‘You both away at the same time and you known to have a liking for the blacks. You took her away, didn’t you, took her to the blacks and ...’ ‘No!’ Sarah jerked her arm free. ‘Don’t come all high and mighty on me,’ persisted the sergeant. ‘I saw you, the night of the fire, running away with a young buck. Just what do you think you’re doing, getting involved ...’ ‘I’m going to my mistress. Mrs Roe,’ said Sarah. ‘Bitch,’ she heard the sergeant mutter as she ran down the track. She caught up with Roe and followed him into the tent. MATILDA ROE ‘Is she ...?’ Matilda could not go on. ‘Sophia is fine, just fine. Sarah brought her back.’ Matilda wrinkled her nose in disgust as she unwrapped the shawl and inspected little Sophia. When she was finished, Matilda lifted her eyes and looked at Sarah. ‘Where has my baby been?’ she asked and Sarah shrank away from her dark accusing look. ‘Wait outside,’ said Roe, and Sarah stumbled from the tent. It’s no use, she thought, hugging herself against the midnight 130

chill. Mrs Roe would send her away, she would not want Sarah around to remind her that her daughter had been suckled in the arms of a black woman. Inside the tent, Roe spoke softly, urgently. Once Mrs Roe cried out, ‘No, I’ll not have it,’ but her husband’s patient voice went on, soothing, explaining, pleading, and at last there was only the sound of sobbing which stopped when Sophia cried out with hunger. ‘I did the best I knew,’ Sarah said as Mr Roe emerged from the tent. ‘Of course you did. We’re grateful that you brought Sophia back to us. You did a brave thing, going to the native camp.’ Mr Roe looked up at the moon and then at Sarah. ‘You’re all right? They didn’t ... harm you?’ As Sarah shook her head, her loose hair brushed her shoulders and she caught a whiff of smoke and the river. ‘Good. Mrs Roe will be needing you later,’ said Roe and disappeared into the tent. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ Sarah whispered as the tent flap fell shut and she was left alone. ‘Thank you.’

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Matilda Roe was torn between joy at having her baby restored to her and disgust. She couldn’t accept that Sophia had been held in a native woman’s arms, had suckled at a black woman’s breast. She hated and loathed the idea, even though it meant that her baby had stayed healthy and content. But Matilda preferred to forget that. Matilda wanted retribution. Someone had to pay for her pain and anguish. ‘You must send soldiers to clean out that camp,’ she told her husband. When Roe pointed out that he had no authority to do this, Matilda still persisted. ‘Stirling, then. He must find the woman who took my baby and punish her.’ There were others in Perth who felt as Matilda did, and within a day or so a small group was organising for an attack on the camp. Meanwhile, Stirling secretly sent out scouts, and the morning after their return Stirling ordered the band of malcontents down to Government House for a meeting and called Roe in for a private talk. 132

‘Well?’ ‘Nothing. The blacks are gone,’ said Stirling. ‘Did you warn them away?’ ‘What do you take me for?’ Stirling turned his back on Roe before he could answer. ‘The camp is empty, they went of their own volition. They knew we’d be coming up to investigate. It’s better this way. There’ll be no reprisals. We don’t want a bloody war with the blacks on our hands.’ ‘What will you tell them?’ Roe nodded to the gathering group of men outside. ‘Just what I’ve told you. And I’ll tell them from now on to leave the punishment of the natives to me and my government.’ ‘What are you going to do with those two men that were brought in?’ asked Roe. ‘The Dutton fellows?’ Stirling sighed as he slumped down behind his desk. ‘Hold them for a few more days; give them a real fright, and then let them go. We haven’t any proof that they’re the ones that got at the bullocks, and we certainly have no proof that they had anything to do with that unfortunate child.’ Stirling leaned forward and smacked the desk lightly with his fist. ‘Now Roe, it is up to you to bring your wife around. She must stop this talk of punishing the woman, or whoever it was, that took your baby.’ ‘She’s had a bad shock.’ ‘I understand. But the future of the whole Colony is at stake. Your baby is safe and, for the moment, I want no killing of natives. No more trouble. Do you understand?’ Septimus Roe understood all too well and went immediately to speak to Matilda. ‘You must be sensible,’ he told her. ‘Stirling cannot allow wholesale attacks on the natives.’ ‘You can’t let her go. That black took my baby. And,’ Matilda drew herself up and glared at her husband, ‘what about little Bonny?’ ‘We don’t know what happened. Matilda, think about it. 133

You’re a sensible woman. You’ve walked in the bush, you know how dense it can be. It’s so easy for an unattended child to wander off and be lost. Or fall in the river and drown.’ ‘But they’re out there, watching from the bush. Hiding. They can take our babies, they can come and snatch ...’ ‘Matilda, there will be no reprisals.’ ‘He said that, didn’t he? Stirling said that. Septimus, I was so afraid. I thought she was dead, my little Sophia ...’ ‘My dear, I know what you feared. I know.’ Matilda struggled to hold back her tears. ‘I know that you worried, were afraid, too. But I’m her mother and that’s ...’ ‘Matilda, stop this,’ Roe interrupted. ‘Our Sophia is safe. There is no reason for us to seek reprisals. None.’ Matilda sighed and drew her hands away from her husband’s, folding them neatly in her lap. ‘What about Sarah?’ ‘What about Sarah.’ Matilda’s lips grew firm and her mouth was a hard line. ‘She should be punished.’ ‘For what?’ Roe took out his watch and flipped open the lid. ‘Sarah did a very brave thing.’ ‘Perhaps.’ Matilda narrowed her eyes. ‘But what if it wasn’t brave.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘She knows them. She might even be friends with that black native woman who came when Sophia was born. And the night of the fire, remember? Several people saw her with a black man.’ ‘That doesn’t mean she had anything to do with Sophia’s disappearance.’ ‘How can I trust someone like that?’ ‘Matilda, I saw Sarah’s face as she carried our baby back down from the hill.’ Matilda sat silently for a moment. Then she sighed. ‘Septimus. You believe she’s innocent?’ 134

‘Yes.’ ‘And you want to reward her by letting that boy come here to live with us in our house.’ ‘I thought that we should consider it, in light of what she did for Sophia. But I haven’t spoken to her about it.’ ‘Don’t. Don’t speak to her about it at all.’ Matilda’s face was stony and her tone adamant. ‘I will not allow that boy to live here.’ ‘Perhaps we should discuss this later.’ ‘No. Understand me, Septimus. I will not talk of punishing the natives again. I understand our position on that. But I suspect Sarah of being involved,’ she held up a hand as Roe began to protest, ‘I know, there’s no proof but there it is. Stirling can have his way. But I won’t have the boy here in my house.’ ‘Do you want to let Sarah go?’ Roe asked. ‘Get someone else?’ ‘We’ll keep her on because she is a very good worker. She sews well. I can watch her better here in my own house. If she were with someone else, she might come back and ...’ ‘Matilda!’ ‘I’ll let her stay. But no boy. And,’ Matilda lifted her chin, ‘I’ll look after Sophia myself from now on.’ ‘Fine, Matilda,’ said Roe. ‘In your own house, you are the mistress.’ SARAH BODKIN Soon we’ll be moving to the new house. It’s almost finished. Mrs Roe has a man working on the gardens. There’s been no mention of Tommy and I daren’t say a word. Mrs Roe has given me a small room for my own, at the back of the house. It’s really a kind of lean-to, added on. But it would be all right for my Tommy. But I know Tommy won’t be here with me. Not yet. Mrs Roe hasn’t let me near Phia for over a week now. She won’t let me touch her. ‘I’ll look after Sophia,’ she says and 135

looks at me with those hard eyes. ‘Be patient,’ Mr Roe tells me. ‘Mrs Roe has had a shock. It frightens her that Sophia was looked after by a native,’ he says. But I know it’s not fright, it’s disgust. Little Phia is alive and fat and happy. Why can’t she accept that? She blames me. I can see it, she blames me. And what will she think, worse, what will she do to me when she finds out. It’ll be showing soon. What will Mrs Roe do then? Will she build a hut for me across the river? Emma’s baby was born dead while she was all alone over on the other side of the river. Will Mrs Roe do that to me? She doesn’t know. Not yet. I must think of a story to tell her. I’ll make her believe it. I’m good at stories. My best stories are with the string for Tommy. I want him here, his little fingers with mine and his lips kissing free the princess. ‘Be patient,’ Roe says, ‘be patient.’ Later, he says, ‘I’ll talk to Mrs Roe about having your brother here later.’ I want to scream at Mr Roe, ‘What about my dream! My Tommy lost!’ I would run away but where would I go? Up the river, to Anne? She won’t want me, no one will want me soon. Not with this thing, this growing in me, in my belly. It’s moving now. Swimming in the water of my belly. How much longer can I be patient? 15 April 1830

LETTER FROM ANNE WHATLEY Your new home sounds very palatial compared to our little cottage. We are now settled comfortably in it ... I do not know to which of the outhouses at Clapton I can compare this dear little nondescript. It is wattle and daub (I’m certain you don’t know what that means), elegantly thatched with rushes. Moreover it has a door with a latch to it, and two windows which we have not glazed, but I have put up a network of twine to keep out the fowls, and we have neat little shutters for night, and little white

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curtains. It looks so pretty altogether. We have shelves for our books and all sorts of comfortable things ... ... comfortable compared to the native mia-mia, which is enclosed with sticks on three sides, and some strips of the bark of a tree that tears off like ribbon laid over the top, and its occupant so smeared with gum and grease that I suppose the mosquitoes find him hopeless ... I came across one in the bush not far from the house and had the men tear it down and send the man away. I do not want them so close to the house, or even on our property. But they do not seem to understand. Tommy sends his love.

SARAH BODKIN Of course I know wattle and daub! Such a house sounds fine to me. Could I do that, build a wattle-and-daub house for Tommy and me by the river? I may have to. Little Phia has a rash. Mrs Roe bathes her constantly, rubbing at the poor baby’s smooth skin. She’s afraid she’ll never get her baby clean again. I’m sewing a dress for Mrs Roe. It has very full leg-of-mutton sleeves. This time, she gave me an extra length of silk and I am proud of my work. It’ll be finished in time for the celebration on the twenty-third. Stirling has decreed that as the King’s birthday and St George’s Day, all in one. There’ll be a ball at Government House and everyone will see Mrs Roe’s leg-of-mutton sleeves. Maybe I’ll get that wattle-and-daub house yet! Some of the preserved meat that the Roes brought on the ship with them has gone off. It’s the summer heat. I can’t eat meat at all. I’ve missed three bleedings. 30 April 1830

LETTER FROM ANNE WHATLEY John is gone up the river to some patient. So many are now suffering from scurvy and ophthalmia that hardly a day passes without his being obliged to take journeys.

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We are having trouble with our man Woods. He is a tiresome fellow, troubled with what is called the Dutch fever — which is laziness. Your little Tommy is a great help with Joanna, playing with her, making little tracks for his horse and wagon. The baby suffers from the heat. So do I.

SARAH BODKIN Is Anne watching over Tommy? Mrs Roe is recovering, is more her old self. Mrs Leake and Lady Stirling and all the other ladies visit often and she has to leave Sophia with me. Yesterday Mrs Roe let me bathe Sophia. She watched me closely the whole time and said nothing. I lie awake at night and think of Tommy. I pray him safe in the little wattle-and-daub house. I pray for him to be safe from the river and the shadows in the bush and all other danger. I pray for him to be safe here beside me. I pray that I will be safe. Safe. 2 May 1830

EXCERPT: LETTER FROM ANNE WHATLEY ... John left for Perth and the celebration on the 23rd, I excused myself from the Governor’s levee ... John started early, wishing to call on some patients on his way, and about two hours after he left I was surprised to see him back again — and he was not much less so, to find himself here. He had completely lost his way, having forgotten to take a compass. 10 May 1830

FRAGMENT OF NOTE FROM SARAH BODKIN TO ANNE WHATLEY ... I am sorry Dr Whatley did not remember his compass and arrive for the celebrations but your letter arrived safe with Captain Amos who said Tommy is taller. I have sewn a new jacket for Tommy ... will send it with Dr Whatley when next he comes down the river to Perth.

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14 May 1830

SARAH BODKIN Mrs Roe’s leg-of-mutton sleeves were a great success and now I am sewing another one for Mrs Roe. It will be blue silk with a tiny white flower. She wants it for the party at the Leakes’ house in Fremantle next week. There’s to be a musical evening. A pianoforte concert by someone just arrived in the Colony. I have found out something new about Mrs Roe. She plays the harp. It was packed away in one of the heavy wooden crates and I helped her unwrap it. Mrs Roe is still very sharp with her tongue but getting softer. She let me hold Sophia while she tuned the harp with the little tool that fits around the pegs. Phia loved the plinkplink-plink and laughed and crowed and then, when Mrs Roe played a tune, why, it was wonderful. I said she should play at the Fremantle concert and she smiled. Mr Roe said to be patient. I am. Mrs Roe has to stand on a stool to play the harp. She’s so tiny. When you look closely at her, you can see that this is so. But she has such a strong character that she seems to be much taller than she really is. So it was a surprise to see her climb up on the stool and stretch her arms along the strings. She plucks out a lovely tune, she does. Mr Roe sits and holds baby Sophia on his lap and they both smile at her. Sophia loves the harp. She gurgles and babbles and waves her fat little arms as if she were trying to sing along with it. I’m sure she will be a good singer when she grows up. I still have not given up on Tommy. Yesterday I went to the river beach and then to the spring but Bilu was not there. I didn’t need to climb the hill. Everyone knows what the soldiers found up there. An empty camp. It feels to me like Bilu and her people have gone far away. She’s faded out of my life.

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I went looking for Bilu to ask her help with my baby. I thought that she could take it away, somehow. Some plant perhaps. She gave me that drink and it made me sleep. She knows things and I hoped that she could take away this baby. Empty my belly. But she’s not here. On the way back from the spring, I found a little creature like a mouse. It appeared to have fallen in the river and somehow saved itself. It was crawling through the mud and couldn’t run away. I could kill it, I thought. Just by stepping hard on it. It’s so small and helpless. I picked it up and put it on a rock, in the sun. Perhaps it’ll dry out and live. Perhaps not. I’m glad Bilu wasn’t here to help me kill my baby. My river child. I’ve missed four of my monthlies. 30 May 1830

LETTER FROM ANNE WHATLEY A few mornings ago when I took my shutters down, I saw a large boat moored close to our landing place and learned that it had been there some hours and contained a lady, gentleman, child and servants. I sent to ask them to come ashore, and take their breakfast, which they did very willingly. It was very pleasant to have visitors, it makes a fine change from our own company. Tommy is indeed taller. His little trousers are halfway up his legs. 14 June 1830

NOTE FROM SARAH PINNED TO TROUSERS FOR TOMMY IN A BUNDLE READY TO BE SENT UPRIVER I love you, Tommy. I am sending these with Dr Whatley. He will be here tomorrow. Be good and soon you will come to live here with me. All my love, Sarah.

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15 June 1830

SARAH BODKIN Dr Whatley didn’t arrive as expected, but word came that he will be down soon, probably before the end of the month. He will bring Woods, who is causing trouble, down with him. Roe said that he’ll speak to Mrs Roe again about Tommy and I’m sure she will reconsider. I feel it in my bones, feel that Tommy will be with me soon. I’ll be able to tell Dr Whatley that Tommy can come down the river. I’m over four months along and wearing my apron loose. I must have Tommy with me before Mrs Roe finds out. Must have Tommy. 15 July 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Little Tommy wandered away from home today and we searched all day but no luck — John set off for Perth to raise the alarm. It is raining and the water is rising.

..... Rain was falling heavily in Perth. Sarah was building up the fire in the grate and thinking that she must sew a warmer jacket for Tommy when there was a loud pounding on the door. Mrs Roe was busy with Sophia. ‘Will you see who it is, Sarah?’ In her mind, Sarah was sorting through Fraser’s clothes, deciding what she would cut up for Tommy’s jacket, and it took her a moment to recognise the man standing on the doorstep. It was Dr Whatley. Sarah started to speak but was stopped by the look on his face. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Sarah,’ he said, holding out his hand. That was all he said. But Sarah knew. ‘Tommy’s lost,’ she said clearly and fell senseless to the floor. 141

chapter fifteen CLOUDS HANGING DARK AND HEAVY

Sarah could not move. She lay like a log on her bed, alive only to the voice of Dr Whatley who was explaining to Septimus and Matilda Roe how Tommy was lost. ‘No! Tommy’s not lost!’ Sarah wanted to scream. If only she could move, she would beat at Dr Whatley with her fists until he said that it wasn’t true, that Tommy was not lost in the bush. She would make him take it all back, what he was saying. That Tommy’s little wagon and horse were found abandoned in the middle of the track, that his boots were discovered a short way off in the bush. But Sarah could not move, she could not force Dr Whatley to stop. In her mind, she screamed at God. I prayed to you! I prayed for you to keep him safe! You God! I prayed, keep Tommy safe from the river and the water and safe from the flames. Didn’t you hear me? Didn’t you hear? But of course, God said nothing so Sarah stopped railing at him and listened to Dr Whatley. ‘We’re fairly sure he’s not in the river. We think it’s ... he lowered his voice but Sarah could still hear. In her grief and 142

anger, her hearing was so sharpened that she picked up the rasp of Dr Whatley’s hand rubbing his beard. ‘... it’s the natives,’ he murmured. ‘There’ve been a new lot about the place. We chased them off once but they may have come back. They frightened Anne and stole from the garden, took one of the goats. We’ll search but ...’ ‘It’s no use!’ The words Dr Whatley could not say rang in her ears and Sarah sank lower into herself, curling around the pain deep in her belly. It was her fault. She’d prayed for the wrong things. She should have asked God to keep Tommy safe from dark shadows creeping out of the bush and snatching him up, running away with him, his little head bobbing above a dark shoulder. That’s what she should have prayed for. So, said a little voice in her ear, Tommy’s lost. Well, it was bound to happen. No, Sarah whispered. It didn’t have to happen. If he’d been with me ... Rubbish! exclaimed the voice, its timbre suspiciously like that of Boas. It was only to be expected, considering what you ... Sarah’s head felt as if it were splitting open. With me he’d be safe! She opened her mouth to scream but all that came out was a strangled groan. It’s your fault, whispered the voice. You’re a bad girl. Like stupid Emma but worse. The river, that black man. That’s why Tommy’s lost. Sarah felt her head burst and she fell into unconsciousness. When she woke, it was night and a lamp burned low on the floor beside her. ‘Tommy?’ she whispered. With a rustle of skirts, Matilda Roe rose from her stool in the corner and bent over her. ‘Sarah? Can you see, hear me?’ Sarah nodded. ‘You’ve had a bad turn. Here,’ and Matilda held a cup of cool water to Sarah’s lips. Sarah swallowed once and turned her head away. Her tongue 143

felt thick and stiff but she managed to say, ‘Thank you.’ ‘I’ll make you some tea.’ Mrs Roe straightened and dusted down her skirt. ‘Dr Whatley wants to talk to you. No, stay there,’ she said as Sarah struggled to rise. ‘I’ll go fetch him.’ Sarah heard Dr Whatley and Mrs Roe walk across through the breezeway that separated her quarters from the house proper, the new gravel crunching under their boots. She pulled the rug up to her chin, shivering as she waited for them to appear in the doorway. ‘Well, Sarah. Better now?’ Dr Whatley took her hand in his. ‘Tommy?’ she whispered. Dr Whatley shook his head slowly. ‘Sarah, I am so sorry. He was there and then he was gone.’ ‘Look for him?’ croaked Sarah. ‘Yes. The men are ready now, we’ll leave on the hour. If all goes well, we should be at Hone’s Green, ready to search, by daybreak.’ A sudden rush of energy lifted Sarah’s head from her pillow. ‘Going with you!’ She struggled up on one elbow. ‘You can’t.’ Sarah dragged the rug aside and began to search for her boots. Dr Whatley helped her to her feet. ‘Sarah, I understand why you want to search but you are ...’ ‘I’m his sister. I’ll find Tommy.’ Sarah’s eyes blazed. She felt lightheaded but her determination was overcoming that. ‘He’s out there. Just lost in the bush. Oh!’ she cocked her head and listened. A light rain was rustling on the roof. ‘I must find him before he takes a chill in the rain.’ ‘It’s a job for the men, Sarah.’ ‘No!’ Sarah steadied herself with a hand on the wall. ‘I’ll find him. The natives don’t have him. He’s not in the river.’ ‘Sarah, in your condition, you shouldn’t ...’ Sarah stood with her cloak half on and stared at the doctor. ‘My what?’

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Dr Whatley’s glance dropped to her waist. ‘Surely you know that you are ...’ Sarah didn’t let him finish. She glared at him fiercely and said, ‘Dr Whatley, my brother is lost in the bush. I’m coming with you to find him. And ...’ she whispered fiercely, ‘I am in perfect health.’ Whatley decided then and there not to mention Sarah’s condition to the Roes and agreed that she could go upriver with him and the men. ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he told Sarah, but she only shook her head in response as she knelt beside her clothes chest. Mrs Roe didn’t want her to go. ‘Let the men search for the boy,’ she said, standing in the doorway. Sarah ignored Mrs Roe and, with a set face, went on about her preparations. ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Matilda insisted. ‘Answer me, Sarah!’ In the end, Septimus Roe had to intervene. ‘Let her go. We owe her that,’ and, with a shrug, Matilda gave in. Sarah packed the new trousers she’d sewn for Tommy. She’d unravelled her mother’s shawl for the wool and had almost finished knitting a muffler and cap. She decided to leave them behind. They’ll do for when he’s here with me, she told herself. She packed her own shawl for Tommy and, for herself, dragged her stepfather’s heavy winter jacket from the trunk. She pulled Fraser’s winter cap down over her ears, tucking her hair up out of the way. Tommy’s cold out there in the bush, she whispered as she worked. He took a chill easily but she’d find him in time. He was curled up under a bush or sitting propped against a tree, waiting for her to find him. When she found him, she’d wrap him in her shawl and button him up inside Fraser’s jacket next to her heart. Hurry! Hurry! she told herself as she packed. The Roes said goodbye to her at the front door. Mr Roe took her hand. ‘Let us know, as soon as you can.’ 145

Sarah nodded, her throat too tight to speak. ‘Come back. We want you back here. Don’t we, Matilda?’ Matilda put her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Yes.’ Sarah could not look at the woman. ‘This is your fault,’ she wanted to shout, but she nodded and followed Dr Whatley down to the jetty where a small boat bobbed in the light of a lantern. There were three men and a soldier in the boat, talking softly. Their gear was piled in the middle, a gun barrel glittered. The men fell silent as Sarah climbed over the side and seated herself. ‘Sergeant Hall, here,’ Dr Whatley indicated the soldier. ‘This is Sarah Bodkin,’ he went on. ‘The boy’s sister.’ The men mumbled and touched their caps and Hall pushed them away from the jetty. The journey up the river was a blur of dark rain and chilling wind, with only an occasional word from the men as they rowed steadily on. The river was running high and the men had to watch for unseen snags and floating debris. The rain was not heavy but steady and the wind was behind it. Sarah pulled Fraser’s cap down low, turned up her collar and tucked her bare hands up inside the sleeves. She sat bolt upright, ignoring the wind and rain, eyes constantly searching the sodden bush on either side of the river. From time to time Dr Whatley spoke to her, but when she turned silently to him, her gaze fierce and anxious, he retreated into silence. In her head, Sarah was talking to that little voice, telling it that it wasn’t her fault Tommy was lost. He’s not lost because I’m bad, she whispered. Are you sure? the voice whispered back. Sarah called out to Sergeant Hall. ‘How much longer?’ ‘Not halfway yet, Miss.’ Sarah frowned and went back to the last day she saw Tommy. What more could she have said or done for him as he began his journey up this river? Again she saw his little hand, fluttering in the sunshine. He’d been clinging to Anne’s skirt. Woods sat next to him, staring at the river. 146

Woods! Woods had turned out to be useless. He didn’t watch Tommy. He was to blame. ‘It was that man Woods,’ she muttered. ‘Eh, Miss?’ Hall paused in his rowing but Sarah shook her head and turned back to scanning the shore. ‘Of course,’ she smiled grimly to herself. ‘It was that man Woods.’ Anne had complained about Woods in her letters. He was lazy. The Dutchman’s disease, Anne called it. In the end Woods had been uncontrollable and Dr Whatley had come down to Perth to complain of him to the magistrates. The upshot was that Woods was sent to the Marquis of Anglesea, a wrecked ship out of swimming reach of Fremantle that was used as a prison for servants. He was sentenced to two weeks there. Was the time up? Sarah touched Dr Whatley’s shoulder. ‘Woods? Where is he?’ ‘Woods?’ Dr Whatley was obviously puzzled. ‘Is he in the Marquis?’ Sarah persisted. ‘Or at Hone’s Green?’ Hall leaned on his oar. ‘Is that Woods you’re asking about?’ ‘Yes! Where is he?’ ‘Another week to go on the wreck.’ Hall spat over the side into the swirling river. ‘Then he’s out, for all that’s worth.’ ‘What is it about Woods?’ asked Whatley. ‘Did Tommy like him? Follow him around?’ ‘Yes. Tommy was fond of the man. But he didn’t appear to be upset when Woods came down to gaol. Is that what you’re thinking? No,’ Whatley answered his own question. ‘Tommy didn’t run away because of Woods.’ Sarah shrugged and returned to the voice in her head. It was that man Woods, she told it. If he’d been there, it would never have happened. Bad, bad, bad, murmured the voice. Your fault. A cup of tepid tea was handed to Sarah and she sipped it absentmindedly, staring at the river as she went on explaining 147

to the voice. If Woods had been there, Tommy wouldn’t have walked out of Anne’s little house with the curtains and shutters. With Woods gone, Tommy was upset. Suddenly, Sarah threw her cup away and jumped to her feet, gripping the side of the boat. The small craft lurched dangerously and one of the men swore as his oar was wrenched out of his hand. ‘Hey, there. Sit down!’ yelled Sergeant Hall. Sarah was staring down into the murky water. ‘Look!’ she croaked. Just below the shadowy surface, something sodden and heavy turned dumbly in the current. ‘Tommy! It’s Tommy!’ She lunged forward but Dr Whatley caught her before she went over the side, and dragged her to the bottom of the boat. ‘We’ll have to put her ashore, Sir, if she’s going to act crazy,’ Hall shouted through the rain and wind. ‘Else we’ll all go over.’ Dr Whatley rubbed Sarah’s hands briskly. ‘Did you hear that?’ ‘Tommy!’ she moaned. ‘Sarah, you must sit still.’ ‘There, there, Miss,’ soothed one of the men. ‘He’s not in the river. Just weeds, that was. See!’ and he lifted a skein of trailing weed on the tip of his oar. ‘That’s not Tommy?’ she whimpered. ‘No. Now sit up in your place,’ ordered Dr Whatley. He continued to chafe her bare hands as she took her seat. ‘Better now?’ But Sarah didn’t hear him. She was struggling with her terrible vision of Tommy, caught in the cold river, eyes staring sightlessly at the little fish and the swaying weeds and the sun glittering on the top of the water. ‘No, he wouldn’t go near to the water, not in the winter, it’s too cold,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, aye, Miss. That’s right,’ agreed the man next to her. ‘Here, now. ’Tis wet you are,’ and he draped a rug over her shoulders. ‘We’ll be there soon. Just a few more bends of the river.’ 148

‘Perhaps he went fishing? Anne wrote that Woods took Tommy fishing.’ Whatley shook his head. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Miss Sarah,’ called Sergeant Hall. ‘We’ll be there soon and we’ll find your boy.’ ‘Oh God,’ Sarah whispered, ‘please not the river, not the river.’ ‘No, never the river, Missy. There, now,’ soothed the man at her shoulder. Sarah eyed the dark water. She could see that it was in flood, even though she had never been this far upstream. The sky to the east was paler and in the faint light she saw that the river had risen beyond its normal banks. It was swirling around the trunks of trees, washing through bushes and carrying away dead limbs and brush. Suddenly, it was daylight and they were almost there. ‘Hone’s Green is just around the next bend,’ said Dr Whatley. And then, just where his finger was pointing, a flock of black swans appeared and sailed majestically down upon them. The large birds were accompanied by a swarm of ducks, and they made a glittering, noisy throng as they bobbed and glided over the swollen current. ‘Aye, Missy. Look at the birds,’ urged the man beside her. ‘And the ducks. Over there, look at the ducks with their tails up, feeding.’ More ducks were feeding in the quiet water around the bend, tails up, beaks lifting stringy bits from the mud as they appeared. Sarah felt sick. ‘Oh, please God, Tommy’s not in the water,’ Sarah whispered and clutched her belly. ‘No, not the water.’ Whatley took her hand. ‘He wandered off and is sheltering in the bush.’ ‘Yes, of course!’ Sarah sat up straight. ‘He’ll be cold and wet and hungry. How many days is it?’ ‘That he’s been gone?’ Whatley sighed. ‘This will be the third day.’ 149

Sarah was devastated. ‘The third day!’ She lunged at Dr Whatley, grabbing at his arms. ‘Has he been three days lost? My Tommy?’ ‘Here, now!’ shouted Sergeant Hall and Whatley steadied her against the sudden rocking of the boat. ‘Two days. Today will be the third day,’ said Dr Whatley. Sarah sank back onto her seat. ‘How long can he last?’ ‘We searched, Anne and Dorothy and I, on the first day. We’ve lost a bit of time, getting the men up from Perth, but we need them.’ ‘It’s because of the blacks,’ said Sarah. ‘You want more men to hunt the blacks. That is why you’ve brought the gun.’ Dr Whatley sighed. ‘We’re alone here, Sarah. And some strange natives came through, a large party.’ Suddenly, he lifted an arm and waved. ‘Look! We’re home!’ There on the bank was Anne with Dorothy beside her. 18 July 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Rain, rain, rain, for two or three days, the water rises daily; the ground on which our house stands has become quite an island. The black swans now sail up and down the river most majestically; the ducks are more plentiful than ever. Sarah arrived with John, Hall and the three men come to search for Tommy. Sarah was soaked through and quite exhausted. Dorothy and I put her to bed immediately and she slept for an hour, then woke and insisted on going out to help with the search. John told me about her condition. When I questioned her, she became almost incoherent, crying and raving about fires and love knots and a child in the river and how it was not her fault. This is a terrible business for the poor child. I don’t know what to do. I could not stop her and Sarah staggered out into the bush to search but returned shortly, dazed and bedraggled. I put her back to bed. Dorothy says Sarah is mad. She is definitely not herself. I hope it is only temporary.

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SARAH BODKIN The men are all out there calling for Tommy. ‘Tommy!’ they call. ‘Tommy! Where are you!’ I must search. I must call out. I will call out and shout and Tommy will answer me. He’ll know my voice. He’ll be so happy, so happy to hear me call out, to see me come to him through the woods, and I’ll lift him in my arms and wrap him in my shawl and hold him close. I’ll warm him. I’ll laugh as I tell him what a bad boy he is for wandering off but that it’s all right, now, I won’t let him go away from me ever again. Never. I’ll take him to the boat and he can sit between me and Sergeant Hall and he’ll be all snug and warm. I’ll tell him stories, I have Bilu’s string in my pocket and many new stories she taught me, and I’ll kiss him and touch his hair. Yes. I’ll make it happen. But first, I must get up out of this bed. Oh, Tommy! I can’t move! I’ll call to him. ‘Tommy! Tommy!’ Go away, Anne. Don’t look at me like that. Help me up so I can find Tommy under a bush and please, God, let me hold him, let him fall asleep in my arms. Please. God.

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chapter sixteen A BEE

19 July 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY No sign of Tommy and the rising water is making the search more and more difficult. John examined Sarah this morning before going out again to search. She was adamant that she, too, would go but when she stood, she went very white and would have fallen if John had not caught her. He gave her a sedative and she is sleeping, now. John thinks that she is in her sixth month. When she wakes, I will try to find out how she has come to be in this state.

SARAH BODKIN I dream that Tommy is curled up snug in a humpy and Bilu is there. She pulls a soft rug of possum fur over him. Tommy smiles. Bilu takes out my string and tells him the story of the jumping birds. The egg Bilu gave me is there and Bilu has cooked it for Tommy. He eats the egg and roast yam, broken open and steamy. Bilu gives Tommy a warm drink from a shell. ‘Soon Sabah will be here.’ Tommy doesn’t know the words but he understands. He eats his yam and egg. 152

Warlu is away. Hunting. Away, never to be seen again. ‘Tommy is safe with Bilu,’ Mr Roe tells me. ‘He is waiting for you to bring him home to little Sophia and her pink toes.’ Tommy helps me count the baby’s pink toes and Sophia laughs. Mrs Roe throws Sophia in the river and plays her harp. ‘It’s your fault,’ she shouts at me, dragging at the strings. ‘Your fault, you black bad girl.’ ..... ‘Sarah, I need to speak to you.’ Sarah was propped up in her cot, sipping the cup of tea Anne had brought her. ‘Have they found anything?’ she asked. Anne sighed and smoothed her skirt with her hand. This soothing gesture gave her something to look at besides Sarah. The girl’s pale face and haunted eyes struck at Anne’s heart. She forced herself to look up at Sarah. ‘No. Nothing.’ ‘Are the men still here?’ ‘Yes. Sarah, my husband has told me of your condition. Please, let me help you.’ Sarah drained the cup, handed it back to Anne and lay back on her pillows. ‘You helped me when you brought Tommy up here and now he is lost. I don’t want any more of your help,’ and she rolled over to face the wall. Anne quietly left the room and Sarah returned to her conversation with the voice in her head. Haven’t I had enough hurt? she pleaded. Haven’t I had enough? You never can have enough hurt, the voice sneered. Boas and her stick and Mum? Wasn’t that enough? Bad girl. Don’t take Tommy. Please. 153

You are a bad girl, hissed the voice. You should be sent alone across the river. Bilu would swim across and save me, said Sarah. For some reason, the voice had no reply to this so Sarah closed her eyes and thought about Anne and her offer to help. Too late, thought Sarah and allowed herself to drift off. Bilu came to greet Sarah in her dream. She pointed up the river and Sarah saw that there, riding on the back of a black swan, was Tommy. Sarah waved frantically and called out to him but Tommy didn’t notice. He was engrossed in the swan and the ducks swimming busily all around. Sarah dived into the water and began to swim towards Tommy and the black swan. But the water was heavy and dark, and Sarah sank down beneath it. She looked up and the little ducks were dipping their bills, tearing at her, tearing at her skin, her eyes, tugging at her hair. Sarah was pulled to pieces and watched as bits of her body floated away in the water. ‘Bilu! save Tommy from the ducks!’ she screamed and found herself sitting up in her cot in Anne’s little house. 21 July 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Still no sign of Tommy. The water had risen so much in the night that it was thought prudent to move on to higher ground while we could. We were carried through the water and landed on a hill about a quarter of a mile behind our house that we call Mount Joanna. The water was within a foot or two of our doorway but it did not rise all day, so to avoid a wintry night under a tarpaulin, we ventured to return and we hope that all will be well now. Sarah speaks only to little Joanna. She will not answer my questions. They sit by the hour, Sarah and Joanna, playing at cat’s cradle and singing songs. It breaks my heart to see her so. Tommy should be here with her, listening to her songs, playing games with Sarah. I know she blames me, thinks that I did not keep good watch. But Tommy was a good boy. He played so quietly

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with his little horse and cart. I trusted him not to wander off. I am sure the natives that came through took him. That was a bad week, the first week that Woods had gone to the Marquis. I was alone when they came, those blacks. They came up to the house, opening and closing their hands in that way they have, their eyes gleaming, teeth white as they chattered at me. Greedy. I sent them away. I was alone and I chased them away with the old empty gun. I had to do that. And then, they took Tommy. I am sure of it. Only God knows where Tommy is now.

..... ‘Sir, we’re just not going to find him.’ Sergeant Hall wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘And the river worries me.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Whatley. ‘It’s on the rise. You’d better get back down to Perth while you can.’ The two men stood gazing out over the swollen river. Whatley broke the silence. ‘Tommy? No, we’ll not find Tommy. They’ve taken him. I’m sure of it.’ ‘They sure took themselves away! Nary a sign of ’em. I’ll leave one of the men with you, in case you have to move to high ground again in a hurry.’ Whatley nodded. ‘Fine.’ ‘Will Miss Sarah be going with us?’ Whatley pursed his lips. ‘No. I think it’s too dangerous for her. Don’t you?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Hall. ‘She’s better off here, where you and Mrs Whatley can look after her.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Whatley. ‘When will you leave?’ ‘If we go now, we can make Perth Water before dark. The way the river’s running, it’s going to be a hell of a fast trip.’ Hall shuffled his boots and turned his hat in his hand. ‘Tell Sarah about the rising water so she’ll know why I have to go.’ Whatley sighed. ‘Go in and say your own goodbye to the girl, Hall.’

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The sergeant clapped his hat on his head and headed off towards the boat. ‘I can’t, Sir.’ SARAH BODKIN The men have not found Tommy. They come splashing through the high water, faces drawn and tired, and they won’t look at me. Dr Whatley. Sergeant Hall. None of the men will look at me. They clear their throats and spit and rub their hands together and look out over the river. They look at the trees hanging all dull grey and sodden. They look out at the things that roll by in the flood. But they do not look at me. No. They can’t look at me because they have not found my Tommy. I’m teaching little Joanna how to make the princess. She likes for me to tell her the story and ask her to kiss the princess free. When Tommy comes back, she’ll have to let him do that, the kiss. But until then I let her kiss the love knot and it all falls free. I look at Joanna and hate her because she’s not Tommy. But that’s not her fault. 22 July 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Water still high. The men have given up the search, there are no signs of any natives in the area nor of Tommy. They have returned to Perth, hoping to make it through before they are cut off by the rising water. John told Sarah that she was too ill to go with them. She tried to hold the men back, begging them over and over to carry on with the search. It was all we could do to hold her as they climbed into the boat. Even so, she ran after the boat, into the water up to her waist, screaming and crying out, and we had to drag her out. Poor child, she is quite beside herself. Out of her mind. She set such store by that boy. And she still will not talk about her condition.

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..... Sergeant Hall and his men went back down the river leaving Thompson behind. The day after their departure, the Whatley household woke to find nearly two feet of water in the house and Sarah gone. The first thing that Anne thought was that the distraught girl had thrown herself into the river and drowned. ‘I should have let Joanna sleep with her.’ Anne was frantically bundling up their belongings, shoving them onto high shelves. ‘She begged to be allowed but Sarah has been so mad lately, I didn’t trust her.’ ‘I’ll send Thompson to look for her.’ Whatley was loading up the large baskets that they had used to transport the bare essentials in the last move to high ground. ‘She may be back in the trees.’ Thompson stumped off through the water and in a short time returned carrying a weeping and bedraggled Sarah. ‘Found her with her arms around a tree,’ he informed them and sat her in the boat which was tied up to the front doorpost. He wrapped Sarah in a rug and ploughed off through the water to rescue the cow, who was bellowing plaintively. Joanna and the baby were already in the boat and Sarah seemed to come to herself when Joanna tugged at her arm and asked for a story. ‘Tell me the one about the princess,’ she begged and Sarah dutifully pulled the loop of twine out of her pocket. But before she could begin, Joanna began bouncing up and down on the seat, her little finger pointing up the river. ‘Look!’ she cried as a boat with three men in it came around the bend. ‘Oh, good. It’s Mackie!’ Anne said to Dorothy, who was grumbling that the goats did not want to go in the boat. In short order, neighbour Mackie and the two soldiers he had with him had moved the family to Mount Joanna and erected a rude shelter. Thompson brought the oven over and 157

Dorothy, still in a terrible temper after her bout with the goats, baked up a batch of bread. They were sipping tea and eating Dorothy’s splendid bread beside a roaring fire when there was a loud halloo from the river. It was Captain Stirling, on his way to Guildford. He offered to call in on his return and take the women and children down to Perth to stay at his house until the river went down. ‘Do you want to go back with him to the Roes’?’ Anne asked Sarah. Anne thought that, aside from her pallor and a tendency to stare off into space, Sarah seemed to be almost normal. ‘It’s as though she’s listening to something. Or someone,’ Anne had told her husband. Now she smoothed Sarah’s hair back from her forehead. ‘That’s your home, Sarah.’ Sarah shook off Anne’s hand and refused to speak, so Anne called out to Captain Stirling, ‘No, no! We’re splendid here.’ Thompson decided to go with the Governor so Anne dashed off a quick note to Matilda Roe, saying that Sarah was still unwell and would stay with them until fit to travel. ‘I said nothing about her being in the family way,’ Anne whispered to her husband as they waved Stirling and his crew off down the river. 2 August 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY The water has at last receded and we were able to return to our cottage, which seemed very snug after bivouacking, but it was very damp. To air it we had shovels full of hot, clear embers brought in, which once nearly set the whole place on fire. When I was out-of-doors, somehow the drapery that divides the two apartments came untied and the draught blew the drapery so near the embers that it caught fire, and when I opened the door it was blazing up close to little Mary’s cradle. She was amused, looking at the flames, reaching out her little hands to them. Sarah was just in time to tear down the drapery before the flames 158

reached the thatch — our only loss was a good pair of sheets that were used as curtains. Sarah had a very bad spell after saving Mary from the burning curtain. She trembled and cried out so, throwing herself to the ground, thrashing about so that Dorothy and I had to grip her firmly in our arms to stop her from harming herself.

SARAH BODKIN The fire! Save Tommy from the flames! But it’s not Tommy, only baby Mary. Save baby Mary and it’s Tommy I save. Oh! It’s turning and turning in my belly! The water baby turning and kicking and I don’t want it! Let me go! Go to the river and sink down and find Tommy asleep at the bottom of the river. 10 August 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Woods came back this week but he is still unmanageable. He and Dorothy will have to go. It has been arranged that Sarah will stay and work for us. I feel responsible for her state of mind, which is very precarious. Some days, she is her own bright self, singing and playing games with Joanna. Other days she sits and stares with that terrible listening look on her face that almost breaks my heart. She seems to have no idea when she is due to give birth. She says the father is the river but of course that cannot be. She is very healthy, except for this malaise of the mind.

..... As the days passed, Anne felt happier about Sarah and confided to her husband that the girl seemed to be blooming both mentally and physically. ‘It’s little Joanna that seems to pull her out of her low state.’ Since Woods and the grim Dorothy had gone down to Perth, Anne and Sarah were often alone with the children

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while Dr Whatley travelled up and down the river tending his patients. One day Sarah came to Anne as she was writing in her diary and said, ‘I want to sew a dress for Joanna. And one for you, as well.’ Anne dug out a length of fine cotton from her trunk and Sarah said that it would do very well. ‘I’ll make the sleeves in the latest fashion,’ and she set about cutting and stitching. ‘I don’t know what use the latest fashion is to me here,’ Anne mused as she looked up from her diary and watched Sarah’s needle flashing in and out. ‘I suppose I can wear the dress as we take tea on the lawn.’ ‘Are you lonely here at Hone’s Green?’ Sarah asked. Anne sighed. ‘Sometimes I am very lonely. This place is so different from home. And I miss my mother.’ Anne looked down at her diary. ‘I suppose that’s why I write this. For conversation.’ Sarah shook out Joanna’s finished dress and surveyed it critically. ‘I’m never lonely,’ she said. ‘I always have Tommy to talk to. And the others,’ she added. 23 August 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY We are delighted with the beauty of the spring flowers which are blooming in profusion. We sowed a large piece of land with peas, beans, turnips, cabbages, Indian corn, potatoes, etc., and all have come up. Our first turnips were sent to the Governor. I believe they were the first he had seen. At the same time I sent Captain Irwin three dozen eggs, an odd present, but at Perth, people can rarely be persuaded to sell them at any price. Sarah enjoys the flowers. She picks them by the armful and fills the house. It is like living in a bower, until they wilt. One day, I threw the wilted flowers into the river and Sarah went quite mad, wading into the water to rescue them. ‘They are for Tommy,’ she cried. I thought she was 160

lost when she stumbled into the deep water but even with her heavy skirt dragging at her, she was able to swim back to safety. She brought the wilted flowers with her and laid them out in the sun to dry. Now, when she fills the house with flowers, I leave them and let Sarah take them away. I am sure that Sarah did not know how to swim when we arrived on the Atwick. Another mystery.

SARAH BODKIN There is a flower that climbs and throws itself in loops between the trees. It’s a very deep blue colour. Anne tells me the name of that colour is ultramarine blue. ‘Marine is water, isn’t it?’ I asked and she said ‘Yes.’ So, I think to myself, this is a water flower. Those are ribbons of water flung over the trees. Dear God, let Tommy see the water flowers. Every day I take Joanna and we gather armfuls of flowers for Tommy. Because she helps me, I make Joanna a floral crown. Some days I weave a necklace and bracelets of blossoms for her. One day Joanna put her crown on my head and the perfume of the flowers drifted down over me. A bee buzzed out of the crown and hovered before my face. I knew that Tommy had sent the bee and I told it to go to Tommy and tell him to come back to me. ‘I’ll make him a crown,’ I told the bee. The bee flew off. On another day when I was lying in the grass, looking up at the sky, Joanna laid a flower on my belly. She said that my belly is very fat. ‘Why do you have a fat belly?’ she asked. The father of the baby swimming in my belly is the river. Anne looks at me strangely when I tell her this. But that is the way of it — the river, the water, and Bilu and Warlu and I sinking down down under the water.

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chapter seventeen TWO BOYS CARRYING SPEARS

30 August 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY John told the Roes about Sarah’s predicament on his last visit to Perth. They were shocked and have no idea of who the father of the child could be. Mrs Roe maintains that Sarah showed no interest at all in any man and that she only ever mentioned Captain Amos, who brought us upriver. John will be going to Perth soon to buy another cow. I will write to Mrs Roe and offer to keep Sarah until after the birth. Two beautiful wild turkeys alighted just now near the cottage but John could not get within shot of them. They are very shy birds. The native robin is quite a beau with a black velvet coat and geranium waistcoat. He seems very sociable. Lieut. Dale called on his way to Thompson and Trimmer’s who are going exploring with him; he much admired our abundance of eggs. Nine hens set and have brought out families. I have given all the mothers a name. Little Joanna likes Aurora best but my favourite is Clementine. A half-naked black woman came to the door this morning and was most insistent with her begging. I sent her on her way. 162

BILU Bright one caught in darkness. Heart following little one on his far journey. Bright one bearing river child come to me. 3 September 1830

SARAH BODKIN Bilu is here. I’ve felt her near me for several days now and when Anne said there was a native woman at the door wearing not much more than a piece of string around her neck, I knew it was Bilu. The voice has stopped now that Bilu’s here. Anne accuses me of staring at nothing but I am listening to the voice. I don’t want to but it’s hard not to. Anne doesn’t let me leave the house alone. She sends Joanna after me. She knows I would not frighten or hurt Joanna. Anne’s afraid that I will throw myself in the river and drown and sends Joanna to save me. Well, Anne, I’ll have to take Joanna to meet Bilu. The river’s much lower now. The flood is over and the water is peaceful, reflecting the blue sky. Which way should I go? Upriver? Downriver? I can’t decide and stand watching the water slide by at my feet. Joanna is impatient and pulls me downriver. That’s good enough for me. We’ll find Bilu waiting down the river. Oh, Bilu! I have missed you so. We find her on a little hillock above the river. My heart grows warm when I see her there, waiting for me. She waves and I see her white smile. ‘Who’s that?’ Joanna asks, dragging on my hand. ‘Bilu. She’s a secret lady.’ ‘Will she take me away like they did Tommy?’ ‘No!’ I don’t intend to be so sharp with Joanna but she doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Look,’ I say. ‘Bilu has brought 163

someone for you to play with.’ Mina’s with her and Mina is no longer a child. She’s grown taller and her new breasts are like rosebuds. Bilu smiles at me and Mina takes Joanna’s hand. They go away but not far. I can still see little Joanna’s head above the flowers where she and Mina are sitting. She’s laughing as Mina takes out her string and makes cradles and sings songs. How strange it is to hear Mina’s songs. She has remembered the tunes but the words are different. I can almost understand them because she’s changed them only a little, but still, Mina is singing in another language. Bilu and I walk into the bush, strolling beneath the looping skeins of blue flowers that swing from the trees. When Mina and Joanna are out of sight but I can still hear them, I stop. I don’t want to lose Joanna. Bilu leads me to the water. She touches my belly and points to the river, saying the same few words over and over. She leans over the water and pretends to lift a baby in her arms and hold it against her breast. This is my baby she is showing me. I point to the river and then to my belly and say, ‘Baby from the water.’ I know that in Bilu’s world, I received this baby that twists and kicks in my belly from the river. I close my eyes and remember swimming under the water, remember Warlu’s arms holding me, remember Bilu’s floating shadow on my body. I remember the sun glittering on the water up above as I lay on the sand. Will my baby have glittering eyes and hair, like the golden water under the sun? No. My baby will be dark. Like Bilu. Like Warlu. And Matilda Roe and all the other ladies who come to visit her will never believe that a baby can be fathered by the river. I can’t live in Bilu’s world with my baby. It seems there’s nothing for me and my baby to do but to return to the river, sink down to the soft sand at the bottom and stay there. That’s what the voice tells me. And I listen. 164

But now the voice is silent and Bilu and I sit and listen to the birds. We watch the river. It’s always peaceful with Bilu, always restful to be close to her. Sitting with Bilu is like being near a soft gentle fire. She pulls out the string she took from me so long ago, almost a year now, and begins to weave a new string figure. She grins as her fingers work away at the string, teeth white when she holds it up for me to see. She makes a noise like a duck and sticks out her thumb and I see the duck’s head go down in the water and up again. I shudder as I remember the ducks feeding on the river the day I came up to Hone’s Green to search for Tommy. Bilu hands me her string and urges me to make a figure. ‘No,’ I say and shake my head, trying to give it back, but Bilu gently pushes the string back into my hands. She makes little clucking noises with her tongue and, without thinking, without wanting to, my hands begin to weave the story of the princess. This is the story that Tommy liked the best. I sing the song and hear his voice singing along with me, and when it is time to kiss the princess and set her free, I am weeping so hard I can’t see the love knot. ‘Tommy,’ I cry, saying his name over and over as the tears pour out of my eyes. Bilu echoes me, singing Tommy’s name as she sways back and forth. ‘Toommy Toommy Toommy,’ she croons, eyes closed, face calm. But even with her eyes shut like that I can tell that she is sending her gaze far far away. I wipe away my tears and watch her as she croons, ‘Toommy Toommy,’ and gazes through her closed eyes. Finally she opens them and looks straight at me. ‘Tommy,’ she says as plain as can be and points north, making a sign with her hands and fingers that looks like a person walking. Bilu knows! Bilu looked far away and saw Tommy! ‘Oh, Bilu!’ I cry. ‘Where is he? Where?’ Bilu takes my hand and leads me to a patch of wet mud. She hunts around for a strong twig and then kneels down and 165

draws in the mud. I kneel awkwardly beside her and hold my belly as she sketches a figure that looks like a person walking. ‘Tommy,’ she says firmly, pointing at the mud drawing. Then she points away to the north and repeats, ‘Tommy.’ Is this my Tommy, this lone figure in the mud? No! Tommy wouldn’t go away all alone and leave his little horse and cart. Leave me! I shake my head at Bilu. ‘Where’s Tommy?’ I repeat. ‘Tommy,’ repeats Bilu, pointing to the mud drawing and again to the north. This time, she stands up and uses her whole arm to gesture. Then she points to the sun overhead and, keeping her arm straight, draws an arc to the western horizon. Then she faces east and the sun hand comes up again. Ah! Bilu’s arc in the sky means one day. She goes on to draw another arc. Two days? Another swing of the arm. Or a long time? Now the arm pointing north again. Yes, the whole arm pointing, that means far, not time. Now Bilu kneels and draws two larger people, one on each side of Tommy. Each holds a stick in one hand. She touches her breasts and points to these larger figures. I think that I understand. Tommy was taken away by two dark native people, people with the same skin as Bilu. They were men. The sticks are spears. They walked very far to the north. I kneel and go through the story again, pointing to the figures and Bilu and to the north. Bilu grins and nods. She’s pleased with me. I understand. Tommy is alive! Not dead. Alive! Quickly, I point to the Tommy figure and make a walking motion with my fingers across the mud and back up over my belly to my heart. ‘Tommy come back to me?’ I ask. Bilu looks down and fiddles with the twig. I touch her shoulder, making her lift her head to look at me. I point to the mud Tommy and then to my heart and ask again. ‘Tommy come back to me?’ 166

‘I’m going home to Mum.’ It’s Joanna, running through the grass to take my hand. ‘Come, Sarah.’ ‘Wait, Joanna.’ I turn to Bilu who makes the sign that means far away. ‘Tommy come back?’ I ask again. Why won’t Bilu say yes? Why? ‘I’m going home,’ Joanna announces and marches off towards the house. Mina and Bilu are moving off into the bush. ‘Bilu!’ I call and she lifts one arm and waves. Then she and the girl disappear into the shadows. ‘Wait, Joanna,’ I cry. I run after her and finally catch up. ‘Joanna, you must not tell Mummy about the secret lady and the girl. Understand?’ ‘Why?’ asks Joanna. I can’t think of a reason. ‘Because I told you to,’ I say, hoping that will convince her. ‘Tell me the princess story when we get home?’ ‘Yes, Joanna. And you can kiss her free.’ 5 September 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Sarah is nearing her time. She has taken to wandering off into the bush, staying away the whole day. Joanna said she meets a kind lady who makes string stories, but of course this can’t be true. Has the father of her child followed her up here and camped somewhere in the bush? I asked Sarah outright if she was meeting anyone. She just looked at me. I cannot bring myself to force her to answer, not in the face of that look. Her eyes remind me of her mother’s and I am afraid for her sanity. Today Sarah asked for Tommy’s things. It has taken her this long to ask for them. Her hands trembled as she took the little bundle. Oh, my poor Sarah. 7 September 1830

SARAH BODKIN I have Tommy’s little wooden horse and wagon. The horse’s 167

hooves are stained with grass and dirt. Tommy played hard with the little horse. The black men came out of the bush and took Tommy so quickly that he didn’t have time to pick up his horse and wagon. I’m sure that Tommy misses his toys. I’ll take them to Bilu and tell her to send them to Tommy. Bilu will send a messenger and eventually Tommy will receive his little horse and cart and know that I sent them to him. He’ll know that I love him and will wait forever for him to come back to me. The babe in my belly rolls slowly and settles. ‘Yes,’ I murmur. ‘Yes. River child. Soon.’ I walk to where Bilu and I usually meet but she’s not there. I search all along the river, calling softly, not wanting Anne to hear me. But Bilu and Mina have disappeared. Gone away. I know this for sure when I find a new love knot wedged at the foot of the tree where Bilu and I usually sit. I put it in my apron pocket. Then I make Tommy’s love knot with my string and tie it around the horse’s neck. I wrap the horse and wagon in my apron and wedge them in the fork of the tree. Bilu will come back. Or if not Bilu, someone else who will know that these things are for Tommy. 10 September 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY We are planning our house. It is to be divided into six rooms and to have glass windows and a floor, the outer doors to be of native mahogany. John cut down a fine tree at Perth for which a builder offered him five pounds as it lay. Sarah seems better today. I heard her singing as she and Joanna came up from the river. But now she goes out at night and wanders the bush. I lie awake and wonder. Sometimes I fall asleep before she returns.

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11 September 1830

SARAH BODKIN Warlu came for the horse and cart. I have been keeping watch at night and I saw him in the moonlight. I called out to him and he turned and lifted his hand. He has scars on his chest and face. I called again but he turned and disappeared into the dark bush. 12 September 1830

SARAH BODKIN I am waiting for him in the moonlight and he has come back to me. Warlu. He is thinner, harder looking. He touches my hair and then my belly. I hold out the love knot that Bilu left for me. Warlu touches the knot to my belly and puts it around his neck. I wonder what he did with the other one I gave him? Probably lost it running through the bush, he can move so quickly. Again he touches my belly and suddenly I wonder if he wants to take it away with him, take away my river baby. I clasp my hands firmly over my belly and back away from him. Then I turn and run away. Back to Anne and her little house. DREAM SARAH BODKIN Boas stands in the river, the water up to her knees, and says, ‘Sarah Bodkin, the fruit of your purse is mine.’ She lifts her stick and impaled on it is the body of a little brown baby. 15 September 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY Sarah in a bad way today, thrashing about in her bed, screaming out a strange Spanish sounding name. I am so afraid for her. She is close to her time. I would feel much better if John were here but he has gone to Perth to buy 169

the cow and won’t be back until tomorrow or the next day. Later: Tonight Sarah Bodkin gave birth to a healthy baby girl with a mop of red curly hair. It was a short, painful labour but Sarah did not make a fuss. I did the best I could without John. There was extensive bleeding but that seems to have abated.

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chapter eighteen SUN WITH FULL RAYS

16 September 1830 DIARY OF ANNE WHATLEY What a day it was yesterday! John departed early for Perth to buy a side-saddle for me at Col. Latour’s sale and then on to Fremantle to buy a cow. Sarah went into labour in the afternoon and just after ten o’clock gave birth to a baby girl. She still refuses to name the child’s father. I wonder if he was a foreigner, a sailor perhaps. The baby has a foreign look about her. I suggested this to Sarah and was most upset at her reaction. She laughed. I was quite cross and told her that this was no laughing matter and she only shrugged. I asked her what she would name the child and again she just shrugged. This morning a native woman appeared at the door. She was very persistent, repeating over and over a word which could be Sarah’s name. Sarah was asleep and in the end I had to threaten the woman with the old gun to make her go away. As I write this, I recall Mrs Roe recounting how a black woman came when her Sophia was born and, later, kidnapped the child. She said Sarah knew the woman and, because she did, was able to rescue Sophia 171

from the native camp. I did not tell Sarah of the black woman’s visit. If she has had dealings with the blacks, it is time for them to finish. John will return on Friday and can examine Sarah then. She is pale and lethargic; she has lost a great deal of blood and is still bleeding. I have done all I can. Pray God that John gets back in time.

SARAH BODKIN It hurt. But I knew it would. I watched Mum that many times. But I’m still bleeding, which is not as it should be. I’m packing myself down there with clean rags and resting and drinking tea. The bleeding makes me weak and I drift in and out of the day. It’s like swimming in and out of the shadows in the river. I try not to think about the river. About sinking under the water as I planned to do, taking the river baby with me, tied firmly in my arms. If my baby were not so beautiful, if she did not hold my finger and look up at me with her dark eyes, if she were not pulling so strongly at my breast, then perhaps I would gladly go with her to the river and sink beneath the water to sleep there forever. But she’s so beautiful, my little baby. Almost as beautiful as Tommy. Almost. When I’m stronger I’ll think what to do. To be stronger, the bleeding must stop. Come to me, Bilu, and save me from the bleeding. BILU Bright one the woman with eyes like stone keeps me away. Bright one this is for the blood. ..... 172

‘What is this?’ The sharp note in Anne’s voice brought Sarah wide awake. ‘What?’ she mumbled, pushing herself up on her elbow. ‘I found this on your pillow,’ said Anne. ‘This’ was two large leaves with a length of twine knotted around them. Sarah recognised the twine and the knot as Bilu’s handiwork. ‘That’s mine,’ said Sarah, her heart giving a little lift of joy. Bilu must have come slipping through the night, leaving these for her. ‘Well, looks like nothing to me,’ said Anne, staring down at the offending bundle. ‘Please.’ Sarah held out her hand and Anne reluctantly handed it over. Sarah waited until Anne was occupied with Joanna before undoing the twine. Inside, she found a handful of dry crumbled leaves which smelled slightly astringent, and another, smaller packet. Sarah managed to get up and fetch a cup of hot water. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought the leaves were to make a tea. Anyway, she would try that first. By the time she got back to her pallet, her head was swimming. Sarah sipped the brew slowly, her baby asleep beside her. Her long dark lashes brushed her rosy cheeks and she made sucking noises as she slept. When she had finished the drink, Sarah picked up the other, smaller packet which was tied with a complex knot. Layers of threads were folded one over the other, forming a little pocket. Tucked into the centre of this was a scrap of bright red thread, like a drop of blood, and a bit of the pulpy mash that Sarah found inside the packet. This isn’t to drink, Sarah decided. Pack it inside me, that’s what I must do. She sniffed at the pulp. It didn’t smell rotten or mouldy and the knot definitely had leaves packed into it, with that drop of blood red. Sarah did the best she could. She decided to leave the packing in until morning. That would give Bilu’s remedy time to work. And anyway, Dr Whatley was due back soon and he would know what to do. 173

16 September 1830

FREMANTLE Dr Whatley and Capt. Stryan were drowned in crossing the river at Fremantle. They foolishly put a beast into the boat, and it brought it over. FREMANTLE VERDICT OF THE INQUEST INTO THE DROWNING That the said John Whatley, M.D., and John Stryan, were accidentally drowned in crossing the Swan River with a cow, in a boat too small for the safe transport of such a burthen, and the Coroner is requested by the jury to communicate to His Excellency the Lieut.-Governor their opinion, and request that sufficient measures be taken to prevent a recurrence of similar accidents. .....

A small party was dispatched up the river to carry the news of the tragedy to Anne Whatley. A Mrs Wardell was part of the group. SARAH BODKIN Still a little bleeding but I’m much better. Anne is curious about the packets. Another appeared on my pillow this morning. Bilu is nearby. I can feel her. When I’m stronger I’ll go look for her. Meanwhile I’m packing myself with her remedy. Dr Whatley is expected to return soon. 25 September 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY It is over a week now, since that terrible Friday. I thought I might reasonably expect John to return that night. I put the children to bed, promising to wake Joanna when her 174

father arrived. At last I heard oars and, before they reached our landing place, loud hallooing. I ran out and answered them and threw some brushwood on the fire to blaze. When I met them coming up from the river, I was surprised to see Dorothy, followed by Mrs Wardell, of whom I know little except that she is Dorothy’s new mistress and lives in Fremantle. Later, I will write of my feelings when Mrs Wardell gave me her dreadful news. Mrs Wardell stayed on a week at Hone’s Green and made me promise to come down to Fremantle soon. She invited me to stay with them till a ship leaves for England, which I thankfully agreed to. Sarah will have to go back to the Roes. There has been no mention of the baby in the message Mrs Roe sent with Mrs Wardell but there it is, Sarah has no choice but to take the babe with her. The Roes will have to sort it out when she arrives. Sarah is in much better health and assures me that the bleeding has stopped. I have been grateful for Sarah’s strength these last days. 25 September 1830

SARAH BODKIN Such a stupid thing to do! Put a cow in a little boat and take it across that patch of water. Everyone knows that crossing is dangerous. What were they thinking of? Dorothy, an ignorant and thoughtless woman, says that they were drunk. She was with me at the laundry fire, braying on and on about Dr Whatley and the captain being full to the gills. I saw Anne in the doorway and told Dorothy to shut up, but Anne had heard. She went quite white and staggered out of the house with her arm raised. Stupid Dorothy thought Anne was going to hit her. I wish she had, and hard, too. But Dorothy crouched down, snivelling that she didn’t mean it, it was only a story, her ratty face gone red. Anne stood over her with her hand up and then gave a great gulp and turned back to the house. Mrs Wardell came out to comfort her and Dorothy slunk off into the bush.

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I stirred the laundry to the boil and tended the babies. When Anne came out she said nothing. Her face was rough from the tears but she didn’t say a word, just took baby Mary away to feed. It’s a terrible thing for Anne, losing her husband like that. An accident with a cow and two grown men in a rowboat ends her marriage. And her life here. Anne told me that she, Joanna and little Mary will go back home now. She offered to take me and my baby with her, if I could get the money for the passage. I wonder what happened to Fraser’s tool money which I gave her? Maybe that was what was buying the saddle and the cow. I can never leave here, never go away from the Swan River. I can’t leave my Tommy here all alone. One day he may come back. Maybe it will be when he receives the wooden horse and the wagon. Or when he is older and can walk through the bush by himself. He would be very unhappy if I were not here. I didn’t have time to teach him his letters and how to write words. He only knows how to write ‘Sarah’ with a backwards ‘S’. We can’t write letters to each other so I must stay here and wait for him. There’s nothing back home for me. Here there’s Tommy and this baby that sucks at my breast. She’s a fat baby and my breasts are very sore. I shouldn’t have given away all that breast unguent to Mrs Roe. Anne keeps on at me about naming my baby. I’ve never named a baby before. Tommy was named by Fraser, and Mum’s other babes died before they could be given a name. So this is important. My first naming. I thought of giving her Mum’s name but that seems a sad thing to do. I don’t know the names that Bilu’s people have. I don’t know what she would name this river baby. I don’t even know if Bilu is her real name. So I thought of the names I liked and I remembered that there was a girl at the school who had a beautiful name. It was Beatrice. 176

Beatrice. I like the way it sits on my lips and tongue. Beatrice. Little Bea. Beatrice told me that her name was the name of a beautiful woman in a play. I don’t know what a play looks like but that doesn’t matter because Beatrice went on to say something I’ve never forgotten. She said, ‘Beatrice means “she who makes happy”.’ That’s a good name for my baby girl. She makes me happy. She will be my little Bea. And when she is a grown-up lady, when she is somebody, she can be Beatrice. Now I’m holding Bea and waiting for Bilu to come so that I can say goodbye to her. ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY This is my last day in our little house. I have said goodbye to everything. Someday I will sit down and weep bitter tears for all of this but now I must be strong for little Joanna and Mary. I am so sad to be leaving Hone’s Green but I cannot remain here, a widow alone with two small children to support. Sarah will stay here at Hone’s Green with Dorothy for a short while. They will take all they can from the garden and come down later to Perth. 30 September 1830

ANNE WHATLEY’S DIARY I and my two children left our home in Captain Amos’ boat for Fremantle. At Perth the men went ashore to dine, but we remained in the boat. Mrs Stirling, Mrs Roe and other ladies kindly sent to ask me to stay with them on our passage down, but on many accounts I preferred going straight through the day. It was at least nine when we reached the end of our little voyage and were welcomed by Mr and Mrs Wardell and taken to their home.

SARAH BODKIN I waved Anne and little Joanna and baby Mary off down the river. Captain Amos gave me a carved teething ring for 177

Beatrice. He says that Beatrice is a splendid name. I sit here in front of the empty house to wait for Bilu. Last night she left another knot on my pillow. It had a strange dried flower in it. I’m rocking Bea. She is a dear baby. She looks up at me and digs into my breast with her little fingers as she feeds. She has so much hair, a very dark red and so soft and curly, I have to tell myself to stop stroking it. Her eyelashes are long. She is beautiful. When I look at her, I see both her and Tommy. My baby here and the other far away, walking between the two men with spears. A note for me was brought up by Captain Amos. It was from Mrs Roe. She wrote that she is anxious for me to come back. She wrote that she is expecting another babe and needs me. She wrote that Sophia misses me. And last of all, Matilda Roe wrote that there is room in her house for my baby. Oh! How painful those words are for me. If there had been room for Tommy, I would have been so happy sewing the dresses, the sleeves, the Sacks, sewing for all the ladies and looking after little Phia, and perhaps she would not have been taken away. There was no room for Tommy, and all of this, the fire and Warlu and the river, has happened and now! Now there is room. Well, it all did happen and now I have my little Beatrice and Mrs Roe says that there is room. ‘Bring your baby to our house, Sarah,’ she wrote. ..... Bilu did not come but she left a message. She left the little trousers, the trousers I made for Tommy. They were beside my bed when I woke today. In a pocket was a love knot, all undone and loose. 178

Not tied up. She’s wrong. Tommy’s not dead. He’s away to the north, living with those dark people who love him and are teaching him to be a man. The two men are making him a little spear and he is learning to hunt with it. One day my Tommy will come back to me. Today, Bea and I go back down the river. Captain Amos arrived yesterday. He’s as gruff as usual but has helped tie up all our bundles and spoken to Dorothy so nicely that she’s forgotten to sulk. Once again, we glide over the face of the river, shining blue in the sun. The air above clear and bright, the swans dark and majestic. We move quickly with the current and soon I will see again the tents and houses and trees of Perth. Dear God, I still can’t love you, not after all this. Not after Tommy and Dr Whatley and Boas’ stick and Anne going back home. But there is the river and the light. Thank you God for the light about the river. And dear God, keep my little Beatrice safe.

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SECRETS of the Way CAROLYN LOGAN

Lucy was trembling so hard she had to slow down. It was all too much. First the blackout and then the world turning beneath her feet in a shower of stars and juggling the moon. She hugged herself and jogged in place a moment before she set off again, running slowly. This time the light did not fail ... ‘Well, I’m glad that weird stuff is all over,’ she muttered as she wiped her face in her towel and turned to trudge up over the dune. Later, she was to think how wrong she had been. It was not all over. That day when darkness fell on the Ripples and the world turned free on its axis beneath her feet, the weird stuff had only begun. ISBN 1 86368 083 7

My Place SALLY MORGAN

In 1982 Sally Morgan travelled back to her grandmother’s birthplace. What started out as a tentative search for information about her family, turned into an overwhelming emotional and spiritual pilgrimage. Sally Morgan and her family were confronted with their own suppressed history, and with fundamental questions about their identity. My Place begins with Sally Morgan tracing the experiences of her own life, growing up in suburban Perth in the fifties and sixties. Through the memories and images of her childhood and adolescence, vague hints and echoes begin to emerge, hidden knowledge is uncovered, and a fascinating story unfolds — a mystery of identity, complete with clues and suggested solutions. ... a celebratory work and profoundly moving ... all Australians should read this ... Helen Daniel, The Age. ... a triumphant story that makes you glad it’s at last been told ... Mark Macleod, Times on Sunday. ... the sort of Australian history which hasn’t been written before, and which we desperately need ... Barbara Jefferis, The Weekend Australian. ISBN 0 949206 31 8

My Place For Young Readers

SALLY MORGAN is Sally Morgan’s rich, zesty and moving story of her childhood and growing up in Perth, Western Australia. It tells how she gradually came to realise the truth about her family and their heritage. In its original edition, My Place was warmly and enthusiastically received by readers and critics. This new edition has been adapted for younger readers and is presented in three separate books:

SALLY’S STORY ISBN 0 949206 78 4

ARTHUR CORUNNA’S STORY ISBN 0 949206 77 6

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER The Story of Daisy and Gladys Corunna ISBN 0 949206 79 2