Sarah Thornhill (10 page)

Good as a feather bed, he'd say, the same every time. Try it, Sarah Thornhill, tell me I'm not wrong.

I'd lie beside him and we'd spin out the moment, looking up at the roof of the cave. The stone there was frayed away into a sponge of holes and grooves that you could follow till you were lost in the soft tangle. After a bit, the back of his hand would slide up against the back of mine and we'd lie hip to hip and hand to hand. It was like a hunger or a thirst, what I felt for Jack. Not anything in your power to say no to.

Afterwards we'd sit, twined up one into another. Didn't talk much, but Jack would sing. Just softly, so they wouldn't hear us down at the house. They'd be the kinds of songs sailors knew, a jiggy sort of tune and the words all about ships and faraway places and lovely ladies left behind. I didn't have much of a voice but he loved to hear me sing too, or so he said. Did my best to oblige, finding things floating up out of my memory.

Oranges and lemons, say the bells of Saint Clement's
. The words coming out of my mouth so easy, it was like my mother in there singing for me
. You owe me five farthings, say the bells of Saint
Martin's
. She was with us, the silly song like a blessing from her.

It was enough for me to live as if every day was the only day. I had no thoughts of what might follow. But one day in that time of closeness, Jack looked ahead.

My roaming years pretty well done, he said. Be time to settle down by and by.

What, no more sealing, I said.

Know Sullivan's, do you, he said. That old place down the river a piece?

Yes, I knew Sullivan's. An overgrown paddock and a half-ruined hut tumbling off the side of the hill. Someone had got a farm going there long ago, but must of walked off. No one there, all the years I'd known it.

Man has to think what he might do, Jack said.

And what might he do, Jack, I said.

Soon get that hut patched, he said. Man with a sharp axe get that patched up in a day. Patch it up, clear the paddock, grow whatever it is you grow.

What, be a farmer! I said. Jack Langland a farmer!

Don't give me much credit, do you Sarah Thornhill, he said. Be surprised what Jack Langland can turn his hand to.

Now I was racing after him, had a future mapped out for us in a moment, the two of us in the patched-up hut, growing whatever it was you grew.

Couple more trips for the seals, he said. Get a bit more put by. Keeping Sullivan's to myself till I'm ready. Not give anyone else ideas.

Took my hand, traced the lines on my palm, touched all the fingers one by one as he had once before.

Might be lonely in that old hut, he said. Be wanting company. A certain person who might join me. If she was that way inclined. But a certain person could do better than Jack Langland. I know that. Could do a lot better.

I'd never heard Jack shy before.

You tell me, he said. Tell me straight. If you seen something you like better, say the word. Jack Langland always be a friend to Sarah Thornhill no matter what.

Never seen anything I liked better, I said. Told you once before, you're the only feller for me.

Did I kiss him, or was it him kissed me? The wind in the leaves, the twittering of the little creatures in the bushes, a bird singing. I heard it all, felt every touch of the air on my skin, every bit of me never more part of the life of the world.

We had those few weeks, then word come from Sydney,
Industry
ready to sail, Will and Jack to go to Sydney on Trevarrow's boat that afternoon.

It was all a bustle and fluster, Will and Jack putting their things together, Ma fussing up and down the stairs, Pa in doorways getting out his gold watch and clicking it open. It was as much as me and Jack could do to find a moment alone together in the upstairs hall. Got our arms round each other, he hugged me so hard he squeezed the air out of me.

Will you wait for me, he whispered.

Till Kingdom Come, I whispered back.

Then Ma was at the end of the hall but we was quick, she didn't see.

Take care of yourself, Sarah Thornhill, Jack said in a voice anyone was free to hear. No mischief while I'm gone.

Come along now Jack, Ma said, Trevarrow's waiting! And Dolly, don't get in his way, there's a girl.

We all walked down to the jetty in the yellow afternoon light. Will striding with his bundle bouncing on his back and Pa walking beside him, two men with long legs and longer shadows. Mary and Ma going zig-zag down the steep part so they didn't slip. Last was Jack and me, and the speckled dog coming along beside us. Knew something was up, kept looking at Jack. At the jetty it got under everyone's feet, trying to stay beside him.

Off you go, Jack said, pointed up to the house. Home now! Off with you!

The dog panted up at Jack with its tongue hanging out, making out it was stupid. It was on the edge of the jetty when Will and Jack got on board and the man flipped the bowline up on deck.

I watched the boat slide out into the stream, Jack in the stern getting smaller every second. I waved with my shawl and he took off his cap and pulled it through the air over his head. Then the boat slid round the point behind the mangroves. That empty water.

Me and the dog trailed up to the house together. I gave it a pat, it looked up into my face, licked my chin. All the spring gone out of that dog's step. The dog didn't want me and I didn't want the dog, but we made do with each other.

Never you mind, I said. He'll be back. Then we'll see.

A
RCHIBALD CAMPBELL
made sure Mary didn't forget him. Every couple of weeks he rode down from Garlogie, and always with something for her, a lace handkerchief or a pretty pair of combs.

Back in Aberdeen he might of looked askance at a woman who couldn't read or write and with her father an emancipist. But in New South Wales there was a good deal more men than women, and if a feller was overly choosy he'd miss out. Mary was clever and knew how to manage a household, and she was pretty enough. None of the airs and graces of a woman of his own class, but up-country didn't call for airs and graces.

He'd stay a few days. Go round the paddocks with Pa, keen as if he never saw a cow before. Went on carving at the meal table even when Pa's wrist was mended, like the son-in-law already.

You've a good table here, Mrs Thornhill, he said. Mrs Devlin a fine hand with a joint or a pie. I've a fair cook at Garlogie but it's a throng place, eleven government men, the poor woman run off her feet. Does her best but it's the plain cooking. You might say alarmingly plain.

Except we didn't get
alarmingly,
it had such a Scotch twist to it.

Now her pies, he said, I don't tell a lie to say I broke a tooth once on her pastry. The one thing I hanker for, a pie like my dear mother made. The pastry to melt in your mouth, and the filling so succulent. Never had its like.

Mary took it as a challenge. Went up to Langland's one day, they had a woman did a lovely pie, to learn how to get the pastry light. Mix it with a knife and hardly touch it when you rolled it, make a rosebud for the top and brush it all with egg to bring up a good colour.

Presented her pie to Campbell that night and you'd of thought she'd given him the Crown jewels. One night not too long after that, Pa stood up in his place at the head of the table and said he had some good news, it was going to come as a surprise for everyone, Mr Campbell and Mary was betrothed.

We all laughed, oh yes what a surprise! All of us pleased. I liked Archibald, a mild sort of gent, and amiable without making too big a thing of it.

But Mary, I said later, he's a good feller all right, only thing is, how will you make out what he's saying?

Oh, I don't have to make him out, Dolly, she said. Just so long as he can make me out!

John Daunt come down for the wedding. Best man, smart in his top hat and grey swallowtail coat. Never in his life be handsome, but the clothes made the most of him. Gallant to me as bridesmaid, took my arm with his gloved hand, walked with me the way he was supposed to. But made no remarks beyond the splendid weather and how pleased he was for the happy couple. Bland as an egg. Nothing of the Daunt who'd coaxed me to make bird noises. Whether he'd seen me outside Jack's room that other morning I couldn't tell, but one thing was plain as a pikestaff. If he ever had been interested in me, he wasn't interested now.

Ma looked at the two of us together, nudged Pa, whispered. In his best clothes Pa was never at ease for fear he'd make a blunder, but he looked at us and his face softened. Easy to see what was in their minds. No, Pa, I thought, for once you've got it wrong.

My word Archibald Campbell was pleased, walking down the aisle with Mary on his arm. Had his hand on hers and I could see how tight he was holding her fingers, as if he thought she might fly away.

I come over tears, seeing him so proud and loving. Thinking of another man, of course, that I hoped might be just as proud and loving, walking down the aisle with me and hanging on tight.

Outside the church I laughed and threw the rice, and when Mary tossed her posy I put my hand straight up and caught it. She laughed and her eyes went to Daunt beside me.

Yes, Daunt would make a fine husband for some woman. But I held the posy up to the east. You went far enough, that's where Jack was. The sky over him was the same sky that was over me, an ocean of air joining us. I sent a message up to be carried along its currents to where he was.
No other man in the world
for me but you, Jack Langland. Hurry home.

Weddings beget weddings, they say, and it was true of the Thornhills that year. Johnny come of age for a licence, talked Pa into giving him the cash for the freehold on the Sow and Pickle in Bridge Street. Had his eye on Judith Martin all those years, a clever loud red-headed girl, took no nonsense from anyone but cheerful and a good head for figures. Pa was pleased, Martins was emancipist stock like us, but plenty of money and Judith just the wife for a publican.

That give Bub the idea and he married Kathleen Cobb. Her pa was another
old colonist
but a big man now up the river. Him and Pa put in together and got Bub and Kathleen three hundred acres at South Creek. Mary and Archibald come down from Garlogie for the wedding, Mary with a newlywed glow about her still, and Archibald smiling all round.

Billy Cobb couldn't take his eyes off her, poor booby.

Pa togged himself up in his swallowtail coat and top hat for the weddings, one after the other, getting his money's worth out of the clothes. Ma got tight and tearful on the French champagne he made sure of. When you was an emancipist you had to work extra hard, show you knew the best and had the money for it.

Got you settled, he said, gabby with the champagne. All of you moving up in the world like I've always wanted. Just you now, Dolly. Soon have you settled with some fine gentleman. Eh? Fine gentleman not a thousand miles from here?