The Girl’s Story
‘I said are you two all right?’
The man stood above and behind them, silhouetted against the glare. Rosey’s heart was bumping with fear, but when he took a running step down the bank, she gasped with relief. He was a young man, his hair a vivid orange against the grey bush. He was dressed in the usual goldminer’s outfit of moleskins and a checked red cotton shirt, both well-worn from his travels.
‘We’re all right.’ She managed to stagger to her feet, hampered by her sodden clothing. Her trousers were slipping down and she hauled them up, her jacket dragging halfway down her arms. ‘We’d better be on our way,’ she added, not caring how ludicrous it sounded. Although he appeared harmless enough, women—even those dressed as men—did not converse with strange men alone in the bush.
His gaze slid down and his eyes widened. Rosey followed the direction of his stare and realised her shirt was wet and outlining her breasts. She pulled her jacket tight around her, furious with him and herself.
‘I suppose it’s no use me telling you my name is Roddy,’ she said.
He gave her an embarrassed smile. ‘Ah, no. Probably not. Look, I have a camp just over the way,’ he went on. ‘My mate’s been sick and we’ve been resting. You’re welcome to come and have a brew with me, get dry, before you move on. I won’t tell anyone you’re not Roddy,’ he added with a twinkle in his light-blue eyes.
Rosey knew she should refuse. He sounded nice, even rather posh for a miner, but she wasn’t so foolish as to trust a man just because he sounded like a gentleman. But before she could refuse him, Alice was tugging on her arm. ‘Rosey, please.’
She looked down at the girl’s wan, white face and sopping attire and didn’t have the heart to refuse her.
So they followed him back to his camp. It was several yards away from the track, sheltered in the bush, which explained why they hadn’t seen it when they’d passed by. Rosey caught a waft of mutton stew in the distance and tried not to groan aloud.
‘My name’s Josh Parker,’ he said, with a smile over his shoulder.
It was a nice smile.
‘We’re Mary and Jane Kelly,’ Rosey lied.
‘Hello to you both, Mary and Jane Kelly.’
Rosey found herself admiring the straight line of his back and his wide shoulders. His hair had been cut short but was now long enough to be straggling around his nape. He didn’t have that pale freckly skin that redheads were prone to, and when he smiled his teeth were good. Some women liked a strong jaw or a straight nose, but Rosey was always taken with a good set of teeth.
‘Here we are.’ His voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up and saw they’d reached a clearing. Newly washed clothing was draped over the branch of a tree, while a bag of camp supplies had been tied up high on the same tree branch, presumably to keep it safe from scavengers. Her experienced eye took in the worn tent snuggled among some of the spindlier trees that dominated the landscape, while a fire was burning low, with plenty of ash to show this wasn’t the first, and a tripod of branches over the top of it held a blackened billy boiling tea leaves and water. A battered-looking cast-iron pot nestled at the edge of the fire, and Rosey’s stomach growled, because that was where the delicious smell of mutton stew was emanating from. It was almost more than she could bear.
‘Sit yourselves down.’
Josh pointed out a log that had been dragged up to the fireside and sliced horizontally with an axe to turn it into a seat that allowed the sitter to be comfortably above the damp ground.
Rosey and Alice sat down, shivering in their wet clothes, while Josh set out some tin mugs, and using a piece of cloth over the handle, lifted the billy from the fire to fill them.
‘Where’re you from?’ Rosey asked, to be polite. She felt dizzy when he took the lid off the stew pot, and beside her, arms tight around Hope, Alice swallowed loudly.
‘Somerset. In England. A town called Frome,’ he said, and now the faint west-country burr to his voice was more obvious, although Rosey would swear this was no farm boy. Mr Joshua Parker had been educated.
‘What’re you doing here?’ she said, hearing the poverty and ignorance in her own voice. She felt a moment of shame, and then the shame turned to anger at herself for feeling it.
‘Looking for gold. My mate and I are determined to find a nugget or two, just to prove this hasn’t been a wild goose chase.’
He made it sound like a game of hide and seek, rather than the dangerous adventure it was.
‘What’s the matter with your mate?’ Alice was giving the tent some sideways glances, and Rosey guessed that she could sense something.
Josh was saying, ‘… Took sick at Wombat Gully, but he seemed to be getting better, so we started off along the track. But whatever was wrong with him came back again. Wombat Gully is home to a Chinese fellow who treats the sick miners and he gave us some herbs to boil up—that was what seemed to fix him up before. I’ve been giving him the same stuff and he seems to be mending.’
Josh handed them their tea. ‘Here you are, Mary and Jane.’
The warmth of the fire was helping to dry them off at the front, but their backs were still wet, and Rosey longed to toast herself properly. When Josh went inside the tent to see to his mate, she stood up to get closer to the fire, feeling the heat against her legs.
‘I’m tired of being a man,’ she complained to Alice. ‘I want to wear a pretty skirt again and a nice hat, and have my hair in ribbons.’
‘Do you think he’ll offer us some stew?’ Alice whispered. ‘I’m starving. All we’ve got is stale bread and some mutton chops that are just about off. I was going to stock up in Wombat Gully, but then we had to leave.’
‘Give him one of your looks, Jane, and he won’t be able to resist,’ she whispered back.
‘What looks?’
‘The one where you make your eyes all big and sad, and suck your cheeks in as if you haven’t eaten for a week.’
Alice frowned. ‘I don’t do that, Rosey.’
‘Yes, you do, and I’m Mary, remember?’
‘He’s handsome, don’t you think?’ Alice said with a sly glance.
Rosey shrugged. ‘Didn’t notice.’
Just then Josh came out of the tent. His gaze flicked to Rosey and he had such a strange expression on his face that she thought he’d overheard them.
‘My mate …’ he began.
His mate must have died! Then it occurred to her that if his mate was gone it would mean more stew for herself and Alice, and she wondered when she’d become such a callous cow.
‘I’m sorry—’ she began.
‘My mate heard your voice,’ he spoke over the top of her words, ‘and he thinks … he thinks he knows you. I told him your name was Mary Kelly, but he insists it isn’t. He asked me to ask you … Can you be Roisin O’Donoghue?’
Was it a trick? Perhaps they were policemen in disguise about to arrest them for murder. Or perhaps the man in the dark coat was inside the tent, waiting to pounce.
‘Her name is—’ Alice began but Rosey kicked her.
Seeing their expressions Josh lifted his arms and then dropped them again. ‘I’m sorry. Thing is, he talks about this Roisin. Sometimes in his sleep. So I don’t expect you’re her. I just had to ask.’
‘Roisin O’Donoghue?’ Rosey asked, as if the name was foreign to her tongue. ‘And what’s your mate’s name?’
‘Sean Murphy.’
It was as if Rosey’s heart went tumbling into a dark tunnel. She didn’t know whether or not to turn and run. She stood up and as she did so a voice spoke her name from the open flap of the tent and she saw a man there, half slumped in the shadows. His face looked yellow and gaunt, but his blue eyes were brilliant with the joy of seeing her again.
‘Ah, Rosh,’ he said, his voice raw and croaky, and it was Sean’s voice.
Rosey went cold. The past came rushing at her from the tunnel like a steam engine. All the fear and pain. The constant niggling worry that he would find her.
And now here he was!
It was almost a relief. But what should she do? Bolt, or bluff it out? Rosey knew she’d already waited too long to answer. She could see the old familiar anger building in his face.
‘Rosh.’ It was a warning.
Rosey ran into his arms. The decision wasn’t so difficult after all. Sean had been her first and only love, and he was sick, maybe dying, and the cold, practical side of her told her she could pretend to be happy to see him until then.
She wrapped him in her arms, dirty and sweaty as he was, her tears streaking his face and hers. ‘Oh, Sean,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve … I’ve missed you so. I went back, after, but you were gone.’
It was a lie, but he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t care.
‘I’ve missed you.’ He sighed. ‘Will you forgive me, Roisin?’
She wanted to say that, yes, she forgave him, but the words stuck in her throat. He’d ruined his life and her own, and when she thought of what might have been … well, she couldn’t forgive him for that.
Abruptly, his strength vanished. His arms fell away from her and his eyes fluttered closed. ‘Ah, Roisin,’ he whispered, ‘stay with me. Stay until I—’
Die.
She didn’t want him to say it, the word would strip bare the lie she was acting out, so Rosey pressed her lips hard to his to stop the word. She felt him laughing, as if her wild passion pleased him, but a moment later he’d slipped into sleep. Or unconsciousness. She sat back and stared at him, his face so peaceful and although thinner and sallow, still with traces of the handsome man who’d swept her heart and good sense right out from under her.
He looked harmless, yet it was hard for her to accept what she was seeing. She had spent so long fearing him, but Rosey decided that if these moments were his last then she’d gladly play the part of the mourning lover. Better this Sean, weak and dying, than the dangerous man who’d knocked her about. She could cope with this Sean.
* * *
Alice was feeling queasy, and it wasn’t just because she’d nearly drowned in the river and all those uncomfortable memories had come back to her—she was going to save examination of them until later. She was starving and the smell of the stew was driving her to madness, but she’d been hungry before. No, it was knowing that Sean was in the tent. Sean was here, only a few steps from her, and she hadn’t been able to tell Rosey because she hadn’t been able to use the sight.
Over these past weeks, when she’d been closing herself off, she’d realised how much a part of her the sight was. All of her life she’d hated it and wished it gone. It had brought her nothing but grief, and then the man in the dark coat had made her hate it all the more. But now she missed it like a terrible ache inside. The truth was that without it she felt out of kilter. Off balance. Not at all herself.
And now Sean was here and there were storm clouds gathering. But there was something else—she gave a shiver—Rosey was wrong. Her colours were wrong. Not the bright, happy colours Alice was used to seeing about her. There was an ominous dark streak cutting through the brightness, and it worried Alice. Was that because of Sean? She couldn’t understand it; it made no sense.
‘Jane, is it?’
Alice blinked. Josh was speaking to her, although he didn’t look very comfortable. She decided that he wasn’t used to the company of young girls. Perhaps, she thought, he didn’t have any younger sisters and didn’t know what to say. His lack of confidence made her more disposed to like him.
He seemed to be waiting for an answer so she nodded.
‘Your friend knows Sean and Sean knows your friend.’
Alice nodded again. She couldn’t get Rosey out of her head. She was over there inside the tent with Sean. Sean, her long lost love, who was so sick he might be dying. She tried to focus on the tent now, screwing up her eyes, visualising the man inside and whether his dark colours were dark enough to show death was close.
‘Jane?’ Josh interrupted her.
She gave an impatient sigh. It was no use, she couldn’t concentrate. She looked up into Josh’s blue eyes. For the first time she focused on Josh’s colours, and found them unusual. There was a great deal of blue, a calming blue, like the colour of his eyes, that made her feel safe. Looking at Josh was much more pleasant than looking at the tent.
Hope stirred. Alice stroked his ears, settling him down at her side. He’d tried to save her in the river and now she thanked him and praised him for his bravery. Josh was busying himself ladling out a plate of mutton stew, and when he held one out to her, she received it gratefully. She began to eat, stopping now and then to share morsels with Hope, which he quickly snapped up, gazing longingly at her for more.
‘You’re not really Jane Kelly, are you?’ Josh spoke matter-of-factly. He’d waited until she’d finished her stew and set her plate down for Hope to clean.
He didn’t seem to feel any grievance over the lie.
‘She’s Rosey and I’m Alice.’
‘Are you sisters?’
Alice wished they were. ‘No, we’re friends.’
‘What are you both doing out here on your own? The goldfields aren’t the place for lone females.’
Alice held her lips in a prim line and didn’t answer.
He bit back a smile. ‘I see you have a secret, Alice. I won’t ask you to breach it. Your business is your own. But I think you’ll be staying here for a little while, at least until Sean …’
‘Dies,’ Alice said. ‘Or not. He might get better. I’m not sure yet.’
He gave her a strange look. ‘While you’re here it’d be nice if we were friends. I don’t mean you any harm, Alice.’
He might seem safe enough, but Alice wasn’t about to trust him to be her friend. She took out the newspaper and began to read it. Josh’s mouth twitched as he watched her, as if she amused him, although she couldn’t imagine why. She was glad she’d torn out the paragraph about her and Rosey and burned it.
She’d burned the words because she was worried Rosey would be upset by them, but now she was twice as glad because she didn’t want Sean to see them, or Josh, of course, but more particularly Sean. Alice had a strong feeling, and it had nothing to do with the sight, that Sean would not be happy seeing Rosey called a prostitute.
After a while the sound of the tent flap being opened interrupted their quiet camaraderie, and Rosey appeared, looking all-in. Hope gave a little bark, but Alice hushed him, and watched as her friend staggered over to the campfire and sank down.
Josh handed her a mug of tea, and although it was stewed and lukewarm, she drank it down gratefully in one go. Meanwhile, he ladled stew onto a fresh plate and when he passed it to her, Rosey wolfed it down without a word. It was only when she was done that
Alice spoke.
‘He knows we’re not Mary and Jane.’
Rosey took a shaky breath. ‘Of course he does. Perhaps he’s not Josh Parker from Frome?’
Josh anxiously assured them that he was. ‘I haven’t had the desire to change my name yet, ladies,’ he said, then added hastily, ‘although I’m sure you both have very good reasons.’ He was being polite. He could have said something nasty, cast aspirations, as Molly used to say, but he hadn’t. Alice decided he was far more of a gentleman than any so-called ‘gentlemen’ she’d ever met. There was something about him that reminded her of Gilbert, as if he’d been taught proper manners.
Then she noticed that Rosey and Josh were looking at each other.
Even with her fair hair dried in a tangled mess and her tired, pale face and creased, worn man’s clothes, Rosey was beautiful. Alice could see that Josh Parker admired her, and a tremor of unease rippled over her. But she reassured herself that men always looked at Rosey in that way, as if they thought every word she spoke was a speck of gold dust.
‘How long have you and Sean been together?’ Rosey was pushing her hair out of her eyes.
Josh cleared his throat. ‘We met in Melbourne,’ he said, and began to tell them how he and Sean had set off together down the dusty road to the diggings. They’d had many adventures since then, good and bad, and as Josh touched lightly on some of the stories, making them amusing for the girls’ benefit, Rosey smiled and Alice laughed.
But it was Rosey who Josh was watching. It was as if there was a warm glow coming from inside her, shining out, and Josh was captivated.
Alice felt a sudden need to reach out and take Rosey’s hand, to warn her, but Rosey looked dazed. Their colours were changing, mimicking each other in a way Alice had never seen before. This sudden attraction between them was frightening her and her sense of foreboding was growing.
Abruptly, Josh stood up. Avoiding their eyes, as if he, too, felt uneasy, he murmured something about seeing if Sean was hungry and went into the tent. Rosey turned to Alice, her eyes sparkling with anger. ‘I wish you’d warned me Sean was here.’
‘How could I? I wasn’t using the sight. Rosey, the man in the dark coat—’
‘Is he going to die? You can tell me that, can’t you? You’re good at knowing when people are going to die.’
Alice looked away. ‘I’m trying.’
* * *
Rosey knew she was being unreasonable. None of this was Alice’s fault. But her emotions were all topsy-turvy and she couldn’t seem to help herself. She wanted to tell Alice the truth about Sean, but after all her lies how could she? No, she’d just have to bide her time and see how things panned out. And now Josh Parker …
She hadn’t felt like this since she first set eyes on Sean, and now, right under Sean’s nose, she was feeling it again. For another man. For his mate, and a gentleman to boot! Rosey and a gentleman! If it wasn’t so alarming it would be funny. There was a little warning tapping in her brain, saying: Be careful, Rosey. Sean is a dangerous man, even if he is sick. For the sake of both Alice and yourself, don’t trust him, not even for a minute.
Alice was muttering something about dark colours, but Rosey ignored her. She had her own problems. She must show Sean she was still his, she must never let him see she was attracted to Josh.
As if a gentleman like that would want you for more than a quick poke, mocked the voice in her head. That’s all you’re good for, and you’re a fool to imagine it could be anything else.
‘Roisin!’ Sean again, crying out for her.
Steeling herself, Rosey got up and followed Josh inside the tent.
* * *
Alice was upset. She knew she’d failed her friend once and she didn’t want to do it again. Something was wrong and she needed to understand what it was. Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she slowly and deliberately opened her mind to the sight.
If he had been there, she’d have closed it again, but he wasn’t. Relaxing further she settled back, Hope in her arms, and let her thoughts turn towards the tent where Sean lay.
It took some time for her to be able to ‘see’ with that part of her that knew the future—perhaps it was a little rusty from disuse. The first thing she saw was Rosey in tears, her face blotched and almost ugly with grief. Did that meant Sean had died? Why else would Rosey be crying so hard? She tried to expand her sight, but almost at once a sudden whiff of peppermint filled her head and she closed herself down again.
He was still there.
Waiting.
He’d been her friend. She remembered that earlier, as she was flailing about in the creek. Why had her friend tried to kill her? Somehow knowing she’d trusted him made it so much worse.
Another gust of peppermint and she felt as if he was right there, bending over her, staring into her face.
Her eyes sprang open and she looked wildly about her, but all she saw was Josh, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. Her newspaper was spread before him and she was more than ever glad she’d torn out the paragraph.
‘Are you all right?’ he said, leaning forward with a frown. ‘I thought you were asleep. Was it a bad dream?’
Alice shuddered. ‘A very bad dream.’
He nodded, eyeing her uneasily. ‘I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your newspaper,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had any news in weeks, and then it was old news.’
‘We “borrowed” it, too. From a man at Wombat Gully.’
For a moment he looked confused, and then the penny dropped and he gave a chuckle. ‘Won’t he miss it?’
‘He might.’
Josh smiled and this time it was a proper smile. ‘You look hungry again,’ he said. ‘Your eyes are too big for your face and your cheeks have hollows.’
Alice wished Rosey had heard him say it, even though it proved her right and Alice wrong, but Rosey was with Sean.
‘Is there any more of that mutton stew?’ she asked primly. ‘It was delicious. Hope thought so, too.’
‘I’m glad Hope approved. There’s plenty left, Alice. I’ll dish some up for you. And Hope,’ he added, with a raised eyebrow at the little dog.
Alice smiled. She’d been right, he was a nice man.
‘I wonder,’ he began, as he set the plates down, ‘if you’d mind me sketching you? I like to sketch. I have a portfolio full of characters I’ve met on my travels. One day I want to have them printed into a book. If anyone’s interested, that is,’ he added wryly.
Alice took the plate from him. ‘Am I a “character”?’
Josh gave his shy chuckle. ‘You certainly are, Alice.’
‘All right, then. Do I have to look a certain way?’
He shook his head, already getting out a sketchbook he’d had on the ground beside him, and a piece of charcoal he selected from the edge of the campfire. ‘Just do whatever you’re doing. Don’t worry about posing.’
Alice glanced at him several times as she ate, but he was quiet and unobtrusive and she soon forgot about him as she saw to Hope and praised him for cleaning up his plate. The food made her sleepy and she began to yawn and soon curled up by the fire. Drowsily, she heard Hope barking and Josh’s soft murmur, but she couldn’t open her eyes. Too many nights without enough sleep and too much worry were taking their toll. She felt safe here, and although she knew he was still hunting her, she told herself that even if he found her, Hope would protect her.