Keziah sat alone in the courtyard of the Factory. Two weeks had passed in the aftermath of the riot. Daniel was expected to arrive that morning to take her home, officially assigned to his custody if the authorities approved her ticket-of-leave. In readiness for her departure her convict slops were clean and her Romani headscarf covered all but the plait hanging over her shoulder. But she felt totally drained of emotion. The day that she had dreaded for weeks had finally arrived. There was no escape. Through the window of the deputy’s office she could see the woman’s head bent over her desk. Her skull was bandaged. Her mouth puckered from the stitches binding her split upper lip, wounds suffered in the riot. For a moment their eyes locked. Will she be true to her word?
Keziah knew that the deputy’s favourable report was in gratitude for saving her life. But her fellow prisoners’ resentment increased when Keziah’s name alone was removed from the rosters, free from all work. Free to be afraid. Oola was officially kept in isolation. But that didn’t stop her bribing a guard to set her free at night.
When the deputy beckoned her to her office, Keziah stood in silence as the woman’s pen scratched entries in the ledger book. Speaking painfully through her wounded mouth, she handed Keziah a newspaper.
‘Here’s an account of the aftermath of the riot. Take it.’ She waved a hand in dismissal.
Keziah nodded acknowledgement but felt no gratitude, no emotion of any kind. Oola’s mutiny had changed her life forever.
As she read The Sydney Monitor’s account she felt disconnected from her role in it. Phrases sprang off the page to trigger vivid memories of the violence. ‘… the worst mutiny in the history of Parramatta Female Factory … the military was praised for their restraint in holding their fire … two were wounded … eighty-two female prisoners had their sentences extended … the ringleader had her head shaved.’
Keziah felt numb. They can’t find a fitting punishment for Oola. She’s been shorn so often she glories in her bald head – the symbol of her power.
Keziah flinched when she saw Daniel arrive. He spoke animatedly to the deputy then crossed the courtyard to her side.
‘Are you all right, Keziah? I only heard the latest news when I reached Parramatta. I was worried they’d postpone your release, but the deputy said you were quite the heroine. What happened?’
She shrugged and looked away. ‘I saved myself.’
‘Thank God. I could never have faced Jake if I’d returned empty-handed.’ He kissed her cheek then tried to sound light-hearted as he handed her a large parcel.
‘The deputy went through this with a fine-tooth comb. You’d think by now she’d realise I’m not smuggling weapons.’ He presented a document with a flourish. ‘And here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Da da! Your ticket-of-leave!’
Keziah held it in silence, remembering Nerida’s long ago triumphant phrase, ‘That freedom business’. But this ticket has come too late. I’ll never be free again. She saw Daniel was trying to amuse her with a story about the tussle between Jake and Pearl over the parcel, how the little girl vetoed Jake’s suggestions and insisted she knew best what items to choose for her mother.
Keziah pushed the parcel back at him. ‘I can’t go with you, Daniel.’
‘What? Don’t tell me the damned authorities blocked your release? You’ve got your ticket right here in your hands.’
‘Not them. Me. I can’t face everyone.’
Daniel looked thrown but he pressed on, referring to Pearl’s list. ‘She chose your favourite red dress. She’s starched your petticoats, put in your camisole and unmentionables, stockings and shoes. In your reticule you’ll find your silver amulet and a comb. And there’s a scarf or is it a shawl? Your straw hat’s in the wagon. Jake said to tell you his special present is waiting for you at the farm.’
When she said nothing he continued with enthusiasm. ‘We haven’t had time to finish all the fences. But Jake got Bran and me to build a wrought-iron archway over the entrance. It says “Welcome to Sarishan Farm”. Jake’s idea. It’s a Romani greeting, right?’
She knew she was supposed to react with pleasure but she only managed to nod.
Daniel put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Change into your own clothes, you silly goose. You’ll feel much better.’
‘Daniel, look at me! Can’t you see the truth? Nothing will fit me. I’m a scarecrow!’
‘Nonsense. A week of fresh farm food and you’ll be as voluptuous as any artist’s model. Get in the wagon. There’s no female problem that can’t be solved with a new dress!’
• • •
When Keziah sighted the new Parramatta branch of Sydney merchant Joseph Farmer’s Emporium she wanted to bolt. After wearing convict slops for more than a year, the words on the sign seemed like a foreign language – Silk Mercer, Haberdasher and Linen Draper.
Daniel selected an Indian cotton dress. ‘Blue to match your eyes,’ he said.
What consolation is that?
In the changing cubicle she removed all her clothing and looked in the mirror. She was horrified when she saw Daniel pass by and accidentally catch sight of her naked reflection. His eyes locked with hers in shock.
Keziah’s hands trembled and her scarf fell to the floor. Pinned inside it was the long black braid of her hair. She stared bleakly at her mirror image. Her head was totally bald. Without a word Daniel turned away.
When she re-joined him outside the store she wore the new blue dress but avoided his eyes.
‘You look lovely, Keziah.’ He lifted her up onto the front seat. ‘You only need this to complete the picture.’ He handed her a small parcel he had just bought.
‘For your hair,’ he said. ‘Put your sunhat on. We’ve a long journey ahead of us. Can’t have you going down with sunstroke.’
Keziah opened his parcel and felt a faint glimmer of emotion.
Daniel averted his eyes while she fixed the gift in place. Her sunhat covered her Gypsy scarf. Over her shoulder hung the plait now braided with Daniel’s scarlet ribbon for good luck.
‘So now you know the truth,’ she said blankly.
He nodded. ‘I know how you women feel about your hair. How humiliated you must be, but it will soon grow again and it won’t matter a damn to Jake. He’s just desperate to have you back home with him.’
And I’m desperate to be anywhere else! she thought but remained silent.
He tried again. ‘I won’t pretend your adjustment will be easy, but remember we all experience guilt. That we’ve been set free, but we’ve left friends behind locked up.’
Keziah’s voice was harsh. ‘I had no friends.’
He nodded. ‘When I left Gideon Park I felt worthless. A rank coward all my life for what I’d done to Maynard Plews and Saranna. For what I’d become with Iago. When I sank to blackmail to force you to marry me I knew I’d sold my very soul to the devil!’
Keziah cut across him. ‘Your soul was just badly wounded. It needed time to heal.’
‘You’re right. In time I did heal. And so will you, Keziah.’
‘No. Nothing on earth can wipe out what I’ve done. You didn’t commit murder, Daniel. You didn’t betray the children who trusted you.’
‘You know who healed me?’ he asked. ‘Gabriel.’
‘Children see the real person inside us.’
‘One Sunday in Ironbark Chapel a priest was raving on about Daniel in the lion’s den and the message from the Archangel Gabriel. Our names, you see? I realised how much you both needed me. I’ll always be your friend, Keziah, but it’s Jake who really needs you now.’
Keziah turned her head to look out at the horizon. Storm clouds were gathering.
‘No! I can’t face him!’
‘Listen, Keziah. The past is dead. Jake needs you to share the future. I swear to God, I’ve never seen anyone love the way Jake loves you!’
‘He loves the woman I was. I have done things even Jake’s love cannot heal.’
Daniel finally lost his temper. ‘Give the man a chance, Keziah. Damn it all, the poor bastard deserves that much!’
• • •
That morning Jake laid it squarely on the line to the children as he lined them up on the veranda, inspecting their hands, faces and the backs of their necks for cleanliness.
‘Absolutely no practical jokes and tricks on Mama! Save ’em up for April Fools’ Day next year.’
Since dawn he had issued sharp instructions as they scurried around to complete their chores. For the past two days the table had been set with a lace cloth for Mama’s reunion lunch or supper, all in readiness for the unknown hour of her arrival.
Jake was about to remove the side of lamb from the coolroom when a Rolly Brothers coach drew up in front of the home paddock. Mac Mackie’s crazy detour from his usual route was clearly causing consternation amongst his male passengers.
‘Won’t be long. I’m an angel of mercy!’ Mac called to them over his shoulder. ‘Why don’t you stretch your legs and do the necessary?’
Jake had no need to prompt Pearl. Proud of her role as a farmer’s daughter, she knew the unwritten laws of bush hospitality. She hurried
forth with a tray of drinks and biscuits for the passengers who were sweltering in the unusual spring heat.
Mac piled a mountain of boxes on Jake’s veranda.
‘The cooked tucker is from Janet Macgregor and Polly Doyle. Fruit and vegetables from Ironbark farmers. Scotch and Drambuie from the Doc. Same message from all. Dead keen to see Keziah but we know you two need time alone together.’ Mac gave a very unsubtle wink and his shaggy beard quivered with suppressed laughter.
‘It’s enough to feed a regiment. I’m bloody overwhelmed,’ said Jake.
‘Don’t get so overwhelmed you forget what to do tonight, mate. If you need a few tips to jog your memory, just ask your Uncle Mac!’
‘Piss off,’ Jake said with affection.
Mac wagged a finger as he loped back to the waiting coach. ‘It’s like riding a horse, mate. It’ll all come back to you the minute you hop in the saddle.’
Afternoon shadows stretched across the sun-bleached grass. Jake and his children waited on the veranda scanning the track for Daniel and his precious cargo. The last time Jake had seen Keziah’s face was more than a year ago in Berrima Gaol through the grill on her cell door the night the Rev had smuggled him to talk to her.
Jake paced restlessly, one eye on the track. His worn but clean moleskin trousers were tucked into riding boots. His red shirt fell open to his belt. His body was hard, brown – and very tense.
Now twelve months old, little Yosie was ever ready to use his sea legs. Jake had anchored him in his highchair, but kept hurrying to the coolroom to keep Yosie supplied with barley water. He regularly checked the towelling pinned between the boy’s legs. He felt it was important to hand across a dry, clean-smelling kid to Keziah. Yosie’s constant thirst made that task difficult.
Pearl had cut down Keziah’s old work dress to make herself a skirt. Jake realised that must mean she had outgrown her own clothes. Money was tight but Pearl asked for nothing except the weekly thruppence for her school fee and a coin for the Sunday school plate.
Gabriel had plastered his hair flat to his skull – except for the cowlick that stuck up like a question mark. He kept tuning his violin like a musician in an orchestra pit.
He finally had to ask the question. ‘Mama is coming home today, isn’t she?’
‘She better be. Couldn’t face this song and dance again tomorrow!’ Jake instantly regretted causing their wistful reaction. ‘Your mama would never let you down, mate. If she’s late there’s a damned good reason.’
‘Bushrangers?’ they both whispered fearfully.
‘Nah, your mama can handle them. Don’t worry about that!’
Five minutes later all hell broke loose. Gabriel hollered as he leapt the fence with the grace of a gazelle and his sister ran through the gate. By the time Daniel drew to a halt, they had clambered over Keziah, bombarding her with questions they gave her no time to answer.
Jake’s heart was racing and his mouth was dry as he carried Yosie towards her and forgot every single word of the speech he’d planned for weeks.
His first words to his wife came out in a rush. ‘Here. It’s safe to hold him. He’s dry for once.’
‘See you folks later,’ said Daniel and made his getaway as fast as he could.
• • •
The clock chimed seven. Jake was alone with Keziah. During the family meal she had applauded Gabriel’s violin performance and paid the right compliments about Pearl’s homemade presents, but when Jake placed Yosie in his cot in the master bedroom, he saw Keziah’s odd expression as she eyed the new bed they would share for the first time.
‘Daniel carved the bedstead. See? Our initials are entwined inside that fancy knot.’
‘It’s a lover’s knot,’ she said and left the room.
Since then she had given monosyllabic responses to his attempts at conversation. He studied her in silence. Keziah had not changed her dress or scarf since her arrival home.
‘Always liked that blue dress on you,’ he said hopefully.
‘Daniel just bought it in Parramatta. My own clothes won’t fit me.’
Jake could see she was pale and a bit on the scrawny side, only to be expected after more than a year of prison pap. He’d make damned sure she ate fresh food. His lamb, his fruit, his veg, his eggs, milk and cream. Bloody hell. What am I doing wrong?
‘Do you like the wine?’ he asked. ‘A new local vineyard. A First Fleeter’s son has gone into partnership with an old lag. Pretty good drop I reckon.’
‘I’m not used to wine. I’d get lushy.’
‘I won’t complain,’ he said lightly. ‘Wine makes you very affectionate.’
No trace of a smile. It unnerved Jake to realise she was shy of his touch. He was angry with himself. After their long separation he couldn’t think of another thing to say.
His eyes traced the line of the thick black plait over her shoulder. It made her look like a schoolgirl. The shadows under her eyes. No colour in her cheeks. None of that mattered. But where the hell is Keziah’s spirit?
He decided to take control. ‘Come on. It’s time to give you my present.’
He grabbed a lantern and pulled her by the hand past her beloved vardo, which rested under the leafy umbrella of a giant fire tree. He stopped inside the stables.
‘There!’ He waited for her reaction, as confident as a gambler holding a royal flush.
The magnificent colt pawed the ground. The eyes held intelligent fire, his lines were as graceful as any horse Jake had ever seen. Dick Gideon had groomed him like a champion fit to parade before young Queen Victoria.
‘He’s yours, Kez. Arab bloodline. I’d go hungry before I’d sell him. Ride him, stud him, race him – your choice. All he needs is for you to name him. What do you reckon?’
The colt moved closer. Jake handed lumps of sugar to her in readiness for this moment but all Keziah did was to feed the colt sugar from the palm of her hand. No Romani bonding.
Jake drew Keziah back against his chest, his voice hungry for her praise. ‘Tell me, Kez, you do like him?’
He kissed the shoulder of her dress, kissed her plaited hair. Keziah pulled away.
‘Thank you, more than I can say. It’s been a long journey.’
‘Struth, what a fool I am,’ said Jake. ‘Of course, you’re tired.’
He followed her back to the homestead. When they reached the vardo, she turned to him with eyes that seemed to be looking at another country.
‘I’d prefer to sleep in here tonight.’
‘Wherever you want, Kez. I just need to hold you in my arms tonight. That’s all. Word of honour. The rest can come later when you are ready.’
Keziah nodded. ‘Tonight I need to sleep alone.’
She climbed the steps into the vardo. The sound of the bolt sliding behind her held an ominous note of finality.
• • •
This pattern continued for two weeks. At first Jake assured himself it was simply because Keziah was conditioned to being locked in a cell. But he knew that was a lie – she would not even allow him to sleep beside her like a mate.
She seemed to be using the children as a shield. Day by day she picked up the threads of their lives, read them stories, heard their lessons, lengthened Pearl’s skirts to give modest covering to her daughter’s legs – her Romani instinct. She took over the cooking from Jake without a word exchanged on the subject. He saw she was trying to fit back into their lives – like a stranger in Keziah’s shoes. Whenever her eyes were forced to make contact with his, her expression was wary. Why?
Since her return Jake had never once seen her without her headscarf. Despite the plait he suspected her hair had been shaved off in prison. He was worried if he raised the subject he would strip her of what little remained of her formidable Romani pride. On the other hand, if he dodged the issue Keziah might misinterpret that as being a rejection of her looks and keep him at bay until her hair grew again. Hell, that could take a year!
He worked out exactly what to say to broach the subject tactfully and marched in to the cookhouse where Keziah was alone, except for Yosie in his highchair. The fuel stove increased the day’s high temperature. Sweat ran down her face and created damp patches under the sleeves of her blouse, but despite the heat her head was tightly bound by that eternal headscarf. Her plait swung wildly as she kneaded the dough for baking bread.
She looked up, startled at Jake’s entry. He was armed with an axe.
‘Been building up your woodpile,’ he said and charged at the problem head-on.
‘What’s up, Kez? I don’t give a damn what you wear. You’d look good in sackcloth and ashes, but you haven’t taken off that headscarf since you left the Factory. A bloke doesn’t have to be too clever to work out why. Those bastards in charge shaved off your hair to punish you, right?’
She didn’t answer him. He hated to see the pain in her eyes.
‘What are you afraid of, Kez? Do you think I won’t fancy you without your hair? Jesus, you must think I’m shallow. Nothing could put me off you, girl. Not a bloody thing.’
His gesture was quick but gentle. He pulled the scarf from her head – the plait was sewn inside it. The anguish in her face chilled him. Jake concealed his shock at the reality – her shorn skull was covered by a dark fuzz like a man’s rough beard.
‘It’ll grow in next to no time. I’m sorry, Kez. I know what your hair means to you but it doesn’t matter to me.’ He reached out to stroke her head but she pushed his hand aside.
‘Don’t you dare pity me!’
Snatching the scarf from his hands, she scooped up Yosie from his highchair and fled to the vardo, slamming the door and bolting it behind her.
‘Well, you made a right mess of that, you stupid bastard,’ Jake berated himself. He stalked off and swung his axe at a gum tree he was determined to fell to relieve his frustration.
His confusion magnified as he hacked away at the trunk. He had tried to release Keziah’s humiliation in the same way he used to lance a boil – one initial stab of pain followed by a flood of relief when the pus ran free and healing followed. Instead he had made things worse.
As he aggressively swung the axe and the noise resounded through the bush, he was bitterly reminded of the cold reception Keziah had given to his gift – the still unnamed Arab colt. He could hardly forget her passionate joy over Gem’s gift of the brumby.
The problem ran deeper than being stripped of her hair. What the hell was wrong? She clearly intended to continue to bolt her door against him. Why did she reject Yosie each night? Was it simply because he was Jake’s child? He never made distinctions. His, hers, theirs, they were all his children. After he had slain the timber giant the answer hit him. Yosie sleeps beside me. It’s not him she’s rejecting, it’s my body. I’ve got to be patient.
He decided it was time for Keziah to try her wings in public. He cornered her in the kitchen.
‘I promised to take Gabriel to Goulburn tomorrow. Pearl and Yosie will stay with Bran. He loves cooking for them and Pearl’s so capable she could run Goulburn Hospital single-handed.’ He added only half joking, ‘We’ll take Dan along as our chaperone, eh?’
Keziah nodded in cautious agreement.
‘I won’t lie to you, Kez. Gabriel wants to visit Mrs Hamberton, the magistrate’s wife. He’s taken a shine to her. My gut tells me she was that unknown woman who pulled strings to wangle my release. And I reckon she helped swing your ticket too. I owe her big.’
He looked her straight in the eye. ‘I think you know what I’m asking, but it’s up to you.’