Playing Beatie Bow (17 page)

‘No doubt,’ reflected Abigail, ‘she’s imagining me falling overboard.’

‘There’s
The Brothers
,’ said Judah, jerking his head towards a sturdy two-masted brig, very shabby. ‘She’s square-rigged on both masts. Handy for the coastal trade.’

Abigail asked what these hosts of coastal vessels carried.

‘Coal from Newcastle,’ said Beatie instantly, ‘cedar from the northern rivers, whale oil from the whale station at Eden, and wool from up and down the coasts for the clipper ships to take to England.’

She looked triumphantly at Abigail. ‘And what do they carry in your time, then?’

‘I don’t think there are many ships,’ said Abigail. ‘Things like wool come in trains.’

‘We’ve got steam trains,’ said Beatie proudly.

‘These would be electric or oil-driven, I think,’ said Abigail, ‘and then a lot of goods come overland in huge semi-trailers … that’s a kind of horseless carriage,’ she added hastily.

Judah listened politely. ‘Seems a sad waste of good money when the sea and the wind are free for all,’ he remarked.

Judah’s complete lack of interest in the marvels of the future cheered Beatie instantly, and Abigail, no longer irked by the sullen ill-temper of her young companion, gave herself up to the joy of the day.

They drifted past innumerable coves, some a rich green with mangrove swamps, empty of all but a tall white heron picking around in the mud, others already claimed by a little ship-yard, a spindly jetty, a half-ribbed whaleboat skeleton on the slips.

Though Abigail had learnt to know the Harbour and its endless bays from her crow’s nest at the top of Mitchell, she had long since lost her sense of direction as the dory nosed around the rock inlets, the warm airs sometimes bringing a Wanderer butterfly, or once a Black Prince cicada, a tinselly creature that clung to the bow with hooked feet, creaked once or twice, and flicked away towards land.

Under cliffs dribbling water, Judah pulled in towards a crescent of beach, dragged up the boat a little way, and jabbed the anchor into the mud.

‘I’m hungry, I’m hungry!’ cried Beatie, hopping out.

‘No, cockles first, while the tide’s low,’ commanded Judah. He took three wooden pails from the dory. ‘Tuck your skirts up. The Dear knows I dunna want you both dripping all over me on the trip home.’

He showed Abigail how to find the breathing hole, and sometimes the track of the cockle, and dig for the shellfish with a stick. Beatie stayed close to her brother, and for much of the time Abigail wandered around alone on the cool, faintly sucking sand. A kind of certainty had fallen over her that this day was to be her last in 1873. She could no longer doubt the Gift, and Granny had told Beatie that this day Judah would know whom he loved. She did not know how this would come about, but she knew that it would.

‘And it won’t be me,’ she thought. Her pail full now, she put it in the shade of a tree, and wandered by herself amongst the rocks, shoaly falls from the cliffs, their crevices filled with driftwood, empty crab-shells, dead and dry starfish and sea-eggs.

In the heat there was uncanny silence, as though the sea itself was too exhausted to sigh or murmur. And in this silence she heard the sounds of farewell.

She sat amongst the fallen cities of the rocks and watched Judah and Beatie, high on the beach, lighting a campfire. Beatie filled a billycan at the spring seepage on the cliff, and once or twice Judah went out and towed the now-afloat dory nearer the shore. The tide was rising fast, with a long whispering hahhhhh.

The billy must have boiled, for Beatie came running to get her. The little girl’s face, though she wore a cabbage-tree hat, as did Abigail and Judah, was scorched with sunburn.

‘You’ve been doing it again!’ she accused.

‘Doing what?’

‘Staring at him. I seen you, sitting on the rocks like a mermaid, staring and gawking.’

Abigail said nothing, but scowled at her and stalked ahead along the beach. A big old redgum, almost one with the sandstone rocks, sheltered them as they ate, hats pulled over their eyes to keep out the sea-dazzle. Judah talked idly of his work: ‘Ten bob a month and found, but ’twill be grand pay when I’m an AB.’

Abigail translated this into dollars, couldn’t believe the answer, and then remembered that loaves were a penny each, and that Granny often bought a whole fresh fish for twopence. She remarked that being ‘a boy’ on a coaster seemed to equate with being a man for a boy’s pay and status. Judah laughed.

‘Well, a boy’s a boy, no doubt of that, and he’s kept in his place. Me, now, when I started nigh four years ago I brought the food along from the galley and, by jings, I waited till the men had taken their share before I ventured to help myself. Swept the fo’c’sle, took the dishes back to the galley, learnt to know my place right smart after a thick ear or two from one of the crew.’

It seemed to Abigail it would be a hard life, even for a hefty fourteen-year-old as Judah must have been. A boy worked cargo like the rest of the crew, always went aloft to furl the highest sail, and never ventured to offer an opinion during fo’c’sle talk. On the other hand, he was expected to smoke a pipe or chew tobacco.

‘Yuk!’ said Abigail.

‘And sink your quota of rum when you’re ashore with the men,’ added Judah. ‘But Granny – wouldna she skin me alive if she caught me at it and, any old road, I’ve no taste for either. And I promised Mother besides, so that clinches it.’

He yawned. ‘Come on, lassies, let’s awa’. I’ll show you a pretty place or two, Abby, if you fancy.’

But Beatie wanted to climb the rocks and scramble out onto a little peninsula of grass and pink pigface to be king of the castle, as she said.

‘You’ll do as I say. Time to move,’ he said, stamping out the fire, and gathering up their belongings to put in the basket.

‘I want to stay here and paddle,’ said Beatie. ‘And I’m sick of the boat, up and down, up and down, and nothing to see but water and places with no people in them. I want to play Robinson Crusoe!’

‘I don’t mind staying a while longer –’ began Abigail, but Beatie turned on her roughly. ‘Your opinion inna asked! On this voyage you’re only the boy!’

Abigail laughed, but Judah took hold of Beatie, gave her a little shake and said sternly, ‘What’s up with ye today, ye wee smatchit? You’ve been girning and groaning pretty near since we left home. Are you ailing?’

‘I just want to play Robinson Crusoe,’ muttered Beatie. Suddenly she aimed a kick at Judah’s bare shin.

‘Right, that does it,’ said her brother. ‘You’ve a temper like a ferret today and I’ll stand nae more of it. Stay here and play Robinson Crusoe, while I take Abby for a little row. Get in the dory, Abby.’

He put a wet sack over the cockles and cautioned Beatie: ‘Now, see the sun dunna get on them, or they’ll all die afore we get them home to Granny. Or do you wish to change your mind and come with us?’

Beatie glowered at him, and he said, ‘Stay here then, ye self-willed brat. Dovey’s too soft wi’ you and Gibbie both. We’re off – how do you like that?’

‘I dunna care a blanky damn!’ screamed Beatie, wading out a little way into the water and shaking her fist at them. ‘I hope the boat sinks.’

‘No, you don’t,’ yelled back Judah, laughing. ‘You play Robinson Crusoe there for a while, while I show Abby the Harbour. We’ll be back before Man Friday comes to eat you up!’

Beatie sat down at the water’s edge, her arms around her knees, scowling.

‘If she could hurl thunder and lightning she would,’ Judah laughed. ‘Rest easy, Abby. She’ll be as sweet as pie when we come back to get her.’

The dory skidded softly over the water that was coloured like a glass marble, here a clear streak and a sun-speckled sand-bar plain to be seen, there dark blue like polished stone.

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have left her…’ began Abigail, but Judah shushed her. He pulled out into the stream and around the edge of the little peninsula that Beatie had wanted to climb. Waterbirds of all kinds flew up from the brown pocked terraces sluiced with translucent water. A glistening native bee landed on Judah’s hand, and Abigail leant forward to brush it off.

‘No, no, she’ll go in the water. She hasna sting, so don’t fret.’

He went on rowing, and in a moment the bee arrowed back to the shore.

‘I ha’e a great liking for this land,’ he said. ‘Man hasna spoiled it yet, not even with steam factories and all the dirt the rich make around them.’

He shipped the oars and sat looking about. Abigail peeped from under the brim of her hat at his brown face shining with sweat, his strong calves and calloused feet. As she peeped, thinking herself unobserved in the shadow of the hat, he reached out and playfully caught her foot with his prehensile toes.

She jumped and blushed.

‘What’s the matter, Abby? For you seem sad today.’

‘I think – I think –’ She swallowed. Surely she wasn’t going to cry? She looked away. ‘I think this is my last day.’

‘Did Granny say so?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then?’

Abigail managed a smile. ‘I have gifts of my own, you know.’

‘Ah, Abby love, don’t go! Not to that grievous world you’ve described. Stay here with us.’

His arms were around her. Her hat fell off into the water and floated away. His cheek rubbed against hers, and she put up her hand and stroked his face.

‘Why, Abby, dinna weep, you must not, what’s there to weep about on this bright day?’

But she couldn’t stop. A huge shameful gulping hiccup came out of her. Judah grinned.

‘Don’t laugh at me, damn you!’ cried Abigail.

‘Why, Abby –’ he said, as though astonished. ‘My little one, my Abby.’

Now, although Abigail had no regular boy friend, she had had her share of kisses, everything from the sudden whack on the lips with what appeared to be a hot muffin, to the lingering pressure of a hairy sardine. She had been half-devoured by someone who had been watching too many Italian films, but when her nose got into the act as well, she had stamped on the kisser’s foot and alienated him for ever. She had had ear-biters and eyebrow-lickers, and she cared for none of them.

But this was quite different. Her body went off on its own, yielded and clung and moulded itself to Judah’s, her head whirled, and so exquisite a melting sensation arose in her middle she thought she was going to die. She could have stayed there under his kiss for ever, but it was he who drew away, breathing quickly. His face was red, his eyes downcast; he seemed not to want to look at her.

‘Oh, Abby,’ he said hoarsely, ‘it were wrong for me to kiss you in such a way.’ He stopped and said with difficulty, ‘For a little while I felt – I didna know what I felt. Here you’re but a bairn, yet I thought for a moment you were a woman grown. And you
were
a woman grown.’

He gazed at her helplessly. ‘It were wrong of me, and yet I canna feel regret.’

She whispered, ‘I love you, Judah.’

He gazed at her, silent and perturbed, and she saw in his candid eyes that he had no answer.

She remembered then what Mrs Tallisker had said that if one loved truly, one could exist without the loved one. Her whole body cried out for the few frail blisses she had known – to be able to look at him, listen to him, be kissed as if she were a woman and not a child.

And she thought in anguish, ‘If I were older I’d know what to say. But I don’t.’

She could only say what was in her heart. ‘Don’t worry, Judah; I know about Dovey. What I feel about you, well … that’s my worry, not yours.’

He took her hand and held it between his two large ones. ‘But it is my worry, Abby, because now I’m in a swither, I dunno what I feel …’

From the little peninsula off which the dory was drifting and circling came a sound like an enraged sea-hawk. Abigail jumped, frightened and dislocated.

‘’Tis Beatie. She’s seen.’

Beatie was up on the tumbled rocks. Her small figure seemed to be doing a war-dance. She picked up a stone and threw it with all her might. It fell far short of the boat, but Judah looked disturbed. He took up the oars.

‘She wouldna tell poor Dovey, surely,’ he muttered. ‘The Dear knows I don’t want to distress poor little Dovey.’

They were silent until they pulled in to the beach. The tide was now half full, clear green water sliding in to the foot of the redgum, where Beatie stood waiting with the three pails of cockles. Judah threw out the anchor and jumped ashore.

‘You!!’ said Beatie in a voice shrill with rage. ‘I saw!’

‘Keep it to yourself then,’ he said shortly. ‘For I dunna want Dovey upset. Take one of the pails to the boat, there’s a good lass.’

‘Take it yourself!’ spat Beatie.

‘Right, I will,’ he said. He took all three pails, heaved them into the boat, and said to Abigail, ‘Move up while I get this wildcat aboard.’

He held out his hand to help Beatie. She flew at him, punched him in the chest, hammered on the arm with which he held her off. Half angry, half laughing, he said, ‘Will ye stop it, ye wee devil? Stop it!’

‘I’ll punch ye yeller and green!’ screeched Beatie. ‘To do such a thing to Dovey, who trusts you like she trusts God himself!’

He picked her up by the back of the dress, held her kicking and flailing like a maddened cat, and said, ‘You’ve got it wrong, Beatie. There’s naught between Abby and me, and Abby will tell you so.’

He put her into the boat. The child subsided into wild sobs.

Abby ventured to put a hand on her shoulder, but Beatie flung it off.

‘You’re a bad girl! We should have left you in the Suez Canal; it would have suited you grand.’

Judah shipped the oars, leant forward and shook Beatie violently.

‘Dunna you speak that way of Abby, when you know nothing of what passed between us. For you’re wrong. I’m telling you true, hen!’

Beatie was pale. ‘That you could be such a Judas, my own brother! Dovey, expecting to be wed by January, with her bride chest full and her ring chosen, and the down payment made! Don’t speak to me, either of you. I’m fair sick to the belly with disgust.’

It was a long, wretched trip home against the tide. Beatie sat huddled, her hands over her ears, and would not listen to a word.