Ironbark (72 page)

Daniel almost fell off the horse as he thrust a letter at him.

Jake read it slowly. He steeled himself against the possibility of a mistake as Gabriel stood waiting anxiously at his elbow. Despite his embarrassment about his slow reading, Jake was determined to be the one to break the good news.

‘Hey, my little Rom. Listen to this.
“His Excellency's the Governor's Pleasure to dispense with the attendance at government work of Keziah Browne also known as Smith and Stanley, also known as Saranna Plews.”'

‘That's Mama!' cried Gabriel.

‘Yeah. There's some other stuff, date of her trial and all. Then it goes on:
‘To permit her to employ herself (off the Stores) in any lawful occupation within the District of New South Wales for her own advantage during good behaviour; or until His Excellency's further Pleasure shall be made known. Registered in the Office of the …'
Jake stalled and Daniel quickly supplied,
‘The Principal Superintendent of Convicts.'

‘Yeah,' said Jake, ‘it's numbered and dated. Looks pretty bloody
official to me!' He turned to Daniel. ‘Her ticket-of-leave. No backing out of this one, eh Dan?'

Gabriel's eyes darted anxiously from one to the other in search of an explanation.

‘It means your mama's coming home soon, Gabe!' Jake confirmed.

Gabriel reverently traced the embossed emblem with one finger. The familiar British lion and unicorn stood like tiny bookends either side of the heraldic shield topped by the British crown. Gabe headed off in the direction of the veranda.

‘Hey, Pearl! She's coming home!' he screamed.

Jake hugged Daniel then awkwardly broke away. As they headed back to the house he was jubilant. ‘Jesus wept, tonight we'll drink the cellar dry. You and Bran come and eat with us before the children go to bed. It's their big night!'

‘And ours! I'll bring the special bottles of red I've been saving for this day.'

Jake stopped in his tracks, suddenly serious. ‘This
is
real, ain't it, Dan? Those official buggers can't change their minds – at the Governor's bloody Pleasure, can they?'

‘Not a chance, mate. It's the real thing. As long as Keziah keeps her nose clean. The prison deputy says she's a model prisoner.' Daniel called as he rode off, ‘We'll see you tonight with bells on.'

Jake was determined the children would remember this celebration all their lives. ‘No school today!' he announced. ‘We're giving the house a bit of spit and polish.'

Jake felt a great sense of relief, as if Keziah wasn't the only one to be set free from gaol. Every day he rose at dawn, cooked and cared for the children, tended the horses, milked the cow and ran the farm. The kids fed the chooks and watered the vegetable plot before they rode Pony to school. It was late each night before Jake dropped exhausted into bed. Except Saturday nights. Then he carried Yosie on his shoulders and walked with Pearl and Gabriel to the forge house at the far end of

Sarishan Farm for one of Bran's baked dinners. Only then did Jake drink alcohol, a whole bottle of ale to remind himself he was a free man.

Each Sunday he drove the children to one of the Sunday schools. Not for the religion. While the bush church resounded with children singing hymns, Jake stretched out, covered his face with his hat and caught up on sleep.

Despite his exhaustion he had no regrets about rejecting his mates' advice to apply to the authorities for an assigned housekeeper. He wanted no substitute mother for the children. And Keziah must never fear another woman might be keeping his bed warm.

• • • 

At six o'clock Daniel and Bran rolled up. Daniel cradled a box of wine and Bran carried a huge bowl of the children's favourite pudding – rolypoly topped with lashings of blackberry jam and clotted cream.

Jake decided to throw out the rule book about the children's bedtimes on this glorious night of celebration. The three men were soon drunk on sheer relief as much as wine. When they ran out of two-legged friends they toasted their horses.

Then Gabriel leapt on his chair and held aloft his lemonade to Daniel's portrait of Keziah, which hung in pride of place beside Keziah's framed print of Queen Victoria.

‘To Mama, God bless her! And Queen Victoria too!'

They all sprang to their feet. Jake's republican sympathies did not count a damn that night. He led the response, ‘To Mama and Queen Victoria! God bless 'em both!'

He turned to Daniel for advice. ‘You've had experience with the ticket-of-leave process. Fill us in. I'll need to keep a sharp eye on Kez. Make sure she doesn't put a foot wrong.'

Jake noted the children's anxiety, but Daniel was quick to reassure them.

‘It's easy. Your mama will be mustered four times a year to have her
ticket endorsed by the Principal Superintendent of Convicts.' He winked at the children. ‘So no hopping on a ship to England for a bit of a holiday, right!'

‘I reckon we can manage that,' said Jake.
‘And?'

Daniel quoted the conditions by heart. ‘Must attend church or some place of public worship at least once every Sunday. And that prisoners who shall fail to do so are immediately to be deprived of their ticket-of-leave and turned into government employ.' He punched the air. ‘How's that? Word perfect!'

Jake groaned. ‘Church every Sunday! Jesus, Kez will love that bit!'

‘You're telling me! It was hard enough to get her to church for her wedding!'

‘With you as bridegroom, no bloody wonder she wanted to bolt!' said Jake.

When Daniel pretended to roar with anger, Gabriel gave a tolerant smile.

Jake suspected the boy had begun to wise up to his unusual position as son to three fathers and had worked out that Caleb was the one who had invited the stork.

Jake refilled their glasses. ‘No two ways about it, Kez will have to go to church or she'll be shot back into the Factory.'

Bran hammered his giant fist so hard the crockery rattled. He tried valiantly to speak. ‘One – Kez. F-f—'

Everyone held their breath. Bran held up five fingers and Daniel interpreted.

‘He means we're
five to one
! Dead right. We've got her outnumbered!'

After Jake shepherded the sleepy children to bed, he brought out the port wine.

‘You're true blue, both of you. I reckon I'd never have done it without you.'

He studied Daniel with the sincerity of the seriously drunk. ‘If my

woman
has
to have a legal husband, she could do no better than you!'

Bran's laughter was so deep in his chest it sounded like the giant bellows in his forge. Daniel was never more formal than when he was in his cups.

‘Deeply honoured to be your wife's public husband.'

By the time the trio had sung the seamen's work song
Bound for South Australia,
the false piccaninny dawn lay faint and pink along the horizon.

Weaving as he departed, supported by Bran, Daniel called to Jake, ‘No shut-eye tonight, mate. I'll just pack the cart and it's off to Parramatta to collect our wife.'

Jake remembered to give him a parcel of clothes for Keziah's homecoming and watched the pair lustily singing as they headed back to the forge house.

He was struck by an odd thought. When Bran sang, all trace of his dislocated speech disappeared. His voice soared joyously like that of a Welsh tenor.

Jake staggered off to the stables to check on his welcome-home present for Keziah. The white Arab colt was the finest horse he had ever seen in his life. To pay for her he had outlasted thirteen punishing rounds against a Maori who was the best man he'd ever fought – after Gem Smith.

He stroked the colt's snowy mane and reassured him. ‘Your mistress will be home inside of two weeks. I'm leaving Kez to give you your name. You know what you are, mate? You're the best present a man can give his Romani woman!'

Keziah lay in her bunk unable to sleep. She had been forced to bypass the evening meal and her stomach was still contracted with nerves at the thought of what lay ahead. The deputy's face had been expressionless when she delivered the news to Keziah.

‘You've been granted your ticket. Assigned to your husband's care. Seems like you've got some powerful friend at court, as they say.'

Then the deputy turned her back on her and walked away.

In the months since Keziah had sent little Yosef packing with Daniel, it had been too painful for her to recall exactly what he looked like, but she could not escape the sight and smell of him in her dreams. She often woke convinced she could hear him crying. And she felt a dull, empty sensation whenever she saw another prisoner cuddling her own babe.

She told herself the only way to survive in prison was to let everything happen to you – no matter what – but feel nothing.

No doubt Daniel had already left Sarishan Farm on his way to collect her. She could count on the fingers of one hand the days before the date of her release, when she would step through the front gates of the Factory for the last time. Free to feel the wind in her hair, the sun on her face, to run, dance and welcome the night. For the first time she was unable to block out the pain of seeing Jake's beloved face. He would want to make love to her under the stars.

She turned her face to the wall, surprised by a sensation she had not felt for more than a year, but were her tears due to joy or fear?

• • •

The next morning, after dressing hurriedly in her prison slops, Keziah was first in the queue to receive bread and a bowl of gruel in the prisoners' eating room. Today the usual tension had escalated. She seated herself among the most docile group of women – those who were either too listless to cause trouble or like her were intent on avoiding the ringleader who caused it. One old woman kept her eyes fixed on her empty plate as she whispered a warning to Keziah.

‘Watch yourself today, girl. Oola's brewing up big trouble, a mutiny. I can feel it in my waters.'

Keziah nodded. ‘I'll keep a sharp eye out.'

‘Any fool can see she's got it in for you for knocking her back. She gets others to warm her bed, but it's you she fancies – your wild hair, eh?' The woman gave a knowing cackle, adding kindly, ‘Do whatever you must, you've only got a few days before you'll be shot of this stinking place.'

Keziah transferred her bread to the old woman's plate. ‘I won't forget your kindness.'

She had barely spoken the words when she heard voices yelling obscenities in the corridor. She could taste the fear and excitement in the air as the women stampeded for the door, but she remained in her seat, unwilling to wreck her chances of release.

A group of women prisoners charged into the room, some shaking their fists, some brandishing broken chair legs. At the helm was their ringleader, Oola, her beefy arms covered in tattoos. Her head had been recently shaved, a punishment the other women hated most of all. She looked as tough as any sailor from a man-o'-war, her eyes bright with battle fever.

‘Whoever ain't with me is against me! My enemy! That bloody deputy protects her little mates. Come on, you cowards. Give that bitch what she deserves. Bash her to pulp!'

Virtually all the women raced after Oola as she led the charge towards the room where the deputy was known to be on duty at this time of day. But Keziah had seen the woman in her office doing paperwork and ran to warn her.

The windows of the deputy's office were barred. Only a few minutes remained before Oola would realise her mistake. Keziah burst through the doorway. ‘It's mutiny. Oola and her gang are on the rampage.'

The deputy appeared to have shrunk in size, frozen at her desk, unable to move as the frenzied voices and footsteps came closer. Keziah took charge.

‘Hide under the desk. I'll bolt the door. If they think you're not here there's a chance they'll move on.'

Keziah felt the deputy's body tremble as she pushed her under the desk. She wasn't being heroic, she owed her a debt. This hard-faced woman had secretly brought her additional food to help sustain her breast milk for Yosef.

Weapons beat the iron bars and door in a chaotic rhythm. But even the women's combined chanting was not loud enough to drown out Oola's voice yelling, ‘Kill the bitch!'

A heavy object rammed the door until it splintered off its hinges and Oola stormed into the room ahead of a knot of screaming prisoners. Keziah stood her ground to face them.

‘Use your heads! We all want better conditions but killing isn't the answer! The military will arrive any minute!'

But their contagious rage had blinded their reason. Oola was their mouthpiece.

‘Listen to the deputy's pet. Well the bitch can't save you from me any longer, Gypsy!'

Oola raised her weapon ready to bash Keziah's skull. Ducking to avoid the blow, Keziah fell to the ground. The faces that screamed down at her were all familiar, but their rage made them strangers.

‘The deputy bitch is
our
prisoner now!' Oola shouted. ‘So's the Gypsy. Drag 'em both outside so we can all enjoy the fun.'

As Oola dragged her along by her hair, Keziah caught sight of the whimpering deputy.

Four prisoners swung the deputy's body by her arms and legs, like

some captured animal trussed up ready for roasting. Others seized the opportunity to bash her face and kick her body while she was helpless.

Keziah was convinced they were both done for. If Oola gave the order to string them up, the other prisoners would be too afraid to disobey her.

As she tried to shield her head from their blows Keziah saw a flash of red coats. The military had never been such a welcome sight. The women dropped her and the deputy on the ground. They turned their rage on the soldiers, impotently brandishing the chair-leg clubs that were no match against muskets.