The Lovers.


This is their story.


Lost at Sea.

In a land called Ireland, on a bustling billowy harbor, stood Sara. She shivered underneath her hood as she watched her possessions slowly get carried up the boardwalk and onto the ship in a funereal procession. At her side was her eldest son, Jack, who still at the age of three could not understand why everything that had been inside his house was now being loaded onto the “big boat” as he called it.

Sara turned back to look at her Ireland. It would be about two hours before the ship left port. She felt sorrow envelop her heart as she looked back at her suffering nation. Her only consolation in leaving was that she would no longer have to look upon the starving faces of the little children that now adorned the streets in numbers that rivalled the rats and alley cats. The potato famine had crippled an entire nation. Sara often looked back on the days of plenty with disbelief. Had those days of splendour really existed? Or even, did anyone remember those days? Who now would wear silken white gloves? Who could afford them?

With a heavy heart she looked down at her growing belly. The little life inside would know nothing of the desolation in the “new land”. Australia; it was the haven for those who could no longer afford to live in Ireland, but afford to move there.

After the last item was loaded she took Jack by the hand, and started up the boardwalk to meet her husband who was awaiting her on board, making sure the transport of their possessions went smoothly. Sara cried underneath her hood, each tear carried away with the wind to mingle with the salt of the sea. Jack looked up at his distraught mother, confused.

As she daintily stepped off the boardwalk the stairway was hauled aboard. The last bridge to Ireland was no more. As far as she was concerned she was no longer on Irish soil and would never be again. The infant inside kicked, and Sara’s expression sobered as she was reminded why she was going so far away. She would not let her unborn child see the horrors of a dying land.

A decade later, on another shore, on the beaches of the Island of Emai, Vanuatu, a little boy listened. “Come aboard” the white man had said. He’d looked so important in his clean clothes and shiny buttons. His voice heralded excitement and enticed the people from the small village to come out from their huts. Thomas stood on the edge of the water
with the other villagers who listened to the white man in awe. The man, in his own language, spoke through a translator to the people of Emai, and told them that on board their massive ships, so much more daunting then the little wooden canoes that the villagers were used to, were treasures from distant lands.

The promise of newer sturdier tools made by western machines made the men stir and nod in approval. The women giggled in excitement as the man produced from his pocket a shiny gold chain with creamy white pearls and other gems. It dangled from his hand.

“This....” said the man gesturing to the jewellery, “can be yours. Its all waiting for you on deck, so come aboard and claim your prize.”

There was a false laughter in his voice, a forced cheeriness that aroused Thomas’s suspicions. He was the only one who seemed to notice it, yet soon enough the excitement of the villagers running to the water’s edge and tumbling into their canoes over took the brief moment of hesitation in Thomas’s mind, and he like the others paddled excitedly through the water, trying to be the first to reach the ship. Little did they know that once aboard they would never see the island of Emai again.

Scurrying up the ladders with broad smiles on their faces, the villagers climbed over the side of the boat. Fourteen year old Thomas was the last of the villagers to reach the deck, but when he did he and the villagers were met with a daunting situation. The deck was empty, absent of the treasures that had been promised them. They all stood in an awkward silence, waiting for the goods to be procured from below decks. Some nervously looked around at the sailors as if they had already caught onto the sinister plan. Again the white man began to speak through his translator, “The captain feared the weather might ruin the bounty, so for your convenience the goods have been placed below deck.” “Please,” said the man while gesturing to the trap door that led to the depths of the vessel, “make yourselves at home at the captain’s generous expense.”

The villagers looked at one another curiously. The women began to move closer to the men. When it looked like no one was going to descend below deck one man, a much respected warrior in the village, stepped forward with zeal. He turned to another and nodded towards the trapdoor with a smile, “Come, we need the tools for next season. Their tools of iron are far better than our ones of stone. What are you waiting for?”

With that, one by one, finally a steady flow of villagers began to continue down into the
hold. Thomas again was last. He put one skinny foot on the first step then remembered the man’s words, “The captain feared the weather might ruin the bounty….” Thomas looked up at the clear blue sky, then at the advancing sailors. “Quickly it’s a trick, it’s a trick! The white man lied…,’ but his little voice was cut off as rough hands pushed him down the steps into the inky darkness of the hold and the trapdoor slammed shut above his head.

The villagers had no word in their own language for what was happening to them, but the white men did. The people of Emai were being “black-birded”.

For what seemed like hours, Thomas sat crouched in the darkened hold of the ship. The villagers had given up on the tightly closed trap door, it would not yield. Many young eyes had dried after hours of weeping and many strong muscles had relented and lay exhausted after gallant efforts to break free from their prison.

Suddenly, with a scraping sound of wood against wood and the clinking of metal chains, the trapdoor opened and the villagers looked up into the celestial white shaft of light. Scurrying down the stairs with guns and knives in their hands came the sailors. So swiftly did they swoop down upon their prisoners that they caught the villagers by surprise, grabbing the women and babies and reefing them to their feet. An outcry arose from the humble islanders as the women and infants were dragged up the steps by whatever means, arms, legs, hair. Each cried out for their husbands or brothers to save them, each with their hands outstretched tried to grab onto something, anything to stop them from going into that light that came from above. In the confusion Thomas was accidentally caught in the midst of the scuffle and pulled on deck. Tripping on the top step, he fell flat
on the woody surface and was met with a horrifying sight. A sailor would grab a woman by her arms or hair and another would grab her by the ankles and together they would throw her overboard, many of the women still with tiny babies in their arms. Their screams were loud until they disappeared over the side and the sound of their wails washed away with the billowing sea breeze. Thomas reached his hand out for the women as he lay on deck.

He yelled, ‘STOP! DON’T DO THIS!’, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around his skinny middle and started to drag him back down into the hold. He struggled, flailing his arms and legs. Tears streamed down his face as the man carrying him pushed through the barricade of sailors that were blocking the other village men from coming above deck, and he was hurled into the crowd of island men pushing from the bottom of the steps.

With a final shove from the sailors the men were forced down the steps and Thomas was caught underfoot and was almost crushed by the force of the other confused men being pushed backwards. He heard a loud crack and looked up. One of the men was cringing with a bloody brow as one of the sailors raised his stick for another swipe. The men backed off pulling with them their injured friend, retreating into the darkness of the hold, and once again the trapdoor slammed shut. Thomas could hear the sound of chains above deck and finally that loud scraping sound that meant whatever was weighing down the door was being put in place. Thomas knew now that he was not going to return home. He wondered if he would ever run free on his island again.

As Sara lay gasping in the musty cabin air, did she ever think that the baby she birthed would cross paths with a boy who was taken from his home by sea only a decade after she was taken from hers? With an exhausted sigh Sara heard the cry of a tiny infant, and into her arms was placed a delicate porcelain doll. She still had that lily white glow to her skin that came from lack of sunlight, her lips were perfect delicate rosebuds and her precious little head was adorned with tufts of silky brown hair. With tears streaming down her blushed cheeks she glanced over at the chair that her husband favoured as his regular haunt. During many a night on their long voyage, Sara would awake to find Jonathan reading by candle light in that very chair, and by day he would sit pondering whatever fancy crossed his mind whilst staring out to sea. Yet here, at the birth of his daughter the chair was empty. Sara had noticed a change in him, a certain lack in affection, his days were silent and his nights troubled. In his sleep he would toss and turn, some nights he would even weep. Sara knew that he pined for Ireland, the land he knew and loved. Yet now with his absence Sara simply lay back on her pillow and cast her eyes upward, yet her eyes looked further than the planked ceiling of the cabin. She searched for answers, guidance, anything that would help her understand why her husband, of all times, was not in that chair now. Who would have thought that something as simple as an empty chair could evoke such feelings in an individual? The human heart’s ability to feel so passionately goes beyond any man’s comprehension. Who knows what sight the eye sees that prompts the random tear to trail down one’s cheek? Can anyone ever understand what sensation makes the heart leap in one’s chest?

The nurses in that cabin were used to mothers crying after giving birth, but there was something different in these tears. The nurses would never understand exactly what the expression on Sara’s face meant, or maybe it was simply that they could not understand how a woman could wear the face of yearning when she held in her arms a newly born life.

Nevertheless the mother and daughter lay in the little cabin weeping long into the night, one in the absence of a father, the other in the absence of a husband, both in the absence of a nation. Sara truly felt lost at sea.


Wolves at Dusk.

Tilly felt slightly light headed, of course she was prone to this, and she was told it was because she was born at sea. The doctor’s very words were, “Having not been born immediately onto the firm foundations of solid earth, Matilda will primarily feel ill at ease on stable ground, most likely preferring the swell of oceanic tides. Watch her carefully, as this means she could grow up to become a very dangerous criminal.” Tilly was not sure exactly how being born at sea could invoke a criminal mind, nonetheless her parents from quite early on had always watched her carefully. She never stayed in the sun for long amounts of time lest her delicate skin be harmed. Her days were meant to be filled with light embroidery, cooking or helping her mother housecleaning. Conversation was intended to be quiet and no louder than a hushed whisper; “A proper lady never speaks before spoken to, and when speaking must never be louder than a hushed whisper. Always courteous and polite the lady of the house should be a serene and calming presence to the inhabitants of the household.”

Poor Tilly often felt that she failed at pleasing her parents. She always struggled to be quiet at the appropriate times but often spoke back to her parents. Her mother Sara was a quiet, distant woman; kind, yet very distant. She barely spoke to her children of deeper things. Instead she instructed them about their daily chores, and was not a woman for physical affection. Tilly was sure though that that had always been the case. In the little times that she caught her mother clutching a photo of her family back in Ireland to her chest, or when she looked at her wedding ring with deep misty eyes that were remembering the day when that ring was first placed on her finger, Tilly caught a glimpse of her old mother. But if Tilly’s mother was bad enough in her absence of general affection, her father John was absent altogether. He was a predominantly silent man, talking briefly to his wife and children at meals or to give instructions.
“How was your day Matilda?”

“Fine thank you father.”

“And yours, Jack?”

“Fine thank you Father. It was quite hot but that’s all.”

John would nod in acknowledgement at his children’s conversations, but rarely any more would be said at meal times. Yet in the past few months Tilly’s relationship with her parents had become even colder after the disgrace of her first divorce. Which leads us back to Tilly sitting, massaging her temples, with the dizzying thoughts of the past few traumatic months?

The word disgrace seemed to follow Tilly wherever she went. The word echoed in her ears as she fiddled with the finger where a gold band had once been. This had become a habit in the last month, the bare finger being as much a symbol of her abandonment as the ring had been of her union.

“Stupid woman, stupid, stupid woman!” Tilly told herself. “What was this place? I really didn’t think this through. I really did NOT think this through,” she said, exasperated.

At that exact moment a grimy old man with a scruffy old dog that was equally as dirty passed by.

“May I help ya ma'am with your bags? Don’t be fooled by these skinny arms, they worked on lotsa farms!” He reached out his dirt-caked hands towards her and Tilly found herself pressed up against the wall shaking her head so vigorously she could hear her hair pins clacking against each other.

“Ah… no thank you sir. I’ll be fine.”

“No? well g’day ma’am. Any time you need a pair of strong arms just come on by!”

The man tipped what was left of his tattered hat and slouched off with his matted dog in tow.

“Oh lord, I really, really, really didn’t think this through!”

Tilly knew that the river here “Tweed River” was named after a river in Scotland which flowed in exactly the same pattern. The river flowed as one strong stream until at a certain point, it split into two and formed a Y shape. The two branches ended up in the sea but started somewhere at the base of the mountain range that surrounded the Tweed area. Maybe it was the fact that the river mimicked a river in Scotland that had attracted her to this place, the fact that Scotland was so close to Ireland, a link to her Irish heritage. Either way, she was here and she knew she would have to make do.

She was in a small curious town called Chinderah. It was placed on the very banks of the Tweed River. She stood across the road from the river outside the tavern. It was an overcast day with grey clouds scudding low across the sky. It was already three in the afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. Tilly looked around forlornly.

“I really should have organized this better,” she thought, wondering where on earth would she find a place for the night. Fretting terribly While she tried to gather up her belongings in a fretful state a slow rattling sound drifted up the stony road. Tilly glanced up as a sulky full of dark skinned men slowly rattled towards her. They wore tattered clothing and some had tools slung over their shoulders. They were covered in dirt and looked like they had just done a hard day’s work.

On the sulky sat Thomas, no longer the skinny boy of fourteen. He was now a strapping young man of eighteen. His shoulders were broad and well muscled from spending his teen years working in a cane field. He had a fine chiselled face with a strong angular jaw and big brown eyes. Since he had been taken from his home in Vanuatu he was forced into a working contract on a sugar cane farm. Life however for him and the other island men went on. The cane fields had become their life, their occupation. They were each responsible for their own homes and how they spent their earnings. Although a forced contract, it was still an income in a society that offered little to men of their colour.

The sulky pulled up right in front of Tilly. She looked at the men imperiously, but with a secret fear knotting in her stomach. Being the sheltered child that she was, she had had little exposure to “coloured folk,” and was truly nervous without the protection of her father or brother Jack near at hand. Thomas hopped over the side of the sulky with cat- like ease and landed only a few inches away from Tilly. The sulky continued on its way. There was a long moment as the two strangers stared into each other’s eyes; he with a childlike curiosity, she with a nervous blink.

Tilly cleared her throat to break the awkward silence.

“May I help you sir?”

She tried to sound confident, but her voice faltered with every syllable.

“Well lady, it was me gonna be askin you that,”

replied Thomas in his broken English. His voice was deep yet warm and kind.

“No thank you I’m perfectly fine. I’m waiting for my …….ah……..friend, my male friend, he’s with the army you know, very important, and strong and has lots of old war guns, big guns from the war…yes lots and lots of them. Good for shooting.” After telling her little tale she stood nervously wondering if he might believe her.

A big grin spread across Thomas’s face. “Now you sure you’ll be fine lady?” he said, gesturing to her heavy bags.

Tilly nodded still blinking nervously at the coloured fellow.

‘Alright then lady, but you better be watch’n yourself, the sun’s almost sett’n and at night the wolves and snakes crawl through the town, lookin for folk such as yourself that don’t make it inside before dark.’

Tilly gulped as she watched the setting sun.

“But don’t be worry’n lady, your big army friend will protect you, won’t he lady?”

With those last words Thomas tipped his hat and disappeared around the corner of the tavern. Tilly sighed as she was left alone in the dimming light. She looked around desperately for some place she could stay, preferably not the tavern; she didn’t much like ale nor the people who drank it. Something caught her eye on the tavern wall. A large wooden board with notices pasted onto its surface adorned the better part of the brick wall. Taking a closer look, she noticed a tiny piece of yellowing paper that had in clear writing “Room for board available, work for keep and income”.

Tilly smiled at the tiny ray of fortune that had been sent her way. She looked at the address printed on the bottom. She didn’t know the town, and she definitely didn’t know the street. She tore off the notice and returned to her bags. Somehow she was going to have to find a way to get to this house.

Just as Tilly was pondering hopelessly on how to find some mode of transport, Thomas rode around the corner of the tavern on a horse. He didn’t even look at her and was about to canter right passed her when she called out to him, ‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’
Thomas stopped and smiled down at Tilly.

‘Do you know this address? If so could you take me there please?’

Thomas looked at the little square note that she’d handed him and smiled,“Whatsa matter lady? Can’t your army friend take you? I don’t want to make him angry, he sounds very important,” Thomas said in mock fear.
Tilly still couldn’t pick up that he was joking around and had never believed her from the start, and to add to her humiliation there were no wolves in Australia.
‘Aah he’s not coming, I forgot…silly me. Aha he told me yesterday and I forgot, silly me.’

‘You said that twice lady,’ Thomas laughed at her.

‘Oh yes so I did, silly me. I mean. Nothing. Look, can you take me there or not?’ there was an annoyed edge in Tilly’s voice, but she was more annoyed at the web of lies she’d woven and was now tangling herself in then what she mistook for gullibility on Thomas’s part.

‘I can help I think Lady,’ said Thomas, still smiling down at the quite obviously forlorn woman.

In no time at all he had two of Tilly’s bags attached to the side of his saddles and the third, pressed between them as they rode along. Tilly didn’t quite know where to put her hands and attempted to hold on by grasping the back of the saddle, but after four near tumbles she resorted to wrapping her arms around his powerful torso.

‘So where is you comin’ from lady?’ asked Thomas.

‘Rosewood, in Calvert.’

‘You have any family down this way?’

‘No,’ thank the Lord, thought Tilly. She’d come here to get away from the family.

‘If you don’t mind me askin, why did you come here then? A little lady such as yourself, no family, no friends?’ Thomas’s questions were not intrusive but caring, just a general interest in this strange little girl.

Tilly wondered nervously. She was not in the habit of recounting her divorce. It wasn’t so much that she felt sorrow over her broken marriage; it was more or less the shame that was carried with being a broken woman.

‘Just a change I guess, everybody needs a change, I just never thought I would end up in a wolf -infested town though.’

Thomas laughed heartily.

‘I don’t understand, what are you laughing at?’

‘Lady, there are no wolves in these parts, there are no wolves in all the land.’ Thomas threw back his head and laughed loudly into the sky.

“Oh you brute! You tricked me.” Tilly slapped his back but to her strange surprise she found herself laughing along with him when she realized the humour of her gullibility.

The pair had taken a slow afternoon canter into the neighboring town of Cudgen.

‘Cudgen, what a peculiar name. What does it mean?’ asked Tilly as she and Thomas stopped in the front yard of a quaint looking house. Thomas hopped off the horse first and offered up a strong hand to help Tilly down. Once she found both feet planted firmly on the ground Thomas knelt down and thrust his powerful hand into what Tilly had thought was quite hard soil. He pulled from the ground a generous clump of rich red dirt and with it the heady aroma of the ground, a pungent mixture of earth and wood that smelt surprisingly good to Tilly.

‘This red dirt is found all around here. It’s the best dirt for farming, and the natives have a word for it. “Cudgen” or “red dirt”, that’s how this place got its name.’

Thomas stood up with the earth still in his hand and held it out to Tilly. In any other situation in any other time Tilly would have spurned the dirty offering and turned away, but there was something about the soil, something inside its rich red heart that drew her hand from her side to reach out to his. She gently placed her hand on top of the dirt in his palm and let her fingers sink into the moist coolness of the soil until she felt his warm flesh underneath. His fingers reached up through the soil and enveloped her little hand pressing the dirt flat between their palms. For a moment in time they connected. And as soon as the moment had come, it departed.

Thomas’s hand dropped from hers letting the soil fall to the ground and the two found themselves shyly staring down at the ground. ‘Oh this red dirt leaves a stain,’ said Tilly, looking around for somewhere to wipe her hand. Thomas offered his sleeve.

‘Thank you,’ said Tilly, a rosy blush creeping up her cheeks. ‘Thank you for…. everything.’

She stepped back from Thomas and pulled the last pins in her hair loose, letting her light almost red chestnut tresses fall freely about her shoulders. Thomas stood watching this strange yet intriguing woman.

He took in all her features; she was trim of nose and ear and her delicate green eyes were accompanied by a dark lining of thick lacy lashes. Her waist was slim and she was taller than most women but not quite as tall as he. Her arms and wrists were slender and were that same porcelain white as her face and long swanlike neck. Struggling to pull his eyes away, Thomas put his foot in the stirrups of his horse and swung his leg over the horse’s back.

Tilly looked at Thomas sitting atop the beautiful creature, ‘What’s her name?’ she asked, reaching out a hand towards the horse’s long neck, she was silvery white in colour and as graceful as she was tall.

‘Her name is Star,’ he said, warmly patting the horse’s face.

Tilly shyly looked down when she asked the question, ‘What’s yours?’
Thomas stopped for a moment and watched the top of her head as she shuffled the dirt with her feet. ‘My name is Thomas Mai.’

Thomas held out his hand.

Tilly responded by taking his hand and saying, ‘I’m Matilda Tatten; friends call me Tilly.’
Thomas smiled.

‘Tilly…..Miss Tilly.’

Tilly smiled up at this brown-skinned angel and then pulled away from his warm grasp to pick up her bags. With all three somehow bundled under her arms she nodded at Thomas and nearly dropped her burden which brought a shy awkward giggle from both of them. ‘Thank you Thomas Mai,’ she said to him.
Thomas grinned at the odd yet beautiful woman and galloped off down the road, Star raising clouds of dust in a long billowy trail behind them. Now, thought Tilly turning to the house with its plain white walls and miniature porch; the next hurdle, meeting the family.


Shame in Buckets.

“We wake at four,” said the largish stern woman before Tilly had gone to bed. The house she lived in was made up mostly of women, four in fact and only two men. There were two women around their early forties, the third was only as old as Tilly and the last was a little girl of ten who was one of the older women’s daughter. The two men were brothers a year apart, both in their forties and one was married to one of the women. As curious as the little house was with all its strange noises and smells, Tilly could not help to fall asleep amongst these new foreign surroundings, even though she felt quite disturbed.

When it seemed that Tilly was just falling asleep the door to her small room swung open with a bang that would make a firearm envious and startled Tilly into an alarmed eye rubbing state. Sitting up straight trying to peer through the remnants of slumber into the blinding light from the doorway she heard a boisterous, “Wake up! Come on love, the sunrise waits for no man.” Tilly tried to mumble something about not being aware of the time but relented and slipped dozily out from under the covers.

The household was already waiting for her outside of the house in the front yard when
she came tumbling off the porch to meet with disapproving eyes.

‘Those clothes won’t do love,’ said the eldest woman who went by the name of Lilly or Lil as she was known by the town.

‘It’s all I brought,’ said Tilly feebly, shrugging her shoulders. She looked down at her long brown cotton skirt that went past her ankles and her white long sleeved blouse with frills at the neck and wrists. Indeed, this was the only outfit she thought suitable for housecleaning amongst her collection of gowns and dresses. Sighing, Lil took Tilly by the hand.

‘C’mon love,’ and she took the odd little girl back inside the house.

After three days Tilly was no better at scrubbing floors then she had been on her first day. She never realized how much she hadn’t done back home in Calvert. Bent over the front porch of some lady’s house that she really hadn’t cared to take the name of she found herself scrubbing away at a stain in the timber with fruitless results. The constant scratching sound of the brush was beginning to grate against Tilly’s ears.
‘Do you ever get easy stains?’ sighed Tilly.
‘There’s no such thing,’ answered Dolly, one of Tilly’s newfound friends. She was a young cheery girl of nineteen. Her real name was Mary, but no one called her that. When Tilly had asked why everyone called her Dolly, Dolly simply smiled her big wide warm rosy smile and Tilly knew right away. Dolly had one of those rounded faces with big rosy cheeks that grew plump whenever she smiled, which was usually all the time. The result being that she looked like a china doll with permanently plump rosy cheeks.

Tilly laughed and went back to her scrubbing. Watching her hand go back and forth, back
and forth, Tilly again couldn’t help but notice her bare finger. Stopping her work, she sat back on her knees and lifted her ringless hand. Staring blankly at the scrubbing water on the ground before her, she saw the memories of that dreadful night play out on the glassy reflection at her knees.

She remembered far too clearly every painful detail with sheer accuracy. She remembered exactly what she was wearing, she remembered the exact time to the minute, she remembered how her heels made that small click, click sound as she walked up the path at the side of the house. She’d spent the day with her mother but returned earlier than was planned. Walking up the step to the back porch she stood in the light of the doorway looking at the other woman. There she sat, no older than she, no prettier. Blonde curls angelically adorning her face, and there calmly waiting she sat in Tilly’s wedding dress. At first Tilly felt confused, not able to move from the place she now found herself glued to.

She, the other woman, made the first move.

‘Hello. You must be Matilda, John’s told me about you. Did he say anything to you about me?’

The girl held out her hand.

‘No,’ Tilly answered breathlessly.

‘Oh…well you see, John and I are getting married.’

‘He doesn’t want me anymore?’

‘Oh no, he does. He wants us both.’

‘Both of us?’

‘Together.’

‘How?’

‘We’ll both be married to him, we’ll both be his…’

‘Wives…’

‘We’re getting married in two hours.’

‘In my dress.’ Tilly was still in shock, she was waiting for the anger, yet it seemed
blocked by something stronger.

‘I couldn’t afford my own.’ The girl looked away in shame.

‘Have it! You can have him!’

Tilly turned to walk out the door when John came out of the house. He was a large man with a large face, hands, feet and build, all of it tight and muscular. He was dark and chiseled, a real Australian man descended from the first settlers that arrived.

‘Matilda, where do you think you’re going?’

‘I will not be a wife Jonathon. I am the wife or nothing. What sick idea is this?

The young blonde girl began to retreat into a corner.

‘I’ve spoken with your parents and they are fine with this.’

‘What is this John? What exactly is this? Am I no longer in a marriage but some mans harem? I will not share my marriage bed or my husband with another girl!’

‘You will do as you are told! And if that means sharing this house, so be it!’

‘It’s more than a house, John! Can’t you see that? Am I not enough for you? Have I not done enough? I’ve been loyal to you since our wedding day! And then to come home and find this’, with a disgusted expression she pointed to the other girl.

‘You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own house!’ John was shouting now and his voice thundered through the house.

“I never have the right John! Never! Just like I never had the chance to grow up! I married you at sixteen without a complaint. I was a housewife when I still should have been at school! And you betrayed me, you tell me I’m not enough for you! Well John you’ll have to find someone else to fulfill your greed and want because I won’t!’

John grabbed Tilly’s wrist and with a swift jerk pulled her ring from her finger and pushed her out the door where she tripped down the stairs and landed heavily on the pavement. It pained her to even look at the house, let alone go back inside. Yet she knew she would eventually have to go back to gather her belongings and then take that shameful walk out of the house officially announcing to the world that Matilda Anna Jane Wieland was once again Matilda Anna Jane Tatten, no longer wanted and no longer needed.

Closing her eyes, the image retreated to the back of her mind and she hastily went on scrubbing. Noticing how passionately Tilly was washing her brush Dolly put her hand on Tilly’s. Tilly stopped scrubbing.

‘You’re a mystery, Tilly Tatten. You arrive on our door alone and cold, looking for work and a place to live. The most helpless creature we ever did see.’

Tilly laughed but continued to look down at the dirty water.

‘Yet your cases are full of beautiful clothes and other finery I’ve never seen the likes of. Don’t worry Tilly, I know there’s a reason that you haven’t spoken about where you’ve come from, and whatever happened to you was terrible. I can see that. But life goes on, and eventually whatever you’re running from will catch up with you. Maybe tomorrow, maybe today.’

Tilly nodded in silent acknowledgement but she didn’t realize how correct Dolly was. As the two friends went on scrubbing and chatting happily, a stage coach was slowly drawing to a stop only a few yards away. The coachman jumped down and opened the side door. Gracefully, yet firmly, a tall figure in blue stepped out of the coach. Tilly heard the horses from the front verandah and sat back on her knees to peer over the little wall. She saw a lady in a ridiculously large feathered hat step out of the carriage in a flourish of blue velvet. Tilly was quite aware that this type of glamour was rarely found on the Tweed, let alone in Chinderah where they were cleaning. The woman slowly lifted her head and then Tilly saw her mother Sarah’s unmistakable face.

Tilly dropped flat to the ground, landing in the puddle of water.

‘Tilly? What are you doing? You looked like you’ve had a stroke!’

‘I have a question Dolly. Why would someone from out of town stop here? Especially someone who doesn’t belong here?’ Tilly whispered furiously.

‘Uumm look above you Tilly. It’s a hotel.’

Tilly looked up to the roof and saw with horror the big sign: “Chinderah Grand Hotel”.

‘Dolly, you neither know me nor saw me. Understand?’

Tilly gripped Dolly by the shoulders.

‘Al...alright, Tilly what’s going on?’

Tilly hastily crawled inside the house leaving Dolly bewildered amongst their buckets and cleaning water.

‘I…Ill meet you at home then? Oh that Tilly Ta…’

Dolly’s sentence trailed off as a beautiful blonde woman in a velvet blue dress walked slowly up the front steps, lifting her many skirts and petticoats as she ascended. Stopping on the front porch she looked down at Dolly, and Dolly looked back and knew, she didn’t need Tilly to explain anything. She just knew.

Tilly found herself wandering down the road towards Cudgen. She lazily kicked the stones at her feet as she trudged along the rocky path. As she drew nearer to a crossroads she saw someone on a white horse canter across the road up ahead. As she drew nearer she could not help to notice the unmistakable wide grin of Thomas Mai. She could not help to wonder where this man would take her on his horse next.
‘Hello Miss Tilly! Why you lookin’ so sad today? Cudgen isn’t that bad is it?’

‘No, don’t worry. You wouldn’t understand.’ Tilly was looking anywhere but at Thomas.

Thomas smiled boyishly. ‘Do you want me to show you somethin’ Miss Tilly?’

Tilly found Thomas offering her his hand from his horse again, and once again found she was unable to resist taking his hand. This time Thomas didn’t slowly canter down the road, he galloped as fast as Star would take him. Down the dusty road, veering off into a small bush trail then out into an expansive paddock with a single fig tree atop the nearest hill. Tilly held tightly to Thomas as Star came to a halt beneath the tree. First Tilly hopped of the horse landing amidst the waving knee length grass.

‘Where are we?’ laughed Tilly as Thomas slipped off the horse. She didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt immensely emancipated standing in that field with Thomas, and more like the woman she knew she was than when she’d been married to John. It made her feel happy, a feeling she hadn’t truly felt in a long time.

‘When the black-birders brought us here, we weren’t allowed to roam free of our confines for so long until they weren’t allowed to keep us as slaves anymore. By then we’d already gotten used to the fact we’d never go home.’

‘Wait. Black-birders? What’s that?’

‘That’s what the men called themselves who came and took us away from our home in Vanuatu.’

‘You were taken? Thomas, were you a slave?’

‘Yes, for a while. Now I’m a free man.’

He didn’t seem to say that with as much pride as Tilly thought he should have. Maybe he didn’t take pride in belonging to a country that was too lazy to do its own work. Now that she thought about it, neither was she.

‘When they forbid them to keep us as slaves most of us settled here and continued to work for pay on the cane farms that we were once slaves to. When that happened I used to wander all through these parts, and I found this place.’ He gestured to the endless green pastures. ‘It’s so big and makes me feel so small, the way you should feel in the Lord’s world, and in feeling small, amongst all this, I feel free.’

Tilly watched this young man who suddenly in her eyes was more refined and civilized than any man she’d ever known back home in Calvert.

With a fluid strong movement he hopped up into a branch of the tree and sat on the bow, offering down his hand to Tilly which she took a hold of and hitching up her skirt she herself climbed into the tree to join Thomas with relative ease. The sun was beginning to set and the couple sat in silence, yet their silence was not awkward as it seemed the world around them spoke in a million voices for them. The wind whistled through the grass making the long blades wave and rustle against each other, the cicadas chirped and twittered amongst the bushes and grass and in the air the birds were flying home to their nests making the small sonic beats with their wings that with the rest of chorus of sounds gathered around the pair in their fig tree.

‘Tell me Thomas,’ Tilly finally said, looking him straight in the eye, ‘what have you seen? What have your eyes witnessed? What do you have that makes you so happy?’

‘The Lord,’ was Thomas’s simple answer.

Tilly’s problems no longer seemed as big as his, nor did they seem as heavy. She kissed Thomas. And fell in love. In the fig tree.


Holding His Hand

The slap stung Tilly’s face. For three days Thomas had prayed with her for this moment. She somehow knew what her mothers’ reaction would be, so her prayers had been more for strength than a change in her mothers’ heart.

‘You’re getting married to him!?’ Sara’s rage filled the room. In her silence over the years Sara had been building up layer upon layer of rage that for so long had been held behind a stony cold expression and a quietness of grave like proportion. Yet now all her walls came tumbling down and her wrath was set upon Tilly.

From her mothers’ second story apartment Tilly could see Thomas standing on the sidewalk. He was simple and peaceful, despite his tragic past, and it was that simplicity Tilly loved about him.

“Lord give me strength…”

‘Yes mother I am marrying Thomas.’ No tears gathered in Tilly’s eyes, much to Sara’s surprise. Where was sheltered little Matilda so prone to migraines and sunburn?

‘You will NOT marry that coloured man Matilda, not when you have so much waiting for you back at home. I refuse to see you throw your life away for that kanaka.’

Tilly glanced at her mother suspiciously. ‘What do you mean, “back at home” mother? What have you done?’

‘Your father and I have spoken with John Wieland, and he’s decided to take you back. We’ve arranged the wedding to be the moment you get home and abandon these silly notions.’

‘Go back to John!? Mother! He’s a bigamist! How can you send me back to a life where I share my husband with another woman?’

‘ He’s wealthy and stable Matilda, and he has a lot more to offer than that…that…NIGGER!’

Tilly glared at her mother, she knew in that small moment that the divide was set.
Her mother would never come to love Thomas Mai as she had.

‘Mother, it’s LOVE. You’ve forgotten it. Yes mother, you’re bitter because of Ireland, but you are no closer to going back there then you were yesterday, and it will be the same ten years from now! Mother you yearn for something you can’t have and ever since you’ve been angry. I lost any chance of a real mother a long time ago. The REAL Sara stayed behind in Ireland, she didn’t want to know her daughter Tilly. I could never fill the gap that that land left in your heart. Admit it mother, you don’t care that Thomas is black, you just care that I’m in love.’


In her mind Sara spoke to Tilly in all honesty:

“It wasn’t Ireland I wept for Tilly, it was a man. Your father. He was the one left in Ireland, the man you see now so cold and distant. Once upon a time he was man, a real man. And then one night, one very special night I looked over at his chair where he always sat, and he wasn’t there. And I cried. Tilly if you fall in love your heart will be broken I know it. Marry someone you’ll never love Tilly, then your heart won’t break, although mine may be frozen to its core it’ll never break. Yours, my darling, I feel will shatter….”

But the words remained unsaid.

‘You’ll never understand mother.’

“But I do Tilly, I do.”

‘You once were able to love but it seems to have been a forgotten dream.’

“I still can...”

‘I’m going to marry that man Mother and you won’t stop me!’ With that , Tilly turned on her heel and rushed out of the room slamming the door behind her.

“I Love you Tilly. Be happy…”

Sara stood in the silence, listening to her own breathing.

Tilly ran out onto the sidewalk to look for Thomas but he was no longer out front. She looked up the street into the blazing afternoon sun where a figure was slowly trudging down the street leading a horse.

‘Thomas! Thomas! Where are you going?’

Tilly picked up her skirts and ran down the street after Thomas. Her chest was aching when she caught up to him. ‘Thomas where are you going?’

‘I lost my mother a long time ago Miss Tilly, I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. I don’t want to be causn’ any troubles.’

She kissed Thomas and then drew back ‘If my mother ever taught me anything, it was to love. She showed me what it was like to live without it, and I don’t want that. Thomas..I love you.’

By now people had noticed the couple and were watching from their houses.

“Lord give me the courage to be all I can be in the face of fear.
I want to be yours father.
I lay every burden at your feet.
I feel every one of your embraces.
I hear every one of your comforting words.
Bless us Lord.
Let us live for you”

With dignity and strength Tilly walked down the street with Thomas by her side. She never saw her mother again, but every day was spent living life with Thomas to the fullest.

Years later, surrounded by many children and grandchildren, Tilly passed away.

But right to the end she was holding his hand. And not once did Thomas let go.


They lived their life so free
For just a moment to be
On this earth, for a second in time
Through every year
I lead her through every fear
With her hand held tightly in mine.


The End.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 20.11.2009

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Widmung:
To my great great Grandparents Thomas and Tilly, the inspiration of this story. Thank you for paving the way for future generations, and showing us that love, really is blind.