ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

Born Carol Stone in Lithgow NSW in 1948, the author moved to the Illawarra at the age of five and left school to become a ladies’ hairdresser. In 1967 she married Neil Preston in Wollongong, where their two children, Tammy and Adam were born. 

Carol returned to study in 1976 and completed a PHD at Wollongong University in 1986, publishing numerous academic articles in psychological journals during that time. She is now in private counselling practice. Carol enjoys gardening, spending time with her four grandchildren, bushwalking and researching and writing about her Australian ancestors.

CHAPTER ONE (Part Sample) 

April, 1873, Marengo, NSW

A soft breeze caressed their sad faces. Autumn leaves: yellow, orange and deep purple, lapped at their feet. Birds flitted about in the sapphire blue sky, singing. Not mournful tones as one would expect on such a day, but bright, cheerful songs; a stark contrast to the sombre voice of Reverend Gwynne as he committed the body of Suzannah Oakes to the ground and bid her soul safe journey to heaven.

The faces huddled around the grave were tear-stained, bereft. In spite of the minister’s words about God’s comfort, no one present could help but think He’d been cruel in taking two of their precious loved ones from them in a week. George Oakes stood stone-like; worn and dazed, as if he’d need to be told afterwards what had just taken place. Young Rebecca and Mary, both with the ivory skin and dark glossy curls of their Irish mother, clung tightly to each other as though holding onto hope that tomorrow they’d wake to find their world turned right way up again. Hovering beside Mary solicitously was John Coddington, wanting nothing but to take away his beloved’s pain. Next to him stood William Oakes. Under a drift of brown hair that fell across one eye, his face was set hard, his sense of the unfairness of it all sketched in his frown. He was already feeling the burden of the gap his mother had left in the family and his own inadequacy to fill it. Not that anyone had said he must fill it but considering the doddering incompetence of his father, there was little doubt in William’s mind that he would have to take responsibility for the family.

On the other side of the grave stood Mary Anne and Bill Oakes, leaning into each other, hands clasped. Mary Anne was an older version of her nieces, Rebecca and Mary. Her dark hair was pulled back; wisps of black curls around her temples and neck, visible under the small, black netted hat almost covering her eyes, though not hiding the voluminous tears that rolled down her face. Her sister had been the centre of her world for so long that she felt she might never feel balanced again. She tightened her grip on her husband. Bill was fairer than his wife, and older; his brown hair showing the slightest steaks of grey, but still full and neatly brushed back from his square, tanned face. A face usually strong and confident. Now he stared at the coffin being lowered into the ground as if trying to conjure up some magical powers to draw back to life the woman inside, his brother’s wife, the woman he had loved desperately for twenty five years.

A few of the townsfolk stood around the family respectfully. They shared the sense of tragedy that it was for this woman, only forty seven, to have been taken from her family. A woman so full of courage and faith, now gone to join her daughter who’d passed away a week before her. Such a sad loss for their little town where there were too many funerals, too many illnesses, too many accidents as men worked from daylight to dark with inadequate machinery and resources, too many fires and floods that swept away the hard won results of their work and often their lives. It didn’t pay to spend too much time thinking about the harshness and the cost of trying to carve a life out of this unforgiving land. They were glad to note that the minister was concluding.

‘We commit the body of this dear woman, Suzannah Oakes, to the grave. Her soul, we surrender to Almighty God, trusting that He will care for her in the hereafter as He has done in the life she’s lived on earth. We pray that each of you will find comfort in the faith she had in God; a faith that will now be rewarded as she rests in peace.’

‘Come along, Papa. It’s time to go home.’

It was Rebecca, the youngest, who made the first move, giving the small group their cue to begin breaking away from the circle of grief. Friends gently touched members of the family on the arm or back to convey their condolences. Rebecca nodded her thanks for their support, for most of them had stood here with the family less than a week ago as they’d buried her eldest sister, Caroline. Of course, then the world had been different, somehow manageable, because her mother had been here too. Suzannah had been frail but she’d been like that numerous times before when her wretched cough had weakened her to the point of prostration. And hadn’t she always rallied after rest? At least while Caroline was alive, she had. Caroline had been thirty-four years of age but only a child of six or seven in her mind and, as much as Rebecca loved her sister, she’d felt cheated of her mother’s attention for most of her life. Now they were both gone. It was as if her mother had determined to go and look after Caroline as she’d always done, rather than stay and be with her. She was only fourteen after all, and didn’t she still need her Mama?

And what was she to do with Papa now? For he certainly wasn’t capable of taking care of himself; hadn’t been for longer than she cared to remember. Always moping around as if the world had done him some dreadful wrong and he could not forgive it. He was almost seventy years old, more than twenty years older than Mama. He’d never have imagined outliving her, and now with her gone, he was sure to be more morbid than ever. And who would be left to look after him? Herself, that’s who. Her sister, Martha, was far away in Tumbarumba with her own family. And though William tried to be the man in the family, the fact was he was never home now that he had work out at one of the stations. And Mary? Well, hopefully she’d help some but she was so dewy-eyed over John Coddington that she was all but useless. This myriad of thoughts raced around in Rebecca’s head ’til she felt she’d scream, though outwardly she appeared to be concentrating on getting her frail, shaken father into the cart.

William drove the family home to their cottage at Stoney Creek and immediately busied himself, making sure there was firewood stacked at the back door. It was only April and a beautiful sunny day, Rebecca noted as she watched her brother fuss around, cleaning out the fireplace. The winter would be here soon enough, she knew, but William was really trying to occupy himself so he didn’t have to talk. She glanced at the two bedroom doors off the small parlour, closed as if to shut away any remembrance of the beds where her mother and sister had so recently lain, slowly drifting towards death. She plumped a cushion her mother had made and ran her hand softly across the back of the chair she’d so often sat in by the fire. She moved to the back door and looked out over the rows of vegetables, the neat pens where chickens and pigs scratched around in the dirt, the fruit trees beyond, leading down towards the creek, which was lined with large gum trees. It all looked so peaceful, so ordered, so as it should be, as if to belie the fact that her world had collapsed and nothing was as it should be.

Mary was sitting on the front porch with John. The sound of her sobs reached Rebecca’s ears, breaking into her own sense of loss. Her sister had been so much stronger when she was younger, Rebecca thought. They’d always had such fun together and Mary had always been ready to join her in a prank. But now she seemed to be so...well, pathetic was the only word Rebecca could think of. Perhaps it was all for John. He seemed to want to mollycoddle her, as if she couldn’t take care of herself. And he was so much older than she was. Couldn’t Mary see what it was like to have a husband who would get old and morbid when she was still a young woman? Rebecca remembered her Mama telling her what it was like, having been cruelly taken from her hometown in Ireland and brought to this strange land when she was only twelve. She’d made the best decisions she could at the time and made a good life with Papa at first, even though he was much older than she, but he’d been less and less able to help her over the years, less reliable, and more needy. This she’d never complained about, for Mama hadn’t really complained about anything.

Rebecca glanced back at her Papa, slumped in his chair by the fire as if he was waiting for winter to set in. His pulpy nose needed wiping again. She lit the stove and filled the kettle and began to think about what they might have for their supper, for she was sure no one else was going to think about it.

*****

‘John’s brother, Charles, and his sister, Angelina, were both married last year…To Sofala and Henry Cleverdon. Don’t you think that’s romantic, Becca? Brother and sister marrying brother and sister. Just like Mama and Mary Anne marrying Papa and Bill, isn’t it? John wants me to marry him soon, so he does, for he is thirty and he already has his own place at Currowang. The hut is really small but we’d add on to it. He wants to have a family of his own before too long, and...’

‘Oh Mary, stop prattling on for goodness sake. You’re only sixteen. And besides, if you get married, who’s to look after things here? Not William, for isn’t he too busy with his sheep? And what’s to happen to Papa? Am I to be the one who takes care of this house and our father all by myself then?’

‘Please don’t be like that. Of course I’ll help you. John and I still have some planning to do before we get married. And Papa will be better by then. We all miss Mama, don’t we? And Caroline…it’s so hard being here, seeing their things and thinking that any minute Mama will appear from the bedroom. That’s why it helps me to think about getting married, sure it does. John makes me so happy. He loves me, and he tells me...’

‘I’m not wanting to hear what he tells you for haven’t I more to be thinking about? What would happen if I was letting my mind wander off to some happy place? We wouldn’t even be eating, so we wouldn’t. It’s been a month since Mama died and tell me what improvement you’ve seen in Papa. Not that you’d be noticing, for isn’t your head in the clouds?’

Rebecca brushed an escaped swirl of black hair back behind her ear. Her fingers were red from scrubbing, her nails broken to the quick. She wiped them furiously on her apron and lifted the tub of dirty water, balancing it on her slight hip. ‘I’d like to be happy for you, Mary, but right now the chickens need feeding and the eggs collecting and I’ve parsnip soup to make for supper tonight. Perhaps you could tell your happy news to the cow while you milk her, for she’s waiting to be relieved of her load and not likely to understand that you’ve a wedding to plan.’

‘Aren’t you the grouch then,’ grumbled Mary as she opened the back door for her sister. ‘Sure and won’t Bessy be more fun to talk to than you.’

‘She’s impossible, Mary Anne, so she is.’ Mary later found a more willing ear in her aunt. ‘Wouldn’t you think the whole world was on her shoulders? And Papa is a handful for he won’t do a thing for himself. Hardly gets out of bed most days but hasn’t he been like that forever? I refuse to be sitting there all day watching him breathe in and out, for that’s all he seems capable of. I’ve been helping with the cooking and cleaning and William comes on Sundays and does some work in the garden. He gives us most of the bit of money he’s making, sure he does. But he doesn’t like being at home either. I think it upsets him to see Papa the way he is. And the vegetables and fruit practically take care of themselves...well, sort of...and anyway, what more can I do? I’ve a life of my own to live, have I not? It’s no fun being there. I want to be with John. You understand, don’t you?’

‘Sure enough, Mary, I do. But your sister is feeling the weight of it all. Unlike you, she’s likely to be there for quite a few years. She won’t hear of coming to live here after you’re married and I’m not blaming her for that. It would be awfully crowded here, what with wee Martha and William John, and me pregnant again. We’ve contented ourselves with Bill taking out supplies from our store each week, for it’s all we can do at the moment. Rebecca’s as determined as your mama for all her complaining. I’m sure by the time of the wedding she’ll be happy for you. For aren’t we all missing your mama something terrible, sure we are. It’s difficult for her to deal with it all, so it is.’

‘Well, finding happiness somewhere else is my way of dealing with it and that’s the whole of it. She’s my sister and I love her but I won’t be moping around with Papa and her. It’s too miserable for words.’

‘I’d like to do more to help the girls, Mary Anne,’ Bill sighed heavily. ‘The truth is, I just don’t know what else to do for them. I’m not about to make Rebecca leave Stoney Creek. Heaven knows I could use her help in the store…now that Caroline’s not here. Mary’s not much help even when she does come in. She’s too involved in planning her wedding. At least when she’s married she’ll be in good hands with John Coddington. And as for George…not even Suzannah was able to drag him out of his melancholy most of the time, so I’ve no hope. I swear he’s just waiting to die out there. I hate to say it but that might be the answer for everyone. It’s not like he’s enjoying being alive. When he’s gone perhaps we can convince Rebecca to move. I guess she’s her mother all over again.’ His voice cracked as he spoke and he busied himself with repacking some shelves.

‘I understand how the poor little thing is feeling, sure I do, for a day doesn’t pass without me thinking I’ll just speak to Suzannah about something or other and then I remember she’s not here. And here’s me thirty-seven. So how’s the poor child supposed to manage without her mother?’

‘She will, precisely because she’s her mother’s daughter. Remember Suzannah was younger than Rebecca when she arrived in Australia without a soul in the world and she rose above all the difficulties. Rebecca has the same spirit. She’ll be alright...eventually. It might just be a rocky road for a while.’ Bill shook his head. ‘As if it isn’t heartbreaking enough to be without Suzannah. Having to see what George has sunk to is more than I can bear sometimes. I don’t know whether to be angry with him or feel sorry for him. He was my hero when I was a child. I was only six years old when he was transported and all I wanted to do when I got out of prison here, was to find my big brother and get alongside him again. But...well, we know how that ended up, don’t we? He pretty much took a dislike to me from the beginning and we’ve not really mended it in all these years, though God knows I’ve tried.’

‘Well now, you know why he disliked you from the beginning, don’t you? For wasn’t it obvious how you felt about his wife? I know neither of you did anything deliberately to make him insecure but I think he just felt like an old man compared to you, not needed nor wanted. It was nobody’s fault, Bill. It’s just how things were and haven’t we all had to make the most of it?’ Mary Anne looked at her husband, the question she wanted to ask him written all over her face. Bill reached for her hand.

‘We’ve made a good go of this marriage, at least from my reckoning. You’re a good wife, Mary Anne. I couldn’t want for more...and you deserve to be happy...I hope you are.’

Mary Anne rubbed her hand gently over her slightly swollen stomach. ‘I’m very happy, so I am. You’ve been nothing but loving and understanding to me since we married. Now, I’ll be getting back to those wee bairns of ours before they run amuck in the parlour.’ She bent over Bill as he took another armful of materials to arrange on the shelves and kissed him fondly on the forehead.

‘Mary Anne?’ he asked tentatively as she headed for the back of the store. She turned and smiled, waiting for him to speak. ‘You don’t think I’m an old man, do you? I mean I am past fifty. I’m as old as George was when his William was born?’

‘Sure, don’t be daft. You’re nothing like George. Why, aren’t you just as active as you were when I first met you over twenty years ago? And don’t you go thinking like that, for aren’t we going to be having a lot more wee ones yet? Suzannah will be back to haunt me if I don’t fill a house with your children.’

With that, she blew her husband a kiss and ducked through the back door, leaving Bill smiling. He thought himself indeed blessed by the love of this woman and the joy of his children and yes, even the promise of more. For he did feel young enough to enjoy them and he knew that it was not only himself and Mary Anne that were made happy by his marriage but also Suzannah, God rest her soul. It was still hard for him to believe she was gone, for he’d loved her since that day he’d knocked on their door looking for his brother. She’d moved his heart and mind in a way no one had done before or since and these last few years in Marengo, at least being near her, he’d been at peace. He’d been shocked at first when she’d suggested he and Mary Anne marry, and more shocked when Mary Anne had agreed, but it had been the right thing. He was sure of that now and they’d all lived harmoniously in this little community. Even George had seemed to be more content. But now Suzannah was gone and they were all the poorer for it. He wondered how long his brother would survive. As for himself? He had a family of his own to take care of and Suzannah would expect him to get on with it. He’d also promised her he would take care of her family and he’d do his best to fulfil that.

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