To Love Anew (19 page)

Perhaps if he worked hard enough he could erase the images of poor Kian. The prisoners had been called into the main yard and forced to watch while the young man had endured one hundred lashes with a cat-o’-nine-tails. John could still hear the sound of the leather strap whir as it snaked through the air and the drumbeats that counted off each stroke.

Hannah had been there. She’d looked pale, but with tear-filled eyes and her jaw set she’d watched, as ordered. Pride stirred in John. Hannah had been courageous.

He drove his pick into the hard ground. Why force the women to watch? What purpose did that serve? He wanted to protect Hannah from the miseries of this place, but there was nothing he could do. His frustration was so intense it burned in the center of his gut.

Kian had survived the flogging, but just barely. The memory of it made John’s stomach turn, and it angered him. Flogging a man to that degree was unpardonable. There was no justification for such punishment, especially not for a man like Kian who, like so many others, didn’t belong in Port Jackson. He’d been arrested as a subversive. Simply being an Irishman offered so-called proof of wrongdoing, and he’d been transported.

John’s mind turned to his own injustice and to those who’d served it to him—Margaret and Henry. Fierce bitterness raised up in him. His mind filled with thoughts of what he’d do if he ever saw Henry again.
No use thinking about that. There’s nothing
served in such musings.

He straightened and rested the shank of his pick against his leg. Taking a handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped away the sweat and dirt from his face and eyes. Kian had been an example of what happened to anyone foolish enough to try escaping. The only safety lay beyond the Blue Mountains, and no white man had ever crossed them. John’s eyes rested on the mountain range, and a longing for freedom welled up inside. But there was no escape. The few prisoners who had escaped were never seen again; but it was said that the bones of many had been found scattered north and south along the New South Wales coast.

Perry glanced at John and flashed him a smile. The man was an enigma, always seeming to find reason for cheerfulness. There seemed to be nothing that could be thrown at him that he didn’t manage to come back at it boldly.

Still smiling, he said, “Breaking a good sweat today.”

“That I am.” John stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “But better this than lying about at the prison.”

“Right you are. A life sentence would be hard to face with nothing to do.”

A guard approached John. “There’s a gent wants to talk to you.” He nodded at a carriage parked alongside the road.

John’s gut tightened. This couldn’t be good. He walked toward the carriage. A tall, slender man with graying hair stood alongside one of the horses. He was well dressed and clearly an aristocrat.

“Sir, you wanted to speak to me?” John asked as he approached.

“John Bradshaw?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“I’m William Atherton.” He shook John’s hand. His grip was sturdy. “I was told you know something of toolmaking.”

“That I do. My father owned a tool manufacturing company. I was raised in the business and apprenticed as a young man. When my father died, I took over the company.”

“You’re just the man I need, then. I own a timber company and live on a farm west of here in Parramatta. I’ve need of a toolmaker. British merchants can’t get tools to me quickly enough.” His gaze moved to the road crew. “Your talents are wasted here. You’ll come to work for me.”

Relief and jubilation spread through John. “I’d be glad to, sir.” He barely managed to conceal his excitement. It wasn’t always wise to give away too much of one’s feelings.

“Splendid. I’ll see to it that you’re transported to Parramatta. A man will come for you.”

Although unwise to press a new employer, John didn’t want to leave Perry behind. He feared that working on the road crew would eventually kill his friend. “Sir, have you need for more workers? Tool men?”

“Indeed I do.”

“I know a man. He’s a fine chap and a hard worker. Name’s Perry Littrell.”

“You’re recommending him?”

“That I am, sir.”

“All right, then. I’ll transfer him as well.” Mr. Atherton climbed into his carriage, and the driver set off.

Wanting to shout his exultation, John managed to control his emotions and returned to his pick. No longer feeling his pain, he labored beside Perry and quietly said, “Got us a job. A good one.”

“Both of us?”

“Right. We’ll be working for a William Atherton. He lives in Parramatta. Says he needs tool men.”

“I know nothin’ ’bout tools.”

“No. But I do. I’ll teach you.”

“So, ye lied to him?”

“Not completely.”

Perry shook his head, but he was grinning. “Hope yer stretching the truth don’t come down on our heads.”

As promised, John and Perry were transferred to the Atherton farm. It was a fine place and Mr. Atherton seemed a fair and honorable man. He raised cattle and sheep and an assortment of other farm animals, just enough for food. He also harvested feed for the stock plus managed to grow a large garden. Mr. Atherton dealt mostly in timber, an emerging commodity in New South Wales. He’d done well since immigrating nine years previously.

The tool shop was more than John could have hoped for. Well stocked, it had every convenience, including a large fire hearth and billows for founding. He and Perry set to work immediately. Perry learned quickly, not only because he was a dedicated pupil, but also because he had a natural bent for toolmaking.

Life was good, considering—except for James Lewis, the overseer who had an unreasonable dislike for John. James had little integrity, and making John miserable seemed to give him pleasure. He was forever complaining about John’s work, requiring him to rebuild and reassemble tools unnecessarily. And he seemed incapable of giving an order without bellowing.

John could do nothing to please James, and he finally quit trying. He decided to do his work, keep to his tasks, and pay no mind to the overseer. In time, Mr. Atherton would see he did superior work.

One afternoon James ambled into the shop. As usual, he looked surly. Lifting his hat, he wiped wetness from his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat mixed with dirt became a mud smear. He swiped back thinning hair and replaced the hat. “Ye get that work done I give ye?”

“It’s done,” John said, keeping his eyes on a chisel he was making. “Finished it more than an hour ago.”

“Ye act pleased with that.” James strode up to John. “I wanted that auger and bits two days ago. There’s a ship in Sydney Harbour ready to sail, except they can’t because they’re waitin’ on ye. They got repairs to make. I told ye!” His skin flushed red and sweat trailed down his face. “I’ve had enough of yer loafing.” He crossed to the workbench. “Show them to me. Where are they?”

“Where they always are.” John nodded toward a workbench on the far side of the room.

James stormed across the shop. He picked up the auger and studied it. “Shoddy work this is. It’ll not last. I’ve a mind to send ye packing.”

Anger seething just beneath the surface, John moved to the bench. “Those are good, solid tools.” He stared at the auger in James’s hand. “Let me have a look at it.”

The foreman slapped the tool into John’s upturned palm.

John tried it out and then studied it from every angle. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s fine.”

“Don’t get high-and-mighty with me.” James’s cheeks puffed out and his eyes bulged. “I’ve had enough of yer insolence. Get yer things!” He stormed out of the shop and headed for the main house.

Stunned, John stared after him. “So that’s it, then.”

“Guess the both of us will be packin’ up,” Perry said. “Kind of liked it ’ere.”

John and Perry walked to their quarters where they packed their belongings and then sat at a table to wait. They played a game of cards.

“I call,” John said. “Let me see what you have.”

Perry frowned and set a pair of threes faceup in front of him.

“That’s it?” John laid down two nines.

“Nines are so much better than threes, eh?”

“Still beat you.” John scooped up the six straws that had been set out as a wager. He shuffled the cards from one hand to the other. “Hate working on the road crew. That kind of labor can kill a man.”

“Right, but it can make ye strong too. And in this place a man needs to be strong.” Perry grinned. “We’ll do all right.”

John looked at his friend. He didn’t figure he’d last long building roads. He was small and skinny.

Perry stared at John. “Don’t worry ’bout me. I’ll be fine. I might be puny, but that don’t make me weak. I lost me mum when I was young, but I still remember her sayin’ I was scrappy. Bein’ tough helped keep me alive. Counts for a lot.”

John dealt the cards. “True. You’re a hardy one at that. You may outlast me.” He knew it was unlikely, but he wasn’t about to steal his friend’s hope. And he had to admit that Perry had more spunk than most. He just might make it.

It was several hours before anyone came for them. It was Mr. Atherton. John and Perry were sitting on the porch when he walked up. They both stood.

“Afternoon, sir,” John said.

Perry nodded and tipped his hat.

“Afternoon to you.” A pipe rested on Atherton’s lower lip. He took it out of his mouth and studied the bowl for a moment, replaced it, and then turned his gaze on John. “James came to me today. Said he’s unhappy with your work.”

“I know he feels that way, sir.”

“It’s not true,” Perry said. “John does first-rate work.”

“That so?” Mr. Atherton spoke in clipped tones.

John looked directly at his employer. “Yes. I’m good at what I do.”

Mr. Atherton puffed on his pipe. “I had a look at the records. Your production is good. Also examined some of the tools. They were fine. Seems you’re highly thought of ’round here as well.” He put a foot on the bottom porch step. “So Lewis has been giving you a hard time?”

“That’s true,” Perry said. “He’s been real hard on John, from the beginning.”

“That right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lewis has been with me a long while.” He studied his pipe a moment. “But he’s wrong about you and your work.” He smiled. “I decided it’ll be Mr. Lewis who’ll be moving on.”

Perry’s eyes widened, but he kept quiet.

“What are you saying, sir?” John asked.

“Lewis has a bad history. I don’t need his kind here.” He leveled serious eyes on John. “I grew up a poor relation to a wealthy family. Because of that I was offered a first-rate education and the finer things in life, but in the end I still had to make my own way. And I did.” He turned his pipe over and tapped out the burned tobacco. “I’ve a good eye for people. You’re a good sort, hard worker, dependable, and a fine toolmaker. I want you to stay.”

“Thank you, sir.” John could have cheered, but he remained steady.

“You’ve run a business of your own, and I need someone who knows how to deal with people, someone who’s levelheaded.” He smiled. “With Lewis gone, I’ll be needing someone to take on his job. You think you could do it and still keep up with the tooling?”

“Yes. But I’ll need another man here at the shop.”

“I can do that for you.”

Mr. Atherton set his pale blue eyes on John. “Why were you transported?”

John’s stomach tightened. He considered lying. Instead, he met his employer’s gaze. “I killed a man.”

“Tell me about it.”

John explained how he’d gone to the pub with his cousin, how he’d tried to defend Henry, and in the end, how he’d killed Langdon Hayes.

Atherton tucked his pipe into his front pocket. “I’ll need you to start right away. And I’ll see what I can do about getting you another man.”

“Right.” John couldn’t believe his good luck.

“Good, then.” Mr. Atherton’s eyes fell upon Perry. “Seems John here oversold your experience.” His gaze moved to John.

“I only said that he was a good sort and trustworthy, sir.”

Mr. Atherton smiled. “Right you are. You did. And how is he doing as a toolmaker?”

“Right well. He has a knack for it.”

“Good.”

Perry straightened. “I won’t disappoint ye, sir.”

Mr. Atherton glanced at the main house. “That’s it, then. I’ve got other business to attend to.” He grimaced. “My wife’s maid Lucinda is returning to Port Jackson. So Catharine has need of a new housemaid. I’ve got to see about finding one.”

“A housemaid, sir?” John ventured. “I don’t wish to be presumptuous, but I know a woman who would make a fine housemaid.”

“And how do you know this person?”

“She came over on the ship with me. She’s genteel and educated, and doesn’t mind hard work.”

“Do you know where I might find her?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in Port Jackson . . . at the gaol.”

“Her name?”

“Hannah Talbot, sir.”

“I’ll tell my wife about her.”

John’s spirits lifted even more. It would be grand if Hannah came to work for the Athertons—better than he could have hoped for.
Lord, can you make it so?

17

Hannah dipped the last bite of stale bread into her broth, then popped the soggy crust into her mouth. She chewed slowly, extending her meager meal.

A guard stepped into the doorway. “Lottie Smith?”

Lottie slurped her broth and stood. Her brown eyes wide, she stared at the guard. “I’m Lottie. I’ve done nothing wrong, sir.”

Every eye in the room focused on the guard. Hannah automatically moved closer to Lottie and circled an arm about the girl.

The guard stepped aside and a woman walked in. She had a gentle quality about her, and sad blue eyes. She looked at Lottie. “Of course you’ve done nothing wrong.” She crossed the room and knelt in front of Lottie. Cupping the girl’s chin in her hand, she said, “You’re a lovely child. Catharine said you were.”

Lottie withdrew and huddled close to Hannah.

A stout man with a hat tucked under his arm stepped into the hut. He stood beside the woman. He seemed a friendly sort. When he smiled at Lottie, his round face plumped even more.

They seemed to be refined people, but Hannah couldn’t quiet her suspicions. Why the interest in Lottie? “Might I ask who you are and why you’re here?” she said, trying to keep her tone compliant.