One of Us Buried by Johanna Craven (year 2 reading books TXT) 📕

perhaps that made me a fool. But curling up on his floor made me feel fleetingly safe. That was not something I was willing to give up.

“He’s giving me food and a fire in exchange for sweeping his floors,” I said. “Tell me there’s another man in the colony who would do that.”

Lottie laughed coldly. “Sweeping floors. Is that really what you think he wants you for?”

I didn’t answer. I wanted so desperately to believe in Blackwell’s goodness. Needed to believe in it. I would not have Lottie and her anti-English sentiments ruin it for me.

She was wrong. She had to be. I had been sleeping on Blackwell’s floor for more than three months, and not once had he even so much as brushed against me in the night.

“You’re lucky I got in your way,” I said sharply. “You could well have been facing the hangman if you’d struck an officer instead of a factory lass.”

“Aye, well, it were grand of you to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Your attack was unwarranted,” I said, not looking at her. I’d planned not to raise the issue. I knew we had all been rattled after Maggie’s death. None of us had been thinking straight. But her comments had sparked something inside me.

Lottie snorted. “Just promise me one thing,” she said bitterly. “When he gets a child on you, you name him as the father. Let the colony see who he is. Don’t go pinning it on Marsden like the other women do.”

We turned back to the spinning wheels. I found myself pedalling faster, letting the wool fly through my fingers. The wheel whirred and hummed.

“It’s because of Castle Hill,” I said. “That’s why you despise him so.”

Something passed over Lottie’s eyes. “What do you know of Castle Hill?” She sounded angry I had spoken of it.

“Nothing,” I admitted. “What happened? What did Blackwell do?”

“Why should I tell you? I warned you away from him once and I now I find out you’re sleeping beside him in the night. I’m sure whatever I tell you you’ll manage to see it with the eyes of an Englishwoman. You’ll find a way to make him the hero.”

“That’s not true,” I snapped. “I just want to know the truth.”

Lottie snorted. “You want to know? Ask Lieutenant Blackwell.”

*

Maggie was buried the next day while we were at the spinning wheels. I knew it was a deliberate attempt by Marsden and the Rum Corps to keep the factory lasses away.

An investigation into the murder had begun. Our information was hazy – mostly comprised of gossip from the men at the river – but in the factory that morning there was word Patrick Owen had been taken to the magistrate for questioning. Committed to prison to await trial.

I felt a faint flicker of optimism. Three months of Marsden’s weekly sermons had shown me his hatred of the Irish. And if that hatred was what it took to send Owen to the hangman, then so be it. There was no doubt in my mind he had been the one to kill Maggie.

When work at the factory finished that night, we went to her grave; a meagre pile of earth at the back of the churchyard, with a crooked wooden cross shoved at the head. There was not even any mention of her name.

I tried not to imagine what her burial had been like. With all the women away at the factory there would have been few – if any – people to mourn her. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being lowered into the earth with no one but the grave diggers to attend her.

Lottie and I stood at each other’s side, not speaking, settled into an unspoken truce. One of the other women murmured a prayer.

As we were making our way out of the churchyard, several of the men approached. I wondered distantly why they had come. Were they here to pay their respects to Maggie? Far more likely, they’d come to persuade us to the river and talk some fertile young girls into becoming their wives.

In the half-light I could make out the tall figure of Dan Brady and several of the other rebels. They looked incomplete without Patrick Owen among them. Sheep without a leader. How many of those loyal croppies knew the man they followed was a killer? Did they, like Lottie, feel the need to push aside the truth?

Brady laid a stone beside Maggie’s cross. “Patrick Owen sends his regards.”

Anger bubbled inside me. “How dare you speak of him here.”

Brady took a step towards me, eyes flashing. “You mean to send him to the hangman, Nellie?”

I turned away.

He grabbed my arm, yanking me back to face him. “Hey. We all heard how you got carted off to Marsden. What d’you say to him? Were you the one who led him to Owen?”

“I didn’t say a thing,” I hissed. “Marsden wouldn’t even let me speak.”

“And what about Blackwell? You open your mouth to him?” He snorted. “Word is you been opening your mouth to him a lot.”

My cheeks blazed. “I didn’t say a word to anyone,” I snapped.

I could feel Lottie’s eyes burning into the back of me.

“This true, Nell?” she asked. “You were taken to speak with the magistrate?”

“Yes,” I said bitterly. “And it’s also true that he wouldn’t even let me speak. I had nothing to do with them going after Owen.”

“Leave her alone, Dan,” said Lottie. “She says she didn’t speak to Marsden, then she didn’t speak to Marsden. Patrick’ll be back with us before you know it.”

“You think Owen innocent?” I asked her.

She looked at me squarely. “What proof is there he’s guilty?”

“Maggie was lodging with him,” I said, aware it was an argument I was beginning to overuse. “And her arms were bruised. Just like