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

Beneath the table, I saw something slide through the shadows. I shrieked, and bounded onto the empty chair. “Snake!” I yelled, pointing wildly.

Blackwell stood, his chair toppling. He reached down to pick it up.

“Be careful!” I cried. “Did you not hear me? A snake!”

His lips curled into a smile. “I heard you, yes.”

My eyes widened as he bent to straighten the chair. I watched the creature slither out from beneath the table. I couldn’t pull my eyes from it. There was something horribly entrancing about the way it glided across the floor. I glared at Blackwell. “Do something!”

“Stop yelling, Eleanor,” he said, with a calmness I found unfathomable. He took his rifle from where it rested beside the shelf.

“You’re going to shoot it?” I demanded.

He laughed. Brought the butt of the rifle down on the snake, mashing its head into the floor. He picked up its limp body and carried it outside. I found myself peering frantically around the hut, searching for other intruders.

I was still teetering on the chair when Blackwell returned.

“You can come down now,” he said, offering me his hand. I climbed down carefully, before beginning a thorough search of my sleeping pallet. I heard him chuckle.

“It’s not funny,” I said. “What if it had gotten into the blankets?”

“I didn’t imagine you to be afraid of snakes,” he said, sitting at the table and opening the Bible again.

“What kind of madman would not be afraid of snakes? Did not you see the way it moves? It’s completely unnatural.”

Blackwell laughed again, eyes on the book as he turned the page. I straightened my blanket and tried to catch my breath. My heart was still beating fast. But I was glad I had made him smile.

*

In the morning, I awoke to find the brass button from my worsted gown on the floor beside my head. Had Blackwell found it in the fireplace? I stared at it for a long time; that fire-tarnished piece of my old life I couldn’t burn away. His message was clear; I had my past and he had his. They weren’t for each other to know.

I took the button from beside my bed. Stepped out of the hut in the early morning and buried it beside the river.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On Christmas Day there was no spinning.

After Marsden’s service, we were given the day to ourselves. While the scent of roasting lamb floated from settlers’ houses, we gathered at the river with slabs of mutton and pork, and enough rum to drown a whale.

The men set a bonfire roaring on the riverbank and soon had the meat roasting over the embers.

The sun blazed through the trees, painting long shadows across the earth. Insects swarmed the surface of the water as we languished in the sultry heat that lay over the land.

Two of the factory lasses hacked up the meat and shared it among us; on plates, in wooden bowls, or into bare hands. The men stretched out shirtless on the edge of the water, women with their feet dipped into the swell. The convicts and emancipists took turns telling stories as they passed the liquor bottles between them.

“Helped myself to a side of pork like this from my master’s kitchen,” said one of the lags who worked Marsden’s land. “Woulda got away with it too if it weren’t for the dog. Bloody thing were only six inches high, but it had a bark like pistol fire. Held me up by the back gate.”

An enormous roar of laughter.

“You’ve got a tale or two for us, don’t you, Nell?” asked Lottie, nudging my shoulder with hers. “You can tell us a little about how the toffs live.” There was a playful smile on her face.

I whacked at the giant ant crawling up my ankle. “Nothing as interesting as being held up by a dog.”

Lottie passed me the rum bottle. She’d seemed to have made peace with who I was – or rather, who I had been. I was glad of it.

I ate until my stomach was straining against my bodice; a long-ago, forgotten sensation. I sat with my back up against the great white trunk of a gum tree, a pleasant liquor haze pressing down on me. I could feel the embers of the bonfire warming my cheek.

“Well,” said Hannah, wiping greasy hands on her skirt, “this is a damn sight better than last year, ain’t it.”

I smiled. Our last Christmas had been spent in the depths of the Norfolk. We’d not even been sure of the date until we’d been pulled out onto deck for the church service.

As the afternoon stretched into evening, the gathering grew. Settlers emerged from their meat-scented houses and men I recognised as soldiers sat among us in shirtsleeves. Dark clouds rolled across a blazing sky, the air thick and humid, and scented with rain.

Someone arrived with a fiddle, and Owen, who’d been drinking since before noon, struck up a jagged beat on an empty crate. The music drowned out the birdsong and the constant burble of the river. Songs in Gaelic burst up around us, and everyone was dancing. I felt a smile on my lips. It had been far too long since I’d heard music. Lottie grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet.

“I don’t know the steps,” I said on a laugh.

“It’s easy,” said Lottie, whirling around and pulling us into a circle of other dancers. “Like this. The Fairy Reel… Watch, Nell… Watch!... No, like this, other way!”

I gave up, whirling around in the circle and making up my own steps. I shrieked with laughter as we galloped around the uneven riverbank. I danced until I was breathless and a line of sweat ran down my back. Some blessed soul hurled Owen’s drum