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

I closed my eyes, feeling a cold wind up against my cheeks. This place had taken my freedom. But it would not take my dignity. Not any more than it had already.

Huts of mud and bark lined the road, stretches of farmland behind them. I knew well I’d find nothing beyond the rim of the town but more of the trees and dark that had flanked us down the river.

“Where you off to, lass?”

I spun around to see a tall, dark-haired man standing a few yards behind me. His cheeks were pock-marked and leathery, thick stubble across his square jaw.

“You’ll not find much out that way.” His voice was rough and Irish. “Two hours to Toongabbie.” He chuckled. “That’s if the dragons don’t get you.”

I kept walking. “Leave me alone.”

“I’ve a bed if you need it.”

“No. I’m not interested.”

He reached suddenly for my wrist and yanked me back towards him. “You think you’re too good for us?” Breath stale against my cheek. “Look at yourself, lass. Just look where you are.”

Fear shot through me and I pulled away. “Get away from me.” I changed direction abruptly and strode towards the dark spires of the church. I heard the man’s laughter behind me.

“You think a factory lass is welcome in a house of God?”

I began to walk faster. My cloth bag swung on one shoulder, carrying the creased mess of my spare dress. Animal sounds rose from the darkness; screeches, rasps, and the blessedly familiar lowing of cows.

In the falling dark, the church was empty. Through the narrow windows, I could see nothing but shadow. I pushed against the door, but it refused to move. Perhaps the man was right. Perhaps the factory lasses weren’t welcome here. A locked door to keep out the lags.

I made my way around the back of the building, where shadows lay thick and allowed me to hide. The roof was slightly overhanging; perhaps half a foot of shelter. I leant wearily against the wall. Laughter floated out of a crooked hut I assumed was a tavern. The women from the Norfolk had disappeared, lured into houses for four shillings a week. I glanced into the street for the dark-haired man. Was glad to find him gone.

The sudden stillness struck me. When was the last time I had been alone? On the Norfolk, there had been not a scrap of privacy. In seven months, I’d not done so much as relieve myself without another woman watching. This sudden isolation felt disorienting.

My legs were aching, and my fingers stung from hours at the spinning wheel. Exhausted, I let myself sink to the ground.

The acrid stench of my food package hit me the moment I opened my cloth bag. I pulled it out warily, unwrapping the brown paper. The sliver of salt pork was discoloured and gnarled, the smell of it turning my stomach. I hurled it into the darkness. At the bottom of the package was a small cup of flour. Unspoiled, as far as I could tell. And what, I wondered, staring blankly down at my food rations, was I to do with a cup of flour and not so much as a candle flame to bake it into bread?

I wrapped up the package and set it back inside my bag. Curled up on my side and tried to find a little sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

“During the night these women spread themselves through all the town and neighbourhood of Parramatta, and [some] are glad to cohabit with any poor, wretched man who can give them shelter for the night.”

Rev. Samuel Marsden

An Answer to Certain Calumnies

1826

At the spinning wheels the next morning, Lottie asked questions. Where did I go last night? Did I sleep? Who took me?

After rolling around in the dirt all night, I was too tired to speak. But her last question sparked something inside me. “No one took me,” I said sharply. “I slept on the street is all.”

“On the street?” she demanded. “What about the savages?”

“I didn’t see any savages.” I turned back to the spinning wheel. My eyes were stinging with exhaustion and Lottie’s questions were getting under my skin. Hunger was gnawing deep into my stomach.

“So what then?” she said, after not nearly enough silence. “You going to spend your whole sentence sleeping in the street? Seven years without a roof over your head?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t contemplate the rest of my sentence. All I could think about was what I would do that night. That morning, I’d walked back up the stairs to the factory to find the door unlocked. Perhaps, I thought, I could creep inside at dawn and manage an hour of sleep on the staircase before the bells rang for the workday to start.

“What d’you do?” Lottie asked. “Thieving?”

I kept my eyes on the wool gliding though my fingers. “Yes. Thieving.”

“And me,” she said. “I asked a cobbler the price of a pair of shoes. He took one look at me and told me I couldn’t afford them. So I pinched them.”

I flashed her a smile. “Sounds as though he deserved it.”

The superintendent stopped by the spinning wheel of a dark-haired woman in the corner of the room.

“Stand up,” he said sharply.

The woman stood, arms held protectively around her swollen belly. The superintendent clicked his tongue in loud disapproval.

“Took him long enough,” Lottie murmured. “Poor thing’s about to drop right here on the factory floor.”

“Who is the father of your child?” the superintendent asked.

The woman looked at him squarely. “Reverend Samuel Marsden.”

A snort of suppressed laughter went through the room. I felt a small smile on the edge of my lips.

Lottie caught my eye and chuckled. “Never in my life have I met a man with