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

“There’s a woman I was at the factory with,” I said carefully. “Her husband threw her out and she’s fallen upon hard times. I wondered if perhaps there might be a position for her in your household.”

A flicker of disappointment passed over Flynn’s eyes. Disappointment that I’d brought my convict past to the table so early in our courtship.

He watched his feet as he walked. “I’ve no need for more staff.”

“Please,” I said, feeling my fingers tighten involuntarily around his arm. I knew, of course, that the hand I’d been dealt here in New South Wales, as in London, was better than most. And I needed to use that. But I knew Lottie was far more likely to take up my offer if it involved her working, rather than relying on charity. “She’s sleeping on the floor of someone’s kitchen, all crammed together with other women and children. She’s—”

“You’re not to go to such places,” Flynn said, his voice hardening suddenly. “I’ll not have my wife seen in such an area. Do you understand?”

I gritted my teeth. “Please. And I’ll never ask anything of you again.” I stopped walking and looked into his eyes. “It’s very important to me. If you could find a way to do this one thing, I would be forever grateful.”

Flynn rubbed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked an old man. He sighed, then finally gave a slight nod. “Very well. Just this once.”

I slid my fingers down his arm to cover his leathery hand with mine. “Thank you.”

He gave my hand a quick squeeze, managing something close to a smile.

*

Lottie was sleeping when I arrived at the kitchen that afternoon. She lay on her side, knees pulled to her chest and her body curled around Willie’s basket. I rocked her shoulder gently.

She opened her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She got slowly to her feet, twisting the stiffness out of her shoulders.

“I’m to be married,” I told her. I knew there was little point sidestepping the issue.

“Are you now?”

I pushed past her coldness. “There’s a place for you,” I said. “At my husband’s farmhouse. Work. Shelter.”

Lottie planted a hand on her hip. “I’ve told you before, Nell. I’m not one to accept charity. When are you going to get that into your head?”

“This is not charity,” I argued. “There’s work for you.” I let out my breath in frustration. “I just want you and Willie to be safe.”

“You got to prove yourself, don’t you?” Lottie demanded. “You got to make sure everyone knows how well you’ve done for yourself.”

“You truly think that’s what this is about?”

“Isn’t it?” A cold laugh. “You fell down to our level for a time, but you just got to show us all how much better than us you are.” She stared at me for a long, wordless moment before turning away and shaking her head. Frustration burned through me.

“If you change your mind,” I said tersely, “Mr Flynn’s farm is at the top end of Bridge Street. Out behind the new Government House. We’re to be married next Wednesday.”

Lottie cut me with cold eyes.

I turned at the sound of footsteps behind me. Heard my sharp intake of breath. Patrick Owen stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His sharp blue eyes bore into me.

“Well, well. Nellie na sasanaigh. Dan’ll be pleased to hear you’re floating around.” He turned to Lottie. “What in hell is she doing here?”

“She’s leaving,” said Lottie, not looking at me.

Owen took a step towards me, without even a glance at his sleeping son. “How’s Lieutenant Blackwell faring?”

“I’ve no idea,” I said stiffly. I hated the sound of Blackwell’s name on his lips. “I’ve had nothing to do with him since I left Parramatta.”

Owen looked me up and down, as though trying to determine whether I was lying. I held his gaze, despite the hot shiver it sent through me.

“You’ve a new life here,” I said. “Why not leave the past where it is?”

He took a step closer. “Is that all the lives of a few bog-trotters is worth to you, Nellie? You think we ought to just forget?”

I said nothing.

Finally, he turned away and spoke to Lottie in Irish. She picked up the baby and turned to follow Owen out of the kitchen. I grabbed her arm.

“Where is he taking you?”

“Back to his farm.”

“He’s taking you home?”

“For a time.”

“What do you mean ‘for a time’? What does he want?”

Lottie looked at me witheringly. “What do you think he wants?”

“And when he’s finished with you? He sends you back here?”

Lottie didn’t reply. Owen called her name.

“You can’t go,” I said, not releasing my grip on her wrist.

“Jesus Nell, would you mind your own damn business? What do you know about any of this?” She sighed, then lowered her voice. “He’s the only chance I got of a little security. One day he’s going to realise he was wrong to have let us go.”

I could hear the uncertainty in her words.

“He is not your only chance,” I hissed. “Flynn has work for you.”

Her eyes flashed with impatience.

“All right,” I said hurriedly, before she could speak. “Don’t take the position. But please don’t go with Owen.”

“I have to,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Lottie was wrong. I understood. I knew what it was to follow a man down the murkiest of paths for the sake of a little security.

And so, standing there in the kitchen, with Patrick Owen in the doorway, I told her of Jonathan’s coining business and the way my desperate need to please my husband had almost led me to the gallows.

Something passed across Lottie’s eyes. It was the first time I had told anyone I was not just a tale