The Wrong Man - Episode 26 - Kogarah

Chapter 24: Sydney, February 1920

←INDEX ←Introduction & Prologue ←Previous episode Next episode→

As I settled again in the cart, shivers ran up my arms raising the hairs. Ned noticed. ‘Are you alright there, Susannah?’

‘Yes, thank you, Ned. Strange that though. I had the oddest feeling of being watched. But I don’t see a soul about. And it didn’t feel like bad watching if you know what I mean. Only…observation…curiosity.’

‘Just nerves, most like. This is a big step for you and the little one. Still, there are native folks hereabouts who talk to spirits. Not much for that sort of belief myself. They’re black as the stove at home, with grey ashes wiped over their near-naked bodies, blend into the landscape they do. You won’t see them but they see us…’

Florie chimed in, ‘Never you mind, Susannah. They never do any harm as I’ve heard of…anyway, you’ve got us with you, whatever we find at Thomas’ house, or over there in the bush.’ And she carried on gurgling to Caroline.

As we drew close to our destination, our previous good spirits dimmed at the sight of a dwelling that could barely be described as a cottage. Ned pulled the horse up just short of the property and we stared at it in silence, immobile. Florie, held Caroline, clasped tighter to her bosom, as if, should she loosen her grip, a dangerous animal might leap out and steal her away.

So much for assurances.

‘There has to be a mistake,’ I mouthed, barely audible. Outside a hut of sorts hung a rickety sign forlornly proclaiming it was Devon Cottage. The place had long since lost its origins to the ravages of dust, weather and neglect, like the skeleton of a shipwrecked boat. Old timber, patched together with pieces of iron masqueraded as walls. They were propped up to form a rectangle alongside a tree stump. A water barrel stood beside the open front door. Beside the windows, where broken shutters, hung on an angle. They mirrored the sign. I could see the interior seemed to have two separate living spaces, or maybe one with a kind of woven divider. With no outhouse in sight, how one’s daily needs were accomplished was left to conjecture. In the front, a fenced area contained a garden which apparently struggled to survive. There, rabbit skins were pegged out on a rack and three scrawny hens and a cockerel, short a few feathers, pecked around a line of scrubby bushes. This place too had a small stream, but it was brackish and barely trickled. The air hung heavy.

Several neighbouring properties appeared similarly challenged. A few newer cottages were being constructed further up the stream banks with proper frames and a stack of building materials, suggesting they would be sound and watertight when finished. The contrast made it worse.

Why do imagination and reality always end up being villages far apart? That had been my experience so far. Like faraway Tipperary. Was it possible both to know what you want and to get it? There was no evidence of this in front of me.

As usual, it was Florie who broke the stunned silence.

She whispered, ‘Caroline can’t stay here. She’ll get sick. There are not even the basic amenities. Can you smell that? Ned, look at Susannah, she’s turned as white as the day you arrived off the boat with her. A sunny day and it’s like looking at snow.’ She checked around – much like the chooks did – seeking something in the meagre view. Whatever it was, the expression on Florie’s face revealed the expectation was not forthcoming. ‘Let’s just go back, Susannah. Keep staying with us. Ours isn’t a palace, but at least it’s clean and civilised. We have a real floor. And a proper outhouse, that’s cleaned out every night by the night-soil man. You’ll have to use the bushes here. And look at the water they’re drinking.’

‘Hush, dear. Susannah must make up her own mind. Perhaps if she just told them inside she’s here to show off Thomas’ babe…’ Ned’s voice trailed off.

‘I know, I know, Ned. We’re not perfect. We had our own tragedy, but that was the influenza.’ Flush faced she rounded on me, ‘This place! Every day will be a danger. You can’t keep the babe safe here, Susannah. Let’s go. Leave Thomas to find you instead.’

I tried to get a proper hold on the situation that confronted me. Was this Thomas’ idea of a home? But as I opened my mouth to say, let’s go back, a fierce-looking woman, with unwashed blond hair came and stood in the doorway. Arms crossed over her grimy dress, she stared back at us with a scowl.

‘What yous lot looking at? Ain’t never been in the countryside before? All high and mighty with yer pony and trap from the city to ride around in wasting time. We gotta work, not go staring at others. Buzz off with yer sticky beaks.’

At last, managing to form words in response to the challenge, I asked, ‘Mrs Smith?’

‘So, what if I am?’

‘Is Thomas here at all?’

‘That ungrateful bludger never come back from his fighting yet. Nought wrong, just don’t wanna help his poor old mother what took him in as a bawling babe. Army came lookin for im. So, they got him in gaol again more an likely. What’s he ta yous anyhow?’

‘I’m his wife.’

Her response of raucous laughter screeched enough to challenge the noisy, bright coloured birds who inhabit this land. She followed this with a string of unrepeatable words.

‘Ha, ha. Fool yous. He ain’t old enough to have a wife, don’t yous know that? Lied on his sign-up papers and was gone before his poor father could stop him. Best thing too, I say. Trouble since the day he could talk that one. Ain’t no place here for no wife neither, even if you are more than just a floosy. Next yer goin’ ta tell me that’s his brat in the back.’

‘Yes.’ No avoiding the seemingly obvious. Although a disclaimer urged itself to the fore. This place wasn’t a birthright, it was a handicap. I wanted to refute any claim on it, or it on Caroline.

No, Thomas was the wrong man. And I burst into tears at the realisation of my shredded dream.

‘Best advice I can give yous is turn tail back to where yous come from and don’t be havin none of the sod, unless it’s grief yous are wanting. Doesn’t know which way’s up, that one.’ With that, she went back in and slammed the door, leaving us regarding the cottage’s dismal facade once more. None of us moved as several minutes ticked by. The horse stamped and flicked its tail at the flies. She also wanted out of that place. In silence, Ned turned the carriage back the way we had journeyed.

The passage home was melancholy, each of us sunk in our individual world of shock and horror. We spoke not a word, nor took a comfort stop. ‘Get far, far, far away, far away…’ clip-clopped the sound of hooves as the beast hurried homeward, to a stable better than the cottage we left behind us.

On our arrival back at Surry Hills, I took Caroline from Florie with as much dignity as I could muster. ‘Thank you both. I’m so glad you were with me, even though I am beyond embarrassment. I cannot even begin to imagine what I would have done if I had faced that alone….Please excuse me. Caroline and I need to rest for a while.’

Not able to face Ned and Florie a moment longer, my feet fled to the seclusion of our room. Placing the sleeping Caroline in her bassinet, I lay on my pallet staring at the ceiling.

Numb with horror and disappointment, I could not form a coherent thought.

Eventually, I slept. A kind, dreamless sleep. It was better than blank wakefulness.