Spring turns to summer. It has been one year since your ma died, and you miss her dreadfully. The lonely days continue to drag by, summer ticking away, until the weather cools and the leaves on the little oak saplings in the garden begin to change. The big tangled trees beyond the garden seem to stay dark-green all year round, like pines. You can’t help but stare off at those trees when you’re supposed to be working, looking for Waylitja – the only person in your whole far-flung world who smiles at you, who wants to spend time with you. You want him to know how grateful you are, just for that.
But the next time he visits, Waylitja is quiet, and there’s something heavy and sad behind his eyes. He says something in his language. He is touching his chest and gesturing away.
You take his hand. ‘What’s the matter?’ you ask him. ‘Are you all right?’
He sighs deeply and takes his hand back. He’s staring over the horizon and then back to you. Imploring you with his eyes to understand.
Waylitja reaches into a bag that hangs from his waist and brings out a glistening handful of shells. He gently places them in your hands. They are beautiful – each one is no larger than a baby’s fingernail. Some of them are little peachy-pink cones, some are as round and white as tiny pearls, and the prettiest ones of all glisten with all the colours of the rainbow. They remind you of the first stone on your bracelet.
You shift your hands and realise that the shells are strung together, into two necklaces. They are so finely clustered, you can’t even imagine how much time it would have taken to make them.
How could anyone make a hole in each fragile little shell like this without crushing it? you wonder, and you lift your head to ask Waylitja, but he is gone. There is simply a space where he used to be – as if you’ve dreamt him and then woken up.
You feel grief wash over you. Somehow, you suspect these necklaces are a parting gift. Again, you wonder about all the things Waylitja knows: the mysteries of the land that is his home.
YOU THINK OF Waylitja every time a green parrot flies overhead. You wait days, weeks, then months, for him to reappear, but he never does. Meanwhile, in your friendless world, you have nothing to do but think and work and sleep, and think and wake and accept orders and work again.
By the time winter has settled in, you decide Waylitja is not coming back, and you reach a decision. You will take one of his necklaces to Hobart Town at the next opportunity, and use it as payment to have the list of convicts in the colony read. You will be so sad to part with one of your beautiful necklaces, but you think Waylitja would understand. You hope and pray that it will bring you a step closer to finding Da. Now there is nothing left to do but wait …
To read a fact file on what happened to Waylitja’s people click here, then return to this page.
To continue with the story, go to scene 28.
One frosty winter’s morning, the master calls you, Molly and Joe into the drawing room to speak with you formally.
‘As I am now well-established as a merchant here in Bothwell, and the home and grounds are now of a sufficiently comfortable state, I have sent for my wife and child to join me. They will be arriving three months hence.’
You try not to let the shock show on your face. You’ve been working here nearly a year and you always thought the master was single!
Won’t it be grand to have a child join the house, you think. We could do with some noise and laughter round here.
‘I’ll be taking another servant into my employ,’ the master continues stiffly. ‘So I’ll be travelling for Hobart Town in the morning, to choose a suitable woman.’
‘I’ll come with you!’ you blurt, then silently curse yourself – it’s awfully bad manners to interrupt the master, especially since you neither asked permission nor spoke politely.
Molly looks furious, the master merely shocked. Joe is stifling a chuckle.
But luck is on your side: the master agrees to allow you to travel with him and Molly, and this time you beg Molly beforehand to find time in the day for you both to make a trip to the shipping master’s office, and she begrudgingly consents. She has seen how hard you’ve worked and how patient you’ve been.
When Molly asks what you plan on paying the police office clerk with, you decide to show her Waylitja’s necklace, but knowing how scared she is of natives, you say you found it near the edge of the garden.
‘Who’d have known they could make something pretty like that,’ she says. ‘Still, I doubt the clerk will take it as payment.’
YOU WEAR YOUR petticoat with the bracelet in the hem on the journey to Hobart Town, just in case. You take one of the necklaces with you, leaving the other hung on the mirror in your bedroom, a keepsake of Waylitja.
To your astonishment, in town, when the shipping clerk shakes his head at the necklace and prepares to turn away, Molly steps forward in your defence.
‘No other natives in the world make necklaces as fine or as pretty as these – any sailor would buy them from you to sell at his next port. They’re right valuable – two shillings
