‘I live on a beef cattle farm. Not dairy.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Mrs Chisholm was wrong about one thing,’ Carly snapped. ‘You are definitely not smart.’
‘Whatever. But will you do the milking? Please?’
‘Oh, all right,’ Carly said. Then she gave a sly smile. ‘I guess that leaves the job of emptying the chamber pots to you.’
Dora turned so pale that her freckles stood out like stars. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be suited to farm life,’ she whimpered.
The room was small but cosy, with patterned curtains and a rug on the timber floor. There was a small wardrobe for their clothes and a table upon which sat a Bible and a book of poetry. The bed was more comfortable than the straw mattress at the Home.
The girls were sitting up in it, reading the poetry by candlelight, when Mrs Smith called in to see that they were settled. She was impressed to see them reading. ‘Good Heavens, you can read!’ she exclaimed. ‘How clever you are!’
Carly shifted uncomfortably. ‘Um, thank you,’ she said.
Dora stifled a giggle.
‘Well, sleep well, girls,’ Mrs Smith said. ‘The rooster will wake you at dawn.’
Dora groaned. She had undone the fancy arrangement of her hair, and it frizzed brightly about her head. The two girls were dressed in white long-sleeved, floor-length nightgowns, with their orange shawls draped around their shoulders.
We look like a pair of grandmas, Carly thought.
‘Best take off your shawls, girls,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘You don’t want to spoil them.’ Then she reached out and grasped Cady’s shawl with her left hand and Dora’s with her right.
‘No!’ they cried together, snatching at the shawls as Mrs Smith plucked them off their shoulders.
And, just as if the candle had been snuffed, their world sank into darkness.
‘Gosh,’ said Dora. ‘That was close. Chamber pots!’ She shuddered.
‘Still,’ said Carly, ‘the Smiths were nice.’ She had enjoyed being back in the country, even if she had dreaded the work she might have had to do: milking, scrubbing floors, laundry ... all things considered, she was glad to be back in the twenty-first century.
They were standing on the street with their shawls clutched in their hands. Cars and buses rumbled past. Everything was back to normal: Dora’s pigtails and red-rimmed glasses, Carly’s t-shirt and shorts.
‘I wonder what happened to all those girls,’ Carly said. ‘Sophie and Emma and the others.’
‘I suppose she found jobs for them all,’ Dora replied. ‘Unless they decided to go for husbands instead!’
The girls looked at each other and cracked up laughing.
‘Imagine us with husbands!'’ Carly giggled.
When they had settled and wiped the tears from their eyes, Carly said, ‘But seriously, how brave were those girls? To come across the sea to a new life in a country where they knew no one?’
‘Brave,’ Dora agreed. ‘And desperate.’ She peered at Carly. ‘Hey. Are you OK?’
Carly’s lip trembled. ‘I’m fine. It’s just ... being back on the land ... it made me .’
‘Homesick?’ Dora put an arm around Carly’s shoulders.
‘Uh-huh. And ... I’m scared,’ Carly sobbed. ‘I’m really scared of going to boarding school. I’m not brave like those girls.’
‘Ssshhh.’ Dora snuggled against Carly.
She was so small that she reminded Carly of her little sister, and that made her burst out in a fresh round of sobs.
‘Of course you’re brave! You came to Sydney all alone, didn’t you? You came to stay with people you hardly knew. And you spent a night in a cold, dark, rat-infested shed! Don’t tell me that wasn’t brave! And what about Sophie? Remember how you pushed that bad man out of the way and rescued her?’
Carly sniffed. ‘I suppose that was a bit brave,’ she admitted. ‘But you were with me. I feel stronger when you’re there.’
Dora blushed. ‘Aww,’ she said.
Carly wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said more brightly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ Dora said. She was smiling and biting her lip as if trying to hold back her excitement.
‘What is it?’
‘Well, firstly, let’s go back,’ Dora said. ‘One more time. We can find out what happened to the girls. It might make you feel better to see if they’ve settled. Besides, we’ll be able to say goodbye properly to Caroline Chisholm. And then I’ll tell you.’
‘OK,’ said Carly, holding up her shawl. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ said Dora. ‘One, two, three ... ’
They were back on the wharf again. Carly was a little disappointed; she’d hoped to find herself in the cosy Immigrants’ Home. The wharf was big and busy, and dangerous.
‘Look!’ Dora tugged on Carly’s sleeve. ‘It’s Mrs Chisholm!’
She was right; there on the bustling wharf was a familiar lady in a neat, dark dress with a lace collar, and ringlets framing her face. At that moment, Mrs Chisholm turned and looked in their direction. Her face creased into a smile.
Carly and Dora trotted across the wharf towards her. Carly cursed the heavy skirt and petticoat that flapped about her ankles. It wasn’t getting any easier to wear the absurd clothing. Some things had definitely improved since 1841.
‘Carly! Dora!’ Mrs Chisholm said, clasping their hands in hers. ‘How lovely! You’re back from the country!’
‘Er ... yes,’ Carly said. She wondered how Mrs and Mrs Smith had felt when they had disappeared. If they had been puzzled or angry, however, it seemed as if they hadn’t held a grudge – or if they had, they hadn’t complained to Mrs Chisholm about it.
A small boy was clinging onto Mrs Chisholm’s skirt. Carly glanced past her and saw two bigger boys and a smartly-dressed older man standing amongst a pile of boxes and bags. They were watching the girls curiously.
‘Goodness, my manners!’ said Mrs Chisholm. ‘Let me introduce you. This is my husband, Captain Archibald Chisholm, and my boys, Archibald junior, William and Henry.’
The girls mumbled shy ‘hellos’.
‘Are you leaving?’ Dora asked, waving a hand at the boxes and bags.
‘Ah, yes, still as bright as ever,’ Mrs Chisholm said fondly.
Carly rolled
