Chapter 3 – Sarah - a Widow

Late June, 1868

Sarah was kneading damper at the kitchen table. She had steeled herself to recover. What choice did she have?  She had a sick son and two little girls to take care of.  She thanked her eldest daughter Sarah every day for her invaluable help.  She did not even allow herself to think about poor little Amelia, her darling innocent child, now resting in her grave. Sometimes she thought she heard the little girl’s voice calling out for her mother. At these times, Sarah would shut her eyes for a moment and seal her lips in a grimace to ensure she didn’t wail in sheer horror. To think that this could happen? It was unthinkable! She always doubted she could bring all her children to adulthood because of the prevalence of disease. But this? And Ralph! Her dear Ralph! Her whole body shook like a leaf when she thought of her loyal and hardworking husband. She thought about her selfish sins against him and she groaned with self-loathing. She would do anything to bring him back. But nothing could. He was dead. And now she was a widow.

She felt faint again and took a break from her work to hold onto the edge of the table for a moment.

“Ma? Are you alright?’” said young Sarah as she stopped sweeping the floor in alarm.

Sarah could not answer. Her stomach lurched with fear. She felt confused. Her legs felt weak. She groaned and closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds. She banished the memories of her little Amelia with determination.

“I must collect my wits,” she thought. “God help me…”

Sarah had lost weight in the last two weeks. She now slept little and lightly. She was continuing with the cooking and cleaning as usual but it was as if she was operating like a machine. Her arms carried firewood and hung washing and rocked her baby. But her mind was somewhere else, not focused on the endless domestic tasks but in a foggy land of what if’s and half-truths. Even though Mrs Wheen had explained the whole course of events several times, Sarah could not seem to fully accept it. Surely the truth was impossible? Would it have happened if she was at home? She did not speak of her anguish. She had been trained to bear emotional pain in the Orphanage. So she remained silent and reminded herself that the ways of God are beyond human understanding. All she could do was the best for herself and her family in this precarious world she found herself in.

George was recovering well and was now permitted to get out of bed. He had taken to sitting in the sun on their rudimentary front porch. The Doctor had pronounced his recovery a miracle as the knife wound had been deep. Sarah was so proud of her son for defending his father but her heart ached for his future now. He had been close to his father and, at age nine, had already begun to learn some basic butchering skills.

Sarah had taken to remaining inside most of the time but she heard people stop and ask George how he was faring. She even smiled with pride as she heard George answer them politely that he was not in pain anymore and that he would feel a lot better when the Chinaman was hanged. George was obviously enjoying his role as a famous survivor. But he was still a boy, thought Sarah wistfully. How would time deal with him now?

As she tended her fire she heard a strangely familiar male voice coming from the front porch. Was George inviting a guest in?

“Oh,” gasped Sarah as she opened the front door and saw her lover, Robert, standing there.

“I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Mrs Lee,” said Robert softly as he bowed slightly to her and met her eyes politely.

“I was visiting the Goldfields today and I wanted to offer my condolences.”

Sarah was immediately tongue tied and tried to think if it would be appropriate to ask him in.

He looked stunningly well-groomed in a silk waist coat with a silver fob watch, under an unblemished suit jacket. He certainly did not fit in with the miners here who wore dull coloured cottons, heavy with dirt.

Sarah was in awe of him but she found it hard to meet his eyes. It was as if eye contact could cause her pain. She looked at his polished boots. Her stomach lurched with nerves. She was conscious of her son and his curiosity. No, she could not ask him in.

“Thank you, Mr Blake. It is very kind of you.”

Robert continued to politely speak about offering any help if needed but Sarah did not really hear it. She was just overwhelmed by his presence. He had never come here before. Her legs started to shake and she looked again at his boots. Robert then pressed a note into her hand as he turned to depart. To cover up this subterfuge Robert hastily bestowed George with the gift of a coin with an exaggerated flourish.

“Remember – never put a coin in your mouth, young man! Do you know why?”

“Yes sir! Because a Chinaman has had it in his ear!” replied an excited, widely smiling George.

Sarah watched his back walk through the dusty street, back towards the river and probably the gold buyer’s house. She knew he visited goldfields on occasions to meet with the buyers and presumably buy the gold from them. He owned a set of scales and some strong boxes for cash and gold.

“Ma, who was that gentleman?” queried her clearly impressed son.

Sarah ignored his question and hurried him inside. She made efforts to get dinner ready. She stuffed the note in her pocket, a tempting sweet to digest later.

                                                                    ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­____________________

Sarah had finally got all the children to sleep after a dinner of beef stew, made with a few bits of skirt steak given to her by the other butcher’s wife in Maitland Bar diggings. It was cold and quiet. Her senses were alert as she waited by the side door to the butcher’s shop. The note had said to wait there as it would be in the shade of the full moon. She opened the door a crack at exactly 10pm and sure enough, saw Robert approach from under some nearby scrappy trees.

“Oh my love!” said Robert as he took Sarah in his arms and hugged her small frame fiercely.

Sarah closed the door and they remained clutching each other in the gloom. She started to cry and Robert shushed her. Sarah felt so much better to finally have him comfort her. She had longed for this moment for weeks but there had been no opportunity. Oh to have strong arms around her at last!

“Robert, what shall I do?” she moaned as she gasped for air between restrained sobs.

“Don’t worry my dear Sarah. You have been through a lot. But I will take care of you now.”

“Will you?  I...I wasn’t sure?” she stuttered.

“Of course I will! When is an acceptable time to marry do you think?” Robert’s eyes shone as she saw his face turn towards her and into the candlelight. Sarah’s sobs abated as she gasped, stunned by Robert’s immediate commitment. He felt strong and fit and clean. But Sarah also smelled liquor on his breath. He must have been hiding out at the sly grog shop until now.

“Don’t you see? This leaves us free to be together at last!” Robert stroked her hair that fell to her shoulders in waves. He could hardly take his arms away from her but Sarah pulled away at last. Robert looked disappointed but waited patiently for her to speak.

Sarah tried to relax as she leaned against the butchery’s rough wooden work table and wiped her tears away. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for what she was about to say. Robert’s dancing eyes watched her, a small smile on his lips.

After she had told him about the baby, she waited for his reaction. Would he be angry? Would he change his mind about supporting her?

“Don’t worry, my poppet,” Robert crooned. He comforted her in his arms and did not seem angry at all.

“I will take care of you, my love. All will be well. We shall be a happy family!”

Robert looked closely into her face as if to beg her consent. She saw love and she saw enthusiasm. Oh, what a man to take on a widow so quickly! How lucky Sarah felt at that moment. She felt bouyant with relief and joy.

                                                                   ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­____________________

The next day dawned with a pale, cold light. A frost had settled on sparse patches of grass amongst the dust on the slope going down to the river. Sarah flicked the hessian curtain and glanced out her tiny bedroom window as she mechanically got out of bed to feed her crying baby. Grace was unsettled lately and waking a lot at night. She did not like her cradle and preferred to be in bed with her mother. But Sarah already had the four year Frances in bed with her every night. Frances outright refused to sleep in her own bed in the children’s room and would scream in protest if forced.

After her feed Grace smiled her thanks, showing two new teeth. Sarah could not resist smiling back and murmuring praise to her beautiful baby as she placed her back in the cradle with a wooden toy that Ralph had whittled for her. Grace immediately stuck it in her mouth and commenced goo-ing to herself.

Sarah went to her fireplace and started her automatic work while thinking about the excitement of last night. Everything would be alright now as Robert had reacted well to her news of his impending fatherhood. Sarah decided that she was happy about it too. If it was a girl she would call her Amelia to try to replace the lovely girl she had lost.

Sarah smiled to herself as she stoked the fire, placed the kettle to boil and threw some oats into a pot for porridge. She had washed bowls and spoons last night and already had the table set for breakfast. She had learnt over the years not to expect any time to herself. And she also found that it was best to think ahead.

Today was Sunday. She had the children’s best clothes ready for Church. She set the iron onto the warming stove so that she could touch up collars and cuffs. She wanted to look respectable and in control today. In fact, she wanted to look recovered. Her neighbour had offered them a lift to Avisford and the Church service there was at 10am. She had to pack a picnic basket with bread and cheese and water as well as she could not afford to go to a tea house after Church. She would find somewhere to sit in the sun and tell any passersby she was entertaining the children with a picnic. But Mrs Smith might invite them back to her house of course.

The robbery had taken cash and jewellery but most of it had been returned to her after it was found in Ah Mow’s hut. Nevertheless, her savings were dwindling. If she didn’t have Robert’s support then she would have to sell the butchery and the attached residence and return to a town, perhaps Sydney. The goldfields was no place for a woman on her own. But it would not be a happy solo departure. Sarah knew well that the only work available for her would be laundry work. She supposed she could go into service for a lady and her eldest daughter could look after the littlies….but that would be no life for her poor daughter. She had hoped for more for young Sarah. So she had tried to teach her to read and to present herself well.

But now there was another child coming. What a shock that had been. And while she was still mourning her husband! It was as if God was double punishing her. Or triple punishing her?

Sarah’s hands shook again as she stirred the porridge. Last night she had lain awake for hours trying to turn her mind from despair into a state of happiness for the new baby.  The sinfulness in which this baby had been conceived had been weighing heavily in her mind. Poor Ralph. To be cuckolded and murdered in one night! Sarah’s guilt was overwhelming. She couldn’t eat, sleep or think clearly. The last week had really been a week of horror for her as she tried to work out what to do. Would the baby be passed off as Ralph’s? But Robert was so dark haired? Was it proper to marry Robert? But then, how would she cope without a new husband? Perhaps she should buy a draft of castor oil? Surely she could not afford another baby… Perhaps it would be better if there were no new baby at all? Or maybe the baby would be dislodged by the constant and solid fear she held in her stomach?

No, she must remain calm. She would be happy with Robert. The new child would have a willing father. She would be protected by a new husband, a man of some means. Every cloud has a silver lining. Robert would be hers.

                                                                   ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­____________________

The Church at Avisford was a simple affair – a patch of flat grass under a huge eucalypt tree. The visiting Church of England minister came from Bathurst every fortnight to speak to his flock at Avisford.

Sarah would much prefer to attend the large and newly built brick church, St Johns Church of England, in Mudgee. But that was a long journey for her children and, besides, she would not know anyone there anyway.  Mr Wheen had offered to take her to the Avisford service and she had readily accepted.

So this was her local church, a tree. The goldfields had nothing of permanence. Leaves drifted down onto the assembling congregation. The cold wind was gusty today and was causing people to hold their hats.

Sarah licked her chapped lips and carefully climbed down from Mr Wheen’s cart, holding Grace in her arms and Frances by the hand. George and Sarah, her older children, took their places behind her as she walked towards the tree church. Immediately several local women she knew came rushing up to her, expressing their condolences, their faces raw with genuine sympathy. Sarah held herself erect, knowing she looked respectable in her best dark serge dress with sparkling clean linen collar and cuffs and a lace trimmed bonnet. She had even worn her best whalebone corset under her dress and an extra petticoat for effect. Her children looked respectable too. Sarah was pretty in her best and George, although he had to wear patched trousers, stood tall and smiled his thanks to well-wishers galore. He still walked gingerly and Sarah knew he would be exhausted and be forced to return to his bed once they were home.

The sermon commenced once everyone was standing roughly in rows. Sarah took her usual position in the right hand side, middle section, and looked at her feet, suddenly aware of her obvious widowhood.  A month ago she had been at the funeral, at the front, dressed in black, as her husband and child’s coffins stood shockingly close to her. The same pastor had come all the way to the Ironbark section of the Meroo goldfields that day. Ralph and their little daughter were buried together in a grave close to their house.

In his sermon today, the Pastor referred to the recent murder and quoted from Romans, Chapter 12 in the Bible as he claimed that the murdering heathens would be tracked down and the vengeance of the Lord would rain down upon them.

“Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’”

Sarah tried to keep her face composed and tilted down as she knew many others were watching her surreptitiously. She was glad she had skipped breakfast as the familiar fear in her stomach was roaring and heaving. She thought of herself as a sinner and she felt that God’s vengeance would find her as surely as it would find the murdering Chinaman.

The solemn and powerful voice of the Pastor reached the whole congregation easily. Sarah felt shaky and unsteady and tried not to listen. She focused on the ever present background noise of the wind rustling the leaves on the high branches of the huge tree overhead. It was a somehow a frightening but calming sound at the same time.

As usual, there was to be no Communion offered. Sarah was not sure if this was because it was too difficult in a bush setting or simply because the Bathurst Church could not afford good wine for goldfields folk. But she was glad of it in any case. She did not welcome any increase of attention on her. What if she fainted while approaching the front for Communion?

The Pastor then led the congregation in a hymn. In the absence of an organ, the Pastor’s strong voice was crucial to all. Thankfully he was well practiced and faultlessly musical.

“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me”

Sarah tried to sing the familiar hymn and was mostly successful. Her voice was accurately on key at all times but it wavered and was not very loud. At times she felt emotion welling up in her chest and she had to stop and clench her whole body. Once she regained composure she resumed her singing with the rest of the flock.

At last the service was completed and people started to drift away quietly into groups for the obligatory post Church chats.  Mrs Smith’s round, fleshy face was first to thrust itself close to hers.

“Will you come back to my house, Sarah? I have morning tea ready and it would be a pleasure to have you visit?” asked Mrs Smith.

Sarah breathed her relief and quickly gave instructions to her eldest children to take the babies for a picnic at the reserve. She handed over her basket and baby Grace to her capable daughter and walked arm in arm with Mrs Smith towards her cottage. She was obliged to stop a few times to accept more condolences and good wishes from kind parishioners of course. Mrs Smith proudly held her arm and looked as though she was taking responsibility for Sarah overall.

                                                                   ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­____________________

By the end of the month Sarah had “recovered her wits” as she called it. She had resumed her normal routine of taking the children for an afternoon walk in an area of bushland near her home. She called it HER bushland as no one else seemed interested in it whatsoever. The area was away from the Meroo River, sloping up towards dry hills and rocky outcrops. It was heavily forested with the native eucalypts and wattle. She had made a path and followed the same track each day. But she could not do the walk in summer due to the risk of brown snakes. She was terrified of them. In fact everyone at the Goldfields was constantly on edge each summer due the frightening killers. They were large snakes, long and quick moving and fond of hiding in unexpected places. Fortunately they tended to disappear in winter.

The children loved their walks. Sarah and her eldest daughter shared carrying the baby, Grace.  Frances always ran ahead and George walked cautiously with his mother as he had not quite recovered from his stab wounds as yet.

The walk was Sarah’s attempt to supervise the children’s outdoor play. She did not want them mixing overly much with the local children who tended to run around with bare feet, completely unchecked by their parents. Also, Mrs Wheen’s baby was sick and Sarah would prefer they kept away for fear of contagion.

“Mumma, I want to do wee wee,” complained Frances.

“Alright then Frannie, just here is a good place then. Come on…”

Sarah always encouraged the girls to “go” on their walk. It was certainly preferable to using the long drop, their outdoor privy. Everyone had outdoor toilets a short distance from their homes but Sarah was very dubious about the red backed spiders, not to mention the dangerous risk of contagion.

She helped her four year old and then encouraged all the children help collect tree bark for the fire. At least the bush was untouched here, she thought.  Despite the occasional kangaroo droppings, this area pleased her because it seemed clean and fresh. If they could have a house up here, rather than down on that overpopulated stinking flat, living in the Australian bush might be more tolerable, she thought.

The wattle was blooming at the top of the hill where they usually stopped and sat on rocks to rest. Sarah, aged eleven, was thrilled about this and started collecting bunches of the bright yellow balls.

“Mum, look at it all! It smells so beautiful!”

Sarah laughed in delight too. The fragrance was heady and fresh, like nothing in England. She sat on lichen covered granite rocks next to George who was now quite exhausted and holding his side.

Sarah had not had cause to see many flowers in England. Her life with her parents had been right on Bristol’s muddy harbour and the only flowers she had ever seen were for sale in the street. Once at the Orphanage, flowers were only in books.

The light was dimming and Sarah was anxious to be back before dark. She never let the children outside after dark. Especially not George…he had almost fallen into a half-submerged mine shaft last summer. She would not have known about this fall if it wasn’t for dutiful Sarah who had been with her younger brother at the time. Children had fallen to their deaths before. It was easily done as only the current working shafts had windlasses attached to them. Abandoned mines were often covered with a branches in a most haphazard way.

So George carefully carried the flour sack of collected bark and they soon headed for home. They were a little family, walking slowing through the bush, alternately highlighted by the bright retreating sun and then hidden by the deep bush shadows of the hillside.

                                                                   ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­____________________

“You ‘ad a visitor, Sarah!” yelled out Mrs Wheen from her front porch. Sarah had not quite returned from her walk when this news was shouted out to her across the expanse of dust they called a street.

“A gentleman no less!” continued Mrs Wheen as she hurried to face Sarah.

“You’d a seen ‘im, I expect, if you weren’t off walkin’ in the bush!”

“Oh, aye, you’re a bonny lass!” Mrs Wheen ruffled little Frances’s curly blonde hair and then gave her a crushing hug.

Sarah stood, unsure what to say.

Mrs Wheen rattled on about the gentleman’s lovely suit and beautiful manners as they all went into Sarah’s house.  George deposited the bark next to the fireplace. Young Sarah took the baby, now wailing, into the bedroom for a clean nappy. Frances skipped over to her wooden toys spread out on a kangaroo skin.

“Will you have a cuppa?” Sarah politely offered.

Mrs Wheen nodded, sat herself down and promptly began to cry.

“Oh, a gentleman in this ‘ere location! What a surprise it was for me!”

“He wanted to see you, Sarah. Could it be ‘cause o’ the court case comin’ up?”

Sarah was used to comforting Mrs Wheen on a daily basis lately on account of her sick baby. Mrs Wheen could dissolve into tears at any moment. The little boy slept fitfully in his crib most of the day now. Fortunately there were two older girls to assist with baby care. But Sarah thought the baby might die soon. His little chest could not stand the coughing fits and apparently he was wet with perspiration most nights. And that was why she was reluctant to chat to Mrs Wheen or go into her house. She was nervous of diphtheria. She knew it was contagious somehow. It had carried off several young children in Avisford last winter. There seemed to be waves of this kind of sickness. And many of the cures sold in the stores simply failed to do any good.

Soon she would have to tell Mrs Wheen and others about Robert, her condition and her plans for remarriage. But not yet…she would wait as long as possible. Sarah held her stomach and wondered if the new child would hold onto life through all this turmoil.

At the present moment she knew she must try to get Mrs Wheen out of her house as quickly as she politely could.

Read Chapter 4 - If you can't see it below then click HERE or use the links at the right.