Free Salt Creek by Lucy Treloar

they sometimes startle me, as if a breeze had lifted a wingtip or caught a tail or they are tracking my passage past.
    The other book is by Mr Angas and contains many fine sketches and watercolours of natives, including on the Coorong, which he made while journeying in Australia. (It is not the copy we had in South Australia. Fred might have that one.) We used to look at Mr Angas’s book when we were preparing to leave Adelaide and Papa would try to reassure Mama of the gentleness of the Coorong tribe.
    â€˜They have spears and clubs. See them there,’ and Mama had poked the page, ‘and there. Everywhere. Savages.’
    â€˜For hunting,’ Papa said. ‘For animals, not to fight people – not white people at least.’
    â€˜People are killed. What about The Maria ?’
    Everyone knew the story of The Maria – I couldn’t remember a time when I had not known how the survivors of a shipwreck had been helped by natives on the Coorong and after a time had been turned on and murdered – all of them – and their possessions stolen. The governor had ordered a search party to be sent to discover who had done it and two natives were hanged and more than one shot. It was hard not to think of sometimes, when so few of us would be living in so remote an area.
    â€˜And people have also been helped. Other survivors would have died without the natives’ help. I do not believe them barbarous, merely uncivilized, and that can be remedied. They have treated others with kindness as we will treat them and I believe that charity is rewarded, as I hope it will be for us when we are living among them.’
    â€˜Oh.’ It was a drawn out despairing sound and Mama put her handkerchief to her mouth to stop it. ‘And no one there but us?’
    â€˜There is an inn run by man and wife, the Robinsons.’ At this Mama brightened. ‘But ten miles further down the lagoon,’ Papa added.
    Mama’s face became bleak again. ‘Ten miles,’ she repeated. ‘Too far to walk. Too far for company.’
    Papa gave his sweet patient smile. ‘We must do this, Bridget,’ and his voice was low and pleasant and his arm about her holding her to his side. Mama’s forehead rested against his chest and he stroked her hair so gently I could almost feel its silkiness myself. ‘It is our best chance; it is our only chance. We will become paupers else. I will not see our station so reduced.’
    Mama’s head moved against him, as if she were grinding her feelings and thoughts into him. ‘If I ask Mama—’ she began.
    Papa stepped back and took her by the shoulders and held her away from him. ‘No. We will not do that. We will not accept their charity.’ And he shook her once, not with any violence, but in emphasis that was enough to shock. ‘No more of that.’
    â€˜I am sure she did not mean, they did not mean—’
    Papa released her and stepped back and the distance between them continued to increase as he spoke. ‘Let us not discuss this further. It is not to be thought of. I will not give them further reason to question my duty to my family.’ He stepped backwards again. ‘It is my family. I will not be beholden again. I will not be lectured.’ He was at the door by then. ‘Let that be the end of the matter.’ He opened the door and was gone, leaving Mama trembling behind.
    She turned to me. ‘It’s not that they— They only wish to help. I am all they have left, you see, your Aunt Mary and Aunt Hetta being gone.’
    â€˜Mama.’
    â€˜They came here to be with us. To leave them here in town – I cannot feel it is right.’
    â€˜We will be back, Mama. I know we will.’ Mama began to sob. ‘Please, Mama. Don’t feel it so,’ I said.
    â€˜How can I do otherwise?’
    I did not know what answer I could give Mama that would reassure, so I left the room too,