Skins Read Free Page B

clearing. Beyond both trees the ground sloped sharply upwards. It was the sandhill that hid the hut from the eyes of anyone on the beach. It was a well-built hut, better than their house at the Sound. And it was so sheltered. Not a whisper of wind stirred below, although the tops of the trees shook now and then with the occasional gust.
    They remembered the sealer had said the well was around the back. From where they had been standing on the beach, he must have meant the side of the hut that faced inland. So they walked around the hut, alongside the kitchen wall and then to the stone fireplace and chimney that jutted out from the corner of the south-facing wall and into the paperbark thicket. A path of hardened black sand wove in and out of the pale trunks of the trees and through them they glimpsed the ring of granite rocks at the end of it. They lifted the wooden cover. Leaves of the canopy above were reflected in the well’s still depths.
    The water was soft and icy in their cupped hands. So sweet, it trickled down the sides of their mouths and wetted the fronts of their gowns. Mary splashed her face and tried to rub the salt from her skin. A rush of wind rustled the leaves above. There was a muffled booming sound of distant surf crashing on rock, and the haunting, echoing call of a bronze-wing pigeon. Dorothea undid her bonnet and her shawl. Her clothes felt oily and damp. She took the pail from her sister and filled it as full as she had the strength to carry, then tipped it over her head. Gasping, she grinned at Mary through a dripping veil, her thick brown hair loosened and falling about her face. She handed her sister the pail.
    â€˜Tis cold,’ said Mary but took it anyway.
    Although their features were similar, Mary was slighter in build and her hair was dark. They were both thin, their skin drawn tightly across their cheekbones. When they were soaked, Dorothea noticed a track leading through the trees and followed it into the sunlight. The track led them to the granite rock without going back to the hut. It took them further south past another small clearing to their left where there was a dome-shaped dwelling and the charred remains of a small fire. There was also a small garden enclosed by a brush fence. Sheltered from view, they lay down to rest. The heat of the rock radiated through their skin and into their chilled aching bones. They gave in to it. Soon the silence was broken only by their gentle breathing, the scurrying of little lizards through the debris at the base of the rock, and the insistent but intermittent buzz of an insect.
    â€˜Dorothea.’
    As the sound left Mary’s mouth it seemed to linger in the air for a moment.
    â€˜Mmm.’
    â€˜What are we going to do?’
    Mary rolled onto her side and looked at her sister who lay on her back, eyes closed to the sun.
    â€˜Don’t know.’
    â€˜How are we going to get back?’
    â€˜Don’t know.’ Dorothea sighed and sat up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the afternoon light.
    â€˜He’s not going to take us.’
    â€˜Who?’ asked Dorothea.
    â€˜The sealer.’
    Dorothea shrugged and said: ‘Perhaps there’ll be a trader.’
    â€˜That could be months.’
    â€˜There’ll be ships that pass here.’
    â€˜Do you think so?’
    Dorothea paused and took a deep breath in an attempt to stave off a sick feeling at the bottom of her stomach. ‘We’ll get back to the Sound,’ she said.
    â€˜In that boat?’
    â€˜Look, the thing is we’re here. We didn’t drown. We have each other. Jem’s with us and you have Matthew.’
    â€˜He’s a savage.’
    â€˜Who? Your husband?’ She smiled briefly.
    â€˜No, that man, the sealer.’
    â€˜They’re all savages,’ muttered Dorothea.
    Mary sighed and looked down at the rock, flicking the pale green lichen with her fingernail.
    â€˜Matthew’s alright.