Wild Lands Read Free Page A

grew thick with the cloying smell of damp earth. A flash of creamy whiteness, a ghostly owl, flew past the window to land on the nearby woodpile, and as the rain grew heavier a gust of wind blew the shutters closed with a bang.
    â€˜What you doing then?’ In the dark room Lambeth’s voice was harsh. ‘Get away from there before we all get the sickness, or worse.’
    The shutters rattled violently as the storm grew heavier. Kate slid the latch across firmly and muttered an apology.
    Madge, a girl of eighteen, was out of bed quickly. She grabbed Kate by the ear and led her back to the pallet.
    â€˜Ouch,’ Kate whimpered.
    â€˜I told you she gets up and about of a-night,’ Madge said harshly. ‘Pokes around the place, she does, sticks that fine nose of hers into a person’s business, probably tells on us to the Reverend. Stay there.’ The older girl gave Kate a shove and she fell onto the pallet. ‘Think yer better than us, don’t cha?’ Madge grabbed Kate’s blanket. ‘Give it.’
    â€˜I wasn’t doing anything wrong,’ Kate argued, rubbing her ear.
    â€˜How many times have I told you to keep the blooming shutters closed?’ Lambeth said with frustration. ‘Anyone could crawl through that window, robbers and such-like.’
    Madge gave a chuckle. ‘Well, if some handsome highwayman jumps through that window, he’s mine.’
    â€˜You’re as bad as the youngin,’ the cook complained. ‘Now get to sleep the both of you.’
    Kate brushed away tears. It was best not to answer. To do so usually led to a slap across the face or a cuff behind the ear, and her mother had enough to fret over without worrying about Kate. Although Kate did her best to hide the truth of things in their new home, occasionally the line between her mother’s eyes deepened and she would give her daughter a disbelieving stare. Kate guessed that there were only so many trees you could climb and keep falling from. She turned on her side, bringing her knees to her chest.
    Lambeth and Madge often talked about Kate and her mother, Lesley, and at these times they were not of a mind to worry if Kate was in earshot or not. It seemed they knew everyone’s story. It didn’t matter if you were the Governor or a soldier’s wife or a free settler, the two convicts who ran the kitchen knew all about everyone and they knew more about Kate than Kate.
    They reminded Kate regularly that her mother’s parents had been among the first free settlers in the colony, while her convict father had been pardoned. For Lambeth and Madge, this meant that as Kate and her mother were free and native born that they thought themselves high and mighty. Far better than everyone else working on the Reverend’s farm who were convicts toiling fourteen or more hours a day. It was best, Kate’s mother advised, not to say anything, even though it was true that convicts were beneath them, especially mealy-mouthed London women of questionable reputation assigned to the colony. It was a matter of hierarchy, her mother explained. Kate still didn’t know what the word meant.
    The room soon grew chilly. Kate reached tentatively for the stolen blanket but Madge had cocooned herself within the material and, although asleep, clutched at it with both hands. There was nothing to do but lie where she was and shiver to warm herself by the kitchen fire. Kate snuck from her bed, picking up Lambeth’s shawl, which had slipped to the floor from the woman’s bedding.Careful not to fall over the sacks of wheat that lined the wall, she went next door to the kitchen, wrapping the shawl about her shoulders. The embers glowed in the large hearth and the few cut lengths of wood she placed on the smouldering coals from the wood box caught fire quickly.
    Kate sat cross-legged on Lambeth’s shawl, watching the dancing firelight, tiny red-gold figures of licking flame moving