him. He’d promised her that long ago. Even here, on the other side of the world from him, she meant for that promise to come true. She would do everything she could to make it so. Even if she had to wait out her seven-year sentence.
She was among the last to be lowered into a boat and rowed to shore. The anxious crowd wore eager, dirty faces. British sailors in uniform and others in black who were likely colony police held the common folk back from rushing into the water. Elizabeth’s little boat came aground and someone plucked her out, setting her back on solid earth. Numb and confused, she went were she was led, which was to a muddy patch of land between the wet of the harbor and the sandy-colored buildings set against a cliff of rock. That cliff rose high above the storehouses and private homes and other similar buildings, and curved around to jut into the water, caging Sydney Town in this little speck of land. Caging Elizabeth in.
Her father would’ve got on well here, she thought as the soldiers prodded her past lines of hollering men dressed in clothing little cleaner than their faces. Here, among the drunk and unwanted. The criminals. If she happened to see her father here—if he was still alive, in fact, and hadn’t died years ago in the gutters of London—she would spit in his face.
Thinking of her father made her think of Stumpy, which was odd because she hadn’t thought of him in years. Little Stumpy, all short and pudgy and insecure. She wondered what he looked like now, what sort of man her baby brother had grown into. Whether Father had ended up dragging him into his world of depression and drink. Elizabeth would wager on yes .
None of the men of New South Wales remotely resembled Moore. They were not handsome or strong, capable or protective. Rotting teeth lined their mouths. Ugly desire burned in their eyes. The way they reached for the female convicts who paraded past reminded her of starved animals grasping for scraps from behind bars.
When all the women were grouped together, a Scottish man who called himself Macquarie arrived. He smiled a lot and spoke well of opportunity and rehabilitation, but Elizabeth only heard the word “auction.” When the soldiers started to divide the women, her heart plummeted.
The old and unstable were immediately led back to a different part of the harbor, to where a smaller boat was tied to a tilting dock. As they were being loaded into the boat, their faces twisted in confusion and resistance over having to go back out onto the water, Macquarie spouted off about a “beneficial” home upriver in a town called Parramatta. The name, the Female Factory, inspired no such confidence in Elizabeth.
And then the worst happened. One by one, the remainder of the women were lifted atop a crate, above the heads of the ogling colonists. The women were auctioned off like livestock.
The crowd of men gradually diminished, taking the noise and Elizabeth’s shipmates with them. She knew she would be one of the last. Few men, if any, had ever recognized her gifts or fostered her potential or looked upon her with trust as Moore had. She expected no different here, and it made her chest heavy. She missed Moore more than ever, and truly believed that if he could see how far she’d fallen, he would regret acting hastily and sending her away. If he could see her now, he would sweep in, take her hand, remove her from that crate, and tell her he needed her. That was what absence did, after all. It made you see the truth of things.
Only nine men remained in the harbor. The sun was setting at her back, throwing light against the buildings that were set in stepped layers up the rocks. A soldier prodded Elizabeth up onto the crate. She looked out at the bidders’ upturned faces, refusing to wink or smile, like some of the other women had. No man raised his hand to bid. Several swiped at the backs of their necks. Someone coughed.
“If no one takes her,” the soldier at her side
She was among the last to be lowered into a boat and rowed to shore. The anxious crowd wore eager, dirty faces. British sailors in uniform and others in black who were likely colony police held the common folk back from rushing into the water. Elizabeth’s little boat came aground and someone plucked her out, setting her back on solid earth. Numb and confused, she went were she was led, which was to a muddy patch of land between the wet of the harbor and the sandy-colored buildings set against a cliff of rock. That cliff rose high above the storehouses and private homes and other similar buildings, and curved around to jut into the water, caging Sydney Town in this little speck of land. Caging Elizabeth in.
Her father would’ve got on well here, she thought as the soldiers prodded her past lines of hollering men dressed in clothing little cleaner than their faces. Here, among the drunk and unwanted. The criminals. If she happened to see her father here—if he was still alive, in fact, and hadn’t died years ago in the gutters of London—she would spit in his face.
Thinking of her father made her think of Stumpy, which was odd because she hadn’t thought of him in years. Little Stumpy, all short and pudgy and insecure. She wondered what he looked like now, what sort of man her baby brother had grown into. Whether Father had ended up dragging him into his world of depression and drink. Elizabeth would wager on yes .
None of the men of New South Wales remotely resembled Moore. They were not handsome or strong, capable or protective. Rotting teeth lined their mouths. Ugly desire burned in their eyes. The way they reached for the female convicts who paraded past reminded her of starved animals grasping for scraps from behind bars.
When all the women were grouped together, a Scottish man who called himself Macquarie arrived. He smiled a lot and spoke well of opportunity and rehabilitation, but Elizabeth only heard the word “auction.” When the soldiers started to divide the women, her heart plummeted.
The old and unstable were immediately led back to a different part of the harbor, to where a smaller boat was tied to a tilting dock. As they were being loaded into the boat, their faces twisted in confusion and resistance over having to go back out onto the water, Macquarie spouted off about a “beneficial” home upriver in a town called Parramatta. The name, the Female Factory, inspired no such confidence in Elizabeth.
And then the worst happened. One by one, the remainder of the women were lifted atop a crate, above the heads of the ogling colonists. The women were auctioned off like livestock.
The crowd of men gradually diminished, taking the noise and Elizabeth’s shipmates with them. She knew she would be one of the last. Few men, if any, had ever recognized her gifts or fostered her potential or looked upon her with trust as Moore had. She expected no different here, and it made her chest heavy. She missed Moore more than ever, and truly believed that if he could see how far she’d fallen, he would regret acting hastily and sending her away. If he could see her now, he would sweep in, take her hand, remove her from that crate, and tell her he needed her. That was what absence did, after all. It made you see the truth of things.
Only nine men remained in the harbor. The sun was setting at her back, throwing light against the buildings that were set in stepped layers up the rocks. A soldier prodded Elizabeth up onto the crate. She looked out at the bidders’ upturned faces, refusing to wink or smile, like some of the other women had. No man raised his hand to bid. Several swiped at the backs of their necks. Someone coughed.
“If no one takes her,” the soldier at her side
Similar Books
