Wild Lands by Nicole Alexander Page B

young Aboriginalssat cross-legged in the grass. The pair were close enough to hear lessons. ‘They’re not allowed to do learning, are they? Not with us.’
    â€˜We are not up-country, Thomas,’ Kate reprimanded. ‘We call them natives or Aboriginals, remember?’
    â€˜Well, my pa will tan me hide if I go schooling with blacks.’ Thomas wiped a ragged shirtsleeve across a runny nose. ‘Please, miss, send them blacks away.’
    The Reverend clasped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Your parents are convicts, Thomas. It is not up to you to tell your betters who can or can’t be schooled here.’
    â€˜Well, blacks is blacks.’
    Reaching for the swatch of birch, the Reverend thrashed the boy’s bare legs. ‘Then don’t come back.’
    â€˜Reverend Horsley,’ Kate complained.
    Thomas kicked the Reverend’s shin and ran out the door. Kate lifted a hand to her mouth, hiding the smile on her lips.
    â€˜You are too soft on them,’ he replied, wiping a sheen of moisture from his brow, although the exertion appeared to have invigorated him. ‘The lower classes need to be kept in their place if there is to be any semblance of normal society. England is dependent on us to ensure that this colony retains the dignity and societal norms that are expected in the civilised world. You’d do well to remember that, Kate, for you yourself carry the stain of convict association.’
    Kate’s jaw tightened. ‘I have no interest in your offer,’ she replied brusquely.
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous.’
    â€˜How could you expect me to accept it, after the way you have lived with my mother? You, who profess your Godliness, you, who tell me that I carry the stain, as if you were better than me, than my mother.’ The breath caught in her throat. Kate thought he would strike her for the Reverend’s hand lifted and then just as quickly he lowered it to his side. Kate had been witness to hisbeltings before. The man was not averse to hitting woman or child. She had no idea where she would go, but she wasn’t staying with this man a moment longer.
    â€˜Your mother has been well cared for.’
    â€˜My mother only decided to stay in your employ because she was scared. Scared to go out alone with a young child to fend for. Do you think that I would agree to live as my mother has lived? My mother’s family were free settlers, my father, although convicted for forgery, a crime he did not commit, rose to become a respected farmer in his own right. Do you think I would allow myself to –’
    â€˜Our arrangement was not uncommon. You know that, Kate,’ he placated.
    â€˜Have you forgotten how my mother slaved for you these past ten years? She has assisted in the writing of your sermons, has been your housekeeper and run the school, for which she received no more benefit than a new dress every two years. And you who depended on her for so much could not go so far as to give her your name.’
    â€˜You have grown disrespectful, Kate,’ he responded. ‘I think it best if you go indoors and attend to your mother. Perhaps in her final hours she will remind you of your good fortune …’ He hesitated. ‘Your mother was not the virtuous creature you speak of, my girl, or did you think she was faithful to your father’s memory between his passing and your arrival on my doorstep?’
    Kate’s mouth opened and closed. She didn’t believe it.
    â€˜Her doings were not unknown to me, and still I provided for her and you. And you accuse me of not taking her as my wife? Beauty is a curse, your mother traded on hers. So be it.’ The Reverend lifted the prayer book to his chest, his collar yellow where it rubbed against the folded skin of his neck. ‘I will leave this matter to another time, when you are not so overwrought, when common sense has returned. Go to your mother,’ he urged, ‘stay