Beneath the Southern Cross by Judy Nunn

Mary, but one day she would be. One day Hannah Kendall would be a match for anyone.
    It was late Sunday afternoon when the family returned to Parramatta, and James, seated beside Phoebe in the rear seat of the carriage, did not see Turumbah as they turned from the dirt road through the open gates of the property, then up the winding track to the sandstone house. He and his sister had both been nodding off, lulled by the motion of the carriage and the steady clip-clop of the two-in-hand.
    â€˜I will not have this, Richard,’ Mary said as she noticed the Aboriginal boy squatting beside the entrance to the harnessing yard. ‘You must have words with the natives. They have not encroached upon our property to date and they are not to start now.’
    As the carriage drew to a halt, Mary gave an imperious wave. ‘Away with you, boy!’
    Turumbah rose to his feet, and James looked about drowsily to see what was causing the commotion.
    â€˜Gran’sun James!’ Turumbah stood, waving the hat like a flag, as he always did, and James watched in horror. ‘Gran’sun James! I wait!’
    Turumbah had been waiting for hours. When his friend James had not been at their meeting place by the mangroves, he had crept closer and closer to the grand house. Even the servants had not been there to shoo him away. And the big carriage and horses had gone. Turumbah had settled down to wait. At the sight of his friend, he had forgotten all the rules and begun jumping up and down, waving his precious hat as if his life depended on it.
    Mary recognised the hat in an instant. As her husband helped her from the carriage and turned away to tend the horses, she whipped the offending article from the boy’s hands. ‘Where did you get this?’ She dared not look at her son, for already she knew the truth.
    Turumbah was startled. He was not by nature a nervous boy, but the sudden action caught him unawares. He edged away, wary, uncertain.
    James had jumped down from the carriage, Phoebe beside him.
    â€˜I said where did you get this?’ Mary wielded the bedraggled felt hat over the boy’s head as if it were a cat-o’-nine tails and she were about to beat the life out of him with it.
    It was then that young James Kendle did the boldest thing he had ever done, probably the boldest thing he would ever do in his entire life. He stepped forward and stood beside Turumbah.
    â€˜I gave it to him, Mother. As a gift. His name is Turumbah.’
    Turumbah’s uncertainty vanished in an instant. ‘Gift,’ he said. ‘Turumbah, gift.’ He grasped James’s hand. ‘Gran’sun James bud-jerry fellow. Turumbah friend.’
    There was a long pause. Phoebe watched, frightened by her mother’s anger; Richard stopped tending the horses, at a loss as to what to do, and James stared at the ground, unable to meet his mother’s eyes. Only Turumbah seemed unaffected. He grinned at Mary, grinned at James, shuffled his feet and, apart from wishing that the missus would give him back his hat, felt perfectly happy.
    â€˜Turumbah?’ Mary queried, and the edge had gone from her voice. The boy nodded. ‘Here is your hat.’ She handed it to him and he grabbed it eagerly. ‘Go home now, go home.’
    Turumbah nodded, waved and was gone in an instant, hoping that no-one would tell his grandfather he had been caught out of bounds.
    â€˜I do not blame you, James, I blame your grandfather.’ Mary glanced briefly at Richard who made no comment. ‘We will say no more about it.’
    But Mary was angry. Very angry. For months now she had regretted the scene she had caused that day in Thomas’s front parlour. She had lost her dignity, made a fool of herself. But the discovery of the hat changed everything. The boy had not merely been playing in the bush with his cousin, he had spent the entire day in the company of black heathens. Encouraged, furthermore, by his own