Sarah Thornhill by Kate Grenville Page A

mother was just a word. I saw her understand that, saw the light go out of her.
    Our Will married this Rugig fair and square, Pa said.
    But a heathen woman! Ma said. A black!
    What Will done over there, he done right by his own lights, Pa said. Won’t have it said otherwise, Meg.
    She made a noise, huh ! But Pa touched the girl’s head, smoothed the black hair.
    This girl is Will’s own flesh and blood, he said. My granddaughter. Never mind where she come from or what went on or the rights and wrongs of it all.
    What’s her name, Jack, I said.
    He said the word again, and I caught the start of it, Ra something.
    Rachel, Ma said. That’s what we’ll call her.
    No, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said.
    He started to say the name again.
    She’ll be Rachel, she said. Good Christian name.
    Pa smoothed the girl’s hair again, looked away over her head into the fire. Him and Ma must of had words about the girl coming. He’d won out on that. What she was called was something Pa wouldn’t fight. And poor thing, what did she care what we called her.
    She could do with a bite to eat, Jack said. Been a long hard time for her.
    Pa woke up out of wherever he’d gone.
    Meg, bring the victuals in here for them, he said. Stand by the fire with her Jack, the two of you wet as fish.
    I knelt beside the girl, went to undo her pinny. She pulled away, nearly in the fire she was so determined.
    Best leave her, Jack said. Till she gets used to you.
    I saw a flicker of the Jack I knew in the way he looked down at me. He put his hand on the girl’s shoulder and I put mine over it, felt the coldness of his skin.
    Strange for her yet awhile, Jack said. Best take it slow.
    Then Ma was coming in with the tray, wanting to put it on the table and have them sit up and eat.
    Here by the fire, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said. Be best, I believe.
    Took the tray and set it on the hearthrug.
    More what she’s used to, he said.
    They sat on the hearthrug, Jack spooning up the stew as best he could with her on his lap. The girl stuck her fingers in and fished the bits of meat out of her bowl.
    That’s the way! Pa said. Look at her tuck in! Look at that, Meg!
    It was the first life in him since Will died. Almost laughing with the pleasure of watching the girl eat.
    Yes, Ma said. All right for tonight, but I can see we got a long road ahead of us.
    Yes, well, he said. Time enough, Meg. She’s here now. That’s the thing. Here among us.
    But the girl was asleep, leaning back on Jack, a piece of meat still in her fingers. He stood up with her, and her arms went round his neck and clung, even fast asleep as she was.
    Her room’s the one next to Mr Thornhill and myself, Ma said. Let her go to bed dirty this once.
    Held the door open for Jack, but he didn’t go.
    Happiest in with me, he said. Couple of cushions on the floor.
    No, Jack, she said. I won’t have that.
    She’ll wake up feared, Jack said. Never slept on her own.
    Begin as we mean to go on, Ma said. Lay her on the bed, Jack, cover her up, she’ll be all right.
    They stared at each other, will against will.
    Jack pushed past her with the girl and Ma followed. I went after them, watching the lamplight make Jack’s shadow big, then small, up the stairs and along the hall to the room that Ma had got ready for the girl. He lay her on the bed, pulled the quilt up. She didn’t wake.
    Give her a good scrubbing in the morning, Ma said. Won’t we, Dolly?
    Best go a bit slow, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said. Not used to our ways.
    Nonsense, Jack, Ma said. The girl’s got to be clean. She’ll love it, won’t she Dolly, a good hot tub!
    Go by what Jack says, I said. Start off just a wipe with the flannel.
    That’s the idea, Jack said. Take it slow.

    I waited for the house to be quiet, crept along the hall to Jack’s room. Not for what we’d got up to there before, Jack was too worn and faraway for that. Just to let him know I was