Chapter One
Melbourne 1852
The wagon ride into town was always rough, but this time Brigid felt as though someone had taken a paddle to her bottom. The recent rains created holes in the already beaten road, leaving it even worse than normal to travel on, causing her to bounce up and down on her seat more than usual. She knew she would have bruises tomorrow, but for right now, she only had one thing on her mind besides her sore behind, and that was her father. After confirming the directions he’d left with the storekeeper, she’d left Thomas and his daughters back at the mercantile and set off to see him, clutching the note he’d left for her tightly in her hand.
She was excited to see him and practically ran through the muddy streets of Melbourne, darting quickly around anyone in her way. Brigid had a lot on her mind of late, things she needed to talk over with her father. Even though she lived with kind people, they were not family. She could not wait to lay her eyes upon the elusive man who’d raised her and then give him a hug.
Patrick Griffin’s last letter contained a promise that, on his next visit into town, he would have money to give to her to pay Thomas for her room and board. If he didn’t have anything for her to hand over again this time, Brigid didn’t know what she would do. She would have to insist she go back to her father’s land claim with him and live the life he was, helping him dig for gold. Although, if Thomas had been upset for not receiving his due for four consecutive months, she had not been able to tell. Brigid knew the money her father provided each month went a long way for Thomas’s family, especially after losing his wife, Mary. Starting a new farm was not cheap, and Brigid felt ashamed every time she found Thomas sitting in his porch chair at night, staring out over the fields he worked in. She knew what was going through his mind. Having the extra money would surely have made Mary’s passing easier. When Mary was alive, she would tell her constantly what a blessing it was to have the additional income, if only her father hadn’t stopped paying.
Like the gentleman Thomas was, however, he would never tell Brigid if it had been a problem. Also, for the first ten months, since her father left her in Thomas’s care, and after helping Thomas with the structure of the farmhouse, Patrick had not missed a payment. Actually, he gave more when he had more to give. Perhaps that was the reason Thomas hadn’t questioned her more about it. Brigid liked it on the farm, and she got along well with Thomas’s daughters. She had been with them through the grieving of their mother, and it would be a shame to have to leave them now. Naturally, though, as each day passed from the first missed payment until now, Brigid wondered how much longer Thomas would lend her his hospitality. Brigid was glad she didn’t have to face Mary as well as Thomas day after day.
Thomas and his girls knew where she was going. He agreed to give her private time with her father. Patrick normally stayed on the farm when he visited, but this time, he was at the tent city set apart for people like him, a gold digger. She had no clue why he wanted to stay in town this time. There wasn’t a spare bed in any other part of this growing settlement, and it was a poor option when he could come to the farm. People poured in each day, scrambling off the boats almost as soon as they docked, wanting to try their luck at finding gold. When Patrick had heard the news that gold could be found in this British colony, he’d packed their modest belongings back in Ireland. He’d purchased tickets aboard the next sea vessel heading this way, using the little he’d had to his name, which wasn’t much.
Brigid didn’t regret her father’s decision to leave Ireland. In truth, there wasn’t much left for them there. The boat ride was tolerable but long, very long. At times she’d felt as though they would never see these golden shores people spoke of. But the friendship they formed with Thomas and his family made the long days upon the endless ocean bearable. If only Thomas’s wife had survived the winter, she would have been happy with what this place had to offer.
Cutting through two houses, Brigid emerged on the other side to a view of canvas sprawled out in front of her for as far as she could see. The melee of noise emanating from the people residing there made her dread entering the maze of temporary housing. Coming from Thomas’s farm, where it was peaceful and life had a lovely way about it, to this made her head spin a little. Taking a deep breath, she hitched up the skirt of her dress, which was plain but serviceable and had become a tad too short these past months, and headed in the direction she was told her father was sure to be. She didn’t know the area at all and tried to remember the instructions given to her at the mercantile. Like the storeman said, the tents were laid out in rows, making it easier for her to navigate through them.
“Hello, lovely. It’s good to see you again. You’re off to see your pa? Stop by on your way back through.”
Brigid smiled politely at the old man. She’d met him a while ago with her father. Whenever he saw her, he always said hello. She was not sure how or when her father first met him, and she could never remember his name. Since her father said he was a decent man, Brigid was always polite to him. “Aye, I am.”
He smiled his toothless smile at her and nodded his head. He smelled strongly of spirits, even from where she was standing, and Brigid felt sympathy for him. She knew he had nowhere to go and wondered briefly what drove a man who was down on his luck like this to spend his money on drink. Perhaps he thought himself too old for anything else.
“I will bring ye back something tae eat when I fetch supper for Da.”
“You are a sweetheart, yes you are.”
“Alright then, ye stay safe till I get back,” she said. He nodded. She knew her father wouldn’t mind her promising him food. He was good to people like that. Too excited to see her father after their long time apart, she hastily waved goodbye and continued to make her way through the tents.
“Hello there, doll, and where are you off to?”
Brigid flinched when someone grabbed her arm. This was another reason she was rushing. But unfortunately, the close quarters of the tents made bumping into undesirables unavoidable.
“Let go of me arm. I have nae time for this. Me da is expecting me,” she said in her lilting Irish voice. Her accent was not as thick as her father’s, but her scowl was just as mean, and the look that crossed this man’s face as he held onto her arm told her it had done the trick. She reefed her arm from his grasp, and without looking back, she took off through the throng of people again.
Brigid slowed her pace, counting the tents as she neared where her father should be. She stopped when she thought she found the right one. Before she could enter, or say anything, the flaps were thrown open, and a pale, skinny-looking man stepped out from behind them. He didn’t see her in his haste to leave the tent, and Brigid had to shuffle backward to make room for him to emerge.
“Oh, sorry,” the man said, peering over his crooked glasses. “I didn’t expect to find anyone standing there.” He had a piece of cloth hanging from the waist of his pants and wiped his hands on it right before he stuck one out for Brigid to shake. He seemed quirky to her, and shy. She was not shy but warily took his hand as he introduced himself. “The name is Ian. I’m a doctor, and if I am to guess, you must be Brigid?”
Alarm shot through Brigid like someone had let a gun go off right behind her. Why would this doctor know her name? Unless… Rudely pushing past him into the tent, she found her father sitting on the cot bed, with his head hung and hands resting on his knees.
Her excitement suddenly waned, replaced with fear. “Da.”
Patrick Griffin was not a tall man, and actually, Brigid thought she was probably near his height, but he was usually quite stocky. Looking at him sitting there, in the darker shades of the canvas tent, Brigid could tell he had lost some considerable amount of weight.
“Brigid, me little girl,” he said weakly when he eventually brought himself to look at her.
Brigid threw herself to the ground on her knees in front of him, and he took her in a warm embrace. “What’s the matter, Da? Why was there a doctor here tae see ye?”
Brigid’s father let out a long breath. She hoped it was because he was relieved she had made it there to be with him, but she felt it was not for that. She pulled away and met his gaze, neither one letting go of the other, not yet. Brigid favoured her father in many ways. His emerald green eyes were one of the features she took pride in inheriting from him. Today, his eyes didn’t sparkle as he looked down at her. They were dull and lifeless.
“Brigid, I may nae have the best news fer ye.”
Brigid studied her father. It was obvious he was sick. Not only were his eyes lifeless. They were sunken, and his pallor was ashen. His hair, also brown like her own, appeared greasier than normal. Hers was healthy from eating well and careful grooming. She absently pulled her long, brown braid over her shoulder. Her father had not been looking after himself. She knew what odours came from people who didn’t care for themselves. All she had to do was remember their voyage on the ship, but her father had an underlying smell about him, one she could not identify.
“What do ye mean? Ye can nae get sick. Ye never get sick.” The thought of her father becoming ill and what that would mean for them, for her, had her momentarily speechless. “I will come tae ye camp this time and make sure yer eating right, tae look after ye.” Patrick looked away from her, and she cupped his cheek to turn his face back to hers again. “Please, Da,” she said, hearing the desperation in her own voice. He gave her a look, one she knew quite well. It was the same one he gave her when he was trying to find a way to say they would not be eating that night or some such thing. She’d seen it too many times in the past not to know its meaning. It also reflected the same sorrow he used to harbour, coming home to whatever pitiful, little shack they were staying in back in their homeland. That had told her he hadn’t found work that day.
Brigid sighed. She knew he loved her, and she hated that he carried such shame for when he could not provide for them. It was lucky he only ever had one child to worry about, because everything he had, he always gave to her first, and that was never much. She minded less than he thought she did.
“Ye are a good girl, Brigid. Ye look so much like ye beautiful ma.” And that was how he always said he was sorry.
She knew she looked like her mother. Her fine bones, high cheeks and smile didn’t belong to her father, and his reminder of this knowledge did nothing to comfort her in the moment. He’d promised their new life here would be comfortable, so sure he could feel the pull of gold. She was comfortable, actually. Patrick had been lucky with his claim, and with it, he had been able to pay for her room and board with Thomas. Although, since Mary’s passing, Brigid had done more than her fair share of work at his farm, and Thomas knew it. Perhaps it was another reason he never brought it up with her. It had seemed she and her father were off to a good start, besides the missed payments, and they were both safe, but now…
“Tis so sorry I am, lass, but this illness has taken the lives of quite a few diggers. I’m afraid I may be the next.”
Brigid whipped her head up to look at her father. What was he trying to tell her? He was allowed to be sick. She could deal with him being ill. But death? He could not leave her!
She leaned away from him, sitting back on her heels, angry that her father seemed so accepting of his fate. “So this is it then? Ye are dying, just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers for effect. She stood to her feet, veering away from her father’s feeble attempt to reach for her hand.
“It isn’t like that, Brigid. I have been sick for a while, and I have seen this illness take hold of a man. It will nae be long for me.”
Brigid turned back to her father and again knelt in front of him. How could he be saying such things to her? He couldn’t be dying. “Oh Da, I am sorry, but ye can nae die. What will I do without ye?” Tears welled in her eyes. The months had been long since she had seen him last, and at that visit, he did not seem ill. Perhaps he hid it from her, she thought. Patrick turned his head and coughed. If she doubted her father was not being truthful, this confirmed he was. His face turned bright red as he continued to cough and cough. She rubbed his back until he was finished and could breathe somewhat normally again. She didn’t know what to think or say.
“I need tae lay down, Brigid. It gets worse than this.”
Brigid nodded her head and helped her father lay down on the thin blanket lining the cot. “What can I do for ye, Da? I don’t want tae leave ye alone.” Brigid tried hard to swallow the lump in her throat. Her father closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked up to her as she sat down on the side of the cot. This was not the reception she was expecting, nor the news any daughter wanted to hear.
“No, please. Do nae leave me. A lot has happened over these past months, Brigid. I need tae tell ye something soon, and ye will need to listen closely.”
As tormented as she was with the sudden news of her father being ill, she was intrigued by what he had to say to her. It was obvious he needed rest, so she didn’t press him. There was no time for them to talk right then anyway. Thomas was just outside the tent, she knew his voice anywhere. Both father and daughter looked to the front of the tent as the flaps were suddenly pushed open.
Thomas and Patrick normally greeted each other warmly, even the last time, when there was money owed. This time when Thomas saw Brigid’s father lying on the cot, his back stiffened and he didn’t come any closer than the entrance.
“So it’s true then?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips. Thomas was not a disagreeable-looking man. Actually, he was quite handsome. He was also tall, with dark brown hair that Brigid, of late, helped keep neatly trimmed. His eyes matched his hair and were always kind, and his body was lean from working long, hard hours on the farm. He was so tall that he had to bend his head quite a lot to be inside the tent.
“Aye, it tis.”
Brigid looked back and forth from her father to Thomas, and her ears began to ring as her father, her best friend said, “I am dying.”