Chapter 29: To the Ends of the Earth
November 1856, Melbourne, Australia
“William!”
The call came from a distance behind him, but he was barely paying attention, too focused on glaring through the window of the crowded pub at the haughty top-hat of the boatman he’d just been talking to.
This was the third merchant captain to turn him down that day, and he was starting to lose hope that he’d ever find out what had happened to Anna.
He’d gotten a lead that a ship had been blown off course and wrecked on the Furneaux Islands south of here in the tumultuous waters of Bass Straight. He couldn’t get the name of the vessel, but the description of it matched the description of the Guiding Star.
A helpful bushy-bearded pelt trader had told him that the largest of those islands, Flinders, was sparsely inhabited by Straightsmen: a bunch of old islanders consisting of seal-hunters, sheepherders, and whalers, many of whom were ex-convicts or pirates with Aborigine wives whom they had abducted or otherwise traded for from Van Diemen’s Land and the southern settlements. They sounded honestly quite frightening, but most of them spoke the queen’s English, welcomed traders, and were his best bet at discovering if there had been any survivors.
Now if he could only find someone willing to take him.
“Will!” The voice sounded louder this time and was accompanied by an unexpected clap on the shoulder. “There you are! I thought I’d never find you. Aunt Flower would’ve killed me.”
William spun around and stared in amazement spectacles slightly askew with shock.
“Ol—Oliver!? … Dear cousin!! What in the world are you doing here?!”
The two tall, somewhat-travel-thinned men shook hands vigorously and squelched their way out of the hot, muddy, bustling thoroughfare (little more than a dirt road, much past capacity of horse and buggies on account of the gold rush) to sit under the welcome shade of a nearby wattle tree, both shooing flies away from their grinning faces as Oliver started to explain.
“After you disappeared last December, Aunt Flower was beside herself with worry. So was Aunt Di, of course. They have enough on their plate, what with your troublesome niece and nephew to keep an eye on. Part of me wanted to stay and help take care of Maria and Sam…couple of mischief makers.” He smiled. “They always used to light up the room so, especially whenever they were around their father…but I’m not Owen, and, anyway, they’re growing up.”
Oliver looked fleetingly forlorn, then continued. “So, I decided to investigate your whereabouts myself. Family is always trying to run away, it seems, but ’turns out Kincade’s are good at sniffing out our kin.”
William smiled with hearty amusement at his younger cousin. “I’m thirty-eight years old, not exactly a child anymore. Was Mother really so worried?”
″’Course she was, old man,” Oliver teased. “She’s your mother, she’s bound to worry. Your father’s worried too, though he’d never admit it behind that dutiful Navy exterior. You were meant to be the sensible dentist of the family, then you go off across the globe suddenly, chasing after lost love. A romance novel waiting to happen, you are. And your last letter sounded suspiciously like a permanent goodbye,” he noted chidingly, putting on his most respectable expression while enthusiastically swatting a fly off Will’s back.
“Besides,” he added quickly after perceiving William’s guilty posture, “traveling is good for writers. I’ve taken down lots of ideas and even snapped a few photographs on the journey. When I was scouring New York and even England for traces of where you took off to, my publisher, Mr. Dutton, got me in touch with another publisher from London, Mr. John Murray, and he put me up to photographing the portrait of a brilliant naturalist, Mr. Charles Darwin, who has the most amazing theories regarding the origin of species. Anyway, Mr. Darwin asked me to snap some shots of the local wildlife while I’m here for use as reference in his new book, with particular attention to a creature called a platypus, which apparently looks like a cross between a duck and a miniature beaver. He wrote about it years ago but some people have accused him of making it up, so a photograph might go a long way. I’m to return next year on the clipper ship Lammermuir next time she comes for wool. Clipper ships go twice as fast as the East-Indiaman’s or passenger ships. We had a crew of only eighteen men on the voyage over, including myself, and we made it in two months with a full hold of tea and spices. But I don’t think I’ve ever jabbered on so much in my life.”
At this he paused to laugh at himself, relieved to have completed the most important part of his expedition—finding Will.
July 1857, somewhere in Colorado Territory
James raised his hands slowly. He knew that look in the robber’s eye all too well, having sported it as a young man himself.
Pure desperation.
If James had been alone, he’d have drawn his revolver without hesitation, but Samuel and Maria were sleeping in the back of the wagon, and he couldn’t risk putting them in danger. From glances in his periphery, he ascertained that the wagon was surrounded by at least four men. The one directly in front of him was pointing the business end of a rifle between his eyes. From the shaky way he was holding it, though, James guessed he hadn’t done this before.
“Think about what you’re doin’, kid,” James said coolly.
The commanding tone in his voice caused the young robber to lower his gun ever so slightly, and things were looking hopeful until a shot sounded from behind.
Luckily, it spooked the horses and they reared, knocking over the rifleman in their frenzy to get away. Unluckily, this made the wagon overturn…
July 1857, New York
Hope paced back and forth in Diana’s study. She and her mother had both come for an extended visit while her father was on another lengthy assignment with the Navy, her mother insisting that a time seam stressing in the big city would do them both good, as there was, in her words, “no shortage of holes to patch.”
Hope continued pacing, fretting over Samuel and Maria. She had hesitantly agreed to let her children accompany James's back to his homestead in Colorado, after being convinced that they would be safer there away from the political turmoil, especially in light of their new views. New York was not the place for them. And her presence in their lives seemed to do them more harm than good.
James will look after them, she thought to herself, trying to calm down. It wasn’t working.
“It should have been me,” she whispered quietly, hot tears streaking down her face as she wondered what Owen would have done differently.
She wiped her eyes suddenly when a knock sounded at the door. It was early morning and the older ladies of the house were still having breakfast, so she answered it after hastily straightening herself out and pulling in a deep breath to steady herself. She thanked the mailman absently for the letter he handed her. Part of the return address was smudged, but she made out an O-l-i-v…
“Aunt Diana! Ma! It’s a letter from Oliver!” she called out.
There was a clink as coffee cups were hastily set on plates in the kitchen. Hope entered with the letter; her own problems almost forgotten.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Read it!” Diana exclaimed exultantly.
Hope obediently opened the letter and started reading it aloud. It appeared hastily scrawled, but still legible.
“It’s dated the 23rd of May 1857,” she began.
“Dear Aunt Di and Aunt Flower,
I’m writing to both of you in one letter because this is my last piece of paper for the time being, and the schooner whose first-mate generously offered to bring this aboard is leaving within the hour so I haven’t time to purchase more writing materials.
It seems like years of happenings have been condensed into the last several months. I found William, and together we procured passage to a cut-throat island in the Furneaux group, where we were led to expect a pack of savage pirates to confront us, but where, in actuality, we found a good-natured English sailor by the name of Nat Thomas and his kindly Aboriginal wife Betty, along with their six children, who had been caring for eleven survivors of the shipwreck, including one Anna Marie Walsh, with whose name you are undoubtedly acquainted, dear aunts. You should have seen the way she leapt into William’s arms as though he was the most welcome sight of her life, which he may well have been to date.
We stayed on for a week before traveling back to Melbourne, as many of the island’s inhabitants were in desperate need of William’s aid in an orthodontal capacity, and Anna had made friends there with some of the local women: Aborigine and mixed-race ladies dubbed “Tyerelore” or “Island Wives,” many of whom had to endure a much less desirable arrangement with the Englishmen of the island than had dear Betty with her Nat. In any case, Anna and her friends from the wreckage now know how to skin a seal and trap a mutton bird with the best of them.
Will and Anna are happily engaged and promise to be sworn off adventuring upon their return to America. I’m also most excited to report that I myself am engaged. My fiancée is another survivor of Anna’s shipwreck, a returning Irish-Australian, with family in Tasmania and Port Phillip, though she’s agreed to travel at my side until we’re ready to settle down. Her name is Azalea Fawkner, a red-haired angel with green eyes and a fiery disposition, who swept me off my feet quite literally when we first met (a story best told face to face). You’ll both love her when you meet her, with any luck this coming Christmas.
I wish I could tell you more but as you can see, I’m running out of paper. I do hope things aren’t quite as bad over there as we’ve all been fearing Make sure to take care of each other and yourselves in these troubling times.
Much love from the end of the Earth.
Your loyal nephew always,
Oliver.”
Written By: EstherFlowers1