Page 144 of The Pearl Sister
The man untied the sling from around him and laid its contents on the table. There, amongst the stinking cloths, was a tiny newborn baby boy, his lungs singing to the heavens for nourishment.
‘What have we here?’
‘His mother died some hours outside Alice Springs. The cameleers told me she was on her way to Hermannsburg. I offered to bring the baby here faster. I commandeered a salt cellar in my lodging house last night and it has taken some milk from that.’
‘How very inventive of you, sir.’
‘Perhaps the salt traces left inside helped too, because he seems stronger today.’
‘He is very small.’ Pastor Albrecht examined the baby, testing his limbs and his grip. ‘And weak from malnourishment.’
‘He has survived at least.’
‘And I commend you and bless you, sir. There are not many drovers about these parts who would do the same. I presume the mother was Aboriginal?’
‘I could not say, as she had died and been buried before I arrived. Although by chance, I might know who her family is.’
The pastor looked at the man suspiciously. ‘Are you this baby’s father, sir?’
‘No, not at all, but with the baby was something I recognised.’ He pulled the tin out of his pocket. ‘I will be travelling to Broome to confirm my suspicions.’
‘I see.’ Pastor Albrecht picked up the tin and cradled it in his hands. ‘Then you must let me know of your findings, but for now, if he lives, the child will have a home here at Hermannsburg.’
‘Please retain that tin for safekeeping until I return. And for your own sake, do not look inside.’
‘What do you take me for, sir?’ The pastor frowned. ‘I am a man of God. And trustworthy.’
‘Of course.’
The pastor watched the man dig in his pocket and produce some notes. ‘Here is a donation towards your mission and the feeding of the child.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll return as soon as I can.’
‘One last question, sir: did the mother name him?’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall call him “Francis”, for Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals. From what you have told me, it was a camel who helped save his life.’ The pastor gave him a wry smile.
‘An apt name.’
‘And your name, sir?’ Pastor Albrecht asked.
‘They know me as Mr D around these parts. Goodbye, Pastor.’
The door slammed shut behind him. Pastor Albrecht went to the window and opened the shutters to watch the drover mount his horse and leave. Even though the man was obviously in full health and strength, there was something oddly vulnerable about him.
‘Another lost soul,’ he murmured as he regarded the baby on the table in front of him. The baby stared back, blinking his large blue eyes slowly. ‘You have survived a long journey, little one,’ he said as he picked up his ink pen, opened a ledger and scrawled the nameFrancis,and the date of his arrival on a fresh page. As an afterthought, he added,Mr D – drover, Alice Springs.
* * *
A month later, the drover tethered the horse on a patch of land half a mile or so from the house, and walked the rest of the way. It was a dark night, the stars hidden by swathes of clouds, and he was glad of it. Arriving at the front gate, he took off his boots and tucked them into the hedge. The house was in complete darkness, and only an occasional rustle came from the stables. He sighed, thinking that the best and worst times of his life had been spent under this roof – once tin, but now immaculately tiled. Seeing Fred asleep in his usual spot outside the stables, he walked across to the hut. Praying that she hadn’t locked it, he tried the handle and it opened easily. Closing the door behind him, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was there, one hand flung back behind her head. He walked closer to her, knowing that to startle her would alert the occupants of the neighbouring house.
He knelt down at the side of the bed and lit the candle on the nightstand so that she would recognise him immediately.
He shook her gently and she stirred.
