Juliet: The Hatmaker's Loves...

By Shirley Whiteway

PUBLISHED by CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

Born prematurely in the untamed Victorian bush,
a tiny infant hovers between life and death, too weak to suckle from her mother.

Her grandmother invents a way to feed her. With patience and a determination, Juliet survives.

Raped and pregnant at fifteen, and knowing nothing of the facts of life, she is trapped in a world of ignorance. She loses her direction, and sinks into depression when her daughter is taken away.

Married off to a widower in a loveless and undesirable match, after three children she avoids her husband’s bed by making hats.

Only in middle-age does she finds her true self in a way she could never have dreamed.

The hatmaker's loves ... a tale of tough men,
tougher women, isolation and cruelty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Feb 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301096237

Shirley Whiteway

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Shirley Whiteway has always loved words, but it was not until several years ago that she began writing seriously after a writing course at her local Community Centre. She has always been interested in why people behave the way they do. Perhaps it was because she was the second youngest of seven children and learned to live with her siblings’ different personalities as she grew up. The Author is President of the Society of Women Writers in Victoria, Australia and through this medium she has improved her writing as she learned from others. Although Shirley has been writing for some eight years, this is her debut novella. She feels there is a story in every one of us waiting to be shared – one just needs a tap on the shoulder to awaken an ability to put pen to paper.

Book preview

Born prematurely in the untamed Victorian bush,

a tiny infant hovers between life and death, too weak to suckle from her mother.

Her grandmother invents a way to feed her. With patience and a determination, Juliet survives.

Raped and pregnant at fifteen, and knowing nothing of the facts of life, she is trapped in a world of ignorance. She loses her direction, and sinks into depression when her daughter is taken away.

Married off to a widower in a loveless and undesirable match, after three children she avoids her husband’s bed by making hats.

Only in middle-age does she finds her true self in a way she could never have dreamed.

The hatmaker's loves … a tale of tough men,

tougher women, isolation and cruelty.

*****

CHARACTERS

Will McThomas – Publican at Half Mile Creek

m. Sophie

Hugh McThomas – Will and Sophie’s son

m. Anne

Edward McThomas – Hugh & Anne’s first child

Winifred McThomas – Hugh & Anne’s first daughter

Janie McThomas – Hugh and Anne’s daughter

Henry McThomas – Hugh and Anne’s second son

*Juliet McThomas –Hugh & Anne's premature infant

unmarried

Marigold – Illegitimate daughter

m Phillip Bennett

James – only son

m1. John Allen – Blacksmith

Louise Allen – Firstborn of Juliet

m. Charles Emery

m1. Hannah

William – First child

Abby – First daughter

Emily – Second daughter

Edmund Allen – First son of Juliet

m. Bertha

Patrick Allen – Second son of Juliet

m. Gladys

Molly Greenwood – wetnurse and music teacher

Jack Greenwood – Molly’s husband

*Albert Greenwood – son of Molly

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shirley Whiteway has always loved words, but it was not until several years ago that she began writing seriously after a writing course at her local Community Centre. She has always been interested in why people behave the way they do. Perhaps it was because she was the second youngest of seven children and learned to live with her siblings’ different personalities as she grew up.

The Author is President of the Society of Women Writers in Victoria, Australia and through this medium she has improved her writing as she learned from others. Although Shirley has been writing for some eight years, this is her debut novella. She feels there is a story in every one of us waiting to be shared – one just needs a tap on the shoulder to awaken an ability to put pen to paper.

Copyright © 2013 Shirley Whiteway

The right of Shirley Whiteway to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.

Published by

CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

SMASHWORDS EDITION

All the characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental



The Hatmaker's Loves‍…

by

Shirley Whiteway

HALF MILE CREEK

1885 - 1886

Population 100

CHAPTER ONE

It was the fifth year of drought when Will McThomas’ horse reared in a field of spinifex on an intensely hot day a mile from Half Mile Creek. Dismounting and removing his hat, his hair bristled as he knelt by two skeletons. Could they be his old friends, the Morrisons? For them he grieved and the others who had disappeared and died of thirst. But what he dreaded most was how he would be ruined if the autumn rains failed to arrive.

The sun burned through his shirt and globules of sweat spilled over his face and down his back, and made him acutely aware of his own mortality. What was the point of it all? He wondered how long it would be before he would be bones?

Will rode to the outskirts of his pub and sat on his horse. He surveyed dead trees that cast their shadows on hay which was once green grass. A hot breeze brushed his cheek. He worried. What if it caught alight?

He cantered to his pub, trying to shut out the dryness around him. With his eyes downcast, he felt safe as he poured himself a whiskey and confided in his barmaid.

‘Saw two skeletons today, Edna.’

‘Shivers, Will.. who’ll be next?’ Edna continued to serve drinks and wash glasses.

Dog-tired from the incessant heat, there were men of all shapes drinking at small tables as they shared Will’s last beer keg. The wooden chairs had seen better days, their varnish worn away to the bare wood by sweaty bodies that chafed on the seats and backs. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the room, and dirty windows for want of a woman’s touch painted a pall of gloom.

Will continued to soak.

Hours passed till the keg was empty and the merry drinkers prepared to leave. Suddenly they were disturbed when the front door burst open and Sophie appeared with a mask of terror on her face.

She shouted, 'There’s a bushfire. Everyone’s house has gone round here.’

An endless procession of men, women and children with blistered feet and charred clothes streamed into the bar. The able carried the injured, while others supported the lame by using their shoulders as a crutch. A man on fire who crawled past Will, cried in pain, so Will doused his flames with jugs of water as his flesh melted on his arm.

‘Good God,' Will spluttered. 'Quick, Edna, bring water all round. Take everyone to the dining room. Lay sheets on the floor. Sophie.. could you rip some linen for bandages?'

Sophie appeared with old thin sheets torn into strips, while some of the victims begged for water or damp towels to relieve their burns.

Sophie and Edna worked through the afternoon and into the night bandaging injuries, while some of the victims lay down and died.

‘We’ll set up a mortuary in Room One,' Will commanded.

After a while when the moaning ceased, Sophie counted forty two survivors sleeping under her roof.

She turned to Edna, bewildered.

‘What can we feed them?’

Edna took an inventory of the larder and she pondered a minute.

‘I could make rice pudding. There’s plenty of rice, powdered milk, flour and eggs. I could also bake scones.’

‘You beaut, Edna. Hope the water lasts!’

Sophie heaved a sigh and wondered where her energy came from.

Lately she had felt defeated.

*****

For decades, Will McThomas, and his wife, Sophie, had made mountains of meals and poured drinks for town folk or those passing through, but Sophie crumpled under the strain because Will expected her to work long hours without a break.

Sophie despised him and to cope, she escaped to a world of fantasy, and relied on her dreams to predict the future.

That night while she slept with Will, she dreamt about black clouds blocking the sun. Then at dawn they were disturbed by a foreign wind that brought lightning flashes and thunder that shook the pub.

With their mouths agog, Will and Sophie listened as the comforting splatter of rain washed over the warped, shingle roof of their old hotel.

After many hours when the rain stopped, they saw wattlebirds through their window splashing and squawking in murky puddles, while a group of locals danced barefoot in the black mud. As it squelched between their toes, the air rippled with their laughter.

Will was relieved the downpour would replenish mother earth’s wells and springs. What he did not know was how the prolonged shortage of rain had affected Sophie’s mind and body. She faced a burden more heart-wrenching than all those years of drought.

Dark rings dulled her eyes. Her body ached all over, especially a throbbing headache and a rasping sore throat which diminished her voice to a whisper.

Within an hour, she struggled from bed and stumbled into the dining room in her dressing gown. Makeshift beds stacked against the wall made space for new arrivals.

She smelled toast, tea, sausages and scrambled eggs, and saw the guests serving themselves from a buffet-style table. Some of those with burnt limbs were spoon fed by their families. After they had eaten, the able-bodied tidied up and washed, stacked and dried the dishes for the next meal.

‘What’s wrong, Sophie?’ Will asked as he stared at her in disbelief.

He supported her arm and helped her to a chair.

‘I feel dreadful, Will, I couldn’t sleep,' Sophie’s voice sounded raspy like gravel.

‘After I dreamt about the storm and the rains came, I slept again. Then I dreamt about Hugh and Anne. They were calling us, but we couldn’t hear what they said.'

‘Those dreams will be the death of you, Sophie,' Will reprimanded, 'How can you believe in something you can’t see. Not this bogus occult stuff we don’t understand. How can you be so naïve and easily deluded?’

This was the final straw for Sophie. He belittled her dreams and made her feel worthless. Now more than ever, she longed to see her son, Hugh and her grandchildren in the bush.

The baby, Henry, must be one now, and Anne would not have time to blow her nose with four.

She continued her musings. Wish I lived nearby. If only I’d been a better mother to Hugh. Now I worry when he travels round the countryside odd jobbing to feed and clothe them. Hope Anne's not on her own too much. But why don't they write? What if they're dead?

Will’s voice echoed in Sophie’s head. 'You old hag. Get out of here,' she remembered him shouting at her only last week as he had hounded her from the hotel with a full house watching.

‘How dare he treat me like that!’ she had whined, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'He’s such a brute when he drinks.’

Her resentment erupted like the pain of a rotten tooth. 'I'm leaving you, Will. The family comes before this hell hole. You think I'm a machine, don't you? Can’t you see your old work horse has broken down?’ Perspiration trickled down her face and as she felt her heart thump erratically inside her chest, she imagined herself lying in her coffin.