Daughter of Australia by Harmony Verna Read Free Book Online

small white cotton dress, pretty and crisp, its tag still on the sleeve. She tasted something sour in her mouth.
    A familiar sound tinkered down the hall. She followed it to the kitchen where Mirabelle labored over the sink scrubbing a pot. She watched the woman quietly, half-peeking from behind the doorjamb. Mirabelle washed the pot hard, over and over again even though no grime spotted the metal sides. Her elbows moved roughly and hair strayed from her bun with the effort. Then she stopped and, with a sudden burst, flung the soapy scrubber at the window. Mirabelle lowered her head between shoulders that didn’t look so strong anymore.
    The stomach acid stung and she leaned closer to the wall. Mirabelle turned and jumped when she saw her standing in the room. The woman’s eyes were tired and red.
    Mirabelle straightened and rubbed her hands on the wet apron double rolled around her waist. She sawed thick slices from a loaf of bread, then grabbed a bowl of peaches and did not look at her face. “Make sure yeh eat it,” Mirabelle said softly.
    The bread crumbled dry in her mouth. She didn’t want to eat but finished every crumb, the food fueling the fire instead of extinguishing it. Mirabelle came over and gently placed her hand on her shoulder, her voice too soft. “Come, let’s get yeh ready, eh?”
    As she held Mirabelle’s hand, her body numbed and chilled—the pull of the hand, the vacant look, the silence. Mirabelle led her to the sitting room, undressed her and slipped the new dress over her tiny shoulders. From the closet she pulled out shiny black shoes with silver buckles at the straps. Mirabelle dressed her absently, her lips pursed, her eyes avoiding her own. “Won’t be so bad. Yeh’ll see.” The woman’s voice cracked. “It’s for the best.” A rush of blood pumped to her temples with the words.
    Mirabelle’s fingers were unsteady, clumsy as she slid the stiff shoes over her stockings, then rubbed out the fabric creases on her arms. She looked her in the eye and spoke with finality. “Come. Let’s show Elsa how pretty yeh look.”
    The new shoes sounded hollow as they entered the bedroom. Elsa sat up in bed, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed into a handkerchief. When she saw the girl, she wiped her nose quickly and tucked the cloth under the pillow. A smile spread across Elsa’s lips and she spoke in chopped English, “Oh, so pretty! So, so pretty!”
    Elsa motioned for her to come closer, arms outstretched.
    The front door slammed.
    Floorboards and steps creaked. The voices of men hummed below.
    Elsa pulled her close in a frantic embrace, fresh tears in her hair.
    A rush of sound filled the room.
    Panic surrounded, crushed against her flesh and throbbed in every corner of her body. Elsa squeezed her violently and her chest hurt for air. A wave of heat flashed through her insides and her mind snapped closed like a clam, every part of her retreating, curling tighter and tighter together. Muffled sounds bounced against the blinded shell—crying, yelling, begging.
    Her arms pulled from two different directions; her feet lifted off the ground in a sudden sweep. She pinched her eyes.
    She was carried quickly through the house, down the stairs and out the door, which slammed away Elsa’s screams in one hard whack. Strong arms held her tight; a man panted in her ear while her face pressed hard into the scratchy fabric of a uniform. Every thought closed amid the earsplitting throb between her ears. Senses livened—the smell of horses, the sound of boots against the dirt, the taste of blood as she bit her lip—everything else deadened.
    The man dropped her on a smooth leather seat and she blindly scrunched into the corner. Wheels propelled and jostled her head between seat and carriage door. Every inch burned and throbbed. From under her eyelids, distantly, she caught a glimpse of the new shoes strapped to her