Dream Time (historical): Book I by Parris Afton Bonds Read Free Book Online Page B

Amaris. It means ‘whom God hath promised.”
    “Amaris?” She rolled the name on her tongue. “I like it, Willy. I like it.” Her short finger tickled the sleeping baby’s dimpled chin. “Well, daughter, Amaris you are. Amaris Wilmot.”
     
     
    Within that first unea sy week of marriage Nan had discovered that her amiable and good-hearted husband had a serious flaw in his character Tom was not ambitious.
    Hers and Tom’s military quarters were little better than the hut to which she had been assigned, only the single room with an attached kitchen shed. A lieutenant fared better, earning the privilege of two rooms. Nan smiled to herself. With her subtle guidance, Tom would earn a lieutenant’s ranking.
    Fort Phillip had been constructed of limestone quarried from nearby and built solely for defense against the savage aborigines. Cannons thrust outward from stone ramparts. Thatched barracks encircling a parade ground housed bachelor soldiers. Little thought had been spared for the few wives who had to live in a land on the other side of the world.
    As she regained her strength, Nan began to realize just how bereft of intellectual stimulus Sydney Cove was. She longed to attend social outings like boating parties up and down the various inlets of the harbor or the gatherings for conversation, reading, and music at the colonel’s house.
    The elite of the officers and their wives clung to the refinements of Europe. Because Nan was an ex-convict, an Emancipist, she was held in disdain, as were the majority of the colony’s population, still in chains and living in squalid conditions.
    She and Tom were not on invitation lists issued by the Exclusionists, those handful of free settlers and army officers who saw themselves as Sydney’s aristocracy.
    This superior attitude galled Nan. Most of the officers’ wives could barely decipher to the rule of three!
    “Tis not that important,” Tom said as he poured a mug of ale brewed by a soldier’s wife. “I couldn’t care less about the opinion of Major Hannaby’s wife—whether she approves or disapproves of what you were.”
    To better apply her rouge of rose-petal paste, Nan leaned closer to the mottled glass. Tom had purchased it from the shipment of goods off the brig that had put into port last week. At last, she and Tom were going somewhere—to the reception for the penal colony’s new governor.
    “You may not care, but I burn each time I am snubbed.”
    “They can’t hold a candle to you, Nan. Your intelligence is far superior to that of the civil servants and common soldiers, not even mentioning the convicts and Emancipists.”
    She knew he didn’t realize that her education most likely exceeded even that of the officers and their families. They were in control and clinging desperately to a modicum of civilized British living on the edge of an empty continent.
    She turned and flashed him a dry smile. “You forget I am an Emancipist, a convict who has served my time— thanks to your taking me in marriage.” Her tone softened. “Tom, you know I also appreciate your letting Pulykara leave of her own free will.”
    He wouldn’t be sidetracked. “So why must you force others to acknowledge your worthiness? Isn’t it enough that you know?”
    Her fingertip dipped once more into the cosmetic pot. She was careful always to look her best. She took special pains with clothing and hair, so she would never be associated with the slatternly looking wretch who had arrived in Sydney Cove.
    “Because we’re stymied by that foul social order. Tom, this is a new world. I may have come here without beauty or birth, but I can create my own aristocracy here.”
    The one quality Nan prided herself on—her intellect—was of no use in the colony.
    But her strong spirit would not be suppressed. Never again would she be a pariah. Somehow she had to achieve legitimacy and a sense of place there in Sydney, because she knew she could never return to England.
    That need for