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Snow surrounds us. I daren’t leave the relative warmth and comfort of the fire for fear I will freeze to death but Ben still goes outside every day; there is work to be done still, even in the middle of winter.
The lady of the homestead, Elizabeth, Jack’s wife, invited us to stay there, with them and their boys, but Ben refused. He prefers his own company, and me of course. Along with the supplies Ben ordered, she sent over a pile of books. It is such a long time since I have had books! I shall enjoy reading them over these long, cold days and pretend I am back home in England, in front of the fire in Father’s library.
“She doesn’t sound so happy in this one,” Jason mused. “Maybe the isolation was getting to her?”
“And the cold. And the loneliness.” Catherine shook her head sadly. “How sad. She can’t have been expecting life in New Zealand would be this hard.” Carly had mentioned that, when she’d found the watch. About what a hard life it would be for a woman, up here in the mountains. Catherine didn’t know much about life in New Zealand back in the pioneer days, but she knew enough to know that the Catherine in the diary would likely have gone months at a time without seeing another person other than Ben. Going to town would have been a rare event. And contact with her family would have been almost impossible.
“I wonder if she had any idea of what she was getting into, when she left England?”
“I wonder if any of them did,” Jason added. “I think a lot of them felt misled, from what I’ve read.”
Another bunch of pages were stuck together. The next entry was eighteen months later.
12 December 1888
Benjamin has proven to be a man of his word and is a good husband to me. He is an excellent storyteller and there is never a dull moment as he regales me with the tales that fill his head.
“Just before Christmas. The weather will have warmed up by then. I wonder if that’s why she seemed happier in this one?”
Catherine ran her finger along the lower edge of the page, taking care not to rip the brittle paper. Knowing how old all this was, and how long it had been buried, made it all the more precious. She wanted to touch it all, to commit the feel of it to memory. She wanted to remember every inch of it because she knew she wouldn’t be bringing it with her. She’d never see it again. Nor did she want to photograph it; it felt too sacred for that.
Jason didn’t reply. He was staring far off into the distance, seemingly lost deep in thought.
Catherine turned more pages, trying to free the stuck ones, but the next entry she could read was almost a year later.
1 November 1889
The winter has been harsh, but the mountains are beautiful at this time of the year. The stream runs crisp and clear and the air smells sweet. We have returned to our small hut up in the high country after spending the winter in the new shearer’s quarters down on the flats, by the woolshed Ben helped build.
Our baby will be born at the end of summer. It is our little secret. How exciting it is to keep such a secret! Already, I can feel our son or daughter moving inside of me.
I have written Emma to tell her my secret, but I have no way of knowing if my letters are getting through. I have not heard from her in more than a year.
I can’t wait to meet our child.
No, they didn’t get through,Catherine thought.Nobody ever heard from you again. There are no records of your existence at all.That knowledge made her sad. Her distant ancestor had lived in that very hut, probably sat under this very tree, on this exact same ground, that she was on now. And nobody knew.
“So what happened to your baby?” Catherine whispered. “Did you lose it, like I did?Too bloody useless to stay pregnant!my ex used to yell at me, when I was lying curled up in a puddle of blood on the bathroom floor. No comfort. No care. Just insults.”
Immediately, Jason’s arms were around her, pulling her in close to him. His lips were on her forehead, kissing her tenderly, possessively, softly.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, baby girl.”
“I’m not sure that I will ever want to try again. Is that a deal-breaker for you? You may as well tell me now, while we’re reading about the last moments in someone’s life. At least, I think that is what this is. It has to be, right?” She was rambling, she knew. She also didn’t care.
Jason rested his hand on hers, his larger hand wrapping around her smaller one and slipping underneath, interlocking her fingers. He kissed her temple. Brushed loose hair back off her face.
“I don’t think anything is a deal-breaker for me, baby girl. I love you, Catherine. We can work everything else out together, alright?”
“So you don’t want babies?”
He shrugged. “Never really thought about it. I always thought you did, though. I’d be open to them, but I wouldn’t be sad if it didn’t happen.”
Catherine nodded. “I did. I always wanted them. But I can’t take any more miscarriages. He blamed me for them. But they weren’t my fault.” Her shoulders shook as she choked on her tears. Thinking about what might have been, and what had been, always upset her. Remembering Steve’s words hurled at her so viciously always made her cry. As if the miscarriages hadn’t been heartbreaking enough, he had to make her hurt even more.
“We don’t know that she had a miscarriage,” Jason pointed out. “Let’s keep reading. See what else your old Aunt Catherine has to say.”
Aunt Catherine.She liked the way that sounded. Not that she was an aunt—not really—how many generations separated them? But it sounded good. She gave him a watery smile before turning over more brittle pages in the ancient diary.
