Broome, June 1924
Broome’s red cliffs dissolved into heat haze as the SS Karoola churned south through impossibly blue water. Clara gripped the ship’s rail, salt spray misting her face and dampening the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun. The wind carried the bite of open ocean. Clean, sharp, nothing like the dust-thick air of Goddard Downs.
Four figures on the wharf had shrunk to specks. Gone now, swallowed by distance.
John. Isobel. Eleanor. Matthew.
Her chest ached.
Twenty years of mothering, and she’d rarely been separated from her children for more than a few weeks during cattle drives. Three months, perhaps four. That’s what Harry estimated. Long enough to reach Gippsland, assess his father’s condition, help his mother make whatever decisions needed making.
Long enough for everything to change.
The thought arrived unbidden, unwelcome. She pushed it aside as the coastline slid past. Mangroves gave way to white sandy beaches, then rocky outcrops where waves shattered themselves against ancient stone.
Annie appeared at her elbow, face pale. “I don’t feel well.”
Clara pressed a hand to her daughter’s forehead. Clammy. “Come. Let’s get you to the cabin.”
She guided Annie across the deck, past coils of rope and canvas-covered cargo. The ship’s motion was gentle now, but it would worsen once they left the shelter of the coast.
In the girls’ small cabin tucked belowdecks, the engine’s rumble shook the walls. Two narrow bunks, a basin, barely room to turn around. Clara settled Annie on the upper bunk and dampened a cloth with water from the ewer.
“Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing.”
“Will it get worse?”
“Probably.”
Annie’s face crumpled, but she didn’t cry. Nine years old and already learning that honesty sometimes hurt more than comforted.
Clara stroked her hair. “We’ll manage. We always do.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Harry’s tread, heavier than the children’s. He ducked through the doorway, filling the cramped space.
“The twins want to explore the ship. I told them they could, as long as they stay together.”
“And David?”
“Asking the crew about steam engines. I thought I’d better rescue them before he talked their ears off.”
Clara smiled despite herself. “He’s your son.”
“That he is.”
Harry crouched beside the bunk, his hand gentle on Annie’s shoulder. “Feeling crook?”
She nodded, eyes squeezed shut.
“It’ll pass soon enough.” He straightened, his gaze finding Clara’s.
She read the question there, the same ones circling her own mind. What would they find in Gippsland? How bad was Jamie’s condition? Would they arrive in time?
Clara stood, stepping into the narrow corridor where they could speak without Annie overhearing. So much louder here, the engine’s throb pulsed through the floorboards. “How are you?”
“I’m all right.”
The tension in his jaw gave him away despite the steady voice. “Harry.”
He exhaled. “I should’ve gone back sooner. Visited more often. It’s been five years since I last saw them.”
“You couldn’t have known your father would suffer a stroke.”
“That’s what makes it worse.” His jaw tightened. “I built a life so far from theirs that I didn’t even know my own father was ill until the telegram came.”
Clara placed her palm against his chest. His heart beat steady beneath cotton and muscle. “You followed where God led. Goddard Downs is your calling, same as the farm was your father’s.”
“Then why does it feel like I abandoned them?”
“Because you love them.” She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, tasting salt.
He pulled her close, his chin resting atop her head. She let herself lean into his strength. Let the fear that had been building since the telegram arrived find expression in the tightness of her arms around his waist.
They’d left half their children behind. They were sailing towards an uncertain reunion with a man who might not survive until they reached him. And somewhere deep beneath the layers of duty and determination, something else stirred. Her own unfinished grief.
Her parents. Alive or dead, she didn’t know. Somewhere in Sydney, twenty-two years lost to silence and pride.
She’d mention it to Harry soon. She shivered as the thought of seeking them out terrified and compelled her in equal measure.
“Come.” Harry released her and stepped back. “Let’s get some air.”
They emerged onto the deck, squinting against sunlight that bounced off the water in blinding sheets. Ruby stood near the bow, her hair whipping in the wind, face turned towards the horizon. James was questioning a deckhand about knots, his fingers working through the rope as the man demonstrated.
David had found a new victim, a grey-haired sailor with a pipe clenched between his teeth. The man pointed at the smokestack whilst David nodded with the gravity of a judge hearing evidence.
Clara’s shoulders eased. Her children were adaptable. They’d weather this journey, same as they’d weathered drought and floods and the isolation of Goddard Downs.
Harry moved to the rail, his focus on the coastline.
“How long until we reach your father?”
“Two weeks if we’re fortunate. Perhaps three if the Bight is rough.”
Two weeks. And no way of knowing whether Jamie would still be alive when they arrived.
Please, God. Let us not be too late.
Ruby joined them, cheeks pink from wind or excitement or both. “This is wonderful, isn’t it? Being on the water again, going somewhere new?”
“It’s a long journey.” Clara kept her voice neutral. “And we’re not going for pleasure.”
“I know.” Ruby’s expression sobered. “But still. Doesn’t it make you want to see more? Travel beyond the Kimberley?”
There it was again, that hunger. Clara recognised it from her own youth, the restlessness that had driven her to elope with Harry, leave Sydney, and follow him into country that had nearly killed them both.
“The Kimberley is home.”
“I know that, too.” Ruby’s gaze drifted back to the horizon. “But maybe home doesn’t have to be just one place.”
Harry’s hand found Clara’s, squeezing once before letting go. A silent message: Later. We’ll talk about this later.
The ship pushed south. Gulls trailed in their wake, crying for scraps from the galley. The sun climbed higher, turning the deck into a furnace. Most passengers retreated to whatever shade they could find.
Clara returned to the cabin, where Annie had fallen into fitful sleep. She dampened the cloth again and laid it across her daughter’s forehead. Then she sat on the lower bunk, her back against the wall, and let exhaustion pull at her bones.
Three months away from Goddard Downs. Three months trusting the older children to manage without her and Harry. Weeks on the water, followed by however long it took to help Harry’s parents.
And somewhere in those weeks, if courage held, a reckoning with the parents she’d left behind.
The sun hung low over the water by the time Clara emerged from the cabin again. Annie slept soundly now, her breathing steady. The deck had emptied, but Clara found Harry and the other children gathered near the bow.
David sat cross-legged on the planks, arranging shells he’d collected in Broome. Ruby leaned against the rail, book open on her knee. James stood beside his father, both watching the horizon where sky met sea in a perfect line.
Harry turned as she approached. “How is she?”
“Sleeping.”
“Good.” He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her close. “We should gather for evening prayers before the light fades.”
Ruby closed her book. “Can we pray for Eleanor and the others?”
“Of course.”
They formed a circle, Harry, Clara, and three of their children. David slid his hand into Clara’s.
Harry opened his Bible, the thin pages flapping in the breeze. “From Psalm 121. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’”
Clara closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. They’d read this psalm countless times at Goddard Downs, during drought, during floods, during the years when it seemed the land itself conspired against them.
“‘He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.’”
David pressed closer as Harry continued.
“‘The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.’”
Harry closed the Bible. “Let’s pray.”
They bowed their heads. The ship’s engines thrummed beneath their feet, and somewhere overhead, a gull cried.
“Heavenly Father.” Harry’s voice came quieter now, stripped of its earlier composure. “We’re far from home. Far from those we love. We ask You to watch over Eleanor, Matthew, John, and Isobel as they journey to Goddard Downs. Keep them safe. Give them wisdom.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
“We ask You to sustain my father. Ease his suffering. And if it’s Your will, heal him.” A tremor cracked his words.
David’s fingers squeezed hers.
“Be with us on this journey. Calm the seas and still our fears. Help us trust You, even when the way ahead is uncertain. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen,” they echoed.
The sun touched the horizon, painting the water gold and crimson. Then it sank, the day dying in a blaze of fire.
Something loosened in Clara’s chest.
They’d left Goddard Downs behind. Said goodbye to half their children. They were sailing towards the unknown.
But God was here, too. On this ship, in this moment, in the space between what they’d left and what awaited them.
“Come.” Harry’s hand found the small of her back. “Let’s eat and settle the children for the night.”
In the boys’ cabin, Clara helped David change into his nightshirt after checking on Annie, who was still sleeping next door. James hovered, while Clara could hear Ruby puttering beyond the thin wall.
She tucked the sheet around David’s thin shoulders. “Sleep well, my darling.”
“I will.” His eyes were already drooping.
She kissed his forehead and waited until his breathing settled.
Harry emerged from checking on the girls, and they moved into their own cabin. The ship’s motion had increased, a long, rolling swell that made Clara grip the wall for balance.
“We should sleep.” Harry steadied her. “It’ll be a long voyage.”
She lifted her gaze. “Can we talk? Just for a moment?”
Something shifted in his expression. “Of course.”
Their quarters were barely larger than the children’s. A narrow bunk built into the wall, a basin, a single porthole that showed nothing but darkness now. Harry lit the oil lamp, and warm light pushed back the shadows.
Clara sat on the bunk. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“My parents.”
He lowered himself beside her. “Tell me.”
“It’s been twenty-two years since I left Sydney.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “Twenty-two years since I spoke to them. I don’t know if they’re alive. If they’re well. If they even think of me anymore.”
Harry covered her restless hands with his own. “You want to try to find them.”
“I don’t know what I want.” The admission burned. “Part of me thinks it’s too late. That I made my choice, and there’s no going back. But then I think of you, travelling across the country to reach your father, and I wonder…” She faltered. “What if I’ve waited too long?”
“Clara.” Harry’s thumb traced circles on her palm. “There’s a difference. I chose to build a life far from my parents. You were driven away by people who should have loved you better.”
“That doesn’t make the silence any easier.”
“No.” He brought her hand to his lips. “It doesn’t.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “We’ll be so close. Perhaps I should try. To see if there’s anything left to salvage.”
“Then we’ll do it.”
“Harry—”
“We’ll do it,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Once we’ve seen to my father, once we know what’s needed in Gippsland, we’ll go to Sydney. We’ll find them. Together.”
“What if they don’t want to see me?”
“Then we’ll know. And you’ll have peace, one way or another.”
Peace. She wasn’t sure she’d recognise it if she found it. But maybe that was the point. Maybe faith meant stepping forward even when the path was dark, even when you couldn’t see what waited at the end.
“I’m anxious,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“About your father. About my parents. About leaving the children.” The words tumbled out. “About Ruby and that look in her eyes. Whether Goddard Downs will be the same when we return.”
He drew her closer. “Nothing stays the same, love. We can’t stop change any more than we can stop the tide. But we can trust that God holds the future, even when we can’t see it.”
She closed her eyes. The ship rolled beneath them, carrying them south towards uncertainty and reunion and all the things she’d left behind. But Harry was here. Solid and steadfast. The man who’d held her through drought and loss and the thousand small challenges of pioneer life.
“Pray with me?” Her voice was small.
He nodded. They bowed their heads in the lamplight, and his words filled the tiny cabin, calm, sure, anchoring her to something beyond fear and doubt.
“Lord, give Clara peace about seeing her parents again after all this time. Prepare them as well, if they live. May she cast her guilt and anxiety onto You. Replace both with Your peace. We ask these things in Your Son’s precious name. Amen.”
“And, Lord,” Clara continued, “look after Harry’s father as we journey south. Watch over him and strengthen him, we pray.”
She raised her head. The lamp flame flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Through the porthole, stars were emerging, bright points in the darkness, constant and sure.
The ship ploughed on, engines thrumming, waves breaking against the hull. She cuddled against Harry and let sleep come.
