Ghost Boy Read online

  Now Froggy wanted to walk the thin track that snaked through the bush again, to see the pink stars of the dog roses, the furry cream petals of the flannel flowers. He wanted to feel the warm cinnamon skin of the gum trees where the bark had flaked away. He wanted to find a sturdy trunk to anchor himself so that he could safely look out to sea and try to work out just what had gone wrong, and why he was so afraid.

  He pressed the bell, slung his school bag over his shoulder and walked to the exit. His heart sank as he noticed that Jake and a couple of his mates were standing up, too.

  It’s just their stop. They’re not following me, he tried to reassure himself as he swung off the platform and quickened his steps in an attempt to lose them. He didn’t dare look behind. But he could imagine them following, keeping pace with him, waiting to see what he was going to do. His skin felt prickly and too thin as he sensed their eyes watching him.

  They’ve got more important things to do with their time than follow me!

  They were coming after him. He quickened his pace even more, his school bag bumping against his back as he bolted down the street and into the bush, like a rabbit to its burrow. Still he did not look behind as he plunged down the narrow path.

  Startled birds squawked and flew into the air, marking Froggy’s passage. His stomach fluttered wildly. He was becoming more and more frightened. Suddenly he caught his first glimpse of the sea. He stopped for a moment, his eyes held by the line of blue. It looked as innocent as a pond, dotted with small yachts, their white sails bowed before the wind. A bird screeched behind him, then there was silence.

  Froggy became aware of a low chant. It was coming closer. He strained to hear the voices.

  ‘Hunt the frog! Chase the frog! Squash the frog!’ There was a loud croaking noise and a brief burst of laughter, then silence once more.

  Froggy could feel his heart pounding like a drum. It sounded so loud! Too loud. He took off again, his bag bumping against him as he ran: thump, thump, thump, in time with his heart, with the birds’ loud cries and the beating of their wings.

  He blundered on. This part of the bush was unfamiliar to him, but he was climbing down now, and knew that he must be getting closer to the sea. The bush was getting thicker, the path more overgrown. Spiteful thorns snagged his skin. He could feel the heat pressing down on him, feel the sweat as it trickled down his face and stung his eyes. He could smell his fear.

  He moved as swiftly and as silently as he could, but knew that the birds betrayed him. He dared not look around, but he could sense Jake and his mates getting closer and closer.

  A large gum tree off the side of the path caught his eye. He swerved towards it, stumbling behind the shelter of its thick smooth trunk and the shielding bushes that guarded its base. Twigs scratched his skin and the bitter smell of bruised leaves and trampled bush filled his nostrils.

  ‘This way!’ The glimpse of a grey uniform, brown legs, and then the sound of birds from further along the path.

  Froggy started to ease his way out of his hiding place, ready to double back and run for it.

  ‘He’s gone! I’m telling you he’s hiding back there somewhere! He’s tricked us!’

  The voice was too close. Alarmed, Froggy tried to wriggle back into shelter, but a crackling twig betrayed him.

  There was a triumphant shout. ‘There! Over there!’

  Froggy was on the move again, abandoning his school bag now as he tried desperately to escape from the hunters who were tracking him as though he were a wild animal.

  ‘Wanna learn to swim, Frog? We’ll teach you!’ The triumphant cry spurred him on through thick bush that blocked his path at every turn so he completely lost all sense of direction.

  He found the track again and pushed himself along. His breaths felt like fire in his chest. The path sloped down, heading for the sea, but now fear of his pursuers was greater than his fear of the water. Suddenly, he could run no more. He’d come out onto a high rock ledge. Below him was the sea. Behind him was Jake. He stopped, hesitated, and then turned to face the hunters, feeling sick and shaky.

  Jake, too, had stopped. He sneered at Froggy, his eyes glittering. His mates came to a halt slightly behind him. They formed a solid barrier across the path as they bulged their eyes at Froggy and made croaking noises at him.

  Froggy took a nervous step backwards.

  ‘We thought you might like another swimming lesson, Frog!’ Jake stepped forward as Froggy stepped back. ‘We’ll teach you how to swim, mate!’ He beckoned his mates forward.

  ‘Reckon with feet like yours, you ought to …’ But Jake didn’t finish his sentence. Froggy had had enough humiliation for one day. As he watched the boys close in, he turned and jumped.

  There’d been no time to think, no time to plan for this. Froggy knew only that he had to get away, and so he acted.

  A despairing cry floated after him as he plummeted down into the deep, green water, which closed over his head and hid his body from the watchers above. Froggy felt the sea fill his nose and squeeze the air out of his lungs. Desperately he tried to kick upwards, but the dark water dragged him down.

  Froggy’s nightmare had begun.

  3

  Tad felt sick. The air was thick with the smell of carbolic acid, raw onion and the stench from the commodes. It suffocated him. But he couldn’t leave Mary-Anne’s side. Not yet. It was too soon.

  Anyway, maybe she wouldn’t die. Maybe she’d get better, then they could leave this terrible place. Tad couldn’t wait. It would be so good to go somewhere with Father and Mary-Anne, to carve a place out in the bush and make a home. It seemed a long time, forever, since he had lived in a real home.

  Tad found himself saying a silent prayer, knowing that it was probably hopeless. Smallpox had become a killer plague nowadays. Once you had it, there was nothing anyone could do, except pray. Tad bowed his head. ‘Please God, don’t let Mary-Anne die,’ he whispered desperately. But he had a horrible feeling that God wasn’t listening.

  He glanced over at his little brother Joseph. He had been crying and fretful, disturbing Mary-Anne and the other sick women and children crowded into the ward within the hospital enclosure of the Quarantine Station. Mary-Anne had given Joseph Tad’s locket to play with, the gold locket on the chain that Tad’s own mother had given him. Joseph loved to play with it. It soothed him. He liked to watch the gold flash in the light as the locket twisted and spun on its fine chain. Now, he was almost asleep, the locket clasped firmly in his chubby fingers.

  He seemed flushed and breathed heavily. Tad prayed that he wasn’t going to get the smallpox, too. He inspected the child carefully for the pink rash, for the tiny spots that marked the beginning of the disease. But he could see nothing. Tad knew Joseph shouldn’t be here with all these sick people. But he wouldn’t be parted from his Mama, nor would she be parted from him.

  Tad moved the peeled onion further down the bed. It was making his eyes water. He wondered if its fumes would really prevent him catching the smallpox germs from Mary-Anne.

  The woman sitting beside the next bed raised her head and smiled slightly. She was a big woman with a plump, creased face that fell easily into a smile, although now she seemed tired and anxious. There was no sign of any spots on her. Tad had wondered what she was doing in the hospital enclosure, until he’d seen her anxiously watching one of the three children crowded onto the bed next to Mary-Anne.

  Her attention moved from Tad back to the bed. He saw her bend over a tiny baby. Then, with a sudden hiss, she snatched him up and hugged him to her breast. Her eyes were fierce and protective. The baby whimpered quietly and then was silent. His face was red, covered in suppurating sores that must have tortured him with their itch. Now he lay limp and still in his mother’s arms.

  Tad looked more closely. The child was dead, he was sure of it. He glanced up at the mother, wondering how to tell her that the child she guarded so anxiously had gone beyond her care. But something in the woman’s eyes stopped Tad’s words before
they came.

  Tad turned away.

  ‘You’ll have to help your father look after Joseph when I’m gone.’ The faint whisper brought Tad’s attention back to Mary-Anne. He crouched down beside the bed and took her hand. ‘You’re not going to die!’ he whispered fiercely, trying to believe it was true.

  Mary-Anne pressed his hand slightly. ‘I’m sorry about the trouble I caused your mother. But we do love each other very much, your father and I. The decision wasn’t taken lightly.’ The words were so faint Tad had to bend close to hear them. He wondered if he should hold the onion up to Mary-Anne’s mouth. But it seemed more important to listen than to stop the spread of the disease.

  Mary-Anne tried to heave herself up, still clutching Tad’s hand. ‘Promise me you’ll take Joseph to your father when I’m gone.’ It was hard for her to speak. She was gasping with effort, her breath coming in short bursts. Sweat ran down her cheeks. Tad looked away, unable to bear the sight of the once beautiful face that now was red raw with angry blisters and scummy with pus.

  ‘Promise me, Thaddeus!’ Mary-Anne collapsed back onto the bed, her stare fixed on his face.

  ‘I’ll take care of everything, I promise.’ But Tad wanted to cry out that he was afraid, that his father, too, might die and then what was he supposed to do? It was unfair to expect a twelve-year-old boy to take on the responsibility of a child only two years old. But he kept silent. There was no point in saying anything.

  Mary-Anne was Tad’s stepmother. His own mother was back in England. Tad wondered what she was thinking right now. He wondered if she was out on the streets searching for her son, her eyes as sick, as wild with grief as the woman’s in the chair beside them.

  Tad thought not. His mother had changed so much after his father had left them. She’d become cold, withdrawn. Even though she spent all her time in church, she seemed unable to forgive Tad’s father for abandoning them. She had left Tad to the care of the servants, somehow blaming him for the fact that his father preferred to be off with his young mistress and their new baby, Joseph. His half-brother.

  Tad looked over at the child who was almost asleep. ‘Tad?’ whispered the little boy. ‘Tad?’

  ‘I’m here, Joseph.’ He touched his face lightly. ‘Go to sleep.’

  ‘Joe sleep.’ The boy’s eyes closed. His fingers clenched then relaxed again as he turned over with a faint sigh. Tad could just see the glint of gold from the chain wound through his fingers.

  The locket was all Tad had from his mother. It had her initials on it and his father’s: ‘FD’ interlinked with ‘CD’, engraved on a golden heart. His mother must have thought their love would last forever, but it had lasted only until Mary-Anne.

  ‘I don’t want it. You may as well have it,’ she’d said gruffly. Tad had taken it, glad to have a remembrance of some kind of his father. Because after his father had left, his mother had shut him out of her life, slammed the door on the past and forbidden Tad to see him. It had really hurt. He loved his father and found it hard to judge him as his mother had done. But he’d had no choice. Papa had disappeared, abandoned his name and the family estate, as well as them. He’d had no idea where his father had gone, although sometimes he’d thought that his father was watching him. Tad would turn quickly, trying to catch sight of him, would glimpse out of the corner of his eye a half-familiar figure who always seemed to disappear before Tad could reach him.

  Once Tad had asked his Uncle John, who sometimes came to visit them, if he would take him to see his father. But Uncle John had just sighed and shaken his head firmly. It was a definite ‘no’.

  Then Tad had come out of school one day and found his father waiting for him.

  ‘Will you come with me?’ he’d asked and Tad, delighted to see him again, had agreed, thinking it was just an outing, a few hours to be spent with his father before going home again. He’d even hoped his father might come back into the house, might talk to his mother, might try to make things right again.

  But Papa had pushed him into the carriage with Mary-Anne and Joseph, and had set the horses to gallop. It was only when they were safely on board the ship at Southampton that he had told Tad he was taking him to Australia.

  ‘I’m tired of living like this,’ he’d said bitterly. ‘Even though we’ve changed our name, Mary-Anne still has to listen to the gossip, all those scandal-mongering old biddies passing judgment on the Dearborne family. I’ve decided to start a new life in the colonies, Thaddeus.’ His voice softened slightly. ‘I’m glad you’re coming too, son.’ He patted Tad’s head. ‘I couldn’t have left you behind.’

  And Tad, comforted by his father’s affection and knowing anyway that it was too late now to go back, had settled down to enjoy the voyage, reassured that at least somebody seemed to care about him.

  But memories of his mother continued to trouble him, particularly now when he saw the lost and desperate expression of the woman at the next bed: how she clutched the lifeless body, rocked him, while tears slid silently down her face and trickled onto the boy’s sparse, fuzzy hair.

  What was his own mother thinking now? Was she angry and despairing? Had she given away all his things like she had given away the locket, believing Tad, too, had run away from her to be with his father and Mary-Anne?

  It wasn’t like that, he told her silently across the miles. It wasn’t like that at all! And he wished that he could have left her a note, something, anything, just to say goodbye.

  Goodbye. Suddenly afraid, Tad clasped Mary-Anne’s hand tighter, tried to pour some of his young strength into her through the contact. But the hand felt loose and boneless in his grasp.

  Alarmed, Tad jumped up and smacked her cheek sharply. ‘Mary-Anne!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Mary-Anne!’ And with increasing panic: ‘Wake up, Mary-Anne!’ All of a sudden he was a child in a strange land and he didn’t know what to do.

  Mary-Anne lay still. Tad bent over her and pressed his ear to her chest. But there were no soft heartbeats to comfort him, just the awareness of a body without life, without spirit, without thought.

  Tad took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Think! he muttered fiercely to himself. Think! He glanced around the crowded room, heard the sighs, the harsh breaths, the muttered curses as women lay with their children and prayed for health or an end to their suffering.

  They’d only been at the Quarantine Station a few days, but it had been long enough for Tad to realise that the place was in chaos. The outbreak of smallpox in Sydney had meant that the townsfolk were being rounded up and brought out to the Quarantine Station at Spring Cove to join those off the ship from England already in isolation. Tad had seen enough to know that the authorities didn’t seem in control of the situation. He had sneaked around the white wooden fence that marked the boundary of the hospital enclosure, listened to the complaints of both the sick and the healthy, who had been dragged away from their homes and shut up together. The hospital ward was overcrowded, with patients sometimes having to share beds, while the rest of the overflow, including Tad himself, camped in tents within the perimeter of the hospital enclosure. There was another hospital ward, but it was empty. The doctor had taken up residence there and refused to come out and visit patients in the ward. There were rumours that he drank, and even that he was mad. Tad had spied on the doctor through the window, had seen him, glass in hand and a bottle of brandy at the ready, to keep the germs away. Tad wondered if alcohol was any better than raw onions for preventing the spread of smallpox … then was jolted back to the present by the smell of onion in his nose.

  Think! But he couldn’t think. All he knew was that his father had to be told. Somehow, while it was still daylight, he had to work out how to get across the water to the hospital ship, where his father and the other men were. Somehow he must get out of the hospital enclosure, explore the grounds of the Quarantine Station, and work out a plan.

  Tad looked across at Joseph, still sleeping peacefully. Tad wondered if he could take the locket with him, but the chain was
wound through the sleeping boy’s fingers and he didn’t want to risk waking him up.

  The woman at the next bed still rocked her baby, keening quietly. Tad touched her arm gently. ‘Can you watch over my brother for me, just for a little while?’ he asked and, without waiting for her reply, walked quickly out of the room.

  4

  It was late afternoon by the time Tad found himself out in the hospital enclosure. He had no timepiece, but could tell from the angle of the sun as it slanted across the harbour from the west that there were only a few more hours of daylight. He still had to work out how to smuggle his way on board the hospital ship.

  He looked about him. A young mother, clasping the hand of a little girl with fiery red hair, strolled down the path towards the beach of Spring Cove. She looked tired and dirty. Her long skirt was stained and dusty where it dragged along the dirt. She wore no boots. Tad wondered what they were doing in the enclosure, until he saw the pock-marked face of the mother and the drying scabs on the child. They’d been lucky then.

  He walked over to them, hands stuck in his pockets. He whistled tunelessly through his teeth as he tried to keep away the dark thoughts. What if my father dies, too? What will I do then? The questions beat like a hammer in his brain. Tad stopped whistling and spoke to them. ‘How long are they going to keep us here, do you know?’

  The little girl looked at him with big, frightened eyes. Her mother answered Tad’s question. ‘A few more weeks, I think, just to make sure we’re not carrying the infection. But we can’t leave yet, anyway. We’re waiting for my husband. He’s on the hospital ship out there.’ She jerked her head towards the beach and the high, wire fence that guarded it.