“I have nothing else to do,” Mathinna said sulkily. She’d never spoken to Lady Jane in such a tone, but there seemed little point in niceties now.

Lady Franklin didn’t seem to notice. She gave a light laugh. “Boredom is a great motivator, I always say. You know, Mathinna, there are those who believe that higher learning is beyond the grasp of your people. Perhaps you are proving them wrong. Of course, there are certain . . . limitations to what can be taught and the progress one might expect to make. No doubt it has been as frustrating for you as it has been for us. Certainly we have tried . . . twice.” Addressing her husband’s back, she said, “Would you like to participate in this conversation, Sir John?”

Without turning around, Sir John said, “I would like for you to get on with it.”

Mathinna stared at his back. She thought of their early morning strolls. She thought of the cockatoo. The two of us don’t speak the same language.

Lady Franklin clasped her hands together. “Mathinna, in a few months’ time we—Sir John and I, with Eleanor, of course—will return to London. Sir John has been recalled. And . . . after much thought, and discussion with our family physician, we have reluctantly decided that it will be better for you to remain here. For your health.”

So. It was happening. They were abandoning her. In a way, it was a relief to know for sure. Even so, Mathinna felt a spike of anger at the flimsiness of the excuse. Where had they been when she was lying in bed, sick and alone? The Franklins had taken her from the only home she’d ever known, and she had not complained; she’d done everything they’d asked of her. But she had mattered to them only as an experiment. Now that the experiment had failed, they were done with her. She wanted them to squirm a little, at least.

“My health?” she said. “I am much better, ma’am.”

“Nonetheless, your bout of pneumonia is cause for concern. Dr. Fowler has concluded that you have a weak chest. Which is best treated in temperate climates like this one.”

“Dr. Fowler has not examined me.”

Abruptly Sir John pivoted to face them. He cleared his throat. “It is scientific fact that Aborigines are constitutionally disadvantaged in colder regions.”

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Lady Franklin said. “England is no place for a native.”

“It’s cold here sometimes,” Mathinna said.

Lady Franklin’s neck was splotchy. “This is not up for debate. Our decision has been made.”

Mathinna gave her a steady look. “You are getting rid of me because you think I am wild, like Timeo.”

Lady Franklin slid her eyes toward Sir John.

He turned back to the bookcase.

Mathinna lifted her chin. “When will I go back to Flinders, then?”

Lady Franklin gave a heavy sigh. “We are making arrangements for your care and will let you know in due course what has been decided. Now, Mrs. Crain, you may return Mathinna to her mathematics. I must begin to plan our voyage.”

“Just like that!” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed, snapping a finger. “Back to England! And now all of us is wondering will the new governor keep the staff or dismiss us all? I’ve half a mind to find employment elsewhere and let them feed themselves for the next two months.”

Hazel was crushing herbs with a pestle. “Your mistake was imagining they ever gave ye the slightest thought.” Turning to Mathinna, she asked, “What will become of ye, then?”

“I’ll be sent to Flinders.”

Mrs. Wilson grimaced and shook her head. “I don’t think so. The Queen’s Orphan School, I heard. Maybe it’s a rumor.”

One morning after breakfast, several weeks later, Mathinna returned to her room to retrieve a book. When she opened the door, she stepped back in surprise. The room was filled with light. She went over to the window and looked out at the garden, and, beyond it, the grove of gum trees and sycamores. She rubbed the edge of the window frame, feeling the holes where the nails had been. Turning around, she surveyed the room. Everything else appeared normal. Her books were on the shelf. Her bed was as she’d left it, neatly made. She pulled open the top drawer of her dresser.

Empty.

Then the second drawer, and the third.

She opened the wardrobe. All of her clothes were gone except for the red dress, which hung forlornly on a hook.

“Yes, my dear, today is the day,” Mrs. Crain said, her voice falsely cheerful, when Mathinna tracked her down in the main dining room. “We’ve packed a nice steamer trunk with all your shoes and dresses. The wallaby skin you came with is in there too. And you’ll find a mince pie and an apple in that old rush basket. The driver will be here soon, so you might want to hurry along and say goodbye to . . . well, to whomever you wish.”

“Where are Lady Franklin and Sir John?”

“Out, I’m afraid. A previous commitment. But they said to tell you that . . .” For the first time, Mrs. Crain seemed to fumble over her words. “Well, that they feel certain that this decision . . . this next step . . . is the right one. For you, and for them. For all of us, frankly. And that we must rise to meet the challenges ahead with . . . with fortitude.”

When Mathinna left the dining room and went out onto the stone apron of the driveway, she encountered a wooden cart with open sides holding a small trunk and her rush basket. The driver, wearing a patched jacket, slouched against a wheel. Seeing her, he nodded. “There’s certainly no mistaking ye. Ready?”

“You’re here for me?” she said with surprise. She’d never ridden in a cart.

“You’re the only black girl here, ain’t ye? Going to the orphan school?”

Mrs. Wilson had been right. She felt a chill in her bones.

“There’s a plank in the back,” he said, sensing her trepidation. “Ye don’t have to sit on the straw.”

“Oh.” It was difficult to swallow. “I—I was told I’d have time to say goodbye.”

He shrugged. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry to get back to that place.”

Hazel was in the far courtyard, hanging clothing on the line. When Mathinna told her she was leaving, she dropped the damp clothes into a basket. “Now?”

“There’s a cart out front.”

“A cart.” Hazel shook her head.

“They’re sending me to the orphanage.” Mathinna felt her heart constrict as if it were being squeezed. “I’m . . . I’m scared.”

“I know ye are,” Hazel said with a sigh. “But you’re a strong girl. It won’t be so bad.”

“You know it will,” Mathinna said in a quiet voice.

Hazel’s eyes met hers. She did. “I come on Sundays to see Ruby. I’ll try to find ye.”

“They won’t allow it, though, will they?”

Hazel cocked her head. Then she nodded toward a barrel. “Sit there for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Mathinna sat on the barrel, gazing up at the gum trees with their stocking-cap leaves and straggly white flowers, the clouds beyond like spun sugar. A parrot alighted on a bush near her and cocked its head, its eyes as dark as seed. Just as suddenly, it rose into the air, a flash of red against the sky.

“I have something for ye.” Hazel was beside her now, on the barrel. “I’m going to slip it in your pocket.” She sat closer, and Mathinna felt a tug on her apron. “Put your hand in.”

It was . . . tiny shells. Strung together. A big clump of them. She looked at Hazel.

“All three necklaces. Yes, I nicked ’em. I doubt Lady Franklin will notice. Anyway, I don’t care. They belong to ye.” Reaching for Mathinna’s hand, she said, “There’s something I want to tell ye.”

Mathinna looked down at her brown hand in Hazel’s pale freckled one. They were almost the same size.

“My friend—the one who died—taught me a trick to play in your mind when you’re troubled. Ye think of yourself as a tree, with all the rings inside. And every ring is someone ye care about, or a place you’ve been. Ye carry them with ye wherever ye go.”

Mathinna remembered what her mother had said about thinking of yourself as the thread of a necklace, the people and places you treasure as the shells. Maybe Wanganip and Hazel were saying the same thing: that if you love something it stays with you, even after it’s gone. Her mother and her father and Palle . . . the spiny mountain ridge and the white sand beach on Flinders . . . Waluka . . . the sister she never knew. Hazel, even. Each a separate shell. All embedded in the rings.

Maybe she would always be alone and apart. Always in transition, on her way to someplace else, never quite belonging. She knew both too much and too little of the world. But what she knew, she carried in her bones. Her mother’s love. The shelter of her stepfather’s arms. The warmth of a campfire. The silky feel of wallaby grass against her shins. She’d seen a strip of land from the open ocean and learned to rig a sail. Felt the shapes of different languages in her mouth and worn a dress of scarlet satin. Posed for a portrait like the daughter of a chieftain that she was.

She felt her fear unspooling like a tight fist opening. It was as if she’d been standing on a precipice and suddenly tipped forward. There was no point in feeling afraid. She was already falling, falling through the air, and her future, whatever it held, was rushing up to meet her.

Hazel