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Chapter 10

The light from the sun warmed Johanna's skin, turning the inside of her closed lids a faint orange. The day would be a glorious one, she could feel it. It was a content feeling, content as one could be in a penal colony. But the one thing that the girl could feel with a joyous sense of bliss was the comforting presence of her father. She opened her eyes and squinted in the light.

The man was sitting at the foot of her bunk, just as he swore her he would be. Johanna knew that was their promise and their promise alone: To be there when she allowed the tranquility of sleep to claim her and to comfort her as the morning came to them.

He now stared intently at the floor boards.

"I trust you slept well?" was the first thing he said. He did not bother to tear his gaze from the floor.

"Yes, thank you. And I trust you did not sleep at all?" She questioned, well aware of the answer.

With a great difficulty, he pried his eyes from the ground and gazed at her face. "You know I never do," he stated. Something in his voice tore at her heart unmercifully.

"I also know that you should try," she replied swiftly. She followed his gaze, brow raised.

Sighing, he returned his stares in the floor's direction. "I don't bother tryin' any longer," he muttered under his breath. The words were so low Johanna doubted if she had actually heard them.

They allowed silence to fill the air momentarily. Johanna noticed that her father gazed at her from the corner of his eyes while he clenched his hand as it rested on the flat of the bunk. Was he tense from hesitance, did he wish to hold her?

She reached towards the hand by his side. Benjamin's first instinct was to jerk his hand away, though he did not have the motive to do so. With careful movements, she held his fingers within her own and studied them with a keen, passionate gaze.

His hand strained beneath her own. He was nervous from this.

But the beauty of his fingers, the slender curve of his hand made her forget the barrier that seemed to exist between them. Those hands were made for a profession. Curiously, she wondered if her mother had admired her husband's hands just as she was now.

"What…are you doing?" he inquired in a shaky voice. Never before had she seen weakness in his eyes, only when it came to her well-being when the guards had eyes her suspiciously. This time, the weakness was all because of a power that she acquired, not wishing to hurt him, but nevertheless, weakening him to no end.

"Nothing, I am sorry," she began, releasing his hand.

This time, he took the opportunity to grasp hers as she pulled away. "No, it is not you, Johanna. This…is all so very different for me…" Speech dissolved into the dreaded silence once more. Letting go of her hand, he flicked his gaze to the only window inside of the barracks.

Turning to her side, Johanna realized her shoes were scattered on the floor. Grinning, she began, "Did you take off my shoes for me, sir?"

He stared at her for a while, hard, unreadable. "Er…yes, I did," he stammered.

The involuntary acts of parental care could never irk Johanna. In fact, these acts delighted her more than any other thing in the world.

"Thank you. I seem to be forgetting a lot of things."

He stared hard at her. "What else have you been forgetting?" Concern radiated from his words.

Shrinking away from his gaze, she elaborated. "Little things such as taking off my shoes," her eyes fell onto her mismatched pair, "placing the sewn materials in the washbasins…sewing without puncturing my fingers." After she said this, she bit her tongue and hid her hands behind her back.

"Repeat that," he demanded.

Was it possible that she had been so utterly careless? Her father had enough to fret over!

"It was nothing, sir, never mind what I said," was her frantic reply.

Leaning forward, Benjamin grabbed her arms and brought her quivering hands forward. Johanna clenched her fists in an attempt to hide the wounds. "No, please, I am fine," she babbled, ignored by her father.

Prying her fingers lose, he studied her hands, eyes widened. Dark bruises began to form in small dots around the areas where she had pricked her skin from the needles. He studied the wounds, anger growing.

"This was from sewing?" he questioned, irate.

"Well, yes, it was," she replied. "Please, I don't want you to worry about me."

Soundlessly, he gripped her wrists, fighting the black hatred he felt for the cause of her pain. "If that bloody guard gives you any trouble today, I swear…" he threatened.

Johanna cut him off. "There will be no incidents with the guard that I cannot handle. Do not worry."

The uncaring tone within her voice could only last so long before breaking.

As her father studied her watering eyes and falling gaze, the helplessness gripped him, just as it had so many other times. With his forefinger, he lifted her chin upward, forcing the girl to look into his eyes, finally claiming power within the depth of his uncertainty.

"I will protect you, Johanna. I swear it." Though his words were short, the measure of care that each carried was crushing. Her response was a strangled cry; the distance between them was filled by her body as she moved in to wrap her arms around his neck. Once again, he was not one for the kind physical contact and took on the reaction of staring into space, dumbfounded, and finally holding the girl to him with diffident hands.

The scent, the soft feel of the material of his shirt on her cheek, these all were a part of her now. He was where she belonged, this was who she was.

His thoughts writhed in conflict. Anger was prominent in his mind and soul, hate was his first lesson learned, abolishing his naiveté. But now, love was battling his detestation, overcoming his harsh distain for the world. Vengeance was overwhelmed by a desire to protect, a desire that would not be so easily destroyed. Johanna was his present and future, her very being was his own.

But of course, nothing would every completely destroy the hate that lingered within his soul.

The moment was shattered as a hand pounded on the door of the barracks and a booming voice along with it. Johanna and Benjamin leaned away from the other.

"Show a leg, men, a new day is upon us!"

Moans filled the air as men swung their feet over the side of their barracks and dressed for the day. Soon, conversations struck up, lighthearted due to the day being that of Sunday.

The owner of the voice stepped inside, revealing a man in uniform. "Yeh are all to go to the showers, save the new arrivals. New arrivals are to report to the head officer's building for the purpose of recording new names. Afterward, you may join your mates at the showers. All are to report back to their barracks and prepare for Church service."

With a stiff turn, the man exited the building.

Reluctant to part from her father, the child turned her gaze from the vacant doorway to her father. Quietly, she waited for him to speak.

"We'll be back together soon, alright? Do as they say, now," he instructed her, keeping his expression light to ease her worry. Success found its way to the man.

With a timid kiss on his cheek, she slipped away from him and stood to her feet. He followed suit.

"Hello there, little lady," John greeted her with his usual brood grin. "Suppose you're goin' to get your name taken down with the rest of our new men. Not to worry, they'll adore yeh, just as we all do."

James snorted, receiving lethal stares from most of the men, including her father. His gaze, though, was by far, the most deadly.

When all had left the building, the group diverged into two separate groups: New arrivals and men bound for the showers.

Benjamin stayed back and stared after his daughter as she walked through the yards to the head officer's quarters.

"Don't worry, Ben," Robert insisted as he stood beside him, "she'll be fine."

Benjamin nodded his head and fell into line with his fellow convicts. Unbeknownst to him, Johanna, too, was sending small peaks behind her back, assuring herself that he was indeed there and would be there when she returned.

The Head Officer's building was a particularly large looking cabin. Through the door stood a long line of convicts who, just as she, were having their names taken for the records.

Thoughts whirled inside of her head as she considered the reasoning for this. Perhaps, records had been lost from the courts in England. Accurate ideas piled into her brain, pointing out that many had died on the trip to Australia and the records of the deceased may have altered that of the living. It was gruesome thinking, but she now understood.

Some women attempted to make conversation with Johanna as they waited for the wait to decrease. Their conversations mainly consisted of the men that had taken an interest in them, the legalization of marriages and such. Johanna focused on Rosemary and her baby, desperately asking the women if they knew how the kindly woman was fairing. Most knew of whom she spoke, for convict women were a scarcity compared to the vast amounts of men, but none seemed to know of neither her fate nor the fate of her unborn child. It was then that Johanna began to become deeply worried over the young women that she had befriended.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, it was Johanna's turn to step up to the Officer's desk. The room was a bleak color, complete with wrinkled curtains. The dust accumulated within the room made Johanna's nose twitch.

The man who sat at the desk, which Johanna assumed was the Head Officer, wore a particularly tedious expression. Her mind could not help but travel back in time and imagine the faces of the men who had sent her to the colony to begin with. How could people, who held other lives in their hands, wear such a bored expression as people's futures were at stake? Beads of sweat travelled down the officer's temples and onto his cheeks as he studied her from his seat. In front of him, a large desk sat with papers sprawled over its surface. There was a fine display of windows lighting the room.

Gray hairs had begun to sprout within the Officer's head of dark hair, indicating the stress that came with his profession. As Johanna flicked her eyes away from the man's gaze, she caught glimpse of the sentries that stood by the desk. Of them, Adrian appeared to be the tensest.

"Yeh the girl locked in the men's barracks, aren't yeh?" the Head Officer's voice was gruff, but not harsh.

Forcing her voice to work, Johanna answered that she was.

"Yeh seem like a simple thing, now. I hear our Officer Adrian placed you in there for insubordination." The man raised a graying eyebrow.

Adrian sent Johanna a look that commanded she should simply agree. "Yes, sir," she answered in a hoarse voice.

"Well, I believe yeh shouldn't have to deal with that any longer, seein' that yeh behave."

Johanna shook her head. No! She could not leave her father!

"Sir, may I be completely honest with you?" Johanna inquired. She might as well try.

Thrusting his head backward, the officer let out a bark of a laugh. "Honesty would be a real treat, it would. What is that you wish to say?"

"I wish to remain in the men's barracks."

The room fell submitted to an eerie calm.

"I hope you understand that prostitution is forbidden here," the man pointed out, gravely. Adrian was now rocking back and forth on his heels.

Johanna could have laughed bitterly or cried innocently at the accusation. "Sir, I am not a prostitute. I have found someone within the barracks that I have become…attached to."

The chair creaked as the man inclined backwards. "We can arrange a marriage, if that is what you wish," he began, unsure of what the girl was speaking of.

"This is not exactly that sort of an attachment, sir."

At this time, the Officer was both baffled and aggravated. "Well, I don't quite know what you mean, then. I am specified to this section of convicts, might I remind you. I truly do not have time for these guessing games."

"Sir, take my name down, please. All will be clear," the girl said.

Retrieving a writing utensil, the Officer readied himself. "Yes, your name would be?"

"Barker…Johanna Barker," was her response.

The first reaction of the officer was open mouthed shock. Slowly, with hands shaking for a moment, the officer placed his writing tool on the desk. Folding his fingers neatly in front of him, he murmured, "We have not…we have not exactly had an event such as this occur."

"What sort of event are we speaking of?" Adrian burst out. His clenched hands were held in front of his body, wavering with fury.

"It would appear, Officer, that this girl has been reunited with her father while you were punishing her."

"How do you know this?"

"Last names, you see, they match and it seems that the two have recognized each other, according to the girl."

Adrian's mouth clamped shut. His teeth let out a snapping sound as his eyes bulged in disbelief. Johanna bit her lip to keep from laughing. The other officers appeared to do the same, but their eyes watered from holding back the urge to taunt their fellow sentry.

"Well, Adrian, this appeared to have not turned out in your favor," the man pointed out, smugly while turning towards the younger male. Adrian bowed his head to hide his infuriated stare.

"Yeh father 'as quite of a history, yeh know: refusal to work, rude behavior to our officers, we even 'ad to check 'im into the hospital when he went mad from the heat, speaking only of his family. Sort of like rewarding him if I let you stay with 'im."

Face stinging from oncoming tears, the girl thought of her father, all humor draining like it had not even been there to begin with. He went mad and could only speak of his lost family during his moments of complete insanity. What had the world done to him?

The guard, observant as always, could notice her misery. Pity clouded his features. "You remind me of my girl, yeh know…" Did the man understand what Johanna was meant to deal with? Was it possible that he was placing himself in her father's position?

After staring at the outside sky for a moment, his eyes snapped to reality. He had made a decision. "Perhaps I could keep you in there if you agree to my terms, and they are: Keep your father in check as well as the other men. If you truly feel safe among these convicts, I will allow you to remain there. Agree to be my personal guard there, if you will."

Johanna's tears of grief morphed into cries of joy. "Yes, I agree to all of it! Thank you, sir, thank you."

The officer shook his head and recorded her name on the paper in front of him. "That will be all, Miss Barker," he excused her with an obscured half-smile and a wave of his hand. Adrian caught Johanna's gaze, enraged, but controlled. Avoiding the desire to smirk, Johanna exited the building and began to walk through the terrain and to the women's showers.

Just as promised, she was showered and given knew clothing, though she was forced to keep the mismatched shoes. Refreshed, Johanna nearly skipped back to the barracks, receiving some looks of questioning as her walking took a happy sort of bounce to it. The water on her hair made the day seem cooler than it was.

The men inside had received shaving tools, such as razors, bowls of lather, and cloths. Johanna noticed that the familiar stench of bodies within the barracks had reduced to a more fresh smell. Benjamin pushed his way through the crowd after spotting the girl and grabbed her hand.

Before he could even speak, Johanna remembered all that the Head Officer had told her. This man, her father, had gone insane with grief. Beatings…refusals…she could only pray that Benjamin would cooperate and spare himself a surplus of agony.

"Did it go well?" he inquired.

Johanna pushed a wet strand of hair away from her face. "It did not go as expected."

His face fell from a lightened expression to that of a worried grimace. "What do you mean?"

With a sudden feeling of joy and a giggle, Johanna placed her hand on his shoulder. "The Head Officer told me that I was allowed to remain here! He even corrected Officer Adrian in front of the other men. Oh, I nearly laughed right in front of them all!"

Staring at her in awe, he stated through an exhale of air, "That…is…the best news I have had in fifteen years." And he truly meant it.

Harry jumped upward, sending Johanna into a small fit of laughter at his lathered face and widened eyes. "Yeh hear that? Little lady is goin' to be stayin' with us," he informed his mates in a loud voice. Many men smiled at this, chuckling at their 'little lady'. Even James's associates could not help but appreciate her company, not only because of her kindness, but because of the melancholy that rested deep within her eyes and haunted them if they believed themselves to be the cause of it.

Some of the men requested Benjamin's barber skills. As the convict obliged and ran the razor over his inmates' cheeks, he would steal a glance at his daughter, who had sat atop of one of the bunks and observed her father at his work while speaking with some of the other men briefly. Her studying stares held wonder and curiosity. With little time left before the guards assembled the prisoners for Church, Benjamin applied lather to his own face and shaved his stubble. Surprisingly, he did so without the assistance of a mirror and succeeded, while others acquired a few bloody marks from nicking their skin, leaving them irritated.

Others, such as John, did not even bother shaving. They had said that it was almost like their own way of rebelling without actually breaking any rules. Johanna admired their small acts of resistance, wishing she could summon the courage to do so as well.

It was now the time that all were to be collected and piled into church. Due to the immense sizes of the convicts, churches were spread out throughout the entire establishment. Their church, however, was slightly farther, but closer than the women's factories.

The men and girl walked together, her father assisting the child when she stumbled over a piece of stone.

This church had a weathered appearance to it. The white pain had begun to chip off, abolishing the desired look of purity and holiness. To Johanna's liking, there were large windows, reaching upwards as if to the heavens. While they made their way in, all could see a robed priest at the end of a long array of seats. He stood behind a barred off area, guards standing at their posts, alert.

Johanna was squeezed between John and her father on a hard bench, filled with most of the men from their barracks. Some joked while others actually appeared remorseful of some sins, sins that may have landed them in prison, sins that Johanna did not wish to know.

A minimal amount of the conversations in the Church hushed when the Priest began. Religious men clasped their hands, bowing their hands under the pressure of the watchful lord. Ones who felt the Church had little or no meaning to them, continued to speak, rolling their eyes when reprimanded.

Then there were those, such as Benjamin Barker, who used the time to stare into space and deliberate upon mysterious matters. They were not engrossed in the service, nor were they taking the Priest's words as a gag, these were the agonized men who had lost faith in God's work long ago.

Within these categories, Johanna could not find the humor to joke, the anger to ignore the holy man's words, or the religious belief to worship. Instead, she used the time to study her father in a new light. She was not studying as a frightened child or a dazed girl, but a daughter observing her father just as all others would. But Johanna's stares were more cherished than that of most daughters, more sacred than the words that flowed from the reverend's mouth.

Throughout his period of silent brooding, Barker only noticed his girl's stares after he whipped his head away from a space of air, perhaps because of a frightening thought or memory. A corner of his mouth lifted upward as if to say that he was perfectly fine. But Johanna Barker could almost feel his emotions as her own, as if there was a line of some sort that connected her to her father. It hurt to be away from him and it was excruciating when he was in distress. Perhaps she could end his suffering, if not forever, then for the moment.

Clutching onto his arm, Johanna leaned into his side. Her head only came up to his shoulder, she observed as she compared their heights, so she rested the side of her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, savoring the contact. He gawked at the crown of her golden head, placing his arm around her back and holding her to him. The man found enjoyment with her hair as he coiled a slightly damp strand limply between his fingers, marveling at the brilliant color.

Touching his child did not come as a difficulty now. The distance between them was filling.

"God save you all," the priest concluded once the service had reached its end. With a twirl of his robes, he retreated into one of the few doors at the back of the church.

"Oh, thank yeh, your holiness, god save us all indeed," Jack sneered. Men's knees cracked as they stood from the benches while some, such as Robert, could barely stand on their own. Groans of pain were heard all around, a pitiful and heartbreaking sound. The men could only stagger from the church, followed by few women. All were to spend the rest of their day relaxing, a rare treat.

A horrifying scream of terror was heard throughout the Sunday calm. Those who had spent many years in the colony did not even turn around to investigate the source of the sound. Not surprisingly, Benjamin Barker was one of the many men who continued to walk. But the new prisoners or the less experienced swung around in fear.

As Johanna did so, Ben spoke to her. "Don't stop to look; Screams never signify a good thing." He tugged her along until orders were heard.

"All are to report to the whipping posts!"

"God damn it," Benjamin cursed under his breath as the prisoners began to make their way to the penal stations.

"What is happening?" Johanna questioned her father, turning to him in great fear.

Without answering, he shook his head and trod along the yards, never losing his grip on her hand. When three large poles connecting at the top came into view, Johanna's heartbeat increased in tempo. Prisoners gathered around the scene and observed solemnly.

"Please, sir, answer me!"

A struggling prisoner was wrestled over to the poles. After tearing his shirt off, guards tied his trembling hands to the top of the three connecting poles that formed a pyramid like triangle. One hand was tied to one side just as one hand was tied to the other. The man now stood, arms outstretched and leaning against the middle pole for support. His screams for mercy were piercing. A guard stepped up to the vulnerable convict and gazed at his bear flesh.

Benjamin pulled his daughter closer to him. "Do not watch this," he demanded strictly as the guard took out a deadly whip. The uniformed man stood with a smirk pressed upon his lips, depicting his clear enjoyment. The convict had begun to grovel, sweat dampening his hair and dripping down his bruised face.

"Seventy-five lashes for refusal to follow an officer's commands!"

With a deafening crack of the whip, an unspeakable punishment had begun. And all were forced to watch.

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