Vulture Chapter Five, a dollanganger saga fanfic

"VULTURE" by Alessandra Azzaroni

STORY LAST UPDATED ON 05/02/2003

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Written in Australia. Sovereign Hill, Ballarat, is a real place in the state of Victoria in Australia.

CHAPTER FIVE

Within days, Joan Camberwell was out of the hospital. And she stuck to her word - she really did get everything sorted out for me to have an interview.
So one Saturday we got in her car and drove the two-hour drive to Ballarat, where Sovereign Hill was. It was a place of history. The Eureka Stockade had taken place here, there was even a pool named after it in Ballarat. Here was where the goldfields used to be, and there was some in Bendigo, too. I couldn't remember my Colonial Australia history very well, but something turned into violence, and the Eureka Stockade began. This was currently presented in a sound and light show called "Blood on the Southern Cross".
Sovereign Hill was a touristy place, where it was a little town set up like it was in the time back then. It was all a dirt road, with shops lining both sides, like the Apothecary, New York Bakery, a small bowling alley as how it was back then… Then, of course, one could tour an old goldmine that was set up with fake people still in work scenes, while a tape ran through with the sounds of the scenery and the workers, and some commentary on the working life.
I'd been here once with my family, once for Year 6 camp and once for a Year 9 day trip for my Colonial Australia history class. I'd always just been looking on. But what would it be like to actually participate?

A colonial goldmine town holds the key to my future
But my future may have no lock
No door
Just a brick wall trapping me where I am now

The New York Bakery interview was with a woman named Helga Berringer. She was exactly the way all cooks should be - short and plump with a ready smile and a love for food.
First she asked me of my history with food, and then wanted to see if I could follow a recipe. She put a recipe for Chelsea buns in front of me, and I made them, icing and all.
Then it was over. I found my mother - not my real one, just Joan Camberwell - in the sweets shop, buying eucalyptus and honey drops, barley sugars and raspberry drops. Then we went to the car pack and drove back home.

Waiting is knowing that something might never come

I wasn't really expecting to get the job, so I was rather surprised to hear Helga Berringer tell me down the phone line that I could come down to start whenever I was ready. I'd have a room at The Sovereign.
At that last bit of news, I almost jumped out of my chair in anticipation. My biological mother was the manager of that hotel, and I would get to meet her. But would I tell her about whom I was to her? Would she believe me? Or would it be best to stay silent?

The cobwebs of my mind have cleared out
Vacuumed away into oblivion
With open eyes I can see things ahead of me
Too bad they don't stretch very far

With my bags all packed, Joan Camberwell drove me to Sovereign Hill once more. Once there, I couldn't pay attention to my surroundings. I was quivering like a shaggy dog in the rain.
I went into the lobby of the hotel on my own - Joan had already driven off; she was free from me now. So I walked in and tried to hold my chin up.
Almost immediately after I entered the room, a tall woman with fascinating hair walked up to me. Her hair consisted of black, chestnut brown, auburn, gold, silver, copper and, surprisingly, burgundy. Describing her hair, I could have been describing my own! Hers, however, was twisted up into a bun, and she wore a navy jacket and skirt set, while my hair was held back with a thin gold plastic headband, and I wore my favourite navy jeans with a black cotton top.
I noticed her glancing at my hair, but she didn't say anything, nor did her facial expression change. She just looked serenely calm, with a peaceful look on her face.
"Are you here to work in the New York Bakery?" she asked. She just had to be my mother! How many women with American accents could there be in Ballarat?
"That's right, I'm Lisa Camberwell," I replied. I spoke slowly, hoping she'd react to my surname.
If she recognised it, she didn't show it. She merely nodded, and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Alison Bridges," she introduced herself. "I'm the manager here at The Sovereign. You should've been told that all non-local workers at Sovereign Hill board here?"
"That's right, Helga Berringer of the New York Bakery told me." I shook her hand.
She pulled her hand away, and nodded again. "It's my responsibility to keep an eye on you new girls. I'm supposed to be like a mother figure while you can't be near your own."
I desperately wanted to blurt out that she was my mother, but I didn't. There'd be plenty of time for that. "That's fine with me. May I ask which one is my room?"
"Follow me."
I picked up my bags and followed her down a few corridors. She stopped at Room 17, and plucked a key ring with a sole key out of a jacket pocket. She handed it to me. "Here you go. There's a communal bathroom at the end of the hall. You'll find my business card in the room if you need to contact me. You'll be getting a roommate soon." She turned away without a good-bye, and I was left alone.