It was strange to feel like a person in the world.

Hazel sewed herself some blouses and several pairs of trousers, so wide-legged that unless you were paying close attention they looked like skirts. Her own mother had always worn trousers like this; they were more comfortable in the birthing room, she said.

“You’ll be known as the odd lady who wears trousers,” Maeve teased.

Hazel grinned. “Maybe I’ll start a fashion.”

One warm afternoon, Hazel brought Ruby with her to shop at the crowded open-air market near the waterfront and saw a group of women, fresh off a convict ship, plodding toward Macquarie Street. Tugging Ruby’s hand, she turned away. She couldn’t bear to watch.

Hazel was at the market with Ruby several days later, shopping for fruits and vegetables, debating whether to buy cherries or plums, when she became aware of a small commotion ahead of them. A rustling that sounded like wind through the trees. A few people crossed to the other side of the street, shaking their heads and casting quick glances behind them.

“What is she doing here, in polite society?” one woman said to another as they passed. “I thought they’d sent her back to live with her own kind, where she belongs.”

Taking Ruby’s hand, Hazel threaded through the crowd.

It was Mathinna. She stood in the middle of a group of gawkers with her chin raised, her mouth half open. She was taller. Thinner. Her cheekbones jutted sharply and her lips were chapped. Her hair was matted. The hem of her dress was caked with dirt. She looked around her with disinterest, absently rubbing the necklaces of tiny green shells she wore around her neck.

“Fer shame,” a man said, full of scorn. “She’s on the sauce.”

Now that he said it, Hazel realized it was true. “Mathinna,” she called.

The girl turned with a frown. Then broke into a half smile as recognition dawned. “Hazel,” she said in a lazy lilt. “It’s you.” She swayed a little. “I still have them,” she said, patting the necklaces.

“I’m glad.”

The onlookers were quiet, appraising the exchange.

Fixing her eyes on Ruby, Mathinna said, “Is this your girl?”

“Yes. Ruby.”

“Ru-by,” she said in a singsong. She smiled broadly. “Hello, Ru-by.”

“This is Mathinna,” Hazel told Ruby. “Can you say hello?”

“Hello,” Ruby whispered, stepping shyly behind Hazel.

Mathinna tilted her head at Hazel. “They let you out.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Hazel felt her cheeks go pink. Though ex-convicts were everywhere, it wasn’t considered civil to mention this fact in public. Taking Ruby’s hand, she pointed at a small green park across the street. “Shall we go over there?”

“All right.” Mathinna pushed her arms out in front of her and then to the side, her fingers spread wide. “Step back,” she said loudly. When the crowd parted, she led Hazel across the street. Gazing straight ahead, her gait overly deliberate, she ignored the people pointing and staring, whispering behind their hands.