BLACK BOOK BRIDES

She just ran, walked and ran some more. She didn’t know where or how or what she may be doing. Just running, just going, just somewhere, somewhere else.

Finally, she fell, exhausted, tired of running, tired of it all unsure.

But the bushes safe, quiet, a place to hide, a place to stay, to rest, to pause, to think, to sleep.

She lay wearied. Carrying all she had, all she had been able to take and she slept. Like Sleeping Beauty, she slept soundly after hours of running, years of hiding, she slept.

She woke, days? Not sure, night maybe? In the thick brush that had hidden her so well. She had heard footsteps, the calls, the shouting but No not anymore, quiet but for the murmur of the countryside. Wind the in the trees, birds chirping. She wasn’t to return, she had made it this far, backpack on, she will go on.

As daylight came she gathered her senses and saw a small creek nearby, so thirsty she cautiously went, she drank thirsty and then as she gulped in earnest she noticed resting near the bank a bag, a sack of sorts. Curiosity, the bag stuck on the rocks, stuck like her, as if it had travelled and made its way to this place not unlike herself. Hungary now, she dared to open the bag with hope of food. Not food, but money, lot’s and lots of money, bundled notes 50’s 100’s. DAMN she thought as her hunger raged, but wow a wad of cash. Escape had been the plan and now the money to do it. But now energy or direction, just hunger and confusion and a fortunate find.

She but the bag and its valuable contents into her own ragged pack and decided to continue, following along the creek, surely water leads to a source, food, freedom, life.

Again, she kept walking and walking it seemed like the stream was endless, flowing forever, torrid little rapids reminding her of her the endless torment of her past. But she kept walking and stumbling along until she could see beyond the trees along the bank a small village or it seemed. A Convent maybe? Small dwellings scattered around, sheds and gardens and a large Manor style house. Here she stumbled again and fell wearily to the ground. Needing to rest and assess the situation, she hid her pack in a small hollow of a tree, scratching a small with all her strength with a stick in the stump. Cautious to approach the settlement and wanting to protect her identity and newly found riches. She watched and she rested.

She was awoken by a young girl. She dressed in unusual, old, plain, feudal somewhat medieval, black and white somewhat grey clothes. She spoke softly, offering her help. You scream, waver, he cannot know, cannot find me.

Startled, the girl urged you to stay calm, assured you that you were safe and ushered you to the community with the promise of food and shelter. Her name was Bethany.

You ate the food given Bethany and ‘mother’ as she was called and then when offered a bed to rest you slept, slept and slept some more. It had seemed like days, but the women confirmed it to be only a day. They urged you to wash and dress and presented clothes to wear the same as they own, dress, pinafore, spartan and drab.

In the old room in what seemed like a hundred years away from civilisation you found enough strength to start again, as you watched the ladies burn your worn clothes from a small window above the bed.

They welcomed you, gave you breakfast, from a wood stocked stove in the darkened kitchen, they did not question your being or where you had been, you said your name, not real of course and they proposed you stay and gather strength but to abide by the rules and work to be part of the community.

The men not seen often working in the fields and attending ‘meetings’ only to return for supper never spoke. Bethany herself was quiet as a mouse most days with little to say or ask of her. Mother just watched with a keen eye and only scolded at any inappropriate action.

Then one day, whilst working, in the ‘Big House’ you notice a small door, a closet set in the wall of a room. Curiosity compels you to look and there alone a small black book. You secretly and hastily scan the pages, names, names, and more names listed, all female, followed by a number an amount a dollar sign. You stop in shock, your name, your age 16 and your value.

You realise now why, how you were with him, sold, bought paid for. But now you have the power, you have the money and you will escape again.

You place the book back. Not to alert anyone. You complete your chores, you speak softly and sweetly as they do and thank all, they don’t seem to act as if they know who you are but you know now.

You wait each day, chores, meals, prays. Waiting, looking again for a time to run, to walk to walk away, far, far, away. You plan, first to retrieve your found fortune and then to flee. You are allowed to walk freely through the settlement and to the creek when time. Slowly you fetch the notes day by day from the hidden hollow and at night by candle you sew quietly and quickly the money into your clothes, the hems, the sleeves, the pockets.

Then came a day, all were gathered in the ‘Big House’ for pray, the only time the men spoke, but this was a different meeting, they announced that you were to be wed, I was not to question, who or why it was time.

The other women, Bethany and Mother acted with fiend excitement, making my marital preparations. I fetched & sewed faster all the money was mine tucked in every cranny of my crude clothes.

One day an opportunity, a chance. I was to be taken to town to get the gown. We rode in an old Ford wagon I’d barely seen around that appeared from a work shed. We drove for what seemed like hours along dusty red dirt roads, then potted holed old tarmac, until came a town sign ‘Adeberring’.

You do escape through the window of the dress shop fitting room you run and run through the small-town ducking through little lanes, between buildings till finally you find a truck stop and hide in the rear of a truck. It seemed like hours before the engine rumbled and slowly moved, to where? It didn’t matter I was free again.

It was dark, when you dared to exit the trailer to find yourself at a depot, semi-trailers, lined up all around, where were you? A sign posted on the commercial building PERTH Heavy Haulage & Transport.

Again, you walk for hours, reaching the city centre you seek shelter at a refuge you find from enquires made of strangers. With the help of the caring volunteers at the home, you began to scrap to together a new life, a fresh start a new identity. You stayed and began to work at the refuge yourself. You started using the money you had been so lucky to find into projects for the place you now called home. You found the courage to finally tell your story and passed the information to authorities, who tracked and traced and arrested the perpetrators. The hearings lasted years, The Black Book Trials and the victims came to you seeking as yourself once did safety and a new life.

10 years passed, and now you stand outside the small building, the safe haven you had fled too, admiring the new signage Out of the Black Women’s Refuge. Your fortunate find now helping all women who had suffered misfortune find their own new fortunate lives.