Author: Mehreen Ahmed
Category: Historical Fiction
Print ISBN: 9781988762067
Publisher: Cosmic Teapot Publishing
In 1866, Peter Baxter’s misfortune ends the day he leaves Badgerys Creek orphanage. Unsure of what to do next, Peter finds himself on a farm run by Mr. Brown. An aging man, Brown needs help and is happy to give Peter a place to live in exchange for his labor. Unbeknownst to Peter, Brown’s past is riddled with dark secrets tied to the same orphanage, which he has documented in a red folder.
During a chance encounter, Peter meets Rose. Peter cannot help but fall in love with her beauty, grace, and wit; however, he fears that his affection will go unrequited as a result of his crippling poverty. But fate changes when Peter joins the search for gold in Hill End, New South Wales. Striking it rich, he returns to Rose a wealthy man. Peter is changed by his new found affluence, heading towards the mire of greed. Will Rose regret her relationship with Peter?
Meanwhile, Rose has her own troubled history. One that is deeply entwined with Brown’s past and Peter’s future.
Queensland writer, Mehreen Ahmed has been publishing since 1987. Her writing career began with journalism, academic reviews and articles. Her journalistic articles appeared in The Sheaf, a campus newspaper for the University of Saskatchewan, Canada, between 1987 and 1999.
She has written academic book reviews and articles and has published them in notable peer-reviewed journals in her area of study. Mostly introspective, Mehreen also writes fiction. Set in Brisbane Queensland, Jacaranda Blues is her debut novella, written in a stream of consciousness style. A featured author for Story Institute, she has published The Blotted Line, a collection of short stories. More recently, Snapshots and Moirae were first published by PostScript Editions, UK in 2010 and a second edition by Cosmic Teapot Publishing, Canada in 2016. Her flash fiction, The Portrait has been published by Straylight Literary Magazine, a biannual magazine of the University of Wisconsin-Parkland, English Department.
She has earned two MA degrees. One in English and the other in Computer Assisted Language Learning (Applied Linguistics) from Dhaka University and the University of Queensland, Brisbane Australia.
At first, Rose was disoriented. She looked around. Her silent whisperers had stopped talking. Sitting up on the bed, she realized that she was in a room with a closed door. Fear crept into her mind. She looked around, realizing that she sat on a bed covered with frayed sheets and a torn, stained pillow. A lump rose up to her throat.
“Mummy, mummy,” Rose broke down into uncontrollable tears. Before more than a few minutes passed, the door opened. A shadow appeared on its dark threshold. It began to walk towards her. She gawked at the figure through tear-stained eyes. Her lips parted. She gripped the bed cloths until her little fingers ached.
“Come with me, child,” commanded a male voice.
“I … I want my mummy,” she hiccupped.
“There is no mummy here. Mummies aren’t allowed.”
“Where is my mummy?”
“She’s dead, I’m afraid.”
“Dead? What’re you saying?”
“I say the truth. The faster you settle down here, the better. You’ll make it easier for everyone. Now come along.”
The male figure extended an arm towards Rose, asking her to hold it. In the dark, Rose slipped her tiny palm, losing it, into his large one. She wanted to trust him but could not stop sobbing. This sudden news of her mother’s death broke her heart, irreparably. She wanted to break loose, to run as fast as she could. But her hand, now in the clutches of this man, no matter how much she squirmed, could not get out. Nor would her tears stop.
“Did … I … kill … her?” she hiccupped.
“What on earth are you saying?”
“Those voices never gave me any peace.”
“Let’s talk about them in my office tomorrow.”
“You didn’t kill anyone, dear. Make a note of that, okay?”
Her tears abated. She picked up a corner of her dress and wiped her nose with it, the fluids slowly drenched in the seam. They continued to walk through the hall. In the dim light, imparted by lanterns set along the corridor, she could only see their shadows. They walked until they appeared in front of an ornate antique door. It had a big ring hanging outside. The man took out a key. He turned it into the keyhole then pushed the thick door. It creaked around the hinges as it opened. Rose peeked inside, standing in the shadow of the man, looking around in awe. It was a long dormitory with at least five single beds hemmed together. Each bed was covered with a thin blanket and a lumpy pillow. There were small girls, about her age, sitting or lying on their beds. When they saw her, they straightened up, sitting erect on the edge of each bed.
“This is where you’ll sleep every night,” he said.
Q – Why was it important for you to write The Pacifist?
A – The gold rush period in Australia fascinated me. I wanted to write an historical novel on how some people became rich by gold collection. I found the period romantic and adventurous.
Q – In what ways is it challenging to write an historical fiction?
A – Historical accuracies are most challenging. I had to thoroughly research in order to write a piece of fiction surrounding the historical facts. There were so many small details to consider!
Q – This story revolves around a little town called Byron Bay. What attracted you to this location?
A – The Cape Byron light house. I was fascinated by the majestic attraction when I first visited it. In the story, it plays an important symbol.
Q – What is your favorite part of The Pacifist and why?
A – My favorite part is Peter Baxter’s success. His success transforms him – but not in an entirely positive way. However, as a result, he becomes a rounded character.
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