In a Great Southern Land

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

They all looked too frightened to respond until one timidly raised her hand. ‘I ken cook, sir, and I ain’t got no vermin.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re as disgusting a woman as ever saw daylight so that’s out of the question.’ She was, indeed, an unfortunate-looking woman with her blackened teeth and matted frizzy hair and Dave stifled a chuckle, despite the tension.

  ‘Shhh,’ Kieran hissed again.

  ‘I…can…’ Shirley began but he simply shook his head.

  ‘You look like you just swallowed half that disease-ridden river, my dear, and I need someone who’ll survive the journey.’

  Shirley’s eyes went wide but that devastating comment silenced her.

  ‘Who else have we got?’ None dared respond at all now and Kieran noted Eve’s chin was very low as the captain sighed. ‘Looks like I’ve wasted my time. Take them off to the asylum now, man, and make sure you…’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Kieran called out, taking his chance. Dave grabbed at his arm but he shook it off as he moved forward towards the captain. ‘I believe I recognise one woman here who fits the bill nicely.’

  ‘Who said that? Speak up then,’ Captain Cartwright boomed, turning.

  Bold but never cocky, Kieran reminded himself, taking a deep breath before continuing. ‘The name’s Kieran, sir, Kieran Clancy,’ he said, doffing his new cap. ‘I said I recognise one of these women. She worked in a fine country house in Ireland where I was a stableman for a while. The family brought her all the way out from London, she was so skilled a maid.’

  ‘Which family was it?’

  ‘Lord and Lady Whitely,’ Kieran said, detesting the reference but knowing it held clout.

  ‘Hmm, yes, I’ve heard of the man. Rather particular about his servants, as I recall. Which woman is it?’ he asked, interested now as he perused them again.

  ‘Eve Richards, Captain, one of the ladies who unfortunately fell into the river, but I can assure you she didn’t, er…ingest the water and isn’t normally prone to accident,’ Kieran said, walking the captain over and standing before Eve, ‘except the one that landed her here, of course.’

  Captain Cartwright looked Eve over slowly, taking in every detail of her person from the wet, grubby dress, to the red-raw shackle marks, but his grim expression softened somewhat when it reached her face. ‘What kind of “accident”?’

  ‘She was involved in a runaway cart disaster. A wealthy man was killed and the poor girl was blamed but everyone knew it wasn’t her fault. A terrible shame for a young lass.’

  ‘Cart, eh?’ said the captain. ‘And what were you doing driving one as a maid?’

  ‘Oh, she wasn’t driving, sir…’

  ‘I was addressing the girl.’

  Kieran watched nervously as Eve searched for words, praying for her own sake she’d play along. ‘It was my friend who was driving, sir, only he ran off and left the blame with me. I am guilty though, in a way. I trusted far too easily and my own foolishness landed me here. I cannot say otherwise, if I am entirely honest.’

  The captain looked both taken aback and impressed. ‘That’s quite a cultured accent you have there. How did you acquire it?’

  ‘My father, sir. He was a learned man.’

  Kieran saw a glimmer of tears but Eve blinked them away and he held his breath as the captain made up his mind. ‘Well, at least we won’t have to put up with some godawful cockney wailing all day. You’ll do, Eve. Get your things and let’s get moving.’

  Eve blushed but this time that elegant neck didn’t bow in shame. ‘I have none, sir.’

  ‘Eh? Well, never mind. Say your goodbyes and get in the carriage. Must be some blasted papers to sign, there usually are. Where’s that drunken fool got to?’

  ‘Here, sir,’ said Sergeant Sotheby.

  The captain went over to sign his ownership of Eve and Kieran turned to take his leave, wishing he could do more but knowing this was, at least, a better fate for her than a Tasmanian gaol.

  Her eyes were fixed on him now, her mouth parted in shock at what had just transpired, he imagined, her life completely altered on a stranger’s whim.

  ‘Well, I guess this is goodbye then,’ he began, wishing it weren’t so as those incredible eyes filled once more. ‘Hey now, lass, don’t cry. ’Tis a better future for you now. You may even earn your freedom with him, you never know.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she whispered, ‘it’s just that…you’re so kind to do this and I can’t possibly ever repay you.’

  ‘It was your kindness that motivated me in the first place. You should be thanking yourself.’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘I’m thanking you, sir, from the bottom of my heart. You’ve given me so much more today than you’ll ever know.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you again someday, down near Melbourne, and you can give me a kiss for me troubles.’ He said it to lighten the mood but she looked around then and did just that, kissing him quickly on the cheek and whispering in his ear.

  ‘I’ll never forget you, Kieran Clancy, not for as long as I live.’

  They called for her then and Dave sidled up to Kieran, grabbing him and pulling him into the crowd. Kieran reluctantly obliged but kept watching as Eve whispered something to the other river- soaked woman before boarding the carriage and being driven away, not taking his eyes from her back until she disappeared from view.

  ‘One of these days you’ll get me killed,’ Dave said, shaking his head. ‘Whatever were you thinking to do such a thing? Your brain’s gone soft! She could have murdered kittens for all you know.’

  Kieran found he actually didn’t care what crime she’d committed; he’d seen a kind woman in action today, a good soul in those eyes.

  ‘She deserved a better life.’

  ‘As if you can be the judge of such a thing! You weren’t using your brain at all, I’m betting. You moony idjit.’

  Dave was right about that much. Kieran hadn’t been using his brain when he’d made decisions about Eve, he’d been ruled by his heart, which meant it wasn’t quite broken after all. Not even when the lass had blonde hair, although hers was more white than gold.

  She was just as out of reach as Maeve O’Shannassey but, as he watched the carriage disappear, he vowed he would find Eve Richards again one day. He knew he would do it too, with absolute certainty, as he rubbed at the place where she’d kissed him just now. He knew it because their fates were inextricably entwined forever now. And because it was exactly what he really shouldn’t do.

  Nineteen

  Orange, New South Wales, September 1852

  The early morning clouds laced the sky like sea foam, silver and white against the pale blue, and Liam watched them glide contentedly as he drank his tea on the front porch. Well, Eileen liked to call the roughly built lean-to a ‘porch’ anyway, but then again she liked to call the three-bedroom cottage Liam and Rory had constructed this summer a ‘homestead’ too. It could hardly be termed such but Liam indulged his sister such folly. He’d even helped Rory and the kids make a sign for the front gate that read Welcome to Clancy Homestead, may God bless our home sweet home. Thomas, James and Matthew had done their best to paint flowers around the edges but they were rather blotchy and smudged. It was just another reason Liam hoped the new baby would be a girl. In his limited bachelor experience they tended to take more care in the finer arts. The fact that they were a good half hour ride out of town and Eileen could use some female company was a larger reason for the preference, of course.

  The sunlight filtered through the trees in rays, almost celestial as it shone in between the twisting branches. They were strange, these Australian gums, twisting upon themselves in all manner of arrangement, their bark peeling back to fall at their base almost banana-like; long dark strips that frayed at the edges. A few held strange markings, intricate curling patterns made by some kind of insect on the smooth grey trunks. Liam had told the children faeries carved them at night, writing secret messages to each other. The astute Thomas hadn’t been fooled f
or a moment.

  ‘As if the faeries would bother to come to Australia, Uncle,’ he’d scoffed. ‘They’d melt in this sun and that’s a fact.’

  ‘I didn’t mean Irish faeries, Thomas. I’m talking about Australian faeries; tougher little creatures than the ones back home, I’m reckoning. Go on and ask your teacher if you don’t believe me.’

  Thomas had still looked sceptical but Liam knew he’d ask her anyway. He was a curious young fellow.

  Liam and Rory spent most days working the land, building fences and holding yards, and a decent enough barn that had sheltered their small herd of cattle that winter. It got ‘bloody cold mate’ in these parts, as the locals liked to say, but even after these past frosty months Liam doubted he would ever really consider it so. Australian cold just couldn’t compare to Irish cold. Still, it was a bit chilly this early spring morning and Liam cupped his fingers around his mug of tea to warm them as voices began to sound from inside.

  ‘…but I have a tummy ache,’ James was complaining. ‘I can’t go to lessons today, Ma.’

  ‘Go on with you,’ Eileen said, ‘and why have you room for porridge then?’

  ‘It’s moved to me brain,’ James told her, his mouth obviously full as he spoke.

  ‘You can’t have a tummy ache in your brain,’ Thomas said, ‘that’s called a headache, like the ones you’re always givin’ me.’

  Liam chuckled as Rory came out to join him, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m sick too, Ma. My tummy aches in me nose,’ Matthew said.

  ‘How’s a stomach sitting there, right on your face?’ Thomas said. ‘Are you gonna sniff your breakfast down then?’

  A sniffly, gurgly noise sounded, followed by the clatter of a bowl and spoon and much giggling.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Eileen exclaimed. ‘By the living saints, you three try my patience. Thomas Murphy, go and fetch a rag, and you younger two, go fetch your satchels.’

  ‘But me tummy ache…’ James protested.

  ‘I’ll give you an ache you won’t forget in a minute! Go on – get!’

  Banging and muttering followed and Rory sipped his tea in silence, trying not to laugh and get in trouble with Eileen, Liam knew. Minutes later the trio ran out of the house, Matthew sporting a milk stain down the front of his shirt, and they yelled their goodbyes as they went down the dirt drive, satchels bouncing as they ran the mile or so to the small school.

  ‘That Thomas will be the death of me yet,’ Eileen declared as she joined the men, with a well-earned cup of tea herself now that the children were out of the house.

  ‘I don’t know how Mrs Backside copes with him,’ Rory said, watching the three heads bobbing down the lane.

  ‘It’s Blackslide, not Backside. I can’t believe you’re calling the poor woman that too,’ Eileen said with exasperation as Liam and Rory both lost their battle in trying not to laugh.

  ‘Seven going on seventeen, that boy I’m afraid, me love,’ Rory said, still chuckling as he put his arm around her, ‘and as full of mischief as a boxful of leprechauns.’

  ‘Aye, and I wonder where he gets it from,’ Eileen said, shoving him a little but smiling now.

  ‘Don’t blame me, blame that prodigal brother of yours,’ he said, holding up his hands in innocence.

  ‘Should have been here weeks ago,’ Eileen said, holding on to her swollen belly as she sat down heavily in her rocking chair to sip her tea. It was her favourite spot, and Liam was glad Rory had insisted on bringing the chair all the way from Ireland then out across the mountains to Orange. Eileen said it warmed her heart to have the comforts of home make the journey too, and there were a few precious, familiar items about the place, most of which had been handed down over generations: the big iron teapot, the statue of Mary in pride of place on the mantle. Eileen often put flowers in front of it as their mother had always done, like a shrine.

  There were plenty of wildflowers on the hundred-acre property but Eileen had taken to watching the view rather than walk among it these past few weeks. The porch was where she spent most of her days now, to sit and take in the green and gold fields beyond those strange twisting trees and look south towards the craggy purple mountain that dominated the landscape, Mt Canobolas. But it was the northern view Liam saw her contemplating most, the rise on the hill where Kieran would eventually appear. Just as she was now.

  ‘He’ll come, Eiles, and he’ll fall in love with the place just as we have,’ Liam reassured her. ‘Kieran’s always needed time to… you know, get over things.’

  ‘Ha! Get over things, is it? Wallow in ale, more like.’

  ‘Probably,’ Liam said with a shrug.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re alright with doing all the hard work setting up our family farm while your brother runs amok in Sydney doing goodness knows what.’

  ‘If that’s what he needs right now…’

  ‘What he needs! Since when does copious amounts of drink mend anything? Not to mention the fact that he still isn’t fully recovered – what if he gets into a pub brawl or beaten up by one of those convicts in those hellish Rocks?’

  ‘He can hold his own, Eiles.’

  ‘Bah! You’re too soft on him, Liam; you both are,’ she added, levelling a stare at Rory. ‘He doesn’t deserve such…such indulgence.’

  ‘Indulgence, is it?’ Liam said.

  ‘You’re not the only one with a vocabulary, Liam Clancy.’

  Liam said nothing, letting Rory take over.

  ‘You can bluster and bristle all you want, love, but it’ll no’ bring him home any faster.’

  Eileen went to say more but then Rory bent over to kiss the top of her head and it silenced her.

  They finished their tea without further conversation, each lost in their own thoughts as the sun broke free above the treetops to shine brilliantly across their land. Liam had meant it when he’d said Kieran would grow to love it here. There were no words to explain the incredible sense of belonging he felt, knowing every tree, every blade of grass and patch of brown earth lay on Clancy land, Clancy owned.

  Everything they worked for was for family, not an English landlord; every tree they stumped, every fence they built, every cow they milked was part of their collective progress. A legacy to build together, and, with their payments to the Crown nearly done with, something to hand down to the next generation and the next. Liam knew Kieran would feel the same about the place, when he finally showed up, but until he did they would all remain restless. Without Kieran here none of them could feel truly settled, nor truly home.

  No, Eileen wasn’t alone in her worrying, although Liam didn’t begrudge their brother the opportunity to ‘run amok’, as she put it. He couldn’t blame Kieran for that, perhaps he’d do the same under similar circumstances, but he also couldn’t stem the fear that pooled in his guts whenever he thought of Kieran in danger. Nor could he ever block out the moment when he’d found him, half-dead, unable to outrun the consequences of his actions back in Ireland.

  It was that still-fresh, terrible memory that drove them all to gaze at that spot on the track each day, praying for Kieran to appear. Perhaps it would be today, perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps the day after that. All Liam knew was that longed-for day would arrive; God wouldn’t have spared his brother’s life for no reason. Surely his miracle survival was a sign that Kieran was destined for great things, that his life had purpose. For some reason Liam’s mother came to mind then and he found himself humming her favourite blessing as he watched and he waited for his brother to come home.

  May the road rise to meet you,

  may the wind be ever at your back.

  May the sun shine warm upon your face,

  and the rains fall soft upon your fields.

  And until we meet again,

  may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

  Twenty

  The wagon clattered down the western side of the Blue Mountains, past thick woodlands of mountain ash and occasional pockets of rainforest, and Kieran b
reathed deeply of the aromatic air. It was said the eucalyptus oil from the trees gave the area its unique perfume, the haze of which coloured the atmosphere and turned the mountains ‘blue’.

  They certainly were that, a striking hue that rendered them quite beautiful in Kieran’s opinion, and he was thoroughly enjoying the journey across the newly, and remarkably, built road that traversed the Great Dividing Range. The locals had told them tall tales of its construction last night, how men had lost their lives attempting to cut through this rugged country, and he could well believe it. The craggy mountain range stood like a wall between the coast and the fertile western plains beyond but finally, after several decades trying, access had been achieved ten years ago. Thriving communities had risen quickly, lured by the mining, timber and trade in the area and the opportunity to provide accommodation and refreshments to pioneer settlers, such as himself, as they made their trek across.

  They came in droves to the vast west, not just for rich farmland but for an even greater opportunity to make their fortune now: gold. The hunt for burnished riches was spreading like fever, sweeping across Sydney these past few weeks and reputedly far beyond her shores. Thousands were making the pilgrimage to Bathurst and Orange to find out if the rumours of fist-sized nuggets were true, and Kieran had been surprised at how busy the roads and towns were.

  Crisply cool, the alpine belt had an aura of excitement about it as people stopped for supplies and shared theories on how best to extract the precious stuff from the earth. Blackheath, in particular, was a bustling haven of industry and growth, bursting at the seams with wagons and people carrying all manner of mining and building materials.

  It all felt incongruous somehow to Kieran, to see such strangely modern undertakings among a prehistoric landscape. One local had told him that scientists now theorised the whole area was once a volcano, and the deep ravines were really an ancient crater. Millions of years of weathering had further sunken valley floors and Kieran observed that these mountains felt somehow in reverse, with sheer sandstone cliffs crumbling deep into the rainforest pockets below.