by Barbara Wood
She thought again of the five thousand acres that abutted the northern boundary of Merinda. She alone knew why Colin was anxious to get his hands on it. Revenge, she thought, was a powerful instrument. And if she played her hand skillfully, she could use it to her own advantage as well.
As they came to the river, a pair of plovers, nesting nearby in the ground, flew up excitedly, circling and diving at the intruders, screeching in their peculiar way. Ezekiel took the lead, guiding his horse along the river bank, examining the ground. Colin followed close behind, with Pauline and Judd. It was quiet by the water's edge, the air smelled of loam and decay. Dark shadows lay pooled between the massive trunks of Red River and ghost gums. The horses picked their way carefully among the debris, avoiding fallen logs rotten with termites, and snake holes. A male emu, crouching on a nest of freshly laid eggs, lay with his neck stretched out on the ground and hardly stirred as the horses' hooves passed nearby. Overhead, a pair of pink-gray galahs squabbled around a nesting hole.
"She been here, Mr. MacGregor," Ezekiel said quietly, pointing to fresh kangaroo spoor. "Not long ago. This morning, maybe. Got joey with her, too."
Colin nodded and turned in his saddle to look at Pauline. Her long bow lay across her saddle, the quiver of arrows was strapped to her back. They had agreed that they would both try for the doe, Colin using his gun, Pauline her bow. But the joey, Colin had said, was to be left for Judd.
They crossed the river at a shallow point and followed it only a short distance before the tracker led them off along a smaller creek. Ezekiel raised his hand, bringing the party to a halt. Then he slid down from his horse and got on his hands and knees to examine the ground. The others waited in silence.
Ezekiel knew this area well. He had lived as a boy in a small settlement farther up the river with his extended family, who had numbered nearly thirty. In the years since, Ezekiel had seen his kin die from white man's diseases or get slaughtered by white men wanting this land. Now he was the only one of his family left.
"Well, boy?" Colin said finally. "What do you think?"
Ezekiel got to his feet and frowned. "I think that blue-flyer go through them trees there, Mr. MacGregor. But old Ezekiel don't go in there."
"Why not?"
"Taboo ground, Mr. MacGregor. Belong to Emu Dreaming. Bad luck if we go in."
"Stay here then. Judd, follow me."
They picked their way through the trees, still on horseback, until they came to a small clearing. Then they dismounted, left the animals with a groom and continued their silent exploration on foot.
Pauline walked with her bow ready, a hunting arrow, with its deadly barbed tip, slack against the bowstring.
Colin heard a sound, stopped suddenly and looked around. Judd, not paying attention, bumped into his father and received a reprimanding look. The three listened, holding their breath.
"Over there!" whispered Pauline, pointing. She raised her bow and took aim.
The doe, her blue-gray fur looking smoky in the autumn light, rose up from her grazing and stared at the hunters. Nearby, the joey was munching on the river grass.
Colin raised his rifle, but Pauline was already loosing her arrow.
The doe quickly thumped one of her great legs, and the joey, hearing the alarm signal, looked up in time to see his mother spring into the air and catch an arrow in her flank. She fell to the ground, kicking wildly. And then she was up again, hopping, with blood streaming down her thigh.
Before Pauline could take aim with a second arrow, Colin's rifle went off and the doe flew out backward. The panicked joey hopped frantically toward its mother, then swung about on its tail and darted in another direction.
"Shoot, Judd!" cried Colin. "You've got a clear shot. Do it now!"
Judd froze, and shook so badly he couldn't keep the gun still.
"Now!"
Judd tried to follow the frightened joey with his gun. He felt sick. He started to cry.
"Damn it, boy!" shouted his father. "Shoot!"
Judd pulled the trigger and fell down, stunned by the report.
"You got him!" Colin cried, as he ran to the dead kangaroos. "This is the doe we tried to get last spring, Judd! I told you she had a joey in her pouch." He put his boot on the doe, grasped Pauline's arrow, and pulled it out. Tossing it to her, he said triumphantly, "I believe you have lost the contest, Miss Downs!"
But Pauline was helping Judd to his feet. "Come on," she said gently. "You're all right."
But the boy was weeping uncontrollably. "Poor little joey!" he cried. "Poor little joey!"
Colin said with annoyance, "Come here, Judd."
The boy didn't move; his shoulders heaved.
Having heard the shots, the grooms came running through the trees. "Good shot, sir," one of them said, a man who got down on his knees, took a knife out of his belt, and proceeded to hack off the kangaroos' tails.
"Judd," Colin said in a significant tone. "Come here and claim your trophy."
But the boy held back, sniffing and gulping down his sobs. "Go on, Judd," Pauline said, giving him a gentle push. "Do as your father says."
Judd finally walked stiffly forward, his blue eyes wide with horror. When he saw the bloodied tails come away from the lifeless bodies, he spun around and threw up.
"Come here, son," Colin said as he reached out for the joey's tail. "This is your first kill. It's something to be proud of."
When he took Judd by the arm, Pauline said, "Colin, wait," knowing what he was about to do.
But she was too late. Colin smeared the bloody tail over Judd's face and hair.
The child screamed.
"What's the matter with you?" Colin shouted as he tried to hold on to the wriggling body of his son.
"He's frightened," Pauline said. "Leave him alone."
"Frightened! Damn it, Miss Downs, I was blooded when I was seven years old, and I wasn't frightened!"
"He doesn't understand! He doesn't know what you're doing!"
While the grooms exchanged anxious glances—when their boss got mad everyone suffered—Ezekiel watched. He had seen this ritual before, this cutting off the tail of someone's first kill and smearing the blood on them. It was an old tradition, one of the graziers had once explained to Ezekiel, brought over from the old country, although there it involved an animal called a fox. It was one of the few white man's rites that Ezekiel thought made sense, although they always forgot to ask the animal's forgiveness just before they killed it. No Aborigine would think of overlooking such an important formality; it brought bad magic.
Judd kicked and screamed until finally he was free, and he ran away from his father and was caught up in Pauline's arms. "There, there," she said, trying to calm him. "It's all right. It happens to everyone their first time. It won't ever happen again."
"Stop mollycoddling him," Colin said. "How do you expect him to grow up and be a man if he doesn't start learning now? Stop crying, Judd!"
"Shouting isn't going to help, you'll only make things worse. Can't you see how upset he is?" She stroked Judd's hair and said, "There, there, it's all right. We'll go back now."
She delivered Judd into the care of one of the grooms, who washed his face.
Colin came up to Pauline and said, "Forgive me for shouting at you, Miss Downs. I worry for Judd's sake. He must learn to take care of himself. If I should lose him—"
"He'll be all right, Mr. MacGregor."
She turned her face into the wind and shaded her eyes. "Is that Merinda property over there? Have you heard, Mr. Colin, that Hugh's wife is expecting their first child?"
She saw Colin's face go hard.
"I shouldn't be surprised," Pauline said with a laugh, "if in a few years you had a whole brood of Westbrooks for neighbors! Hugh is doing quite well, I hear. He's even started to build a big house down by the river. And apparently he's come by an extraordinary ram that he claims will create a sturdy new breed of sheep. Who would have thought it, Mr. MacGregor, when Hugh first came to the distric
t all those years ago?"
She saw where his gaze was fixed: on the stretch of land at the foot of the mountains, the five thousand acres that embraced Merinda's northern border. As she started to walk away, Colin suddenly took her arm and said, "Miss Downs. You said your brother was willing to sell that land to me."
"Well," she said. "Perhaps not sell exactly."
"What do you mean?"
She looked over at Judd, who seemed to have already forgotten his fright. "He's better now," Pauline said. "He just needed a gentle touch."
After a moment, Colin said carefully, "You were right when you said Judd needed a mother, Miss Downs. And I have been giving it a great deal of thought. Perhaps in fact it wouldn't be fair to the boy to bring in a stranger. He needs someone he is already comfortable with."
"He knows Miss Todd and Miss Campbell."
"Yes."
Pauline turned her eyes to him. She watched the breeze stir his black hair as he searched for the right words. "I was thinking, Miss Downs, perhaps Judd would prefer that I marry someone more like you."
"Like me?"
He glanced toward the mountains, toward prosperous Merinda, where he envisioned Hugh Westbrook enjoying a happy life with his bride. "Would you consider it?" he asked.
And Pauline smiled. "Perhaps," she said.
FOURTEEN
M
Y DEAREST SISTER," THE LETTER READ. "AFTER FIVE months at sea, we have arrived at the Sydney Settlement at last. Words cannot describe the horrors of our voyage. Miss Pratt and myself and two other ladies were jammed into a cabin measuring seven feet by nine; we slept in bunks too narrow to hold us, and three would have to step outside while one dressed. The ship's only two water closets for over two hundred passengers were alongside our cabin, and they stank abominably. Many of the migrants on board possessed no change of clothing; we swarmed with lice, and the ship was infested with rats. Eight children were born during the voyage; five died."
Joanna looked at the rain washing gently down the window of her hotel room. She could make out the halos of gaslights in the street, and hear the creak and rattle of carriages hurrying by, the horses' hooves clip-clopping on the pavement. It was cold outside, but her suite at the King George Hotel was warmed by fires that burned in two large fireplaces, one in the bedroom, the other in the sitting room where she sat, watching the rainy, dying day outside. She had been at work since early that morning, sorting through the boxes of papers Frank Downs had sent over from the Times. They were a curious melange of documents, deeds, notices, private letters, receipts, bills of lading, old yellowed newspapers, and even diaries and one ship's log—all dating as far back as 1790. They were being collected and catalogued by the staff of the Times, in preparation for a special book Frank was going to bring out, a "scrapbook" commemorating Australia's centenary, which would take place in four years. He had placed them at Joanna's disposal when she had told him about Patrick Lathrop's letter, and his reference to a ship bearing the name of a mythical beast. "Aussies love a mystery," Frank had declared when he had brought the boxes to the hotel. "And your family's story, my dear Joanna, is certainly a mystery. If there is anything in here that leads you to Karra Karra and you finally do find it, it will make a good yarn for the Times."
Joanna felt that it was more serious than "a good yarn," but she was grateful for Frank's help, and she liked the fact that Frank Downs possessed such enthusiasm for his young country. "A lot of people don't realize it, Joanna," he had told her, "but
Australia exists only because America broke away from England. Up until 1776, England sent her unwanted criminals to the American colonies. But once that door was closed, they had to find another dumping ground for her outcasts. Australia was the choice, and here we are." The book was going to begin, Frank had said, with the discovery of Australia by Captain Cook. When Joanna had remarked that she wondered if the Aborigines had been aware that they and their land were being "discovered," Hugh had said, "Invaded is more the proper word for it."
Joanna thought of Sarah, and wondered what she was doing at that moment. Keeping an eye on Philip McNeal and his work crew down by the river, Joanna suspected. She had noticed Sarah's growing attraction to the American, how she was always somewhere near where he was working.
The clock on the mantel chimed six, reminding Joanna of the hour. Hugh had gone out that morning to arrange for the transport of his new ram, which he was calling Zeus, to Merinda, after which he had said he would stop by the house of a Miss Tallhill, with whom he had left Joanna's deed and a sample of John Makepeace's shorthand. He had also gone to a gemstone expert to see if they could determine the value of the fire opal she had inherited. Joanna expected Hugh any moment; they were going to meet Frank for dinner in the hotel dining room.
She looked at the letter she had just read. It was dated 1820, and it was signed by a Miss Margo Pelletier. Joanna wondered how Frank had come by the letter, and she wondered about Miss Pelletier, what had made her leave England, and what had become of her.
Joanna picked up a piece of paper entitled, "To the Advocate-General, George Fletcher Moore, Western Australia, 1834, A Report on the Conditions of the Aborigines in the Colony." She read: "The blacks are a singular race of beings, possessing none of the rudiments of civilization, having neither house nor home, worshipping no God, fearing no devils, glorifying in massacre, totally without morals or conscience whatsoever, and who do not cherish the land as a white man will."
Joanna's hours of work had so far produced no mention of a ship named for a mythical animal, or any clue that could lead to solving the puzzle of her family's past. She had hoped to find mention of a red mountain, or even of a white couple living with their child among the Aborigines. The book she had purchased at the Book Emporium, My Life Among the Aborigines, had provided no useful information.
She opened the last of the boxes and lifted out a hand-lettered notice that read, "Who ever stole My Horses Sunday last is gone to get found and He's gone to be sorry That He Did It." There was a hole at the top, where the notice had been nailed to a tree.
Finally, she picked up a brittle copy of the Sydney Gazette, dated 1835.
"Public Notice," it read. "The vessel Nimrod, Captain White, arrived Sydney Harbour on Saturday from London, Plymouth, Tenerife, and the Cape, bearing a cargo of copper, tools, cloth, carriages, mail, and agriculture supplies, plus a complement of passengers. Owners Buchanan and Co. respectfully inform the Public that the Nimrod will set sail one week hence for England, and will accommodate twenty paying passengers."
Did such a notice as this still exist somewhere, Joanna wondered, announcing in 1830 the arrival of the ship Minotaur or Cyclops or Pegasus, bearing cargo and a complement of passengers? And was there among those passengers a man named John Makepeace, with his young wife, Naomi?
And where, on this great, vast continent, had they first set foot on land? "You won't find any records of a ship docking at Melbourne in 1830," Frank had warned her. "At that time, Melbourne didn't even exist. There was nothing here except Aborigines." That left Sydney and Brisbane in the east, Adelaide in the south and Perth in the west.
Joanna was determined not to give up hope. She thought of the letters she would write to the addresses of shipowners Frank was going to provide her with, inquiring about a ship named for a mythical beast and whether a couple named Makepeace had sailed on it. If she could just find that, then she felt she might be able to locate where her grandparents had gone to, and where her mother had been born. And then she could get on with resolving the past, and the dreams that continued to haunt her, her fears that her unborn child would inherit them.
Miss Adele Tallhill's soft voice joined the whisper of the rain beyond the windows as she said, "The study of this deed, Mr. Westbrook, provided me with hours of enjoyment. It was rather like solving a puzzle. And I am happy to report that I was successful in deciphering some portion of the writing."
Hugh and Miss Tallhill were sitting in her parlor, warmed by a roari
ng fire, a tray of sherry and biscuits on the table between them. The room was cluttered with bric-a-brac, and the air was pervaded with the heavy scent of lavender.
Hugh had brought the deed and a sample of John Makepeace's shorthand to Miss Tallhill, an invalid lady confined to a wheelchair, who lived with her parents and who earned a modest living with her calligraphy. She received commissions to write personal letters, inscribe diplomas and invitations, and create fancy love notes. She was also known around Melbourne for her expertise in handwriting analysis.
Hugh glanced discreetly at the clock over the fireplace. He was due back at the hotel and he was anxious to give Joanna his news. After making arrangements for transporting his new ram to Merinda, Hugh had stopped at the office of Buchanan and Co., a major shipping line, and there he had learned that they owned two ships named the Pegasus and the Minotaur. The clerk offered to write to the Buchanan and Co. headquarters in London for information on their histories.
He had also taken the fire opal to a dealer in precious gems, to have its value assayed, and possibly to determine where it had come from. The man had not been able to guess the country of origin, or its market value. But he had offered to buy it from Hugh for a considerable price.
"What were you able to decipher, Miss Tallhill?" he asked.
