‘You’re really Charles Ridgeway? But you let me think you were someone else?’ Edwina moved from his side. Why had he done such a thing? Pretended to be Mason. Lied to her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You made me think you were someone else. I trusted you and you lied to me.’
‘Thought he was someone else, did you, Edwina?’ her father snorted, leaning on the verandah’s wooden post for balance. ‘He’s a cunning one. Came here … asked to walk out with you … After what he did … Ruined everything.’ He grew more breathless, his words choppy with effort. ‘Probably set Fernleigh onto me that night. Did you sool your mongrel dog on me out of spite?’ He grabbed at the post, steadying his balance, chest heaving.
Mason walked towards the verandah. ‘Mr Baker, I don’t know what you’re talking about. However, as far as your daughter is concerned, I never meant to mislead her. I am known as Mason to my friends and that’s how we were introduced. Wasn’t it?’ he asked Edwina.
‘But why didn’t you tell me the truth?’
‘How difficult did you make that for me?’ countered Mason. ‘Always ranting on about Charles, thinking and expecting the worst of him. Think about it, Edwina. What would you have done if you’d been me?’
‘Spoken up,’ replied Edwina, ‘considering the dealings going on between our two families and your slowness in repaying my father’s loan. I can’t understand how you could have led me to believe you were someone else.’
‘And where would that have got me? Nowhere, considering your reaction. But let’s not talk about deceptions, Edwina, not with the plans you have going on.’
Edwina looked from Mason to her father and back again. He had no right to be doing this, to be using her as a scapegoat for his dishonesty.
‘Your good opinion was what mattered to me, Edwina, but I apologise for going about trying to obtain it the way I did.’
Hamilton straightened, cocked the rifle. ‘Pretty fictions don’t hold much here. Go.’
‘Mr Baker, please,’ said Mason, ‘this is ridiculous.’
‘Get off … my land.’
The rifle trembled as her father placed the stock of the gun hard to his shoulder. Mason continued walking forwards, telling him to put the rifle down before someone got hurt.
‘Don’t, Mason,’ called Edwina. ‘Stop.’
‘I said leave, Ridgeway!’
‘Father, please!’ Edwina ran forwards as her father took aim and fired. The force of the weapon sent him reeling backwards, sprawling onto his back.
Mason was reaching for her, calling out her name, but Edwina couldn’t answer.
A fiery pain blistered its way through her body and she halted instantly, shuddering back and forth, as if balancing on a wooden beam.
The sky overhead was far too bright. The clouds swirling uncontrollably as she collapsed to the ground.
Chapter Forty
He was still there. As the man was every morning. For hours he waited, day in, day out, hat in hand, thirty feet from the house. Unmoving, unmoveable. Grass crinkling with the dryness. Trees growing crepey from the sun. The birds so used to his presence that they happily hopped about his boots, one snappy little willy-wagtail perching on the dry leather. Even the collies were on his side. They too waited patiently. Condemning in their presence.
Hamilton itched cheek stubble, twisted his face in a grimace, backing away from the window.
Two weeks were behind them. Fourteen days of terrified waiting. Hours of heat-dredged days and listless nights. Minutes spent imagining the worst when the infection set in. Seconds of pounding blood in unhearing ears. The putrid stench of illness. He’d thought the delirium the wickedest of things. A creeping disease that took hold of his daughter. The mad ramblings. The thrashing of bedclothes. The terrible sweating.
And yet it was the resultant silence that skewered the heart.
At one point Hamilton decided to have a grave dug. To be ready for the inevitable. Two days were spent riding around the property in the buggy searching for the right spot. Not too lonely. Too hot or cold. With a view across the open grassland towards the rising sun. Away from the wheat and the dratted pear. In the end Hamilton couldn’t do it. Couldn’t embark on the beginning of the end. To Aiden he explained the unsuitability of every location, that there was no place good enough for his only daughter.
In truth Hamilton was simply incapable of beginning the long goodbye that would never end.
Outside, the man was leaving. Mounting the faithful horse. Not looking back. Ridgeway remained silent as he had since the beginning of his vigil. And with his arrival that first day Hamilton continued ignoring him, staring defiantly out the window at the man who waited for news. Never speaking, only lingering. Patient and hopeful. Steadfast. Stoic. Waiting for a few crumbs of knowledge that Hamilton refused to give. He wasn’t welcome. The bastard would never be welcome. If not for him, none of this would have happened.
There was a new albatross. One to replace the prickly pear and his name was Charles Ridgeway. Hamilton snorted in disgust. Sat in the parlour and waited. As they all waited, the grandfather clock marking precious time.
‘Well?’ asked Hamilton when his son appeared.
‘The same,’ answered Aiden, ‘still the same. Davidson’s with her applying more maggots. I can’t understand you allowing him to do that. It’s disgusting.’ The boy was white.
‘The surgeons used it during the war, Aiden. The blackfellas, probably long before. They eat away the badness. It will help her.’
‘If she lives.’ Aiden’s voice was barely audible.
Hamilton nodded. ‘If she lives.’
‘Edwina said Mason’s name, Father. I thought you should know.’
‘Well, now I know,’ answered Hamilton. ‘And it’s Charles. Charles Mason Ridgeway. They are one and the same. Don’t forget that.’ Aiden left the room.
Hamilton clenched the passbook and telegrams found left in the study. They lived by his chair these days. The culmination of a lifetime’s work. A reminder of the crimes committed over thirty years ago to amass the growing fortune. A few bits of paper, words smeared by recent sweat.
The record of a daughter’s transgressions and, he supposed, his failings as a father.
Han Lee left tea for Hamilton and then carried through another of his concoctions to Edwina. The Chinaman was on permanent call, a position self-created. Like a nurse on night duty he tended to her sweats, forced bitter brews down her throat and watched over her while everyone else slept. This was not a man to be told otherwise. Han Lee was dedicated to Edwina’s care and Hamilton could see no point worrying about the propriety of an oriental tending his daughter. Of a yellow-skinned gentlemen spending hours with her alone. Edwina was yet to wake. She might never awake, but she need not linger alone. So Hamilton let him stay with her. This was the tenth night in a row.
Hamilton dozed for a little, finally rising to limp about the homestead, opening doors and closing them. Stirring the air. Watching over those who cared for Edwina. He found Aiden sprawled face down and fully clothed on the bed. Constance asleep in a hammock outside the kitchen. Davidson among the gums, smoking and waiting. A trap was set in the trees. Aiden and Constance had seen glimpses of the skittish lion cub over the last few weeks. It seemed Edwina had told Davidson to capture the lion, and Davidson, having left meat for the animal regularly, was hopeful of ensnaring it now the cage was baited.
Inside, Hamilton hesitated at Caroline’s room. They’d kept separate bedrooms following the births of their children, both preferring their private domains, but were equally willing lovers when desire struck. A day-dress still lay on the bed. The wardrobe was slightly ajar. The rug furled at one end as if his wife had just caught the edge of it with a toe. The lamplight shone on cobwebs clotted with dust and yet, somehow, the room wasn’t empty.
On the rear verandah the corner of the house edged into darkness. Insects buzzed in the orchard. A dog whined. Old Jed lay nearby, waiting, as they all waited. Hamilton could almost feel t
he gentle suck of the night, the persistent tug of nothingness. It was not for him, he knew, but for Edwina. The blackness wanted the girl, his firstborn. It was hungry, but still Edwina fought on. On the threshold of her room Hamilton lingered, wanting to enter but feeling the push of remorse, of the binds that once joined them but were already unravelling. Within the dingy rays of candlelight Han Lee held Edwina in his arms. Their heads merging, the Chinaman cradled his child as he coaxed a little broth into her mouth, wiping the dribbling juice clean.
Han Lee looked up. ‘The fever, Mr Baker, it is broken. Miss Edwina, she will be fine.’
‘She will be fine?’ repeated Hamilton.
‘Yes, come see for yourself.’ He pulled gently at the sweaty strands of hair sticking to her skin. ‘She is with us again.’
Hamilton backed away slowly. ‘Good,’ he answered softly, ‘I will let her rest.’
Chapter Forty-one
The obstinate neighbour was back the following morning. Hat in hand, waiting. Hamilton drew the curtains on the audacious fool. This was beyond ludicrous. Something needed to be done. Ridgeway didn’t know, of course, that, no thanks to his interference, Edwina would survive and Hamilton didn’t want to tell the man. He would prefer Ridgeway spent the rest of his life standing among the trees in the heat and the dust and the cold and the driving rain until he turned to stone.
‘He didn’t shoot her,’ reminded Aiden from Edwina’s bedside on his arrival.
‘I know that.’ Hamilton hovered in the doorway, maggots squished underfoot. If the black girl was going to sweep the floor why the blazes couldn’t she do it properly?
‘Considering how much you two dislike each other it’s pretty brave of Ridgeway to keep coming back.’
‘Brave be damned,’ answered Hamilton in annoyance. ‘In the beginning he probably thought that I’d give in, that he’d outwit me with his endurance. Ridgeway forgets. I’m older than he is. I’ve been around. Yes, I’ve seen things. Besides it’s all over and done with now. Edwina is on the mend.’
‘Don’t you think he should at least be told? That Edwina’s alright. Or maybe even let him visit her. Just the once. Father, Ridgeway has been coming here for eighteen days straight.’
‘You think I don’t know that? I was the one who told him to get off my land.’
‘Why do you dislike him so much?’
Hamilton leant on the doorframe. ‘Just like your mother. Caroline was born with the superlative habit of niggling and niggling until she got her way.’
‘I was just asking. He paid back the loan and he obviously cares about Edwina.’ Aiden glanced at his sister. ‘He’s a potential suitor.’
‘He is not. Have you forgotten his high-handed manner the day we first met him? And there are other things that have occurred. Things I’ll tell you about another time.’
‘I still think you should allow Ridgeway to see her. It’s the right thing to do,’ argued Aiden.
‘Really? Considering your recent behaviour towards your sister that is a tremendous statement to make.’
Aiden turned the damp cloth on Edwina’s brow. ‘Things are different now.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Hamilton, ‘they are.’ The threshold of his daughter’s bedroom was yet to be crossed. It was easier to see her from afar. The variegated light stippling the timber boards. The creeping shadows stilled by fledgling health revealing ashen features. ‘Is she comfortable?’
‘I think so.’
Around the room lay the accoutrements of injury and illness. Bandages, water, Davidson’s daily gathering of pungent leaves and twigs that were burnt in the hearth every night and Han Lee’s concoctions, the Wywanna town doctor having long since given up hope. Hamilton took a step away from death’s trappings, his cane bashing the floor. There would be no feasting for the devil, as yet.
‘Have you made a decision?’ asked Aiden. ‘About the property?’
‘It’s the shoulder that troubles me, son. What if she’s a cripple?’ he shared, having promised not to articulate the most terrible of thoughts. ‘And she went behind my back. Took advantage. That’s something not lightly forgiven.’
Aiden nodded thoughtfully. At least his boy understood. That was his son’s greatest asset – he would never overstep the mark. ‘Wake Edwina and bring her out here to sit in the sun.’
Aiden touched his sister’s arm. ‘And Ridgeway?’
‘The man must be a fool to stand out in the heat the way he does. Anyway I really can’t put up with him hanging about anymore. Every day, like some loitering swaggie hopeful for a scrap of food. The whole thing’s untenable, preposterous. He should know better. Have some pride. But a good birth is no indication of sensibility. None at all.’ Hamilton twisted the bottom of the walking stick into a wayward ant. ‘If it takes one visit with Edwina for him to be on his way, then so be it.’
‘So you’ll let him see her?’
Hamilton dragged the wicker chair on the rear verandah into the sun and plumped the cushion. ‘Wake her. Get your sister up.’
Never had the length of the homestead seemed so long a walk. But at least Hamilton could move with relative confidence, a boon when it came to confronting the enemy. In the parlour the rifle hung enticingly above the fireplace. Reluctantly he marched on, depositing the cane at the front door and stepping out into far too fine a day.
Once on the verandah they faced off. Mason squinting into the sun, towards the house; Hamilton fixing on a point above Ridgeway’s right shoulder, lamenting on the chance of that bullet having strayed. The urge to go back inside and slam the door became almost unbearable, but Hamilton appeased his anger with one thought. It had taken just shy of three weeks; however, very soon the boy would know his place. And he, Hamilton Baker, would have won.
Beyond the ever-present Ridgeway, the Chinese were working on the Sunshine Harvester. The horse-drawn wood-framed reaper with its sturdy metal wheels and five-foot comb was a cumbersome looking thing but it could gather and thresh the ripe heads, separate the grain from the chaff and deliver it for bagging. When it was operating. At the moment it was broken down and harvest was already in full swing.
‘My daughter is recovering,’ began Hamilton, drawing his attention from the plaited-haired men oiling his machine. ‘You can see her, Ridgeway. Once only. And then you will go and never come back here. Are we understood? Never.’ The boy’s hesitation was obvious. ‘I’ll only make this offer once. Shake on it. You will never set foot on my land again.’
‘If they’re the terms,’ Mason called across the grass, ‘I accept.’
‘Around the back of the house. You’ll find her on the verandah.’ Hamilton waited for Ridgeway to approach, their hands finally clasping firmly but briefly, theirs eyes reflecting mutual animosity. Hamilton liked it that way. He knew where he stood.
Once the loiterer was gone Hamilton sat at the porch table staring blankly ahead. From between the gum trees a tawny creature stuck its head out from behind the smooth-barked trunk. Hesitant in movement, the lion cub crept carefully across the ground, its gaze never leaving Hamilton as it suddenly broke into a run, diving under the house. It returned occasionally to chew the bones left behind by the dogs or play with old Jed. Canny with timing, no-one else was ever around.
One yell, and the animal’s presence would be known. One command and its capture a certainty, Davidson’s death-blow quick. Why were they bothering with the trap? The lion should be shot.
Hamilton didn’t know why he let the creature alone. Perhaps it was simply because the baby lion had not done him any wrong.
Chapter Forty-two
Bed was the only place Edwina wanted to be. However, Aiden was insistent and he carried her out to the verandah, draping a blanket across her knees. Although she’d been sitting up in bed for the last two days, staring listlessly at the outside world, it was still a shock to be transplanted to the verandah with its hard-backed seat and too vivid sky. A myriad pains cascaded through her, ebbed and flowed in an unwelcome tide. Her br
other began brushing her hair. Edwina told him to stop fussing, to leave her alone. This waking from torpor with the milling expectation from Aiden and Constance that she was almost whole again was wrong. Broken was how Edwina best described her condition, and some parts would never repair.
It was enough managing the small tasks of living. The breathing in of tepid air, the ache that sprang from a useless arm and the sickness that harboured in her stomach yet to be teased away. There were thoughts too. A swirl of memories good and bad to mingle with the pain. And the understanding that she nearly died. How was it she’d come to cheat death?
Beside her Jed yawned. ‘Where are all the other dogs?’ she asked.
‘Tied up.’ Aiden placed a shawl across her shoulders. ‘Father says they are to be kept chained unless they’re taken out on the property. It’s because of the lion cub.’
‘It’s still alive?’ said Edwina.
‘Yes, but we’ll capture it.’ He adjusted the shawl.
It was too much – this bedside bustling – and she told her brother as much.
‘What is the matter with you? Yesterday you slapped the bowl from Constance’s hands.’ Aiden threw the hairbrush into the bedroom. It clattered to the floor.
‘I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I’ll not be forced.’
Aiden frowned. ‘You’ll eat when you’re told.’
Edwina was still smarting from the indecency of the sponge bath the girl gave her. It seemed the hours were filled with Aiden and the aboriginal girl, but not her father; there was no sign of him since she’d woken and Edwina had not asked to see him. ‘I’m tired, Aiden.’
‘Father says you have to get stronger. Twice a day for an hour each you’re to sit out here.’
‘And if I don’t want to?’
Aiden shrugged. ‘Then you can walk back to bed by yourself.’
‘It was Father who shot me?’ Confirmation wasn’t required. The sickbed imagining became reality with consciousness. And people wondered why she was ill at ease.
An Uncommon Woman Page 32
