‘Nice to meet you,’ they both said, their voices singsong.
‘Do you have a fish’s tail?’ Annie added, still hopeful as Fiona unwrapped the blanket from her lower body.
Ivy managed a small smile between frowns of pain. ‘No, just boring old legs.’
Nothing boring about them, from what Riley could observe, but he tried not to focus on that, nor on the fact that Ivy’s arms were still bare and a good deal of creamy skin was on display.
‘You may have a few fish-like scales on your head for a while,’ Fiona noted with a small smile herself, ‘but I think you’ll heal up just fine. Let’s get you rested up but no food for now, I’d say, although a cup of tea and a fresh night rail would be in order. I take it you’d been swimming before you fell?’
‘Yes,’ Ivy said, blushing as she glanced down at herself. ‘I’m sorry, I quite forgot … I …’
‘No mind, no mind,’ Fiona said. ‘I’ll help you change. Out with you then,’ she said with a nod at Riley and he made his way out to light his pipe and wait for her interrogation, which he knew would shortly follow. At least George wasn’t at home, giving him one less problem to deal with today.
The twins’ chatter could be heard as Fiona tended to Ivy but soon enough his sister was outside, handing him a cup of tea too, eyebrows raised in the lamplight.
‘Quite a cargo today then?’
‘Yeah, bloody risky though. I finally got the medicines and herbs Eileen’s been waiting for,’ Riley said, avoiding her gaze. ‘Not to mention enough booze to put me in gaol for …’
‘I meant the girl.’
Riley sipped his tea, pausing before explaining further. ‘Donovan’s been skirting around the bay with Deano and Petey. I couldn’t very well leave her there for them to find.’
‘No,’ Fiona agreed, ‘but you could have sought out her family or friends.’
‘I told you what’s on board. It wasn’t worth the risk.’
‘And this is?’ Fiona said, shaking her head. ‘Of all the foolishness, Riley. That girl is wearing underwear I couldn’t afford in a month of Sundays and I’ve heard that name, Merriweather. Pretty sure her father is a famous scientist or something; the family built some incredible house in town a while back. I remember reading about it in the papers.’ Fiona was always reading something ‘in the papers’. She had an amazing memory so Riley didn’t doubt her word. ‘What will you say when they come looking for her? You may well be up for kidnapping.’
‘Didn’t really give it much thought at the time,’ he admitted, slapping at a mosquito. ‘There was so much blood. I just wanted to help her and get her out of sight.’
‘You and your heroics,’ she scoffed. ‘She may well have been a damsel in distress but now she’s a wealthy man’s daughter gone missing, and you’re hardly a knight in shining armour in the eyes of the law, are you?’
Fiona was making far too much sense now and it was beginning to irk him. ‘I’ll take her back downriver tomorrow and no harm done, Fi. It’s not as if I’ve actually kidnapped her in reality, for God’s sake.’
‘Her family won’t see it that way.’
‘So I won’t see her family,’ he reasoned.
‘What, you’re just going to dump her back on the riverbank at Apple Tree Bay, are you? And how’s she supposed to walk anywhere, the way she is?’
‘I’ll figure something out,’ he said, annoyed at her logic. ‘Meanwhile I’ll get Barney to send word.’ Their neighbour Barney worked at the orchards near Galston and made the trip downriver in the wee hours. He could well leave an hour early and make the diversion into town.
‘Better get over to him now before he passes out. He and George have been fishing all day and are sleeping on the boat.’ Riley went to ask why he wasn’t at work then realised it was New Year’s Day and most people had taken a holiday. Days off for river men meant time to go fishing, but with the focus more on heavy drinking than the usual job of ensuring dinner was on the table. Barney would be going at it hard with George on board for company, which meant they were both probably pretty drunk. ‘Be best to write a note for the family, I’d say. Goodness knows how Barney might explain things, especially if his memory is scattered from the drink.’
‘True,’ Riley said with a sigh. Barney wasn’t too bright at the best of times, let alone hungover. What a bloody mess he’d got himself into, saving that girl today.
‘Let’s just hope she’s better come morning,’ Fiona said, with a glance down the river to where the faint light of Barney’s boat shone. ‘She can’t stay here once George comes home.’
There was a finality in her words, and a trace of the fear that Fiona never quite managed to hide when it came to her husband. It made Riley’s teeth grate but she’d sworn George didn’t hit her whenever Riley pursued the matter and there wasn’t much he could do about the man’s boorish personality.
‘Guess I’d better be off then, see Barney and unload this cargo. Any messages for George?’
She avoided his gaze, responding over her shoulder as she made her way back in. ‘Just make sure the fish are cleaned before he brings them home.’ If he’d bothered actually fishing, the thought hung between them.
Riley waved away another mosquito, not relishing the idea that he would have to contend with his drunk, obnoxious brother-in-law while ensuring the likely equally inebriated, dim-witted Barney would carry the message in the morning. On top of that, he would need to deliver Margie’s load in the wee hours and unload the rest into his hidden cave upstream before heading back early tomorrow, but there was nothing else for it. He’d have to appear clean as a whistle if the need arose to explain to the authorities how an injured Ivy Merriweather was being returned a day after being found. And she’d have to appear well-tended and fully dressed, perched upon the deck, with no mention of the hours she’d spent half-naked in a bachelor’s boat cabin. Everything completely above board.
Twelve
It was hot. Ivy tried not to think about that, as she was in no position to complain. Fiona Ryan had literally given her the clothes off her back and tended her with care, and Ivy was pretty sure the salted bacon she’d been given with the fresh eggs for breakfast was a precious commodity, judging by the impressed looks the twins had directed at her plate. They hadn’t complained, though, satisfied with just having eggs, which they claimed were their ‘favvit food’. Fiona said they practically lived on them and, looking at the poverty around her, Ivy could believe that was true.
The food had tasted wonderful at the time but now it was beginning to churn and her head was pounding. She didn’t welcome the time ahead spent rocking on a boat, especially while the sun beat down so mercilessly on the coarse material of the dress. Yet the woman and her children had been so kind. Any churlishness would be unforgivably rude.
Riley Logan had been kind too, although she didn’t trust him the way she trusted his sister. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done everything he could to help her, but something didn’t sit right with his reasons for not looking for her family and friends and instead taking her onboard and then upriver. It felt like he didn’t want anyone to know he’d saved her. Yet, here he was to take her home, chugging around the bend in the river in his boat with another man sitting on the prow. Fiona’s husband George, she’d been told, although it had sounded more like a warning when Fiona had uttered his name.
The crate she sat upon on the shore was uncomfortable and perspiration seeped into the bandage at her head. She touched her fingers to it, gingerly, wondering what the wound beneath looked like. She supposed she was a rather hideous sight. Then all vanity receded as she swooned from the effort of moving, almost falling off her seat. Why is the sun so cruel today? she lamented, forcing herself to keep her eyes open and to stay alert, focusing on the two men as she watched the boat slowly approach.
It was the first proper look she’d had at it, having spent most of her time below deck, and it was larger than she’d thought. By day it looked long and sturdy, and impressi
vely well-equipped with fishing rods and nets and multiple lines of well-fastened rope. The rear and front mast stood tall, their sails tightly bound in readiness for a more windswept day, meanwhile steam billowed from the funnel like fanfare, as if to announce the boat’s arrival. The name Hawkesbury Queen was proudly on display near the prow.
The vessel spoke volumes about her captain. Ivy observed him as he spun the wheel and moved about deck, confident and strong. That he’d been boating all his life was easy to see. He had that sea-worn look about him with his sun-bleached hair and tanned forearms. Ivy vaguely wondered at the colour of his skin above the shirtsleeves, thinking of Patrick’s claim that he had ‘cricket tan’ in summer: brown hands and wrists but then pale elsewhere. Thinking about Patrick’s ‘elsewhere’ was far too distracting a thought, however, and made her feel unbearably guilty. He and her family must be so worried. At least word had been sent on ahead in the early hours of this morning, Fiona had assured her, so they’d know by now that she was all right. Even so, she wasn’t sure she could stomach feeling this ill coupled with remorse, so she studied the boat’s passenger, George Ryan, instead of dwelling on everyone at home.
If ever a man looked hungover it was he. In fairness, Ivy supposed her current poorly state could be partially attributed to her own forays with drinking yesterday, however there was obviously no comparison when it came to George. The man was hunched over, with his head in his hands as if to push the pain away, and Ivy could see already make out the greyness of his pallor beneath his unshaven skin.
‘How are you feeling?’ Fiona asked Ivy, coming to stand nearby as the twins raced about along the shore.
Not very well but better than your husband, I’m guessing, Ivy was tempted to say, but didn’t, of course. ‘I’m fine,’ she said instead, trying to smile, but it was an effort and Fiona watched her dubiously.
‘Hmm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad enough to get home. Your poor family must have been beside themselves.’
‘Yes,’ Ivy said, feeling horribly guilty again. She changed the subject. ‘At least it’s a nice day for the trip. Riley looks so at home on that boat.’
‘He loves it,’ Fiona said simply. ‘Never happier than when he chugs along this river and drifts off in his way. Bit of a dreamer, our Riley, but he gets the job done too.’
‘What job is that, exactly?’
Fiona paused, pushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear before responding. ‘He brings supplies in and out between Pittwater and Wisemans Ferry. Sometimes even as far up as Windsor.’
‘What kind of supplies?’ Ivy asked, curious now and a bit suspicious as she studied the Hawkesbury Queen and considered what lay in the crates she’d seen below deck.
‘Food, medicine, items for the home, all sorts of things, really. Not that he makes as much money from it as he should, always giving things away with that big heart of his, including to us, bless him. There’s not a lot of industry besides timber cutting and fishing up here, except the main mills but they’re much further up. People need more than this river country can provide,’ Fiona told her. ‘Much more.’
There was something in the way she said it that made Ivy look up and she caught a wistfulness in Fiona’s expression. A sadness too.
‘I suppose … well, I guess it isn’t easy for you, living here,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound rude.
Fiona seemed to collect herself then and pulled her shoulders back, her hand resting on her belly as it often did, Ivy noticed. ‘We get by,’ she said with a forced smile. ‘It’s always a woman’s lot, having to work hard to care for her family. I can’t complain.’
I would, Ivy couldn’t help thinking, especially as she watched George returning from doing as he pleased and Riley moving happily about the boat, the sound of his whistling carrying to shore.
‘The men seem to have a better time of it,’ Ivy observed.
‘Yes,’ Fiona said with a sigh but then a fond smile as she watched her brother. ‘Our mother always said “he lives the life of Riley”. Born to the name, born to river life.’
Riley was dropping anchor now and Ivy couldn’t help but think of her sisters and mother and what they would have to say about such disparity. Why should the women be left to eke out an existence while the men galivanted about on boats all day? Men like George didn’t even show up half the time, by the looks of things.
‘Take me boots,’ he was bellowing now, standing up unsteadily before tossing them over, and the twins ran to fetch them immediately.
Ivy glanced at Fiona, who looked agitated, the organised, competent woman Ivy had witnessed so far now a nervous one, her hand at her belly once more, mouth drawn in a tight thin line. This was not a husband welcome home, Ivy observed as she watched George jump heavily from the boat and wade over.
‘What are them chickens doin’ out?’ he said, nodding at the pair of white hens pecking at the spindly grass near the pen.
‘Twins have been getting eaten alive playing over there,’ Fiona told him. ‘I read in the paper that letting the chickens have free run near the home helps reduce the larger insect population, march flies in particular.’
‘Ha. There’s probably thousands of bloody things biting ’em. Fat lot of good that’ll do,’ he said, reaching shore and squinting at Ivy. ‘You the patient, then?’ he said, raking his eyes down her body before landing back on her bandaged face. It was an undisguised leer and Ivy tried not to recoil as she answered.
‘Yes, Ivy Merriweather. I must thank you for your hospitality, Mr Ryan.’
‘Oh, la-di-da,’ he said, leaning in closer and grinning now. ‘Call me George.’
Ivy didn’t reply, thinking if the heat didn’t do her in soon his rancid breath would.
‘She won’t have time to be calling you anything,’ Riley said, overhearing. ‘Ready to go, are you then?’
‘What’s your hurry?’ George protested, still eyeing her, and Ivy glanced at Fiona. Her expression remained stiff as she placed one arm around each of the girls.
‘Have to make use of the tide,’ Riley replied. ‘Best say your goodbyes and we’ll be off.’
‘Seems a shame to hurry away. We don’t get many new females up here,’ George said as Ivy struggled to rise. ‘Nice to have a change of scenery.’
‘Look at the river if you want scenery,’ Riley said firmly. ‘We’re going. See you tomorrow, Fi.’ He kissed his sister on the cheek before reaching down to pick Ivy up in his arms.
‘I … I’m sure I can manage on my own,’ Ivy protested but it was half-hearted. Truth was she could barely stand.
‘Looks like the man’s got his fish and he’s away home,’ George observed, eyes narrowing.
‘She’s not a fish, she’s got legs,’ Annie said, but then she clamped her mouth shut and Ivy noticed her nervous glance at her father. He didn’t comment, however, merely watching Riley as he carried Ivy to the boat, the girls following.
‘Bye, bye.’ They waved and Ivy felt sorry to leave them. Sorry to leave Fiona too as she stood in front of her home. The house looked no more than a broken-down shack when viewed from offshore and Ivy noted it was really just a collection of mismatched materials, roughly constructed into a two-room dwelling. It clung precariously to the rock-strewn hillside and the sandy soils made for a very sorry-looking vegetable patch beside it. Kuranda seemed like a palace in comparison and Ivy longed to get home to the comforts it offered and her loved ones, leaving this unfair river world far behind.
They’d reached the boat and Riley lifted her on deck. Ivy managed to stand on one foot and grip the rail to look down and say goodbye to the twins, who had waded out waist deep to farewell her, their little faces woebegone as they wiped at tears.
‘Bye,’ Annie said again, her bottom lip trembling.
‘Hope your scales turn out okay,’ Tricia added with a sniff.
Ivy smiled at that and blew them both a kiss. She waved to Fiona then, her heart breaking for her as she bravely smiled and waved back. How she wished
for a better existence for this strong, kind woman. How she wished for a better existence for her young daughters too, feeling wretched for them all as George stared across at her. What an isolated, depressing place to spend such a life, and what a man spend it with.
The engine began to rumble as the boat began its journey and Ivy slumped on the only cleared bench where Riley had laid down some blankets, too unwell to consider Fiona’s fate any longer. He’d strung a blanket above the bench as well and she closed her eyes, grateful for the shade.
‘You all right there?’ Riley said, pausing in his work to look down at her.
‘Just hot,’ she mumbled.
‘I’ll get you some water.’
He took off below deck and Ivy tossed about, unable to get comfortable, and longing for that drink as the land passed by in a eucalypt haze. The trees looked thirsty too. Everything did. How can a landscape surrounded by water appear so dry? she wondered vaguely as Riley returned.
‘Here you go.’
She drank thirstily before collapsing back against the bench.
‘I’ll have you home soon, don’t worry,’ he told her with a quick smile before cheerfully getting back to the wheel, and Ivy observed that it wasn’t his fault he lived the life of Riley while his sister toiled away. He’d been nothing but good to Ivy. His smile was a nice one too, filled with reassurance and surprising gentleness for a man from such a rough place. She’d been lucky he was the one who’d found her, that was for sure. The idea of someone like George stumbling upon her half-naked and unconscious made her shudder.
Riley began to sing as he worked. ‘Many years have passed since I strolled by the river …’ and Ivy smiled at the sound, drowsily watching the blue sky drift beyond the blanket. She was still terribly hot and her head was throbbing, but she felt grateful now, too. Fortune had smiled on her and her lifeblood remained intact as this decent man followed the water to take her home, she mused, thinking she must phrase it that way when she told her father of her escapades.
Now this drama was simply a story to tell in the years to come: the grand adventure of her eighteenth birthday when she dared to go for a swim and ended up being kidnapped, mistaken by a mermaid by twin little girls and returned dressed in homespun on a riverboat that carried dubious cargo. No harm done other than causing worry to her family and a probable scar on her temple that her hair would mostly hide. A permanent reminder of the cost of recklessness, certainly, but also of how very lucky she was, not only because she lived a life of comfort and plenty but because of the people she lived it with. ‘The life of Ivy’ now seemed a very fortunate existence, indeed.
Sisters of Freedom Page 9
