‘You tried to mess with me and look what happened, eh? Look what happened,’ Donovan yelled to the three bodies strewn near the fire. ‘No-one threatens Donovan, see? No-one. King of the river, that’s me. King of the river!’
Riley emerged from the bushes and cocked his rifle. Donovan spun around in surprise but it took a moment for him to focus on Riley.
‘Ha,’ he said, ‘well I’ll be. Managed to track us down at last, have ya?’
‘You knew I’d come,’ Riley said quietly.
Donovan looked about and spied Deano’s knife. Riley followed his gaze. ‘Don’t think there’s much point trying to get that while I’m holding this, do you?’
‘Can’t go down without a fight,’ he said, lifting his fists. ‘Think we should settle this man to man though, don’t you?’
‘You’re not a man, you’re a filthy animal, about to meet your maker. How does it feel knowing that, Donovan? Thinking about all the terrible, low-life things you’ve ever done.’
Donovan began to back away towards the blazing fire, staggering as he stared at the barrel of Riley’s gun.
‘No such thing as God, is there? All made-up stuff to scare people into living boring lives,’ he said, but he was starting to sweat now as he drew ever closer to the flames.
‘Guess you’re about to find out,’ Riley said, taking a step forwards. Donovan stumbled back a little more.
‘It was an accident, I swear, I never meant for her to die …’
‘There are some things no-one can survive,’ Riley said, lifting his gun to take aim.
‘You wouldn’t really kill me, would you?’ Donovan said, desperately. ‘Never heard of you doing it before. You’ll end up in hell too, if you do.’
Riley hesitated, itching to pull the trigger but finding it hard to commit the ultimate crime. To end a life, even one as evil as Donovan’s. Ivy’s face drifted into his mind then, beautiful and kind, and her words came back to him, about there being a God. He lowered the gun slightly. But surely even God would forgive this sin, an act of justice. A life for a life.
Donovan began to grin and held up his hands. ‘You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man.’ But the action caused him to stumble once more and this time he fell backwards, straight into the great fire. ‘Argh,’ he screamed, ‘help!’ He struggled to stand but he’d become entangled in his own skewers and the carcass of the wallaby as his clothes caught on fire. ‘Help me!’ he screamed but Riley merely watched for a moment before turning and walking away. Donovan’s terrible cries filled the night.
He may never know whether or not he’d have pulled that trigger but he did know he wouldn’t be reaching in to pull Donovan, the murdering, raping, self-proclaimed king of the river, from the fiery hell of his own creation. For who was Riley to interfere with the natural law?
The screaming faded into the night as Donovan’s life fed the fire, until only the voice of the river lands remained, a rhythmically calming song of a thousand parts, calling Riley to the water to begin the long trip home. It gleamed before him in silvery tones, a narrow silken road to lead him to the greater Hawkesbury gateway, then on to his nieces and the rest of his life. Satisfied that his sister had been avenged and by her murderer’s own hands, and with the relief that he didn’t have blood on his own, after all. Well may Ivy Merriweather belong to another man but Riley’s life was entwined with hers nonetheless, due to Fiona’s wishes. Whatever friendship they would share he was glad he could do it as a decent man and not a killer, the ugliest aspects of river life left behind while he journeyed to her beautiful world.
Thirty-One
Town Hall, Sydney, 12 June 1902
They waited together, armed linked as the crowd sang.
Daughters of freedom, the truth marches on,
Yield not the battle till ye have won!
The lyrics brought tears to Frankie’s eyes, thinking of poor Fiona and the daughters she’d left behind in her battle to survive. A brutal fate that could well have been Frankie’s own, meted out by the very same men. Ivy’s too. Still, today marked the first important step towards change, the one they’d all been fighting for, so long and so hard. After all the rallying, writing, speechmaking and petition signing, the fight to give women the vote, and consequently the power at last to hold some influence over the laws they were expected to live under, was drawing to a close. Australia would be only the second country in the world to do so, after New Zealand, and the first in the world to let women stand for parliament.
Frankie fully intended to be one of those women, although it could well take a long time and much more campaigning yet. Her father had been right about expecting legislative change to be slow. The world of law was a man’s one and getting anything new passed would be a complicated and convoluted undertaking. Studying with Patrick had taught her that much. Yet this was the start and, as men had their final say and made it official, women across the country awaited the announcement expectantly.
Ivy and Aggie stood beside Frankie with their mother, although it hadn’t been easy dragging them all away from the twins and the baby. This was too important a moment to miss, however, one to go down in the history books, and Robert and Albert hadn’t minded looking after the girls. Frankie felt they stood there on behalf of every woman over the centuries who’d longed for power over their own lives and the millions who still did, worldwide. That it was happening right there in the newest country in the world, Australia, filled her with overwhelming gratitude and the deepest of pride. Her throat clogged with both emotions as the speaker took to the podium and the large crowd surrounding Town Hall steps quietened down to listen.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we expect word any minute now but while we wait to see if the act is passed, as we all so desperately hope it shall be, we can read to you direct quotes from esteemed members of parliament on the matter.’
‘This should be interesting,’ Harriet muttered.
‘Straight from the House of Representatives, Sir Edward Baddon has stated: A bachelor will have his one vote. The married man, happy in his family, whose wife’s vote is one which he can command – and most men, I think, can command their wives’ votes …’ There was much derisive laughter and booing before she continued. ‘… will have two votes; whilst the man who is unhappily married, and whose wife as a matter of certainty and principle and established policy will vote in the opposite way to that in which he does, will have no vote at all.’
‘How does that work?’ Aggie said. ‘He still gets his vote – they both do.’
‘Good luck debating with that moron, Frankie,’ Harriet said and Frankie had to chuckle. It was good to see her mother almost back to her old self.
‘Sir William Lyne, who introduced the bill, has said: not only is it just to accord women the vote, it is in the best interest of the entire community.’
There was much cheering and applause for that comment and the speaker held up her hand. ‘One more, one more,’ she said. ‘Senator Richard O’Connor: I see no reason in the world why we should continue to impose laws which have to be obeyed by the women of the community without giving them some voice in the election of the member who makes those laws.’
There was an enormous ovation at those fine words and Frankie had to wipe away a tear as she hugged Ivy close.
‘It’s changing, Ivy girl. It’s changing at last.’
Ivy nodded, too choked up to speak as they held each other tightly. Then a messenger ran over to the speaker. She took the telegram in her hand and scanned the few words before smiling broadly and reading them aloud.
‘It has just been passed by the new nation of Australia that all citizens over the age of twenty-one years are afforded voting rights to elect federal government,’ she paused, ‘including women.’
The centre of the city of Sydney erupted as people cheered and cried in the streets and Frankie embraced her mother and sisters, unable to contain herself as she openly wept too. It felt as if they’d been handed a lifeline in a treacherous sea an
d, even though they’d need to fight many currents and waves until they made it to shore, there was no way they’d ever let it go.
The celebrations lasted a long while but they finally decided to head back home to the children and share the news with them and the men. Harriet managed to buy the last newspaper from the stand so she could walk in holding up the headlines.
It was a merry ride on the train as she read out loud from it, but she paused at one point, frowning.
‘Listen to this: native men and women are of course excluded from voting at federal or state level, however it is expected that the fight for universal state voting for non-coloured women continue. What’s this “of course” business? Frankie, there’s one of your first debates, right there.’
‘I’m afraid changing that will take a very long time,’ she said, knowing the plight of Indigenous people was a terrible one from her recent reading. ‘They have practically no rights at all. I’d alter all of the injustices against them, if I could.’
‘What other laws would you change?’ Aggie asked her.
Frankie considered that. ‘Well, I think we all know the first one, that it be illegal for men to beat their wives,’ she said, and each of them nodded sadly, ‘but I suppose the marital rights law would be the second. Then the right to own property without having to be a widow to do so … and to have a bank account, after that. To have proper independence.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Harriet agreed. ‘What would you change, Ivy?’
‘Me? Well, I recently found out that married women aren’t allowed to be teachers so I’d change that one.’
‘Married women aren’t allowed to work in most professions,’ Frankie told her, ‘although menial jobs and factory work seem to be accepted by the powers that be.’
Ivy shook her head. ‘Yes, but you’d think that teaching … anyway, it seems most unfair to me. I was actually considering about becoming a teacher until Patrick told me that.’
‘Were you really?’ Harriet said. ‘What a shame, then. I think you would have made a marvellous teacher.’
‘Really?’ Ivy said, looking pleased. ‘Well, that’s nice to hear, at least.’
‘What about you, Aggie?’ Harriet asked her.
‘I think unwed pregnant women should be able to have somewhere to go that doesn’t involve giving their baby up,’ she said, ‘and maybe … well, maybe even be priests if they so want. I think Sister Ursula understands true Christianity far more than Father Brown ever would. She’d never turn some poor girl away.’
‘She seems a bit scary to me,’ Ivy said.
‘Yes, she is, but she’s a kind woman underneath that. Priests have too much power for men like Father Brown to wield it.’
‘It’s all about power, isn’t it?’ Frankie said. ‘The power to make laws, the power to control their spouses, the power to work, have a profession, own property, power over money. They’ve had all of it, up until now.’
‘Yes, still, we’ve won one of the most important fights today, the power to vote; the right that covered all other rights, as Vida Goldstein said,’ Harriet said, folding the paper.
‘And we’ll be able to stand for election, which will give us the chance to have our say firsthand,’ Frankie said, grinning with excitement the prospect.
Ivy looked at her in wonder. ‘Imagine that.’
‘A world first!’ Harriet crowed happily.
‘We need to get elected first,’ Aggie reminded them.
‘We can and we will,’ Harriet predicted. ‘We can achieve anything our hearts desire if we have enough passion and determination, and you all have that in droves,’ she said, nodding at them with pride. ‘What a wonderful day to be a woman, girls. A wonderful day indeed.’
And so it was, Frankie acknowledged, sitting back to stare out the train window and knowing she’d remember it for as long as she lived. A day to tell her own daughter about, if she’d ever have one, but just because her marriage to the Cause was no longer needed, that didn’t mean she was free to consider such things. Her political fighting had just begun, which meant there still wasn’t room for a husband and babies. That choice, to raise a family and build a home, was for women like Ivy. With a man like Patrick Earle to love you.
‘Daughters of freedom, the truth marches on,’ Harriet sang loudly, holding the newspaper aloft and leading the way into the house. ‘Yield not the battle till ye have won!’
Tricia and Annie came running out from the back room where they’d been playing with Albert, their little faces filled with excitement. ‘Hooray! Nanny won the vote!’
‘We all won it – including the two of you, my cherubs,’ she told them as they hugged her. The twins adored their adopted grandmother and Harriet had been a big part of their recovering from losing their mother, and, indeed, their entire way of life in one day. They adored Albert, their new Pop, too and loved staying at Kuranda, although there were times when the grief struck them, as was to be expected. Tricia was prone to sudden bouts of tears and Annie could sometimes be found hiding and withdrawn, yet they were still very young. Frankie knew Aggie hoped they would forget the pain altogether as time wore on, but that came with its own price. It also made them all sad to think how little they would probably remember of Fiona.
This was a happy occasion, however, and the twins had clapped and wrapped their arms around the three sisters in turn. Aggie sat and they perched themselves on her knees. ‘Did you make a cake?’
‘Uh-huh,’ they both said.
‘Did you leave eggshells in it?’
‘Uh-huh,’ they both said again, giggling now.
‘It’s got green icing,’ Robert told them, walking in with Albert, who was carrying the baby, ‘heaven knows why. Good news then?’
Harriet held the paper aloft. ‘Freedom!’
‘Hooray,’ Albert said, as little Ivy looked over at Aggie. She let the twins run off to finish their baking and fetched the infant from Albert. Robert came to her side and she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
‘A very special day – so glad we could be there to hear it like that,’ Aggie said. ‘Thank you for looking after them.’
‘You never need to thank me,’ Robert said, reaching up to stroke the baby’s cheek. She smiled her adorable smile at him and Frankie knew that Riley Logan would have a hard time of it if he wanted to take these children away from them. That they were Aggie and Robert’s now seemed the most natural thing in the world, a blessing that had come out of tragedy, and they were the most doting and loving parents Frankie had ever seen.
‘Tea!’ declared Harriet as she marched to the kitchen. Everyone dispersed, leaving Frankie to pick up a doll that one of the girls had dropped, reflecting on how different this house was now. Dossie had commented that Fiona’s children were very fortunate to have landed on the Merriweather’s doorstep but Frankie knew they were the fortunate ones. It had changed all their lives for the better, having such beautiful young souls around them after so much turmoil and tragedy. Aggie had a shine about her now and Harriet had lost her haunted look. And Albert was too busy chuckling at the twins’ antics as he worked to appear quite so preoccupied.
Ivy had purpose too, helping to look after them and planning her impending wedding, now only a few days away. In all, Frankie thought, her entire family was moving on with a far more chaotic, love-filled life. Although it was still underscored by tragedy, there was something about the children’s attitudes that affected them all and Kuranda was bursting with the joy that can come from such a big extended family.
Frankie absolutely adored the girls too but she was so busy with her writing and study that she hadn’t spent as much time with them as everyone else. Even the usually hard-working Robert had taken to stepping out of the office early and going in late. The only other person as busy as she was seemed to be Patrick, and a good share of his time was spent with her, alone. She’d wager he actually spent more time with her than he did with Ivy but Frankie couldn’t say no to studying with him when her whole career
centred on politics now. It was unavoidable and relentless. And it was torturous.
For somehow, somewhere along the line, Patrick Earle had managed to do the impossible: have her develop feelings for him. At first she’d thought it was only that he made her aware that she was a flesh-and-blood woman but it was so much more than that now. Feelings. What a confusing and volatile state of emotions that word encompassed and, oh, how she’d tried to ignore them, but as soon as Patrick was near, or even if he came to mind, they seemed to ignite of their own volition and take over. She reeled from one to the other: excitement, joy, despair, frustration. Anger, hope, attraction. No, it was more than attraction, if she were brutally honest with herself. It was desire.
Frankie had never really felt it before, not like this. Thinking you may want a man to kiss you was attraction. Feeling every nerve of her body go on alert whenever he sat close, knowing if he touched her she’d find it almost impossible to resist, was something else altogether. It made her feel out of control, which Frankie hated, and disloyal to Ivy, which she hated even more. Worst of all, it left her horribly, shamefully, more and more jealous.
How on earth she’d managed to go from that disturbing moment of feminine awareness on the dancefloor at the inn to developing full-blown feelings for her sister’s very soon-to-be husband was beyond her, and yet she had. It clung to her wherever she went, even on a day like today; his face never far from mind, his name popping into her head with frustrating regularity.
Would you like a cup of tea? Patrick.
What time are you leaving for the train? Patrick.
There’s a knock at the door. Patrick.
Then there really was a knock at the door and she went to open it, staring him straight in the face. Patrick.
Sisters of Freedom Page 25
