Fiery Possession

by Margaret Tanner

  “Fiona, tomorrow we're going into town.” Jo fanned herself with her hat. “We'll take the day off. I haven't left the place for weeks.”

  “Do you think, what I mean is…”

  “I'm five months pregnant and showing?”

  “Yes, you know how horrid people can be.”

  “I know. They treat me like a leper, but I'm beyond caring what they think now.” It was a lie, she cared desperately, but pride would not allow her to admit it even to Fiona.

  “Don't worry, I won't wear this old thing.” She glanced down at the faded cotton gown stretching tautly across her stomach. “I've let the seams out on two of my gowns so they look quite respectable.”

  Jo dressed with care for her trip into town. She brushed her hair until it shone as brightly as a new penny, and though her eyes were shadowed, they stood out green as jade. Because she always took care of her skin, it had not burned to that brick red color so common amongst women who continually worked in the open.

  Being tall and slim, the green muslin gown with white lace trimming on the bodice still looked well. Fiona and Lucy wore pale pink.

  “We're a handsome family,” Jo declared as they drove away from the homestead, “even if I say so myself.”

  Lucy prattled away. Jo kept glancing at Fiona who became more and more agitated, twisting and untwisting her handkerchief.

  “Let's not go into town today.” Fiona tugged at Jo’s hand.

  “Why not?”

  “Please, I've got this awful feeling.”

  “Honestly, you and your feelings, you worry too much. I haven't been out for weeks. We'll drop the laundry off before doing our shopping. We’ll get some sweeties for you.” Jo ruffled Lucy's curls. “I want the smithy to check the horse. It seems to get lame on and off, could be a loose shoe.”

  They passed several other families on their way into town, but received no cheery greeting as they would have a few months ago. Why did people have to act so small-minded and petty?

  The Bank Manager resided in a red brick house on the edge of town. At her insistence, Fiona took the laundry back and returned almost staggering under the weight of another full basket. How anyone could have so much laundry was beyond comprehension. Of course, Mr. Griffith was so fastidious and clothes conscious. Two more calls, two more basketfuls.

  “We never lose a customer, stop worrying.” She grinned at Fiona.

  They left the buggy in the main street, opposite the general store. As they crossed the road, Luke drove past with Cassandra sitting next to him, sheltering her delicate English complexion under a pretty silk umbrella.

  The girl waved. In the few seconds it took for them to pass by, Luke's eyes swept Jo from head to toe. She threw her head back proudly. On pain of death, she would never let him see how humiliated she felt.

  While Fiona went to the general store, she made for the blacksmith. The smithy dropped a terrible oath as he shaped some red-hot iron, but it was not this that caused her steps to falter and her heart to race. Rather, it was the sight of Luke engaged in conversation with him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Johnson.” Both men raised their heads when she spoke.

  “Miss Saunders, how are you?” The smithy acknowledged her greeting with a broad grin.

  Ignoring Luke, whose lips tightened at the snub, Jo smiled at the big man. “Would you mind checking our mare? She seems to go lame every so often.”

  “You know Mr. Campton?” the smith asked.

  “Yes, unfortunately I do.”

  “Miss Saunders.”

  Luke's emphasis on her unmarried state sent hot color flying into her cheeks. She stared him straight in the face and shivered at the sheer savagery blazing in his eyes. He hadn't changed much, except for the grooves etched deeper on his face. His lips were drawn into thin bitter lines. He did not act like a happy, newly married man, quite the reverse, in fact. So, why had he married Cassandra?

  “I'll go across and collect the horse for you, Smithy,” Jo said.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks, I left her opposite the general store.”

  “I know your brother's mare, I shod her before. Let me finish this off.” A couple more bangs and the shape was apparently to his liking.

  “How are your two boys getting on?” she asked.

  “Fair enough, but they miss going to school.” He chuckled. “I can't get much work out of those lazy young devils.”

  After the smithy left them, neither Jo nor Luke spoke until an imp of mischief prompted her to comment. “I suppose I should congratulate you on your marriage. Your wife's rather on the young side, though.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “Aren't you going to ask me how I'm keeping?”

  “Your health is of no interest to me,” he growled.

  “It should be,” she shot back. His indifference hurt more than she cared to admit. “You seem to forget I'm carrying your child.”

  “I've forgotten nothing,” he replied in a gravel rough voice.

  “Don't you care what happens to it?”

  “No,” Luke lied, as he turned away so she wouldn’t read the anguish that must show in his eyes. If she had told him the truth, they would have been married by now. Even if she hadn’t been with child, he would have married her. Dear God, if only he hadn’t lost his temper and stormed off to Melbourne.

  “You despicable bastard.”

  Her angry abuse stopped him in his tracks. As he swung around, cold bitter fury and guilt surged through him.

  “My parents were married. You're the one carrying the bastard.”

  The sheer brutality of him made her shudder. Tears sprung to her eyes, but he could not see them because he strode away, his back rigid with anger.

  By the time the smithy returned, she convinced herself her emotions were under control again.

  “It won’t take me long, Miss Saunders. You go off and do your shopping.” He stared at her intently for a moment and she wondered whether she looked as bad as she felt. Luke's harshness had shaken her.

  “Don't worry about coming back,” the smithy said. “I'll hitch the horse up for you, and Miss Saunders.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I can ever be of assistance, you only have to ask.” He mopped his brow with his arm. “You treated my boys well and I won't forget.”

  “Thank you. I haven't seen Benny today.”

  “He’s gone to Wangaratta to pick up some special drugs for the doctor.”

  She turned and trudged back to the general store.

  Fiona rushed up to greet her. “There’s a new tea room opened up, let’s try it.”

  “All right.” At this very moment she was incapable of arguing that they couldn’t afford such extravagance. Fiona chatted away; being in town certainly lifted her depression. A few people greeted her, addressing her as Mrs. Morrison. They ignored Jo, who held her head at a proud angle and stared straight ahead. None of them would ever know what it cost her to walk down the street pretending their snubs did not hurt.

  By the time they arrived at the tea room, her head ached from the effort of not letting anyone see her devastation.

  “Isn't it pretty,” Fiona said.

  Inside, pristine white cloths and deep green napkins graced the tables. Lanterns set about at intervals along the walls were of elaborate glass. The two serving girls wore black dresses covered by white frilly aprons.

  Jo bit her lip as they were shown to a table near the door. It was expensive. “Don't order much.” A quick glance at the menu once they were seated confirmed her worst fears.

  She ignored the disapproving glances thrown out by a middle-aged matron at the next table.

  “It's disgraceful a fallen woman like her mixing with decent God-fearing folk.”

  The comment floated clearly to them. Jo's glare caused the matron and her male companion to lower their eyes. Pious old biddy.

  They ordered a fancy cake each and a pot of tea. Lucy had milk and biscuits
. The cakes were gooey and sickly. Fiona devoured hers with relish while Jo forced hers down, hoping she wouldn’t vomit.

  The place was crowded, with a number of people they knew. This enterprise was obviously going to be successful. Why hadn't they thought of a similar venture?

  Fiona smiled happily. She acted so childlike sometimes, Jo was glad people hadn't snubbed her because she would never be able to survive such treatment.

  “I'm strong, I can take it,” she whispered the words to herself, but they sounded hollow.

  “There's Luke and his wife. What a dainty little thing she is.”

  Jo glanced up then turned away, but not before her gaze clashed with his.

  “Look who’s here, Luke.”

  Several heads turned at Cassandra's comment. Jo lifted her hand to wave, but dropped it again.

  “I don't want any tea now.” Cassandra inclined her head towards Jo. “Not if she's here.”

  Obviously, someone felt it their Christian duty to put the English girl into the picture regarding everything.

  “Please yourself,” Luke snapped, as he held the door open for his wife to pass back into the street.

  The hopes she had nurtured of Cassandra understanding her predicament and not making things worse, lay dead as an Egyptian mummy. Everyone would side with the pretty English girl.

  ***

  A few days after their trip into town, Mrs. Osborne drove over to visit them. “How are you, Miss Jo?” She glanced at Jo's burgeoning figure.

  “I'm all right, thank you. I wondered why you hadn't paid me a visit before?”

  “Sorry.” She fanned herself with a large brimmed hat. “I haven't got much spare time; that Mrs. Campton is never satisfied with anything. Two maids left and haven't been replaced. The boss lets her do what she likes, seems to have lost interest in everything about the house. Rarely spends any time there now.”

  Once seated in the parlor with a cool drink, Mrs. Osborne asked about the baby's layette and produced a beautiful shawl from her bag.

  “Thank you, how lovely.” Jo blinked back tears at the woman’s kindness. “Did you knit it?”

  “Yes. Things must be hard for you. Many times I’ve wanted to come over but Mr. Campton told us in no uncertain terms not to come anywhere near you. I'm a God- fearing woman, even if I don't attend regular church. I think it's shameful the way he's treating you. I didn't think he had such cruelty in him.”

  “Don't upset yourself. Ah, here's Fiona with our tea.”

  They chatted on about various things. Jo hated herself for bringing the conversation back to Luke.

  “We saw his wife in town. Seems a pretty little thing,” Fiona said.

  The housekeeper snorted. “She's no wife to him. Won't let him near her room, throws a screaming fit every time he tries.”

  “She's rather young, of course.” Jo encouraged the gossip.

  “Just sixteen, comes from the English gentry. Years of inbreeding have made her unstable. You know how those rich English families carry on. Her father's a Lord or something.”

  “Why did he marry her?” Fiona asked the question on the tip of Jo's tongue.

  “She came here to marry Mr. Tim. Mr. Campton went down to Melbourne to meet the ship bringing her.”

  “Probably felt obliged to marry her under the circumstances,” Fiona put in.

  “No, that’s not the way of it. Her older brother came out as chaperone. Mr. Campton got drunk, committed some kind of indiscretion and the brother insisted on marriage.”

  “Oh dear.” Jo pretended to be shocked. “How do you know all this?”

  “I heard them having a terrible argument one night when she wouldn't let him into her room. She accused him of marrying her because he got drunk. He admitted it, said he behaved stupidly because he had been drinking, and her brother put him in such a position he was forced to offer marriage.”

  Didn't care what position he put me in. Jo swallowed down on her bitterness. Of course, I wasn't gentry.

  “He left the house in a rage and didn't come back for days. And when he did, weeks ago now, he never tried to go near her room again.”

  Mrs. Osborne stood up. “I shouldn’t be discussing Mr. Campton’s private affairs.”

  Jo walked outside with Mrs. Osborne. “Come again anytime.” She waved until the woman disappeared leaving a cloud of swirling dust behind her. Why didn’t she feel a sense of triumph because Luke's marriage turned out to be a sham?

  ***

  Three months after Mrs. Osborne’s visit, Jo’s labor pains started. Her back had ached all the previous day. Fiona assured her this meant the birth was near. As the hours passed, the pain intensified.

  They had suffered through a vicious cold winter with the minimum of heating and little food. Their finances were so poor they couldn’t even afford a doctor or midwife, which only left Fiona. For the first time in her life, Jo knew real fear. If something went wrong she would die, her baby might die, or both of them. Screams erupted from her throat.

  “What is it?” Fiona rushed in.

  “The pain, it's terrible. I don't think I can stand it much longer.”

  “Everything will be all right, you'll see. Your time must be close now for the contractions to be so great. I prepared everything yesterday.”

  Jo gritted her teeth as another spasm gripped her. She was slowly being ripped apart. The wind howled and screamed outside, rain pelted down without respite. What a wild night for an infant to make its entry into the world.

  “Please God, don't let my baby die.” As the hours wore on, she repeated the prayer often. By mid morning Jo knew something was drastically wrong. The urge to bear down was strong, but push as she might, nothing happened.

  After her water broke, Fiona said the delivery would soon follow. More hours went by, but still the baby did not come.

  “I'll have to get help, Jo.” Through a mist of pain Fiona's pale face hovered anxiously over hers. “I have to get help somehow, yet I don't want to leave you alone.”

  “Set fire to the old grain shed that should bring someone.”

  “I can't.”

  “Do it, if you don't want me to die.” Jo slumped back on the pillow exhausted, but she could not rest because of the excruciating pain.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luke sat astride his horse, watching as the men started moving the cattle to higher ground. He was worried about the rising water level in the river even though he had dismantled the dam. He wasn’t prepared to take any chances with prime stock.

  He scowled thinking of the intolerable situation at home. Cassandra's fits of hysteria were becoming more frequent, leaving her weak and depressed. Each attack seemed to be lasting longer, taking more out of her.

  He cursed the day he had met that bloody ship and got himself into such a drunken state that he had visited her room, trying to persuade her to return to England. Ashley had caught them together and kicked up such a fuss about his sister being compromised, he could do little else but offer marriage. Had he not been so drunk, he would never have allowed himself to be manipulated.

  The arrangement had been for her to come out as Tim's wife, and now he gets stuck with her. All his problems led back to Jo Saunders. Fury almost engulfed him. It was her fault, damn her to hell. The fact that he still wanted her desperately heightened his rage. Temporarily, he could find solace with other women, but desire for the passion they had once shared dogged his every waking hour. He could not forget how good it had been with his Yankee woman.

  The treatment by the townsfolk should have broken her, but it hadn’t. That they were practically penniless was common knowledge, yet still they hung on.

  Flames shooting up into the storm-darkened sky caught his attention.

  One of the men rushed over. “The Morrison place is on fire, boss.”

  “It can burn to the ground for all I care.”

  “But boss.”

  “Get back to work. I want all these cattle moved before you finish today.” />
  When the man left, Luke sat watching. It was a large fire. Even from this distance, he could see flames leaping high into the air. He turned his horse around, convincing himself he was glad. If they got burnt out, he would be rid of them once and for all. Maybe then the guilt of what he had done to Jo would abate.

  Work continued, but every so often, against his will, his glance strayed in the direction of the Morrison farm. Strange, how the fire still burned as fierce as ever. Two hours passed. Still the flames leaped skywards. Finally, curiosity had him urging his mount toward it. What was Jo up to now? It would be her doing; that timid sister-in-law would be incapable of such a thing.

  The sight that met him at the homestead shocked him to the core. The barn, the stable, the grain shed, in fact every outbuilding had been put to the torch and were even now glowing beds of red embers.

  Fiona Morrison rushed out to meet him. Her hair hung in disarray. Her eyes were wild and desperate, her cheeks pinched.

  “Mr. Campton, um Luke, I need help.”

  He swung down from the saddle, looping the reins through his arm before answering. “What happened to your outbuildings?”

  “I set fire to them.” She wrung her hands.

  “What?” Arson? From this weak, trembling woman?

  “Jo said it would attract attention, I'm just about out of my mind,” she gabbled. “The baby won't come.”

  He stared at her.

  “You have to help me. The baby won't come.”

  “Baby?”

  “Your baby, I mean Jo's baby. It won't come.”

  Oh God, what if something happened to Jo? To their child? His gut clenched but he couldn’t show his turmoil. He forced himself to growl. “I may be many things, but I'm certainly not a midwife.”

  “Please, I'm begging you to help me. I don't know what to do anymore. They'll die, both of them, if something isn't done soon.”

  He stood there, hands clenched in his pockets, trying to regain control of his emotions. Campton men acted tough, they never showed their true feelings. Jo always sent his resolve spiraling out of control.