He could feel himself trembling with emotion as he suckled her breasts. He had never known anything as sensual as the feel of Jo's warm milk trickling down his throat.
“Oh God,” he groaned, dragging his mouth away. “What the hell are we going to do?”
“I don't know,” she whispered.
“I want all of you,” he said in a raw whisper. “I want to fall asleep each night with the taste of your lips on mine. I need to feel your body trembling beneath me as I bury myself in your hot moistness. I want to feel you shuddering against me when I release my seed. To wake up in the morning and find you pressed up hard against my body.” He stopped his impassioned confession when he realized she had drifted off to sleep. He closed his eyes, buried his face in the perfumed softness of her throat and slept.
The baby's crying woke him. He cursed under his breath as he carefully extracted himself from the bed and went to the cradle.
“Cut out the bawling.” You're as greedy and demanding for Jo's body as I am. He lifted the baby up. The infant was soaking wet, but he laid him against his shoulder and patted his back.
He fumbled for the lamp, making sure he kept the flame turned low. In the dim light, Jo's hair was a flaming cascade across the whiteness of the pillow, her face so pale as to be almost transparent, and only the dark smudges beneath her eyes marred the perfection of her flawless skin.
When the crying started up again, he crooked his forefinger and pushed it into the hungry little mouth. “For Christ's sake,” he muttered. “Couldn't you sleep through for one night?”
He sat on the bed cradling the baby and watched Jo as she slept. She looked so young and vulnerable, and his heart constricted with remorse and a sudden feeling of hopelessness for the predicament they were in. She was so beautiful, his proud, willful Jo.
He had humiliated, hurt and degraded her, yet she still defied him. She inflamed his passion. He felt more than mere lust for her and was honest enough to admit it, but only to himself.
The drumming of angry little feet against his chest and a clenched baby fist beating at his neck intruded on his thoughts. If he moved his finger he knew a full-throated roar would follow it.
The sheet slipped down leaving Jo's bare breasts exposed. He positioned Mark across her body, maneuvering the baby’s head so his mouth could clamp around one rosy nipple. She stirred, but did not wake.
He heard the child gulping greedily. “You're as determined to have your own way as I am, my son,” he whispered, “and to hell with anyone else. I'll make a man out of you, but I won't thrash the spirit out of you as my father tried to do with me.”
When the baby fell asleep, he eased the tiny mouth from Jo's nipple. He wrapped him up in a blanket to keep warm, then put him back in his cradle and tucked the covers around him.
One he got dressed he leaned over and kissed Jo's slightly parted lips. As he left the room he felt despicable for having to slink away like a thief in the dark.
***
When Mark's crying woke her up in the morning, only the imprint of Luke’s head remained visible on the pillow, as did his special male scent. Her breasts felt hard and sore with milk and even after the baby suckled they were still tender.
After she had bathed and dressed, she made her way down to breakfast. Would the others notice that her lips were swollen and tremulous, her cheeks pink and slightly grazed from Luke's beard stubble?
Glory, heavily made up even at this hour, kept staring at her. Was that pity in her eyes?
“Jo, why don't you stay here for a few days? With Fiona away, it must be lonely on the farm.”
“I don't know,” Jo murmured. “It's good of you to offer, but there's the stock.”
“I'll send someone out each day. What about Benny? He's always after a bit of extra cash.”
The offer tempted her. She felt desperately in need of company, especially as it might stop her thinking about Luke's behavior in the early hours of the morning. She had been half awake when he’d picked Mark up, but her mother’s instinct knew the moment her child started suckling. She pretended to be asleep, but was surprised by Luke’s gentleness and concern for both her and their son. It made her want to like him, more than like, to be brutally honest, love him, a hopeless emotion. He was tied, however unwillingly, to another woman.
“Why don't we have a picnic?” Katie suggested.
“A picnic, why not? I haven't been on one for over forty years,” Glory chortled.
Once the decision was made, Glory could not be held back. Francy greeted the idea with disdain. Yasmin and Vickie, who had started up a guarded friendship wanted to rest, but Rosa and Katie enthusiastically endorsed the idea.
“We can fish in the river, a nice trout for dinner.” The Irish girl laughed.
They were ready within the hour. George, recovered from last night's indisposition, staggered under the weight of the picnic hamper.
Rosa insisted on driving the buggy. Francy's sneer about her being old enough to have driven a chariot in the coliseum had the Italian letting fly with a string of virulent curses.
What a memorable ride. The buggy swayed from side to side because Rosa's driving bordered on the suicidal. She used no whip, only the reins and a shrill “giddy uppey, giddy uppey.”
Jo clutched Mark in the back of the buggy and gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming. Glory and Katie clung to the front seat. “Bloody hell,” Glory yelled, “You’ll bloody kill us all.”
Even when the horses slowed down, Rosa’s driving remained erratic and half the time they went completely off the road.
On such a fine warm day, the air hung heavy with the perfume of the eucalypts and Jo's spirits lifted. Futile worrying herself into an early grave because of Luke. Had he not been so hot tempered, so hell bent on revenge and retribution, they would not be in this untenable situation. The girls started singing and she joined in. Rosa's songs were Italian, Katie's Irish, while she and Glory sung Australian bush ballads and Negro spirituals. Glory was tone deaf, her singing voice rough as gravel, but her enthusiasm never waned.
They found a small stretch of golden sand near a willow-lined curve in the river. Jo glanced around appreciatively; what a perfect setting for their lunch. Glory parked herself under the shade of a violet parasol, while the rest of them took off their hats to let the sun’s rays drift through their hair.
Cold chicken, ham, little pots of jam and honey, freshly baked bread from the bakery, a banquet indeed. Mark slept peacefully in the empty picnic basket, shaded by a canary-yellow parasol.
Katie started fishing, while Jo sat chatting to Glory, watching the comings and goings of an army of giant ants busy carrying off all the crumbs. Rosa wandered off searching for colored river pebbles out of which she fashioned jewelry.
“A fish! A fish!” Katie's excited screams had Jo rushing to the water’s edge to help her land a large red fin. “It weighs four pounds, at least,” the Irish girl exaggerated. It was a beauty, though. As fast as they baited their hooks and cast their lines, the fish would bite.
“Something fishy on the menu tonight, Glory.” Jo laughed.
Even Glory caught the enthusiasm and cast a line, but when she did catch a small fish she threw it back.
“What did you do that for?” Katie asked.
“I felt sorry for it, poor thing.”
Yet another facet of Glory's personality, thought Jo.
A bedraggled Rosa staggered up to them. Her eyes looked wild, her hair falling about her shoulders in dark disarray, her gown wet and torn in places.
“What happened?” They all asked at once.
The excited Italian and English mixed together meant little to them, river and prickles were all Jo could make out. Obviously Rosa had been amongst thorns as several nasty scratches showed on her hands.
“I sava him.” She pulled out from the front of her gown a bedraggled shivering little puppy and the story soon poured out. Someone had put three puppies in a hessian bag weighted down with stones
and dropped them in the river, this little fellow being the sole survivor. Somehow he had managed to get out of the bag and scramble on to a protruding branch and Rosa rescued him.
“We’ll have to keep him,” Glory said. “I could do with a watchdog. What are you going to call him?”
“Giovanni is whata I call him.”
On the way back, they called into the homestead so Jo could pick up enough clothes for herself and Mark to last them a few days. Katie insisted on milking, while Rosa and Glory fed the chickens and ducks.
“Gawd, haven't enjoyed myself like this in years.” Glory collapsed into a chair in the parlor and kicked off her shoes. “Ah, that's better.” She lifted up her gown, sticking her legs out straight in front of her.
“A stool for Madame.” Jo lifted her feet on to another chair. Surprisingly her legs were as slim and dainty as a girl’s.
“I used to be a dancer once,” Glory chortled. “Still got the legs for it but the rest of me is too fat.”
They sang all the way back into town, their voices overloud in the afternoon stillness of the main street. A few people strolling along stared in disbelief, but Benny, when he saw who made the noise, rushed out to greet them.
“Can't stand to see anyone enjoying themselves.” Glory waved her parasol and called out, “Halleluiah Sister,” to a middle aged matron who stood talking to the Minister outside the parsonage. Jo roared with laughter.
“Did you see the look on the old dear's face?” Katie wiped the tears from her eyes. “I thought she might have a seizure.”
They laughed even more at Glory's rendition of 'Onward Christian Soldiers' as they passed the general store. No one came out, of course, but the front blind twitched.
Later, after tea, they all sat around a roaring fire in the private lounge, drinking hot chocolate. Sunday was the one day of the week that the establishment did not open.
There was no sign of Luke until Wednesday, when he arrived just after they had finished eating lunch.
“Good afternoon, Glory, ladies, I want to speak with Jo.”
“Here will do.” Jo got up from the table. “There’s nothing you've got to say to me that can't be said in front of my friends.”
“I'm in a hurry. I went to your place Sunday and again yesterday. Benny told me you’re staying here.”
“I'm having a holiday.”
Giovanni sidled up and Jo watched in surprise as Luke scratched the puppy’s ear with a slim tanned finger. He had well-shaped hands for a man. Wondering why she was being so idiotic she snapped at Luke. “It's Rosa's pup, she saved him from the river.”
He picked the little creature up and inspected him. “It's a she, not a he.” He grinned. “Didn't you know the difference?”
“We didn't check.” Jo glared at him to hide her turmoil.
Luke put Giovanni down. “Do you mind, Glory? I want to speak with Jo alone.” His arrogant assumption everyone should leave the room made her seethe.
“This happens to be Glory's house and she doesn't have to leave the room on your say so.”
“Come outside with me then. I'm in a hurry.”
“Anxious to get back to your loving wife?” Jo took a perverse kind of pleasure in watching his face darken with temper.
“It's about the boy.”
“Mark?”
She followed Luke into the back garden. “What is it?” Standing with her head thrown back, she placed her hands on her hips.
“I've seen the parson. The christening takes place next Sunday during service.”
“What!” Her hands fluttered to her face. Had he gone mad?
“You heard me, ten o'clock. I'll meet you in the church.”
“I won't do it. Standing up in front of all those people, it isn't right. We should have him christened in private.”
“Don't you have the guts to face them, Jo?”
“It isn't that. I'd feel a hypocrite.”
“Too bad. When I acknowledge my son, I intend doing it in public, and what better place than the sanctity of the church,” he sneered.
“Did the parson agree?”
“Needed a little persuasion.” His lips twisted into a gloating smile. “A donation to the new building fund had him agreeing to everything I wanted.”
“You've got no conscience, have you? No sense of decency at all.”
“I always get my way. You of all people should know that,” his voice softened, washing over her in a gentle caress. “I'm going to Melbourne this afternoon, be back Saturday. Why don't you come with me?”
“I couldn't.”
“Why not? We'll stay in the best hotel. You can buy yourself some pretty things.”
“What about Mark?”
“We can take him with us. What do you say? We can spend nearly the whole time together.”
“I don’t know, Luke.”
She was wavering. He watched her gnaw her bottom lip, rub at her cheek. Exhilaration surged through him because she wanted to spend time with him. She was as desperate for him as he was for her. He pressed home his advantage. “I've got some business to fix up, but it won't take long. I'll take you to the theatre, wherever you like.”
“I would like to visit Melbourne again. I do miss it.”
“On Friday evening, I have to attend a reception at the Governor's residence.”
“You want me to accompany you?”
He hesitated for a split second. “No, I couldn't take you there.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Governor and his wife are related to Cassandra's family and they know about our marriage.”
“Oh, I see. It wouldn't do for them to associate with your mistress, would it?” She wondered why she felt such a crushing, all-consuming hurt.
“For God's sake. You can see the position it would put me in.”
“You selfish bastard,” she yelled as fury surged through her. “It's all right for me to share your bed, bear your son, as long as I'm well hidden from your society friends. Well, you can keep your Melbourne trip and all the bribes that come with it.”
His lips snapped together.
“Take Francy with you,” Jo raged on. “For a gown or two, I'm sure she'd be delighted to remain hidden and be available when and wherever you say.”
“I don’t need you. I can buy any woman in Melbourne.”
“Go to hell, Luke.”
“Ten o'clock Sunday.” He stalked off. “Oh, and I'll be choosing a gown for you to wear to the ceremony,” he threw back over his shoulder. “Any particular color you favor?”
“I want nothing from you.”
“I'll provide an appropriate christening robe, too.”
“Why don't you get the Pope or the Archbishop of Canterbury to perform the ceremony?”
She was tempted to throw a rock at his retreating back.
Who the hell did he think he was? The minute he wanted her, she had to be available. Damn you, Luke Campton, damn you to hell. So, he wanted Mark christened during the church service, did he? Well, she would make sure the baby received plenty of support. She hurried back into the building to find Glory.
“Have you ever been to a christening?”
“Gawd no, I'm not the type. A bit too vulgar, wouldn't you say?”
“Would you come to Mark's christening on Sunday?”
“You're not joking?”
“No, I've never been more serious. Please.”
“Me?”
“Yes, I'd like you to come, Katie and Rosa, too, Mary and George, as well if they want to.”
“All right. I'll wear my most sober gown. There's a wine color taffeta I wore to a funeral once. Do you think that would make me look respectable enough?”
“Clothes don't make the person. You're my friend and I want you there, so wear whatever you like.”
Katie and Rosa happily agreed to attend. What about Benny and the smithy, too, Jo thought, they had always been decent to her. To think was to act. Glory promised to mind Mark who had recently been
fed, while she dashed off to deliver her invitations.
The street bustled with people. There were a few strangers in town. They waved and smiled, obviously word of her immorality and depravity had yet to reach them.
Benny was mucking out the police stables, but she had no hesitation in ignoring the policeman's instruction to wait until he finished.
“Benny,” she called out to him
He rushed out of the stable with a slobbering grin all over his face. “Howdy, Jo.”
“You’re busy?”
“I got lots of work.”
“Are you doing anything on Sunday?”
He scratched his head. “No.”
“Would you like to come to a christening?” At his look of non-comprehension she gave him a brief explanation and he agreed to attend.
“I hope you've been keeping up with your painting.”
“Yes.” He nodded vigorously.
“Good. Did Mr. Johnson give you the parcel that contained the paints and brushes?”
“Yes.”
“I'll see you in church on Sunday.”
Her reception from Mrs. Kilvain when she met her outside the store was predictably frigid. She held her head high, pretending not to notice two young women whispering together as they edged away.
Next port of call was the smithy. He beamed his delight at the invitation.
“Bring Jacques and Henri if you like,” she invited.
“Those boys of mine won't go to church.”
“Tell them it's a special occasion. Could you pick up Benny please?” She now looked forward to Mark making his public debut. Why shouldn't their friends attend? She wondered whether Luke would bring Cassandra.
On her arrival back at Glory’s, she discovered her friend in the throes of planning a celebration party.
***
On Saturday afternoon, a man from Kangaroo Gully arrived with two boxes for Jo. She wouldn’t be wearing anything provided by Luke, she was adamant about that. After the man left, she lifted the lid of the bigger box and there in all its beauty, lay a white spot-patterned black muslin gown with a black lace and white silky fringe. She soon changed her mind. She wanted to look her best for Mark's sake.
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