Fiery Possession

by Margaret Tanner

  “Boss man help.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s ill at the moment, and I don’t know what I can do to help you.”

  “Missus with hair like fire help.”

  She hated herself for doing it, yet her eyes scrutinized the children. She was shocked to see two light-skinned toddlers whose hair, under the grime and filth, had a definite gingery tinge. What did Glory say? Rumors abounded in certain circles, that Clive Jones, one of the pillars of respectability in the town, had seduced young aboriginal girls. How disgusting. She suppressed a shudder of distaste.

  One girl who could not have been more than sixteen or so had a baby resting on her hip. This child looked light-skinned. Its nose was running and flies clung to its mouth and eyes. Worse still, the girl was obviously pregnant again.

  Sensing her interest, the girl pointed to the child. “Him belongum white fella, one in belly belongum same white fella.”

  “Would you like some flour and sugar?”

  “Yes tucker, missus, make them let us stay.”

  “All right, I’ll do what I can. Off you go now, I’ll call on you later with the food.”

  The pathetic little group shambled off. What had the white man done to this once proud race? Taken their land, seduced and raped their women and introduced liquor and disease. They had destroyed their way of life, leaving them fringe dwellers around country towns, living on handouts or whatever they could scrounge. It was criminal and now some of the townsfolk apparently wanted to be rid of them.

  No point waiting for Luke to be well enough to do anything. She had to help these pathetic people. Mrs. Osborne gasped in shock when Jo told her what she proposed doing.

  “You can’t, you aren’t well enough. Those places are quite dreadful. Mr. Campton will be furious, he doesn’t even let any of the workmen go there. He tells every man who starts working on Kangaroo Gully if he’s caught near the aboriginal women, he’ll be instantly dismissed.”

  “I’m going; something has to done for those poor souls.”

  Jo saddled a horse, slung a bag containing flour, salt and sugar over the saddle and, ignoring Mrs. Osborne’s entreaties, set off. She couldn’t afford to be away too long in case Mark needed to be fed.

  It didn’t take long to arrive at the camp. Having never ventured this way before, the putrid state of the place appalled her.

  Rusting pieces of tin and rotting bark made crude lean-to huts. Several thin, mangy dogs snapped and snarled at each other as they fought over a piece of maggoty meat. There were eight or ten of these huts, each with children playing outside. Disease would be rife here. As for the flies, they swarmed everywhere. She waved her hands frantically, trying to keep them away from her face.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. Luke would fly into a rage if he found out, but he didn’t need to know. What if she brought back some germs to Mark? She felt ashamed for thinking in such a way, but couldn’t help it.

  The children crowded around, causing her horse to stomp nervously. Poor little mites, their clothes hung in rags, held together by dirt and filth. How could any baby be born and survive here?

  She dismounted and the children swarmed around, touching her shiny black boots and running their hands along the leg of her moleskin breeches. The fretful wailing of a young baby came from the nearest humpy. She nearly took a peek inside, but didn’t quite dare.

  A fat old lubra with several front teeth missing appeared to be the head woman, if there was such a thing. As she waddled closer, the missing teeth gave her a hideous look. The bodice of her paper-thin gown did not quite meet at the front, leaving her bulging breasts half-exposed.

  No young men were about. The smoke from several cooking fires did little to cover the nauseating smell of human and animal excrement.

  “Here’s the food I promised.” As she shoved the things into the woman’s hands, she wanted to suggest they try and clean the place up, but didn’t want to risk offending them. It had been foolish coming here alone. What if they turned nasty? She glanced nervously at a long spear stuck into the side of a tree.

  The old man came out to them, gabbling away to his womenfolk, apparently telling them what a clever fellow he was for getting a white missus to bring them food.

  “I’ll go into town and see the authorities for you,” Jo promised several times before he got the message. As she mounted and rode away, she heard the women squabbling.

  What a scandalous state of affairs forcing people to live in such degradation. First thing tomorrow, I’ll ride into town and find out what’s going on. She wouldn’t let Clive Jones and his cronies get away with this outrage, but for the moment all she wanted was to get home and wash and change. The smell of the place had even seeped into her clothing.

  When she arrived home, a worried Mrs. Osborne met her in the front yard. “Thank the Lord you’ve arrived home. Mr. Campton’s been asking for you. Getting himself into quite a state he is.”

  “You didn’t tell him where I went?”

  “I wouldn’t have dared, Miss Jo, I mean Mrs. Campton. I swear, he would have got out of his bed and dragged you back.”

  “Probably would have, thank goodness he doesn’t know about it. I’ve never seen anything so shocking, Mrs. Osborne. It would break your heart to see those little children. I have to change out of these clothes and have a wash.” She shuddered. “I doubt if I’ll ever feel really clean again.”

  An hour later, Jo tip-toed in to see Luke. “What have you been up to?” he asked harshly.

  “Nothing much.”

  “Liar, you’ve been over to that aboriginal camp, haven’t you? I know they called in here.”

  “All right, don’t snarl at me. I went over with some food.”

  His hands bunched into fists on the bedclothes. “So help me, if I could get out of this bed…” His face looked white and haggard but his eyes blazed. “Are you mad?”

  “Someone had to go. It was shocking.” Angry tears pooled in her eyes. “If you could have seen those poor little children, most of them were half-castes.”

  She unclenched his hands and held them between her own. “They helped us find Mark and Cassandra, we owe them.”

  He gave a weary sigh. “None of the men from here are responsible for those children. I’ve made it clear …”

  “I know,” she cut him off. “Mrs. Osborne told me. It is men from town like that hypocrite Clive Jones. Quick to castigate me, yet half those aboriginal children have gingery hair like him.”

  “For God’s sake, you can’t go around making those kinds of accusations.”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  “I’ve got no time for those religious zealots either, but there’s such a thing as slander.” He gave a low grunt of laughter. “Oh, my willful beauty, there’s only one way I can silence you.”

  He pulled her closer until her cheek touched his, then he took her lips with a desperate hunger. Like a starving man suddenly having a banquet set before him. Forcing her mouth open with his darting, thrusting tongue, he groaned with frustration because his weakened condition wouldn’t allow him to do anything else.

  The next day after she finished eating breakfast with Luke, Jo asked one of the men to prepare the buggy for her journey into town. The parson would be the best person to approach since he proclaimed himself a man of God. Surely he would not idly stand by and let these unfortunate people be forcibly removed from what they considered their home.

  After asking about Luke, the parson listened without interruption until she finished telling him about the aborigines.

  “It is a frightful thing,” he said. “The conditions under which they live are quite horrific, but several influential people on the town council are keen for them to be moved on. Clive Jones thinks they’re a blot on the community and could cause disease. Mrs. Kilvain is worried about the immorality. While I don’t entirely agree with them, they do raise some valid points.”

  “Have you been down there? Hygiene is non-existent.” She tried to keep
her temper in check. He was procrastinating and they both knew it. She had put him in an awkward position, but the plight of those people screamed for justice, and until Luke recovered enough to do something about it, she was their only hope.

  “I went down there and the conditions are fearful. The most disgusting part of all is the number of half-caste children. Where are the fathers? Why aren’t they compelled to support their offspring?”

  “Mrs. Campton, really.” He mopped his forehead with a checked handkerchief.

  “White men go there, seduce those young girls, impregnate them and disappear.”

  “I know, I know, but there are such a lot of men passing through. Shearers, drovers and the like, it would be impossible to keep a check on all of them.”

  “Some of those children were fathered by men in this town and no one will ever make me believe anything different.”

  His handkerchief moved frantically now. “There’s, um, there’s a public meeting called for next Sunday afternoon to discuss the whole matter.”

  “Is there?” She shot back, trying to hide her elation. “What time and where?”

  “Mrs. Campton, you can’t attend.”

  “Why not?” She stared straight into his face and her eyes never wavered.

  “Because it’s men’s work to discuss such things.”

  “When and where?”

  Grudgingly he gave out the information. “I’ll be there Reverend, and believe me, I’m going to have my say.” She left him opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish.

  On the spur of the moment, she decided to pay Glory a quick visit. In the front yard of the impressive house, Benny energetically pulled out weeds.

  “Benny, what are you doing here?”

  “Howdy, Jo. Helping Glory.”

  Glory answered the door herself. “How are you, Jo? Nothing wrong? Is Luke all right?”

  “Yes, everything is all right, Luke’s getting stronger. He’s angry and frustrated by having to stay in bed so much, though.”

  “I bet he is.” Glory dropped down in a chair. The purple, almost violet gown did nothing for her appearance, yet her cheerful smile compensated for this.

  “How’s business?”

  “Up and down,” Glory chortled her favorite joke, causing Jo to laugh at the crudity.

  “Got myself a couple of new girls, too. A pretty little Eurasian turned up a few days ago. She’s popular already. You’ll never guess what happened? Katie up and got herself married.”

  “Oh, Glory.” Jo smiled her pleasure. “I’m really glad for her.”

  “Me too. I’ll miss her, but I’m glad she’s found a decent man.”

  “I passed Mrs. Kilvain in the street gossiping to old ma Jones. She deliberately turned her back on me. Horrible old thing still thinks of me as a whore.”

  “Old bitch ought to talk, with that poor little bugger of a husband coming here so regularly. As for Clive Jones, he likes brown flesh better than white.”

  “It’s disgusting. There are half-caste children down at the aboriginal camp with carroty hair like him, I saw them,” Jo said.

  “You didn’t go down there, surely?”

  “Yes I did.” She told Glory what happened. “And I’m going to that meeting no matter what.”

  “Luke won’t like it, things could turn ugly. You know what those old bitches are like. Still, I’ll fix them if they give you too hard a time. Just let me know. If I wasn’t so busy, I’d come with you.”

  “You wouldn’t say anything, I mean...”

  “Not to the wives personally, I wouldn’t break a client’s confidence unless I had to, but the men aren’t to know that, are they?”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Watch me. If Mrs. Kilvain doesn’t pull her horns in and shut that dirty mouth of hers, I’ll have to let her find out where her husband spends Wednesday and Saturday nights. Anytime you say, I can fix them.”

  Jo bust out laughing. “Honestly, you’re terrible.” She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Couldn’t you visualize her face? I’d love to be a fly on the wall if it ever came to that.”

  “Do you know what old mother Kilvain did to Benny?”

  “No, I saw him out the front.”

  Glory explained how she rescued him from a screaming mob. Stirred on by the hysteria of Mrs. Kilvain, the decent, upright ladies of the town decided he had become too corrupt to even sweep the police office and stable area.

  There were only three or four ringleaders, but because they had the stronger personalities their voices overpowered everyone else. Benny’s cardinal sin was sketching Mrs. Kilvain with the face of a pig, but with all her features intact, so there was no mistaking who the caricature portrayed.

  It must have been terrible. The woman became hysterical and poor Benny feared for his freedom as Mrs. Kilvain thought it her Christian duty to have him incarcerated in the lunatic asylum.

  “That woman should be locked up, she’s positively evil,” Jo said.

  “I know, old bitch. I’ll give Benny plenty of time off so he can paint. You know, several of his water colors have been sold in Melbourne.”

  “Yes, I’m so pleased for him.”

  “I bought a couple of his pretty landscapes myself, as well as the sketch of Mrs. Kilvain. I’m going to hang it in the public bar and call it, ‘Porky Prude.’

  Jo laughed. “I don’t know how you dare.”

  “Have a cup of tea before you go?”

  “No thanks, I can’t stay long. I have to be back because Mark needs to be fed.”

  “About time you started weaning him off the breast.”

  “He is having some solid food.” Jo fiddled with her hair.

  “I’m surprised Luke got you with child again while you suckled Mark. After this baby’s born, you see me before you let him touch you again. There are things a woman can do.”

  “Glory!” Jo’s cheeks burned.

  “Well, there are. Why do you think the girls working here aren’t breeding all the time?”

  “I don’t know, I never thought about it.”

  “You either do something or make Luke abstain, and there’s no bloody hope of that,” Glory chortled. “He’s like a rutting bull when you’re around.”

  Jo laughed. “You’re awful.”

  She departed half an hour later, feeling considerably cheered up. Nothing like a dose of Glory’s bawdy humor to lighten the day.

  ***

  The next few days slipped by uneventfully. Luke shuffled around inside the house now, but fretted and fumed because even this small amount of exercise drained his puny strength.

  On the day of the meeting, Jo dressed with care. She wore a gown of brownish pink satin that should have clashed with her hair yet somehow didn’t. She dressed her hair up over a pad from a center parting. Two horizontal ringlets were pinned one below the other at the crown of her head, the rest of her hair hung in long ringlets.

  Without vanity, she knew she looked well. Luke’s smoldering eyes as he surveyed her from head to foot told her he thought so too, even if he did not say so.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Into town to see Glory,” she lied.

  “Done up like that?”

  “I felt like dressing up.”

  He snorted but said no more, except she should let one of the men drive her into town. She instantly refused this offer.

  Jo arrived at the hall a few minutes after the meeting had started. Numerous people filled the hall. Ah yes, old mother Kilvain and Marion Jones from the Temperance Society, with several of their pious cronies. So much for the parson saying it would be an all male meeting. These women had done more to castigate her than the whole district. Things would die down if Mrs. Kilvain did not keep on maliciously resurrecting the affair.

  When Luke found out she was still waging her spiteful vendetta, there would be trouble, big trouble, and the old biddy had herself to blame. Hatred and intolerance were terrible things, yet these wom
en, so religious and sanctimonious, were eaten up with it.

  When Jo entered, she caused a stir, and it was reassuring to know she looked well. Looks, as such, had never bothered her overmuch, but when an occasion such as this arose, it was useful to flaunt one’s attributes.

  I’ll go right up the front so I don’t miss anything. She was set for battle. The blood coursed rapidly through her veins, her back was straight, her shoulders taut, nothing better than fighting for a worthy cause.

  The parson, who had been appointed Chairman, brought the meeting to order by banging on the table with a lump of wood. One man got up to say the aborigines should be moved on as they presented a health risk because of the filthy conditions prevailing in their camp.

  “Whose fault is that?” Jo started to rise then promptly sat down again.

  Another man got up to complain about the pilfering, and stealing of livestock. Muttered agreement filled the hall. When Clive Jones got up, he spoke about the drunkards. Warming to his theme, he started on the immorality and disgusting feral behavior of the women.

  Jo couldn’t stand it a moment longer. Bounding to her feet, she ignored the buzz rippling through the assembly and stared at him with loathing. “It would suit you and your kind to move them on, wouldn’t it?”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “Mr. Jones. I’ve been to that place and it’s dreadful. No hygiene, in fact, not even the basic needs for living, and who’s to blame? We took their land, gave them nothing but a few trinkets and cheap whisky. We don’t employ them, so how are they supposed to live? You claim to be a Christian society, but does anyone go down there to give them food or clothing?”

  “That isn’t the point, Mrs. Campton. They’re immoral.”

  “Immoral! You hypocrite. You dare to mention that word.” She ignored the shocked gasps around her.

  “You’d like them to go, wouldn’t you? You’d like to see them all go, including those half-caste, ginger-haired children.”

  His face turned an ugly puce color, making his skin look even worse because of his carroty red hair.

  “Yes, I’ll bet you want them to go.” She barely heard the babble of voices around her.