Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  They stared at each other for a moment until Mack said, ‘You an’ all. Thanks, Dan. Be seeing you soon. I’ll join up with you near the Falls, or with Bill’s lot.’

  ‘You might be more use back in the ranch, Mack. This thing isn’t over by a long chalk. Now they’ve started others could break out.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  They nodded at each other; then Mack turned towards Tilly again and asked, ‘Where is he, Matt?’

  She pointed, and they went towards the long hut where the wounded lay.

  That Mack was shocked at the sight of Matthew was evident in his face but not in his voice, for it was rough and brusque as he exclaimed, ‘What d’you think you’ve been up to eh? You went out house huntin’, so I understand.’

  ‘Hello, Mack.’ Matthew’s voice was low, scarcely audible, as he added, ‘Going home.’

  ‘Going home.’ Mack nodded at him. ‘We’ll have you in your own bed ’fore you know where you are.’ He took two steps backwards from the cot nodding as he went, and when they were again outside the hut he looked at Tilly, saying kindly, ‘Doesn’t look too good.’

  ‘No; he’s lost an awful lot of blood.’

  ‘Well’ – he gave a twisted smile – ‘broth made with bullock’s blood will soon put that right. The main thing is to get him home. I’ll go and see about this wagon.’

  ‘Thank you, Mack.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Oh, I am grateful to God you are here, Mack, you’ll never know.’

  He grinned again, nodded, then marched off, his limp very much in evidence; through tiredness she guessed, for after doing a day’s work he must have ridden through the night with few stops on the way, for his clothes, too, had dark stains on them.

  Just an hour later Matthew was carried in a sling to the wagon and laid gently on a bed of sacks and blankets with a buffer of boxes at one side and Tilly seated with her back against the wooden rail at the other.

  Len Wilson was driving the wagon and Mack was riding by the side of it, two mustangs on leading reins behind him. As they passed through the gates the last face she looked at was that of the doctor’s wife who seemed sorry to see her leave. She hadn’t said goodbye to the doctor for she couldn’t thank him for cutting off her husband’s arm. Another doctor, she told herself, would have tried to stitch it together.

  When the big gates were closed behind them and the wagon moved over the rough ground she pressed her side tightly against the sacks in an attempt to stop Matthew being jolted.

  The sky was high and clear. The day was warm. For a time they passed through waving grass, then along a river bank where the wheels of the wagon almost touched the water to avoid the cottonwood trees that bordered the river to where it narrowed almost into a small stream.

  When they had crossed the river Len Wilson and Mack lay on the bank and ducked their heads deeply into the flow. They then helped Tilly down from the cart, and she, too, lay on the river bank and ducked her head into the water. Afterwards she took a mugful of it back to the wagon and with a handkerchief she bathed Matthew’s face, then wetted his lips with water from the water bottle.

  As Mack was about to mount she said to him in an undertone, ‘How long will it take us?’

  ‘About another five hours. We’ll cut quite a slice off the distance going this way; Len knows it like the back of his hand. It’ll be rough in parts but it’ll be better than the main trail, and we’ll be less likely to meet anybody.’

  They stared at each other for a moment; then he turned from her and mounted his horse, and once more they were moving on.

  Matthew appeared to sleep most of the time; at least so Tilly thought, until he opened his eyes and said to her, ‘How much further?’

  She bent her head over him. ‘Not much longer, dear. Not much longer. About an hour I should say . . . How are you feeling?’

  He didn’t answer her question; instead he said, ‘Tilly,’ and to this she answered, ‘Yes, dear?’ She watched him moisten his dry lips and look away from her before he spoke again, and then his words were low and spaced as if attuned to each sway of the wagon. ‘If . . . if anything . . . happens . . . to me . . . go straight . . . back . . . home.’

  ‘Oh, my dear. My dear. ‘ She placed her two fingers gently on his lips, and he made an impatient movement with his head as if aiming to push them aside and went on, ‘Do as I ask. Take Willy and go, not Josefina. Don’t take her.’

  She made no answer to this but simply stared down at him. He had closed his eyes once more . . . She did not expect him to love the child, but he did not even like her. Whatever happened, Josefina was going to become a problem . . .

  They had left the river and the twisting bone-shaking path, and now she recognised the country they were passing through. In a short time they’d be home. Her heart was heavy with dread, yet she told herself that once he was in bed and she was able to nurse him he would recover. Look at the different men she had seen walking about with one arm or those hobbling about on one leg and a crutch, many had lived for years and years. Once they were back she would get him well. She would have to put up with Alvero Portes until Matthew was able to be moved to a new home. Where that would be she didn’t know. But there’d never be another house like Anna Meyer’s. No, there’d never be a house like that again.

  On the last thought new hope sprang in her, perhaps this terrible experience they had gone through would change Matthew’s idea of living here for the rest of his days and he’d be only too glad to go back to England.

  They were nearing the ranch; there in the distance was the first boundary fencing. As the wagon rumbled along the road she looked towards the corral and her eyes widened. There wasn’t a horse in sight.

  They had ridden for about another half mile when she saw Mack come to the back of the wagon and tie the two mustangs to the backboard, and then before she could ask him what was wrong he was riding off again. Now standing up and swaying she reached over to Len Wilson and, touching his arm, she shouted, ‘What is it? Something wrong?’

  It was some seconds before he turned to her and said simply, ‘Smoke.’

  She repeated his word, ‘Smoke?’

  ‘Aye. It might be nothing but Mack thought he’d better go and see.’

  Of a sudden she slumped down on to the floor of the wagon, her hands now joined tightly between her knees, her head bent towards them, and again she was saying, ‘Oh no! no! they couldn’t have been this far. Oh no! Willy! Oh Willy! And Katie. And the child, and Luisa.’ She found herself going through all the names, and then she was jerked forward as the wagon was drawn to a halt.

  Again she was standing upright, staring ahead now towards a smoke haze in the distance, and her voice was a mere whimper as she muttered, ‘They couldn’t. They couldn’t have got this far.’

  ‘They can go to hell an’ back, ma’am, that lot, hell an’ back. But it may be nothing, just a barn fire. Stay still now.’ He put out his hand as she attempted to climb down from the wagon, and again she whimpered, ‘My children!’

  He said nothing, just sat staring ahead; and the minutes passed and went into five, then ten, then fifteen.

  They had reached thirty when she saw Mack come riding back towards them. Then he was facing them. Under the dirt, the tan, and his beard, his face looked as grey as the dust on his clothes. Len Wilson and he exchanged glances.

  Now he was looking at Tilly and saying quietly, ‘’Twill be better if you don’t go in. Drive round the west side. Your house is still standing, why I don’t know, the . . . ’ – his head drooped now – ‘the rest is burned out.’

  ‘The children?’ She was gripping his shoulders, her hands like claws dug deep into his coat. ‘The children!’

  He kept his head down. ‘There’s no sign of ‘em, ma’am, no sign of ’em.’

  ‘Oh God! Oh God!’ She rocked on her feet and Mack put his arm about her, saying now, ‘They might’ve got away.’

  She drew a long, long breath before she gasped, ‘Katie! Luisa!’
r />   ‘There’s no sign of ’em either.’ Again his head was drooped.

  ‘They . . . they could have taken them? They do awful things . . . Oh God Almighty! God Almighty!’ Her hands were in her hair now as if attempting to pull it from the roots.

  ‘Come on.’ As he assisted her along the road he nodded to Len Wilson, and when Matthew’s weak voice came from the wagon they all ignored it.

  Near the main gate, as Mack was about to direct Len Wilson away from it and along a side path that would lead to the house, Tilly, pulling herself from Mack’s arm, cried, ‘No! No, I must find the children. They’ll be in there somewhere, they’ll be in there . . . ’

  Mack gripped her arms and actually shook her as he said, ‘They’re not there. An’ don’t go in, I’m tellin’ you, unless you want nightmares till the end of your days.’

  They stared at each other, and then she whimpered, ‘But my child and Josefina, they’re . . . they’re just babies, babies.’ She shook her head wildly.

  ‘I know ma’am, I know, but I tell you they’re not there. If they’ve taken ’em there’ll be a chance of them comin’ back. They’ – he gulped before continuing – ‘they don’t often harm children.’ He didn’t add, ‘If they behave themselves and don’t cry,’ but tried to reassure her by saying, ‘They’ve been known to be very kind to children. And I promise you, you’ll get them back. Believe me. Wherever they’ve gone the Rangers’ll follow, you’ll get them back.’

  She stared at him unbelieving. Then her body seemed to slump and, turning, she looked towards the gates and, noticing movement, she said, ‘Somebody’s there.’

  ‘Yes, they’re . . . they’re clearin’ up. The Curtises and Ingersolls were lucky; but the Purdies got it, and the Rankins.’

  ‘Are they . . . ?’ She couldn’t ask the question, but he answered it, saying, ‘Yes, all but Mrs Purdie. She was under the floorboards. They found her afterwards. She’s a bit burnt but she’ll be all right.’

  Huh! Ha-ha! Under the floorboards; a bit burnt; like taties in the ashes. Her granny used to split them open and put dripping in . . . split them open. Ha-ha! She put her hand over her mouth tightly, she was going to laugh. She must be going mad. Mack was supporting her as they went up the rise towards the house, Len driving the wagon behind them.

  She stood in front of the verandah and looked at it. It was intact; even the bear was there straining at the end of his chain coming to greet them. Why had they left the bear? She now asked the question of Mack. ‘Why did they leave the bear?’

  ‘I don’t think they got up this far, they were disturbed. Smith’s Rangers group came along this way. That’s likely what saved the house.’

  ‘But . . . but not my children, not my children. Matthew! Matthew!’

  She turned to the wagon where Len Wilson and Mack were now easing Matthew gently forward, and as they lifted the inert body into the house she walked sidewards in front of them and drew them through the room and into the bedroom; and when they laid Matthew gently down he looked at Mack and said simply, ‘They’ve been here?’

  ‘Yes, Matthew.’

  ‘The children?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ It was Tilly hanging over him now. ‘They’ll be all right.’ Her voice was high and squeaky as if she were going to burst into song. ‘Mack says they’re all right. Mack says he’ll get them. Don’t worry. Let me get the blankets off and wash you, and I’ll see to your arm and I’ll . . . ’

  Matthew’s hand came on her wrist and checked her hysterical flow of words, and she closed her eyes so tightly that her face became contorted. Her voice a little steadier now, she said, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ But when she went to try to take the blankets from around him she looked up helplessly at Mack and said simply, ‘Help me, please . . . ’

  It was a full half-hour later when Matthew was settled comfortably in bed, and so she left him for a moment and went into the other room where she stood looking about her. She couldn’t believe it, nothing had been disturbed. She looked towards the table. It was set for breakfast: there was Katie’s place and the children’s two fancy mugs; the bread board with a knife lying across it; a pot of preserves; a round of butter with a pattern on the top which told her that one of the Ingersolls had called – Clara Ingersoll always brought something dainty.

  Oh Willy! Willy! Oh, my dearest Willy, my baby . . . Josefina. Dear little Josefina. She was a girl . . . they did things to girls. She had never discussed Indian raids openly but she kept her ears open. They gelded young boys and they used young girls. Mack had said they were kind to children, at least the men were, but the women were cruel to them, especially to girls. She’d heard of the things they did to girls . . . Oh my God! she mustn’t think. No, she mustn’t keep repeating the same thing, she must think of Matthew, he needed her.

  She started to pace the room, her head bent forward, her brow in the palm of her hand. She hated this country, she’d always hated it since first putting her foot on it. She hated the people in it, not just the Indians. They were rough, coarse, some no better than animals. Alvero Portes . . . oh yes, there were men like Alvero Portes, men in the towns living in their grand houses, and ladies spending their time titivating themselves and entertaining the politicians, but in the main there were the people, just the people, and they were elemental, barbaric, and . . . and . . . oh, Mr Burgess would have been able to put names to them. There must be something odd about people who wanted to come and live on this terror-ridden plain.

  She looked towards the fireplace where one rifle was still slung. She had the desire to take it up and clear this whole wide planet of people, people like Alvero Portes, people like . . . Bobby Pearson . . . and the Indians. Oh the Indians! Yes, she would do what the doctor said, burn them all on a great bonfire . . .

  Oh my God! what was the matter with her? Was she losing her reason? She must pull herself together; this was no time to go on talking like this, and she was talking, talking aloud . . . She had to get Matthew well. What had she come out here for? Oh yes, to make him some gruel. Where did she keep the oatmeal? Her head was spinning . . . What time was it?

  She was about to look round to the clock when movement through the window caught her eye. There outside were five dark figures. The great scream rose to her throat but she stilled it by stuffing her knuckles into her mouth. Two of the figures were tiny, two were women and dumpy, the third was a man, a tall man. She staggered to the door and pulled it open and gazed with her mouth agape and her eyes stretched wide at the five mud-covered creatures staring at her. Then a great cry was riven up from her bowels and she jumped the three steps down to the ground, crying, ‘Willy! Katie. No! no! it can’t be.’ She was hugging the two wet mud-covered children to her while Katie and Luisa stood looking down at her. It was Doug Scott who spoke first, and what he said sounded so ordinary, ‘You all right, ma’am?’

  She looked up at him with tears making furrows down her mud-spattered face. She had no power to speak but she made a deep obeisance with her head until he said, ‘And Matt?’

  And now she struggled to her feet and looked back towards the house, and it was Luisa who stated, ‘He’s hurt.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Badly?’ Luisa’s voice had still the crisp, terse note to it, nothing might have happened.

  ‘He’s lost an arm and . . . and a lot of blood.’

  ‘Well, let’s get inside.’

  Luisa went first. The children were still clinging to Tilly, and Katie was still standing gaping at her. Katie hadn’t yet spoken, but now she fell forward into Tilly’s arms and the sobs shook her whole body as she kept repeating, ‘Oh, Tilly! Oh, Tilly! Oh, Tilly!’

  Her distress brought Tilly to herself for a moment and she said, ‘Come on, come on, get cleaned up’; then looking over her shoulder at Doug, she asked quietly, ‘Have you been down there?’

  For answer he gave a small motion of his head and at this Katie’s crying became louder and she spluttered now, ‘Tis terrible, ’tis terr
ible. Oh Tilly! Tilly!’

  ‘Go inside now, and stop your crying!’ It was Doug Scott speaking with unusual authority, no laughter about him now. ‘Get yourself cleaned up, I’ll be back shortly.’ He now exchanged a glance with Tilly and turned round and went down the slope towards what was left of the ranch.

  They were cleaned up. They’d all had a hot drink but no-one could touch food. Nor had anyone told Tilly how they had escaped, and it wasn’t until Luisa walked out and down the slope to where once had stood her home that Katie’s tongue became loosened. She stood staring through the open door at the sturdy figure who looked most odd now, dressed as she was in one of Tilly’s dresses that was much too long and had been looped at the waist and so tight for her bust she’d had to resort to a shawl. ‘She’s brave, she is,’ she said.

  ‘How did you manage to escape?’ Tilly asked.

  At this Katie bowed her head and muttered, ‘Likely ’cos I was about to misbehave meself.’

  ‘What!’

  Katie raised her head a little now and said, ‘I was just on goin’ to bed when Doug came up on the quiet an’ tapped on the window.’ Her head drooped again. ‘We got talkin’ like and—’ her head drooped still further and her voice was scarcely audible as she muttered, ‘I let him kiss me. ’Twas then we were both scared out of our wits, an’ that was afore the Indians come, ’cos Luisa appeared on the scene and she went for Doug sayin’ that he was sneakin’ up here to do me harm an’ take me good name an’ that he wouldn’t have done it if you and the master had been at home, and to get himself down there quick sharp an’—’ now Katie gulped and seemed to find breathing difficult as she added, ‘’Twas just at that moment that we heard the screams. Oh my God! Tilly, they chilled you to the bone them screams. An’ Doug stood frozen like for a minute. Then there were more screams and shootin’ an’ firebrands flying. An’ then he yelled at us to get the bairns, and both Luisa and me flew up the stairs and grabbed them. Then he hustled us across the back way through that grass, and I had no shoes on and I wanted to scream myself. On and on he pushed us until we came to the river bank. An’ then I couldn’t believe it for he was stickin’ us all into a muddy hole in the bank. He tried one first and it wasn’t big enough; then he pulled us to another. We had to crawl in on our hands and knees and the river was flowing into it. It was almost up to our waist at one time; I thought I would die with cold. And then when Willy began to cry, Doug tied his hands behind his back and took off his neck’chief and put it round his mouth. I thought the poor bairn would suffocate. Josefina never opened her mouth. It was as if, well, she had been in this kind of thing afore. ’Twas weird like, Tilly, ’cos she didn’t open her mouth or make one squeak. Nor did Luisa, but me – well, I couldn’t help it, I was groanin’ like a stuck pig ’cos I was covered with mud and water an’ I was so freezin’. An’ then’ – her head bowed again – ‘’cos I couldn’t stop, he . . . well, he slapped me face—’ she stared at Tilly now and her head bobbed as she said, ‘he did, he slapped me face. Then he said something terrible to me that made me want to vomit. But it shut me up. You know what he said?’ Tilly didn’t answer, and she gabbled on, ‘I’ll never forget it, not as long as I live, ’cos he hissed at me, “You’ll have something to groan about if they get you, an’ it’ll shut your trap ’cos they’ll cut off your breasts an’ stuff ’em in your mouth.” He did. I didn’t believe it at the time, but it shut me up. But Tilly—’ again she was looking up into Tilly’s face and now she spluttered tearfully, ‘I can believe it after what I saw down there, I can believe it all right. Ma One, Poor Ma One was split open, right open, Tilly, and there was this spear through her right into the ground, an’ Diego an’ Emilio an’ all of them. Eeh, but it was nothing to Mr Portes. They had him covered up on the ground when I saw him. He was covered up like the rest, what was left of him. One, Two and Four, an’ poor Rod Tyler, too. But I heard Mack telling Doug what they’d done to Mr Portes. They had nailed him to the door and Mack said there wasn’t a . . . some word like portrushun left on his body not from his nose to his toes. An’ you know what? Luisa went to look at him, she did, she did. She pulled the sheet aside an’ looked at him. And she never moved a muscle. She’s brave but she’s hard . . . I wanna go home, Tilly. Oh, I wanna go home. I wanna go home, Tilly. I wanna . . . ’