by Darry Fraser
‘Yeah.’ Then Sam lightened up again. ‘Come on. We need a rum. Let’s head down by the pub, see who’s around.’
‘I have to go back to the orchard. I need to get water on the trees. If I have to stay until Mr Ling ups his offer, I may as well work.’ Ard stood up and slapped his hat against his leg before he flattened it on his head.
Sam sighed and pushed off the post. ‘What about just one drink?’
Ard hesitated. He had a lot to think about, a lot to do. A lot of plans to put into place. But one drink wouldn’t hurt. He could be well back by late afternoon and turn on the pumps then. ‘One. But it’s never just one rum. Maybe ale.’
‘Good lad.’ Sam stepped off the boardwalk. ‘Might try the Boundary again. See if they’ll let us in.’
At the Boundary Hotel, they tied the horses at the post and headed into the bar. Sam jiggled coins in his pocket and tabled them. Ard added his share.
Sam peered at what they had. ‘No gold rush here, mate, but there’s enough for three ales. In an emergency, I’ve got me ma’s pound note tucked in me boot.’
Ard shrugged. ‘No emergency. One’s all I’ll have then.’
‘One and a half.’
Side by side at the long counter, Sam chugged down his beer.
Ard took long swallows then set it aside. ‘You know, Sam, Linley and Miss CeeCee ran off because of that little son-of-a-bitch who lit up their house.’
‘He’s an evil one, for sure.’
Ard glanced across at Sam. ‘You know him?’
‘Gareth Wilkin, everyone said. He’s a crook. Straightened out a bit for years, then …’ Sam shrugged, took another swallow. ‘He’s the arsehole Mary got herself married to. When Griffin came to my house he asked if I knew him.’
Ard felt the chill slide in his gut. Wilkin. The name in her letter. He automatically touched his shirtfront and felt the crinkle of the two letters there, tucked between his shirt and his waistcoat.
‘The shit is a real piece of work.’ Sam wrapped his hands around his mug of ale. ‘Mary was always so happy … You remember her at school—she kept skiving off with who knows who, but nothing would do her down, you know? Always laughing and happy. We were all kids together, and then we grew up, and now I don’t know what to make of it.’ Sam shook his head. ‘Died, after birthing a kid.’
Ard stared at him, then abruptly looked away. ‘I know.’ His heart thudded. He took his hands from the beer and flexed his fingers.
‘I can sort of understand why she went with Wilkin, a kid on the way and all, and him making the offer. He didn’t seem so bad then, by all accounts. Had straightened up, they said.’ Sam pursed his lips. ‘You wouldn’t have heard, being away, but he got back to being a bastard pretty quick after they got married, and with his fists on her—’
‘I heard.’ Mary’s letter heated up against his chest.
‘Some reckon she died of it.’
Ard nodded, felt a great hot boulder where his heart should be, his blood boiling at the same time.
‘Ma says it woulda been more of a right mess except for Miss Linley.’
Ard blinked hard. ‘Miss Linley?’
‘Here, drink up, mate.’ Sam pushed Ard’s mug closer to him. ‘You sound a bit dry.’
Ard swigged, straightened in his seat. Sweat trickled between his eyes and he raised his forearm to wipe it off. ‘You were saying?’
‘I only know what ma told me. If Mary hadn’t made a legal paper for Linley, her kid would have gone to some asylum, or died, poor little bugger.’
Ard froze. Kid.
‘And not like it was Wilkin’s kid, everyone knew that, even Wilkin. But because he laid in with the fists, when Mary birthed her kid, she gave it to Linley, legal-like. For safe-keeping, I reckon.’
Gave it to Linley.
Sam slugged down the last of his beer and beckoned the publican for another. He pushed the last of their collective coin across the counter. ‘Yeah. Linley is the little bloke’s guardian.’
Ard’s world tilted. ‘What?’
Sam glanced across. ‘Forgetting you were away for all this.’ He kept on. ‘Caused a stir. But legal is legal, Ma says. So Linley’s got Mary’s little tacker and Wilkin looks like he’s got his balls in a knot over it.’ Sam took another look at Ard’s face. ‘You all right, mate?’
Twenty-Three
Echuca
The baby was finally quiet; a squawky couple of hours had gone by after Linley topped him up with some tinned milk. He was taking a little time to adjust.
She held the bottle for him again. His wide-eyed gaze spread that glow in her belly, and her thoughts once more turned to Ard. She wondered where he might be, and if he ever thought of her …
Stupid girl! Mary must have had his heart after all.
The baby kept his eyes open as he sucked and snuffled and swallowed. The tuft of his black hair stood straight out from his forehead, and Linley had a sense that perhaps his eyes were changing colour already. Could that be?
A little crease appeared between his soft barely-there brows. A slight tilt of his head, so like his—
Ard.
He would be somewhere downriver—Renmark she last heard, which is where she’d sent her letter after Mary died.
Did he even get the letter? And if he did, she wondered if he’d sat on a log, his back to a tree, his skin bronzed from the sun and had opened his mail. Did he curse at the news? Did he despair? Did he yell?
Not Ard. Lowering his head, he’d think on it a long time. He would drag fingers through his hair until it scraped back from his face and settled on his shoulders, black and glossy and wavy. And his shoulders would hunch a little, then he would let his hands dangle over his knees.
Those eyes of his that mirrored the sky would look up and he’d shake his head. He would lean back, eyes now closed, his beautiful mouth taut, pain across his face …
Linley’s heartbeat quickened and a breath puffed out of her. Her belly was warm and lower down tingled and wanted. She closed her eyes and let the feeling embrace her as she swayed in her seat—
Startled, she sat upright. Think no more of Ard O’Rourke right now.
The baby pushed the bottle away. She lifted him to her shoulder, let him make space for his meal, then she stood and walked him around the room. Toby gurgled, and gurgled some more, and when he stopped she rocked him in her arms. She hushed and cooed until at last his little eyelids drooped then she settled him in his cradle, snugly swaddled.
CeeCee called out from her room. ‘Come sit with me a while, Lin.’
When Linley popped her head inside, CeeCee was struggling to get comfortable. ‘Let me help.’ She plumped the pillows behind her aunt and sat by the bed. ‘Are you feeling well?’
‘Well enough, but I’m not used to being so laid up.’ She swiped wisps of hair from her face. ‘I feel agitated, as if by resting up I am not achieving anything. I have more letters to write—’
‘I’ll do your hair, Aunt. You’ll feel better.’ Linley reached for the small valise under the bed and withdrew a brush and combs. ‘At least we have these little things to give us some comfort.’
CeeCee murmured assent. ‘We must call for our possessions to be carted up. We must get ourselves back to normal as soon as we can.’ She hitched a breath and let it go.
She indeed seemed agitated. Linley reached over and loosened her aunt’s plait. The thick dark hair looked relieved as it sprang from the restraints of the ribbon. ‘I’ve not much to call for. Our box of treasures is here.’ Her fingers combed out the long waves and then she set to with the brush. ‘Besides, it’s rest you need right now in order to have the energy to continue working later.’
CeeCee tut-tutted. ‘I miss my journals, and Mrs Lawson’s newspaper. We will have to notify her of our new address so our subscription for The Dawn will find us again. I have kept every edition.’
‘I will write to her. Don’t worry yourself now.’ The brush stroked rhythmically in Linley’s hands. ‘From w
hat I read last time, things are getting very exciting, or very dangerous, whichever way you like to look at it.’
CeeCee winced a little and eyed Linley, nodding. ‘There are still those who oppose freedom for women, rights for wives within the marriage. We need to educate young women about their rights. Thank goodness our petition for the age of consent to be raised has been successful.’
‘We don’t know when it will become law, though.’
‘It has put transgressors on notice. And it has become a topic of discussion, as it should. It’s a start.’
‘It still seems very young at sixteen.’ Linley thought of herself at that age. She had no clue about life then, nor to what she might have been consenting.
‘But far better than as it was at fourteen. Or in some colonies, only thirteen years of age.’
Linley stopped the brush strokes a moment. ‘That makes me seem so old, Aunt.’ No husband, certainly not the one she wanted, and no prospects now with a baby—not her own—in tow. Her shoulders slumped.
‘You are old enough to understand many more things than you did at that age. I am pleased for it. You can better guard against transgressions. We see the … unpleasantness because of a lack of knowledge.’
Taking in a deep breath, Linley said, ‘I am old enough, much older than some, I know, to understand the unpleasantness we encounter. But I don’t understand what you mean. Rights for wives within the marriage? Of course we have rights.’
‘Hardly any by law. Not what you would expect in this day and age. Some things have changed, property rights for instance.’
Linley resumed brushing CeeCee’s hair. ‘I remember our discussion about that some years ago.’
‘Women should also have the right to control what happens to their own person within the marriage.’
‘Yes?’ Linley set down the brush and took up the discarded ribbon.
CeeCee stopped her. ‘Linley, many marriages are loveless, but still a wife is expected to … to perform her perceived duty.’
Linley fired bright red. ‘But that is so because—’
‘Because nothing, my dear niece. That is exactly what we fight every day. Just because she is married, does not mean she is merely a chattel to be used as her husband sees fit. Not as a slave in his bed, nor as a punching bag, nor to be discarded as he pleases. She has her own mind, and should be allowed to exercise her right over it and her body. There is even discussion on divorce over that very thing.’
Linley burned crimson as she fiddled with the ribbon. Divorce. When did this become a topic of their conversation? ‘That I haven’t yet known a marriage, does not mean I haven’t understood what some women—’
‘You must not be oppressed in your life.’
Linley sat back. ‘I will not be. I have no intention of being so oppressed. You are not oppressed with James.’
‘We are not married.’
Linley shot her a look. ‘What makes it so different?’
‘The law.’ CeeCee shifted her shoulders and winced again. ‘I would be owned by him.’
‘You would not,’ Linley scoffed. ‘James would never look upon you as his possession. He loves you. I know perfectly well that if you married James nothing about your lives together would diminish.’
‘It’s not James. It’s the law.’ CeeCee stopped and stared at her niece anew, her good eye wide. ‘I know he loves me.’
Startled by CeeCee’s vehemence, Linley frowned. ‘Why are you so agitated now? What’s happened? You’ve never been quite so adamant. Passionate, yes, but today you seem too intense. I don’t see what—’
CeeCee waved a hand. ‘The altercation with that man happened,’ she said. ‘And now with you and little Toby, I feel my life might be changing. Perhaps I haven’t done enough. I want to make a mark that will help you, and others … Give you courage. The women we provide refuge for—’
‘You do help. We are helping.’
‘But at a legal level, and at a social level where we can change the minds and mores of society.’ CeeCee pressed forward on her hands. ‘Mrs Lawson, and Agnes Benham and Mrs Lee all think the same about what happens when we give away our independence. Legislating is opposed by men who think we wish to curtail male liberty.’ She sank on the pillows.
‘The only curtailing I see would be that of bad behaviour.’ Linley reached across and squeezed CeeCee’s arm. ‘You’ve run out of breath, Aunt. Calm yourself before you do some damage. This is no time to run yourself ragged.’
‘Do not give away your freedom, Linley.’
‘Are you saying I shouldn’t marry, Aunt?’ She held her breath just a little.
‘Just know what you’re in for. Be prepared. Have your own money.’
‘The law states I must give up work if I marry. I would have no money.’
CeeCee nodded. ‘I will see to it that you do.’ Her eyes closed. At least, her good eye noticeably closed; the other puffy eye was closed anyway. ‘I will organise a stipend for you from my own funds. As soon as I’m on my feet, I will do that. That way, if you marry, it will still be yours afterwards to do with as you wish.’
As quickly as the conversation started, it stopped. CeeCee’s chest rose and fell evenly, her features relaxed. ‘Forgive the tirade, Lin. I cannot help but be worried.’
‘I know.’ Linley pressed her aunt’s hands again. ‘Do not worry. I promise to be strong, CeeCee. But now I have chores to do.’
Linley cooked for them over the small kitchen fire and then declared a cup of tea would finish off her day. CeeCee accepted the bread and slice of beef, and afterwards settled back on her bed. She shut her eyes while the tea cooled in its mug on the floor.
Linley left her asleep. The doctor would come tomorrow. She was sure CeeCee only needed the rest and tomorrow they could begin the rest of this adventure.
Linley woke with a start. Bright sunlight streamed through the bare window in the room. Darting little early birds chirruped around the magpies warbling in the trees.
Morning. Already.
The baby’s little fists waved in the air from the cradle. Linley unfolded herself from the chair, tugged aside the blanket she’d slept under and sat for a moment, waking up. The night had been peaceful for her; the baby had only woken once. She rubbed her eyes, checked he was all right for a few minutes alone, then headed out to the privy.
Back inside, she first tended to Toby. She removed his soiled night linen, and left him in a fresh cloth in the crib. She’d heard stories about how babes were often left without being washed, or had soiled clothing returned to them, but the new-fashioned way of dealing with ablutions for babies appealed to her much more. Linley herself would not have enjoyed being left in soiled clothing, so why would a baby?
‘Much better this way, isn’t it?’
Toby opened his mouth wide in a delighted smile. He waved both arms at her.
‘Of course you agree. You’re a very smart fellow.’ She ran a finger down his velvety cheek, desperate for another breath of baby, so she hugged him up and pressed her nose against his. He gurgled more delight, and reached up to grab her nose. ‘And you are my little man.’ That warmed her heart as much as holding him.
Reluctantly, she put him back into the cradle. Back in the kitchen room, she set the fire burning up to a good heat, the coals from the night obligingly turning to flame once again. She brewed tea, warmed a bottle for the baby, and went to fetch him. With Toby tucked under her arm she headed for CeeCee’s room, knocked and entered.
Her aunt was awake and sitting, holding her ribs, but she looked brighter than yesterday.
‘Good morning, Lin.’
‘Morning, Aunty. Did you sleep?’
‘As long as I didn’t try to move. I do need to move now, though.’
‘There’s a chamber pot under the bed. I could sit it on the chair here, if—’
‘I think I’ll manage to get to the outhouse. How’s our boy?’ CeeCee squinted at the baby.
Linley jiggled Toby in her arm as s
he fed him the bottle. ‘He seems very fine. Slept through the night. Almost.’
‘Perhaps as tired as we are.’ CeeCee pushed her long plaited hair back over her shoulder and took a couple of shallow breaths. ‘Not so bad as yesterday. I might only have bruised ribs. I seem to be much rested despite the off and on sleep.’ She flicked a glance at Linley. ‘And I am anxious to get on with things.’
‘All right. But your face still looks very painful. Your cheek is a deep purple. Can you even see out of that eye?’ Linley pointed at the puffy half-closed eyelid.
‘I’m sure it looks worse than it is. Wait till it goes green then yellow.’ She patted her own cheek gently then carefully stuck out her feet and put them on the floor. ‘I’ve seen many a black eye in my day, Linley. From your mother, to all the women and children James and I have looked after over the years.’
Linley sighed. ‘Yes, of course you have.’
‘My own black eye won’t stop me.’ Her aunt settled in an upright position on the bed and then gradually stood, testing her balance. ‘Just a bit ginger.’ She stretched her toes towards her button-and-laced boots.
‘It’s a neat path to the outhouse, no stones or burrs. You can go barefoot.’ Linley handed her aunt the shawl. There’d been no time to purchase anything, including new clothes or footwear, before they left Bendigo.
James had promised assistance. He would telegraph the emporium in Echuca and have some essentials delivered. Linley didn’t know what time or what day that was likely to be, but she hoped it would be soon. He’d pressed a little money into CeeCee’s hands before she boarded the train, but that wouldn’t last too long. Hopefully an account at the bank would allow CeeCee to withdraw funds, again with James’ help, after being telegraphed from Bendigo. If CeeCee was correct, he would be on today’s train. Things might then take on some semblance of normalcy.
Linley sighed inwardly as she watched her aunt totter out the bedroom door. She didn’t really know what normal was any longer.
