Where the Murray River Runs

by Darry Fraser

  He looked over and back again. ‘Not too many to see right now. We got the Hero in, the Pilot and her barge. They’re at the dock master’s over yonder side. Sweet Georgie’s just unloaded waitin’ fer her captain. Fact is, that’ll be him just there.’ He lifted his chin towards the dismounted carriage driver. ‘See?’

  Linley glanced around but the rider was on the other side of his horse. Only his legs were in view as he hunted for something in the saddle bags.

  ‘So, no sightseeing. It’s all work around here, no room for spectators. You should get along now.’

  ‘Oh. But I won’t be …’ She was about to stand her ground when a team of horses pulling a heavy dray and carrying a dozen or so men rounded into the street from where she’d come.

  ‘Get along, now, missus,’ the man said. ‘The boys will offload here.’ He waved his hat at where she stood.

  It was a legitimate reason for her to clear the area, albeit somewhat gruff. She pushed the perambulator back over the road and onto the corner. In front of the wharf master’s buildings she turned to watch.

  The dray pulled in where the man had indicated and the workers clambered off it to disappear over the boards and down, she believed, to the dock area below. They shouted and laughed, strode or slouched, all in a uniform of pale shirts, buttoned trousers, braces and sturdy boots. One or two doffed their caps in her direction as they went.

  How she wished she could get to the docks. Perhaps another day, without Toby, she would visit. She could walk at her leisure, explore without putting herself in the way of working men going about their business. On foot, and with no baby with her, she could get down to the water’s edge and watch from a distance.

  Her gaze drifted. The carriage driver from before caught her eye again.

  Her heart leapt in her throat. ‘Ard!’ His name came out of her mouth as a croak, the shock of seeing him left her almost speechless. He hadn’t heard her. Hadn’t seen her.

  Her chest felt tight. Too many thoughts raced in her head, crowding out the sense and spinning with the nonsense.

  It was him, wasn’t it? That black hair, the set of his jaw …

  Should she stay and confront him here on the street—this busy street with men coming and going? She rubbed her hands together, lacing her fingers, as she paced past the pram a little way, then back again. She glanced at the shawl over the baby; he couldn’t be seen. Her heart pounded, her hands wrung on the carriage’s rail, her feet planted her where she stood.

  The man walked around the horse’s rump, his hand gliding over the broad flank. He checked the harness on this side, intent on his business and oblivious to her.

  Of course he hadn’t seen her. She was twenty or thirty yards away, and now he had his back to her. But was that him? If so, he was leaner than she remembered. He looked taller. She hadn’t seen Ard O’Rourke for many months. He might have lost weight working at Renmark …

  She blinked hard. Her breath ached in her throat and tears threatened to erupt, but still she stood on the spot, clutching the pram with all her strength.

  What was he doing here?

  His hat didn’t look right. She stared. Stared hard. She squeezed her eyes closed and open, trying desperately to see his face more clearly.

  Definitely Ard O’Rourke, how would she ever mistake him?

  Then a female voice caught the man’s attention and he looked up sharply. A woman, her hair as black as the man’s, hung in a thick long plait down her back. As Linley gaped at her, she burned anew. The woman was with child. She could see quite clearly the proud bulge that was her pregnancy. She walked steadily towards the man and lifted her face for his kiss.

  Ard!

  Linley’s heart groaned, sank. Her knees threatened to give way. ‘Ard,’ she finally said, she thought in a whisper.

  Both the man and woman looked in her direction and she froze anew, aghast that she might have been heard. She dragged the pram backwards. Bumped it carelessly over the ruts and the exposed cobbles of the road. When she looked back, the laughing face was Ard’s.

  But not Ard’s.

  What is wrong with me? It is Ard O’Rourke. With a woman who’s with child. Kissing her, laughing with her.

  But it couldn’t be Ard.

  Linley dared not look back. She took a wide turn with the pram to face it the other way and stumbled, and the carriage faltered with her. Toby let out an indignant yell, the type that heralded a screaming episode. She tried to hush-hush him. She scurried away from the man who was his father, all the while hoping she could get home without having a screaming episode herself.

  Toby would not quieten. With every bump in the road, his squalls grew louder and more agitated. His little screwed-up face had reddened and his eyes squeezed shut.

  No no no, don’t do this now, Toby-boy. Let me get you home before we both have a complete tantrum.

  She hurried down the street, not thinking to turn back to find High Street again.

  Good Lord, where am I?

  Toby bellowed up at her. Deep inside her gut, the gnawing need to stop, to pick him up and hush him was … The squalling was almost too much, but her legs just wouldn’t slow down.

  A street corner … She turned right, as much to hopefully get back to High Street and to find her way home from there, as it was to get out of sight. The baby carriage wobbled, jumped in her hands, and Toby hit the high notes. Her ears rang.

  ‘Hush, hush,’ she crooned raggedly and realised tears ran over her cheeks. She barrelled down the little street, wondering where on earth she was. Surely High Street crossed it at the end … It seemed to be going in the wrong direction.

  She passed buildings on either side of the road, but paid no great attention. Outside one, a woman, stooped over to pick something up from the weeds, stood up and stared at her.

  Linley barely noticed until the woman shouted at her. ‘You want to keep that one quiet around here, missy. We got gemp-mums coming.’

  Linley nodded, ducked her head closer to Toby and tried desperately to calm him down with more hushes. He stopped his rage for a second, took one big-eyed look at her crumpled face and then bellowed afresh. She sucked in a breath and kept moving.

  There it was. The street she hoped to find. Now that she had her bearings, she needed to turn left and as she did she nearly ran the baby carriage into a stout, fierce-looking matron on the same footpath.

  ‘Young woman!’ The affronted lady drew herself up imperiously.

  Her severely parted head of hair was dragged back to the nape of her neck. She had a look of old Queen Victoria about her, a hooked nose, beady little eyes and fat cheeks, as though she kept her spare dinner tucked away in there.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Linley began, sucking in air, trying not to snivel.

  ‘You!’

  The accusation stopped Linley mid-sob. She stared at the older woman but couldn’t place her.

  ‘You visit that despicable house where those two creatures pretending to be married women live with their brats.’

  Linley had no clue who this woman was. ‘What house?’

  ‘And that would be right, you coming out of that street,’ she said and flicked a sneer at the street out of which Linley had just emerged.

  The baby’s screeching had reached crescendo. He now waved his clenched fists in the air, outraged.

  The woman peered into the pram. ‘Another brat without a father, is it? You’re shameful.’ The woman held herself taller and swept around Linley to carry on, thankfully in the opposite direction to Linley.

  Shaking and tearful after sighting Ard O’Rourke, heart wrenched over the inconsolable Toby O’Rourke, and slighted by a stranger in broad daylight, Linley burst into fresh sobs herself and hurried back down High Street.

  CeeCee tested her stride again down the narrow hallway of the little house.

  Linley had headed off to Mrs Rutherford’s, so as soon as she felt up to it, CeeCee had taken a few steps to check her stamina. It didn’t take many before her side
would ache and her breath would shorten. She’d shuffled along the wall with her eye on the doorway to the little sitting room. At least in there was a chair by the window into which she could collapse.

  Linley had pulled a face when she’d seen CeeCee’s bruises earlier. ‘They’re turning quickly, Aunty. You’re green around your cheek and faded purple further down. At least your eye looks almost normal.’

  ‘I wish I had a mirror.’

  ‘I’m glad you haven’t.’

  Linley had helped her bathe her face, and stood by as CeeCee took care of the rest of her ablutions over a shallow basin. Then she’d helped her dress.

  ‘At least I feel human in my street clothes.’ CeeCee patted down her rumpled skirt. ‘But I will be happier to get this one washed and be outfitted in a new one.’

  Linley wouldn’t be too far away now. Hopefully with news from James with her.

  Oh, how many days before I’m feeling normal again?

  She made it to the chair by the window and sank gratefully into it. Inhaling as deeply as was possible, she closed her eyes, the squelchy feeling in her blackened eye almost gone.

  Of all the rotten things. Being beaten upon by a man, the very likes of whom she’d struggled most of her adult life to avoid. At least she’d stepped in between him and Linley and the baby. A small price to pay, after all. The baby was safe from a life such as his stepfather would damn him to, and for that CeeCee was glad she had taken the brunt of his attack.

  She held up her hands. The shaking was there, again. She clenched and unclenched them, and concentrated on stilling the tremors. This was what remained with all who had encountered violence … a physical memory of it. As if it were embedded in the victim somehow.

  CeeCee shuddered, remembered her own sister’s face from so many, many years ago. Great with child, with Linley, and crawling towards her big sister begging for help …

  Eliza had died of internal bleeding, and CeeCee had snatched her newborn niece and run from the sick bed as fast as she could to hide them both away. But her brother-in-law had found them, threatened them and then left, swearing he’d be back for his kid. She’d never heard from him again. She used to think she would kill him with her bare hands if he ever showed his face. But she knew, now, he never would.

  And now she had become a victim of violence too, but not at the hand of a lover. She wrung her hands.

  Deep breaths, my dear, when you can. Keep calm, Cecilia Celeste. He is no danger to you now.

  How many times had she said that to some poor beaten woman over the years since her sister’s death? The only difference now was her own name.

  She inhaled as deeply as she could, exhaled slowly. Do not think of the violence. The violence she had never experienced first hand until three days ago.

  She closed her eyes. Closed down those thoughts.

  They must get that registration paper for Toby and get it lodged as soon as possible. She would put her mind to the repair of her house. For a moment, she couldn’t remember who had insured it for damage. She would think harder on that later.

  And while she was at it, did she even want to return to Bendigo? Echuca seemed a perfectly reasonable town. It always had. Once she was able to move a bit more freely, she would explore the place to make sure it was where she wanted to be.

  That’s what she would do.

  Perhaps she would ask James to join her here more often. A little further for him to travel, she knew, but he might be open to the idea. It might even be the right time to propose to him. She smiled at the thought.

  Twenty-Six

  Bendigo

  Constable Albert Griffin dismounted and tied his horse to a post at Gareth Wilkin’s house. He barely looped the reins into a knot when a side window flung open.

  ‘Why are the coppers calling on me?’

  Griffin looked up. Wilkin hung out of the window, a large battered pannikin in his hand. His voice sounded hoarse. From the way he pulled at his collar, even in the last of the afternoon sunlight, Griffin could tell he was hot. Still, the dirty little bugger never washed. He’d probably picked up some disease and had a fever.

  ‘Not too late in the day for you, is it?’ Griffin met Wilkin’s gaze as he stepped onto the rickety boards of the stoop. He took care to stand well back. ‘Not one, not two, but three fires inside a week. All with your special kind of mark on them.’

  Wilkin flicked his wrist and the contents of his cup landed with a splat on the boards. ‘That so?’

  Griffin knew it hadn’t landed on his boots. The little bastard wouldn’t dare cross him now. ‘You were seen by two witnesses at the house fire. The fire at Mr Campbell’s was you. And I hear there’s been a fire at Ard O’Rourke’s orchard, just yesterday.’

  Wilkin bared his teeth. Griffin wasn’t sure if it was a sneer or something else. The man was shiny, like when a horse sweated after a gallop.

  ‘I wasn’t the only one at that house. Lots of useless bastards there.’ He picked his shirt away from his chest, giving it a couple of tugs. ‘Don’t know no Mr Campbell. Don’t care about Ard O’Rourke.’

  Albert Griffin inhaled theatrically, and exhaled with a long breath through his mouth. ‘You do know Mr Campbell. You had an appointment with him not long ago.’

  Wilkin grunted. ‘Ah. That Mr Campbell.’

  ‘That same one. Night of the fire in his place, he belted an intruder. Hit him on the head with an ashtray.’ Griffin would swear he saw Wilkin remember the impact. ‘Man should have a great bloody lump on his skull.’ He peered closer at the smelly little bastard.

  Wilkin remained quiet. He picked his shirt away from his chest again and flapped it a little.

  ‘You sick?’ Griffin asked.

  ‘Fever. Got skin blackened on me.’

  Griffin beat down the urge to step back. ‘Better get yourself to the hospital, then.’ He could see fiery red scrapes at the man’s collar, but no blackened skin. Perhaps he had a sort of pox and not burns, after all. If so, he wasn’t going any closer.

  ‘Be gone in a day or two.’

  Griffin doubted it. ‘You should do the same, Wilkin. Might get sicker if you stay around here, playing with fire.’ He turned and gave a quick look up and down the street. ‘I heard that big redheaded bloke is not a nice man when he gets mad.’ He glanced back at Wilkin. ‘You know who I mean,’ he said. ‘And Ard O’Rourke. Well, I’ve only seen him in a temper once or twice, and it ain’t pretty neither.’

  Wilkin eyes were bulging. He flapped his shirt faster, as if trying to cool down. ‘Dunno why you need to tell me.’

  ‘Friendly visit. You might want to be looking over your shoulder if you stay here.’

  Wilkin began to move side to side in the window frame as if he were on one foot.

  ‘You have a relative you can go visit, someone who’ll help you get over your … “fever”?’ Griffin folded his arms. The warm, rotting stink of the man floated across the verandah. Griffin lifted a hand to pinch his nose. ‘Don’t want you here, all sick and all.’ He frowned. ‘And if by chance you’re full up with some God-awful pox and not suffering burns for your trouble, you can get the hell out of my home town.’

  Wilkin stopped moving. ‘Matter of fact,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘I have a sister.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Echuca.’

  ‘Well, go there. Fast as you can. Train leaves in the morning.’ Griffin waited till Wilkin nodded. He turned and stepped off the boards. ‘And keep away from matches.’ He loosened the reins and mounted. ‘You might light yourself up.’

  Twenty-Seven

  Bendigo

  Dawn struggled to break through a thick cloud. Ard sat on the dirt with his back against the stone wall of his hut. He could feel humidity in the air, smell it, dense with char. He watched as mist rolled off his scorched orchard.

  His nose twitched with each inhale. He took in the trees, blackened and tortured in their denuded state, skeletal and twisted. There was nothing for him here. Their li
velihood was gone. He’d telegraph his father and his uncle, but no point waiting for them to arrive, if they were going to.

  He needed to find work. He needed to find his way in the world. He needed to find Linley. And his son.

  James came from inside the hut. He held out a tin cup with steam coming out of it. ‘A man needs sleep as much as he needs food or grog or both. It’s only tea. No rum this morning.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ard took the cup. ‘Couldn’t sleep. That much wood smoke …’

  ‘You’ll get the coppers on to Wilkin?’

  Ard considered it and shook his head. ‘No, I reckon I might take care of it myself. The Chinamen won’t talk to the police and there are no other witnesses.’

  ‘Dangerous.’ James squatted alongside him.

  Ard was silent. If ever there was a man he would enjoy to harm, it was this Gareth Wilkin. First for the fists on Mary. Second for the fire at Miss CeeCee’s, and now, the torching of his own property.

  But what the hell is he coming after me for?

  ‘I can’t make sense of it. Except that my world will look a lot better without him in it.’

  ‘You got a plan?’ James asked. ‘And I don’t mean a murder plan.’

  Ard nodded. ‘I want to go to the river. To Echuca. There’s still work—’

  ‘Not as much as there once was.’

  ‘But enough to get me started again. I might still get work on the boats, there’s timber mills still hiring, I’ve heard.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I could learn to shear sheep.’

  James sat on the ground, eased his long legs in front of him. ‘Drought’s coming again, the rail has gone through to Swan Hill, shearers are striking and losing work. Times are tough. Echuca’s much smaller than Bendigo if you’re looking to find work.’

  Ard glanced at him. ‘You know Echuca?’

  James shrugged. ‘Some.’