by Darry Fraser
Ard took another look around for the apparition that had been Linley Seymour. Nothing. He slapped his dusty trousers and adjusted the skewed swag. ‘Right. I can do that.’
‘Good lad. Some of my boys, the fools, are downriver. Shearer’s strike, thinking they can lend a hand.’ He took a couple of deep breaths. ‘So I’m short-handed here. Be grateful. Tom Minton’s me name.’
Ard took one last look around, his heart sinking.
Gone. Gone again. But she’s here, I’ve seen her. I have to find her.
But he needed a job. He looked back at the man and took the proffered hand. ‘Ard O’Rourke.’
Linley had spent all the free time she’d allowed herself.
It was quiet by the river but not as cool as she thought it would be. Besides, there was a lull in the busy-ness of the day, it seemed. The action from boat to wharf and crane, then to cart or dray, had slowed up.
She sighed. Another day, if she could possibly coax CeeCee into taking care of Toby for just a few more hours, she could venture here again. There was a peace about the river. Here she could sort her thoughts about the news James had imparted: the fire at their house in Bendigo. Nothing left of the old life now. The shock had dissipated, the fear had passed, the sadness had crept in and stayed.
At least her only real possession, a tiny photograph of her mother, was still with CeeCee in the treasures box. Her aunt advised that she should mourn for the house but settle those feelings quickly. They had their new life in Echuca now, and they needed to do all they could to ensure it would be a safe and happy one.
The river. There was an ancient timelessness with every minute lap of a muddy wave. But then there was the trade itself on the water, the industry, the commerce. A chug of engine, a swoosh of paddle, the barges silently gliding behind the steamers. Men shouted greetings to one another, boat to boat. And of the few vessels carrying passengers, the ladies stared silently at the crowded bank, and their children were hardly able to contain chattered excitement.
Linley let out another long sigh. Something magical was here, but she knew she shouldn’t linger today. CeeCee was still a bit sore and sorry even though James’ appearance had cheered her immensely. And Toby needed feeding. She needed to keep up the introduction of the tinned milk so they could leave Mrs Rutherford in peace.
She made her way up the rough dirt path to the bank, careful to watch that she didn’t step into loose pebbles and go sliding down again. She stood for a moment on the main pathway while she caught her breath. Her gaze alighted on a familiar figure, far away on the wharf, almost as far across as he could be, and her breath caught in her throat.
Ard.
Don’t be so silly, she chided herself. It’s that man from the other day. But oh, how much like Ard he was, even from this far away the resemblance was striking. She stared intently. So like Ard.
Her feet took her in that direction a few paces before she stopped and took a vantage point by a large stand of gums. Wouldn’t do to make a fool of herself again. Forget about it and get on home.
Still she waited and watched, squinted in the bright sunlight and then when the man disappeared under the top level of the wharf and didn’t reappear, she turned away.
Fool. Why on earth would it be Ard O’Rourke? You fool.
Crossing the road, she marched her way home, more annoyed for allowing another sighting of Ard’s twin to stir up unruly emotions. And she shouldn’t be idling her days away … she should be helping set up the house, and organising some food in the place to cook, and do the washing. And … and …
Oh, how boring.
Perhaps she could arrange with CeeCee to mind Toby while she went and found some work. Though Mrs Cooke and Mrs Rutherford said there wasn’t much to be had.
She turned into the road where she’d been accosted by that nasty drudge of a woman the other day. All of a sudden furtive, she hurried that little bit more, her eyes on her feet over the rough path. Silly. She should be on the lookout for any ambushes along the way, not the footpath. Head up once again, she charged along.
She would help CeeCee with her correspondence. CeeCee always had so many letters to write offering assistance and support to some group or another. Linley’s interest in the suffragette—sorry, CeeCee, suffragist movement—would help her do the same kind of work CeeCee did. She could even help develop the refuge houses James had mentioned.
Whatever that entailed. More letter writing, she expected. It would hardly create an income for her, but CeeCee seemed to get the funds to keep them both alive from somewhere. She did wonder where all the money came from to fund the projects she knew CeeCee, and now James, had begun. It was a strange thing for a man of his wealth to undertake.
Well, she presumed he had wealth; he was always impeccably turned out, and certainly able to purchase a household’s furniture at a moment’s notice. And if a man had that sort wealth, why on earth would he bother with the plight of women, and those of a far lower station than his?
A mystery. Well, mystery to her or not, Aunt CeeCee was very taken with him, clearly had been for years. Easy to see why. He was handsome in that confident, charming sort of way. A very caring person. Linley loved him, too. His was an under-stated presence, where Ard’s was right up front, blue eyes blazing hot and cold, a flashing grin or a lopsided smile, high energy just bursting under the surface—
Her stomach dipped. Ard, again.
She slowed a pace or two. Perhaps she should go back and check that it really was that other man … She turned around and stood for a moment, heartbeat racing at the possibility.
Oh, how stupid.
She turned back and marched the rest of the way home.
Ard climbed halfway down the ladder that led to the second tier. Then he stopped. The thought struck him so hard he swore he heard his own voice bellow at him. His ears rang.
Go after Linley, man!
Hooked on a jutting beam as he charged back up the rungs, the swag wrenched off his shoulder and plopped into the greasy water below the boards. No time to stop. He shot through the opening and back onto the main deck of the wharf.
Left or right? Left. The direction he’d last seen her. He scrambled to his feet.
‘You coming, lad?’ A voice drifted past him from below.
‘Sorry, Mr Minton, an urgent task I suddenly remembered.’
Five minutes—that’s all it could have been. Maybe ten. He could find her. He would find her.
As he ran, as he gained momentum on the wharf, a familiar figure bobbed up from a manhole some yards in front of him, and threw a bag ahead of himself.
‘Ard, lad. What’s the hurry?’ A tall, older man, a replica of his father, his twin brother, stood up and brushed himself off.
Ard stumbled to a halt, but his racing heart kept jumping. ‘Liam.’
‘That’s me. Off yon boat below.’ He waved down to the new-looking paddle-steamer idling at the second tier before he opened his arms wide. ‘Good to see you, boy. Your pa thought you might be here already.’
Ard walked into the big embrace, awkward but resigned. ‘Good to see you.’ He was engulfed in the hug then pushed out of the powerhouse grip.
‘I got news.’ Liam brushed a heavy lock of his hair back from his face. The silvery streak in it from the middle of his forehead mirrored that of Ard’s father.
Distracted, Ard darted a look over Liam’s shoulder but saw nothing of his quarry. ‘News?’
‘What is it with you, lad? You’re all beside yourself.’ Liam frowned.
‘Someone I need to catch—’
‘’Less it’s life and death, listen up, lad. Me and your pa have agreed to sell the orchard to the Chinaman.’ The frown gone, Liam beamed at him. His face creased and the crow’s feet at his eyes were pronounced, weathered.
Ard stared at his uncle. ‘You have?’
‘The place isn’t much now its trees have all burned, is it? And we figure it doesn’t owe us anything over nigh on forty years. Sad. I’ve settled wi
th that, but there it is.’ Liam picked up his bag. He clapped a hand on Ard’s shoulder and steered him along the boards. ‘What do you think, lad? I know you had your heart in the place, but with it burned down …’
Ard shook his head. ‘Not for a while, now.’
Liam held him at arm’s length. ‘You right, lad?’
Ard inhaled deeply. ‘I got myself into a stew just then …’
‘That so?’
They continued to walk, Ard keeping up the pace as he stared down the main street. He couldn’t see any figure in a skirt disappearing around distant corners. ‘I was looking for work on the boats, when—’
‘Boats are almost done according to those who know.’ Liam strode along. ‘Might be a few years left in it, is all. Which is why we came to the decision about the orchard.’
Ard frowned. ‘Don’t follow.’
‘Lorc and Eleanor see the writing on the wall at Renmark. The Chaffeys are fighting with the banks and the government already; money, credit, is harder to come by.’ Liam stopped a moment and looked back along the river. ‘So they’ll leave there. Now the Bendigo patch is burned and Mr Ling wants to buy it, Lorc and I can start again.’
Ard shot a glance at his uncle. ‘Mr Ling still wants to buy it?’
‘So you said in the telegram.’
‘That was before it burned.’
Liam thumped Ard’s shoulder. ‘Land is land, lad. Chances are those boys will plant something different, anyway. And fire is good for this land. It’ll be all the better for it. We’ll bargain if we have to, but like I said, the plot doesn’t owe us anything. We can get ahead before this depression takes a hold again. Get started.’ He squeezed Ard’s shoulder and released him with a little push. ‘So, that brings me to the rest of the news.’
‘A lot of news for a few days.’ Ard thought of his own news, but let it lie for now.
‘It’s been brewing a while. You ready for the next bit of news?’
Ard had slowed his pace. Linley was here in Echuca. He’d find her. It just might not be today. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.
‘Well, two things. We—your ma and pa and me—will buy land here, maybe a hundred acres.’ Liam’s eyebrows rose. ‘What do you think o’ that?’
‘Hundred?’ Ard stared at his uncle.
‘I got a bit put by, so’s your pa. If Mr Ling puts up at least his seventy pounds, we’ll be in front. We’ve found a patch.’
‘Where?’
‘Hereabouts. Nearer the sale time, we’ll go there.’ Liam nodded. ‘The railway’s been through a while now, and through to Swan Hill too, so there’ll be people traveling, more people coming to live all along the river. They’ll need fresh food, and quicker than they can grow it before they get sorted.’
Ard whistled low. ‘Hundred acres is a big job.’
‘Us old boys still got a bit of life in us. And there’s you.’
Ard snorted a laugh. ‘I’ve got nothing. Not even my old swag.’ He thought then he should have gone and retrieved it, sodden and all.
‘But you got brains, lad, and muscle.’ Liam clapped him on the shoulder.
Ard looked back and forth for traffic before they stepped out and headed to the main street. They crossed together, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
She was long gone.
Thoughts returned to Liam’s news. ‘It’s a good idea. I like it here. I thought I’d find work on the boats, maybe at the sawmills somewhere.’
‘We’ll need you ourselves when we buy the land.’
‘I’d need a wage, Liam.’ Ard’s thoughts were beginning to fly. ‘Maybe I can do both. Land won’t sustain all of us until we’re established. I’d find some work, somewhere. Find other opportunities.’
Horses.
Liam lengthened his stride again. ‘Right now, before our thoughts run away with us, we need to get some food, lad. The pub, perhaps.’ He nodded towards the closest hotel. ‘The Star’s a bit too rowdy. Somewhere quieter. Maybe the Bridge Hotel.’
They passed the Star and headed for the corner.
Ard continued, ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about horses lately. Buying one for myself, and then starting a farm, breeding—’
‘Food for thought, lad. First things first. If we get this place, it has the space for all sorts of enterprise. And a couple of houses on it. Might need some repairs on the second place, but that’s no worry to us. We’ll need new plant stock, equipment.’ Liam nudged his nephew. ‘We’d have somewhere safe to sit your mother’s table.’
Ard agreed with a snort. ‘Wouldn’t be home without that. When they leaving Renmark?’
‘Should be the next week or two. They’ve not much to bring back, all would fit on their cart.’ Liam lengthened his stride. ‘You didn’t say if the shed burned.’
‘It didn’t. He didn’t get to that, just the trees.’
‘They get the bastard?’ Liam glanced across at Ard.
‘Chinamen saw someone, but we couldn’t prove anything with that alone.’
Liam lifted a hand. ‘Pity, but perhaps the bastard gave us the shove we needed to get on. We’ve been thinking about a move for some time.’
Ard looked at his uncle. ‘News to me.’
‘Well, more’s the point, I’ve been thinking of a move for some time. You know I’ve been wanting to go to Swan Hill.’
‘You visit there, I know that.’
‘I’ll be marrying there, too. Soon, I hope.’
Ard burst out laughing. ‘Marrying? Congratulations, uncle. I had no clue you were hiding a lady there.’
At the corner they turned left, the red-brick, double-storey Bridge Hotel in sight.
‘Did you not?’ Liam gave him a lift of his eyebrows and a small grin. ‘Not hiding exactly, but she’s been near there about thirty odd years.’
‘Don’t do anything in a hurry, do you?’
At the entrance to the pub, they pushed open the door and headed in for the bar. Smoke and hops and stale sweat met them, familiar smells. Ordering two pots of ale, they found a table near a window, pushed it open and sat as the warm breeze of the day wafted in.
‘I’m not staying here long this visit,’ Liam began. He rubbed the black and grey stubble on his chin. ‘I’ll take the train to Bendigo, meet old Ling and get the sale underway. Got yer digs here yet? Place to stay?’
‘Only arrived this morning. Still finding my way around.’ Ard felt like his head was spinning. Suddenly, there was so much more to think about.
‘We’ll get that sorted. Now, I’ve been told by my brother,’ he grinned at Ard, ‘to organise moving what little is left at the orchard. You can help at this end, soon as the land deal goes through.’
Ard nodded. ‘Gladly. But I hadn’t expected things to go in this direction. Where to start?’ He glanced at his uncle. ‘Why would you want to buy here and not in Swan Hill if you’re marrying there?’
Liam took a long draught of ale, then looked into his nephew’s eyes. ‘A good question. It leads me to the other thing I have to tell you. About family.’
Forty-One
Linley had calmed herself by the time she got home. Toby was in his crib after his little outing with CeeCee. Her aunt had taken to her bed to sleep, to regain some energy, she said.
James had taken the cart back into High Street to search for more of CeeCee’s requirements. He’d be checking for mail at the post office. He’d purchase the fencing timber he needed for the back yard and, he said, there was also sugar for Millie Cooke. He’d deliver it all himself.
Her aunt had given James such a menacing look as he left, and Linley wondered why. He’d merely smiled at CeeCee, kissed her cheek and departed. CeeCee had sighed quietly and retreated to bed.
Linley rocked the cradle, then widened the open window to let the breeze fan the baby. He looked happy, comfortable. And sleeping soundly, she hoped, with a full stomach, for at least an hour or so. The resemblance to his father brought her thoughts back to Ard. Even in such a tiny baby, his father’s st
amp was strong. The fine, dark hair had a curl here and there beginning, his tiny dimple a replica of his father’s.
Her chest palpitated and she lifted her hands from rocking to clasp them in front of her. It was time to read the letter Mary Bonner had sent. Linley knew Mr Campbell had held on to it until the circumstances Mary predicted had occurred. How long ago now? Two months and two weeks since she’d died.
Linley shuddered at the memory of going to the hovel in which Mary had lived with Gareth Wilkin. Waiting, seated inside a carriage with CeeCee and Mrs Lovell, a wet nurse, at her side. It was the same day Mary had died. The very hour, almost.
Miss Juno had stood on the crude step at the front of Wilkin’s house. Her back was straight and her head high, and she looked confident. She had been a quiet strength as they all endured the carriage ride to the house. Linley had decided then and there that she would like to get to know Miss Juno. CeeCee had often talked with Mr Campbell about her own philanthropy and her work for women’s rights; perhaps Miss Juno was sympathetic, too.
The doctor had emerged, sidestepped Miss Juno with a nod, and beckoned two men at a cart parked ahead of CeeCee’s carriage. They climbed down and took an empty pallet from the back. They would bring out the dead.
Linley watched as Miss Juno stood stoically by the doorway. She hadn’t heard what Miss Juno said, her voice too low. Then Wilkin appeared and thrust a bundle at her.
‘Here’s the brat. He’s shat himself again.’ Then he slammed the rickety door in her face.
They’d all heard that clearly enough.
The men carrying the pallet thrust the door open and marched inside. Miss Juno rushed back to the carriage and handed the infant up before climbing in. Horrified, Linley rose and reached for the raggedly swathed baby. She staggered back under the stink that followed him inside. With a cry, she clutched the baby to her and sat back heavily.
CeeCee handed her the small coverlet they’d brought with them, then held the baby. Linley, sobbing without tears, unwound the rags and flung them back outside the carriage. She wrapped him up again in the clean cover and cried aloud.
