by Darry Fraser
She rocked and rocked some more. ‘He is very fine. He is well looked after.’
Had her voice softened just a little? He couldn’t let her go, not without a promise to let him call on her. ‘I’m sure of that.’ He glanced into the pram. ‘And, um, Miss CeeCee, is she improving?’
He watched the bloom of colour diffuse her cheeks. A small shake of her head. ‘Neither improves nor deteriorates.’
Ard nodded. ‘’Tis not a bad thing, then.’
She lifted her chin. ‘True enough. Now, we must get on with our errands.’
Ard stepped away from the cart. ‘Can I help?’
‘No.’ She pushed the pram past him.
‘Linley.’ He had to stop her.
‘Good day, Ard.’
Her coppery-red hair shone as it peeked out from under her hat. ‘Linley, I have a house on the property, I’m repairing it. I have prospects again. I’ll work hard.’
‘You do that, Ard O’Rourke.’ She kept going, past the horse tied to his cart.
He followed. ‘I won’t give up.’
She stopped then. His heart hammered and that sent an ache back through his head.
‘You already did that.’ She glanced at the baby in the pram.
‘I didn’t give up. I didn’t know about the baby. I swear, if I’d have known—’
‘You must have known. Isn’t that why you left?’ Her voice was anguished, low, and her eyes darted about the street. Then she checked herself, and moved on.
He followed. ‘I swear I didn’t know.’ He fell in alongside her, patting his shirt pocket. ‘I still have Mary’s letter to me, the one where she told me—’
‘I have to get stores. Excuse me.’ She pushed away again in a hurry.
Ard stopped. His voice rose. ‘Tell me when I can call, Linley?’ Then he realised there were startled looks from passers-by.
She didn’t answer. He watched as she pushed the pram back onto the footpath again and stalked into the grocer’s shop.
Fight rose in him like a whirling dust devil. His throat dried. Mindful of his aching side, he turned and strode back to the cart, picked up his hat and climbed into the driver’s seat. Checking his clearance, he pulled out onto the road and drove towards where Sam had parked.
He pulled behind the water trough. ‘Mind my cart, Sam.’ He eased to the ground, tethered the reins, then began to cross the street.
Sam stepped alongside. ‘Ard, take it from me—don’t go chasing an angry woman.’
Ard pushed past him.
‘I mean it.’ Sam stepped in front and held out his hand in Ard’s way. ‘Besides, you’re in the street, man,’ he growled. ‘You’ll embarrass her more than you’ll do yourself any good. End up shooting off your own foot.’
Ard stopped. Sam was very rarely serious, but when he was …
His head still hurt, and the blood still pounded through him. He had to stop, or he’d fall in his tracks. He glanced at Sam, and nodded.
Sam nodded in return. ‘Let’s get you and me back to your block. I got these things to deliver to your ma. And on the way, we’ll stop and you can tell this whole story to your old mate here.’
‘Nothing to tell, Sam.’
‘That so, Ard? I reckon there might be. Mary’s boy is in that baby cart with Miss Linley, and he’s got the O’Rourke stamp on him, no mistake.’
They drove in single file out of town, Ard’s cart in front of Sam’s. A couple of miles down, Ard pulled over under the shade of a huge stand of gums on his left.
‘You want rum?’ Sam called as he hauled his cart to halt.
‘No.’ Ard alighted carefully, and sat on the ground amid the leaf litter and dry twigs. Shade was good. He had his water flask and swigged from that, then drew up a knee and rested his arm on it.
Sam sat beside him, his own water flask in his hands. ‘Mary Bonner,’ he said. ‘She always did have her skirts ready to go up for you.’
‘Ballocks.’
‘And I’m wrong about that kid being yours?’
Ard blew out a breath. ‘No, you’re not. I believe that it’s true. Mary wrote me.’
‘You can believe it, all right. He’s only a wee tacker, but he’s yours. If I hadn’t seen that O’Rourke brand on him, I might have doubted it, I might not have believed Mary writing you’re a da.’
Ard felt the two letters against his chest. ‘When she wrote me … what she said. I had no doubt of it.’
‘How long you known?’
Ard glanced over at Sam. ‘Only when you told me.’
‘What?’ Sam’s head came up. ‘You just said she wrote to you.’
‘The first I knew of it you told me in the pub that time. You said that Mary gave him to Linley. Before that, I thought they both died when Mary was birthing.’ Ard rubbed his head, keeping his hands away from his scars.
Sam stared at him. ‘Was that the first you knew he was alive?’
‘Swear.’ Ard held Sam’s gaze.
‘Shit.’ Sam took a swig of water, wiped his mouth. He frowned a moment. ‘So, what happened to your shoulder? Linley didn’t stab you herself, did she?’ He snorted. ‘Mind you, if she did, she’d have done a proper job of it. Maybe she should have. She’s loved you forever.’
Ard slid his leg down and crossed his ankles. ‘Toby—my boy— had money coming to him. Mary’s husband thought it would go to him on her death, but he had to be guardian of the baby and he wasn’t.’ Ard shook his head. ‘He came after Linley and Toby, here in Echuca. And Miss CeeCee, he grabbed her by the throat. Nearly killed her. Got me in the end.’ Ard waved a hand at his side. ‘It’s a long story. Over now. The man’s dead. Accident, they reckon.’
Sam shot him a look. ‘You didn’t do it?’
‘No.’
‘Was a nasty little bugger,’ he said. ‘Your ma and pa know about the baby?’
‘No. Only Linley’s aunt and that Mr Anderson.’
Sam sat quiet a moment.
‘What?’ Ard asked, swatting flies.
‘You gonna marry Linley?’
Ard inhaled loudly and exhaled long. ‘I want to. God knows I want to. I’ve been thinking up ways to get her to talk to me. At least, meet me to talk and …’
‘If that’s what you want,’ Sam said, hammering one hand into the palm of his other, ‘then you don’t give up, laddie.’
Ard gave Sam a sideways glance. ‘And you’re a good one to talk.’
‘I haven’t given up. I’m thinking up ways to get to talk to your sister, don’t you worry about that. Just need time. The trick’s never giving up.’
‘I won’t,’ said Ard. ‘But I don’t reckon she’ll have me, no matter what I do.’
Sam nodded. ‘I know that feeling well.’
Fifty-Four
Linley, with Toby in her arms, perched herself on the edge of CeeCee’s hospital bed. Toby had been fed just before she left the house and though he’d gurgled up some of his lunch, he seemed content to gaze quietly at his surroundings. He had a good strong set of lungs on him, as Annie had said more than once. She had good reason. Linley hoped he wouldn’t take it upon himself to bring the hospital ward down on their heads today.
CeeCee was again propped up on some thin pillows. Her eyes were open and it appeared she focused on Linley. However, there didn’t seem to be any reaction.
Linley talked anyway, rocking Toby in her arms. The pram was nearby and if he fell asleep she could put him in it and stay a bit longer with her beloved aunt.
‘… Of course, Annie wouldn’t have it, but Millie insisted and so there was almost a fight in the kitchen. So now, a fence is built, but only a low one so we can see over it. Miss Agnes Blackwell is coming soon, and James is in a hurry to build extra accommodation. Oh, he’s probably told you that himself.’
A nurse heading in their direction caught Linley’s eye. ‘All that chatter, miss. You must know she can’t hear you,’ she said, a pitying little smile on her face. ‘There’s no response, you see.’ She worked around
the bed, straightening linen, fluffing pillows, sniffing close to CeeCee’s person. Satisfied, she stood up, then felt CeeCee’s forehead. ‘She seems comfortable. Not in need of changing. You’ll have to think of placing her somewhere soon.’
Linley started. ‘What did you say?’
‘She can’t stay here, miss.’ She turned smartly on her heels and walked to the next bed.
Linley sat up straight and frowned. ‘My aunt will stay here until something changes.’
The nurse turned, and smiled a sad, condescending smile. ‘Is that right, miss?’ She turned back again, straightening up around the poor patient in the next bed.
‘And I will go on speaking to her until she wakes up. You don’t know that she’s deaf.’
‘Of course, miss. Whatever you prefer to do.’ More tucking and pulling and slapping of linen.
Linley felt the heat under her blouse thread into her cheeks. ‘And another thing, nurse.’ She waited until the woman stopped. ‘Sometimes I talk to her for my sake because I miss her that much. I can’t see why anyone would think both of us are imbeciles.’
The nurse’s features changed instantly. ‘Well, I …’ But nothing else was forthcoming. She turned smartly back to the other bed. Her brisk businesslike efforts of before were now more moderate, considered, until she clearly sought to remove herself from her own embarrassment. She marched off down the ward and out the door.
Toby grumbled and Linley tried to calm herself. How would anyone know what her aunt heard or didn’t hear? She looked back at CeeCee. Was that a tiny frown on her brow? ‘Don’t you worry, Aunty. I will keep chattering until you tell me not to.’
Placing her somewhere soon. How ludicrous. She would report to James. And if it did mean CeeCee had to be moved out of the hospital, Linley would look after her aunt. Why, perhaps Annie, or Millie once she was well, would help, too.
Another deep breath. ‘I have been writing to, and receiving letters from the Goldstein ladies, and Mrs Lawson, who all wish you speedy recovery. And they report they are happy to continue writing to me. They are very interested in our houses for the ladies, and our work, and I’ve told James as much. He seems happy for me to continue. I know you would be happy.’ She jiggled the baby.
‘And Toby is very fine, as you can see,’ Linley continued. ‘He’s growing and growing and soon will be on solid food. He’s three months now and very active. Sometimes it looks like he can nearly sit up by himself. I haven’t seen any sign of teeth yet, but Annie said we’d know the moment one was going to appear.’
CeeCee’s gaze hadn’t left Linley’s face. Was that a questioning look?
Ard. It seemed for some reason his name hung in the air between them.
Linley took a breath. ‘And did you know that Ard and his family are on a block here? Yes, by the river. A wonderful place I’ve heard. James has been there. He tells me all about it. It has two houses on it, Ard is in one, and they’ve planted all manner of fruit and vegetables. Ard is apparently building stables. He has his friend with him. I don’t know if you remember Sam Taylor. He was a bit of a lad, you know, but he seems to have grown up now. Oh yes, and Ard is well now too, James says. Oh, James might already have told you all that too.’ Linley fiddled with Toby’s shawl.
Ard, the father of this baby.
She bounced Toby a little.
Ard who saved CeeCee’s life.
‘And of course, I am happy as well.’ She felt the tears sting her eyes. ‘I am, Aunty,’ she said and looked down at Toby.
Ard.
Fifty-Five
The midafternoon sun beat down and the dusty main street baked in the early summer heat. Flies buzzed around the horses and carts. Shopkeepers swept their verandahs, futile but busily. The clanging of the smithy’s hammer on his anvil echoed and swooped along the street.
Nary a breeze moved among the great gums. The smell of the river hung in the air, faint, dank with drying tree roots and vegetation as the water level receded a little more. Now and again the blast of a steam whistle rent the air.
Ard and Sam were ready to head home, waiting for Eleanor, who’d come with them for her haberdashery, when Ard spotted Linley on the footpath.
Sam was untying the reins outside the bank, ready to turn the cart for home, when he shot a look across at Ard. ‘Not that it will bite me on the arse, boyo, but if your ma takes one look at the occupant of Miss Linley’s baby cart, your life won’t be worth spit.’ He nodded to where Eleanor was approaching.
Ard had spotted Linley before Sam, but not his mother nor the path she was taking. It looked to be directly towards Linley, who was by now out the front of the grocer’s shop. She was wearing a pale dress, the colour of weak tea, and a plain white hat, soft and wide-brimmed, sat atop her coppery head.
Eleanor O’Rourke was heading along the footpath in Linley’s direction. Ard held his breath. Linley stopped and waved at Eleanor, then looked to be packing and tucking something into the pram. His life would indeed be worth dust if his mother saw the baby and made the not-so-unbelievable leap. For sure, she would stop and talk to Linley. He hadn’t told his parents; there hadn’t been the right moment.
Only last week, four days ago, Linley had shunned him. Ard hadn’t had time to regroup and plan. So much work to do and—
Too late. He squinted for an agonised few seconds, and then couldn’t help but stare. Linley straightened up and smiled at Eleanor, who didn’t even take a peek into the pram. It looked as if they exchanged happy greetings. But when Linley reached in and picked up a bundle to show her and laugh, Ard thought he would fall over dead.
‘Time you found your mettle, mate,’ Sam said, a chuckle in his voice. ‘It’s a cauliflower she’s holding.’
Ard side-glanced his friend and said nothing. Sure enough, it was a cauliflower. So where was his son?
‘If it were me, and it’s not, I know it,’ Sam began, scratching his head. ‘But if it were me, I would go up and ask to walk her to the river bank.’
‘With my ma there?’ Ard blustered.
‘No, you daft bugger. But it’s time to do something. Can’t be gutless forever.’ Sam leaned on the cart.
‘You can talk.’ Ard snorted.
‘Aye, I can. It’s not my son, the cauliflower.’
Ard looked at the sky. Getting on for late afternoon. His mother would want to be on her way home soon, to get the evening meal on the table, do her chores.
‘I’ll walk home later. Take ma home without me, tell her … something.’
‘You’re leaving me alone with your ma?’ Sam’s eyes popped. ‘She hates me.’
‘She doesn’t hate you.’ Ard glanced over at Sam, then back to the women. ‘She hates that Maggie’s hurting and you’re the stupid knucklehead my sister blames.’
‘That must be why I’m sleeping in the woodshed.’
‘Could be why. But I’d reckon more because my house has no floor and no roof yet.’
Sam kicked the dirt at his feet. ‘Don’t matter this time of year, anyway. No rain. Woodshed’s getting crowded with you in it, though. We best get on with finishing your place.’
‘Aye.’ Ard’s stare hadn’t left Linley and her interaction with his mother. They looked like they’d made their goodbyes and his mother entered the grocer’s shop. Linley fiddled with something in the pram. Ard stood tall a moment and then strode over the road. In the time he took to get to her, she’d turned the pram and was heading away from the grocer’s.
He stepped alongside her. ‘Afternoon, Linley.’ He tipped his hat.
‘Afternoon, Ard,’ she said, pleasantly enough.
But he couldn’t read her. He continued alongside her a few paces in silence, craning to see into the pram. ‘Is my son under those vegetables?’
Linley burst out a laugh. ‘No. Toby is at home.’ She pushed the pram a little faster. ‘It’s the only thing I have to pack our stores into. I don’t have a horse and cart.’
He pointed to the next cross road. ‘Linley, if we take
this corner we can go to the river bank.’
She looked at him blankly. ‘And why would I do that, Ard O’Rourke?’
He kept up with her. ‘Because I want to talk to you. Properly.’
‘I have nothing to say.’ Linley moved a little faster still and the pram rattled along. She eased it off the footpath.
‘I do.’ Ard bent to catch her eye. ‘I have something to say, Linley.’
‘Then you may as well say it now, while we’re walking.’ The pram bounced over the ruts and stones in the road as her stride lengthened.
He sighed, trotting along with her. ‘We can sit in the shade on the bank a while.’ He pointed to the river then rubbed his forehead. ‘I still can’t walk as fast as I’d like—’
‘Oh. Of course.’ She stopped and turned to him. ‘But you’ll have to be quick with your talk. The light is going.’
‘There’s plenty of daylight.’ He glanced briefly at the sky. ‘Besides, I’ll walk you home after.’
She eyed him, hesitant. He couldn’t read her expression, but he was encouraged that she hadn’t said ‘no’ again. Indicating they should turn left, he followed as she marched across the road with the baby-less perambulator.
His pulse pounded. His brow furrowed. His shoulder ached. But he was walking with Linley.
Linley settled the pram full of vegetables and other groceries against a solid rock jutting out next to where they would sit. She was reasonably sure the thing wouldn’t take flight and end up in the river. The old brakes hadn’t been fixed so they weren’t at all trustworthy.
‘I haven’t got anything for you to sit on,’ Ard said and stood by, waiting until she’d organised the pram.
‘I didn’t expect you would.’ She promptly sat on the sparse patch of grass, the tips of which had browned off. Her dress would hardly be affected by a little dust and dried grass.
He sat beside her. She was sure he would hear her heart thumping. It beat so loud her ears hurt. She knew her face was flaming, but she couldn’t decide whether she was angry or nervous or flustered …
