by Darry Fraser
Ard and Linley nodded.
‘So you need to decide, Linley, where you and Toby will live.’
Linley looked as if she had a moment of complete shock. ‘Where—?’
‘You see,’ James continued, his face now lined and hollowed, ‘CeeCee will need care as if she were in hospital. Perhaps night and day until she recovers some more.’
‘I can be there for her, James,’ Linley said.
He sighed. ‘You have Toby. And you are to carry on with CeeCee’s work, build a stronger foundation for us. You can do it. I know you can. But you can’t be looking after your aunt as well.’
‘James, I—’
‘I will take either Millie, or Annie, or both, and they can nurse her. You can visit, bring her the news, the letters. Be the extra sunshine in an otherwise …’ He paused, seeking the right words. ‘… lonely day.’
A tremor of fear skittered up Linley’s spine. ‘She’s not going to die, James.’
He shrugged. He was tired and he looked it. ‘I don’t know.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a crinkled paper. ‘I nearly forgot. I got this when I registered Toby’s birth. It’s a marriage licence paper.’
Linley’s eyes widened.
‘CeeCee agreed we should be married, which is why I have it.’ He held the paper as if it were a gold leaf.
‘You won’t be able to marry unless she can—’
‘I know that, Linley. And it is my one other great fear that perhaps we will never be able to marry now,’ he said, sadly. ‘She has carried my name for a long time, but I would like to protect her lawfully if something were to happen to me. As it stands now, I can’t do that unless we are married.’
Linley set her meal down. She knew what he was saying but CeeCee was in no state to agree to marry.
‘So until I can work out how to make it so, take this paper. Don’t waste it.’ He stood up. ‘Apparently, there’s a pastor here, McNeill. He needs that paper, and a good donation, which I will provide, but he doesn’t need a church.’ He pressed the paper into her hands. ‘In hindsight, I should have made sure CeeCee knew that no matter what she wanted to do, our marriage would protect her, not stifle her. That I would support her to her dying day …’ He inhaled deeply. ‘And now I will take my leave for the laundry house before I need my handkerchief.’ He looked at Ard. ‘You can borrow my horse to go home, lad. I’ll leave the saddle out. Bring him back in the morning, early. Goodnight.’
Fifty-Seven
Ard watched as James left. He stooped as he turned away from them and walked through the open door.
Ard picked up his bowl and ate. Mindful of the silence in the room, he thought of two men he knew, grown men—his uncle, and James—worn down by decisions they believed they had no control over.
I do not want to be one of them.
He thought fleetingly of his parents. They seemed happy enough, though he recalled feisty arguments. His mother had always stood her ground. Sometimes she won, sometimes she didn’t. It was all about the talking, she’d say.
Linley toyed with her food. Ard glanced around. Toby’s crib was opposite the fireplace, a small tallboy chest close by. Next to that, a pallet had been laid on the floor, linens and blankets and pillows strewn upon it. That must be where Linley slept.
‘The sort of violence we work against follows a family, Ard.’ She drew in a deep breath, pushing the food around with her spoon. ‘My own father, for instance. And Gareth Wilkin had a horrible life as a child, so Millie found out. He visited it upon others, upon Mary for one. That’s how it works, they say.’ Her head was still bowed. ‘These women we look after.’
‘It’s good work you do,’ Ard offered.
‘I won’t leave it now.’
‘I don’t ask that of you,’ he said quietly.
She kept her eyes averted and nodded. He didn’t know what else he could do to state his case. It was best to leave it to her own mind, whatever decision she came to when he learned of it.
His heart hammered anew. He needed to feel as if he’d won her over. Had he done enough? He didn’t think so, and feared he didn’t know what else to do.
Standing, bowl in hand, he said, ‘I’m going, Linley. I’ll say goodbye to Toby and your friends.’ She nodded again. ‘Don’t want to leave Sam on his own around my mother too long.’
She smiled a little. She stood up and left her bowl on the sideboard.
‘Don’t be sad.’ He took her hand. ‘I love you, Linley. I love my wee boy. I want us to be a family, but only when you’re ready.’
He kissed her forehead, her nose. He dipped to kiss her mouth. Her lips were soft and warm and open for him, but the moment was lost when she pulled away, shaking her head.
He sighed inwardly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow when I bring the horse back.’ He hoped for something then, any indication … Nothing. He shut his eyes briefly then said, ‘Goodnight, Linley.’
‘Goodnight.’ She trailed a hand over the edge of the tallboy.
So he went to the doorway, heart heavy, but tomorrow was another day—
‘Ard.’ Whisper soft.
His ears rang with her words. He turned back. His brain wasn’t working. He just stood there. His feet were lumps of clay in his socks.
‘Thank you for saving my aunt’s life.’
She stood so close he could see the golden tips of her eyelashes, the slight crease in her brow. ‘Linley, I would have done anything—’
‘I know.’ She reached up and drew his head down to hers, pressed her lips once more to his.
‘Linley,’ he breathed, and smoothed his hand down her side. ‘You haven’t told me,’ he said, releasing her, his eyes searching hers.
‘Told you what?’ Her gaze roved over his face. She slid her hand across his chest, hesitating over the hair there at his collar.
‘That you’ll marry me,’ he answered in a hoarse whisper, close to her ear.
She inhaled, whispered in return. ‘No. I haven’t.’
Ard went into the kitchen. Millie held her hand out for his bowl, but he took it to the pail of warm water still on the stove and dunked it.
He scrubbed at it fiercely with the dishrag; any excuse not to leave. He looked around for other plates and bowls. With no more in sight, he shook his hands free of dishwater and dried them on a towel hanging on the stove rail.
‘No more to do here, Mr O’Rourke,’ Millie said, eyes wide. ‘Though I have to say, ’tis a rare sight to see a man with a dishrag. P’raps we should find more dishes, some pots and pans just to see it again.’
He laughed, and hoped the happiness, the pure joy of being with Linley, wasn’t somehow written all over his face.
Annie had Toby over her shoulder. She turned so Ard could see the baby’s face. ‘He’s ready for his bed, Mr O’Rourke.’
‘So am I, Mrs Rutherford.’ He held out a finger to the snuffly baby, who gave him a wide-eyed stare. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’ His chest felt like it would burst.
‘Pleasure’s all mine while it’s lasted. He’s a fine little lad. Won’t need me much more now, if Mrs O’Rourke can manage with cow’s milk.’ Annie bobbed Toby up and down.
‘Of course.’ Ard had no clue about the feeding of babies. He tipped his forehead and said, ‘Goodnight’. Didn’t miss the exchange of looks between the two women as he left the kitchen. Yes, indeed. Why aren’t I staying with ‘Mrs O’Rourke’?
True to his word, James’ saddle sat outside the laundry door. Ard buckled it on the horse, a muscular Waler by the look of him, mounted and rode away. He’d take a keener look at him tomorrow in the daylight. He needed to learn more about the horse-breeding business. All very well to fall back on the family’s traditional trade of fruit and vegetables. But there were many opportunities to establish another line of income before the drought and another depression sunk its vulture-like talons into the place.
Home was two miles or thereabouts out of town so he wouldn’t be in the saddle long. His shoulder ached a little, but he barely
noticed. He smiled.
Linley. His beautiful Linley. Passionate, fiery … She’d told him to leave. And he’d done as she asked. He’d sleep on what to do next. How to approach her, court her. No doubt about it. Give it time and court her. Make her see he was right for her.
Work hard. Learn fast. Keep—
See his boy grow.
That was all-important. Toby O’Rourke needed his family, too.
Dusk lengthened the shadows, but there was still plenty of light to see the road. Ard rode home a little faster than he should have. At the first cottage, he slid out of the saddle, undid the girth buckle and hoisted it off the horse. He felt his injury snag again. If he wasn’t smart, he’d be taking longer to recover than he was warned about. He had to be smart from now on.
He led the horse to the trough, tethered the reins to a post, grabbed a cloth that hung nearby and gave him a quick rub down. A pail of oats would do until morning, before he returned the horse to James Anderson. Perhaps he’d see Linley again then.
He turned to the house in which his parents now resided. A light flickered up the hallway. They’d be in the kitchen at dinner, perhaps just finished. Laughter, two male voices. Sam must be in there, still. He smiled to himself. His friend might yet win over his mother after the falling out with his sister.
Ard took a big breath and opened the door. His footsteps clomped down the newly floored hallway. He swallowed and let the breath go.
Eleanor’s eyes lit up when she saw him. Lorcan lifted his pannikin of tea in his direction, a smile splitting his much-loved face. Sam nodded, a flicker of mirth in his eye.
‘You’re home, lad. Heard a damned cauliflower got the better of you,’ his father boomed and stuck the pipe into his mouth.
Ard looked at his mother and she instantly stilled. He looked at Sam, who nodded at him. Encouragement.
Dry mouthed, he licked his lips. ‘I have a son, and he’s with Linley Seymour.’
Fifty-Eight
Linley jiggled an active Toby while she sat at CeeCee’s hospital bed. Though he was happy enough, cackling and gurgling and squeaking, he wouldn’t keep still.
‘Sorry, Aunty, he’s a handful today.’ She jiggled him a bit more. ‘Like I said, Ard O’Rourke asked me to marry him the other day.’ Her heart did a little jump and she felt herself burn up. She looked for a response from her aunt but there was none. CeeCee’s eyes were on her, and though she looked as if she’d heard, there was no indication.
‘But of course, there’s a lot to think about ahead of that and I certainly didn’t give him an answer. For one thing, we have to get you and James into the new house and get you settled and everything.’
Toby wriggled and gurgled some more. Perhaps he was hot? The weather was certainly getting warmer, full summer not far off.
‘James has found something to buy. He’s also put that house up for sale and the agent says he has a buyer already. Especially when James reduced the price so much to get rid of it.’ She waggled Toby high in the air above her head and he oohed happily. She brought him down again and bumped him up and down on her knee.
‘James says Mr Campbell is coming in the next weeks, so we can sign the papers for Toby. That saves all of us going to him. He’s such a good advocate for us,’ she said. ‘And I will be heartily glad to get that over and done with.’
Toby squirmed around and reached for CeeCee. He waved a little fist at her and made some noises. He leaned right over and Linley struggled to hold him up. Instead, she checked for a safe place to rest him and then put him on the bed. On his stomach, he gurgled happily, his head lifted in CeeCee’s direction.
And that was when CeeCee turned her gaze on him.
Linley held her breath.
CeeCee’s eyes focused on Toby and narrowed, just the merest of a squint but it was there. Toby cooed at her, wobbling, with a grin and a gurgle simultaneously. He plopped his head down then, the effort clearly all too much. He gurgled some more, but the noises were fading off. Then he shut his eyes and was asleep.
Linley turned him on his side and covered him with her shawl. She looked at her aunt again. Those wide-open eyes were back on her.
‘Aunty.’ She absently patted Toby’s back. ‘I think you’re getting better.’
Her eyes only blinked as they normally would. But Linley had seen the squint. Her aunt was still in there, and she had focused on Toby.
Dr Wilson had said hers was most likely an injury still healing. He said there was new information in the medical journals now, a school of thought regarding injuries to the brain. Perhaps CeeCee had hit her head harder than anyone imagined. Or perhaps it was in her mind. Some were beginning to note that this could be a type of injury, too, the doctor said. He also said that strangulation patients sometimes presented with very different and unusual symptoms.
She stared at her aunt. CeeCee stared back. The flicker of whatever Linley thought she had seen was gone. She squeezed her aunt’s hand and carried on.
‘I have decided to take in Mrs Bailey when we have the other house for more ladies. It appears she has not fully recovered her wits. She’s not decrepit, the doctor says, just in some sort of shock.’ Linley glanced at CeeCee but there was no discernible response. ‘Mrs Bailey is Gareth Wilkin’s sister.’ Still nothing. ‘Anyway, if Millie can forgive her for her nastiness, I think we can give her a safe place to recover. After all, she can’t fully look after herself yet. She has nowhere else to go.’
She doubted Mrs Bailey would want to go back into her own house after her brother’s shocking death in it. Linley shuddered, and continued to pat Toby on the back, a rhythmic pulse that lulled both of them.
‘And I’ve heard again from Mrs Lawson and her suffragists. She’s going to visit South Australia and be with the ladies when they cast their first vote.’ She shifted in her seat, laughing a little. ‘I think she’s very brave, don’t you? I’d be full of nerves at that. There might be trouble at the polls. People can be so stupid, can’t they?’ Linley took CeeCee’s hands in hers and massaged her fingers. ‘But I know it’s one place you’d love to be.’
She glanced down at the warm fingers in hers, at CeeCee’s left hand. She frowned, touching the knuckle of her aunt’s ring finger. ‘Would you marry now, Aunt? Would you marry James?’ She pondered aloud, and kept rubbing the finger. ‘Would you have waited this long if you had your time over again?’ Linley felt tears gathering. ‘I don’t know if I can wait, Aunty, or if I even want to.’ She bit her lip. ‘But I’d feel as if I was letting you down by marrying, somehow.’ She glanced at Toby sleeping, his mouth open and a little snore emanating. ‘I look at Toby and I see Ard. I look at Ard and I believe I so want a baby of my own. Of Ard’s.’
There. She’d said it. She sat back a little, gazing at CeeCee’s face. The dark eyes were clear, watching, but there was no facial expression except the resting one.
Then, there, on her fingers—a slight pressure.
Linley stilled, looking at CeeCee’s face. No expression. Was that tiny pressure real or had she imagined it?
She took a breath. ‘Would you marry James, Aunt?’ she asked again.
Pressure, like a little tremor on her fingers.
It was real. It was real.
How would she know if it meant anything, much less a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’? Her mind cast about.
‘You would marry James?’ Again the tremor. Her aunt’s eyes were steady on hers.
Linley searched for a question, the answer to which would give her something definitive. ‘Is your name Cecilia Celeste?’ A tremor. ‘Is Toby a girl?’ Nothing. ‘Is Toby a boy?’
Pressure.
‘Is my name Tommy Tucker?’
Nothing.
‘Is my name Linley Seymour?’
Pressure.
Tears spurted out of Linley’s eyes. She backtracked a bit, her heart in a pitter-patter with relief, excitement. ‘I so want a baby of my own, with Ard,’ she said again. And there was the pressure, a tremor. Linley bent to k
iss her aunt’s hand, her breath short, her voice ragged. ‘Oh, welcome back, Aunty.’
Toby awoke with a squawk and his face screwed up and reddened. Then something else occurred.
‘Oh dear,’ she said and crinkled her nose, swiping away happy tears at the same time. ‘We have to take you away and change you, Toby.’
And the ever-so-light pressure on her fingers made her laugh aloud.
Fifty-Nine
Ard stood back and watched as Sam hammered the last of the iron onto the roof of his cottage.
‘How’s it look?’ Sam yelled.
‘Looks good.’ Ard yelled back.
Sam shinnied down the ladder. Then he stood back and surveyed his work. ‘If I do say so myself.’ He dusted down his trousers and grabbed the water bucket, pouring it over himself, head to toe.
‘Just in time, too,’ Ard commented.
Sam snorted. ‘If you hadn’t been so tardy with the extra trusses we’d have been done by now.’
Ard looked down the paddock to where the frontage met the river. The bank didn’t drop away much, the summer water level not a great depth below. Last week they’d finished putting in a makeshift landing until they could build something sturdier. Ard had decided to use his first round of roof trusses to build the landing’s frame. ‘Just lucky we built it up over the high-water mark.’
Sam barked a laugh. ‘River comes up, mate, it’ll take out a few miles or more around here. Your paddle-steamers will sail past the houses.’ He took off his shirt and wrung it out. ‘That won’t be for a while, though, by all accounts.’
Along with the landing, Ard and Sam had put all their energy into rebuilding. When it wasn’t work on the cottage, it was ploughing up the block, and planting his season’s stock and vegetables. They marked out the trenches for irrigation then secured a team to help dig them. Plenty of men were available to work.
Lorc had taken Ard and Sam to Mr Lenne’s property to inspect his centrifugal pump. Over the river on the New South Wales side, they visited a Mr McLaren who had a Tangye pump—a steam engine with eight horse power. Both properties were long established and flourishing. Irrigation would suit Ard well, and the sooner the better.
