Where the Murray River Runs

by Darry Fraser

  Sam had done the harder work in the early days of Ard’s recovery, but slowly, carefully, and looking after himself, Ard had been able to pull his weight. The landing had been his idea. His uncle’s son, Dane MacHenry, was still running boats and Ard wanted a place for him to tie up for when they’d eventually meet. Liam was bringing Dane’s mother Jemimah with him from Swan Hill the next week, and all being well, theirs would be the first boat to tie up at O’Rourke’s Landing.

  Mr Egge had said he’d tie up for a visit with the Murrumbidgee, once he’d off-loaded. Maybe take Ard downriver a time or two before he finally retired. Ard had caught up with Mr Egge when he’d bought stock for his mother off his boat at the main wharf last week.

  A week and a half had gone by since Ard had told his parents about his son. Eleanor, stunned at first by the news of Toby, as he fully expected, had made it her business to go to Linley immediately she could—the following day—to meet her grandson. Lorc had gone along, just as her driver, mind you, he’d said, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  Though there had been no formal request to visit, Linley must have expected them at some point because she met them with open arms. Eleanor couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Lorc had been smitten. By all accounts, it was a happy, joyous meeting.

  A roaring, unrelenting summer was biting at their heels, but the family was moving on schedule. Their block was taking shape.

  ‘Ard.’ Eleanor was walking across from her house. The fifty or so yards between the houses was becoming a worn path. ‘You have about an hour before they arrive. See that you get washed up. And you too, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘We finished the roof, Ma.’ Ard pointed above.

  ‘It’s a fine thing.’ She stood and surveyed Ard’s cottage, hand on hips. ‘Very fine.’ She flashed them a wide smile and headed back to her house.

  Sam threw his shirt back on. ‘You say Mr Anderson is bringing a solicitor from Bendigo?’

  ‘Mr Campbell. He’s come to visit Linley and CeeCee with papers he needs signing off. James is bringing them for the day.’

  It would give CeeCee an outing, too, James had said. She’d recovered well enough to be driven in the buggy and sit for an afternoon’s social occasion. And James would clearly welcome the diversion and the business of Mr Campbell’s.

  Not to mention that the visit would allow Eleanor and Lorcan a chance to dither about over their grandson again. At least they hadn’t the worry of local society bothering itself with the baby’s origins. Ard had made it clear that Linley already carried his surname. If they married, it could be quietly and with no fuss to embarrass anyone.

  Ard couldn’t wait to see his boy again. Or Linley. His heartbeat banged a moment or two. He sucked in a breath. Calm down, calm down.

  He and Linley hadn’t had time together since the night at her place. Every day since, it seemed his plans were thwarted no matter what tack he took, and the days stretched. It made him nervous. What if she would reject him? What if she wouldn’t consent to being his lawful wife? His hands became clammy. He rubbed them down his pants. Steady yourself, man.

  He needed her to see his progress. He needed her to see he was serious and intent on his family being together. Ard was sure the house would impress her. He’d take her on a tour of the place, point out the new roof, show her the marked-out trenches, the landing … He and Sam had done so much, yet there was so much more to do, to complete—

  ‘You’ve got those stars in your eyes again, laddie.’ Sam slapped a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m not giving up hope.’ Though Ard heard the creep of doubt in his voice.

  Ard watched Mr Campbell adjust his glasses. ‘Excellent lunch, thank you, Mrs O’Rourke,’ he said to Eleanor. ‘And a fine shady spot it is here on the verandah.’

  Ard and Sam had lugged Eleanor’s prized table out from the kitchen to under her new verandah for the lunch occasion. There were no trees old enough or big enough nearby for shade. The table was then laden with a fare of river cod and potatoes, cooked on the open fire, pumpkin and carrot and onion, boiled eggs, and Eleanor’s apricot preserve over bread baked that morning.

  ‘It’s a pleasure, Mr Campbell.’ She smiled at him. Smiled at everyone.

  In fact, Ard thought that she’d never stop smiling.

  James sat beside CeeCee. He held her hand and guided a cup of water to her mouth. ‘Mr Campbell has something to present for us,’ he began. ‘Actually, for Linley and Toby.’

  Linley was beside Ard, and Toby sat on her knee. Lorc had carved him a toy tree, and it became a favourite to be thrown on the ground for any nearby adult to retrieve.

  Eleanor had been busy sewing little trousers and shirts for him.

  ‘Please go ahead, Mr Campbell,’ James said.

  The lawyer withdrew a slim packet of papers from his coat that hung on his chair. Such was the temperature of the day. It was far too hot to wear full coat and waistcoat for an outdoor picnic-style lunch.

  ‘As you know, Mary Bonner—as she was to all of us—was bequeathed a sum of money from her aunt, Edith Bending.’ He opened the packet and took out a large paper, folded in three. ‘And as we all know, she never lived to receive it.’

  Numerous pairs of feet shuffled, and Ard sat back in his seat.

  ‘It was believed at one point, by someone who shall remain nameless, that it was a sum of two hundred pounds.’ He glanced at everyone over his spectacles.

  Sam’s eyes widened. Lorc nodded appreciatively.

  ‘I have to say that person was very wrong.’ Mr Campbell opened the paper.

  No one made a sound. Ard frowned, puzzled, because Mr Campbell was smiling benignly at them all.

  ‘Also,’ he went on, ‘as someone else had the great foresight to register young Toby with both his correct mother’s name and correct father’s name, my job was made much easier in the long run. As things transpired, it didn’t make much difference to the outcome.’ Mr Campbell looked first at Linley beside him and nodded, then looked at Ard, to whom he smiled.

  Ard felt a lump in his throat. Things could have gone a lot worse than they did. He glanced at his little lad, who sucked on the piece of tree. He only got a fleeting glance from his son, but the grey eyes twinkled. Ard’s breath whooshed out.

  ‘So without going over all that old and sad history, it is my great pleasure to hand Miss Linley Toby’s inheritance from his mother, via of course, her maternal aunt Edith, to be held in trust for use in his safe upbringing.’ Mr Campbell stood and held a banker’s cheque out to Linley.

  She shifted Toby to Ard. As she stood up and took the cheque, she read the amount. Colour flared in her cheeks. ‘Two thousand pounds,’ she announced breathlessly.

  ‘There are of course, a number of papers to sign …’

  Mr Campbell’s words were lost in the uproar over the huge amount of money the baby boy, who chewed on his wooden tree, would inherit.

  Stunned, Ard stood for all the congratulations and the slaps on the back and the kisses on cheeks. Toby waved his slimy tree at everyone.

  The amount of money was enormous. Ard turned to Linley. She smiled up at him. He didn’t return her smile. She frowned a little, took Toby from him and jiggled him on her hip over to Eleanor. His grandmother happily distracted Toby from his piece of timber with some mashed fruit.

  Ard stepped off the verandah with an excuse to get more cool drink from the kitchen. His chest was tight. He found the lemonade jug, wrapped his hands around it. He barely heard the revelry behind him outside. His head fell forward.

  Two thousand pounds. He never imagined …

  ‘Ard.’ Linley had followed him inside. ‘I can tell you are not thrilled by Toby’s news, but I don’t know why.’

  He turned to her. Her reddy-copper hair, swept up in a soft wavy pile atop her head, looked darker somehow. Those green eyes looked perplexed, and something else … Was that a nervousness? Was she readying herself to tell him the thing he feared most? She had a large folded paper crushed in one
hand. He could see her breathing quicken.

  She’d dropped her chin to look at her hands. The rumpled paper crackled. ‘I was going—’

  ‘You don’t have to say no.’ He glared at her, thumped the lemonade jug back on the stool under the window. ‘I wanted to marry you. I still want that. But now, all I ask,’ he said, and he gritted his teeth, ‘is that you allow me to see my son. Allow me to have him spend time here, with me.’ His voice rose as his hands came up in a surrender. ‘I make no claim on it. None. I don’t want the money. I never wanted any of the money.’

  He watched the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘You can’t make a claim on it,’ she asserted.

  It boiled his blood. As if he was an idiot who couldn’t understand what was said to him.

  ‘Because the—’ she began.

  He held up a hand. ‘Oh, I understand, now. It was never going to be marriage for us, was it? Because of what happened with Mary, and now this two thousand pounds.’

  She shook her head, her mouth trying to form words.

  He carried on. ‘Just promise me this one thing. That I will be able to see my son.’ Oh yes, he could see the dawning on her features. She knew he’d worked out what was happening.

  ‘Ard.’ She clamped her hands on her hips.

  ‘Promise me!’ His heartbeat pounded at his temples, his frown so deep it hurt.

  Her cheeks reddened, then paled, as if she’d lost all blood to her face, and all in a few moments. Then those usually cool eyes snapped into a fierce glare, and those soft warm, full lips firmed into a line. He couldn’t work out what her facial expressions meant at first.

  Then he took a big step back.

  She slapped her hands down on her dress then stabbed a forefinger at him. ‘You, Ard O’Rourke, are likely to remain a dolt forever because stupid can’t be cured.’

  She flung the crushed paper at him, turned on her heels and marched down the short hallway. He glared after her. She stepped out of house, still marching, and sailed past James coming in.

  Ard jolted out of the white mist swirling around his head.

  James looked at him, eyes wide. He held up his hands. ‘All I heard was something like “stupid can’t be cured”. Then a copper-haired bolt of lightning shot past me.’

  Ard stared at James then back at the paper he’d caught on his chest, still crushed in his hand. He let out a long breath. ‘With money like this for Toby,’ he said, shaking the paper, ‘no woman in her right mind would marry and have to hand it over.’

  James snorted. ‘One thing about these Seymour women you need to know.’ He held up a finger. ‘They know the law where it pertains to their rights. So even if that money wasn’t in trust for Toby’s upbringing, even if it was meant for Linley herself, you wouldn’t be able to touch it unless she wanted you to.’

  Ard frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Marriage no longer means you get to own all her possessions once you’re wed.’

  Ard straightened up. ‘Is this new?’

  ‘No, it’s not. A few years old now.’ James folded his arms. ‘I’ll offer some advice to you about that money for Toby. Unsolicited advice, I know,’ he went on. He leaned in the doorway of the kitchen. ‘If I were you and Linley, I’d get married, cash that cheque and put it into property as soon as possible.’ He waved a hand around. ‘Like this property, for instance, ensure the boy’s future. Pay it off, if it’s not already, and transfer a portion of your portion to his name.’

  ‘Transfer it to his name? I don’t understand.’

  ‘In trust for him for when he’s of age. The law hasn’t changed with regard to a child born out of wedlock. He can’t inherit.’

  Ard’s gut clenched.

  ‘And do it quickly,’ James added. ‘With a depression on its way, you might not be able to realise the cash in the very near future.’ He looked over his shoulder back out the door. ‘I’d tell Linley that myself but it seems she hurried off somewhere.’

  Ard rubbed his forehead, felt the tingle over the scar on his scalp. ‘Christ almighty.’

  James pushed himself off the doorjamb. ‘So, can stupid be cured?’

  Ard hung his head, then flicked a glance at James. ‘I doubt she’ll marry me now. I may as well have accused her of money-grubbing.’

  ‘Linley’s forgiven you for worse.’ James gave a wry smile.

  Ard felt bleak. ‘I don’t think she’s forgiven anything.’

  ‘Think again, and have a look at that.’ James pointed to the paper in Ard’s hand.

  Shaking his head, Ard held it out to James. ‘Take it. I know what it says. I don’t need to look at it.’

  James laughed. ‘Mr Campbell still has that paper. This paper is a different one. Look at it.’ He pointed again. ‘I’ll see you outside.’

  Ard opened his fist, smoothed the crumpled paper. It was the marriage declaration. And Linley had filled it in. All except for the date.

  His heart banged and thudded. What an idiot!

  He loped outside but couldn’t see her. He spun around and caught his father’s eye. ‘Linley?’ he asked, and swivelled, searching. His father shook his head, palms up, and went back to his conversation with Mr Campbell.

  Ard ran across to Eleanor, who still jigged and danced with Toby on her hip. ‘Ma, you seen Linley?’

  ‘No, lad.’ His mother barely lifted her glance from Toby.

  Ard planted a quick kiss on his son’s head and ran back to the verandah where James and CeeCee had their heads together. CeeCee was smiling and nodding, her hands resting in his.

  James looked up as Ard approached. ‘If you’re looking for our lightning, she went around the back way, with Sam.’ He pointed back to Ard’s cottage.

  Ard sprinted. He was through the front entrance, down the hallway and out the back before he saw either of them. He pulled up sharply.

  There was Sam, hands on hips, looking at the roof. ‘Really good job on the roof,’ he was saying.

  Linley was looking blankly at the roof. She finally turned her attention to Ard. Her foot began to tap.

  He waved the paper at her. It shook in his fist. ‘I need a date.’

  Sixty

  Linley narrowed her gaze at Ard as he shook the crumpled paper.

  Sam stopped admiring the roof, and scratched his head. ‘A date?’ he asked Ard. ‘Well, any time you want. Only needs the furniture moved in now, so it’s ready to occupy.’ He turned to the outhouse behind him. ‘That thing’s all ready to go, too.’

  Ard still held the paper. ‘Linley?’ He shook it at her.

  In the silence Sam glanced from one to the other. ‘Right. I’ll just go check on my horses.’ He tipped his head at Linley and nudged Ard as he passed him.

  Linley felt her nostrils pinch. ‘Have you stopped feeling quite so … stupid?’

  He nodded once. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be the last time.’

  ‘Probably not.’ He looked at the paper in his hand. ‘I thought you’d want to live your own life, now you have that amount of money.’

  ‘I will be living my own life, Ard O’Rourke. And it’s not my money.’ She walked to him. ‘It’s your son’s money.’

  He nodded, looking resigned, accepting. ‘Linley, I’ve done enough stupid things in my life to date. I want to do the one clever thing I could ever do, and that is to ask you, again, to marry me. To have you marry me. Make us a family.’ He shook the paper again. ‘You came this far. Put a date here.’

  She spread her hands. ‘I can’t.’ She watched as his fight came up, as his mouth tightened into a flat line. The blaze in those black eyes flared, and frustration and despair crowded in at the same time. She shook her head. ‘That’s the job for the pastor or the registrar to do,’ she said, and exasperation tinged her voice. ‘Once we decide to finally get the job done, Ard.’

  She looped her arm through his and tugged against his hesitancy. ‘And as much as Sam’s explanation about his roof was riveting—and I’m so glad there is a roof—for
heaven’s sake, I’m much more interested to see the inside of my house.’ She smiled.

  He gaped at her and for a moment it seemed speech wouldn’t come to him. Then he grabbed her, kissed her, hugged her, and kissed her again.

  ‘We need to be married quite soon, I think,’ she whispered, her breath in his ear as his warm hard body pressed against hers.

  ‘Very soon.’ He let her go. ‘But first, let me show you what I have for you.’

  Arm in arm, he took her to where he’d built a garden bed, ready for anything she wished to have planted there. They passed the orchard taking shape, admired the vegetable patch that was already green-tipped with rows of seedlings pushing up through the topsoil.

  Linley smiled at Ard smiling at her. The dimple in his cheek had deepened, the furrow between his brows had gone, and suddenly he dipped, and his generous mouth brushed softly on hers again.

  They ambled their way down to the landing. At the river, the scent of eucalyptus and dusty baked earth wafted across the water. The only sounds they heard were the musical warbles of magpies and the faint rustle of a breeze high up in the red gum leaves.

  ‘We will sit here and picnic often, Linley, with our family.’ His big hand squeezed hers. ‘I’ll teach our children to swim.’

  Her heart swelled. This was the Ard she had waited for. This was her Ard O’Rourke, all hers. Hers, and Toby’s of course. And if they were lucky, the other children he spoke of. Oh, how she loved the promise of this future with him.

  For fear her emotion would give way to uncontrollable weeping, she leaned on him, her head on his shoulder. Instead of jagged sobs, she felt her eyes glisten and her smile widen.

  They wandered back to the house, through the refurbished cottage, the cool air inside a welcome relief from the afternoon’s heat. Ard told her in which room he thought they should sleep, where Toby’s room would be for the moment, and where the other children, still to come, would reside. Linley felt a red hot blush tinge her cheeks again, but in happy anticipation.