He took her by the elbow and walked her over the damp ground to the blackened remnants of the opal shed. "Something's changed in me, Hannah. I went down that shaft last night one man, and came up another. I want to end my wandering life. I want to stop cheating and stealing. Settle down, if you know what I mean."
"But what about the police?"
"I can clear my name. I'll have enough money from the opals to pay fines and bribe judges. I can get that wanted poster taken down and my good name polished clean. No more Jamie O'Brien the gyp artist."
And the minute we get back to Adelaide, he added silently, I'm going to give you the biggest and most expensive wedding ring our opals will buy.
33
I
N THE DAYS SINCE HER NIGHT WITH THULAN AT THE SACRED mountain, the Moon Spirit had not visited her, and so her monthly sequestration from the rest of the clan, as all menstruating females must practice, had not taken place. A new life had begun in her belly. The clan was going to be thrilled. Thulan's child meant that Thulan himself would be with them forever, which meant saying good-bye to him would not be as painful.
She did not tell him. Jallara knew that white men held peculiar ideas about children, especially boys, saying, "He is mine," when everyone knew that a child belonged to the clan. If she were to tell him, he might decide to stay with them and therefore not continue on to his own Dreaming, or he might want to take her and the child with him to the white man's world. It was best he did not know.
A hot sun beat down on the thirty-three Aborigines and lone white man as they spoke a sad farewell. It was time for the clan to strike north and meet the other clans at the jindalee. This time, Jallara knew she would have no trouble finding a husband, not like in past when she had been passed over because she wasn't beautiful. This time, men wouldn't mind her lighter skin because her pregnancy would be proof of her fecundity, and that was more important than looks.
She gave Neal a special spirit-stone, gray and smooth, that fit in the palm of his hand. It was carved with mystical symbols, and she said it would protect him throughout his life.
As Neal accepted it, slipping the small stone into the leather pouch that held the empty tear catcher, he thought of Jallara's mixed blood, wondered whether her mother had been with a white man by choice or had been forced. It made him think of the Merriwethers, well-intentioned missionaries who had declared their desire to bring Jesus to the Aborigines.
"Jallara," he said with passion, "take your people far from here. More white men will come this way. A road will be laid. They say the railway will come, it will bisect your land and cross the songlines. The telegraph will come through here, and towns will spring up. Your way of life will be destroyed."
She smiled, not knowing what roads and railways and telegraphs were. "We cannot do different from what the First Ones taught us, Thulan. We cannot go from here."
And so Neal knew that they were doomed.
It was time to go. He had lived with Jallara's clan for six months. A lifetime.
With Daku and Burnu to keep him company and lead the way, Neal lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell, and struck off toward the west, where he would cross unknown land in search of the man who had left him to die.
"If I have to take one more bite of lizard, I'm going to hang myself from a tree—if we can find a bloody tree!"
No one paid attention to Billy Patton's grousing. As much as he complained about the food—and he was the expedition's cook, after all—he managed to tuck away a few helpings every night.
The camp wasn't as orderly and pristine as it had been six months prior, just north of Iron Knob when Sir Reginald had insisted upon daily inspections, spit-polish shines, and a regimented schedule. A challenging trek over hundreds of miles of wilderness, braving sand and wind and freak rain, not to mention dingoes and snakes, water rationing, and now this intense heat, had taken its toll. The tents were grimy and tattered, and so were the men.
But now that they were nearing their goal—a shining beacon called Galagandra—their spirits were lifting. Only young Fintan Rorke remained disheartened. He had taken to eating alone and keeping to himself, whittling creations out of whatever wood he could find, and brooding over the death of Mr. Scott. They should have stayed and searched for him. Fintan would never forgive Sir Reginald for that.
But despite keeping to himself, Fintan had become a vital member of the expedition. As wagons had gotten stuck, as axles and wheels had broken, Fintan's skills had been called upon over and over until his name was the first called whenever anything needed to be repaired. He didn't mind. It was what he had signed up for, and he was on a grand adventure. But he was sorry about Mr. Scott, and hated having to turn over all that fine camera equipment and scientific instruments to Sir Reginald when they reached Perth. Somehow, he didn't think it was what Mr. Scott would have wanted.
"Hey!" shouted John Allen, shooting to his feet. "We've got Abos!"
Everyone turned to squint in the noon sunlight, and when they saw the black men approaching, carrying spears, they reached for their guns.
But one of the natives raised his arm and shouted, "Don't shoot, I am Neal Scott!"
As the white men looked at each other in astonishment, and then ran to welcome their long lost comrade, Neal's two companions touched his arms and murmured farewells. There was sadness in their eyes as they turned and started back over the distance they had covered.
Neal watched Daku and Burnu deliver themselves into the ancient desert, and then found himself at the center of a genuinely happy reception. "We thought you were dead, mate!"
"Aborigines found me," Neal said, searching the camp for Sir Reginald. "They saved my life."
"You've been living with Abos all this time? You'll have some stories to tell!" Their eyes bugged out at the sight of his chest tattoo. When they drew close to get a better look, Neal fell back a step. The men stunk!
As Neal was brought into the camp, the men all talking at once, and he recognized their faces, he realized that no one was missing. And then he saw the horses in the makeshift paddock, including the chestnut mare he had been riding when the sandstorm struck.
Fintan pushed through and unabashedly threw his arms around Neal. "Thank God!" cried the twenty-one-year-old.
Neal smiled. "It's a nice welcome, Mr. Rorke."
Fintan drew back and ran his sleeve under his nose. Like the others, his thick black hair had grown long, but there was only a sparse, downy beard on his jaw. "Your things are all here, sir. I never even opened your trunk. Everything's as you left it."
"Thank you," Neal said, thinking of Hannah's glove, and feeling an intense need to hold it in his hand.
With tears glistening in his large soulful eyes, Fintan said quietly, "I wanted to stay behind, Mr. Scott. When Sir Reginald said we were to get moving and it wasn't even daylight yet, after the sandstorm blew past, I said we had to stay and look for you. He told me I was welcome to, but that he was taking the wagon and the horses."
"It's all right, Fintan," Neal said, his eyes on Oliphant's tent where the others said their leader was napping. "You couldn't have done otherwise."
"But I kept all your equipment and chemicals safe. Nothing blew up. And I wouldn't let the men touch any of it. Your camera is still in perfect working order."
Bringing himself back to his young assistant, Neal said, "I'm going to start tomorrow, taking pictures. We still have a ways to go before we reach Perth. There will be some beautiful landscape to photograph."
Sir Reginald came out of his tent then, as ruddy-complexioned as ever, in white shirt and shorts, his hair and beard both white and flowing. "My God, is it Mr. Scott?" he boomed, and strode toward Neal with outstretched hands.
But Neal kept one hand on his spear, the other casually at his side.
The walrus moustache fluffed out as the older man said with bluster, "We thought we'd never see you again! And look at you! Gone native, I see. By God, you'll have stories to tell!"
"For a
while there," Neal said quietly, his eyes steady on Sir Reginald, "I didn't think I would see any of you again. It looks as though the expedition is a success so far."
"Indeed it is! Haven't run into any natives though, not like you. We're looking to find Galagandra next where there is supposed to be plenty of sweet water. Come come, sit down. You must be hungry. I say, that's an impressive tattoo. You must tell us how you got it."
As Neal was led to the circle at the campfire, surrounded by cheerful fellows filled with congratulations, he decided not to confront Sir Reginald until they arrived at Perth and Neal had conducted a discreet investigation. When he had proof of his suspicions that the man was a fake, he would make it public.
He wondered if Oliphant had an inkling of what he suspected. And if, between here and Perth, he should, what would the man do? They were still far from civilization, far from any white settlement. Neal knew he had to be careful. Oliphant had already left him for dead once. He might do a better job of it next time.
34
W
HEN THE AUSTRALIA HOTEL CAME INTO VIEW, HANNAH cried out with joy.
Although it was not officially summer, November's heat bore down on the weary group as they followed the dusty road in their wagons and on horseback. It had been a long, hot trek back from the opal fields. Poor Ralph Gilchrist had not survived. They had buried him in the wasteland just north of the tip of Spencer Gulf. And then Nan left them. The day before they had reached the head of Spencer Gulf, they had encountered a group of Aborigines, standing at a distance, watching. The next morning, Nan was gone. When they neared the Kapunda copper mines, the three brothers, Cyrus, Elmo, and Roddy, also left, saying they had quite liked the mining life and would seek their fortune here.
And so it was a smaller band that made its way to the Australia Hotel, with visions of clean beds, hot baths, and meals served on a table.
They saw at once that something was wrong. As they drew near, with Hannah riding next to Jamie in the wagon while he handled the reins, she saw no carriages or horses tethered to the hitching post. The whole property was strangely quiet—no stable boys, no goats bleating, no chickens scratching in the dust. The buildings had a neglected air about them, and as Hannah and Jamie climbed the wooden steps to the front door, they sensed that the establishment had been deserted for some time.
"What happened?" Hannah murmured in alarm as she tried the door to find it locked. She peered through the grimy windows and saw Liza's furniture still in place, even with some newspapers yellowing on an entry table. Behind the front desk, one of Liza's humorous signs—"If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen"—dangled on a nail.
Returning to the dusty road where, it seemed a lifetime ago, she had kissed Neal good-bye, Hannah received another shock. The few establishments that had sprung up around the hotel—Gibney's Feed & Supplies, Edna Basset's dry goods store, and the blacksmith—were likewise boarded up and deserted.
Hannah tried not to panic. Surely there was a reasonable explanation. But as she climbed back into the wagon next to Jamie, she felt a terrible fear in the pit of her stomach—some sort of illness must have come through here, taking the lives of people she had known.
"Liza," she said before her throat tightened. Had Alice been a victim, too? Mary McKeeghan at Seven Oaks?
Dear God, Neal—
They rode in silence after that, and as they neared the outskirts of Adelaide, with traffic becoming thicker and homesteads closer together, they passed Lulu Forchette's house. Hannah was surprised to see children playing in the yard, clothes flapping on a line, a young woman sweeping the porch steps. Hannah saw the vegetable garden, the horses in the stable. It was clear that a family had moved in. But the rose garden was gone, and that made her a little sad. But she was also relieved to see that whatever had happened back at the Australia Hotel, had not come this far.
At her side, Jamie was thinking the same thing. He also wondered where that poor dingo had gone to, losing his hunting territory.
Adelaide seemed strangely quiet and Hannah wondered if they had miscalculated and today was Sunday. But saloons were open, so it was not the Sabbath. And yet, traffic seemed lighter, with fewer pedestrians in the streets. And then she noticed the vacancy signs in the hotels.
Had the contagion that had taken Liza and the others made it to the town?
Hannah decided that as soon as they were done at the jeweler's, she would go straight to the post office to see if Neal had left her a message. She prayed he had not yet returned to Adelaide.
Jamie drew the wagon up in front of Grootenboer's Jewelers on Flinders Street. While he tethered the horses to the hitching post, the others dismounted, wiping their sweating brows and saying they wanted their money as soon as possible because they were going in search of a bath, a big dinner and some female companionship. And Hannah scanned the brick wall next to Grootenboer's, plastered with newspapers. She anxiously searched for headlines about the Oliphant expedition arriving in Perth, to see if they had arrived in the six months Neal had estimated, after which it was but a two-week voyage back by sea. But there was nothing.
And then she saw something that made her freeze. A wanted poster with a face on it!
And it was unmistakably Jamie O'Brien. The new engraving process that had begun with the London Illustrated News had finally made its way to these far-flung colonies and the police were using it as a crime-fighting weapon.
"Jamie," she called quietly, and when he turned, she beckoned him to the wall.
"What is it—" he began, but when his eye caught on the poster, a dark look came over his face. Someone had been able to describe him well enough to an artist that the engraving was a remarkable likeness. But more alarming than that was a new offense that had been added to his crimes: horse theft.
"So the bloke at the race course reported the swindle after all," Jamie said. He looked at Hannah. "I don't know if I've enough money to buy myself out of this one. Horse stealing is a hanging offense."
Hannah knew the rest. That there would be no more safely walking the streets for Jamie, going into any place he felt like, no more confidence games, no more being at liberty to live his life outside the law.
Telling Maxberry to stay outside with the others, Jamie entered the jeweler's shop with a handkerchief held to his mouth to partially hide his face. Hannah went in with him.
A chubby, white-haired gentleman sat on a tall stool behind the counter. As soon as the two customers walked in, he stood and said, "Welcome, welcome, how can I be of service?" in a thick Dutch accent.
Men in dirty and ragged clothes, with beards and sunburns, were a common sight in Adelaide, as gold-hunters, explorers, cattle- and sheep-drovers frequently plodded into town in search of a bath, a clean bed and a fresh beginning. One could never tell by a man's looks how much wealth he had, and so Mr. Grootenboer, like other Adelaide merchants, treated Jamie and Hannah with as much respect as if they had arrived by elegant carriage.
Keeping the handkerchief to his mouth, as if to cough the last of Outback dust from his lungs, Jamie said, "We found these," and dropped a few rocks on the counter top. It had been decided ahead of time that they would sell the opals all around town, not just at one place.
Mr. Grootenboer picked up one of the sandstone rocks that had a bit of shiny blue on one side. "Opals! This doesn't look volcanic," the Dutchman said with interest. "What was the topography where you found these?"
Jamie described the area without being specific, and the man's bushy brows shot up. "Opal in sandstone? I didn't know it was possible. Let me take a look."
Mr. Grootenboer wore a long chain around his neck, at the end of which hung a jeweler's loupe—a monocle with an extra-thick lens for inspecting gemstones. Holding the lens before his right eye, he brought each stone up for close examination, making sounds in his throat while Jamie and Hannah waited.
Finally, Mr. Grootenboer said, "These stones are very rough and need to be cut. I have not the expertise in this skill
, you understand. I would have to send the stones to a lapidary in Sydney. Opal is a soft gemstone, relatively speaking, and so care must be taken in grinding off the outer sandstone. And then there is the polishing and shaping . . ." He sighed and set the last stone down. "It would be at great cost to me and I do not know what profit I can make. Nonetheless, I can takes these off your hands for, say, five shillings."
"How about this one?" Jamie said, and he handed Mr. Grootenboer a much larger chunk of sandstone with a heart that shone black at first, but then bright red, yellow and orange when turned to the light.
While they waited for Mr. Grootenboer to carry out his inspection, Hannah looked around the small shop and saw the Help Wanted sign in his window: "Man Only." She had seen other Help Wanted signs during their ride into town, all of them specifying men only. Had there been some sort of illness that afflicted only men? Then where were Liza Guinness and her daughters?
The moment stretched as Mr. Grootenboer studied the larger stone through his glass, until he suddenly gasped astonishment. Letting the loupe drop, he cleared his throat, pursed his lips and appeared to be controlling his excitement. "I can pay you a good price for this, sir," he said. And then he leaned forward and murmured, "I can pay you an even better price if you tell me where you found it."
"Mr. Grootenboer," Hannah said with a look of curiosity on her face. She had noticed an extraordinary amount of gold watches for sale in the shop. They weren't new, some even appeared to be quite old. When she asked about them, Mr. Grootenboer blinked at him owlishly and said, "Haven't you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Gold has been discovered in California."
Hannah and Jamie exchanged a puzzled look. "Where is California?" Jamie asked.
"It is a territory in America. Gold was found there a few months ago—nuggets the size of a man's fist, just lying on the ground. Many men have left Adelaide to go to California to get rich. They sell me their possessions for the price of passage."
This Golden Land Page 33
