by Bonnie Leon
Callie lifted Joseph out of his crib. “G’day ta ya, lad.”
Joseph smiled and cooed.
“I’ll take him,” Rebecca said and lifted Joseph out of Callie’s arms. She held him close, pressing her cheek against his and then holding him away from her. “My goodness, you’re wet. I’d say you need a new nappy, young man.” She returned him to his bed and removed his wet diaper and quickly replaced it with a dry one.
Wearing a broad smile and chortling, Joseph twisted and kicked as Rebecca tried to fasten a safety pin. “Ouch!” she gasped as the pin plunged into her finger. She pushed it through the heavy material and fastened it. “You little rascal,” she teased, standing him up. Blood seeped from the wound.
Callie took the wet diaper.
“He’s getting to be a handful.”
Callie handed Rebecca a clean cloth for her bleeding finger. “That he is. He’s a strong lad too,” she said, dropping the nappy into a pail. “One day he’ll be a good man like ’is dad.”
“Absolutely.” Rebecca wrapped her finger in the cloth and lifted Joseph out of the bed. He snuggled close. “I truly think he looks like his father, don’t you?”
“Yais, for sure.” Callie smiled. “Got those same bright blue eyes and yellow hair. And he’s got an agreeable nature too. Gettin’ more like ’im every day.” She chucked Joseph under the chin. “Wal, I got work ta do.”
“Please stay and visit for a few minutes.” Rebecca sat in the rocker. She removed the cloth and checked her finger. It had stopped bleeding. Putting Joseph to her breast, she said, “The bigger he gets, the hungrier he is and the more time I spend in this room by myself. I could use some company.”
Callie sat in a straight-backed chair, hands in her lap. She didn’t much like inactivity. “I’d be happy ta stay, mum. Course, I ’ave ta get ta me work soon.”
Rebecca rocked. “What do you think about giving Joseph solid food? Do you think he’s ready?”
“Yer askin’ me? I got no bybies.” Callie studied the infant. “But he’s growin’ fast. I’d say maybe yais. Ya might ’ave a go at it.”
Rebecca ran a finger along Joseph’s cheek. “I was thinking of asking Lily to make him a little mush this morning.”
“I figure he’d like that well enough.” Callie grinned. “From the looks of things, he likes ta eat.” She stood as if to go.
“Callie . . .”
“Yais, mum?”
“Daniel and I are thinking of purchasing another horse, a stallion. He’ll need some extra training, and I’d like to pair him up with Chavive. That means Chavive will need some extra care, and eventually there will be a foal to look after. I’ll need more help with Joseph. Would you mind?”
Callie looked at the baby. “Course not, mum. I’d be ’appy ta care for ’im.” She sat in the chair. “Ya sure ya want ta take on more? Bein’ a mum and helping Mrs. Thornton is quite a lot.”
“I love horses. It won’t seem like work at all.”
“Ya do ’ave an eye for them, and yer roight good with ’em.” She paused and asked, “What does Mr. Thornton think?”
“He doesn’t mind. But the horse might be a bit difficult to train. He’s been used for racing mostly.”
“Ya’d ’ave yer ’ands full, then, eh?” Callie smiled. “But yer a good rider.” Her eyes returned to Joseph. “Ya know how I feel ’bout the bybie. Watchin’ ’im would be no trouble.” She hesitated. “Course, ya might want ta speak with Mrs. Thornton. I still ’ave me duties ’ere.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t ask for your help if Willa needs you.” Rebecca continued to rock. Joseph’s eyelids closed. He struggled to open them but finally lost the battle and slept. “I’m excited about the venture. The horse we’re buying is a beautiful animal. You’ll like him.” Rebecca remembered the stallion and how he’d looked on the track.
“If he’s a racer, mum, there could be some trouble. Ya be careful, eh?”
“I’ve dealt with horses a long while. I’ll be fine.”
The two women sat quietly for a few moments, and then Callie said, “Mum, I been thinkin’ . . . there’s somethin’ I’d like ta show ya.”
“Oh, what is it?” Rebecca asked, troubled by Callie’s serious tone.
“A special place. No whites ’round ’ere know ’bout it.”
“A special place?”
“I can’t explain it. I’ll ’ave ta show ya.”
“All right, then. When?” Rebecca asked, her curiosity piqued. She glanced down at Joseph.
“Wal, if ya ’ave time . . . maybe Miss Mildred or Mrs. Thornton can watch the bybie. And I’ll take ya straightaway. It’s not far, but probably best if we ride.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m sure it’ll be no problem finding someone to watch Joseph.” Rebecca slowly rose from the chair and laid the sleeping child in his crib. Her curiosity growing, she hurried downstairs.
As Rebecca and Callie moved across the flats, the air felt cool. A brisk breeze whisked scraps of white clouds across a pale blue sky. As if sensing Rebecca’s eagerness, Chavive pranced. Callie’s horse, Rena, remained steady.
Callie pulled on the reins and stopped. Studying the open grasslands, she said, “It’s not far. Just over that way.” She pointed toward a low place in the terrain.
“Why, that’s quite close to the house. And you say only blacks know about it?”
“Yais. No whites go there.”
“Why is that?”
“Whites ain’t interested in such things.”
“What things?”
“Ya’ll see.”
“All right, then.” Rebecca gazed at the dry plains and waterless clouds. “I wish it would rain.”
“Yais. Me too.”
“We’re having a man put in some wells. That way we can pump water right out of the ground.”
“That’s good.”
“Will the rains come, do you think?” Rebecca asked.
Callie didn’t answer right away. Then solemnly she said, “No, mum.”
“How can you know?”
She shrugged. “I know, that’s all.”
“It could rain.” Rebecca looked at the place where the blue ceiling touched the earth. “What will we do without water?”
“Can’t say, mum.” Callie kicked her horse and moved on.
A short time later, what looked like a pile of rocks appeared in the distance. “What’s that?” Rebecca asked.
“Gibber.”
“I’ve heard that term before. What does it mean?”
“Oh, big rocks is all, mum. It’s where we’re going.”
Rather than hurrying as Rebecca wanted, Callie continued to move at a slow, steady pace. Rebecca studied her unusual friend. Although she rarely rode, she looked comfortable and confident on Rena’s back. Callie always seemed to possess dignity and calm.
“Callie, you and I ought to ride more often. You sit a horse well.”
“Ya think so? I like it.”
“Well then, we’ll ride again . . . soon.”
“Yais. Sure.”
When they reached the pile of rocks, Callie guided her horse around to the north side, then stopped and dismounted. Leaving the mare tied to a bush, she stepped toward what had appeared to be a shadow. “It’s ’ere,” she said.
Following, Rebecca could see that an entrance to a cave lay in the shade at the base of the rocks. The boulders looked as if they’d been tossed out and had landed leaning against one another, leaving a dark place hidden beneath the stack.
Callie stepped into the darkness and disappeared.
Apprehensive but eager, Rebecca followed her inside. Blackness closed in around her. It felt cooler beneath the stones. Something scuttled in a distant corner of the chamber. Unsettled at the thought of what might be hidden in the dark, Rebecca remained completely still. “Callie?” Her voice echoed.
“I’m ’ere. Don’t fear, mum.”
There was the sound of a match being lit, and then a tiny, brilliant light pushed back t
he darkness. Callie held the flame to the wick of a lantern.
“Was that here?” Rebecca asked.
“Yais. Aborigines ’ave powers, but we can’t see without light.” She grinned, and her teeth looked very white against her black skin. Lifting the lantern high, she said, “This is what I wanted ta show ya.”
Shadows flickered like dancing specters. A lizard darted along a rock ledge, then disappeared into a crevice. Rebecca’s eyes moved to a broad, flat wall. It was covered with pictures! “Oh my goodness! What is this?” She moved closer to study the intricate designs. The colors were primarily tawny oranges and yellows. Layers of pictures, some primitive and others complex, were all that remained of the people who had once visited this place.
There were scenes of naked men and women. Some suggested secret ceremonies. There were also pictures of local animals pursued by what appeared to be hunters carrying spears. There was even a drawing of a peculiar-looking fish.
One image in particular was especially striking. A large kangaroo was depicted in vivid red; exceptional detail had been used to create it. She traced the form with her finger. It overlapped another—a very tall person. “Oh my!” Rebecca said, withdrawing her hand as she realized the figure was one of a well-endowed male.
She took a step back from the rock wall and let her eyes follow the images. A hand, fingers extended, seemed to be reaching out to someone or something. The illustration made her feel sad.
Her eyes continued to roam across the painted wall. “What does it all mean?”
“This is the story of me people. Their tales of birth . . . their lives . . . disease . . . and death. There is much power ’ere.” She pointed at a place where a man appeared to be crawling. “This man is dying, and he is crawling up the sickness road.”
The image was unclear to Rebecca.
“The people tell how we should live, what we may hunt. And they speak to us ’bout dancing and ’bout loving.”
Rebecca’s eyes moved from one image to another. “But why pictures?”
“So we can all know the wisdom of the ones who came before. In yer books there are words. If a person cannot read, they cannot understand. But a picture . . .”
“Why did they paint on rock walls?”
“They will be ’ere forever. No one can burn them or throw them away.” Callie rested a hand on the figure of a child. “When I came ta Douloo, I was alone. I didn’t know people, so I walked. That’s how I find this. Woodman became my friend. He knew ’bout the cave. Sometimes he came with me. The power of our spirit ancestors and the strength of the gods makes us stronger.”
Rebecca was taken aback by the reverence she heard in Callie’s voice, almost as if she were in church.
“The people ’ave always been; we will always be. Creation starts with the land. The gods got up and they walked ’bout. The places where they passed by are sacred. We are from the earth. It is our mother, and one day we will return to ’er arms.”
Rebecca gazed at the pictures, trying to fully comprehend their significance. In some places the layers of images made it difficult to make out just what had been painted. “Why are so many of the pictures placed on top of others? I would think it would be better if they could all be seen clearly.”
“No. With many there is power. It is better.”
Rebecca ran a hand over a part of the wall. “These are incredible. But it’s a shame they weren’t created outside in the sunlight so more people could see them.”
“This is a good place. The gods were walkin’ and they stopped ’ere ta rest and talk. Ya can see that. They leaned close ta each other, so close that they were touching, and they made this cave. Their power is ’ere.”
“You believe the rocks were gods?”
“Roight. They are.”
Rebecca started to grasp that what Callie was showing her was of great significance. This place was something she would reveal only to someone she considered worthy. “Callie, why did you bring me here?”
“Ya treat me kind and talk ta me. Ya trust me with yer son, and now I share with ya.”
Rebecca could feel the sting of tears. “I’m honored.” She reached out and grasped Callie’s hand. “I think I understand a little better now. I will remember this place.”
Callie pointed at a picture of two women. “These lydies are aboriginal like me—they are dancing, they are beautiful.” She pointed at what looked like smaller versions of the women. “And their children are ’ere where the mothers watch over ’em.” She paused. “Sometimes I wonder if I will be a mum one day. I do not think so.”
Feeling the sorrow and resignation she heard in Callie’s voice, Rebecca said, “Oh, Callie, I’m sure you will be.” Shame touched her. Before this moment, she’d never given Callie’s needs or desires much thought.
“I hope yer roight, mum. Family matters more than everything.”
Rebecca squeezed Callie’s hand. “If that’s what you feel in your heart, then I’m certain you’ll be blessed with a family one day.”
“Sometimes I look out on the land and wonder where me people are—where did I come from?”
“You don’t know?”
“No. Just me mum. And she’s gone now.”
“Then maybe you should find your family.”
“It is only a dream, eh? And foolish.” She moved toward the cave entrance. “We should go.” Callie extinguished the lantern and stepped out into the sunlight, and Rebecca followed. They shaded their eyes against the brightness.
Callie gazed out over the dry land and scrub. “One day I’ll go back ta me mother, the earth. That’s me family.”
Rebecca felt heaviness in her heart. Callie really had no one she could call family. And her creator was mysterious and veiled. Yet Rebecca could feel her reverence for her spiritual roots. She caught a hint of how difficult it would be for Callie to accept the white man’s account of a heavenly Father as creator. To believe, Callie would have to turn her back on her ancestors and the knowledge passed down through the centuries—all the stories spoken and visual images given. She would have to turn away from what she knew to be true and sacred.
How could she help Callie see that God was alive—that he wasn’t a rock or a piece of ground?
She turned and looked back at the cave where generations had left parts of themselves. It was unfathomable to consider how many remarkable people had stopped here and, after contributing to the hidden canvas, had walked on. And yet she understood that even the greatest artistry, the finest people, all ended the same—they became dust. In the end this magnificent work would mean nothing.
Rebecca signed her name and then reread the letter she’d written to Collin O’Neill. It was important that it be done properly. She didn’t want to miss an opportunity to buy the stallion.
Finally satisfied that it was professional and reasonable, she folded the letter and slid it into an envelope. As she sealed the envelope, her emotions were a mix of excitement and trepidation. She set it on the desk and stared at it. What if the horse was too much for her? Cambria hadn’t been the only one to caution her. Willa and Mildred had both been concerned about her taking on a high-strung stallion. He might be quite docile, she told herself, knowing it was unlikely.
With resolve she picked up the letter, pushed back her chair, and hurried downstairs. Woodman would be going into town soon. She needed to get the letter to him before he left. Taking quick steps, her skirt sweeping up dust as she went, Rebecca crossed the yard to the carriage house.
Woodman stood in the shade, grooming one of the Morgans tied to an outside post. He ran the brush across the animal’s side and with each stroke followed it with an open hand, kindly smoothing the animal’s dark coat.
“Woodman,” Rebecca said.
He turned and faced her, resting a hand on the animal’s back. “G’day, mum.” He smiled, and his plump face creased into deep folds, nearly enveloping his dark brown eyes.
“Thank goodness I caught you. I was afraid you’d already
gone.” Rebecca patted the horse’s neck. “He’s a fine animal.”
“That he is.”
Rebecca offered Woodman the letter. “While you’re in town, could you post this for me?”
He took the envelope and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “Roight. No trouble at all.” He returned to brushing. “Important letter, mum?”
“Perhaps. I’m writing to that man we met at the races—Mr. O’Neill.”
“Yais. I remember him. Seemed like a fine bloke. Horse trader, roight?”
“Yes.”
Woodman’s arm settled at his side, and he turned a steady gaze on Rebecca. “S’pose we ought ta know more ’bout him if yer thinking of doing business with him. I’ll ask ’round if ya like.”
“That would be fine. Daniel’s already done some checking, and he hasn’t discovered anything unsavory about the man.”
“Good, then.”
“Well, have a fine day,” she said and walked back to the house, hoping she wouldn’t have to wait long before hearing from Collin.
The waiter filled Daniel’s and Rebecca’s coffee cups. “Anything else I can get for ya, Mr. Thornton?”
“No, we’re fine ’ere.”
With a nod, the young man returned to the kitchen.
“This is quite good,” Rebecca said, taking a bite of chicken. “It would be nice if we could dine out more often.”
Daniel chewed a bite of roast beef. His mouth full, he said, “Figure someone will think me a real duffer, eating ’ere when we’ve plenty at home.” He lowered his voice. “Lily’s cooking is better. She could give the cook ’ere a few lessons, I’d say.” He grinned.
“True, but the food’s good. In Boston we used to eat out occasionally. It was considered sociable. And this is nice, just the two of us.”
Daniel reached across the table and grasped Rebecca’s hand. “I must admit, it is at that.”
Rebecca squeezed his hand. She searched Daniel’s face. His skin was dark from the sun, and the lines at the corners of his eyes gave him a look of maturity. “I love you so much, Daniel. I want to spend more time together.”
