‘I’m glad you did,’ Tamara said. ‘When are you coming back?’
‘Reckon I’ll head up the back road past Great Lake,’ he said.
‘Chance to do some fishing,’ she said.
‘Why not? If you ever feel like it,’ Grant said, ‘you could come by and we could maybe drop a line in the water together.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Give me a hoy if you’re ever up my way.’
Bec might be old but she didn’t miss much.
‘When are you seeing him again?’
‘Who says I am?’
‘It’s written all over your face.’
‘A sign of your age when you start imagining things,’ Tamara said.
‘No doubt it will be. When I do,’ Bec said. ‘Besides, you’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t you?’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning Derwent. If your dad is stupid enough to stick to this nonsense about wanting a man in charge…’
Tamara stared. ‘You think he’d put Grant in charge of Derwent?’
‘Why not?’
‘Grant has a place of his own. Anyway, where would that leave me?’
‘Give you a good reason to marry him, wouldn’t it?’
Tamara was affronted. ‘You’re saying I should use him? I would never do that.’
‘I’m not saying that,’ Bec said. ‘But if – by pure chance – you happened to fall in love with each other it would make things a lot easier, wouldn’t it?’
A week later she said: ‘For heaven’s sake get up there and see him. Get it over with. You’re that jumpy you’re making me nervous too.’
‘What if it doesn’t work out?’
‘If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. At least that way you’ll know.’
‘Got a spare rod to lend me?’
‘Reckon I have. When are you coming?’
‘Diary pretty full, is it?’
‘You better believe it. I’m fair clagged out.’
‘Maybe I should let you rest.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’
It was such a lovely feeling, warm and jokey together.
‘When?’ he said.
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Beauty!’
She drove up to the plateau, trying to outrace her racing heart. He was waiting, careful not to be too obvious about it, with a tinny hitched to the back of the ute. They drove to a launching spot Grant knew and motored out, heading along the shore.
‘Reckon we could give it a go here,’ Grant said.
They chucked in a couple of wobblies. Tamara reeled in, taking her time, and on the third cast hooked into something that fought her with a vengeance, bowing the rod halfway to the water until she brought the tip up again, the gear shaking as she kept the hooked fish from getting under the boat.
Grant had brought in his lure as soon as Tamara had set her hook and now stood behind her, landing net ready in his hand.
The trout fought a good fight but eventually its battle was done. Its belly showed pale through the dun-coloured water as she brought it in. Grant slipped the net beneath the fish and hoicked it into the boat.
It was a rainbow, a beautiful fish. He smacked it on the head and slung it into the Esky, which was half full of ice.
‘My turn,’ he said.
By the time they headed back the light was fading, the temperature dropping and they had enough fish to give them a good feed that night with more over for breakfast. If she decided to stay for breakfast.
Back at the cottage he looked at her.
‘I was thinking,’ she said.
Still he looked.
‘I don’t want to impose…’
‘I would hate that,’ he said.
Heat stirred in her belly.
‘It would be such a fag to drive all the way to Derwent tonight just to come back again in the morning.’
‘Hardly seems sensible, does it?’
‘Maybe I could stay over?’
‘Maybe you could.’
Grant made a fire, building the logs high in the grate to keep the gathering cold at bay. They ate two of the trout with peas and sliced potatoes, with a bottle of chardonnay to help the food down. Later they sat companionably on the rug in front of the fire, drinking scotch with the flamelight shifting red and orange on their faces, until eventually Grant put his arm around her and she thought yes.
Tamara woke in the night. She sensed the cold air of the plateau beyond the window but beneath the bed coverings she was warm.
So it had happened. It had happened and she was at peace. It had been a good time, a beautiful time, with joy the factor surpassing all else. She was there and would have chosen to be nowhere else on earth.
She turned and slid back down the slope into renewed sleep.
In the morning she woke to the smell of grilling bacon and a deeply troubling thought. What did she intend to tell Grant about her father’s attitude to the management of Derwent and would he believe her when she told him she wasn’t trying to make use of him? She would have to think about that. But in the meantime…
She called to him. He came.
1834
Early on the morning after their arrival Emma stood on Ocean Rider’s deck and watched the sky as it was slowly swallowed by cloud. Even at this hour the sultry heat was suffocating and the water in the anchorage had the sheen of polished brass. A stealthy wind caused the sloop to sway uneasily to its anchor. At least it kept the mosquitoes away.
‘Barometer’s down and falling,’ Bailey said. ‘Reckon we’re in for some rough weather.’
An emerald glint shafted through a rent in the clouds and the falling pressure brought ants to Emma’s skin.
‘Time to put out the storm anchor,’ Bailey said. ‘It never hurts to be sure.’
He lowered the massive bower anchor on its studded chain into the dinghy and rowed away from the sloop, letting the chain out behind him. When he was a hundred yards away he backed his oars and tipped the anchor over the side. It sank in a froth of bubbles and he returned to the sloop.
‘That should hold us,’ he said. ‘But there’ll be no going ashore today.’
The sky darkened. Lightning flared. The wind was steady now from the east and strengthening. Beyond the shelter of the hill the bay was flecked with white.
‘I’m thinking we’d best get the dinghy out of the water as well,’ Bailey said to Ephraim. ‘We don’t want it blowing away on us.’
They brought the light craft inboard and lashed it securely atop the main hatch. They stripped the mainsail from the yard and stowed it and the jib in the sail locker. They checked that all hatches were secure.
The children were grizzly, Richard in particular put out at missing the chance to go ashore.
‘But you promised…’
‘And so you will, dear. As soon as it’s safe.’
Which it was a long way from being at the moment, with the sky as dark as night and the wind blowing in increasingly heavy gusts.
‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ Emma hoped.
They drank tea and ate some of the damper she had cooked the previous day. They listened to the wind while the hull shook around them.
‘I am going on deck,’ Emma said.
Ephraim looked at her. ‘Are you mad?’
‘I need the air.’
‘Make sure you hang on tight.’
A light mist of rain was blowing in from the sea. Legs set sturdily apart, Emma faced it, feeling it wetting her hair, running down her face, soaking into her clothes. A dribble of moisture found its way under the neck of her dress and ran down between her breasts.
The touch of the rain was liberation after the hours she had spent cooped up below deck. Are you mad? Ephraim had asked. Well, perhaps she was. And perhaps she didn’t care either.
‘If I get wet I can always change,’ she said.
The rain would have washed the salt out of her clothes which meant they would soon dry.
She had not explained to
the men in case Ephraim really did think she was mad, but she was playing out a ceremony to express the lightness that filled her spirit at journey’s end. Returning from the mainland the previous day Ephraim had spoken of the land’s rich potential; she was therefore also praying he was right and that it would provide them with both a home and the wealth that had eluded them so painfully in Van Diemen’s Land. Success was important for them all, especially for Ephraim whose dreams had been so sadly devastated.
She was determined they would triumph. If God so willed.
A crackle of lightning savaged the darkness and the thunder, following close behind, echoed roaring around the peaks of the island behind which they were sheltering.
As Emma went below the rain came with sudden fury, hammering on the deck. The wind rose in a screeching crescendo that drove nails into their ears. Through the portholes they saw the sea lashed to frenzy by the wind. William screamed and fought in Emma’s arms, Richard sat mute and round-eyed with terror. The adults stared at each other in the lantern’s lurching light and waited for the storm to pass.
They had to wait several hours but by mid-afternoon the worst was over. The rain stopped and the wind eased. The sun came out. Soon they would not have known there had been a storm at all but along the mainland’s littoral it was a different story, with broken driftwood littering the shore and sandy beaches washed away. The destruction extended inland with many trees down.
Emma thought the storm signalled the death of their plans, on this coast at least. Ephraim too was wearing a dubious face but Bailey had a different view of things.
He pointed across the water at the debris-strewn shore. ‘What are we seeing there?’
‘Wreckage,’ Emma said. ‘The whole area’s devastated.’
‘But what about us?’
‘I don’t understand,’ Emma said.
Bailey threw up his arms. ‘That’s the trouble with people. They don’t use their eyes or their brains. A storm like that and we’re safe. No damage at all. What does that tell you?’
Confused, Emma stared at him.
‘It means this harbour is safe,’ he said. ‘Ships can anchor here and know that even the strongest storm won’t damage them. You think the masters of cargo vessels won’t understand that? Even the bankers will get the message. We want to ship cattle south, or timber, the boats will be queuing up to take them. And this harbour’s big enough to take a dozen vessels at a time. Which means finance won’t be a problem either. It will be the making of us!’
The next morning the sea was calm, the sky blue, and they decided to explore the country. They crossed to the mainland, adults and children together, and picked their way across what two days before had been a beach of golden sand. Now there was bare rock, splintered tree trunks, stranded fish and debris of every kind.
Hundreds of jellyfish had been washed up and were drying in the tropical sun but Emma saw no snakes or other dangerous creatures. She kept Richard close all the same, William cradled in a shawl around her neck. This was not a place where it was wise to be too trusting.
Mosquitoes plagued them as they went up through the trees. Everywhere pools of water swarmed with larvae. They followed the same route through the timber that Ephraim and Bailey had taken two days before. When they reached the creek they found it in flood, its racing waters thick with yellow foam and crested by gnashing waves. At this point the stream was a hundred yards wide.
‘No way we can cross here,’ said Bailey, shouting to be heard over the torrent’s roar.
‘Maybe we should try upriver,’ Ephraim said. ‘There may be a crossing up there.’
From this point the ground rose steeply to the ridge. Along the creek bank the mud was thick and Emma knew Richard would not be able to manage it.
‘You go,’ she said. ‘We’ll stay here. We’ll be all right.’
The men looked doubtful.
‘I have the pistol you gave me at Derwent,’ she said.
Although whether she would be capable of using it in an emergency she wasn’t sure.
More doubtful looks but eventually the men agreed.
‘We’ll be back within the hour,’ Ephraim said.
She watched them clambering over massive boulders as they made their way up the slope. At one point they stopped, Bailey pointing at the ground in front of them. They spent a minute or two clearly discussing what they had seen, looking about them with pistols drawn, but eventually they carried on. Nerves on edge, Emma watched them crest the slope and disappear.
Are you saying the fire was deliberately lit?
Shadows watched. Once again she was alone.
Richard was exploring the creek bank.
‘Stay close,’ she told him. ‘Don’t wander off.’
Half an hour after the men had left Emma heard the sound of pistol fire. Her heart lurched. Looking up, she saw the two men reappear at the top of the ridge and come, leaping and bounding down the rocky slope.
1982
Tamara had walked with Grant all over his land.
‘It’s like a pocket handkerchief compared with Derwent,’ Grant said.
He was right but it still covered a good area and his crossbred merinos looked in fine shape.
‘She’ll be right as long as the wool price holds up,’ Grant said.
His feet seemed well anchored in this land. He had told her he had only leasehold title but since it was for twenty-five years Ringarooma was for practical purposes his own. Tamara told herself she was pleased for him, but the truth was she wanted him with her at
Derwent, not here, and would prise him away from this place if she could. Always assuming he wanted her for the long term. But did he? How could she be sure?
Confusion everywhere she looked.
They parked at a high point and drank coffee from a flask Grant had brought with him. They looked out over the ridges, peaks and forests of the high country spread below them and she asked herself why anyone should think of leaving this place.
‘I hear you’ve been making some changes at Derwent,’ Grant said.
‘The computers help paddock management.’
‘Place as big as yours, you need something like that.’
‘Not everyone would agree with you,’ she said, thinking of Bec.
‘None so conservative as a high-country grazier,’ Grant said.
‘You got that right.’
She shifted in her seat, feeling a residual tingle from the renewed lovemaking with which they had started the day. She knew she had to tell him about Dad and Raine and Jaeger yet was dreading it.
He was watching her and she knew he was sensing the conflict in her mind.
‘Problems?’
‘You could say so. Dad’s back.’
‘What about it?’
‘You know what he’s like.’
This time he did not help but watched her, saying nothing.
‘He’s always believed a woman shouldn’t run Derwent. I guess he doesn’t think I’m up to it.’
It was like stripping away the skin and the flesh beneath.
‘You run it now.’
She shook her head, staring out of the ute’s windscreen, tears not far away: tears she was scared Grant might think proved her father right. The tension was unbearable, her universe poised uneasily between triumph and catastrophe.
‘I do. But I’m afraid he has someone else in mind.’ She turned to him and clutched his fingers tightly in her own. ‘He’s brought a woman with him. She has a son by a former marriage and Jaeger’s told me he expects to be a beneficiary of the trust with his mother a trustee. They’re planning a takeover – I can feel it.’
‘How can that be? They’re not family.’
‘I think Jaeger’s mother may have ideas about that.’
‘You mean, if your dad wants the mother that’s her price? He has to make room for her son?’
‘Something like that.’
‘And if you were married?’
‘I’m not sure it w
ould make any difference. I suppose it might, depending how much of a hold she has on him.’
‘But you’re willing to give it a try, aren’t you?’ He released his hands from hers. ‘Is that why you’re here?’ he said. ‘To stop this woman and her son from cutting you out?’
1834
Paralysed by shock, Emma was unable to move. Her mind was blank. She could barely breathe.
The two men were halfway down the slope when the figures of other men came swarming over the crest. They were naked, black-skinned, with spears in their hands. One spear was hurled after the two white men, clattering on the boulders behind them.
Off to one side other men were running through the trees. They too were brandishing spears and Emma saw they were covering the ground much more quickly than Ephraim and Bailey.
Sight of these new men filled Emma with terror. She must not let them catch her or the boys. She had to get away. But where?
Richard was clinging to her skirts, seeking the only refuge he knew but which she knew with sickening certainty she could not provide. Ocean Rider was as far away as the moon; there was not the remotest possibility of her being able to reach it before being caught.
What would the black men do to her? She thought that death was the best she could hope for. They might not choose to kill her at all, or not at first.
The treetops were a swirl of green as she turned this way and that in an agony of indecision, knowing that whatever she did would be useless, useless…
Ephraim and Bailey were close now, still alive, still unwounded. They were her only hope but what could they do against so many?
She had the pistol Ephraim had given her but it was no use; however scared she might be she knew she would never have the courage – or, with only one bullet in the gun, the capacity – to kill the children or herself.
The two men reached the bottom of the slope and came panting through the mud towards her.
‘Run!’ Ephraim said, gasping for air. ‘If we can reach the top of the slope we may be able to hold them off. They know we’ve got guns.’
He scooped up Richard with his left arm, his right hand still clutching his pistol.
Their pursuers were no more than thirty yards away and coming fast. Again a spear hurtled through the air; again it fell short.
Land of Golden Wattle Page 18
