by Di Morrissey
Isabella sat in the drawing room repeating the charges she’d made against Hendon. ‘He was very careless and lost me thirteen head of cattle which were in his charge. I gave him time to find them and he did not. Last May I had him take some pigs to Gangy and he lost some of them. Including the best of the lot. His conduct has been insolent as well. Although reluctant to go to court I could not allow his conduct to pass.’
Mr Ralston agreed. ‘Indeed, Miss Kelly. They are an unreliable lot. One trusts that the punishment will bring about some change.’
They spoke more on matters of farming before being ushered into the meal.
The Ralston girls would long talk of the night Miss Kelly stayed in their modest home. The girls were in one bed, Isabella in the other. She slept fully clothed, her dog on the floor beside the bed guarding her. The girls believed she carried a pistol and they made a special effort not to disturb Miss Isabella Kelly or her large dog.
On her return home Isabella was busy and all ran smoothly for several weeks. As far as Isabella was concerned the complaint against Hendon had been dealt with, so she was shocked to learn that Hendon had been paroled after one month with a ticket-of-leave, a privilege which was only granted to prisoners with no convictions, even though he was one of her assigned servants. No one had notified her that he’d been released, moreover that he was residing in the district. He obviously had influence or friends in high places.
Isabella sent her trusted female servant, Hettie, to work with Florian and the growing cattle herd on her land by the river. The newly assigned female servant, Mary, was less satisfactory but Isabella hoped she would improve. She had also taken in an orphan boy, Frank, twelve years of age, to milk the twelve cows and mind the cattle and horses. Frank, who far preferred working for Miss Kelly than being at orphan school, was loyal and had taken a great fancy to the working bullocks Bluey, Roger, Gilbert and, in particular, Merryman – a bullock with twisted horns, one curving up, one curving down.
One afternoon as Frank was lying on the grass watching a small herd of cattle graze he heard a commotion and saw a man he recognised as Hendon and another horseman driving four of Isabella’s bullocks with the aid of some dogs. There were also two smaller bullocks he hadn’t seen before being herded by Hendon and his mate.
Frank watched, then decided to follow them, keeping well hidden. When they kept going after passing the marked trees that identified the boundary of Miss Kelly’s land, Frank knew they were up to mischief and headed back to the homestead, returning the cattle to the home paddock. He found Isabella and told her what he’d seen.
She could barely control her fury. ‘Fetch my horse, Frank.’
‘Sultan is stabled for the night, Miss Kelly,’ said the boy, surprised she’d ride out at this late hour.
‘No matter. There is a good moon.’ Isabella began making preparations.
Warmly dressed with a jacket over her riding habit, a hefty stockwhip, a waterbag, damper and knife, Isabella galloped away from the stables, the black horse revelling in the bright moonlight and crisp night air. She followed Frank’s directions and realised the route led past her neighbour Jack Fletcher’s property. While they did not meet socially, they knew each other. Lantern light could be seen in the slab house belonging to Fletcher and a log smouldered, glowing red, near a fenced yard.
At her approach dogs barked and two figures, one holding a lantern, came outside.
‘Who goes there?’
‘Your neighbour, Mr Fletcher.’
‘Miss Kelly?’ He sounded surprised, holding the light aloft to see her mounted on the large black horse. ‘Is there trouble?’
‘I hope not. Four of my working bullocks have been taken this way this afternoon. What do you know about this?’ Isabella got straight to the point.
‘I trust I am not being accused of any dealing in this matter,’ said Fletcher irritably. There had been skirmishes between them over straying cattle before this evening.
‘My boy saw the convict Hendon with them. He is a scoundrel who should be in gaol. Have any of your men seen bullocks being driven near here?’
‘The hour is late, Miss Kelly.’ Fletcher’s tone was curt and he made no offer to invite her inside. Nor did Isabella make any move to dismount. ‘I can offer no assistance in this matter. If I find stray bullocks in my herd I shall notify you.’
‘I do not expect Hendon delivered them here, but as they have been seen on your land and if any of your men are implicated, I will not hesitate to press charges.’
‘I cannot be responsible for men who pass through my land with or without stolen property, Miss Kelly,’ snapped Fletcher.
The other man stayed behind in the shadows and Isabella could not recognise him. She gathered the reins.
‘They cannot have moved too swiftly from here. Good evening, gentlemen.’
They watched her ride away, a woman alone in the night, determined to recover her property.
‘Those men are done for. She’ll track them,’ said the man in the shadows.
‘She knows this country and I doubt Hendon has moved too far. He holds a grudge against her even though the magistrates reduced his sentence,’ said Fletcher, lowering the light and going indoors.
‘She has few supporters on the bench in Dungog I hear.’
‘Nor hereabouts,’ muttered Fletcher. ‘A woman has no business lording it over her neighbours like she does. She will come undone, have no doubt.’
Isabella rode some distance from the Fletcher homestead before stopping to take some deep breaths and decide on her next move. She looked at the dark bush all around and up at the great sky filled with stars. She had acted impulsively, in anger, without careful planning. She turned Sultan for home.
On hearing her arrival young Frank, who slept in a shelter next to the stable, came with a lantern.
‘Do I unsaddle him, Miss Kelly?’ he asked as she swung to the ground.
‘No. I’m going out again. Get Pepper. I need a few supplies.’ She hurried to the house as Frank went to find Pepper, the best dog Isabella owned for working the cattle.
Within the hour she was back on Sultan, her saddlebag strapped behind her, Pepper trotting ahead to find the trail of the missing bullocks. He was quick to find it and set off confidently. The thieves would be camped for the night and she hoped to catch up with them.
Several hours later Pepper was still following the trail. They’d swung through Fletcher’s property and into an adjoining gully so it was most likely that Fletcher or some of his men had seen the bullocks and Hendon and would not admit it. Fletcher was no friend to her and would never admit to any involvement with Hendon. Isabella was weary and she felt it safer to snatch a few hours’ rest and move out again at first light. They had set a fair pace and Sultan was glad to be hobbled. She tied Pepper to the tree and he settled down, nose on his paws. Isabella spread a sturdy canvas on the ground close by Pepper, used her saddle pack as a pillow, and covered herself with a blanket. She slipped her revolver under the pack.
Close to dawn she set off again and noticed by Pepper’s tail and excited sniffing that they must be getting close. In the early light it was easy to see the grass and low scrub trampled by the cattle. They were headed toward heavily timbered ranges where it would be difficult to find them. But Isabella was in luck. She heard the grunt and deep bellow of cattle stirring. She dismounted and, leading Sultan, made her way cautiously down a slope, softly calling Pepper to stay back.
Suddenly she could see them. The men were stirring. Hendon, a rug thrown over his shoulders, was poking the embers of the night fire. He hadn’t yet put on his boots. The four bullocks and the two smaller ones they’d been using to lead hers were held in a rough but sturdy sapling yard. This looked to be a well-established campsite.
Cattle theft was becoming a big problem all over the colony because of the rising demand in Sydney for beef and bullocks to pull drays as more settlers arrived. Isabella wondered how many other landholders in the area had had some
of their stock stolen and driven into this yard.
The men moved away from their blankets and saddlebags.
Isabella strode into the open. ‘Good morning. I have come for my cattle.’
The men spun around and froze as they saw the Colt revolver Isabella pointed at them.
‘These animals were purchased. A legitimate sale,’ blustered Hendon.
‘I know you, Hendon, and what your word is worth. Drop the railing of the pen,’ Isabella commanded.
‘We have documents that prove we own these animals. You are stealing from men who have done business.’
‘I branded those four big bullocks. There has been no sale. Your release from bondage was luck that you never deserved, and this shows just what kind of a man you are. Now get over there and drop the rails of the yard. Move! Drop the rails.’
Hendon stiffened and tried to find the courage to speak what he felt about the woman who had dominated his life for the past few years of servitude. He hated her with intense passion. But he couldn’t say aloud what he heard in his head while she pointed a gun at him.
The two men exchanged a quick glance and Hendon’s offsider made a sudden lunge towards their swags but stopped as a bullet raised dust near his feet.
‘No more nonsense,’ snapped Isabella. ‘I have others close behind. All I want is my property.’
‘Do it,’ said Hendon. ‘She would kill us given the chance.’ As the man moved to the pen Hendon snarled at her, ‘Take your beasts. But do not try and bring us before any bench. Your word will not match ours.’
Isabella didn’t answer, with the cocked gun still aimed at Hendon she walked to their swags, collected a rifle from one and a pistol in a holster hooked over a saddle. She whistled Pepper who went straight into the pen, snapping at the heels of the bullocks, driving them out at a lumbering trot back the way they’d come during the night. The two smaller bullocks stood docilely by. They had worked with strange cattle many times before. Their job was done.
‘If we both rush at her . . .’ whispered the second man to Hendon.
He shook his head. ‘I know her. She will not be believed. We have witnesses to the sale, do we not?’ Hendon gave Isabella a look that was close to a smirk. The other man still looked confused, nervous and flustered.
The bullocks were out of sight, Pepper’s sharp bark fading. The men’s horses were unsaddled, hobbled some distance from their campfire. Isabella gave a short whistle and Sultan trotted to her.
‘Move down to the water and sit down for a while.’ She fired another shot that whistled over their heads. They obeyed her instantly.
When the men were squatting in the creek Isabella pushed their guns under a strap on the pack and pulled herself into the saddle. Sultan followed the bullocks at a swift pace and they were soon well clear of the two angry, swearing men who knew it was pointless to go after her.
‘What do we do about the delivery?’
Hendon shrugged. ‘There are other cattle we can get, don’t worry. We won’t be short of the number we promised.’ He gazed up the hillside where Isabella had disappeared and cursed her again. ‘One day I will get revenge for this, Miss Kelly. And I am not the only one you’ll regret crossing.’
In the cheerfulness of the bright morning Isabella allowed the warm sun to soothe her anger. Men such as Hendon were opportunists with no scruples, but it was painful that neighbours such as Fletcher were prepared to align themselves with thieves and not join forces with law-abiding landowners to make their valley stronger. And, she recognised once more, there were men who were civil to her face but swift to take advantage of her given the chance.
A chorus of bird calls caught her attention and she let the beauty of the bush wash away the ugliness of the men she had just outwitted. The gum trees were losing their bark revealing silvery pink patches. Tree orchids hung from the branches, and a wallaby returning late from its foraging bounced through dappled light. By the time she reached her homestead the hours in the tranquil bush had restored her spirits.
9
Cedartown, 1938
EMILY WILLIAMS SAT AT her Singer treadle sewing machine, blue cotton voile bunched around her knees. The fabric had been a purchase from Mr Kahn, the hawker who came around every three months with his small horse-drawn wagon filled with all manner of delights, treasures and practical household items: sewing supplies, pretty soaps, feather dusters, brooms, pegs, bolts of material, potions and lotions. The roll of blue fabric was just enough to make a dress for Elizabeth, a nice blouse for herself and a few squares to add to her ongoing patchwork quilt.
Elizabeth called from her bedroom. ‘Is it ready, Mum?’
‘Nearly,’ she shouted back, then muttered to herself, ‘I do hate the idea of a machined hem. It should be hand stitched and you’d never see it.’ Emily was normally very fastidious about sewing. She had worked as a dressmaker’s apprentice in a small exclusive shop in London that occasionally had royal commissions. She prided herself on turning out her family in smart, well-made clothes even when quality materials and trimmings were hard to come by.
Elizabeth appeared on the back verandah in her slip. Emily lifted the needle foot, pulled the dress away and bit off the cotton thread. ‘Doesn’t look so frumpy now.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll be ready in a tick.’
‘Where’s Mollie?’
‘She’s ready. She’s with Dad putting the picnic things in the laundry basket.’
Emily patted her hair. ‘I’d better put some powder on, the Gordons will be here any minute. Don’t forget the blanket, Harold,’ she called out.
Harold winked at his younger daughter. ‘Anyone would think the King was coming to this shindig.’
‘Well, it is Empire Day, Dad. Queen Victoria’s Birthday. We learned about it in school yesterday,’ answered twelve-year-old Mollie.
‘What else went on? Not a lot of schoolwork it seems. And a half-day holiday,’ smiled her father.
‘They raised the flag and we sang “Here’s to the Red White and Blue”. I was in the school procession and Mr Blake gave a speech. The boys got to throw their hats in the air. Andy Gordon said they’re having a bonfire tonight.’
‘Sounds like you’ve already done a lot of celebrating, what with the picnic and events about to start. Ask your mother if you can peep over the back fence at the fireworks.’
The Gordons lived on one side of Cricklewood and the three Gordon boys had been building a giant bonfire for weeks. It was at the edge of the small creek that ran behind the houses. Cows that people left there to graze had been taken elsewhere and neighbours were alerted to lock up their dogs as there’d be firecrackers going off.
Emily appeared in her straw hat with bright red berries on the side. She smoothed the collar of Mollie’s dress and cast a critical eye at her husband, who quickly stood to attention.
‘Harold, not that cardigan, put your proper jacket on. And don’t forget your hat,’ she fussed.
‘Mum, he never goes outside without his hat,’ laughed Mollie.
There was a toot at the gate as the Gordons pulled up in their car followed by the boys with a horse-drawn sulky. The picnic supplies, pillows, blanket and a parasol were stacked around the feet of Mollie and the three Gordon boys. Emily was helped into the back seat of the car.
‘Where’s Elizabeth? Come on!’
Elizabeth came out the front door and slammed it shut, holding onto her dark blue felt hat with its small feather trim and her mother’s good leather handbag she’d borrowed. Her new blue dress showed off a glimpse of slim calf, ankles and her best shoes . . . tan suede brogues with perforated detail around the laces and a small chunky heel. At seventeen she looked very grown up with her wavy brown hair coiled at the nape of her neck and a touch of powder and lipstick.
The three boys in the sulky let out good-natured wolf whistles as she squeezed in beside her parents in the back seat of the car, carefully smoothing the folds of her dress.
The Cedartown Park was crowded.
Families and groups had staked their positions on the grass ringing the bandstand decorated with Union Jacks. The school brass band had already marched into the park and were playing patriotic songs. To one side a tug-o’-war rope was being tested by energetic teams of boys and girls, and there was much enthusiasm for the three-legged, sack and egg-and-spoon races.
Thommo’s parents were seated near Clem’s mother and the Richards kids. Clem’s father refused to go into town ‘for a lot of silly folderol’, but Nola Richards looked forward to this outing as it was one of the rare opportunities for her to get off the farm – even if she did have to rise earlier than usual to get her household and farm tasks done, prepare the picnic and press the boys’ shirts with the heavy flat iron heated on top of the fuel stove.
‘How are you, Mrs Richards?’ asked Thommo’s father.
‘Doing nicely, thanks, Mr Thompson.’
‘We so enjoy having Clem around more often,’ said Vera Thompson with a warm smile. ‘He’s a great help to Frank now we’ve built the picture theatre. So much nicer than showing films in the Town Hall.’
‘Clem’s a whiz with engineering things if you ask me. Must be a big help with the machinery on your farm,’ said Frank Thompson.
Since leaving school, Clem had been working part-time for Thommo’s dad, occasionally running the projector for night screenings at the new Liberty Picture Show to give the Thompsons a night off. And he had proved to be a great asset at repairing the old projector from the Town Hall.
Thommo had convinced his father that he knew so little about the mechanics of the projector he should learn a trade rather than help him with the picture show. He suggested his father give the job to Clem.
Clem generally stayed the night with Thommo before cycling back to the farm to do his share of work there. He squirrelled away the money he earned from his job at the Liberty as there was no pay for his work on the farm. His father made it clear he was lucky to have a roof, a bed and food in front of him.