"Here, get this inside you," Isabella ordered Thelma, scooping a mugful of warmed-up mutton stew from the iron pot over the fire.
Thelma gave her a wan smile. "Thanks, Bella. I feel a whole lot better now I've got some dry clothes on."
"Aye, 'tis lucky we found some that hadn't been soaked. Tiger seems to think this will ease." Isabella eyed the grey laden sky with less optimism. "Best get between the blankets straight after eating and keep as warm as you can."
The rain fell in torrents until just before dawn, seeping in underneath the tents and making them all shiver with misery. Isabella slept not a wink, but stared up at the roof of the tent with eyes that felt as if they were filled with dust. Tiger's forecast wasn't far out, for the sun came up bright and blessedly warm.
Giving Isabella a critical once over he suggested, "We'll lie over for the day and dry everything out. The rest will do you good."
"I doubt a rest will go anywhere near to helping me," she snapped, hating to admit she felt bone weary; so tired in fact that when she lay beneath a tree with Tim in her arms she slept for most of the morning.
"Time heals," Thelma was saying when she opened her eyes to stare about.
"Tim." Isabella looked about with frantic urgency when she couldn't see him anywhere.
Tiger came to sit at her side, placing a hand on her shoulder when she made to scramble to her feet. "He's helping Agnes, Lily, and the men collect the dried clothes from the lines they strung up," he said gently. "You can't watch him every minute of the day, Bella. The same thing won't happen to him that happened to Dougie."
She shook his hand off, crying, "How do you know?" as she jumped up. "You're not God. You think you have authority over everything that moves." She lashed out at him, thumping him about the shoulders and ears, wherever she could reach, while she sobbed out meaningless words.
Tiger made no move to stop her or defend himself. When the storm passed and she began to weep, her head bent, he got up and wrapped her in his arms, touching his lips to her hair. Her bonnet had gone flying to the ground and her hair fell in a flaming tangle over her shoulders. That fool Dougal should be consoling her. But at this moment Tiger was glad the Scotsman was far away.
"I'm all right," she mumbled after a while, pushing away from him and scuffing a fist over her nose. With a sheepish glance at the others, who'd pretended they hadn't heard her outburst, she wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry. No reason to hit out at you. It just seems so unfair. Why did it have to happen to my baby? All these wicked people in the colony and God saw fit to take my little boy."
"I can't answer that, Bella. None of us know why these things happen. 'Tis fate an' there's nothing we can do but accept it as the will of God, or whatever force guides us while we're in this world."
He wasn't sure if she'd heard a word he said. Helplessness wasn't something he was familiar with, but he was suffering a surfeit of it right now. As if all the stuffing had been taken out of her she suddenly crumpled to the ground, where she pulled her knees up, resting her face on them.
Tiger fought the urge to smooth a hand over her bent head. "Tim," he called, looking about. When the boy came running, he patted his hair instead, ordering gently, "Look after your mama for me, eh?" Going down on his haunches he said, "Now I'm relying on you to take care of her. Do you think you can do that for me?"
Isabella glanced sideways at him as Tim nodded. "Yes, Tiger," he agreed. "I miss Dougie too."
Tiger sighed. "Aye son, I know."
"I'm not your son, I'm Dad's son," Tim argued, squinting at him.
Tiger shook his head. "I know, Tim. It was just a sort of name some people call boys, I didn't mean anything by it." He ruffled his son's hair.
Isabella met his eyes and for endless moments they stared at each other. Tiger touched a finger to her cheek, catching a teardrop. Then he rose and strode away, his back straight.
* * *
"It looks greater than any obstacle I've ever seen," Johnny said with awe as they approached the start of the road over the mountains. "Do you think the boss knows what he's doing?"
Isabella shrugged. "Tiger thinks he knows everything. If he says we'll get over, then we will." Personally she would be rather glad if he decided he had taken on altogether too much and turned them around. The mountains with their ever-present haze of blue looked daunting and somehow eerie. She was scared, feeling as if she was about to fall off the edge of the world. About to step over a line into some strange, totally alien place.
The hollow emptiness there constantly since Dougie's death was replaced by a sinking feeling in her stomach she recognized as fear.
Tiger had told them that for forty-odd miles there would be no grass for the cattle; they'd had to fetch corn. The sheep could manage. But the fact that there was not enough grass in the mountains seemed mighty peculiar.
"Whoa!" The shout went up, dragging her from her reverie. The bullocks and horses were stopped, and the cavalcade came to a rumbling halt. Isabella's wagon was at the rear, so she couldn't tell what the problem was.
She soon found out. "The leading dray's stuck in the sandy bottom of a stream," Tiger shouted as he pulled up alongside them. "We'll need all men to get behind and heave. You come with me, Johnny."
It took an hour to extricate the dray. Then another hour to get all the others across, using ropes and chains to haul them. A quarter of a mile on they were at the foot of the first mountain.
"Saints preserve us," Johnny muttered as they and everyone in the party stared at the ascent they faced.
As far as the eye could see were lofty trees and shrubs, most blooming with an abundance of brightly colored flowers.
"This is Lapstone Hill," Tiger said as he watched the first wagon start upwards.
"Why's it called that, Tiger?" Tim asked.
Tiger shaded his eyes to look up at the monstrous hill ahead of them. "Seems the stones reminded the first men over of the cobblers' lapstone, Tim."
Isabella gave him a sour look. The man was as excited as a boy with a new toy. The track up the hill appeared to be solid rock with no earth covering, and great hollow places and jagged rocks protruding here and there. The horses managed it with little trouble, but the bullocks didn't fare at all well, refusing to pull their loads.
Tiger swiped his hat on his thigh, roaring, "Stubborn coves; take half the load off the drays again and use the horses, men."
The horses went up and down uncountable times, assisting the bullocks.
"At this pace we'll probably still be going over these godforsaken mountains come Christmas," Johnny said.
It looked as if he might be proven right when at the end of the day they'd only covered about a mile and a half. Everyone was so exhausted they barely had the will to pitch the tents and cook the salted beef for supper. Fortunately the damper made in a camp oven the previous night saved them that trouble.
One large fire was lit instead of the usual two. With the party all enclosed by the night, the animals milling nearby for their safety, and the wind whistling through the branches of the trees, it made for an eerie scene.
Thelma looked around after the meal was cleared away, asking, "Where's Dougal? I haven't seen him since we ate, have you? I would have thought he'd want to be with you."
Gillie sat nearby, smoking his pipe. He planned to spend this night in Thelma's tent, and she'd hinted she expected Dougal to share Isabella's. Though why she should think that when he'd treated Isabella with such contempt she had no idea.
Poor Thelma always hoped for reconciliation between them. Isabella knew that would never happen; especially now. She shrugged, not caring tuppence where Dougal was. Let him go sit with the sheep. Anywhere but near her. Lily was also missing, Isabella noted. But that was nothing strange—the doxie had likely found a sleeping place with one or more of the men.
Thelma pulled a face as she rose, both hands pressed to her lower back, saying, "Ah well, I'm off to sleep. It's been a terrible day."
Isabella nodded. "I'll
be off now too."
Agnes was already asleep with Tim, the two curled together like two puppies. Suddenly a raucous laugh bounced off the trees, disturbing a flock of birds, who began to flap around in distress. One of the men on the other side of the camp shouted something she didn't catch. But she heard Dougal's name and out of curiosity turned back to see what the hilarity was about. It was strange, she mused, that Dougal could be part of a joke after what had happened to little Dougie.
Dougal was coming into the circle of light thrown by the fire. With his arm looped about Lily's waist, he looked purposefully across the camp. He appeared to be searching Isabella out. And when he caught her eye he bent to plant a kiss on Lily's cheek. The harlot shoved him in the chest, laughed, and then kissed him full on the mouth.
Isabella gasped with revulsion.
Tiger stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of Dougal, menace in his stance. "What in hell's name d'you think you're up to, man?" he rasped. "Your wife needs you beside her in her time of grief and you're off with this baggage playing the fool." Lily began to snigger.
"Get away from me." Dougal pushed at Tiger's chest, then made to walk past him.
Tiger gripped his arm and said something low that Isabella couldn't catch. Dougal lashed out, catching Tiger on the side of his neck. Tiger brought a fist up to Dougal's jaw. Dougal reeled backwards as the knuckle made contact and Lily screamed, both hands over her mouth as the two men grappled before tumbling to the ground.
"I'll kill you," Isabella heard Dougal snarl before Tiger punched him again.
As they rolled over and over, nearing the fire, Tiger bellowed, "I ought to kill you, you blackguard. You're a no-good son of the devil the way you treat Bella. Why would you want to go off with that doxie when you have a wife who's grieving for her child?" Tiger came onto his knees, clutching at Dougal's shoulders to shake him roughly.
"That doxie, as you call her, doesn't treat me like half a man. My precious wife doesn't want me, never has," Dougal sneered. "It's you she's always wanted; well, she can have you now. I never want anything more to do with her. She let my son get hisself killed. If she'd been watching over him like she's always watched over the other little bastard he'd still be alive."
Tiger roared an oath and smashed his fist into Dougal's face. Dougal's head flopped to one side. He went still and Lily screamed.
"Shut up, woman," Tiger warned in an icy tone. It had the desired effect. With a long look at Dougal's still form she strutted off towards the other men.
"Keep your filthy whore's hands off him from now on, do you hear me? Or else you'll be heading back to town," Tiger warned.
Lily sniveled a reply.
Isabella hesitated. Should she go to Dougal? But the thought of what he'd said about her filled her with loathing. How could he possibly accuse her of caring for one son more than the other?
She dropped the tent flap and lay down beside Tim. He murmured something in his sleep, wrapping his tiny arms about her neck. Isabella pulled him close to her breast and kissed his beloved face.
* * *
Isabella was relieved Dougal was off with the animals the next morning. No one had offered to tend his bruises. Even Thelma, who reappeared when she'd heard the rumpus, had not given Dougal any aid. She seemed as disgusted with him as Tiger and Gillie.
"Men. Lord knows but at times I think their brains are between their legs," was all she said on the subject to Isabella. But Isabella knew she'd had more than a few sharp words to say to Lily.
Dougal's face was a mess, and he'd taken his bread and tea off with him rather than sit with the others for the morning meal.
"Good—let's hope he stays with his blessed sheep," Isabella said to herself. If he'd had little chance of getting back into her bed before, he had none at all now. If he thought she would let him touch her now after lying with that diseased whore he was mistaken.
The track led them through lofty flowering trees. "'Tis surely beautiful land, but useless," Isabella said to Johnny, who agreed. "There's no vegetables or fruits to pick."
Tim rode with Tiger, sitting in front of him on the saddle. Every now and then he waved to her. He'd regained some of his good humor, but still asked her constantly about Dougie. By now everyone in the party must know he was Tiger's son, for even had they not heard Dougal's outcry it was blatant when the two of them were side by side.
Isabella's heart hurt. If only she could have another baby one day to take her Dougie's place. But that was out of the question now.
That night they camped in front of a government stock keeper’s hut, no more than a barn in a clearing. Tiger said he'd been warned that the wife of the corporal who lived here along with two soldiers was a thief and not to be trusted.
The house was roughly furnished with table and chairs made from tree stumps, a sofa fashioned from strips of bark. Thelma was deeply disappointed to find the place alive with bugs, for she'd looked forward to a night beneath a roof of wood for once.
Isabella cared not where she set her head down for the night. Sleep eluded her anyway.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Isabella grimaced at Tiger where he sat with the men. They sipped the rum he'd handed out to revive their spirits after another dreadful day. He looked smug and contented, like a man who'd faced mighty obstacles and conquered them.
"I knew he was mad, Thelma," she exclaimed.
"I must say I thought we was about to meet our maker when we came over that steep ridge." Thelma shook her head. "And the noise made my head ache something awful. What with the men swearing at the animals, the dogs barking, and the bullocks bellowing, it was sheer purgatory. Then that perishing shaft broke. Eight miles in a day. I knew we'd be forever on this journey."
The road was cut through forest with not one straight stretch. They'd gone around the edges of hills where the drop was so steep Isabella knew real terror, fearing they would go over into a bottomless ravine. The bullocks often refused to go up, even lying down so the dogs were called on to bite their noses to force them onto their feet again while the teamsters roared obscenely at the obstinate animals.
The horses were brought back down to aid the bullocks who found it hard to get past the jutting rocks. By the time they'd reached the top it was dark and Tiger and two of the men went off to search for a spring.
"I suggest you sleep in your clothes," he said now, coming over to them. "If this rain keeps up you'll need them for warmth." His eyes ran over Isabella's hunched form.
"You're a madman, Tiger Carstairs." She glared up at him.
"Perhaps," he agreed.
"No perhaps about it," she assured his back as he walked away.
* * *
The days followed the same pattern. The bullocks refused to budge and the horses helped them up slopes. Some nights the men didn't lie down until well after midnight. Each night they were exhausted, yet they barely covered eight or nine miles a day over the terrible terrain.
Tim grew more and more fretful and Isabella felt so dreadfully tired and filled with misery that at times she wished she could just fall down and go to sleep never to wake up. Thelma's cough grew steadily worse, and her cheeks hollow, losing weight she could ill afford.
They let the bullocks free to forage for food then wasted a day looking for them. But at least it provided them with a rest day. They made damper and a cake in the camp oven, which cheered them. Tim rarely left Isabella's side, his eyes filled with a wariness that clutched at her heart. The pups were transferred to the uncovered wagon, for he'd lost interest in them.
Then they came to Mount York.
Everybody knew its reputation and had been speaking of it in awed whispers over the previous evening's meal. A brooding quiet now crept over them as Tiger brought Satan up and handed Tim, who'd been riding with him, over to Isabella.
Johnny grimaced, scratching at his head, as Tiger rode off to speak to the driver of the leading wagon. The valley coming up to what was commonly called The Big Hill was awful, the ro
ad hidden from view amid the trees.
Small trees had to be lopped to wedge behind the wheels of the drays and wagons to stop them slipping backwards. It was grueling work. When they got to the top they had to reverse the order, chaining logs behind to stop them from sliding forwards.
"The other slopes were nothing compared to this," Isabella whispered, a hand to her throat, as she, Thelma and Agnes stared wide-eyed and fearful at the steep drop before them. The animals that had already been taken over couldn't be seen at the bottom, about a mile away.
"Tiger says we're about four thousand feet above the sea." Thelma was having trouble drawing each breath and her face was so grey it scared Isabella as much as the road they must descend.
Tiger shouted orders, and the first dray began its cautious descent, sliding on the surface made slippery by rain.
"Come on, we'd better start walking," Isabella said, glancing to where Tiger watched the progress intently.
The three women began to walk, Tim clutching at Isabella's hand. Her other hand kept her skirt high to stop her from tripping. Lily trailed them, keeping her distance. Thelma waved to Gillie, who waited with Dougal and the group of men watching the slow descent of the dray.
The going was so steep stones tumbled beneath their feet and they had to keep their bodies balanced backwards to stop from falling headlong down the slope.
"I'll have to rest," Thelma groaned when they'd barely gone a hundred feet. "My legs are aching fit to drop off."
"So are mine." Isabella was panting, her calves burning. They flopped down on a log to one side of the track and she squinted up the hill. The dray had moved barely a few feet, and the cursing of the men rang through the trees. "Don't look like they're making much progress."
"Heavens, this isn't fit to call a road," Thelma complained. "Where Tiger got the notion to drag us into this hell, I'm sure I don't know." With a hand to her chest she dragged in air as if starved of it. "This time he's bit off . . . a bit more than he can chew."
Mystic Mountains Page 25
