by Darry Fraser
Now he’d been in the saddle long enough and Sam reckoned he must have been close to this Lyrup village place. He’d kept Pie at an easy pace since crossing the river, and the track had been reasonable most of the way.
Bucky had kept up, darting off here and there, only to belt back alongside when he felt like it. Sam liked the dog; he always seemed to be grinning, and when he wasn’t, his big gold eyes looked all doleful. He was a thinker, was Bucky. He had to be—he’d taken to Sam. Still, the dog hadn’t heard him sing yet. Now that would be the test of a good dog.
His ma had said that he’d had an Irishman’s folk tenor. His pa just thought he was a carousing bloody git who got all maudlin with a few grogs. Then he’d always ruffled Sam’s hair with affection. Maggie … well, Maggie seemed to be enthralled by the one tune he’d sung her, time and again. ‘Black Is The Colour Of My True Love’s Hair’—he’d changed the lyrics around to suit a man singing it to a woman. She hadn’t cared if the song was from Scotland, England, Ireland or America, she’d said, just that he sang it for her. She said he had a lilting, poignant voice. When she reached over and placed her hands either side of his face to kiss him full on the mouth, he figured that lilting and poignant were good things.
Bucky flew into doing his round-and-rounds and barked. Pie threw his head a couple of times shying and snorting, and stepped quickly, unsettled. Maybe they were near the town, after all.
Sam heard a voice, a female voice calling, ‘Ellie … Ellie.’
Bucky went wild, barking and charging off through the scrub. Sam waited, murmuring in Pie’s ear, staring into the scrub, trying to locate the owner of the voice.
Then he heard a shrill, ‘Get away from me, dog. Get away,’ and Bucky’s excited yips.
Sam called for the dog, gave a sharp whistle and all went quiet. He sat high in the saddle, twisted to see behind him, but nothing appeared. Bucky was silent. Now, what would that mean? He hardly knew the dog. He swung back, surveying the terrain as Pie danced beneath him.
‘Whoa, boy,’ he said, soothing the horse with a couple of solid pats. ‘It’s just a lassie callin’ in the bush, and our dog is off lookin’ for her.’ He whistled once more, and this time Bucky came hurtling towards him, looking happy as a lark. He skidded around Pie and took off again, dust and twigs churning in his wake.
Baffled by the dog’s behaviour, Sam stretched in the saddle but still couldn’t see anyone. He called out, ‘Are you lost, miss? My dog won’t hurt you.’
‘I’m not lost,’ he heard behind him.
He twisted again and saw a young, slim woman walking swiftly towards him from a line of scrub. She was slapping at Bucky who looked as if he was trying to make friends.
‘Lyrup village is only over there,’ she said, pointing, and seemed out of breath. She brushed a hand over her face and tucked loose tendrils of hair under her hat. Again, she shooed Bucky away. He immediately sat, and stared up at Sam.
‘Morning, miss.’ Sam tipped his hat. Perhaps, being local, she could save him some time. ‘Lyrup’s where I’m headed. Or, I’m headed through there, to find where that boat blew up and pay my respects. If you know, how far it is from here?’
The woman stared at him, still catching her breath. She glanced over her shoulder and then back to him. She almost looked blank, or maybe she was thinking hard. How the hell would he know?
‘Miss?’ he prompted.
‘Go straight into the village—’ she pointed again, her voice firm, ‘—and go down to the landing. Someone there will tell you where the boat blew up. It’s not too far riding, perhaps half a day.’ She checked over her shoulder again, her dark brows wrinkled with worry. Other than that, she stood rigid, not moving.
A little puzzled by her, Sam asked, ‘You were calling out. If you’re not lost, is someone else lost, maybe a child? Can I help you?’
‘No. Was a game, only,’ she said, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. ‘Ridiculous in this midday heat,’ she said and pointed again. ‘The village is that way.’
Bucky began whining and stamping his front feet as he sat, still staring up at Sam. Nudging Pie forwards, Sam touched his hat again. ‘Thank you, Miss—’
‘Mrs Thompson.’
He nodded at her as he passed, and Bucky followed.
‘And your name, sir?’ she asked.
‘Sam Taylor, ma’am, from up Echuca.’ Sam stopped Pie and leaned towards her a little. Might as well ask everyone he came across. ‘A friend of mine is lost. There was a chance she could have got on a boat at Renmark, to go downriver. Heard anything of that?’
Mrs Thompson’s eyes darted back and forth before she answered. ‘I’m sure we would have heard something. We sometimes have the passengers stop for tea if a steamer ties up for the night here.’ She held a wide-eyed grey gaze on his. ‘What’s your friend’s name?’
‘Maggie,’ he said, and Bucky did a sudden whirl and stopped. ‘Maggie O’Rourke.’
Mrs Thompson gave a hint of a smile. ‘No one by that name.’
‘Well,’ Sam said, disappointed, though he knew it was too far a stretch to expect that finding Maggie would be so simple. ‘If it wasn’t my friend on that boat, then I’m grateful for it. Sad story for the lost crew, though, and I knew the captain, met him a few times. Sad for the passenger, for her poor family.’ He thought of Eleanor and Lorcan.
Mrs Thompson nodded. ‘It is.’
She kept looking around and Sam straightened, figuring she wanted to get on. The sweat dripped from under his hat, and the blaring sun was getting to him. It would have been bothering her, too. ‘I’d better get going, Mrs Thompson. Can I walk you back to the village?’
‘Thank you, no. I know my way around. I’m sure I won’t be long.’
‘Good day.’ Sam nudged Pie into a slow walk, leaving her to play her game in the bush.
Across the expanse of scrub, he saw another rider in the distance, heading away. Maybe that fella was on the track Sam would have to take to find the destroyed boat. He was so close now to where it had exploded. Suddenly he wondered why he still had to go there. He shrugged. He was so close, he might as well. Maybe something would come to him there in the silence on the riverbank, and he’d take a new direction to try and find Maggie. Who knows? Or maybe on his way through the village, he’d speak to someone who’d say something, and his brain would click and whir … Or maybe, after finding the boat site, and putting it to rest in his mind, he’d retrace his steps and head back upriver and search for Maggie on more familiar territory. Wouldn’t she stay close to places she knew?
He made up his mind. He’d go to the site of the explosion first. From there, anyone’s guess. He took one last quick look at Mrs Thompson as she trudged back into the line of scrub. She was heading for the river. No matter; it seemed she knew what she was doing. He stayed on the track, and Bucky kept up beside the horse, his tongue lolling.
As the houses in the village came into view ahead, Sam heard Mrs Thompson’s voice as she called for her friend again. ‘Ellie. Miss Lorkin … Ellie.’ Her voice drifted.
This Ellie Lorkin must be well and truly hiding …
Sam hauled on the reins. Am I such a flamin’ idiot? He remembered the wharf master’s log entry: Miss Ellie Lorkin, passenger on the Lady Goodnight. He turned so fast in the saddle trying to catch a glimpse of Mrs Thompson that the horse faltered. Sam squinted hard but couldn’t see her.
Ellie. Miss Lorkin. Ellie Lorkin. Eleanor. Lorcan.
Maggie.
Twenty-eight
Eleanor had just put her tea cup down on the bedside table. She sat and rested a moment before attempting a sip. It needed to cool before she could try to get some into Lorc.
Her glance flicked to his face and she noticed the same slight frown. Then his mouth twitched, and the frown deepened. She watched a moment more, and leaned towards him, trying to catch anything that would give her an inkling as to what might be happening with him.
Nothing. The twitch settled, and so did Eleanor, l
etting a sigh escape. She picked up her cup and blew into it, then tested it against her lip. Still too hot. She set it down again, straightened the bedcovers a little and caught the sound of his swift intake of breath.
Startled, she stared at him, but she saw nothing anew on his face. The frown hadn’t deepened any more. Dear Lord, was she starting to imagine things? Taking his hand in hers, its warmth heartening, she closed her eyes to think of some other memory to bring to him. These last days with Maggie on her mind, relating something to her husband of their daughter soothed her. She hoped her beloved Lorcan could hear her, and be soothed by it, too.
‘Remember that time, Lorc, when Maggie and her little Chinese friend Mee Ling were down in the orchard. Maggie always managed to find friends that were different folk. A Bendigo winter, it was. Do you remember?’
She didn’t expect an answer and kept talking. ‘We went looking for them, they’d missed coming in for lunch—ten, or eleven years old, they were. We’d had a hard enough time convincing Mr Ling that his daughter would be safe with us, and we thought we’d gone and lost her, lost both of them. But no, there they were playing happy as anything down by the water channel, fresh dug. Just a boggy hole it was, down one side of the paddock. It had been raining for days, hadn’t it?’ Eleanor pressed his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. ‘Little mites. They both looked like they’d been rolling in the mud.’
She smiled into his palm, kissed it. ‘Then into the mud you go, bellowing like a big old bull, and grab up your daughter.’ A laugh escaped. ‘Only it wasn’t our Maggie you grabbed, was it? It was poor Mee Ling. Frightened the life out of her. They’d changed their jackets and their hats, and we couldn’t tell one from the other, both black-haired little girls with plaits.’ She gave his hand a little shake. No response. ‘Then we had to cajole Mee Ling inside to get her washed up and dry before sending her back to her father. That was a job, Lorc.’
She stared at his face as his mouth twitched again. Could he hear her, after all?
She went on. ‘I wonder whatever happened to Mee Ling, my love? I used to see her brothers—they were all grown lads by the time we’d left—but not her. Perhaps her family sent her back to China. ’Twas a shame if so, but Maggie said naught about it.’
Lorc’s hand was hot and damp now. Eleanor took it away from her face and looked at it. Then with a glance at his face, she saw that sweat had popped on his forehead in tiny bubbles. Lorcan moved, grunted, and now the frown was deep on his face. His mouth opened, and his breathing had become rapid. Her heart gave a thud. Resting his hand on the bed, she drew back, shoved the chair away and stood.
‘Oh, God,’ she cried softly and pulled back the light cover over his leg. It looked hot, and the bandages over his shin now looked too tight. Gingerly, Eleanor peeled back an edge, and saw his skin was red. Streaks of colour were shooting up into his knee. Dear God, no.
She’d have to find Ard. Hurry. He’d have ride into town to bring the doctor. She turned …
Ard burst inside, his face creased with worry. ‘Ma, quick. It’s Linley. She’s on the floor of our house. I can’t move her, she’s screamin’ with it, says the baby’s coming.’ Then he glanced from her face and stared at his father’s bandaged leg. ‘Oh, Jesus.’
Twenty-nine
Maggie sat tight—hidden, she hoped—from that horrible man, Boyd. Her ears couldn’t be trusted, so it was best that she stayed quiet, and low down and out of the way, but in a place where she could still see clearly. That didn’t seem to be working out; she was by the river and couldn’t see on top of the bank. She hoped that he wouldn’t think to come over this way and find her.
He was alive and had come after her. Why after all this time? Two weeks, wasn’t it? Had someone seen her leaving and told him which way she’d travelled? Surely, being alive, he wouldn’t be bothered looking for her, but there he was, large as life. And here she was in little old Lyrup, not half a day’s journey by road from Renmark, the place where she’d thought she’d killed him. All the running, all the trouble she’d been through, and he was alive … Then she spared a thought for Mr Finn and Mr Bentley and bit her lip. She was grateful. Those two men had helped her. Mr Finn had put her ashore and had saved her life by doing so.
A noise … a voice. Female. Was it Jane? It must be, but Maggie dared not leave her hiding place to check. Damn her hearing. She strained and heard the faint melodious call. Felt sure it was Ellie being called. With her hands on the trunk of the tree ready to make a dash for it if she needed to, eyes wide, she saw Jane pop into her line of sight.
‘Ellie? Where are you?’
Peeking out from behind the tree, Maggie couldn’t see anyone else nearby. Furtive, she blew a low whistle, and waved an arm.
Jane came slipping and sliding down the bank, trying to keep her balance. Maggie stepped out from the tree to grab her and when their hands clamped on each other’s forearms, they steadied.
‘Jane, Jane. That man. He tried to do me and my friend grave harm, back in Renmark, and I cannot be anywhere near him.’
‘The man—off the boat?’
‘Yes, the man off the boat.’ How odd she should ask that. Maggie still had hold of Jane’s arms. ‘How do we get away from here now? Should we go on foot somewhere, or try to get back to the boat and hide on board?’
‘Hide?’ Jane looked blank, then worried. ‘Um … back this way,’ she said and pointed along the river’s edge. ‘We will come up on the landing from behind the boat, but the riverbank is flat and wide open, nowhere to hide. Perhaps we’ll be lucky and no one will stop—’
‘Maggie O’Rourke!’
Maggie heard a man’s voice yell her name, but her hearing was still woolly, her ears ringing. She glanced at Jane. ‘It must be him,’ she rasped and stumbled over the soft sand of the bank as she ran in the direction Jane had pointed.
‘Ellie, wait,’ Jane called, lagging behind her. ‘That man …’
Maggie wasn’t waiting. She just had to get away from Robert Boyd.
Sam wheeled Pie around, but Mrs Thompson was nowhere to be seen. Which way had she gone? There was only one place to stay out of sight and that was to get to low ground, on the river’s edge. He nudged Pie along the way they’d just come, then veered towards a line of straggly trees.
Bucky started to bark as he ran alongside the horse. No sneaking up on Mrs Thompson now, that’s for sure.
He called out, ‘Mrs Thompson, I need to talk to you again. It’s urgent.’ He could barely hear his own voice over the thundering boom of his heartbeat, over Pie’s slow canter and Bucky’s excited woofing as he searched the scrub.
Before the land dropped away to the edge of the water, Sam hauled up his horse, but Bucky leapt down the gently sloping sand and charged into the water, barking and carrying on, well pleased with himself. He splashed out of the river again and gave a huge shake, spraying water in a wide arc. Then he stopped and put his nose in the air. He stared a moment at Sam, made half barking, half crying noises, as if he were hankering after something before he took off along the river, hot on a scent, back in the direction of the village.
Maggie could see the boat up ahead and slowed, glancing around.
Jane was coming along behind and waved her hand when she noticed Maggie looking.
‘Thank goodness. Will you stop a moment? I’m so out of breath,’ she said when she caught up. ‘I don’t know that trying to get on this boat is the right thing to do after all. We won’t be hidden from sight really—just look at it, it’s not very big. And we’ll have to beg and plead with the men now we’re in such a rush. I’m sure that’ll make them suspicious.’ She put her hands on her knees and leaned over, breathing deeply. ‘I understand you fear this man, but couldn’t the authorities do something about him? We don’t have much in the way of law enforcement in the village, but we could alert the chairman, Mr Wainwright.’
Maggie had been staring at the Jolly Miller. A medium-sized side wheeler, it had a top deck through which the chimney
stack poked and where the open-air wheel was attached. It looked to have a wide walk-through under that. There were closed-off areas she could see, rooms of some sort, only narrow, so not a lot of space. When she’d first seen the boat, a stack of cut timber was on the foredeck and Boyd’s horse had been close to that. Where on earth could she and Jane hide on it?
A noise distracted her, something from behind, coming from where they’d just been—a dog, barking. She turned to look and there was a sturdy liver-coloured bundle of grinning energy hurtling towards her.
Jane turned as well. ‘Oh, good Lord—there’s that dog.’ She took a few steps back. ‘He’s with a man riding in from Renmark, who says the dog’s harmless but … Ellie? Are you all right? Ellie?’
Bucky. Maggie’s heart missed a beat. It looked like Bucky tearing towards her, with his big dog-grin and his tongue hanging out. It looked just like Bucky. How could that be? And then he launched at her.
Jane shrieked.
Maggie went down on the dirt, her backside hit hard and her head bounced a little in the sand. The dog sat on her, snuffling and licking her, leapt off and went into round-and-rounds and back again. He charged off and grabbed a stick and brought it back, standing over her as she counted stars in front of her eyes.
Jane dropped to her knees out of the dog’s way. ‘Are you all right, Ellie?’
Maggie nodded at her, couldn’t speak just yet. She was sort of laughing. Sobbing too, but happily. ‘Bucky,’ she gasped, and scratched his neck. ‘My dear friend, how did you find me?’
She felt tears close. Would Nara and Wadgie have had time to come back from Renmark to check on her? She held Bucky off with one hand and wiped dirt and sand and twigs from her face with the other.
The dog dropped the stick on her chest, very pleased with himself. He nudged her a couple of times, shuffled back and forth and nudged her again. Then he spun around and, standing stiff and alert, gave two robust barks in the direction he’d come. He began to back up over her, barking again.
