The Good Woman of Renmark

by Darry Fraser

  She fell back on the bed, unsettled. She’d missed her chance with Sam. She knew it from the way he acted towards her. He was no longer interested.

  Best thing she could do was to just get on with it.

  Sam awoke, his hands still behind his head. Groaning, he brought his arms down to his side, shaking them to get the blood flowing. Jesus. Pins and needles. Nothing had disturbed his sleep and now his arms ached, and his hands stung as the blood clamoured painfully to his fingers.

  Pie snorted behind him, and the groaning and scuffing told him the horse had lain down for a time in the night and was now getting onto his feet. A moment later, he heard a blast of urine in a long stream soaking the hard ground.

  ‘Good morning to you, too,’ Sam said, and checked the sky to the east. Still only a faint glow. Sun up was a few minutes away, but the noises of the village awakening could be heard. All on deck at seven thirty, one of the lads had said. Like a bloody army regiment.

  Clambering out from under the thin blanket, he stretched and flexed his fingers. He needed to take a piss as well. Afterwards, he led Pie to the water for a drink and brought him back again to forage until Sam could grab his feedbag.

  While he waited for the village to stir, he kicked dirt over the campfire and stared at the boat, wondering if Maggie had slept well. She hadn’t looked at him when she said goodnight, and he’d caught Dane eyeing him as she left. When the door had clicked shut, leaving them on their own in the tight galley, Dane only inclined his head. ‘All I’ll say is that the women in this family, either born to it or married into it, are pretty damn strong in their opinions, and in their choices.’

  Sam knew what he meant, and to what he referred. ‘Well, Maggie made her choice and it wasn’t me.’

  Dane brows had shot up. ‘It was someone else?’

  ‘No. Well, I dunno. What I do know is that it was an idea she chose. No marriage, no kids, and she was going to go work for a living and make her fortune. Be independent, vote and all that.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Dane replied. ‘The modern woman.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sam agreed and no more was said for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and took a gamble. ‘I remember when we last met, you were interested in Pie, as a stud animal.’

  ‘I’m still interested.’

  ‘Well, after I get Maggie back home, I might take you up on that. Could stay for a while on your place, help get things going.’

  Dane nodded, had seemed to like the idea. ‘I still need to build stables, a few yards. There are only workman’s quarters at Jacaranda now. We’re not at full tilt yet.’

  ‘If there’s work to do, I can help,’ Sam told him.

  ‘What about Lorc, and Ard? Won’t they need your help?’

  Sam had shrugged, only thinking to get away from O’Rourke’s Run as quick as he could after he’d got Maggie back there. ‘For a while they will, until the old man’s back on his feet. I reckon what you’re all talking about—combining your enterprises—there might be work for me on both your places.’

  ‘True enough,’ Dane said. ‘We can keep the Sweet Georgie running between the two properties. I’m keeping a few sheep on Jacaranda, getting rid of the freight boats, and then there’s growing demand for Walers, good horses for the military. Seems there are rumbles that good stocks of Walers with the right attributes might be needed in the not-too-distant future.’

  Sam had heard it too, here and there. The world was unstable, and it seemed that deep economic depression was everywhere. He’d heard old men say that war was usually the next step to help reset the balance.

  Dane had continued. ‘Lorcan and Ard have got good land for fruit and vegetables and they can irrigate direct off the river. So we’ll all eat. But the bankers are still bastards, and so is the drought. We’ll need all the help we can get.’

  They’d decided to talk more on it once Lorcan’s situation became known. Much could change if a broken leg killed a man.

  Now, as dawn’s golden light glowed over the river, Sam was bowled off his haunches and knocked flat on his back by a hefty Bucky, who landed on his chest and breathed dog all over him. ‘Good morning to you too, you turncoat.’

  Bucky gave him a lick from chin to forehead. Sam pulled a face and shoved him off. He stood up, slapping off the dirt, and caught sight of Maggie emerging from her cabin.

  His heart thundered, his breath jagged. Shit, while he was sleeping, she’d crept back under his skin. Fooling yourself, lad. As if she ever left. He drew in warm early morning air and breathed again. Shit. When the time came there’d be nothing to do about it but run. Get away from being around her all day and seeing her at night at the family dinners. Knowing that when he’d wake every morning she would be no more than a hundred yards away, across a dirt block and sleeping in her ma and pa’s house, it would be too much.

  Maybe his time working for Dane was closer than Sam had thought. Maybe he’d go back home to his parents in Bendigo. Maybe he’d fly to the moon if he thought that he’d be free of thoughts of her. His Maggie. His girl.

  Let her go. Keep your distance. Let her go.

  Jesus, he still had to see her for days on end until they got back to Echuca. Couldn’t get out of that. Couldn’t leave her to her own devices, smart and tough as she was. He looked over at her again. Rubbed his face hard as if clearing away the sleep fog.

  It was time to start another day.

  Thirty-three

  Maggie had agreed to be back on the boat within half an hour so the Sweet Georgie could get underway on time. She’d told Dane that she had to see Jane, the woman who’d jumped in the river to escape Robert Boyd.

  Sam had already tied Pie on the boat. He said he’d go with her. When she’d begun to protest, he’d held up his hands and said that he’d only escort her there and back because he didn’t want any surprises from a madman leaping out of the bush.

  Bucky had not waited behind at the boat, either. He trotted along between them.

  ‘Nice new dress, Miss Maggie,’ Sam said walking beside her. ‘But sorta looks like Bucky slept on it overnight.’

  She swatted at flies. ‘Oh, and you know a lot about dresses and dogs.’

  Sam held up his hands. ‘Not me. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I did,’ she lied, short and curt. She wasn’t about to tell him anything of her restless night. Her stomach tingled. She lengthened her stride.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, mildly. He picked up a pebble and threw it. ‘Go fetch, Bucky.’ Bucky didn’t think so. Instead he raced off in the other direction, towards the houses. ‘Might not have the right touch,’ Sam said, staring after him.

  At the house, Vera answered her knock. ‘Miss Lorkin.’

  Maggie ducked her head. ‘My name’s Maggie O’Rourke, Mrs Olsen. I’m sorry—I’ll explain, but now I just want to see how Jane is. I’ll be leaving on my cousin’s boat this morning.’

  Vera glanced at Sam who tipped his hat, stood back and leaned against the hitching rail. ‘I’m just escorting Miss Maggie,’ he said. ‘Please give my regards to Mrs Thompson.’

  Maggie stepped inside leaving Vera in the doorway. Jane was sitting at the little table, cradling a pannikin.

  ‘Morning, Jane,’ Maggie said, and took a chair across from her, not waiting for nerves to send her running back out the door. Jane still might not take kindly to her.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘I hope you’re feeling better. I’m so sorry that man chased you.’

  Jane nodded, accepting. ‘I thought if I ran into the river, he wouldn’t follow.’

  ‘You were right. That was clever. He didn’t.’

  ‘It wasn’t clever. A little boy lost his life by drowning there not that long ago. I feel quite stupid that I went there deliberately.’ She sighed. ‘They didn’t catch him?’

  ‘No,’ Maggie said, and at Jane’s consternation, added, ‘He won’t come back here.’ She glanced at Vera who stood against the doorjamb with her arms across her chest, her pinafore dusty
with flour. There was a dark frown on her face. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’

  Jane looked at Maggie, bleary eyed. ‘Will you be all right?’

  Maggie’s bones ached. Her eyes felt scratchy with lack of sleep and tears not shed. Her chest felt heavy with something she couldn’t name. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Then I wish you well. That Mr Taylor seems a nice man.’

  ‘Uh, he, uh sends his regards,’ was all Maggie could manage, knowing Sam was just outside the door, probably able to hear everything.

  Remembering that she’d planned to make a payment as recompense to the village, she thought she might as well hand the money over now to Vera, and she could pass it on to the committee. Maggie reached under her chemise for her purse, looked at Jane and paused. A better idea came to her.

  She withdrew the purse and loosening the drawstrings, brought out three coins. ‘I thought to give this to the chairman here, for the village, as payment for my stay. Instead, I’d rather that you have it, Jane, to get you downriver on the next boat. To start your journey, to help set yourself up, like we talked about.’ Maggie knew her words were coming too fast, so she stopped.

  Jane looked at the coins laid out in front of her. She lifted her eyes to Maggie.

  ‘A gift, from me to you. I have family waiting for me. I’ll have work, I’ll be safe, I’ll have a roof over my head without having to look for it—or fight for it.’ Maggie glanced at Vera, who sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling. Shifting on her seat, she was a little uncomfortable under Jane’s stare. ‘It’s not me who needs to go before a court to state my case for divorce.’ She heard Vera suck in a breath. ‘I don’t need to find security, I already have it.’ She touched the coins. ‘I worked hard for this money, to do with it as I please. It’s mine to keep, to spend, or to give away.’

  Maggie pushed the coins across the table. She’d kept one pound six and six for herself. That was only sensible. She’d proven she could earn and save, so she could do it again. It was all part of paying her way. ‘I’d rather you have it.’

  Still Jane said nothing. Her gaze flicked from Maggie to the money on the table.

  Maggie tried again. ‘To thank you for looking after me. I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful. I thought only to protect myself. I didn’t want anyone to know where I was, or who I was. I thought I’d killed Robert Boyd with an iron rod, in Renmark—he was the man who chased you. I’d bashed him on the head. I thought that the police would come for me, and I’d be hanged, even though I was defending a friend. As it turns out, Boyd wasn’t chasing me, it seems he might have been chasing Mr Taylor, for his horse.’

  ‘Ironic,’ Jane said. She looked to Vera, who only lifted a shoulder. Then Jane flattened her hand over the three one-pound coins and slid them towards herself. ‘Thank you.’ She looked up briefly.

  In the moment’s silence, Maggie clasped her hands. ‘Where will you go?’

  Jane breathed deeply. ‘You thought Murray Bridge might be a good place. I might try my luck there.’ She glanced at Maggie again and gave her a wan smile. ‘Goodbye, Ellie.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Maggie.’

  Maggie reached over and tentatively squeezed her hand but withdrew quickly when Jane didn’t respond. ‘Goodbye and good luck. Thank you too, Mrs Olsen. Please pass along my thanks to the others. And to the Kelly gang. I thought they were especially brave.’

  ‘The buggers,’ Vera said, a mock frown on her face.

  Maggie stood up. ‘When the time comes, no matter where you are or what you’re doing, make sure you vote in the coming election. I don’t know if I’ll be in South Australia to do so myself. It’s important that you do,’ she said. ‘To uphold your rights, now you have them. You will, won’t you?’

  ‘I will vote,’ Jane said, and looked at Vera who nodded. ‘Having a voice, a say in how things are to be done, will help improve our lot, won’t it?’ Her eyes had lit up and she looked as if she had some hope again.

  ‘It will. It has to. I have to go now,’ Maggie said.

  Jane only nodded at her, still with her hand closed over the coins. Vera patted Maggie’s shoulder as she passed. ‘Goodbye, dear.’

  Outside, Bucky was waiting for Maggie with a large leather boot in his mouth, his golden-yellow eyes gleaming. She ruffled his head, ignored his gift and marched past Sam. Casting him a quick glance, she caught the thunderous look on his face.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She blinked in the sunshine.

  ‘You said that the bloke who chased Miss Jane—’ he took in a deep breath, ‘was the same bloke you clobbered in Renmark. Why didn’t you tell me that before now?’

  His fierce glare was anything but his usual laconic gaze. It made her nervous. She had no answer for him. Instead she said, ‘He’d … made a nuisance of himself at Olivewood, where I was working.’

  She lengthened her stride as she headed for the landing. Bucky trotted beside her, boot in mouth.

  Sam kept up with her. ‘Mrs Chaffey told me that he’d grabbed a woman, and that something … not delicate, or …’ He couldn’t seem to find the right words.

  Maggie felt her colour rising. ‘He’d come to the house. He’d known there was hardly anyone about, and he … made advances towards me, and Nara sort of coaxed him away from me. He grabbed her—’ Maggie swallowed, ‘—attacked her and I rushed him with an iron rod. Hit him so hard I thought I’d killed him.’

  Sam was in step with her and leaned across. She heard him clearly say, ‘I saw him at Renmark—the scum. He had the worst-looking black eyes I’ve ever seen, all the way down to here,’ Sam said, his teeth bared as he tapped his cheek bones, ‘and snot dribbling, bruises all over his head and neck. Mrs Chaffey had said he looked like a racc—’ He floundered for the word.

  ‘Raccoon,’ Maggie supplied. ‘Like our possum.’

  Sam made a fist and shook it in front of him. ‘I should’ve figured out it was him,’ he said, his voice a rasp. ‘If I’d have known then—’

  ‘What?’ Maggie asked. ‘If you’d have known then … what?’ She stopped.

  ‘I’da killed him myself.’ He didn’t look at her, just strode past her heading for the boat, his head down.

  Maggie tried to keep up. Bucky bounced along, boot and all. ‘You would not have, Sam Taylor.’

  He rounded on her, those hazel eyes now flashing glints of fire, the dark golden eyebrows low. ‘I know what I woulda done.’

  ‘Good timing.’ Dane met them at the gangway and waved them on board. ‘We’re all ready. Joe’s got her fired up and—’

  ‘I’m coming on board to get Pie,’ Sam said abruptly, and pushed ahead of Maggie. ‘I’ll ride back to Renmark.’ Pie was tied at the stern with his head in a nosebag.

  ‘What did you say?’ Maggie asked, running to catch up.

  ‘Wait.’ Dane blocked Sam from coming on board. ‘Why?’

  ‘That bloody mongrel not only chased down a woman here and forced her into the river,’ Sam said, stabbing a finger at the water, ‘he was the one who attacked Maggie and her friend back in Renmark. He’s not gonna get away with that.’ He tried to dodge around Dane. ‘I’m going after him.’

  Dane stood his ground, arms now folded. ‘If he’s gone bush, he’s already way ahead of you, and you’ve got no way of knowing which way he’s gone.’ His blue eyes, the match for her brother’s, darkened. ‘Your job is to get my cousin home. After that, you can do what you like.’

  Sam drew in a deep breath, stepped back and opened an arm towards Maggie, indicating that she should go on board ahead of him. Bucky dropped the boot on the sandy dirt and shot up the gangway in front of her, nimbly sidestepping Dane.

  Maggie looked back as Sam boarded. He was not happy, that was clear. He marched over to Pie, shoved his hands in his pockets and paced. Dane followed on board and pulled in the gangway as the boat got underway, a blast of its throaty whistle shrill in the still air.

  Thirty-four

  Angus put the ‘closed’ sign in the post office window. Too bad if anyon
e grumbled. No customers had been along for half an hour, and all telegrams for the day had been sent and logged. He would plead illness if anyone complained.

  His nerves were almost shot, anyway. Each time the door opened he’d expected to see his gormless brother swagger inside. Best thing Angus could do was to get back to Myra and see how she was coping with those two kids of hers. No doubt her hangover would be unpleasant—if she wasn’t still drunk.

  If Robert had come back and was home, Angus would have it out with him. It was one thing for the madman to go rollicking off into the bush on someone else’s horse—Angus didn’t need horse theft added to the list of crimes he believed were mounting; he’d tear shreds off his volatile brother for that—but the nastiest of it would be fronting Robert about Adeline’s hatpin.

  Angus had taken it from the tin under Robert and Myra’s bed and had secured it on the inside of his waistcoat. It made him feel close to Adeline. All day, it had seemed to hum against him while he’d worked. Now his heart pounded as if he was constantly on alert, constantly in a state of agitation.

  Adeline, Adeline, where are you? What’s he done to you?

  Angus would get to the bottom of it, but even if he couldn’t get it out of his brother, he’d leave him to Mr Reiners and the mercy of the damning photographs. Robert could rot in gaol.

  He headed outside, got on his bike and rode off to Robert’s house. As he cycled, he turned his thoughts to the things he might now have to take over. He wondered if the rent on Robert’s house was paid up—he’d always left that to Robert to attend; the man had to take some responsibility, but if he hadn’t … Dear God, would he have to share his place with Myra and the children? Horrible thought. Well, if he had to, there’d be some stern rules. He wouldn’t put up with any spoiled brat behaviour if they wanted to have a reasonable life.

  One had to be pragmatic; what to do with the shop? It would be best to close it, especially if Robert was in gaol. He’d have to sell the stock to pay off the niggling debts. There was another solution—fire. A right-roaring, raging fire. Always a terror in the bush. Always feared in the towns and the cities. Always a threat. Angus had thought of it before, but could never bring himself to do it. If he did things carefully, no one would suspect. The store had insurance, and a pay-out usually fixed the problem of debt. He glanced left and right on the dusty street as if people might have heard his thoughts, or seen them written on his face.