by Darry Fraser
The pistons beat faster time. The Sweet Georgie’s whistle blasted, a hollow sound that echoed over the river. From the bank, the few men who’d returned from the fire hooted and waved goodbye. Sam saw Bert, who lifted his hat and shouted, ‘Goodbye, Miss Maggie’ though Sam wasn’t sure she’d heard him. She did see him though, and lifted her arm in a distracted wave.
The boat backed out into the wide expanse of water. As it chugged into forward gear, the paddles slapped on the water and it gained a little speed. For a hundred yards or so, it followed the curve of the bank then glided out into the middle.
Sam looked over his shoulder. The Renmark wharf looked like it was slowly receding, almost as if into part of another life. If he went to work for Dane, there might be a few more river runs in it, and maybe down this way. He leaned on the wall under the wheelhouse, watching Maggie clasp and unclasp her hands until finally she let them drop.
She hung her head. The dog hadn’t come.
Forty-five
Long, slanting rays of sunshine and the afternoon was drawing to dusk. There was maybe an hour in it. Sam knew Dane wanted to keep going, but he wouldn’t steam at night—lesson learned from Cap’n Strike. Sam looked back across their wake, and the Renmark wharf couldn’t be seen.
Maggie hadn’t left the deck. She’d pulled around an empty crate and propped it against the line of disused cabins, had sat down and not moved.
Sam kept up a steady flow of cut logs for Joe to feed into the boiler. Finished with that for a while, he stood in the wheelhouse with Dane, making small talk. With little else to do, he’d gone back down to the deck and found her there.
‘How far away would we be from Renmark already?’ she asked, looking over the water.
‘Not sure. Not far, maybe only a few miles.’
She nodded. ‘I should have tried harder to see Mrs Chaffey.’ ‘Could always write to her.’
Maggie sighed. ‘I was going to go on downriver, to Murray Bridge, you know.’
‘What’s there?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘I don’t know. That was part of the adventure.’
‘Downriver a-ways is said to be a bit wild and—’
‘Don’t lecture me,’ she said softly.
Sam gave a short laugh. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
Dane leaned out of the wheelhouse above. ‘Dog,’ he shouted and pointed to the riverbank.
Maggie leapt to her feet. ‘Bucky,’ she cried, part laugh, part sob, and joyful to Sam’s ears.
The galloping dog bounded along the water’s edge, leaping and dodging rocks and low bushes in his way, speeding along with the boat. And then two people appeared, running behind the dog, waving, calling out.
Maggie couldn’t make out the words, but she knew well enough who they were. ‘Nara and Wadgie from Olivewood,’ she breathed, turning to Sam. Then she waved her hands above her head. ‘Nara,’ she yelled.
Nara ran, her skirt clutched in one hand, and waving with the other. The man yelled something at Bucky, and looked to be urging him on.
‘Wadgie,’ Maggie yelled and waved some more. The man’s arm rose in a wave.
Then Bucky took a leap into the water.
Maggie shrieked. ‘Dane,’ she cried, jumping up and down, throwing her arm towards the dog.
‘I see him,’ Dane yelled and turned the boat towards him.
Bucky paddled out, strong and determined. Maggie slid to her knees at the edge of the boat. ‘Come on, Bucky,’ she urged, her worried gaze on him. ‘Come on, boy.’
Joe came up on deck, wiping his hands on a rag. ‘Ah, the wee beastie, Miss Maggie,’ he said, laughing.
‘My wee beastie,’ she said, hiccupping and sobbing. ‘Bucky,’ she called and waving an arm, beckoned the dog. ‘Come on, boy. Come on.’
Sam knelt beside her. ‘Come on, laddie,’ he beckoned the dog and as Bucky got close enough, he reached down and grabbed the scruff of his neck. Joe dropped to the deck and clamped a hand on the dog’s rump and together they hauled him on board.
Bucky thrust out of their hold and, legs scrambling for purchase, he aimed straight for Maggie. Bowling her over, he sat on her, all four limbs akimbo. She was laughing and crying under a forty-pound sodden dog, and grabbed him by the neck and shook him, equally delighted to see him.
Sam’s chest filled with a sharp breath, and his heart lifted. This was his Maggie. This was the Maggie he knew and loved.
The dog gave a huge shudder and water sprayed in heavy drops all over her. She squealed and shoved him off, laughing, gleeful. Then Bucky stepped over her, padded towards Pie and plopped on the deck close by. Joe, chuckling, went back below deck.
Sam got off his knees as the boat glided back towards the middle of the river. He looked up at Dane, who grinned at him. Maggie had stood up, dripping and was waving to the people on the bank.
‘Thank you, my friends, thank you,’ she yelled, still laughing and crying. They yelled something back. ‘What are they saying, Sam?’
‘That they’re going back. Nara still has a job.’
Then they were gone, retreating to the cover of the scrub. Maggie stood there a moment, then turned to look at him, happiness still on her face. ‘Maybe Bucky found them on the way to Olivewood.’
‘Maybe.’ He couldn’t help smiling at her. This was the Maggie he knew, alive with delight in all things good. This Maggie was the heart and the soul of his life, strong and determined to make her own way.
Maybe he’d risk it, just once more. Maybe. But not until after they were home.
Forty-six
Eleanor stood at the foot of Lorc’s bed, Ard was beside her, the baby nestled in the crook of his arm.
‘I told Pa all about her, told him I’d bring Toby directly when he wakes up from his sleep. He makes a racket, that brother of hers, his teeth still trying to come through. He might wake the dead with all the yellin’ he does.’
Eleanor took the sleeping infant from her son. ‘Go see to Linley and Toby, and your daughter and I will sit here a while with old Grandpa until she needs a feed.’
‘I’ll come back for her,’ Ard said and kissed his mother, ran a big finger over his daughter’s head and left.
Eleanor settled in the chair close to Lorc’s bed. She reached over and placed the baby close to her husband’s head, so that she perched near his shoulder. Asleep, she only made snuffling noises. The little head turned towards her grandfather’s ear, and she murmured and squeaked a little.
Eleanor sighed. She’d been repeating herself for days, hoping something would bring him round.
She tried again. ‘Four days old now, our little bairn, and still no name. Never heard of in our day, was it, Lorc? The wee babes had names as soon as they popped out.’
She held his hand on the bed, whispered a few words in Gaelic. ‘Ard, after Ardal the warrior. High valour, it means. He has that in spades, our lad.’ Then a little sadness crept into her voice and she patted his hand. ‘And the wee laddie we lost all those years ago. Ruairí, he was.’ He was never forgotten, her stillborn, and grief bloomed for a moment. ‘I never knew I’d risk losing my heart and soul again like I did, like we did, after him.’ She brightened. ‘And then along came your little tempest, Mairead. Not really like a pearl as her name means, but she’s our pearl, isn’t she?’
Eleanor stopped then. Her chest filled with a ball of emotion that threatened to bob right into her throat. She held her breath tight and waited until the tears backed down. She let it go slowly, carefully, and the solid pain inside eased.
‘And our pearl has a right lad in that Sam, hasn’t she? Though she probably doesn’t know it. Or,’ she said, and laughed, ‘is denying it.’ She stroked the big hand, tracing the bent bones of his fingers that had been broken over the years. ‘Samuel. When I asked, Mrs Epstein in the town said it means “asked of God”. Can’t imagine that of Sam, can you? Asked of God—he’d joke around too much.’ She bent her head. But I hope he’s been sent by God and finds our daughter.
She rubbed the tiny baby’s back. ‘And this wee one. Wonder why they haven’t given her a name, yet, Lorc? Linley’s fine, she’s up and about. She’s already doing some chores again. Surely they’ve had time to decide on a name.’ Running a finger gently over the infant’s hair, she smiled. ‘Almost the exact same look as our girl, Lorc. The black, black head of hair, the sweet face. I wonder if she’ll have a sweet temper, or will she be like your little tempest?’
The baby mewled again.
Lorcan made a sound in his throat, clearing it, swallowing. ‘And where is my little tempest?’ he asked, his voice croaky. One eye opened and closed again.
Eleanor thought her heart would stop. Relief flooded her eyes. She edged forwards, holding the baby firmly with one hand. She gripped her husband’s hand with her other and told a lie. ‘Oh, she’s not far away, Lorc. She’s comin’,’ she said, hoping the wobble in her voice wouldn’t be noticed. ‘And she’ll be a right little tempest if you’re not awake when she arrives.’
He grunted as if that would indeed be so. He mumbled something else and drifted away again. His hand in hers relaxed. The doctor had said it would be a slow surfacing if he was going to come ’round, and that these sorts of signs might be the start of it.
Eleanor sat, staring at his face. His lined, whiskery face, now pale after being out of the sun for weeks. The face of a man she’d loved for more years than anything else. She hoped the thought of Maggie being close by would help. But they’d heard nothing from Sam. Conflicting emotions tore through her. Her daughter was still missing; her husband was coming out of his coma. She wouldn’t risk telling him that Maggie was lost and hadn’t been found, but risked his grief if he woke and Maggie wasn’t safely back at home.
The baby girl made noises, her little mouth working. Lorc tilted his head towards her a little, as if to hear. Eleanor pushed down her fear. ‘I’ll take the wee one back to her mother for a feed before she starts up her squallin’ and brings down the house. I’ll be right back, my darlin’,’ she said and patted his arm.
Gathering up the baby, she took another look at her husband. She knew Linley had just made some bread. It would be warm and fragrant. She’d grab a pot of apricot jam to bring back with it. Food always worked on Lorcan O’Rourke.
Forty-seven
Three full days from Renmark and the Mildura wharf came into view. ‘We’re late,’ Dane said as he swung the wheel. ‘Naught to be done about it but I think we’ll be met kindly by the merchants,’ he said to Maggie. ‘Ranald Finn and Johnny Bentley had many friends on the river. So did the Goodnight.’
Apart from docking at Wentworth for more freight, they’d only made one other stop to barter for an extra load of wood to see them through. At times, the snaggers had held them up, but Dane had said naught to do about that either; they were essential on the river, dragging fallen trees out of the water, clearing the way.
Joe had fished. ‘Murray cod, miss,’ he’d shout and show her a big fish. Maggie had cooked Murray cod after Murray cod. So much of it that she was heartily sick of it. The men of course had wolfed it down with every meal. There were hardly any leftovers for Bucky so she cooked up a concoction of scraps—fish guts and the remainder of the corned beef, too chewy to eat. He also had the pleasure of oatmeal biscuits when there wasn’t a lot else left for him. He didn’t seem to mind at all.
Sam had kept his distance. When he wasn’t working with Joe below or with Dane in the wheelhouse, he fished and fished. Bucky would sit with him patiently, watching any movement in the water, waiting for the next big catch.
When Maggie wasn’t in the galley, she took to her cabin, sitting with a crate in the doorway, propping it open so she could gaze out over the river. She loved this river, loved its winding, tight bends in places, loved its broad reach in others, and the straggly gums that towered over it in long stretches. Loved the peace of the river as they steamed along. Here, she sat and sometimes dozed. She could forget that men had died around her. Forget that her hearing still wasn’t the best. Forget that her wayward thinking and her urges had embarrassed her. Forget that she’d once had dreams to make her own way in the world.
She couldn’t just let those dreams disappear completely. When her head was clearer, she would refine those dreams and forge ahead again. She only needed to rest up, and stop being so hard on herself. Her pa had often told her that. ‘Ye can’t find perfection, Maggie, me darlin’. It doesn’t exist,’ he’d say. She had no doubt he would be all right. It took more than a broken bone to finish him off and though that thinking was more wishful than not, she knew she’d somehow feel it if he was gone. She believed she’d feel her mother’s anguish if her father lost his life.
Anguish. Going over what had been said between her and Sam only made the hollow inside her feel deeper. That he kept away from her was sensible, reasonable in the current circumstances. Yes, yes, it was, but it’s just awful being angry, and it makes my heart ache. She did feel a finality to it though, and that made things worse. It was as if he was determined to keep things at arm’s length, and she was powerless to do anything about it.
How would they get along when Dane put them onto Mr Strike’s boat at Swan Hill, to take them back to Echuca? Goodness. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Breathless for a start, and not happily.
Dane said there would be a little time for her to meet his wife Georgina, and the three children, before she and Sam—and Pie and Bucky—would need to leave on the Lady Mitchell. At least Maggie had that to look forward to. It might help take her mind off Sam Taylor before they left for home.
She had no clue what ‘home’ in Echuca would look like, except that home was always where her parents and her brother were. She’d be happy to meet Linley again after all these years, and there would be their new baby, who must have arrived by now. Oh, she so hoped that had gone all right. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to Ard and Linley’s baby. Or to Linley. Toby would be there too, of course. And Sam. When had Sam not been there? He and Ard had been friends forever. She blew out a breath. It would be hard. Harder than hard.
The boat slowed. She heard Joe shouting at someone on the Mildura wharf to catch the mooring rope. Dane glided his vessel alongside the landing and let the engine idle. Once again, it would be a short stop. This time, a little freight would be picked up for his own use on Jacaranda.
Maggie watched Sam walk Pie off the boat, mount and ride away. Was he just exercising the horse? He hadn’t said otherwise … Her heart missed a beat—had he gone for good without saying anything to her? No, no, he’d promised to return her to Echuca.
Joe had gone to the store with a list of provisions for the next three days or so to Swan Hill. Dane had disembarked to check in and out again with the wharf master, and to load his own freight that waited on the dock. Bucky, ordered to stay on board, had looked desperate to get off the boat and run. For once, he did as he was told. It was very strange to be alone on the boat. A creeping agitation unnerved Maggie and fear fluttered in her gut.
Nothing to worry about. The boat’s engine was closed down. It was quiet. She placed a hand on her stomach and took a couple of deep breaths. Deliberately, she gazed out over the river, then found somewhere to sit in the shade of the deck and waited. Nothing to worry about. Nothing.
By the time Sam returned she was in her more usual spirits. She huffed. He was very good at not being distracted by her when it suited him, it seemed. Dismounting, he led Pie aboard, made a fuss of Bucky, then took the horse to his station and unsaddled him—without so much as a glance. When Joe appeared wheeling a barrow of goods from the store, Sam helped him unload, and took the stock to the little galley while Joe returned the barrow.
‘Our vittles, Miss Maggie,’ Sam said cheerily, and dumped a bag of flour under the bench. He didn’t look at her as he brought in the rest of the stuff. She couldn’t care less what it was, she’d get to it later.
Then on board came a hind of beef over his shoulder. ‘I’ll hang this out of
you-know-who’s way.’ He manhandled it lengthways to two hooks that hung in the shaded deck area and covered it with hessian bags, well out of Bucky’s reach.
‘Sam, I—’
‘I’m looking forward to dinner tonight.’ He pointed at the carcass. ‘And breakfast tomorrow. Freshest eggs in that lot in the galley,’ he said, a jaunty grin on his face. ‘I’m back to work.’ Then he was gone, not waiting for a reaction from her.
She huffed a little more. Fidgeted as she stood staring at the provisions. Her chin puckered. That would not do. Bloody man. She planted hands on her hips, set her jaw, then got to sorting the stores in the galley.
No more than an hour or so later, Joe, back on board and after stacking wood with Sam, had fired up the engine. Dane took the wheel, and the Sweet Georgie edged away from Mildura. They were bound for a place to tie up for the night before they went on to Swan Hill.
Bucky sat all afternoon under the beef hanging high above him.
Maggie’s appetite seemed to be on the wane, but nothing seemed to stop Sam’s, or the appetites of the other men. At Joe’s request, dinner was a pack of fresh sausages—not Sam’s beef—fried crispy on the outside and firm on the inside, with a dozen eggs sizzling in the fat, and mashed potato served as a side. Gravy made with meat juices and flour was doused over three of the four plates.
Maggie was serving, but Sam had helped himself before she could smack anything onto his plate. For herself she only had an egg and a little potato. Today, not even cooking had managed to keep her mood up for long. Besides, this type of cooking wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind for her grand plan. Oh, pfft. That plan seemed to be receding into the dim past again. How would she ever manage it? Frustrated and annoyed, she glowered at the men, who didn’t notice. Too cramped in the galley for everyone to eat there, they were all on the deck.
‘Well, lads and lady,’ Dane said, as he stood up and stretched. ‘We’re not far off Mallee Cliffs, so we’ll make an early start tomorrow, first light. I’m off to my bunk. Thank you for dinner, Cousin Maggie.’
