Stone Country

by Nicole Alexander

  ‘Connor, I think you’d better stop talking before you and I have a serious misunderstanding.’

  ‘Och, aye, it will be a serious misunderstanding, all right, if you dinnae come to your senses.’

  ‘It will be more than that if you don’t watch yourself, mate,’ said Ross firmly. ‘Because you’ll be out of a job.’

  The ultimatum took the wind out of Connor. He rested the rifle at the midpoint of his shoulder, letting the stillness open up between them. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ross. ‘Tomorrow you’ll leave for Darwin. I want you to investigate somewhere suitable for the abattoir and start arranging the construction of it, as well as buyers for Waybell’s beef. I have a letter to be mailed to my grandmother and two telegrams to be sent. One is for my father requesting funds for the improvements. The other is to Marcus Holder. I trust you to handle these affairs for me, Connor. Can I rely on you?’

  ‘Aye.’ Connor shifted the rifle a little. ‘Aye, I’ll do as you ask. But I worry about what you might be getting yourself entangled in. You’ve knots in you, Ross, and for the life of me I dinnae know how to slice them out without ruining the board. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  Chapter 27

  Ross stepped out the dimensions of the planned extra room, using the activity as a distraction to whittle away at his anger with Connor. ‘Big enough, do you think?’ he asked.

  Maria silently observed his careful measurements from where she sat cross-legged, resting against the rear wall of the house. She was a plucking a magpie goose for their evening meal.

  ‘It’s for you,’ he persevered. ‘Your own room.’

  Maria turned the bird in her lap, its long neck hanging slackly, and resumed removing the feathers.

  ‘It won’t be ready for a while. We need a carpenter first but while we’re away doing the round-up, with luck Sowden will have found someone for the job.’

  With her head bowed, Maria’s fingers moved nimbly across the bird’s body.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  She finally spoke. ‘It’s different now.’

  ‘Different?’ Ross asked. ‘Nothing’s different.’

  ‘The wet is over.’ She brushed her palms together to clean them. ‘The men are back. I see them look at me, as you look at me, but there is a difference, for they know I shouldn’t be here.’

  Ross squatted beside her. He’d been patient, trying to reassure Maria of the rightness of their relationship by not pressing her for more than she was willing to give. He’d not tried to share her bed since the night she’d fallen asleep, for he had other plans afoot and the mustering camps featured in them prominently. He intended on having Maria accompany him on the muster, for it was not unheard of for women to do so, and once they were away from the homestead, and with Connor in Darwin, there would be ample opportunity to strengthen what lay between them. ‘You belong here. We decided on that.’

  ‘You decided on it,’ she corrected, folding the goose in a piece of wet cloth. ‘I have to start cooking.’

  Ross gripped her arm as she rose to leave. ‘Don’t you want to be here?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked. She touched his hand, tracing a vein that ran twisting and rounded, her fingers sticky. He looked at her and kept on looking. With that simple touch, he felt like tossing his hat into the air or lifting her skywards.

  She stepped away. ‘I saw you drink the rum after the mail came,’ she confessed. ‘I know you have troubles with your family. I understand.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with us,’ said Ross. ‘This is ridiculous. In two days we leave for the muster and I want you to come with me.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m bound to Holder,’ said Maria. ‘I shouldn’t have let things get so far between us, Ross. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry, but I need you to listen – I am bound to Mr Holder and nothing and no one can change that.’

  ‘The girl’s right.’ Connor had appeared and was leaning against the chicken wire, his weight bulging the mesh to one side. ‘You better ask Holder what he thinks of your arrangements before you get too carried away, Ross.’

  ‘Holder? He can find himself another maid,’ said Ross.

  Connor looked at Maria. ‘You should have told him the truth, lass.’

  Maria adjusted the goose in her arms and didn’t say anything.

  ‘She’s promised to him. Has been for over a year, according to Eustace.’ Connor’s voice took on a solemn tone. ‘And I figure that a man who pays good money for a wife won’t take lightly to having another man stealing his bride.’

  A gust of wind scattered the goose feathers. They rolled across the ground. Ross felt numb.

  ‘It must be true, Ross. What advantage is there for Eustace to lie about it?’ continued Connor. ‘He also said that Holder’s not an understanding man and that he was surprised he’d not already come for her.’

  Ross waited for Maria to refute Connor’s claims. She shrugged, lifting her eyebrows in a slightly dismissive way, as if none of this was her fault, and he knew then that Connor was right. But he still couldn’t accept it.

  ‘Even if it is true, it’s up to Maria to decide if she wants to stay here.’

  ‘Are you even listening to the words coming out of your mouth, Ross? She belongs to him. He paid for her.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You make it sound as if she was sold.’

  ‘She was.’

  Ross flinched. ‘How is that possible?’ He again waited for Maria to reply, but her expression was unchanged. ‘Slavery’s been abolished.’ The term soured his tongue. ‘If Holder’s paid for her then he’ll be out of pocket. I’d hardly let Maria go to such a cretin and I’m surprised you’d even consider it, Connor, you being such a man of honour. You’ll be ready to leave with me, Maria, when we head out. No arguments.’

  ‘Let her go, Ross.’ Taking him by the arm, Connor steered Ross away from where Maria could hear. ‘For heaven’s sake you’ve been following the girl around like some lovesick boy for weeks. God knows the boredom of the last months would strike a man silly and I can’t disagree she’s a beauty. But it must end now. You’re making a fool of yourself and it’s not fair on her.’

  ‘It would be best if you stayed out of this, Connor,’ said Ross tersely.

  ‘By the saints, look at her,’ Connor persisted. ‘Take a good look. Apart from the fact that she must be only seventeen or eighteen years of age, she’s a half-caste with enough mixed blood to put her on the far side of white. The very far side.’

  At that, Ross punched Connor in the face, the force of the blow driving the Scotsman backwards. He fell heavily, tearing the chicken wire from its nails and slipping down the sagging mesh to land on the ground.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Connor scrambled to his feet, rubbing his jaw, and the two men faced each other. ‘Have you become so obsessed that you won’t even listen to reason?’

  ‘Reason?!’ yelled Ross. ‘This from the man who claimed to be my friend and then went behind my back?’ Maria was still watching them. Ross would have liked to hit Connor again but instead forced himself to calm down, afraid of scaring her.

  ‘Ross, dinnae do this.’

  ‘This is none of your business,’ said Ross.

  ‘Have you forgotten? You’re already married. Did you hear that, lass? He’s married.’

  He couldn’t help himself. Ross swung at Connor again, striking the Scotsman twice.

  Connor straightened up. Blood poured from his nose. There was a cut above his eye. He struck back, and Ross fell to the ground.

  ‘What is the matter with you? You have everything. A grand family. A pretty Sassenach willing to stand by your side. A name to be proud of. I dinnae understand. Why must you fight everything and everyone, including your own destiny? You’re a Grant. The descendant of a line that reaches back to the old country and beyond. You might not like me or your own blood-kin, and we mightn’t always like you, but we’re all on the same si
de, boy.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ said Ross. He glanced back over to Maria in time to see her running away, disappearing into the trees.

  ‘There is no honour in this,’ spat Connor. ‘In any of it.’

  Chapter 28

  Ross wondered where Maria could have gone. It was no time to be hiding out in the timber with the sun soon to set. He called to her again, imagining her crouching behind a tree screened by dense leaves, or doubling back to sneak unnoticed into the kitchen. There weren’t many places to disappear around here, unless a person chose to step beyond the ring of trees into the woody heart-land, and even then, they would need to be aware of where they were going and to keep their wits about them in order to stay alive.

  He moved around the property carefully, slowly. Stopping to listen for any sounds, judging the minutes it would take to walk from one building to the next. Leaving Maria alone, giving her time to compose herself, was an option Ross only briefly considered. He refused to jeopardise their relationship by allowing her to wallow in the revelation that he was not a free man. And what was freedom anyway, except the ability to do as one wanted? Here on Waybell Station, where land was limitless and the only boundaries were the ones constructed by nature or men, independence reigned so totally that the restrictions of his old life appeared antiquated in comparison. Societal ranking, the allocation of tasks and the seasonal changes by which everything was measured formed the days and months, but there was no authority holding a person to account. Except for Connor. It was as Ross always imagined. The Northern Territory was a new world and Waybell Station his domain.

  He finally came across her sitting behind the stables. She was staring sullenly up at the stone escarpment, the smell of manure, horse hair and grease settling around her. The girl seemed wrapped in a placenta of anger.

  Ross sat down next to Maria, relieved at having finally found her but also annoyed that she’d hidden from him. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you about my wife.’

  ‘Yes, you should have.’

  ‘And you should have told me about this arrangement with Marcus Holder,’ said Ross. ‘A person can’t buy another person. If that’s the hold the man has over you then you should know that it’s wrong. Illegal and wrong.’

  ‘And your wife?’ replied Maria. ‘This woman you never mentioned? I suppose that’s different?’

  ‘Yes. Totally. It was wrong I ever married her,’ said Ross. ‘Let me explain to you how it happened. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want her.’

  ‘And yet you’re married.’

  ‘Maria, please.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how it happened. You still belong to your woman as I belong to Mr Holder. It can’t be changed. None of it can.’

  ‘Anything can be changed, Maria. It’ll just take time to work things out,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve told Connor to send a telegram to Holder telling him that whatever tied the two of you together no longer stands.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference. The wet season is over. Mr Holder will come for me and, even if he didn’t, you’d still be married.’

  ‘But she’s not here,’ said Ross. ‘Darcey isn’t here.’

  Maria looked up at the cliff as if an answer could be found within its fractured surface. ‘She doesn’t have to be. She’s your wife on paper.’

  Ross felt the girl’s anger gradually become his own. It transformed the air around them until it became fraught and tight with the electricity of a coming storm. How could she be so righteous when her own secret remained unshared? Why would she care so much about Darcey when she lived hundreds of miles away and he never intended to see her again?

  ‘You want me to be with you, even though you’re married, and I’m bound to another? Would your wife agree to such a thing if she were me?’ Maria continued. ‘Or is it because I’m not a white woman that you believe a girl like me wouldn’t care about your circumstances? That I should be grateful?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ His denial of what she insinuated was swift, however Ross couldn’t be sure that some truth didn’t lie at the heart of what she was implying. ‘I’m sorry, Maria, I would never hurt you.’

  ‘You just did.’

  He took her hand in his, holding her until the outline of the cliff darkened and merged with the night. ‘You will come on the muster?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll come.’ There was sadness in her reply.

  Chapter 29

  The gelding was black, a scrag of a horse brokered by Mick in exchange for tobacco from a pan-shackled miner. The Rum Jungle mine site to the northeast was so hollowed out by digging that Mick reckoned the hills in the area could topple at any time and the horse was the only treasure left there. Ross wasn’t so sure. The animal trotted when it should have been cantering and galloped when it should have been walking. The consensus was the gelding had contracted walkabout disease at some stage and with death or madness the predictable outcome, the horse’s survival deserved respect. Getting acquainted with each other took some doing, and they were only just coming to an understanding. It was six weeks since their leaving, for the muster had coincided with the gifting of the horse.

  They were in the mid-north of the property, working in a set of yards that had required a week’s worth of repairs before cattle could be mustered in, the younger animals branded and the older ones drafted off for sale.

  Ross sat on the rangy gelding thirty feet from the yarded mob, gripping a stiff green-hide rope. He plied the cord between his fingers as he waited to rope another calf, thinking of the wasted nights in the camps. It should have been possible to enjoy the simple pleasure of Maria’s company at mealtimes or when they rode through the bush together, but it wasn’t, not when she was so clearly still upset with him. She refused to talk to him about his marriage, or about Holder and the question of slavery that the exchange of money signified, keeping instead to the mundane occurrences of camp life.

  The cattle pushed back towards the rear of the yards, stamping the dirt, their heads quivering. The horse quickened to a trot and, lifting out of the saddle, Ross leant forward in the stirrups, the rope twirling above his head. Flinging out his right arm the hemp unfurled, the lasso landing around the neck of a large bull calf. Ross jerked on the hide as the gelding began to draw the animal out of the herd. Instantly, the bull kicked and snorted, pulling against the rope, moving from side to side. The horse staggered under the weight before regaining momentum. Ross concentrated on his mount’s deliberate progress, and on the bull that strained against the tight leather around its neck. He yanked the animal closer to the upright post and railings of the branding ramp and the waiting men. Angling off to one side, Ross tugged on the greenhide rope until it rubbed against the post, taking up the tension.

  Toby and JJ rushed forward. They pushed at the animal’s rump and as it took a step forward they managed to get leg ropes around it, then Eustace and another ringer threw themselves at the beast, bringing it to the ground until it lay on its side.

  ‘Be quick about it!’ Eustace yelled, struggling to hold the young bull’s head on the ground.

  Ross backed his horse up and the rope tightened. The bull snorted and puffed.

  JJ positioned the brand on the animal’s rump. There was a brief smell of burning hair as he left the iron on just long enough for the Waybell W to leave a distinctive mark of ownership. Suddenly Ross’s horse jerked and the young bull struggled. The hot iron slipped down onto Parker’s hand as he was finishing castrating the animal and he called out in pain.

  Ross rode forward to lessen the tension, and the lasso and leg ropes were removed simultaneously. As the men stepped clear, the neutered bull gave chase. Ross cantered across the yard, positioning the gelding between the calf and Parker. The animal veered away and the horse abruptly changed direction and then stopped. Ross felt something solid hit his leg and he was flung sideways, hitting the upright post of the branding ramp. The newly made steer ran back to the herd.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Eustace.

&
nbsp; Ross clutched at his side as he dismounted. ‘Just winded me.’

  ‘At least you can stick a saddle,’ replied Eustace, with a grin.

  ‘A man can be killed if he’s not on the ball,’ said Parker to JJ, his voice strained. He poured water onto the burn on his hand. ‘You never brand and castrate at the same time. Never.’ He spat on the ground.

  ‘Not my fault,’ answered JJ. ‘Boss give too much slack too quick.’

  Parker’s left hand was red and blistered.

  ‘Blame Mick and this nag he gifted me,’ said Ross gruffly, discounting his part in the incident.

  Parker gave a single tug to his ear. ‘He’s not your typical Bronco type. Reckon Mick knows his horse-flesh though.’

  They were losing the light. The sun was already low in the west, obscured by the timber fringing the grassland. JJ put out the branding fire, and rested the iron on the top of a fence post to cool. With difficulty, Ross placed a foot in the stirrup and managed to get up in the saddle. While his leg ached from the accident there was something not quite right with his breathing. He clutched at his side, doubting the tobacco Mick received for the trade merited the horse he now owned.

  Above the trees a thin line of smoke indicated where their camp lay, situated a mile away near a muddy waterhole. For the past two weeks they’d spent the nights listening to the mobs of cattle thrashing through the scrub towards the water for a drink before they were finally mustered in. Ross rode across to where Parker waited for some of the other men. ‘How’s the hand?’

  ‘Not too bad, Boss. I’ll put some rendered beef fat on it. Won’t slow me down.’

  ‘Good. Is there any fresher water around here?’ Although they sieved the sludge from the waterhole before boiling it and skimming the surface, it tasted very ordinary even with extra tea added.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ replied Parker. ‘You can check with Mick but he’s not likely to say anything. I came across a nice little hole a few years back but could never find it again. The blackfellas like to have a bit up their sleeve. They don’t want us whiteys or our cattle fouling up every spot.’