‘My cousin Sean,’ said Brandon.
Truby crossed his arms in front of his chest. His examination of Sean was slow, filled with the curiosity of a man delivered of an unexpected parcel. Brandon worried at how his cousin appeared, his clothes dirtied, blood-stained and smelling of smoke from the night’s events and his tiredness evident in the deep half-moons beneath his eyes. Eventually the dog yawned and whined simultaneously, the sunlight highlighting long whiskery hairs sprouting from a wet nose.
‘And what do you think about the animosity that exists between the Orange and the Green?’ said Mr Truby.
Next to him, Sean grew tense. There was the slightest movement of his fingers as he curled them into a ball.
‘We stay clear of all that,’ said Brandon.
Mr Truby selected three cards from the deck and, after studying the evenly spaced columns on the felt, placed the first card, a four of hearts, on top of a neat column ending with a five of clubs.
‘I was asking your cousin.’ He looked directly at Sean and it seemed to Brandon that there was a gleam in the squatter’s eyes, as if he’d gauged his cousin’s predisposition and was now trying to provoke him.
‘I think a person should stick by his beliefs,’ said Sean with little hesitation.
Brandon felt all hope of employment slip away. ‘We have four bullocks, can we hobble them and let them graze, Mr Truby?’
‘And what are your beliefs, Sean?’ said Mr Truby, ignoring Brandon’s question. ‘Are they the kind that can ruin a man’s prospects through ignorance?’
‘Are you saying I’m ignorant?’ countered Sean.
Brandon placed a restraining hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
‘I am simply asking a question.’ Mr Truby sat the playing cards on the table and leant back in the chair. His coat fell open, revealing a holstered pistol. ‘Some men wear their ill-discipline on their faces and carry their grudges like a tramp hauling his possessions on his back. So, let me tell you plainly, Sean. I have seen you and you have seen me. We have the cut of each other. I’ll have no trouble on my run.’
‘You asked us here,’ stated Sean.
‘And you might not be staying,’ said Mr Truby, adopting a milder tone. ‘Now, why don’t you go and tend your bullocks, while Brandon and I have a talk.’
Sean opened his mouth to protest but Brandon drew his cousin aside. ‘Go. Go,’ he entreated.
The Englishman returned his attention to the game and refused to draw his gaze from the table until Sean had departed with a muttering of indecipherable words. He placed a card on the table. ‘Sit, Brandon.’
There was no other chair available, so Brandon sat on the ground to Mr Truby’s right. With little food in his stomach since yesterday and a morning’s travelling behind him, he was happy to rest, although he felt like he was at school again, with an eccentric but well-meaning teacher by his side. The Englishman was rubbing a fingernail on the green felt and then flicking something free of it. The dog got up and lay back down next to Brandon.
‘Your cousin. What’s he like?’ asked Mr Truby.
‘Like me, I guess. But he means no disrespect and he’ll cause no trouble,’ Brandon was quick to reply.
‘No. No, he’s not like you.’ Mr Truby dealt out another three cards and considered them. ‘And I doubt even your good intentions could control him if it was required. I don’t want anyone here that might cause a problem. I wouldn’t like to think that I was employing someone who couldn’t be trusted.’
‘He can be trusted.’
‘Really? I saw it. The set of his mouth. The way he spoke and refused to meet my gaze. He’s very Irish,’ he concluded.
Brandon frowned at this. It seemed a strange thing to say. ‘So am I.’
‘Maybe.’ Mr Truby appeared unconvinced. ‘But do you hate the English?’
‘N-no,’ replied Brandon. He held a grudge against the English. How could he not? However this was Australia, where life might well deal out different hands to different people, but where there was every possibility for a man to rise up and better his place in society. A new world was no place for old hatreds. What was the point otherwise of hoping for a fresh beginning?
‘So you don’t hold us accountable for what happened to your people?’ said Mr Truby.
‘I—’
‘Perhaps that’s unfair. You see, some men like your cousin do hold us accountable. I’ve seen his type before. At heart, he is a dissenter. A person who refuses to submit to authority or to comply with any regulation. They argue for the sake of it and fight for the pleasure, which is rather a pity when there is so much to enjoy in Australia.’
‘I like it here, Mr Truby. I’m trying to build a new life.’
‘Good, because my niece agrees that you are a welcome addition. Apparently I was less stultifying after your initial visit.’
Brandon supposed that was a good thing.
‘You’ll cut my trees and learn to ride and maybe in time there will be a longer-term job for you here.’
It was what he wanted, he decided. To be on a large holding, to have the opportunity to learn something new, but he also had a difficulty, which, given Sean’s behaviour, he was reluctant to share with Mr Truby. But he knew he had to. ‘I have a problem.’
Mr Truby lifted his gaze from the cards.
‘My stepsister, Maggie. I had to bring her with us. She’s with Hetty.’
Mr Truby stared at the playing cards. His nostrils were flared. ‘She will have to return to the village. It’s not good for the men to have single women about. It makes them fractious.’
Brandon looked at Mr Truby and then at the ground. ‘Oh,’ he said quietly.
‘I see you are close to her,’ said Mr Truby.
‘She’s my stepsister, sir, younger than me, and I promised my father that—’
‘A deathbed promise? For they are the worst. It poses an ethical dilemma, for in the majority I would say it’s quite unlikely that many a promise can be fulfilled. The giver must live with deceit, and the dying loved one is sent to their maker under false pretences.’
‘It wasn’t like that, sir. Although the promise is just as binding,’ admitted Brandon.
‘And your earnestness suggests it would be painful not to fulfil the obligation.’ He locked his fingers together. ‘I’ll not have a girl walk to the village alone. You and your cousin will do a fortnight’s work. Cut as many trees as possible. Let’s call it a temporary reprieve. At the end of that time, your cousin can return the girl to the village.’
‘Yes, Mr Truby.’ Brandon thought about what he could say in Maggie’s defence, how she was young and entangled with Hackett’s son, but he had known of Mr Truby’s rules and telling him of her situation would only prove that the Englishman was right, that women did cause problems. And Maggie had history enough to confirm that.
‘Your stepsister can stay with Hetty. And tell her not to go walking about or to be over-friendly with anyone.’
‘Yes, Mr Truby,’ Brandon repeated, as he was dismissed with the wave of a hand. He felt as if he were once again in his father’s presence, waiting for instructions on how to proceed with living.
Brandon left the garden, anxious and perplexed by the situation he now found himself in. He’d finally gotten what he wanted – a permanent job – but not protection for Maggie or Sean. It was not the first time that a person had sized up Sean and formed an immediate dislike of him. That was a problem in itself. However, Sean aside, it seemed that at some point he would have to choose between Maggie and employment at Truby’s run. He knew the choice should be obvious, but it was not a decision that he could easily make.
Chapter 31
Brandon found Hetty and Maggie sitting on the edge of the sloping veranda. His stepsister had been coerced into helping Hetty wind wool, for she sat with her elbows on her knees, one corner of her mouth twitching in irritation as Hetty looped the yarn around Maggie’s outstretched hands. Next to them, the baby in the basket cried softly and Hett
y paused to pat the child’s stomach before resuming her task. Sean lay sprawled across the floorboards, an amused expression on his face as he watched Hetty’s little boy run up and down the length of the veranda. The child scrambled in front of Maggie and his mother before jumping over Sean’s spread-out legs, squealing when Sean growled in response.
In another place, at a far better time, the peaceful scene he approached might well have caused him to count his blessings.
‘What a picture you all make,’ said Brandon, standing before them.
‘Well?’ asked Sean, sitting up.
Brandon explained Mr Truby’s verdict. A slight tug of annoyance appeared on one of Hetty’s eyebrows when she learnt of her employer’s decision to briefly permit Maggie’s presence. In comparison, Maggie lost the surly turn to her lip and let out a little cry of delight when she heard she’d return to Wirra soon. She freed herself of the wool and passed it to Hetty, making a little curtsy.
‘Things won’t be the same as before,’ Brandon warned her. ‘You probably won’t have a job or anywhere to live, so don’t look so pleased with yourself.’
Maggie approached him, hands on her hips, and leant forward just a little. ‘You caused all this, Brandon, dragging me away in the first place, so if I don’t then you can use some of your precious savings to set me right until I can find lodgings and work or marry,’ she announced airily. ‘Whichever comes first. Because I will be marrying Niall.’
‘You will not,’ said Brandon, his annoyance rising at her defiance.
‘And who are you to be telling me what to do?’ Maggie moved closer to him.
His anger and frustration finally broke through. ‘I’m the person with the money you’ll be needing. And I forbid you to marry him!’ he yelled.
She pushed her lips tightly together, her face compressing. He stared hard at her, feeling the rage coursing through his blood, afraid of what was in him at that moment and what he might not be able to contain. He strode away from the cottage, hard and fast.
Sean caught up with him and put a hand on his shoulder to slow him. ‘Brandon, this place isn’t for me. We don’t have to stay here.’
Ahead, one of the stockmen was leading a horse to the stables, the outlines stark against the mid-afternoon sun. Brandon dropped his gaze to the ground, trying to restore his composure. The last part of what Sean said was true enough. They could leave Mr Truby’s run at any time and take their chances making a living in the forest or go on the road again, until they finally discovered a place where they could settle. But Brandon didn’t want that.
‘I like it here,’ he said simply.
‘Why, because he talks to you nicely?’
‘You don’t like him because he’s English and Protestant,’ said Brandon sharply. ‘How hard is it for you to keep quiet and be polite?’
‘He started the argument,’ said Sean.
‘You sound like a child,’ Brandon chided.
‘If I am, then it’s a child who recognises when he’s being played. You saw the way he looked at me. As if he saw straight through me.’
‘Maybe he did,’ said Brandon.
‘Meaning?’ A shadow crept across Sean’s face.
Brandon thought of his father’s words, that it was far better to have fifty enemies outside your home than one within. He loved Sean like a brother and, as with Maggie, their closeness had started at an early age, however his cousin’s behaviour was becoming dangerous. ‘We can’t risk anymore trouble, Sean. You understand that, don’t you? Things have been tough enough for us already.’
‘Which is why I don’t like the Englishman. I have a feeling about him. About us staying here,’ countered Sean.
‘And where do you suggest we go? Especially after your involvement in the attacks last night. This was your idea and it’s the safest place for us at the moment. And that’s why we’re here. Because of last night. Damn Maggie for getting mixed up with Hackett’s son and ruining everything. I told you Truby wouldn’t have her here, but I’d hoped that in time, once we’d proved ourselves, he’d allow her to stay on. There’s no chance of that now.’
‘There are other jobs. A man could cut palings or earn a shilling or more per hundred length of shingles. And there are more than a few landholders who think themselves above splitting logs and sheets of bark for a roof,’ said Sean.
‘Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve been saying? Besides, I like what Mr Truby is offering. A chance to stop moving and living in the woods. And I refuse to run anymore,’ he finished pointedly.
‘Fine. It’s a safe place here for the time being, I agree with that,’ Sean relented, ‘but what’s the point of trying to stop Maggie from being with Niall? Even if we decided to move on, she’d find a way to be with him. She’s stubborn. It runs in the family,’ he said, with a lift of his eyebrow.
‘It’s a sin what she did,’ said Brandon. ‘Having that boy in her bed.’ The image was seared into his brain.
‘But if he marries her?’ suggested Sean.
‘Marry that cretin?’
‘She’ll have a home and somebody to care for her, Brandon. And isn’t that what you promised your father?’ argued Sean.
Not like this, he thought sullenly. Not with the deed done before the wedding, to the son of a man he hated. On the veranda, Maggie waited. She couldn’t remain beyond a fortnight and Brandon didn’t want her to leave. During their months of separation, he’d thought of her constantly. There were still times when he resented her for the spark she’d lit in Macklin. For the burden of having made a promise to his father, Liam. He thought of them running from their home in Tipperary. He was sorry Mr Macklin was dead. For all he knew, Macklin may well have been the better man, for the one who might possibly replace him was not the sort he wanted for Maggie either.
Brandon wished he were in the forest smelling fresh-cut wood, not trying to decide what was best for his family. If he’d felled more trees, saved more money. If he’d been wealthy. However, he might just as well have been in Ireland, for the decision had been made for him. Maggie couldn’t stay. She had to go back. And no matter what he said or did, her heart was set on the Hackett boy. But if she married him . . .
He pushed in at his eyes, as if the pressure might help him think. ‘We have two weeks to try to come up with something so that we can all be together. Until then, we need to do what we’re told. And you need to lie low,’ he told Sean.
‘Why does he?’ asked Hetty. She had walked quietly towards them, and stood only a few feet away, Maggie close behind. ‘Were you involved in that trouble with the farmers?’ she asked Sean, grabbing her son’s collar as he rushed past.
Sean shrugged, as if the part he’d played was small and not of any significance.
‘We’re here now.’ Brandon changed the subject. ‘Let’s try to make the best of it.’
‘So you were involved. Pity I don’t get to pick and choose my company.’ Hetty sniffed.
‘What about me?’ said Maggie. ‘Have you weighed up my life yet, Brandon? Cut it into little pieces with your axe and reassembled it to your liking?’
Brandon took in his stepsister’s pout. ‘I’m trying to stop you from making a terrible mistake.’
Maggie burst out laughing and then just as quickly stopped. ‘I don’t need another father, Brandon.’
‘Really? You’ve just whored yourself with that boy,’ he countered.
‘Niall is more of a man than you’ll ever be,’ Maggie hissed.
He took her by the shoulders and shook. Hard enough for her teeth to clash and for him to immediately regret it. Maggie raised her head slowly, her gaze no longer unbreakable but teeming with hurt, as if the damage he’d done went far deeper than either of them had expected. A single large tear fell down her cheek. Brandon’s rage changed quickly to regret. He wrapped her in his arms, feeling the looseness of her body and the rhythmic thud of their shared anger. She continued to weep and he stroked her hair, conscious only of their closeness.
; ‘Maggie,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’d never hurt you.’
‘You just did,’ she replied, breaking free of his embrace.
Hetty studied him with renewed interest, as if she wasn’t quite convinced of what she’d just witnessed. ‘Nice to see such brotherly love,’ she announced. ‘What a pair you make. A tall handsome man and a middling girl. Pity you’re related.’
Brandon chose to ignore the pithy remark, but he noticed Sean had grown suddenly quiet, and that he too was concentrating on him.
‘The men’s quarters is a mile’s walk to the south.’ Hetty pointed to a long, low building situated against a backdrop of bushy, crowned trees. ‘Maggie, you’ll stay with me.’
‘Thank you, Hetty,’ said Brandon.
‘Don’t thank me. I’m reckoning you lot will cause more worry than you’re worth. But what would I know?’ Hetty picked up her squirming son, and left their family group without another word.
Brandon thought he was equipped with a fair brain. He knew his figures and could add up long columns of numbers if required and he was no stranger to reading, but search as he might he could find no answers that might mend the rift that currently existed between himself and Maggie. All he could do was try to make her understand.
‘Maggie,’ he called as she made to leave. ‘If you marry Hackett’s son you’ll end up living in the Big Scrub with a team of men who work all day and drink all night. I suspect you want something better than that. Don’t you? If you do, please don’t rush into anything.’
Maggie inclined her head to one side, like a suddenly attentive bird. ‘One day, you might ask yourself if I have a right to decide what’s good for me.’ She gave Sean a sympathetic look and then followed Hetty.
‘Brandon?’ said Sean. There was a warning tone in his voice.
‘What?’
‘You have to let Maggie go.’
‘She’s my stepsister.’ Brandon frowned, surprised by Sean’s comment.
His cousin started trudging through the grass towards the men’s quarters.
The Cedar Tree Page 20