by Vicky Adin
At the top of the Bombays, Elias dismounted and loosened the girth. The view was stunning, stretching all the way back to Auckland, and in the far distance, he could make out the hazy shape of Rangitoto Island in the gulf.
He breathed in the air, smelling of the newly turned soil from the market garden harvests, the fresh fragrance of the karapapa with its clusters of red berries hiding somewhere in the undergrowth, and the flowers of cabbage trees standing tall and alone. Taking the food from his saddlebags, he sat on the ground and a feeling of peace dropped over him.
He and Hugh had travelled this road with the wagon when supplying goods to the Franklin area, but they’d never stopped. He’d always pushed to keep going to the pub at Tuakau for the night. Elias found traipsing around the small towns and villages plying their wares, selling a little bit here and there and drumming up new business, tedious in the extreme. He’d not been down this way since Hugh’s last trip, which was one of the reasons the business wasn’t doing so well.
Taking a bite from the fresh-made bread and breaking off a piece of cheese, Elias watched the stream of passing traffic – people walking, several riders, a few cyclists and an assortment of wagons, coaches and drays travelling at various speeds. He waved to a few as they passed, but he’d never made friends with any of the carters. In fact, he had no one he could truly call a friend. He had drinking mates, and he had Woody – the only person who knew his secret – but no close friends.
From the beginning, Elias had found settling into a new country more of a challenge than the girls. Aged eighteen when the family had arrived, and still angry with his mother for marrying George less than a year earlier, Elias had resented working for his stepfather. Even though, he now admitted – at least, to himself – George had been a reasonable man who could have taught him a lot more if only Elias had listened. George had been a good confectioner and a genial businessman who nurtured his clients. Something Elias had not mastered, which served to increase his hostility and ensured people kept their distance.
His bad feelings extended beyond Bethan and George to include his younger sisters, who fell in love with the sunshine and lifestyle and soon made friends among the ladies’ groups and church community when Elias couldn’t. Even Gwenna and Sam had their schoolfriends, but his lot was working in an adult world, trapped halfway between boy and man. His isolation grew when Charlie was born. He took it as an insult, but Alice had made him see it wasn’t Charlie’s fault.
All his brooding of late was getting on his nerves. The one thing he wanted from life was to be like his father, but when boiled down, there were so many things he couldn’t remember about his father. His memories were blurred and damaged. His image of his father was near perfect, but Bethan often said George was the better sweet maker and businessman. Now Elias didn’t know what he wanted – except he didn’t want to be a confectioner.
“Elias. Is that you?” A voice called from behind.
He scrambled to his feet and turned around to greet Joe Miller. “Hello, Joe. Good to see you again. What’s the latest?” Admiring the two beautifully matched dray horses pulling the delivery cart, Elias stood by their heads and stroked them.
“There’s been an accident along Razorback and they need extra hands,” explained Joe. “I’m on my way back to Auckland with this load so couldn’t stop.”
Elias felt an invisible finger creep down his spine. “I was just heading that way. What happened?”
“Two delivery vans passing each other on that tricky corner. You know the one. One went over,” Joe said. “It’s not looking good. I’ll send the doc with his cart.”
Elias knew it had to be the same corner Fred had talked about last night. “Righto, Joe. I’ll get a move on and see what I can do.”
The men parted company, promising to catch up at the King’s Arms next week. Elias had stuffed his things in the saddlebags, tightened the girth, mounted and headed south before Joe’s wagon was out of sight.
In a hurry now, he kicked his horse into a canter and, not long after, arrived at the scene where a delivery wagon, a private carriage and two riderless horses stood.
Elias dismounted and ran towards the men. “I was told you need extra hands. What’s happened?”
“Don’t know for sure,” said the first man. “I arrived after it happened, but I’m told a downhill vehicle collided with an uphill vehicle on the bend.”
The second man said, “The driver going down said the man swerved to avoid him on the corner and the wheels went over. They’re down there somewhere,” he gestured. “The whole lot – horse, wagon and driver.”
“What can I do?”
“Ask the fella standing over there.” He nodded to a well-dressed man peering into the gully.
In a few strides, Elias covered the distance to stand beside the man, whom he suspected belonged to the private carriage. Elias could see broken branches and crushed greenery swept aside in a swathe, and the rear end of a delivery wagon which, miraculously, was still upright.
“Who needs a hand?” he asked.
The deep ruts in the road Fred had told him about were clearly visible, and dangerous. Less visible, and with fresh tracks over the top, were the lines of wheels going over the verge – just as Fred had described. Whether the first cart had gone down the bank or just skidded over the edge, Elias couldn’t decide. Movement off to one side attracted his eye.
“The man down there said he’d need a hand to get the driver up,” replied the smartly dressed man, pointing.
Adrenalin pumping, Elias pulled his jacket off and began to edge his way down the steep bank, careful to test foot- and handholds as he went. Once he was level with the vehicle, the ground evened out and was nowhere near as steep. Elias could stand more or less normally. He could see the shafts of the van had snapped, and the horse, with an obviously broken leg, had been put out of its misery. Somebody had chocked the wheels.
“Hello?” Elias called. “Where’s the driver?”
“Over here.”
Clambering around the dead horse, Elias found a man seated on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk.
“Where are you hurt?” asked Elias, crouching beside him, casting an eye over the injuries.
The man nursed one arm. His face and hands were covered in scratches, and a blood-soaked shirt bound one leg. “Dislocated shoulder probably,” the stranger answered. “The gash will need proper patching but I’ll live.” He gave the bush above him the once-over. “Don’t think I can climb out, though.”
Elias’s eyes followed the man’s gaze up the slope but could see little. A bit of blue sky through the canopy, and the climb appeared a lot steeper going up than coming down.
“We’ll figure out a way,” said Elias. “Is there anyone else down here to help us?”
“Yeah, one fella further down. Something went over before me. He’s gone to investigate.”
Elias felt the now-familiar feeling creeping down his spine. “Wait here,” he said needlessly.
He found the other man standing near a wagon. It lay on one sideboard, exposing the axle, the shafts pointing uphill. A few boxes lay scattered around, but at first glance nothing else. No horses, no driver, nothing to explain what it was doing there.
“Name’s Eli,” he said, extending his hand. “I was sent down to help with the injured man.”
“Bill,” came the reply, as they shook hands. “Thanks. I came straight down as soon as I saw the man go over. Did you see him?”
Elias nodded. “He’s not bad, considering. I gather it’s your shirt binding his leg.”
“Yeah. He’s lucky. Injuries could’ve been much worse.”
Elias pointed to the overturned dray in front of him. “What’s this?” he asked, hoping for a different answer to the one he expected.
Bill removed his cap and scratched his head. “Beats me. I can’t figure out how it got here.”
“Can we turn it upright?” Elias scanned the ground and up the bank behind him. “Might be ea
sier to drag it out that way. It doesn’t look too badly damaged.”
“Odd that, don’t you think?” said Bill, putting his cap back on.
Elias twitched his nose. “Do you smell anything?”
“It’ll be damp ground and a bit of rotting vegetation somewhere, I expect.” Bill headed to the front of the wagon. “Righto, let’s see what’s what.”
Clambering over a few broken branches and low bushes to the other side of the shafts, Bill selected some sturdy branches, one strong enough to use as a lever and another to act as a fulcrum. He jammed one branch into place and raised the front end while Elias jammed a wedge under it.
“Phwaw, something’s fair rotten around here,” said Bill, wrinkling his nose. “Let’s do the same at the back.”
They moved towards the rear end, but the sight greeting them had both men gagging within moments. Sticking out from under the wagon were the lower legs and one hand of a male body grotesquely bloated, blackened and crawling with insects.
Covering their noses and mouths with the crook of their elbows, they made their way uphill again, as far away from the foul cadaver as they could. Collapsing to the ground next to the injured driver, they gasped for fresh air.
“Oh my God! Who’s that?” panted Bill, lying spread-eagled.
Elias sat, knees raised, his arms folded across the top, shaking inside like a blancmange. His mind flooded with memories of the accident that killed his father all those years ago. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiped his face, trying to wipe away the horror, but the image stayed with him.
“I’ve a good idea who it might be, unfortunately,” wheezed Elias, turning shades of pale. “The name on the wagon gives it away.” He hoped it would be Black Jack; his gut feeling told him it would be Johnno, since Gwenna had said he was driving it, but Elias kept that piece of information to himself.
“You talking about Black Jack Jones?”
Elias had almost forgotten the injured driver. “I am. Why? Do you know something?”
“Nothing exactly,” he began, easing his back against the tree and wincing with the movement.
Bill sat up, interested in the stranger’s answer. “There’s something not quite right about the whole thing, that’s for sure.”
“I’ve heard rumours.”
“About what?” Suspicion festered in Elias’s mind. He rubbed his hands through his hair again.
The injured man stared at them, pain clouding his eyes. “Do ya think you could get me out of here before we start worryin’ about rumours and dead men?”
Apologising, both men scrambled to their feet.
“I’m Eli, by the way, and you are ...?”
“Dan. Dan Davies,” he grunted. “Pardon me for not shaking ya hand.”
Bill and Elias discussed what they would need and how many men they could rally to help.
“Get a move on then, lad,” said Bill. “Up you go.”
As Elias headed up the bank he turned to the injured driver. “Sorry, Dan. It’ll be a bit of a rough ride, nem’mind how we do it.”
Dan nodded grimly.
Deep in conversation, the group hadn’t noticed Elias as he climbed over the bank and onto the roadway. “What’s everyone doing?” he called, seeing a queue of traffic forming and more men milling around.
“We’re trying to get enough hands together to bring the cart up.” The suited man was enjoying his role as self-imposed leader without having to lift a finger.
Elias didn’t rise to the bait. “Good. The wheels are chocked so it won’t fall further. And Jack Jones’s dray is down there too.” He decided not to tell them about the body – he didn’t want anyone distracted from the task at hand. He’d much rather the police handled the whole affair, but the scene haunted him, and he struggled to make sense of what had happened. “Let’s get the driver of this cart out before we think about anything else. He can’t walk.”
The second of the two riders was the first to move away from the group. “What do you need?”
Within minutes, Elias was climbing back down the bank with the equipment he’d gathered. Bill grabbed the machete, lopped off two long branches and two cross branches and created a makeshift litter by lacing a blanket to the poles with the bailing twine. Elias attached rope to both stretcher poles and took another trip to the top with the other ends.
Bill removed Dan’s belt and tied it around his arm and shoulder. “That should hold it for a bit, I hope. Better than having it flop around, anyway.”
While Bill was strapping Dan, Elias came back with two more men. Elias and Bill took the front end of the stretcher and the two strangers the back. Those at the top would pull the rope.
It was tough work. His muscles strained, sweat poured from his brow and his stomach churned. Elias was sure he could smell the stench of rotting flesh. Busy as he was, the further they moved up the bank, away from Jack’s wagon, the more Elias’s thoughts returned to the body lying a matter of yards away. There was nothing recognisable about the parts he’d seen, even for someone who knew the man. And he hoped he was wrong – that it wasn’t Johnno – but there was no way he’d go anywhere near the remains to check.
After several stops and starts, the stretcher crew crept closer to the crest. The ropes were doing their job now and had taken the strain. Dan gritted his teeth in an effort not to call out at every jolt, complaining his body was on fire, but one particularly heavy jarring was more than he could bear and he screamed in agony.
As soon as they were within reach, many hands reached out to help lift Dan onto the roadway. The four carriers followed and slumped to the ground to regain their breath. While everyone was discussing what to do next, a four-wheeled cart appeared over the brow of the hill.
“Great timing. Joe Miller said he’d send someone,” said Elias.
“Glad to see you, Doc,” said Bill shaking hands with the man.
After a quick examination, the doctor asked for help to transfer Dan into his cart and, with thanks to the rescuers, he trotted off the way he had come.
With the rescue complete and the danger over, people were keen to get away.
The suited man was the first to leave. “Well done, everyone. The rescue went quite satisfactorily, I feel, but I must be on my way. I’ve a meeting in Auckland and I’ve wasted enough time. Good day to you all.” He tipped his hat, climbed into his carriage and with a click-click of his tongue set his horse moving.
Before anyone else could follow the man’s lead, Bill tied a rope across the road, blocking the passage for the queue of vehicles. “Right. I’m not leaving until that van is back on the road, too. Who’s gonna help?”
To speed up their departure, several people offered and it was all hands to the rope. Bill and Elias elected to head down into the bush yet another time. They emptied the goods out to be dealt with later, unharnessed the dead horse, dismantled what was left of the shafts and attached the rope to the axle. Bit by bit, as the men on the road took the strain of the rope and Bill and Elias chocked the wheels as they progressed, the vehicle jerked its way to the top. The toughest part was getting it over the edge and safely lodged out of the way of passing traffic.
All the while, Elias kept thinking about Jack Jones’s wagon still lying at the bottom of the gully, and who would collect the body – and, more to the point, how he would tell Gwenna.
After hearty congratulations all round, slaps on the backs and calls to get moving, the newcomers made their farewells, happy to have played a minor role.
Bill, Elias and the two riders who’d been first on the scene were the only ones left. They stood watching while the traffic recommenced its journey, kicking up dust as it went.
“We can tell the authorities about this if you like,” the first man said, sounding a little too keen to Elias, suspicious even. “We’re heading towards Papakura.”
There was something about him Elias didn’t trust. “That’s not necessary,” he said, wondering what the man was so keen to tell the police. “I’m
sure Joe Miller would have reported it already, since he sent the doctor.”
“And if he hasn’t, then I will,” said Bill. “It was because of me it happened in the first place. I’ll go see them anyway.”
“Fair enough,” replied the second man. Eager to get away, he nudged his companion.
The four men shook hands, thanking each other for their help.
“Before I go,” said the first man, “you said there’s another wagon still down there? Are you going to haul that out too?”
Bill nodded. “No. Not me. I’ll report it to the authorities. They can deal with it.”
The man turned to Elias and squinted. “What’s the story there? You seemed to know who it belonged to.”
“Can’t say as I knew him.” Only then did Elias remember he’d not spoken to Dan again after they’d brought him up the bank. “The name was written on the side.”
“Nothing to tell,” said Bill, knowing there was indeed more but choosing not to say anything. “I’d say it’s been down there a long time.”
Within minutes of the two riders leaving, the dust from their horses’ hooves still hovering in the air, Elias was also keen to get away. “I’m off too.”
Bill put a hand on Elias’ shoulder. “Wait up a bit, lad. You seem to know a lot more about that wagon than you’re letting on. There’s something not right about it, and I want to know what it is.”
Elias shook his head. “I don’t know anything more than you. All I know is, Jack Jones’s wagon went missing a couple of weeks back.”
“So, where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Chasing rumours.”
18
Should he, shouldn’t he?
18 April 1900
Elias had no doubt Dan Davies knew something. He kicked himself for not checking where they would take Dan, or asking where the man lived. The signage on the rescued delivery van said Pokeno General Store, which seemed as good a place as any to start asking questions. It was no more than an hour’s ride away.
For a few moments, as he trotted down the road, Elias wondered if his journey was over. He’d been sent to find Johnno. Instead, he’d found Jack Jones’s wagon and a body.