A Greater World: A woman's journey

by Clare Flynn

  'So you're carrying another man's child? Behaving like the Virgin Mary when all the time you've a little bastard growing in your belly.' His voice was low and, despite the words, seemed to bear no trace of anger.

  Elizabeth felt a chill pass over her. 'How did you know?'

  'I know the sign of a pregnant belly. I've fathered enough children to know that. Did you think you could trick me into believing it was mine?' As he spoke, he jerked his trousers off and positioned himself with her between his knees, pinning her shoulders against the bed as she tried to struggle upright. With a grunt he thrust himself inside her. This time her body responded as he entered her and she started to moan softly. He thrust slowly, holding his upper body away from her with his arms, which were planted either side of hers.

  He spoke as he pushed into her. 'I don't care who fathered the bastard. As long as you keep it out of my way.'

  She started to sob. 'I'm sorry. I don't want it. It was forced on me. I wish I were dead.'

  Kidd ignored her and continued to pump away. 'You like this? Does it feel good? Bit of a whore aren't you?'

  Elizabeth cried out as she reached her climax, then whispered, 'I'm not a whore.'

  'Oh no?' He made a last thrust then rolled off her onto his back. 'Then how come you moan like one? And take your pleasure like one? And your bastard child can't have been an immaculate conception. My wife was a lady and I treated her like a lady. You're no better than the floozies at the flophouse up in town. But get one thing straight – your days of putting yourself about are done. You may be a whore but you're my whore, for the exclusive use of Jack Kidd.' He closed his eyes, put his hands behind his head and let out a loud beery belch.

  Elizabeth rolled over and turned her face to the wall. She felt humiliated and ashamed and angry with her body for betraying her. Her eyes swam with tears. It would have been better to have experienced pain than pleasure, when its source was a person who filled her with disgust, who repelled her and who showed her nothing but contempt. She couldn't bear to look at him. Yet the feel of his calloused hands on her naked skin had aroused her. She had been unable to fight or resist it. Her body had taken over, had given itself up to the sensations that his slow, calculated caresses had provoked. Was she no better than a whore? Was the fact that she had been unable to control the response of her body proof that he was right? She thought about what he said of his late wife. Women were supposed not to take pleasure in such things. Her knowledge of such matters was limited. Her mother had never spoken of them. She thought of her sister. Sarah had produced two children with a third on the way. It was hard to believe after Elizabeth's own experience, that her sister actually took pleasure in her relations with Dawson, yet from her manner she could only surmise that she must do. She was puzzled. Her first experience had been violent and painful. The first time with Kidd had been hurried, ugly and undignified. Tonight she was embarrassed to her core, angry with her own body, fearful, yet unable to deny that she had found it strangely pleasurable.

  Kidd's stentorian snoring filled the room as she lay beside him, trying to keep a gap between their bodies. Her nightgown lay in a heap across the floor out of reach. She pulled the sheet higher and leaned into the wall.

  Unable to sleep, her thoughts turned to Michael Winterbourne. She gave a shudder of pleasure as she imagined making love with him, feeling his arms around her, burying her head in his chest, looking into his eyes as he moved inside her, feeling again his lips upon hers. She stiffened and cringed that she had allowed herself to take pleasure from the touch of the man who lay beside her. Her love was and could only ever be for one man. A man she had met for so short a time, it was hard to believe she could love him. But she did. She really did – and she knew now it was a love that would last as long as she lived; a source of strength, even though it could never be returned.

  She could not help smiling to herself in the dark as she thought again of Michael. His image was burned on her brain and she would never let it fade. It was better that she had met him so briefly and fallen in love, than that she had never had the chance to experience this feeling at all.

  But tonight she had betrayed Michael by taking pleasure at her husband's touch. She stared up through the dark at the ceiling, where she could make out the ripples of corrugated iron in varying shades of darkness. Kidd stirred and turned over. The snoring stopped for a few moments then started up again.

  If she had to live without the man she loved and must share the bed of a man she loathed, then why not take what pleasure she could from him? As his wife, she could not deny him her body, so was it not better that she should get some satisfaction from it? Compared with the violence Dawson had subjected her to, and the quick penetration of her wedding night, some physical pleasure from Kidd's touch was not such a bad bargain.

  The next morning, when she woke up he was gone.

  Chapter Ten – MacDonald Falls

  It was almost two months before Elizabeth left the house to make the journey into the town. Every time she asked Kidd if she might accompany him, he refused. She grew annoyed and increased the frequency and intensity of her requests. The shack was a metaphor for her marriage: cold, bare and lacking much comfort and she wanted to escape from it if only for a few hours. She craved the sight of people: ordinary people going about their business, living ordinary lives and having ordinary conversations.

  Instead, their married life had taken on a strange and perverse rhythm. Kidd was gone for days; overseeing whatever business he had in town. He would return home, usually for one night only, eat the food she put before him in complete silence, grunting or offering monosyllables in response to the attempts she made at conversation. After she had cleared away the dishes and Will had retired to his shed, Kidd would fall asleep in the chair or sit drinking a beer outside on the steps, until she started to prepare for bed – now undressing behind the screen that Will had made for her. Just as she had slipped beneath the sheets and was starting to drift into sleep, he would climb into the bed beside her, pull her nightdress up and lift his thin and wiry body on top of hers. Despite the sometimes perfunctory nature of his foreplay and the fact that she found nothing in him to attract her, her body usually responded. After a while she learned to accept this without recrimination. Since the first night they had spent together in the hut, he had never again compared her to his late wife or to the local prostitutes. Indeed he shared few words with her at all, to her relief. Theirs was a silent coupling, almost furtive, like a pair of animals rutting in the dark, a quiet, cold and unemotional centre to their marriage.

  She found in Will the conversation that was absent with Kidd. They got in the habit of walking together when Kidd was away.

  'Do you have any friends, Will?'

  'Friends?' he laughed hollowly. 'You're joking aren't you?'

  'But you're young. You should be with people your own age, not hanging about with an old lady like me.'

  Will grinned up at her. 'You're not old, Lizbeth.'

  'Don't you get lonely?'

  'A bit I suppose. It's always just been the old man and me since Ma died. And he chews my head off. It's bonzer having you to talk to.'

  There was a flurry of beating wings and a flash of colour rising from the vegetation in front of them.

  'King parrots!' Elizabeth grinned and turned to the boy for endorsement.

  'Right. You're getting good at this.'

  'The birds here are so exotic. I've been used to boring old brown sparrows and starlings.'

  'Come on then. We'd better get a move on if we're going to catch any rabbits today.'

  'I'll watch you set the traps, but I'm not going to watch when you empty them. Poor little rabbits.'

  'We've got to eat haven't we? I didn't notice you being so picky when you tucked into that stew the other night.'

  'I pretend they come from the butchers.'

  Will laughed. 'Then you won't be wanting to watch me skin them later?'

  'Not a chance.'

  '
If I get a load of them today I can sell the skins in town tomorrow.'

  'You sell them?'

  'Sixpence a skin. Don't tell Pa.' The boy tipped his head to one side and grinned at her. 'Mind you, I reckon the old man knows. That's why he keeps me on short rations. He's guessed I've got a profitable little line going. You can't get much past him.'

  'You're not so daft are you young man? I bet you've got quite a stash of cash under your mattress haven't you?'

  He winked at her. 'You suggesting something?'

  'Just wondering what you're saving up for?'

  'One day I'm running away to sea.'

  She laughed and the two of them hurried off together, the boy carrying a burlap sack with the traps inside.

  Most days, Elizabeth and Will took their meals together, Will always appreciative of the experiments she worked with the simple ingredients available to her. She lacked previous experience of cooking, but if the results were not always very appetising, Will never gave any indication. He ate heartily and enthusiastically and talked to her of the things he had seen or done that day: finding a dead joey, clearing ground to plant vegetables.

  By contrast, when Kidd was at home, Will lost his tongue under the critical gaze of his father and barely responded to Elizabeth's attempts to draw him out. In the end she accepted this and stopped trying to make conversation, so the three sat in a silence punctuated by the sound of Kidd's jaws chewing and his occasional complaint about the quality of her cooking.

  The days passed with Elizabeth learning the toils expected of the wife of a Blue Mountains smallholder including the weekly washing. When she dragged the big tub out, Will emerged from his shed.

  'Let me help you.'

  'Your father doesn't like you helping me.'

  'I know – "Women's Work" – but I used to give Ma a hand – it's a heavy job for a lady. Besides, he's not around to see.'

  Elizabeth gratefully accepted his help and they carried buckets of water to and fro until they had filled the big tub. She put the bedding and clothes to soak.

  'I'll get the fire going in the washhouse' said Will.

  Another large metal pail was put to boil over the fire and Elizabeth stirred and prodded the clothes back to cleanliness in small loads, each time dragging them back out to the big wooden tub to be scrubbed on the wooden washboard, rinsed and then wrung out. Will watched her, busy himself twisting wire to mend his snares.

  She hung the washing on the line. 'I can't believe how hot I am.'

  'It's the sun on the tin roof.'

  'And the fire in the washhouse.' She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and smoothed her hands over her belly.

  'I can't imagine what doing the washing will be like in the summer – and by then...' She stopped short, unwilling to think, let alone speak to Will, about her pregnancy.

  But he spoke for her. 'It doesn't seem right for a lady like you to work like a digger, you being in the family way...' He studied his snare, brow furrowing.

  Elizabeth blushed. She hadn't been sure he'd realised. She was embarrassed and decided to ignore the reference.

  'Before coming to Australia I'd never done any washing.'

  'No?' The boy looked at her curiously.

  'I'm ashamed to say we had servants to do it for us.'

  'Servants? That's not fair go. What did you do all day?'

  'Not much now I think about it Will. And you're right it doesn't seem very "fair go" does it? I played the violin. I taught children to play it too.'

  'You played the fiddle? Can you play it now? I'd love to hear you.'

  'I left it in England.' She gave a rueful smile. 'I wish I hadn't. It would remind me of home. My mother and father loved to listen to me play.'

  'Get the old fella to buy you a new one. Or I'll get you one with my rabbit money.'

  'How can you run away to sea if you blow your ill-gotten gains on me? And I don't think your father likes music.'

  'He used to. When Ma was alive he sang a lot.'

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. 'Did he really? I can't imagine that.'

  'He wasn't always a miserable bugger. Sorry – didn't mean to say that.'

  'There's not much likelihood of him letting me take up the violin again. Where would I get one anyway?'

  'In town. There's a shop sells musical instruments.'

  'I'm starting to wonder if this mythical town exists. There's as much likelihood of your father taking me there as my being waited on by servants again!'

  'Do you miss your old life?'

  'It doesn't seem real any more. It's a faraway dream. My old self was a different person. And anyway there's no point in worrying about it. It's a closed chapter.'

  'That's sad.'

  'No it's not. If I'd stayed in England I'd never have met you would I?' She saw the blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks.

  'Ask Pa to take you with him next time he goes to town. Wait till he's eaten and got a few beers down his neck and he'll be eating out of your hands.'

  She laughed. 'You know that's not true, Will.'

  'I know but you have to hope!'

  But a thought had been planted, and the next evening, when Kidd had returned and they had partaken of their silent supper, instead of undressing and going to bed when Will retired and she had finished her tasks for the day, she sat down and set about darning and sewing from a pile of mending in a basket by the chair. This was a break in established routine. Kidd, dozing in his chair, realised that she was still sitting opposite him when she should have been warming the bed for him.

  'What are you doing?' he snarled.

  'Mending your socks and fixing a shirt for Will.'

  'Go to bed.'

  'I'm not ready yet.'

  'I decide when you're ready. Go to bed.'

  Emboldened by frustration at being a virtual prisoner, she put down her sewing and looked at him. 'I'm not going to bed until you agree to take me into town.' As she spoke she leaned back into the chair and parted her legs slightly.

  Kidd looked stricken. He lunged towards her. 'Get in that bed right now before I take a belt to you.' His words were hard but his voice betrayed an anguish that told her that she had already gained a kind of supremacy. His need for her was greater than his need for control. He clutched at her breasts and tried to push his hand under her skirt. She pushed him away and stood up, her hands under her swollen belly.

  'You'll do no such thing. If we want the townspeople to believe that this is your child, you'd better start behaving as though it is. I need a layette. And while we're at it, some clothes for me wouldn't go amiss. I had little enough when I arrived here and what I had is now ruined with all the scrubbing and cleaning I do. Not to mention straining at the seams in my condition.'

  'Scrubbing and cleaning too good for you, woman?'

  Impatience got the better of her and heedless of how he might react, she pressed on. 'I thought you were supposed to be a man of some importance. It's hard to believe it since you're ashamed to show me in the town and hide me away out here. I may be able to put up with it, but is it right that your child should? The baby should be dressed as befits the child of a man of stature. And this place needs fixing up properly. We need a room for the baby and it's not right that Will should be sleeping on a wheat bag in a shed built to shelter a pony. Why don't we all go in to town and get some provisions? Will can get some wood and nails to partition this room up – it's big enough to make two more small sleeping areas. I'll get some fabric and make something for the baby to wear and something for me. Nothing special – just something clean and practical. I could also buy some material for bedding and curtaining. It won't cost much if it's plain fabric and I can sew it myself.'

  'Will's staying here. Do you think I can't afford to buy decent clothing? I'm one of the richest men in this town.'

  'If you stand for something round here, show people you have a wife and a baby on the way. Most men would be proud of it.' She paused seeing the look of amazement on Kidd's face, the
n pressed home her advantage. 'Lots of men would envy you. More than fifty years old with a young wife and a baby coming. If you hide us away they'll think something's amiss. They'll realise the truth – that you forced me to marry you and the baby isn't yours.'

  Kidd went white and lunged at her. She'd expected this reaction and parried his arm with hers. He stopped, as if seeing the sense in what she had said. He stepped back and looked her up and down. His tone was contemptuous.

  'Think you're too good for me? You speak to me with airs and graces like I'm a dog at your feet. But that's not the way it is, is it? It's you who have nothing. Just the rags you're wearing. Where's all your finery now? No call for it here, with all that cleaning and scrubbing. I own you. Don't ever forget that.' He was shouting now. 'Everything you have is down to me. Including that baby as far as the world's concerned. I will take you to town, but only because I choose to do so. In fact we'll stay up in town until the little bastard is born.'

  'That's wonderful,' she cried. 'Where will we stay? Will I get to meet Hattie?'

  He ignored her and strode through the door to sit on the veranda with his beer, leaving her to go to bed undisturbed.