Sisters of Freedom

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Look,’ Aggie said. Frankie came over to see her pointing at a single bright red rose in the undergrowth. ‘There seems to be a path here. Come on.’

  The trio followed it and Frankie knew instinctively that this was the way she would have come. Ivy loved rainforest and water and the dampness in the air indicated that there would be both soon enough. Sure enough, within a mere few minutes they were deep in the cool, thick greenery and alongside a trickling waterfall. Dragonflies danced about and the sunlight found droplets among the sweeping bracken beside it, some of it appearing recently broken.

  ‘Perhaps she followed it down,’ Aggie guessed and Frankie knew she was right about that too. Ivy heavily romanticised the idea of dragonflies following water, spending as much time with their father as she did. The thought of her parents and how worried they’d be once they realised Ivy was missing spurred her on and she began to pick her way downstream. There was only one way to prevent this turning into a scandal or, worse still, an emergency, and that was to find the silly girl before the day fell into night. Everyone raised near this local bush knew that the exotic creatures within it were also sometimes deadly. As beautiful as this paradise could be, you’d never want to find yourself lost and alone in it after dark.

  Patrick was sweating, despite the coolness of the water as he picked his way downstream, champagne and glasses discarded in the bushes further up. Navigating the creek had seemed a better idea than fighting through the vegetation beside it but it was slower than he would have liked as his panic began to grow. Why would she go off without him? Why not just wait for his return? Didn’t she share the same desire he felt to explore the explosive passion they’d unlocked together? He’d run all the way back in his eagerness to hold her again but now his lust was replaced by fear as time ticked on and the day began to fade.

  You’re being ridiculous, he told himself over and again but deep down he knew Ivy wouldn’t leave him to worry so long. Going off on a small adventure by herself? Certainly. Going missing for what must be nearly half an hour? Highly unlikely. He cursed himself for waiting by the waterfall and not going looking for her sooner but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, the light up ahead signified that the creek was reaching its apex and that the river was nearby. Surely that’s where she’d be, perhaps having a swim.

  The thought spurred him on, half hopeful of seeing her in a state of undress, half fearful she wouldn’t be there, but what he did see when he emerged from the shadowed forest into the bright, orange light made his heart leap from his chest. Making his way across the slippery rocks, Patrick picked up Ivy Merriweather’s extraordinary hat to see her white dress and red boots discarded beneath.

  ‘Ivy? Ivy!’ he called but the deep water was mirror-like and still, eerie and without any trace of the girl who’d seemed a part of this landscape a short while before. A wood nymph in paradise. Casting her spell.

  The magic had disappeared and only the landscape itself knew the truth of where Ivy had gone and what fate had befallen her as Patrick searched along the shoreline, desperate for answers. Then he found one, the most unwanted, dreaded clue of all and he fell to his knees in horror, reaching out to touch a pool of blood that the tide had yet to wash away.

  Ivy, his mind screamed as the sound of footsteps could be heard and he turned to see Frankie and Aggie emerge, taking in the scene in horror as Robert followed behind.

  ‘What …’ Aggie said, picking up Ivy’s hat in confusion and fear.

  ‘Where …’ Frankie began but then she looked over and saw Patrick and glanced down at his fingers before her eyes clashed back with his. And in that frozen moment Patrick Earle knew what it meant to literally be caught with blood on your hands.

  Part Two

  The life of Riley

  Eleven

  Cowan Creek, Broken Bay, New South Wales

  Numerous crates vied for space on the cabin floor below deck but it was the last addition to Hawkesbury Queen that had Riley Logan’s pulse beating hard. He drew deeply on his cigarette as Donovan’s boat neared his. The man was already studying him intently, the way Donovan often did, so crooked himself he rarely missed any hint of foul play. Nor an especial load being conveyed along this smugglers’ route. Riley ashed his cigarette and forced himself to look calm, knowing he would need to steel his nerves despite his rapid heart rate. There was far too much at stake this time.

  ‘Whatcha doin’ heading back so late for?’ Donovan asked, not wasting words on pleasantries. He didn’t even waste words when it came to his own name. Riley had no idea if Donovan was his Christian or surname, let alone whatever other names he answered to. Perhaps none. Children like him grew up wild along the river and many learnt to fend for themselves from a young age. Who knew where Donovan had come from or if he’d even known his parents at all?

  ‘Taking my time,’ Riley said with a flick of his eyes towards the half-covered wooden crates on the deck of Donovan’s boat. ‘Bananas?’

  Donovan shrugged. ‘People gotta eat somethin’ healthy now and then. Don’t want to end up a bunch of scurvy ol’ pirates. What are you running?’

  Riley drew on his smoke. ‘A bit of this an’ that.’ Donovan would hardly be surprised at Riley’s noncommittal answer. Most knew better than to ask a man his business around here but Donovan was always a nosy bugger. Far too much so for Riley’s liking right now, as the sweat trickled down his back.

  ‘Saw Petey and Deano ’round the bend. Might settle in for a drink at Mozzie Point.’

  It wasn’t an invitation. Donovan was no friend of Riley’s; if anything he was a nemesis, even to the point of naming his boat River King just for a bit of one-upmanship. It was really more of a territorial brag, mentioning he had cronies along the river and therefore jurisdiction tonight. However it was good news for Riley that the three men would make camp and be well out of his way. He was careful to hide that as he responded.

  ‘Hot enough night for it,’ he said, throwing the stub of his cigarette overboard and reaching down to start hauling up the anchor. He’d dropped it in a rush before. Riley blocked the recollection of the panic he’d felt.

  ‘Guess I’m off then,’ Donovan said.

  ‘Right you are,’ Riley said, not looking at him as he made ready to go. The time between Donovan’s engine rumbling to life and his departure seemed torturously long but Riley continued his preparations as normally as he could until a glance at the bend in the river confirmed Donovan’s boat had disappeared from sight.

  Riley dashed below deck, his boots skidding on the rungs, but nothing had altered. The crates remained stacked, the equipment, ropes and supplies lay in semi-ordered array and the clock he kept on the wall still ticked away.

  In fact, nothing was terribly different on Riley Logan’s boat this late summer afternoon, save the last addition in the corner. He rushed over to check if there’d been any change these last few minutes but as he pulled back the thin blanket he saw that his latest impossible cargo remained the same. Staring down, he wondered what on earth he was supposed to do as fate delivered yet another sharp twist in the convoluted journey that had so far been his life’s path.

  For it wasn’t every day you found a beautiful, half-naked and unconscious woman glistening in the sun on the edge of a secluded cove. His reasons for hauling her on board and getting her out on the river had seemed inarguably logical at the time but looking at the blood-soaked bandages at her temple and around her foot, and her alarmingly pale complexion, he was starting to question himself now. How to explain his actions when they came looking for her, as someone undoubtedly would? How to explain it to the girl herself when she eventually came to?

  The time for solving that particular dilemma suddenly arrived as the girl groaned softly and a frown puckered her features. Riley held his breath as her lids fluttered open and blue eyes focused on his, filled with confusion then dawning fear.

  ‘Where … where am I?’

  ‘You’re on a boat, my boat actually, the Hawkesbury Queen.�
�� Riley figured saying its name might reassure her, like it was a known, respected vessel, which it was. Well, in its own way.

  The girl stared at him, her eyes darting around. ‘Why?’

  ‘You had an accident and I brought you aboard to tend to your injury. You’ve a nasty gash on your foot and your head,’ he added with a nod at the wound. ‘A pretty massive lump too. You’ve been passed out cold.’

  ‘Passed … passed out?’ She started to rise, wincing, and he gently pushed her shoulder back down.

  ‘I think you’d better stay lying down.’

  ‘I can’t … I can’t be here … on a boat. They’ll all be worried … looking for me.’

  ‘I’ll take you back as soon as you’ve recovered.’

  ‘Back? How far away are we?’

  ‘A few miles,’ he hedged.

  The girl looked at him, her pain evident as she tried to process that. ‘Why didn’t you just find someone … nearby … rather than bring me here? My family and … my friends …’

  ‘I thought you were there alone,’ he improvised, looking away as he filled a cup with water and handed it to her.

  ‘Why would I be alone?’ she said, in a way that suggested the very idea was unimaginable, and Riley knew he was definitely in deep trouble now. She was obviously a well-protected girl and would likely have half the district looking for her by nightfall.

  ‘I couldn’t see anyone else about and I could hardly leave you there. There’s rough types along this river,’ he said, his earlier logic returning as Donovan came back to mind, ‘and you were … er …’ Riley cleared his throat, unsure how to refer to her state of undress. She seemed to understand and drew the blanket higher towards her chin, despite the warmth in the cabin.

  ‘Did you … Have you got my … things?’

  ‘I’m afraid I was too worried about your welfare to look,’ he told her. Too worried about being caught by authorities with his other cargo on board too, but that was a hell of lot harder to explain.

  The girl touched her fingers to the bandage and watched him nervously. ‘How long has it been … since you found me?’

  Riley looked at the clock. ‘About half an hour or so, I’d say.’

  ‘Half an hour?’ she said, looking at the clock too, aghast. ‘Oh, oh lord. Please,’ she implored, ‘you have to take me back. It’ll … it’ll be dark soon.’

  ‘I don’t think you should stand or be moved about yet,’ he told her. ‘I think we should get you to my sister who can tend you then I’ll take you home.’

  ‘You don’t understand, my family—’

  ‘I’ll send word as soon as we arrive. It’s only up the river a way.’ Actually it was another hour and a half if they had a good run but she didn’t need to know that.

  ‘No, really, I’m fine. I think you should take me back now,’ she said quite firmly as she sat up, but immediately she looked set to faint, clutching at her temple with a grunt of pain and Riley steadied her then lowered her back down.

  ‘You’re not fine,’ he said, gently, ‘and you need attention. My sister has some good nursing skills passed on from our mother.’

  ‘No, no, please … just take me …’ She tried again, but the exertion of attempting to rise had cost her and she was beginning to fade. She really did need medical attention, that part of the reason for heading up river was true enough.

  ‘Rest,’ Riley told her, drawing the blanket back up. ‘I’ll have you looked after and send a message to your family in no time. Trust me.’

  Those two words hung between them and he knew she didn’t at all – why would she? Yet what choice did she have.

  ‘I don’t even know … your name …’ she muttered as her eyes began to close.

  ‘Riley,’ he said. ‘Riley Logan. And you are?’

  ‘Ivy … Merriweather.’

  Riley almost smiled at the prettiness of her name, it suited her so well, but he had no room for anything but concern right now because she was also in pretty bad shape. And not only was she losing consciousness once more, she was doing so alongside a full load of illegal booze and stolen supplies on his smuggler’s boat, which meant one thing was for sure right now: Riley Logan couldn’t possibly take Ivy Merriweather back.

  She was holding a lantern with one hand, using the other to stroke her belly absently, but Riley knew his sister Fiona would already have surmised that something was amiss. She was too astute and too logical for things to be otherwise.

  The comforting green hills that lined these twisting waterways by day were dark and shadowed, and they loomed behind her home, rendering it a half-lit speck on the riverbank, a glint on the shoreline until you drew close as Riley was. The shack was a sorry sight, appearing worse for wear after the summer storms over the past few weeks, even in this pale light, and Riley wondered what her good-for-nothing husband George was planning to do about it. Nothing, most likely. The man spent most of his time drinking and fishing, which at least put some fare on the table, otherwise Fiona and their young twin girls Tricia and Annie wouldn’t eat much. The produce from their meagre vegetable patch and the eggs from the chicken coop out back weren’t really enough to survive on. Riley knew they relied on the stores he delivered each week more than his proud sister would ever let on.

  Little Annie ran down towards the boat as he approached, calling out to her sister, who stumbled in her haste to join her, each carrying their own small lanterns, a recent gift from their Uncle Riley, along with their own small and precious stores of fuel. It was an indulgence, to be sure, but certainly they deserved some in their otherwise bleak lives. At four years old they were curious souls and cherished the explorative opportunities the gifts provided, Riley’s boat in particular was a source of great fascination, with its eclectic assortment of equipment and variable cargo. He wondered what their reaction to his latest addition might be and what Ivy might make of his sister’s world too, but there was little point pondering that until the girl was well enough to take anything in.

  She’d been drifting in and out of sleep and he went down to ready her as the Hawkesbury Queen peppered its own way towards shore. Those blue eyes met his in the lamplight and he tried to reassure her once more.

  ‘My sister Fiona lives here. Let’s get you up then, if you can stand?’

  ‘All right,’ she said, but she clutched at the blanket as she sat up gingerly, and winced as she moved her foot. Riley saw he would need to carry her.

  ‘Here now,’ he said, ‘let me help you.’

  She appeared too weak to really protest and he wrapped her in the blanket and lifted her awkwardly in the confines of the cabin before taking the steps carefully, one at a time.

  ‘There,’ he said, lowering her down gently once on deck to sit on a crate and lean against the wall. Riley moved over to cut the engine and drop anchor as quickly as he could.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Annie called out.

  ‘He’s found a dead person,’ Tricia said. ‘Did ya kill someone then, Uncle Riley?’

  ‘Nah, he’s not a mudderer, are ya, uncle?’

  Riley ignored them but he could feel Fiona’s stare as he worked then made his way back to Ivy, who had slumped and was groaning. It was no easy feat carrying her over the boat’s side and through the shallows to reach the shore and by then the twins’ eyes were round in the lamplight. Fiona had rushed inside to make preparations in her usual brusque way, no questions asked. Yet.

  ‘Told you she wasn’t dead,’ Annie said in a loud whisper.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tricia said, sounding a bit disappointed. ‘Maybe she’s a mermaid,’ she added hopefully. ‘She’s got mermaidy hair.’

  ‘’Scuse me, but are you a mermaid?’ Annie asked hopefully as Riley carried her inside.

  ‘Hush, girls. Put her on the bed, Riley,’ Fiona instructed, pulling back the sheets as he lay her down. Ivy let out a groan. ‘There now, I’m Fiona. Everything’s going to be just fine,’ she soothed as she unwound the bandage while the others looked on. ‘Fetch a bowl o
f water and some cloths, Annie, and my kit,’ she added with a quick nod at Tricia. The girls did as they were told and Riley watched as Fiona examined the wound on Ivy’s head. ‘Nasty,’ she muttered.

  ‘There’s more on her foot,’ Riley told her.

  ‘Looks like oyster cuts. Slipped, did she?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Riley replied. ‘Just found her like this, unconscious though.’

  ‘How long was she unconscious for?’

  ‘About half an hour, I’d say.’

  Fiona frowned at that. ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Apple Tree Bay.’

  Fiona glanced up. ‘Long way to bring her for attention.’

  Riley didn’t comment. He didn’t need to. Fiona would know the reason why he couldn’t very well drop anchor and have a bunch of strangers ask a lot of questions.

  ‘I couldn’t just leave her there,’ he said instead.

  ‘Might have been a better idea,’ she muttered as Annie returned with the bowl, holding it carefully with her little hands, the cloth over her arm. Efficient young girls, his nieces, Riley observed as Tricia dragged the kit bag behind her. Just like their mother.

  Fiona cleaned the wound carefully and Riley sucked in his breath when Ivy flinched.

  ‘I know, love, just let me see what we’re dealing with and clean this all up, eh? Don’t want an infection setting in, now do we?’ Fiona told her as she worked. ‘What’s your name, then?’

  ‘Ivy … Ivy Merriweather.’

  ‘Pretty,’ Fiona said, eyes flicking momentarily to Riley. ‘I’m Fiona Ryan and these are my girls, Annie and Tricia. What do you say, girls?’