It was a blessing that Riley Logan had picked her up but questions had begun to form and he asked one of Barney as they made their way out towards the greater waters of Broken Bay.
‘Two hours upriver seems a long way to take an injured girl. Why didn’t Mr Logan look for her family and friends instead?’
Barney kicked more ropes out of the way.
‘Not sure. Guess he figured she was alone,’ he said finally. ‘Best lose that mister business by the way. We’re not too formal up home.’
‘Why on earth would he think she was alone?’ Frankie said, still flicking bits of pelican faeces off her skirt with disgust.
Barney shrugged and appeared confused. ‘Because she was …?’
‘Yes, but young ladies don’t tend to go off on picnics by themselves,’ Patrick pointed out. ‘Surely that would have occurred to him.’
‘I s’pose he didn’t know what she was doing down here. Not a good idea to leave her on her lonesome, but. There’s some rough blokes shipping back and forth along these parts you wouldn’t’ve wanted her to have run into, that’s for sure.’
‘Anyone you know?’ Patrick asked, wondering what kind of people they would encounter on this foray.
Barney nodded as he scanned the water ahead. ‘Yeah I know ’em all right.’
‘Who are they?’ Patrick wanted to learn everything he could about people he may have to deal with in their quest to get Ivy home safe and well.
‘Donovan’s the worst,’ Barney told them. ‘Mean right to the bone, that one. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, and that’s a fact.’
‘What does he do?’ Patrick asked.
Barney took out a cigarette pouch, not looking his way. ‘Best lose questions like that up there too.’
Patrick considered that. The world Ivy had landed herself in seemed less appealing with each passing mile.
‘What’s Mr Logan, I mean Riley, like?’ Frankie asked, and Patrick noted she was listening very closely too.
‘Riley? Oh, he’s a real good bloke,’ Barney said as he rolled his cigarette.
Frankie prompted him. ‘How so?’
‘Always doin’ stuff for people, y’know. Helping them out. Don’t know how he makes much money half the time, he gives so much away.’
‘Gives what away?’ Patrick asked.
‘Food, tobacco, medicine … household stuff. He, er … runs deliveries up and down the river.’
Patrick glanced over at Frankie and she raised her eyebrows. Riley did indeed sound like ‘a real good bloke’ but perhaps not an entirely law-abiding one. Patrick had heard smuggling was rife in these parts. Just what kind of people had been caring for Ivy these past two days?
Barney went to sit on a crate at the back of the boat to smoke his cigarette then and Frankie lowered her voice so it was muffled by the sound of the engine.
‘Sounds a bit dodgy to me.’
Patrick nodded. ‘I think there’ll be a lot of dodginess where we’re going.’
She looked thoughtful and neither spoke for a good while, each just watching the thickly forested shoreline until Frankie eventually closed her eyes. Patrick was tired too, of course, but the thought of Ivy tossing with fever and with a gash on her head kept him awake. Getting to her side couldn’t come quickly enough but there was no faster way than by boat with no roads that far up, and nothing more to do than study the scattered houses and shacks that began to appear as the boat made its way along.
He’d never been upriver before and Patrick found himself viewing it all with unexpected interest, wondering how many people actually lived here as he glimpsed homes in quiet coves and among thick stands of trees. They were reaching a wide junction and Patrick looked down the waterway to the left to where more dwellings were visible.
‘Berowra,’ Barney told him, back at the wheel now. ‘Place of many winds, a native bloke once told me. That’s one of their words.’ He seemed a bit proud of himself for knowing such a fact but then he ruined it by adding, ‘Sounds like a place of many farts, don’t it?’
Patrick had to chuckle a bit and Frankie smiled, not fast asleep after all. She opened her eyes and watched too as the boat moved past Berowra.
There wasn’t much to it, just a few ramshackle huts, although there were several boats moored at a larger house that jutted over the water further down. Children ran along the shore and waved so they waved back.
‘The Windybank kids,’ Barney told them. ‘Family lived in a cave before Ed Windybank built that house and started making boats. Does it all by himself too,’ Barney said, gesturing towards the vessels as they bobbed gently along the wharf. ‘Maybe you should get y’self one. Live a little of the ol’ river life.’
Patrick doubted he’d ever want to do that. The Windybank house wasn’t too much of an eyesore but the rest of the small settlement seemed a poverty-stricken, depressing place. He couldn’t see much attraction in coming up this way to observe more of the same.
‘Not many people seem to be taking on this river life of yours,’ he commented as they drew away, the children waving once more.
Barney simply shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised. They’re building a road down here from the railroad right now – straight over that mountain. Should open things up a bit, I’d say, mind you they’ve got their work cut out for ’em.’
Patrick could see why, looking up at the steep mountainside that Barney had indicated. It seemed an impenetrable wall of forest, a formidable fortress holding civilisation at bay. He pitied the men trying to force a way through such thick foliage and heavy rock under the hot summer sun.
Barney went over to add more coal to the furnace and Patrick noticed Frankie studying the river and its shores, her expression a thoughtful one.
‘And what do you make of it?’ he asked her, expecting a raised eyebrow, but she surprised him.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said and he followed her gaze, wondering what she found so entrancing. The sun had hit the waterway up ahead and it was rather picturesque, he supposed; light blue at the river’s centre, a deeper green in the shadows where the edge found the towering bushland’s reflection.
‘I guess it is,’ he replied.
‘Imagine living in a cave, though,’ she went on, looking up at the many sandstone rocks that interspersed the trees in brilliant shades of gold in the morning sunlight. ‘However would you manage with all those children?’
‘They’ve a decent enough home now,’ Patrick reminded her.
‘Plenty of folk camp out in caves,’ Barney said, overhearing as he stoked the fire. ‘I’ve got one meself upriver. Good for storage and the like, although the snakes tend to get in.’
They passed another shack now, then another, each sorely dilapidated. A woman stood in front of one, several small children at her skirts. The youngsters waved but the woman merely watched them, her expression wary even from there.
‘Who is she?’ Frankie asked Barney.
‘Dave’s missus. He’s one of the timber cutters,’ he replied, glancing up.
The shack barely looked held together for something lived in by a man who dealt with timber all day but Patrick didn’t comment. Frankie looked set to do that for him.
‘Doesn’t look like he spends a lot of time working on his home. How on earth do they fit all those children inside?’
Barney squinted over as the sun hit the water in front. ‘They get by,’ he said.
Frankie studied the woman and raised her hand but she still didn’t respond. ‘She looks unhappy.’
Patrick looked over at her too. Frankie was right. She did.
‘She’s got a roof over their heads and they get fed,’ Barney responded. ‘That’s more than some folk.’
The woman turned away and walked inside, and Patrick noticed that she was lame, limping heavily.
‘What’s wrong with her leg?’ Frankie said, looking worried.
‘Dunno,’ Barney said but he didn’t meet Frankie’s eye. She wasn’t letting it go, despite
that.
‘Does he … does her husband beat her?’
Barney took out his tobacco pouch. ‘Could do,’ he said, leaning back to roll his cigarette, still avoiding her gaze.
‘But that’s disgusting! The poor woman has been crippled,’ Frankie exclaimed, turning around to stare back at the place. ‘Why haven’t the police intervened?’
‘No law against it, is there?’ Barney muttered.
‘There must be … I mean surely …?’ Frankie looked over to Patrick.
‘Well, no, there isn’t,’ he admitted. ‘Although if a woman is severely beaten she can take her husband to court, I suppose, but there wouldn’t be much point.’
‘Not much point?’ Frankie blustered and Barney moved to the back of the boat again, obviously uncomfortable. Patrick didn’t imagine he dealt with many feminists in his life.
‘Only that they wouldn’t be likely to win. A woman officially becomes a man’s property when she marries. I would have thought you’d know that, being so involved with women’s rights and so on,’ he added.
Frankie stared at him. ‘Yes, but to actually maim a person!’ she said, outraged. ‘Don’t tell me they have no protection whatsoever?’
‘Well, there is the rule of thumb …’
‘Isn’t … isn’t that just a general expression?’
‘Yes, but it’s, er, also been used in law courts. Some judges have ruled that a man has a right to beat his wife, but only with an implement no wider than his thumb.’
‘What?’ she exclaimed and Patrick sorely wished he hadn’t brought it up. ‘How can that possibly be legal?
‘She signs a contract when she marries …’ he said, the reasoning sounding lame to his own ears.
‘Contracts and property.’ She practically spat the word. ‘We’re not bloody houses, for goodness’ sake.’
Patrick shifted on the crate he sat on, wishing he could go and hide with Barney. ‘Laws have been changing since the turn of the century. It’s a new country now, remember? I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until women are treated more fairly.’
‘Not while men control the laws – this is exactly why we need the vote, to protect each other. No man is going to rally for women not to be controlled by their husbands. It suits you all to have us downtrodden and enslaved, forced to … to do your bidding in the marital bed and be beaten whenever you feel like it.’
Patrick was more than uncomfortable now and one glance at a squirming Barney was enough for him to try to end this conversation. ‘I really don’t think we should be discussing such things …’
‘What, the marital bed?’ Frankie said, chin high now. ‘I may not have realised how little the law protects women from being savagely beaten by their husbands but I am very aware a man can … can rape his wife whenever he feels like it. It’s horrendous!’
There was challenge in the air but Patrick could only agree. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, unable to add anything to the raw truth of that fact.
Frankie fell silent for a moment then fumed again. ‘You’re studying all this and yet do you have any intention of doing anything about these injustices once you practice? I know I damn well would if they’d let me have a proper say.’
‘I hadn’t really ever thought about it,’ Patrick admitted, holding up his hand before she pounced on that comment. ‘Not that I condone it in any way. I just hadn’t.’
‘Why would you, when you’ve never had to live with such threats in your life?’ she said, glaring at him.
‘Neither have you,’ he dared to point out.
Frankie’s eyes fairly blazed as she responded. ‘No. And I never will.’
‘Never going to marry or never going to marry a man who would treat you that way?’
‘I’m never going to marry,’ Frankie said firmly. ‘No man will ever have control over my body, let alone my heart. I’m dedicating myself to the plight of womankind. For all the “Dave’s missus” types out there – women who haven’t got a voice. Well, I’ve got one and it’s going to roar for the rest of my days until something is done.’ She said it with so much fire and passion Patrick well believed her.
‘Good on you,’ he felt moved to say. She may be far too feisty for his liking but he couldn’t help but admire her. Maybe he had been too ambivalent about women’s rights up until that point. It did seem pretty horrific when he saw a victim of abuse firsthand.
‘I reckon women should have the vote,’ Barney piped up, back at the wheel once more.
‘Why is that?’ Patrick asked him and Barney shrugged.
‘They worry more about people getting fed, my mum always did anyway. Don’t reckon no-one would go starving if women ran the place.’
‘You want women to get the vote because of food?’ Frankie clarified and Patrick couldn’t help but smile.
‘Yep. Reckon that’s what’s missing in Australia: it needs a mum.’
Frankie smiled too as Barney’s simple logic shone through. ‘I think that would make a very fine placard,’ she told him and Barney grinned through his whiskers.
‘Well, I dunno what that is but I’m glad you’re smiling and not so upset no more.’
Patrick looked over at her, thinking she looked far prettier when she did. Then Ivy’s smile came to mind and his eyes were drawn to the river ahead where she lay, sick and injured amid this rough river world. Let Frankie help womankind but for now there was only one woman who held Patrick’s focus. He just hoped she hadn’t been too traumatised by what she’d seen and experienced up there. And that it hadn’t adversely affected any views she might have on the subject of marriage.
Nineteen
Riley woke with a start as Ivy groaned and he sat up in the cabin chair to check on her. The fever still hadn’t broken but she was asleep, which was one positive thing, at least. His mother always said nothing heals better than a good night’s sleep. He stood and stretched, glancing at the clock and noting it was past seven-thirty. The family should be well up by now but when he headed up on deck he found Fiona still asleep too. The twins were awake, fetching eggs from the coop, but George was nowhere to be seen. Probably in bed, Riley supposed, sleeping things off.
It was clear and calm and a lone eagle circled above the river, looking for breakfast, which made Riley think of it himself. He wondered if he could get Ivy to eat anything when she awoke.
‘Morning,’ Fiona said and he turned to see her, sitting up with difficulty.
‘How did you sleep?’ Riley asked her, helping her by offering his arm. She leant on it, managing to rise.
‘Ugh, can’t say it was comfortable but I’m better for the rest,’ she said, holding her back. ‘How’s our patient?’
‘Still feverish,’ Riley said, rubbing his hand over his face worriedly.
‘You need a shave,’ Fiona observed, ‘and a good feed, I’d say. I’ll go over and fetch something for you.’
‘I meant to tell you I’ve got a crate of tinned beans. Hold on and I’ll grab you a few cans. Might make a nice change for the twins.’
‘Hmm, good luck getting them to eat anything but eggs. They’d live on them if I let them,’ she said, her voice carrying as he went down to fetch them.
‘Tell them beans are tiny eggs,’ he suggested, returning with a few tins.
‘You’d be very hungry waiting for your breakfast if I did – that would invite about a hundred questions, I’d say,’ she said, grunting as he helped her climb out of the boat. ‘Back soon.’
Riley watched her wade away, making sure she was all right, before managing a quick shave in the morning sun. Then he heard Ivy’s voice.
‘Riley.’
At least it was his name she called this time. He went straight below deck.
‘Here I am,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’ He placed his palm to her forehead. She was still warm, although he thought she seemed a little cooler. Hoped, anyway. Her blue eyes were wide open and she looked at him, confusion there.
‘What time is it?’
&
nbsp; ‘Past seven-thirty in the morning,’ he said. ‘You’ve been feverish all night but I think you seem a bit better.’
‘Where’s Fiona?’ she asked and he couldn’t help but push back a red curl that had fallen over the bandage onto her forehead.
‘Making you some breakfast.’
‘That’s nice of her,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think … I can eat.’
‘You need to keep your strength up. We can’t have you all skin and bones when your family see you.’
‘When will that be?’ she asked, resting her hand on his arm. ‘Am I going home today?’
He closed his fingers over hers gently. ‘I think you’re a bit too unwell to make the trip just yet. Let’s get this fever broken first then you can go home.’
Ivy looked at him, disappointment in her expression but trust too. ‘All right.’
‘Anyway, they may come to visit before that,’ he added, guilty that some selfish part of him wanted to keep her all to himself.
She looked hopeful and nodded at him, a small grateful smile there, and he had a sudden strong urge to gather her up in his arms and hold her. But of course he couldn’t do something so intimate to a girl in his care, especially as weak as she was. Besides, she was still so hot it was probably the last thing in the world she needed. He settled for letting her fingers go and soaking a fresh towel instead to stroke her lovely face. She smiled.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘You really are the kindest man.’
Riley’s heart swelled at her words. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, tenderly continuing.
Her hand brushed a book he’d left lying on the bed and she glanced down at it.
‘What’s that?’
Riley picked it up, showing it to her self-consciously. ‘It’s, er, Hans Christian Andersen. The twins have been asking me to read them more fairy tales, they love the Brothers Grimm, especially “Sleeping Beauty” for some reason. Anyway, I have to read them myself first because they can be a bit gruesome. Fell asleep reading this one last night.’
Ivy looked at the tome with interest. ‘I always loved fairy tales too, especially illustrated ones. Have you found any suitable?’
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