***
For two days, Jo existed in a nightmare world, reliving over and over again the fatal accident. On the third day, she somehow managed to get up and dress. The face staring back at her in the mirror as she attended to her hair looked white and gaunt, the skin under her eyes smudged with black. For the sake of Ian and Fiona, she tried to pull herself together.
“Everything will turn out all right. No one blames you.” Fiona ladled out the soup. “You have to eat. Starving yourself won’t undo what’s happened. It was a terrible, tragic accident.”
One person blamed her.
She forced the food into her mouth, even though she nearly gagged on every mouthful. If she never ate again it would be too soon.
***
A few days after the dance, Jo watched in surprise as Granny Kirkman drove into the yard.
“Good morning, Granny, what are you doing here? Please come inside.”
“I prefer to sit outside.” she helped the old lady down. “I want to talk to you without anyone else hearing.”
After Granny settled herself in a chair, she lit her pipe and took a couple of pulls on it. “You saved Amy from a fate worse than death. I wanted to see you on your own, so you'll know how much you did for my Will and his family. Rape is ugly, something you never forget.” Eyes, faded with the years, burned with remembered bitterness. “I don't think of this now, want to forget it, but the attack on poor Amy brought it all back to me.” She took another savage pull on her pipe and one of her wizened, arthritic hands balled into a fist.
“The journey out to Australia was hellish, jammed into a ship carrying some of the vilest harlots from the docks of England. All night drunken sailors came down and selected their women. Course officers got first choice, sailors took the leftovers.”
“Oh, Granny.” She touched the old lady’s hand and her skin felt dry as parchment. “I understand what you're trying to say, you don't have to tell me any more.”
“I'm too old to worry about such things now. I'll never lose my hatred of what happened, but old age makes it easier to talk about. Even Will doesn't know the full story.”
“I was a pretty blonde like Amy. My father died of fever, leaving my mother a widow with seven children. Being the oldest, I stole a loaf of bread because we were starving. Seven years transportation they gave me. Anyway, a young officer claimed me. Just as well for me he turned out to be only half a man and not capable of doing anything with a woman.” She cackled. “Of course, he didn’t want the others to find out, so thank heavens he picked me. I did nothing more than warm his bed and see to his clothes. He made sure I got reasonable food, that's how I survived the journey. Half the convicts died below decks.”
She started rambling. “Will is my only child, but before that, I got assigned to a man. You couldn't call him a man, more like an animal. The aborigines speared him in the end, as he’d tampered with their women too. He got male convicts assigned to him to work on the property, a crueler man you never saw, gave one fellow two hundred lashes because he broke the handle on an axe. I've seen men with flesh hanging off their backs in strips.”
“Granny, please.” Jo shivered.
“Well, I did. Where was I? Ah yes. He got women convicts to share his bed. One wasn't enough, always two, three, more if he could get them. He'd take turns with them all in the one night, like a rutting bull, he never got tired.” She spat. “Filthy pig. If you didn't give into him, he'd tie you to the bed with your legs...”
“Granny!”
“All right, you can guess what I mean. We used to have to watch, listen to his grunts and groans, and the screams sometimes if the girls were virgins. He made us stay there, knowing we would have to go through the same things.”
“Did you fight him? I mean…”
“No, I lay there and took it, hoping some day I'd get the chance to kill him. On my first day there, another girl told me what would happen to anyone who fought him. He stripped them naked, absolutely naked, and paraded them in front of fifty or so convicts and several free men, then let them all have their way with her.”
“How dreadful, wasn't there anything you could do?”
“No, against regulations to do what he did, but when you're forty miles from the nearest town, there ain't no laws. There must have been something wrong with him. He never got any woman with child, which made him even worse.”
“After serving my time, I left a free woman so the government said, but who could forget five years of that. I didn’t get married until I turned forty. Arthur was a most understanding man. Didn't worry too much after I had Will, knew how I hated it after what I’d been through. I was too scared to go near a man for twenty years, that's what you saved Amy from.”
“Oh, Granny.”
The old lady knocked out her pipe and immediately refilled it.
“Thank you for coming over. I do feel a little better knowing I saved Amy from something so horrible. Will you be all right? I could ride home with you.”
“I've driven horses for years, used to be harnessed to a cart in the early days. I saw men working in chains, pulling wagons like bullocks.”
She watched the old lady drive off. What a horrific story. To think a young girl had been forced to endure such terrible violations. And to think it still happened.
***
The weather became hotter, no rain fell and the creek turned into a trickle. They all knew why, although none of them voiced their suspicion. A worried Ian received word that if he wanted to go on the drive, he must leave within the next couple of days.
This news coming hard on the heels of Granny Kirkman’s visit brought Jo out of her depression. If she could not take over the running of the property for Ian, they would go under. Even her sister-in-law’s friends would have to admit Fiona was incapable of doing anything of the sort.
***
Fiona sobbed uncontrollably and Jo had to put aside her own sadness to try and comfort her when Ian rode away to join the drovers. For a king’s ransom, she wouldn’t tell Fiona that it was more than likely he could be away for several months. In fact, if he didn’t get back in time to harvest their small crop of wheat, he had instructed her to seek help from Kirkmans.
“I miss him already,” white faced, Fiona blubbered between sniffs.
“Of course you do, but he'll be back soon,” she lied. Her sister-in-law could have passed for seventeen in her blue sprigged cotton gown, with a little white collar and matching cuffs. What an awesome responsibility taking on a helpless sister-in-law, a young child and a farm virtually on her own. Her shoulders slumped.
“You aren't frightened, are you, Jo?”
“Frightened? Me? Of course not.” Her spine stiffened. “I fear nothing or no one.” No one? A cold shiver ran up her spine. She forced a carefree laugh through suddenly dry lips.
“You're so brave.” Fiona clasped her hands together.
“Glad you think so. I might take a ride out along our eastern boundary. Ian mentioned seeing clouds of dust there yesterday afternoon, but he was too busy to investigate.”
She saddled the horse and rode off with a cheerful wave. The wind picked up, so she tightened the chinstrap on her hat and urged her mount into a gallop. She had missed this freedom while moping around the homestead.
The leaves on the gum trees sent out a strong scent of eucalyptus and the last dying blooms of the golden wattle drifted down on the wind. A few pink-breasted galahs and brightly colored parrots flew about amidst the scrub. At dusk, every tree and fence post would be covered with squawking bird life. The air hung heavy with perfume from the massed, creamy blossoms of the prickly box that covered the hillsides along the farthermost boundary of their property.
Strange, no cattle grazed in the paddocks. Hadn’t Ian mentioned moving them over this way? Following the sagging boundary fence along, she gasped in shock on coming across a broken down section. “Why didn’t you maintain the fences properly?” she raged out loud at her absent, irresponsible brother. Someon
e had rustled all their cattle.
They only had a few sheep and pigs left now. I'll have to go hunting, rabbits are plentiful and parrot pie was supposed to be nice too. Fortunately, she was an expert shot as their father had instructed her and Ian together.
“You need to be able to protect yourself in this God forsaken colony,” he’d stated. An American with little love for this country, he tolerated it because he hoped to make his fortune on the gold fields. This never happened. With a delicate wife and two children to support he could never raise the required capital to pay their fares back home.
The youngest of three sons, Matthew Saunders had chosen a military career, graduating from West Point near the top of his class. After fighting in some Mexican war he became disillusioned and went to California searching for gold. When he didn’t find it, he journeyed to Australia, hoping to dig up a fortune in Ballarat. Like thousands of others, his dream ended in bitter disappointment.
She sighed on recalling the last few years of his life. Things had been tough for them until he found a teaching position in a prestigious private school. Ian’s biological father had died when he was quite young, and within three years of his death, their mother had married Matthew and Jo had been born. Four years ago, their mother had died of pneumonia, and their father followed his beloved wife to the grave a couple of years later.
Giving herself a mental shake, she pulled herself back to the present, and headed for home. Chores needed to be done before sundown. Ian had stocked the woodpile with logs, but she needed to split them. While she proved barely adequate with an axe, Fiona was hopeless. Fortunately her sister-in-law excelled in cooking, and would do all the household jobs while Jo kept the farm running. So much to do and virtually no-one to help her. Somehow, she still needed to find time to start up the school and keep an eye on poor little Mary Smith.
On the ride home, she stopped to check the pigs, six sows that Ian had recently acquired. He could not afford a boar, but one of their neighbors generously loaned them his. With any luck, some little piglets might be on the way already. Watching them rolling around in the mud pool Ian had dug for them, she shuddered. Revolting creatures, but bacon tasted good as long as you didn’t dwell on where it came from.
Tomorrow I'll go over to see Mary Smith. Straightening her shoulders, she gave herself a lecture. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jo Saunders, look at the comfortable home you live in compared to that unfortunate girl. Count your blessings.
She arrived home to find a laden cart, a lean miserable horse between the shafts, pulled up in the front yard. Hawkers sometimes called on isolated settlers. Tethering her horse, Jo walked towards the homestead, her booted feet making no sound on the ground.
“I don't want to buy anything, thank you. Please go.”
“Listen Missus.” The scruffy individual argued with Fiona. He was dark skinned, probably an Afghan, dressed in some kind of filthy robe affair. Making sure her hair remained tucked into her hat, Jo stuck her hands into her pockets and took up what she hoped was a masculine pose.
“You heard my wife.” She deepened her voice. “Leave before I set the dogs on you. We don't want your wares.”
“The Missus say she buy.”
“I didn't, honestly.” Fiona’s lips trembled.
“Are you going to leave or not?” Jo rocked back on her heels. “The gun, my dear, I mean business, Mister, git.”
The hawker shook his fist at them and bared his teeth in a snarl.
“Get the gun, Fiona.”
The man shambled off. Close up he appeared even more horrible, and a rancid stench lingered after he passed by.
In two steps, she made it to Fiona’s side. Over her shoulder, Jo watched the man climb into the cart and whip up the horse, leaving a cloud of swirling dust behind him.
“You were wonderful.” Fiona giggled. “You should have seen the look on his face when you turned up. I told him I was on my own, probably why he turned nasty and wouldn't go. He threatened me, said he'd burn all our wheat.”
Jo gave an angry snort. “Despicable types like him play on gullible women on their own, they'd sell nothing otherwise. Their merchandise is inferior rubbish. They give reputable merchants a bad name.”
“I shouldn’t have been so silly. I didn't think.”
“No harm done.” Jo spoke the words quietly, trying to hide her exasperation. How could a grown woman be so foolish? “Mm, something smells nice.”
“Ginger cake. I’m sorry for being so stupid.”
“Don't worry about it. Where's Lucy?”
“In the bedroom playing with the blocks Ian made.”
For dinner they shared cold mutton left over from yesterday and hot vegetables, finishing off with scones, spread with plum jam and freshly churned cream from their one house cow. She was grateful Fiona cooked so well, because if it was left to her they would probably starve.
Later, after Lucy went to bed, they sat outside with a cup of tea.
“I wonder where Ian is?” Fiona mused.
“He’s probably sitting around some camp fire listening to tall stories or singing songs. I wish I'd been born a man. Life is so much easier for them. They can do as they wish, whereas women are so restricted.”
“I'm glad I was born a woman,” Fiona declared.
“It's easier for you, you're so feminine and dainty men feel protective towards you.”
“They would to you except you act so self-assured it frightens them off. Men want to be the boss and a clever woman lets them think they are.”
Jo laughed at this piece of wisdom. Perhaps there was more to Fiona than she had previously thought.
They passed a pleasant hour or so sitting on the porch, enjoying the cool evening breeze blowing down from the mountains, and hearing the night creatures going about their business. The low mournful cry of a wild dog calling to its mate trembled on the air, and a nearby mopoke took up the cry.
Fiona clutched Jo's arm. “Let's go inside, they sound so spooky.”
“All right.” The night sounds held no fear for her, but today had been hectic. Sudden weariness washed over her. Tomorrow would be another busy day.
***
Jo awoke next morning feeling refreshed. After a quick wash, she dressed in shirt and breeches and strode outside to split some kindling for the fire. By the time Fiona got up, Jo managed to have their porridge cooking.
After breakfast she finished the milking, fed the dogs, prepared mush for the pigs and filled the copper with water ready to boil up their weekly wash.
“Why don’t you take Mary some of the clothes Lucy’s outgrown? They're still quite good, but I've decided to keep only the best things for myself in case I need them in the future,” Fiona said.
“That’s a good idea. The poor thing will be glad of anything. It's so sad.”
Mid-morning she saddled up and rode towards the Smith place. She had taken Ian's rifle so she could bag a couple of rabbits on the way home.
When she arrived at Mary’s a fire burned outside the humpy but there was no sign of the girl.
“Mary.” No answer. “It's me, Jo.”
What was that? She strained her ears. A cry came from the creek. She vaulted off her horse, and leaving the reins trailing, dashed towards the sound.
“Over here,” Mary screamed. Jo fell on her knees next to the girl.
“I fell over and I c…can't get up. Help me, I think the b…baby's coming.”
“Hold on to me. We have to get you inside.”
Mary screamed again and clutched at her stomach. “It's coming. It's coming.”
“No. You'll be all right.” Fear clawed through Jo as she saw the girl's face contort with another spasm of pain. It was weeks too early.
“Where's your husband working?”
“He went to K…Kangaroo Gully to collect his wages.”
“Who’s your closest neighbor?”
“C…Camptons.”
“They're miles away.”
“Not a
cross country, it's less than a mile.”
Calling on a reserve of strength she hadn’t known existed, she dragged the girl to her feet. With Mary slumped against her they started for the hut, stopping several times when the pains intensified, and those few hundred yards felt like miles.
“Nearly there, I'll get help once you're inside.”
Somehow they made it. She helped Mary to the piles of skins and blankets and got her out of her gown. Underneath she wore a threadbare cotton shift, which stretched tautly across her swollen stomach. Jo’s heart rose up into her throat and her chest tightened – there was blood everywhere.
“Lie still, I'll get help.”
“H…Hurry,” Mary gasped.
“I won't be long.” Jo dashed to her horse, grazing where she had left it. Grabbing the reins, she vaulted into the saddle and rode with hands and heels, urging the animal on to greater and greater effort.
She followed a track winding through the scrub, and when this petered out she rode straight through the bush. This was a sturdy stock horse with a brave heart, and whether her urgency and desperation somehow conveyed itself to the animal she did not know, but it cleared the fallen timber in its stride.
Branches scratched and tore at her face, but she didn’t care. When Kangaroo Gully came into sight, stretched out like a compact little town, tears of relief filled her eyes.
***
Luke, leaning with one hip against the verandah rail, narrowed his eyes as a horse and rider broke out of the scrub.
“Who the hell is that mad man, Parkinson?” he asked his bookkeeper.
“I don't know, boss, seems in an awful hurry.”
“Probably one of the outriders anxious to collect his pay. It won’t do him much good if he breaks his bloody neck before he gets here.”
“Say, can he ride.”
Fiery Possession Page 7