Mrs. Osborne met her on the verandah. “Well, Miss Jo.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What brings you here?”
“I've come to see Luke. Is he here?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Come along inside, we’ll have a cup of tea.”
“No, thanks. I don't have much time, where is he?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“He returned from your place in a towering rage and got one of the maids to pack him a bag. Said he's going to Melbourne for a while, and if he ever hears anyone spreading lying gossip around again, the whole household staff will be dismissed.” The housekeeper's lips actually trembled.
“I'm sorry. I lied about having his baby. I hadn’t even thought about such a thing before, I was shocked, and he acted so ruthless and arrogant, I said the first thing that came into my head. I rode over today to tell him the truth.”
“You're a foolish young woman, Mr. Campton doesn't like things not going his way.”
They didn't go into the house, instead sat on a cast iron garden seat positioned on the side verandah. A maid brought out a jug of orange juice and Jo poured herself a glass.
“When he comes back, would you tell him I called in?” She frowned. “Well, you know, explain how things are.”
“We miss having you here.”
Jo squeezed her hand. “You were all so nice to me, something I didn't expect, under the circumstances. Mm, this is lovely.” She drained the glass and stood up. “I better get back home.”
The housekeeper saw her to the bottom step of the verandah, and after she mounted her horse, Jo waved. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing that Luke had gone away for a few days. By the time he got back, his temper would have cooled.
***
A few days after her visit to Kangaroo Gully, Jo debated about what to do for Christmas. Fiona would probably not feel like celebrating in the traditional manner but for Lucy's sake, and to cheer them all up, she would make an extra special effort. It would be sad without Ian, but life must go on. He would want it that way.
On the spur of the moment, she decided to ride into town. She would get some extra ingredients, so they could start on the plum pudding and Christmas cake. They had little money, but surely now the store would give them some credit. With any kind of luck, they might still be able to put their purchases on Luke's account.
She was shocked at the reception she received when she walked into the general store. Several people pointedly turned their backs, and not one person replied to her greeting.
“The likes of her shouldn't be allowed to mix with decent folk.”
The warmth drained from her face on hearing this from a middle-aged matron standing inside the general store.
She waited pale and dignified, while everyone else got attended to. “Excuse me, I’m next.”
She moved forward. Devastation caused her to stumble when they moved away.
Obviously, everyone thought contact with her would somehow contaminate them.
“Cash only for the likes of you,” Mrs. Kilvain said rudely.
“My sister-in-law has been putting an order through Mr. Campton's account.”
“Not any more. Mr. Campton left strict instructions that neither you nor Mrs. Morrison could put anything on his account again. I'm sorry.” Mr. Kilvain cracked his knuckles nervously.
“I'll go over to the bank.” She stared him straight in the face until he averted his eyes.
“They won't give you any advance, either. Your credit isn't good anywhere, Miss Saunders. In fact, it would be better if you left the district altogether.” Mrs. Kilvain stood back from the counter with her arms folded across her chest. “You've lowered the moral tones of the whole town with your depraved behavior.”
“You pious hypocrite, let me tell you something,” Jo raged. “We have no intention of leaving our property now or ever, and neither you, the ladies of the Temperance Society or Mr. Big Boss Campton can make us.” With her head held high, she stormed out of the store. If they thought to see her cowed, they were mistaken. Absolute fury raged through her as she mounted her horse and galloped out of town.
By the time the homestead came into view her rage had burned itself out, leaving utter desperation. There must be some means of getting enough money to keep them. Fiona, Lucy and now this unborn baby; she had to support them all.
“God, please help me.” Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. It's not as if I did this terrible thing for myself. She forced herself not to give way to threatening tears because if they started she would be incapable of stopping them.
At their homestead, Fiona sat on a chair in the shade of the verandah doing embroidery. That's it! They could take in sewing, embroidery, laundry even. In fact anything they could do at home.
“Did you see Luke?” Fiona asked.
“He wasn't there.” Briefly she explained what happened.
“Everything will sort itself out when he returns.”
“I hope so.” If Luke married her, she might eventually regain some semblance of respectability. She hated herself for thinking like this, but could not help it.
***
The weeks passed quickly. Fiona took it for granted the household chores would fall to her, the outside work to Jo. They started economizing. Thank heaven rabbits abounded, she sighed to herself one afternoon, as she trudged home after bagging two. She would have to skin and gut them out on the back verandah as Fiona could not bear watching such things.
Eggs, milk and cream were plentiful. With apricots and oranges from their trees they ate reasonably well. No one came to visit them. They were social pariahs.
Jo couldn’t hide her shock when she answered a knock at the door a few weeks later. A puffy eyed Flora stood there. She glanced over at the Kirkman’s loaded wagon. Will sat in the driver’s seat, stony faced as the children wept.
“What’s wrong?” Her heart filled with trepidation. Something terrible must have happened.
“We’ve come to say goodbye, the bank has foreclosed and kicked us off our land,” Flora wailed.
“I’m sorry.” She reached out to touch Flora’s cheek in a gesture of sympathy. “Why don’t you come inside? I mean, we haven’t got much but you’re welcome to share what we have.”
“It’s better if we go now, thank you anyway,” Will said. “If we’re going to start afresh somewhere else, the quicker we do it the better.”
“The squatters will burn in hell one day for this,” Granny predicted, waving her pipe so vigorously some of the ash flew out.
“Why don't you come with us, Jo,” Flora invited. “Under the circumstances, you’d be better off living somewhere else. You could pretend to be a widow. We've decided to have a go at prospecting. People are making good strikes up Beechworth way.”
“No, thanks, we can't leave here. I hope everything works out for you, though.”
They hugged each other, promising to keep in touch. Jo and Fiona blinked back tears as they watched the Kirkmans drive away.
***
There had been no word from Luke and with Christmas only a few days away, Jo decided to pocket her pride and go over to Kangaroo Gully. Most probably he was waiting for this very thing. Having once vowed to break her, now his victory would be complete.
The hot sun burned through the thin cotton of her shirt as she rode along. As the horse trotted up the circular drive, Jo’s trepidation rose.
No one met her on the verandah this time. In fact it took several loud bangs of the knocker before anyone answered.
“Oh, Miss Jo.” An expression akin to pity flashed across Mrs. Osborne's face.
“Is something wrong?” Jo asked.
“Mrs. Osborne, who is it?” asked a young, upper class English voice.
Jo watched in astonishment as a girl sashayed towards them. She looked pretty in a delicate kind of way, and wore the latest in fashion. Her silver blonde hair was pulled back from her face, her skin so white it seemed almost transparent.
<
br /> She couldn’t help staring at her. This girl could not be more than about sixteen.
“I'm Cassandra, you're my first visitor. Come in.”
“I'm Jo Saunders.” The words came automatically to her lips as she tried to work out who this young lady could be. A relative of Luke's perhaps? Behind Cassandra's back, Mrs. Osborne wore an agonized expression.
“Luke isn't here.” The girl led the way into one of the small sitting rooms. “Mrs. Osborne, we’d like some tea please.”
Cassandra, who chatted away like an excited child, was so little and dainty Jo felt like an overgrown elephant.
“Are you staying here for a holiday, Cassandra?”
“Oh, no.” She gave a little girl giggle. “I live here now.” She raised her left hand to pat a wayward curl, and Jo saw a shiny new wedding band on her finger. Much as she tried to stop herself, she started trembling. Nausea rose up into her throat. Had they not been seated, she would have collapsed as the girl's next words confirmed her worst suspicion.
“I'm Luke's wife.”
A loud ringing sound almost burst Jo’s eardrums. She clenched her hands together until the nails bit into her palms. Mrs. Osborne came in with their tea. No mistaking the pity in the older woman's eyes now.
Jo's hand shook so much the liquid slopped into the saucer. If her legs had been able to take her, she would have run from the room instead of having to sit there, listening to Cassandra’s prattle about the shops in London, and how she missed her father's estates.
She sat absolutely mute, her body frozen with shock. Luke had married this child bride, while she, Josephine Saunders, had his baby growing in her womb. This would have to be the worst, the most devastating few moments of her life. How could fate do such a cruel thing?
At last, calling upon a hidden reserve of fortitude, she stood and gave the usual platitudes of a departing guest. On legs that almost swam out from under her she followed Cassandra to the door.
“Come again. It gets lonely here with just the servants. Luke spends all his time away.”
How she found the strength to mount her horse and ride home was nothing short of a miracle. When Fiona came out of the homestead, Jo was slumped on the verandah cradling her head in her hands.
“What's wrong? You look awful.”
“I feel it. Luke's married.”
“What!”
“He's married to some little English girl, who couldn't be more than sixteen years old.”
“There must be a mistake.” Fiona collapsed on to the step.
“It's true.” Jo passed a trembling hand across her forehead.
“Sixteen years old! He's old enough to be her father,” Fiona said shocked.
“I don't know her age exactly, but she looked about sixteen, very pretty, dressed in deep pink taffeta. Her gown was expensive, probably Paris or London.”
“What was it like? I mean what style?” Fiona asked eagerly.
“How do I know? How can you worry about clothes at a time like this? Can't you see what this means to me? I'll be a social outcast and my baby will be a bastard.”
“I'm sorry.” Tears sprang to Fiona’s eyes. “I didn't think.”
“Of course you didn't, it isn't your fault. I'm a pig for attacking you.”
“What are we going to do?” Fiona sobbed.
“I don't know. I'll have to work something out, but not now. I'm incapable of doing anything at the moment.”
***
They spent a miserable Christmas, not even bothering to exchange gifts. Fortunately Lucy was too young to understand their diabolical financial position. Jo tried to pull herself together. She would have to do something and quickly. Fiona drifted around like a pale ghost, bursting into tears at the slightest provocation.
On Boxing Day, Benny drove himself out to give her a present. It was wrapped in a hessian bag. On taking it out she saw a picture of her school class. Painstakingly he had painted every child.
“This is lovely, thank you.”
He grinned at the praise. Over tea and cake, she found out why he hadn’t come to see them before. He had been working in a circus.
“Benny didn't like. They laughed at me.”
Poor thing, they must have used him as a sideshow freak. How could people be so cruel?
“They threw things at Benny. Mr. Campton saved me. Knocked some men down to get me.”
“Well, don't you worry any more, you’re back amongst friends, I'm glad Mr. Campton went out after you.”
Probably the only decent thing Luke's ever done, she thought bitterly.
Chapter Ten
As the weeks passed, Jo’s waistline started to thicken. Soon her condition would be noticeable. People had been treating her like a leper, but once the pregnancy became public knowledge, things would be a hundred times worse.
Their supplies became critically low, and they had no money left to replenish them.
“Fiona, I've been thinking. No one would give me any work, but they might you. You're a respectable widow, while I'm a whore, carrying a rich man's bastard.”
“Jo!” Fiona's pale cheeks lost even more color. “Don't be bitter, you're stronger, braver than any woman I know. You're worth two of those hypocrites. If only Kirkmans hadn't left, we would have had some support. If you watch Lucy, I'll go into town and ask around.”
“Laundry and sewing is all you'll get.” Jo grimaced. “It's better than nothing and I'll help. We can do everything in your name. Make sure you play the grieving widow with the hungry child to the fullest.”
She ignored Fiona's look of distaste. She was smart enough to realize this would be their only hope. When she thought of the teaching job she had given up to come out here and the thirty-five pounds a year it paid, she wanted to scream at the injustice of it all.
At least they owned the property free and clear now. They only needed to earn enough money to buy basic food items. Those combined with what they could produce should enable them to survive.
To cut down on expenses they didn’t use kerosene, but slush lamps made from containers half filled with clay, then topped up with mutton fat, with a piece of worsted material wrapped around a stick forming a wick. She hated the smelly, smoky things as much as Fiona did, but wouldn’t admit it. They stored their small supply of kerosene in case of an emergency.
She hitched the horse up to the buggy as Fiona could never manage to do it. No woman in my condition should have to do this.
“Good luck, Fiona.”
“Goodbye.”
Fiona wore a pale blue muslin gown with a matching bonnet. She could have been going out for a leisurely drive, rather than trying to find work.
I'm a fool. She struggled to chop wood for the stove. The top button on her breeches would not close now. Even a work shirt worn loosely could not conceal her condition.
Fiona appeared sweet and genteel. Perhaps it might have been better for her to wear black as a widow not yet out of mourning. Whatever she wore, Fiona would always bring out sympathetic instincts in people.
After only a few strokes of the axe, she had to rest because of fatigue. She didn’t want to overtax herself for the sake of her unborn baby. She felt fiercely protective towards it now.
“Don't worry, my darling.” She sat on the step and ran a palm across her stomach. “You'll never want for anything, I promise. No matter what I have to do.”
Lucy played in the dirt outside as Jo debated about what to prepare for dinner. Roast chicken would be nice. She stood up. Better to get the killing over and done with before Fiona returned since she thought of the chickens as pets. It took a few minutes to catch a plump bird, another minute or so and the axe sliced through cleanly. She jumped back, watching with revulsion as the chicken ran around headless for a few seconds before dropping to the ground.
After plucking it, she gathered up the feathers and put them into a bag so they might be used to fill up a pillow later on. Even though they sweltered in the summer heat, a roast was still appealing.
On checking the flour bin she found it almost empty. One more bake up would finish it off. They were low on tea and sugar as well. She had even experimented with making tea, using an old bush recipe. Roasting bread until it burned black then pouring hot water over it. It tasted vile. She shuddered in remembrance, but unless Fiona got work they would be reduced to drinking this until it too ran out. Someone told her when you boiled milk thistles they had a similar flavor to spinach, this and dandelion salad could be another option if they got desperate.
I won’t allow myself to sink into depression. I've wallowed in self-pity for long enough. Neither Luke nor the pious ladies of the town will break my spirit. This hiding and cringing is at an end. Tomorrow I'm going into town. I'll show everyone what Jo Saunders is made of.
Fiona came back with a pile of washing from the Bank Manager's wife, the idea being that when they returned one load they would receive the next. There was a huge pile of linen, a whole week’s wash by the looks of it. They would light the copper tomorrow morning and boil up. In the cool of the evening, they would iron everything.
***
As the weeks passed, their business expanded. It didn’t take long for word to spread that they did a good job and charged reasonable prices. It proved to be hard, backbreaking toil and their hands became red and chaffed.
Fiona held out her fingers and wriggled them. “My nails are broken as well,” she complained. “No lady should have red, work roughened hands.”
“Well, I don’t care what our hands look like,” Jo said unsympathetically. “As long as the money keeps rolling in.”
They did sewing in the evenings as well now. The fine embroidery made Jo’s eyes ache because of the poor lighting, but doggedly she persisted because it brought in extra money. She let the farm work go, except for the necessities that kept the place going.
No rain. Not even a drop fell from the sky. Each day Jo scanned the horizon for clouds, but the sky, so blue it hurt her eyes, remained empty. The creek level had fallen so rapidly she was reduced to lugging pails of water. Sweat ran down her arms, pooling on her hands and causing blisters which added to her discomfort.
Fiery Possession Page 17