***
Three weeks after Luke left, Jo still moped about the homestead. She couldn’t understand it. Apart from her injured shoulder and arm, she felt sick, weepy and out of sorts. Luke didn’t care; he only wanted her in his bed. Until she got well enough to satisfy his carnal demands, he couldn’t even be bothered staying around.
He hadn’t mentioned marriage, even though he was now free to do so. Perhaps he wanted her to suffer a little more. Maybe he had no intention of marrying her at all and she would remain his mistress until he found someone else. What about Mark? She feared for his future. Surely he wouldn’t allow his son to suffer, unless he planned to keep the baby and get rid of her.
She fretted and fumed at her inactivity. She was going mad doing nothing around this place. The only decent thing that had happened was the fact she hadn’t lost her milk and could still feed Mark. She loved holding him close, smelling his sweet baby scent and listening to his contented little snuffles as he suckled strongly.
One morning she went for a walk. She did not go far but found herself at the little family graveyard less than half a mile from the homestead. Five headstones stood in a neatly tended fenced off area. Tim Campton and Luke’s father Samuel. The grave of Sarah, Luke’s mother, sat a little apart from the others. Grass and wild flowers already sprang up around the mound of dirt forming Cassandra’s grave. Magpies called from the nearby trees, and bees buzzed in the clump of primroses planted near Sarah’s grave.
Standing in the peace and tranquility of the little cemetery she made the decision to leave Kangaroo Gully, and stay with Glory until Ian and Fiona arrived. Luke had written to Ian offering to help him build up the farm, and he had readily accepted. Why wasn’t he back here now, when she needed him?
She blinked back tears. Everyone has deserted me, she thought miserably. I have to get over this depression and weakness. Where’s your spirit woman? Go to Glory. Stay there while you plan a future for yourself and Mark, away from Kangaroo Gully and Luke’s overpowering influence.
Once she made her decision, she acted on it. Much to Mrs. Osborne’s horror, she instructed one of the maids to pack her own and Mark’s things and organized for one of the men to drive them into town.
“But, Miss Jo, what will Mr. Campton say?”
“He can say what he likes. He doesn’t care about me or Mark.”
“Please, wait until he gets home.” Mrs. Osborne wrung her hands. “He cares for you, I’m sure he does.”
“Well, he has a strange way of showing it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Osborne, you’ve been good to both Mark and me.” Jo kissed her cheek. “I have to get away from here. I’ll stay with Glory until my brother gets back.”
As the buggy drove off she turned around and waved at Mrs. Osborne. The homestead stood serene and mellow against a backdrop of giant trees and well tended gardens. She sniffed back tears as she farewelled Kangaroo Gully for the last time.
***
Glory welcomed Jo back with open arms, asking no question until they sat in the private sitting room sharing a cup of tea. It did not take long for the story to pour out.
“Bloody Luke,” Glory exclaimed. “What’s wrong with the man?”
Jo wiped her wet cheeks. “I hate him.”
“I don’t think it’s hate you feel for him at all,” Glory said gently. “You probably haven’t even admitted this to yourself, but you love him.”
“No, I hate him.”
“If you hate him, why does his going away hurt so much?”
“I don’t know, but he’s so selfish and inconsiderate. Cares for no-one but himself.”
“Oh, my poor lamb.” Glory waddled over and took Jo’s face between her plump hands. “Look me in the eye and tell me you hate him.”
“I… I…” the words would not come out.
“See, you can’t lie to me. I know you even better than you know yourself.”
***
Luke roused his men before the morning sun had even climbed from behind the mountains. The last few days had been sheer hell. He couldn’t sleep properly for thinking about the angry words he had exchanged with Jo, and weakness like this infuriated him.
Damn it all, didn’t she realize he had a large property to run? He wasn’t the kind of man who left everything in the hands of an overseer. He liked to know exactly what happened, and he always enjoyed going on a drive and roughing it with the men.
As a boy, his father took him on a drive with half a dozen drovers and they moved twenty thousand sheep from Queensland into Victoria. They had been completely self- sufficient, with thirty or more horses, spare saddles, tents, food, and shoeing equipment. They even carried a small anvil. What an experience that had been for him. He would never forget it.
When Mark got older, he would like to take him on a long drive, also. Maybe Jo could come with them. The thought of sleeping out in the open with her in his arms, sharing their passion under the stars fired heat into his loins and launched knots of desire twisting and convulsing in his stomach.
When he returned to Kangaroo Gully, he would arrange their wedding. Hopefully Ian would have arrived by then as Jo would naturally want her family to be present when she married. He might even take her to Melbourne before their nuptials, so she could choose the best, most beautiful wedding gown money could buy. They would hold a large reception, and even though he despised them, old mother Kilvain and her cronies from the church would be invited when he made Jo his wife. That ought to keep their vicious tongues under control.
They made such excellent progress with the cattle that on the spur of the moment, he decided the men could continue on to the high country while he detoured and called in on Ferguson, one of his father’s cousins. It was a few miles out of his way, but for some time now he had been toying with the idea of trying to improve his breeding stock. With any luck, he might be able to persuade Ferguson to let him have a couple of his stud rams.
Three hours after he left his men, Luke passed over the ranges. Now he was in the flat country he couldn’t believe how dry things looked, and the further inland he went the worse it became. Leaves on the gum trees hung limply. Many were dry and curling up. Some of the topsoil had blown away, piling up into drifts by the side of the road. He had never witnessed anything as terrible as this before.
The sky was devoid of birds, except black crows circling over bleached bones. Nothing lived here. It was like riding through a desert. Every property he passed seemed deserted, as if the people as well as the countryside had all perished.
On arrival at Ferguson’s, his jaw dropped with shock. About a mile in from the road he saw sheep. Poor, lean creatures with their wool turned red brown by the dust that covered everything.
A single storied, rambling homestead slumbered in the sun, its one time garden obviously grazed over by hungry sheep.
“Tom Ferguson?” He asked the middle-aged man who met him at the door. “I’m Luke Campton, Samuel’s son.”
“Well, you’ve grown a bit since I last saw you. Heard about Sam passing on, I’m sorry.”
Luke shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Things look pretty grim here.” He followed Ferguson into the house.
“I’m finished. I’ve sent the wife and daughter into town to stay with relatives. Our well has dried up. I’ve got no water or feed for the stock, and the bank is getting ready to repossess the place.”
“How did you let things get so bad?”
“We had three or four poor years, then this drought. There hasn’t been any decent rain for two years or more.”
“Don’t let the bank take the place. I’ll buy it from you,” Luke offered on impulse. “I’ll give you a fair price.” He wondered why he didn’t try to beat Ferguson down, so he could get the land for next to nothing, as he once would have done, relative or no relative. Jo’s influence, most likely.
“You could stay here and manage the place for me. I’ve been wanting to improve the quality of my sheep for a while now. My father always maintained you bred t
he best sheep in the colony.”
Over a mug of tea, he discussed the options with Ferguson. “Cull everything except your best breeders. I’ll buy feed, water too, if necessary, to keep things going until the rain comes. If you can give me a bed for a couple of days, I’ll organize everything. We’ll have to go into town and see the bank and get papers drawn up. I have to catch up with my men now, they’re taking cattle into the high country for summer grazing. I’ll send a couple of them back here to give you a hand.”
***
Jo had been at Glory’s only a few days when drama erupted. One of Glory’s competitors enticed Yasmin to join his establishment in Sydney.
“Ungrateful little bitch,” Glory stormed. “I took her in literally off the streets. She would have starved except for me.”
This was the first time she had seen Glory upset about a staffing matter.
“You still have me.” Katie grinned. “Why don’t we all have a drink?”
“Yes, why not. I might take a trip to Melbourne after Christmas, recruit some more labor, eh.” Glory dug Jo in the ribs and chortled loudly. “Don’t know why I even gave Yasmin another thought. You come with me, Jo. We can have a fine time.”
“It would be nice, but there’s Mark.”
“We’ll take him with us. I can pay someone to mind him if we want to go out in the evening. What do you say?”
“I’ll have to think about it, but it does sound tempting.” It might stop her dwelling on Luke’s callous behavior.
“We should have a Christmas party,” Katie said.
“Yes, plum pudding, brandy sauce, turkey, I’m starting to drool already,” Glory enthused.
“I might take a few days break,” Francy drawled.
“All right. We’ll invite Benny, the smithy and his boys too.” Glory pursed her lips. “That’s about it, no one else worth worrying about. Maybe the Doc, he’s not a bad fellow when he’s sober.” She laughed. “What do you think?”
“It sounds good.” Jo smiled. “We need something to cheer us up, I’ve been morbid for too long.” Luke could rot in hell as far as she was concerned, selfish, uncaring brute.
***
The next few days passed quickly. Jo took over from Glory, and did all the bookwork now. It wasn’t a demanding position, a couple of hours work each morning, and the counting and sorting of the previous night’s takings, which left plenty of time for Mark.
Three other women worked in the private lounge. Two of them were married, and because they worked on Saturday night, and did not live in, she didn’t really know them. Maggie, an unmarried mother, resided with her parents some distance from town on an isolated farm.
The others, Mary and Charlotte, were neighbors whose husbands were itinerant laborers chasing work from town to town. Between the two of them they had eight children, but somehow managed to retain their looks and figures. Of course, the extravagant gowns Glory provided did a lot to help. As they drifted around the private lounge they were bright as peacocks, yet when they left on the Sunday morning in their serviceable serge or cotton, they turned into nondescript little sparrows.
Their men would be home over Christmas, so they decided not to attend the party. Jo was surprised to see them on the last Saturday, leaving the premises loaded up with a hamper full of food and a dozen or so brightly colored parcels.
“A few things for the children,” Glory confessed, looking almost shamefaced. “I hate to think of little ones having nothing to open on Christmas day. They’re married to a couple of no-hopers. Mary’s husband is an ex-convict, Charlotte’s hits the drink. If the girls didn’t work here, the family would starve.”
They decorated the private drawing room with a Christmas tree. The smithy made miniature horseshoes and Katie decorated them with brightly colored ribbons. Benny made a nativity scene from wood, the carving itself not very expert, but the way he painted the background and the figures turned it into a thing of beauty.
Christmas Eve proved to be extremely busy. Jo, helping George behind the bar, paused only long enough to attend to Mark’s needs. A surprising number of young men wished her Merry Christmas. Many of the men came, not for the women, but for the company, because they were lonely.
Katie, in a pale pink tulle gown, with a silver braid along the sleeves and hemline, only needed a wand to look like a fairy princess.
“Sing us a song, Katie,” a ruddy-complexioned young man called out.
“Yes, Christmas carols,” said a voice with a thick Scottish brogue.
Glory played the piano and Katie started singing. They were quickly joined by a crowd of men who wanted to sing songs in praise of the infant Jesus. Jo would not have believed such a thing possible. Christmas carols in a brothel.
Bar trade slackened off somewhat and she joined in the singing.
“Wait a minute, boys.” Glory stood up and they all groaned their disappointment. “I’m coming back.” She laughed loudly making her double chins wobble. A bright yellow gown, trimmed with black feathers and with a plunging neckline did nothing for her figure. “Jo can play for you.”
“Well, all right,” she laughingly agreed. While not as expert as Glory, she nevertheless could play the simple tunes, and the singing started up in earnest again.
Men discreetly left then returned after a time. Jo noticed Mr. Griffith sitting with Francy at a table and he certainly hadn’t come for the singing. Poor Mr. Kilvain arrived, but scurried off like a scared rabbit when Jo spoke to him.
Two of the girls from the kitchen came out bearing loaded trays of miniature pies and Cornish pasties, and plates loaded up with cold chicken, pork and salad. An impromptu Christmas Eve party, how generous of Glory. A cheer went up from the men on seeing this gesture.
They soon demolished the fruit cake, macaroons, miniature pies and pastries. Jo laughed as she was pressed into service as a waitress.
“Drinks on the house,” George announced. “By order of management.”
Everyone cheered. Later the lamps were snuffed out and small candles distributed to various individuals, before the singing commenced again. The customers were not poor men, most of them just lonely in a vast, empty continent with few unattached women. With a dozen or more flickering lights in the otherwise darkness, Jo had never witnessed such poignancy. Because of the summer heat, the windows remained open. A gentle breeze wafted in, laden with the perfume of summer roses and the scent of the gum trees.
The singing continued, not all carols now, but requests for songs from the distant shores of England, Scotland and Ireland, and Katie obliged with them all. If she didn’t know the words, someone else did.
At midnight, Jo decided to retire. It had been an enjoyable evening. She waved to Glory before making her way to bed.
***
On Christmas day, a beaming Glory came into the bedroom with an armful of brightly wrapped presents. “Merry Christmas, Jo.”
“How do you do it,” Jo groaned, as she raised herself up on the pillow. “You can’t have got to bed before one o’clock.”
“Two to be exact,” Glory chortled. “I don’t need no beauty sleep, wouldn’t help if I did. Little fellow awake yet?”
“No, I fed him about four.”
“I liked hearing you laugh again. Here you are, the girls have sent something for both of you. Breakfast in bed.” As Glory wagged a stumpy forefinger in front of her, Jo’s eyes widened at the huge emerald surrounded by diamonds.
“What a beautiful ring, is it new?”
“No.”
“You haven’t worn it before.”
“I keep it for special occasions.” The make up was even more heavily applied than usual. “It came from my husband’s family.”
“Then he was rich?”
“Yes, the youngest son of a Lord. After a disagreement, he left home. The jewelry came from his mother’s people. Once he married me, they disowned him.”
“Oh!” She couldn’t hide her surprise. Glory had once been married to a wealthy man. How on e
arth had …
“I was a blacksmith’s daughter, not highborn enough.” Glory’s lips twisted bitterly. “He might not have died if there had been money for proper medical care.”
“But the jewelry, I mean it must be worth a fortune. Couldn’t you have sold it?”
“It came too late to do anything for him, sat around in a safety deposit box for years in some lawyer’s office. They said they tried to trace us, but couldn’t. When they finally found me, I was already working in the only way I could, and my baby had died. If anything happens to me, Jo, I want you to have my jewelry.”
Jo gasped, overwhelmed at Glory’s generosity. “That’s silly. Anyway, it’s Christmas and we’re supposed to be happy and cheerful.”
“So we are. They say only the good die young, so I’ve got years left.”
After Jo got dressed, she went for a walk. Francy was still in bed as were the others, all except Rosa who drove herself to early morning mass. She enjoyed walking along the deserted street, with herself and a dog or two as the only moving things.
No word from Luke, especially at Christmas, confirmed her belief that he felt nothing but lust for her. She wouldn’t have minded so much for herself, but to ignore his baby son was unforgivable.
On arrival back at Glory’s, she passed by the private kitchen and sniffed appreciatively at the appetizing smells wafting through the open window. A hot summer day, with the sky so blue it almost hurt the eyes, and the distant mountains shimmering in the hazy heat, yet there would hardly be a household in the whole country not having a traditional English meal. Hot plum pudding, roast turkey or chicken.
She stepped into the sitting room where Glory sat nursing Mark. She knew he’d been crying because his cheeks were still damp, but he gurgled happily now, as his little fingers tried to pick the stones out of the emerald ring. As soon as he saw his mother, he drummed his feet impatiently against Glory’s knees.
“I’m back my darling, have you been a good boy?”
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